The Scarab Path (17 page)

‘The
Empress shall know that you have done your work here adequately,’ Thalric
declared blandly. ‘What else is relevant?’

He made
sure that his gait revealed nothing of the stabbing pains in his side, where
the snapbow bolt had been within three layers of silk of killing him. Someone
out there knew now that he had fought off three men and was still alive to
complain of it.

Let them worry
, he thought.

Thalric had decided against returning home with the army. Even an
Imperial army with a mechanized baggage train moved at a snail’s pace. Besides,
he was expected to return with it, and at this juncture he did not feel like
doing anything that was too obviously expected. The fewer opportunities he gave
his hidden enemies, the better.

So he
commandeered an automotive. What was the point of being Regent of the Empire
unless you could do that?
He
knew it to be an empty
honour, but that was not general knowledge. His two-man crew of driver and
engineer/artillerist were more than happy to break away from the plodding
convoy and make best speed along the dusty roads leading north to Sonn. What
Colonel Pravoc thought of it, Thalric did not attempt to find out.

Sonn was
one of the earliest conquests of Alvdan the First, one of the linchpins of the
Empire. It had been conquered by force but the Beetle-kinden residents had soon
seen the benefits of Imperial rule, and the place was now the heart of the
Consortium of the Honest, the mercantile arm of the Imperial administration.
The Beetle-kinden traders, slavers, shippers and bankers had soon made
themselves an indispensable part of the Empire, and their kinden had proven the
very best of second-class citizens.

Changes
were happening in Sonn, and changes for the better, as far as the locals were
concerned. Thalric had heard how the city was being expanded, with factories
and foundries being thrown up as fast as was humanly possible. The loss of Szar,
as a manufacturing base, had been a blow to the military and industrial
capability of the Empire, but the Beetles of Sonn were quite willing to make
themselves more essential. Even forewarned, the bustle of the place surprised
Thalric. There were acres of scaffolding and part-completed buildings lining
the road. The Beetles had planned to expand their city by almost as much again,
and this addition would all be factories. In a year’s time, Thalric guessed,
you would barely be able to see the sky for all the smoke generated. It would
be like a new Helleron, he thought.

When he
disembarked, he realized why. The place was seething with artificers already
installing the factory machines, the boilers and steam-powered toolbenches and
assembly lines. Many were local people but many more were not. Thalric had
travelled enough to recognize Helleren men and women. They had come here in
their droves, wearing their scuffed leather and canvas, to sell their expertise
to an Empire that only last year had claimed conquest of their native city.
Helleron was now proudly neutral again, and no hard feelings, so tramp
artificers were flooding in to help the Empire rebuild its losses and to take
Imperial coin in exchange for the uncertainties of working for such a belligerent
employer. The Helleren were good at what they did, better than any of their
Imperial counterparts. They swallowed their pride and doubled their fees, and
there were so many of them in Sonn that there was talk of building a railroad.

Thalric
had heard that the late General Malkan of the Seventh Army had conquered
Helleron single-handed merely with a threat. When the Empire turned its
attention west again, he reckoned that the reconquest could probably be
effected by letter.

He
abandoned his automotive at Sonn, leaving the crew to enjoy some leave in the
city until Pravoc’s army caught up. As of a month before, there was a rail-line
from Sonn to Capitas. It was ridiculous of course. The new peace with the
Lowlands was making the Empire strong enough that the next war, when it came,
would be over in tendays.

By train
he travelled to Capitas wearing anonymous Imperial armour, just a soldier
engaged on official business. This anonymity served a purpose, but he was
surprised to find what a weight it lifted from him. For such an empty honour,
the title of Regent was a heavy thing to bear.

The
weight of it came back to him once the outskirts of Capitas began passing by on
either side. The rail depot was located in view of the great ziggurat of the
Imperial palace. The sight of it made his stomach twitch.

Someone tried to have me killed
.

Just
seeing the palace, and what it represented, he could barely think about the
assassination.
There are worse things in life than being
killed
.

They had
put up a gilded statue of Alvdan the Second before the gates of the palace. It
was interesting, in Thalric’s opinion, how the glitter of the gold distracted
from the fundamentally mediocre workmanship. He passed it quickly, because the
really clever statue was inside. The grand entrance hall of the Imperial palace
had once been darker, all guards and armour and the iron fist of power. The
Empress had since ordered two more windows to be sunk through the stone, so it
was now as bright and airy as a garden when the sun came from the right
quarter. At its heart the first thing every visitor, general, dignitary or
ambassador saw was the statue.

The
likeness of Seda was stylized but unmistakable. The sculptor genius had
eloquently portrayed her determination, her youth, her femininity. It showed
her with a spear held proudly in one hand, a shield in the other, representing
the hope of the Empire. Her image was at the centre, but kneeling, and around
and behind her stood her people. They stood tall, protecting her without
overshadowing her, and they were cast in the same heroic manner – blocky,
larger than life, projecting loyalty and fervour. There was a soldier in the
armour of the Light Airborne, an artificer with his toolstrip, a Consortium
factor with his scales and quill. The fourth figure was still being chiselled
out of the stone, and Thalric wondered who he would be. A Rekef agent? An
aviator? He would stand with the same pride and passion as the others, one hand
raised, palm outwards, at the world in defiance and a threat of power. The
whole piece was a work of art and even Thalric, cynical as he had become, felt
his heart swell with pride when he saw it. Pride at being Wasp-kinden, the
superior race.

In this
statue, he could look on the face of Seda and not quail. Now he braced himself
for the real thing.

The
style at the Imperial court was currently for robes, or for tunics with long
sleeves that hung uselessly behind the arms like limp wings. Thalric, however,
dressed like a military man of high station, in white tunic and a cloak edged
with black and gold. It was a kind of desperate defiance, his private little
rebellion that he knew would be overlooked.

Alvdan
had kept his throne room empty, that was another thing. He had held his
councils and conferences, but afterwards the great room had lain empty save for
dusting servants. Seda kept a proper court, however. It was part of the
strategy she had devised.

By that
strategy, she had made them love her. That was her own genius, of which the
sculpture was just part. The Wasp-kinden were ruled by men, had been led by men
always. On her accession, even with the support of many of their leaders, Seda
had been hard pressed to prevent anarchy. If she had merely relied on her own
right to autocratic power, issued orders and demanded obedience, she would
quickly have fallen. They would have torn her apart in the streets.

She had
made them love her. She had assumed the traditional role of a Wasp woman, meek
and subservient and weak, and made something of it. She did not demand
servitude from her men, she begged their protection. She made them see her as
vulnerable, as the last faint hope of the honoured Imperial bloodline that only
they could save. She wooed them with her needs, her inabilities. She was the
Bride of the Empire, and each one of them, in his way, was her guardian and
partner. She made each man believe that by serving her he was personally saving
the Empire. In flaunting her weakness, in inviting their support, she got them
to do anything she wanted, and made them love her in the bargain.

They
fell over each other to display to her their loyalty, their strength. She
juggled them like an expert and they never ever realized. Thalric, from his
privileged vantage point, had seen it all. He might have found it amusing had
he not known.

As he
walked in, heads turned. They were all here, three score of them and more:
military officers, Consortium factors, scions of wealthy families. Each day
they came to the palace and huddled and talked and schemed against one another,
and waited. They waited Her Imperial Majesty’s pleasure. They waited for her to
make her appearance, so that they could prove themselves to her.

There
were some there, especially towards the far end of the room with its seven
thrones, who were not Wasp-kinden. There had already been a few when Thalric
had gone off on campaign but there were more now. They were some of Seda’s more
select advisers. His heart sank further on seeing them, and that was not
because these lesser races now had the ear of the Empress: it was what they represented.

‘My Lord
Regent,’ said a clipped voice.

Thalric
turned to see a broad-shouldered Wasp of about his own years, a man with a
soldier’s physique. He was wearing his fashionable garments with neither
panache nor awkwardness. They hung off him as if draped on a mannequin.

‘General
Brugan,’ Thalric acknowledged. ‘I trust you are well?’

‘When
the Empire is well, I am well,’ Brugan confirmed. As the Lord General of the
Rekef he was the most powerful man in the Empire, and one that even Thalric had
a wary respect for. It was no secret that his support had turned the balance of
power in favour of Seda, nor a secret that he had murdered his chief rival over
the late Emperor’s dead body. He was ruthless and intelligent and ambitious,
therefore a model Imperial general.

‘The
Empress has been missing you,’ he said blandly. Brugan was not one to be misled
by Seda’s public face. He surely must know as well as Thalric the true woman
behind it. ‘Also, when your official duties permit, I have some news of an old
friend. I’d appreciate your views.’

‘As you
wish, General,’ Thalric said. Brugan was one of the few people he was both
careful and also happy to oblige. The man was good at his job and good for the
Empire.

Thalric
passed on towards the top end of the hall, towards the clustering robes. He
noticed a nod in his direction from the absurdly tall, hunchbacked figure of
Gjegevey, but Thalric ignored the grey-skinned, long-faced creature. The old
slave was a favourite of the Empress’s now, one of her inner council, and it
was people such as he who were the problem. Beyond Gjegevey stood a
Grasshopper-kinden, in a robe of pale lemon, whom he did not recognize, but saw
as another slave risen above his station. Beyond that …

‘You,’
he began, before deciding whether he should. ‘Moth-kinden.’

The
grey-clad shape turned, and Thalric was surprised to see a Wasp face looking
out from within the cowl.

‘Alas
no, although the mistake is understandable.’ The man was short and balding, but
a Wasp nonetheless.

Thalric
stared at him. ‘Who are you?’

‘You are
the RegentThalric,’ the man replied. ‘I recognize you from the portrait in Her
Majesty’s chambers. My name is Tegrec. I am the Tharen ambassador, for my
crimes.’

It took
Thalric a moment to connect name and place. The result was displeasing to him.
‘Weren’t you a traitor?’ he asked, his voice loud enough for a few people to
look round.

Tegrec
only smiled his implacable smile. ‘Weren’t you, O Regent?’ he asked, so that
nobody else heard. Thalric looked on him without love, seeing behind him two
other grey-robed figures, real Moth-kinden this time.

‘What’s
brought you – and
them
– here?’ Thalric asked
bluntly.

‘Times
change, O Regent,’ Tegrec said mildly. ‘I am here for Tharn, and the
Moth-kinden thereof. The war is now over between my birthplace and my adopted
kinden.’

‘Is that
so?’

The
ambassador’s face was all sly knowledge. ‘It is true that the Moths managed to
drive out the occupying Imperial force, but only at great cost. Current
conditions now suggest that a more open relationship with the Empire will be
beneficial to us all. The Empress herself has expressed a personal interest.’

‘Of
course she has.’ Thalric’s tone was bleak.

‘Her
Majesty has pronounced herself especially pleased with our gifts.’ Tegrec made
a grand gesture towards the head of the hall like a magician and, like magic
indeed, the doors opened at that exact moment and the Empress made her
entrance.

She had
an honour guard, he noticed. Thalric felt weak. It had been a concern of hers,
before he left, that she ought to have an honour guard, but how could she have
trusted one? There were too many throughout the Empire who wanted to see a man
on the throne. It seemed the problem had been solved, and he now understood
Tegrec’s gift. The Moths of Tharn had been clever.

There
were only six of them but he doubted she would need more. Tall and slender,
wearing armour of delicately crafted mail and leather that had been enamelled
in black and gold. Each bore a narrow sword at the hip, a clawed gauntlet on
his hand.

‘How …?’
he began, but was unable to say more.

‘How can
she be sure of them?’ Tegrec asked, standing close enough that Thalric wanted
to strike him. ‘Why, they are sworn to her protection, dedicated wholly into
her service by command of the Skryres of Tharn. I think you know how seriously
the Mantis-kinden take their honour.’