The Scarab Path (22 page)

‘What do you want to know?’ Hrathen asked.

‘Think
of me as a wide-eyed scholar eager for knowledge,’ General Brugan said.
‘Indulge me.’

So you can see how fondly I still hold them
, Hrathen
decided.
Well, scholar, a lecture you shall have
.

‘We
divide the Scorpion-kinden we have met so far into two,’ he began, ‘the Aktaian
Scorpions who live in the Dryclaw desert, south of the West-Empire, and the
Nemian who live in the Nem south of the East-Empire.’

Brugan
nodded, showing neither interest nor boredom.

‘The
Scorpions of the Dryclaw have dealt with civilized nations for a long time.
They have preyed on the eastern edge of the Lowlands and the Silk Road, and
they have traded with and been employed by the Spiderlands since time
immemorial. They have also worked with our Slave Corps for two generations.’

‘In
which capacity you yourself were introduced to them,’ Brugan noted.

‘Indeed.’
A pause. Brugan nodded his head for him to continue. ‘Well,’ Hrathen went on slowly,
‘their way of life revolves around others now, whether it is through their
raiding or their slaving. Between the Empire and the Spiders, they work for the
highest bidder and take whatever they can.’

‘Including
Imperial supplies,’ Brugan remarked. ‘Tell me, Captain Hrathen, did you fall
from the path of duty by action or inaction? Not that the difference is
material.’

Hrathen
scowled before he could stop himself. ‘You … do not understand what it is like,
to live amongst them.’

‘So tell
me.’

‘Strength,’
Hrathen explained. ‘Power is all they value – the power of the arm’s reach. If
I had cried foul when they took the supplies and killed the men, they would
have turned on me. To run with them, you must live as they do, believe as they
do.’ Brugan was now staring at him as though he was something in a menagerie,
but he pressed on. ‘But if you can run faster than they, kill more swiftly,
carry more spoils, care less, dare more, then they will welcome you in and make
you theirs, without care for either kinden or blood. Any man may be free,
amongst the Scorpion-kinden, if he is a greater monster than they are.’ He
paused.

Brugan’s
smile showed delicate distaste. ‘Are you such a monster?’ he asked softly.

Well, what does he expect me to say?
‘Look at me, sir,’ Hrathen
said. ‘I am the Empire’s monster, but I am a monster.’

‘Tell me
about the
other
Scorpions,’ Brugan prompted.

‘They
are … not so used to civilized nations,’ replied Hrathen. ‘The tribes of the
Nem call themselves “the Many” and, unlike the Dryclaw Scorpions, they are
unified, most of the time, under a single warlord – whoever is the strongest of
the strong, both in mind and body. They are not so nomadic as the Aktaian,
either. The Nem had cities once, before it dried up. There are ruins in the
mid-desert, beyond the fringes, and the Many dwell in some of them, wherever
the wells still give water. They even raise some crops there – or at least
their slaves do. There are cities in the deep desert, too, but even the Many do
not dwell there. The reasons for that are … confused. The desert of the Nem has
never been mapped. The Imperial scouts never penetrated it. It is said to
contain … unusual threats.’

‘Would
you venture amongst the Nem, if I asked you?’ Brugan said.

‘Yes.’

‘Would
you hold the Empire in your heart, even so? Look at me as you answer.’

Hrathen
met his eyes, but the answer was long in coming. ‘I am Empire,’ he replied. ‘I
am Rekef. I shall do what is needed to fulfil your tasks, but I must do it in
my own way. It may be that this seems to harm the Empire, but I know the
Scorpion-kinden, of whatever tribe, and I know how to deal with them. General,
will you trust my judgement?’

‘Why
else would I propose to send you?’

‘Then
give me men and supplies, and perhaps, as my second, an officer you are not
overly attached to. With that I shall go to the Nem and accomplish whatever you
wish.’

Brugan
smiled widely then, his teeth very white. ‘I shall give you soldiers, and
artificers. I shall give you siege engines and better weapons than the Many of
Nem will ever have held. I shall give you all of this, Hrathen, and for one
purpose only.’ Abruptly he was on his feet and walking round the desk. There
was a knife in his hand.

Hrathen
knelt very still. The knife flicked once, twice, and the bindings about Hrathen’s
hands and arms were severed and he hissed in pain as his long-constrained
joints were shocked into motion.

‘I shall
send you now into the desert to destroy a city: to have your precious Scorpions
shatter its walls and slay its people and feast in their halls. I give the Many
of Nem the city of Khanaphes to play with. I buy them with that coin. Do you
understand me?’

He was
still smiling, and Hrathen matched his grin despite the pain, his fangs
bristling in delight.

‘General,’
he said, ‘I do.’

The Sacred City

Accius of Vek made sure that he was one of the first to reach the
quayside. It would not do for the city-state of Vek to be thought fearful of
these foreign lands. Inside, he
was
fearful: no
Vekken had ever travelled so far, unless perhaps some luckless slave sold to
the Spiderlands. He had no clear idea of precisely where he was. They were off
all Vek’s maps.

At the
rail of the ship stood his brother Malius, watching over him. Only the contact
of that one other mind gave him strength. Around him was a seething, babbling
bustle, the unscripted chaos of this Beetle-kinden city. Numberless hordes of
the locals, bald and indistinguishable, were heading in all directions,
jostling and pushing, carrying loads and setting them down, meeting and
talking. The air was full of it. Accius was amazed that anybody could hear
anybody, that all those thronging words did not choke the whole dockside with
their din.

I wish we were in Vek
, he thought.

I know
, came Malius’s answering thought.
I too, but we have our orders
.

Accius
stood by the gangplank, a hand on his sword-hilt, feeling the weight of the
chainmail beneath his tunic. It was not precisely concealed, for the sleeves
and the hem of it extended beyond his civilian garment. The latter was his
concession to being polite, and beyond that he would not go. He was a soldier.
Yet they have made me an ambassador
. It was an empty
title, but the Beetles of Collegium were mad and an ambassador was what they
wanted. Somewhere in Vek was Collegium’s own ambassador, being treated civilly,
enjoying the tranquil, industrious quiet of a properly ordered city-state.
Accius envied him.

The
Beetle woman in charge was talking to her Flykinden servant now, as locals
hauled down all the baggage that Beetles seemingly needed to travel with.
Accius had added such an excess to the long list of things he did not
understand. They were so slow, so clumsy; they loaded themselves with such
unnecessary clutter, physically and mentally. Yet their journey across so many
miles had been so deftly handled, with barely a hitch. They took everything in
their stride, where an Ant would call a halt and regroup.

They have many dangerous qualities, our enemies
.

True
, came Malius’s instant response.
Most
especially their way of making friends
.

The
Collegiates were seeking allies here, it was plain, even though Collegium
already had so many. It was crystal-clear in the minds of Accius and Malius
that there would come an attack on Vek sooner or later. Vek and Collegium were
enemies and, inevitably, enemies fought. All the confusing words of Stenwold
Maker and his kind could not change the way the world worked.

Can we stand against them, with the Sarnesh, with their other
allies?
The future was a sword hanging over the city of Vek. When Accius
thought of his city, he felt his heart twist at its beauty, its order, its
solitary vulnerability.
Vek must be saved
. To save
Vek they must dispense with its enemies, and to dispense with its enemies they
must strike. All military theory taught that the attacker, by choosing the time
and place of assault, gained key advantages. Vek must be saved, so Collegium
must be defeated. The theory was sound.

But the theory
, came Malius’s dry whisper,
does not take account of this
. His mind-touch took in the writhing
chaos that was the docks of Khanaphes. It was only his company that steadied
Accius, that allowed him to stand here surrounded by these hordes of chattering
others
without drawing his sword.

The
other Collegiates were disembarking now. There was the thin old man, the fat
man, and the reserved woman who seemed the most clever and potentially
dangerous. In her quiet, focused way there was a touch of the Ant about her,
Accius decided. The other two seemed mere fools, but it was so difficult to
read these people. Their faces and their voices were loud, but their minds
silent. They were deceitful, hiding a hundred contradictory thoughts behind
their constantly jabbering exteriors.
Real people are honest
and truthful
. To go like this, amongst foreigners, was the ultimate
sacrifice for an Ant-kinden to make.

And we are proud to make it
, he and Malius chorused
exactly together. It made Accius smile inwardly.

Brother, there are soldiers
, came the brief warning, and
his sword was drawn by instinct. He saw the Maker woman, the expedition leader,
turn towards him, stepping back. Her hand was also to her sword-hilt, although
she did not seem to have realized it. Accius ignored her, knowing that Malius
was watching out for treachery. Instead he stared at the bewildering crowd.
How many? How close?

A score. They are on you now
. Even as the warning reached
him, he saw the soldiers pushing through the crowd. They had big shields like
tapering ovals that were covered with a shiny brown carapace, and edged with
gold. They wore armour, hauberks of gilded scales, greaves and tall helms. They
had spears in their hands, and swords with leaf-shaped blades at their belts.
Everything was chased and trimmed with precious metals, and they had elaborate
gorgets about their necks embellished with turquoise and red stones, and more
gold. They were an escort, Accius saw, for the old Beetle man in their midst.

The locals are kept in good order here
, Malius noted,
almost approving. Everyone had given the soldiers a wide berth. Work had
stopped, everywhere labourers putting down their loads and waiting. The Maker
woman glanced at her compatriots, had a quick word with the Fly-kinden
teamster.

‘Put
your sword away,’ she told Accius. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

He
regarded her.
Your time will come
, he silently
admonished.
Do not think you can command the Vekken
.
He felt Malius agree with him, but the words rang hollow even in his own mind.
This was a show of force: the Khanaphir had arrived with weapons, with
soldiers. One met a show of force with a show of force, or one retreated. These
Beetles did not understand that.

‘It’s
only an honour guard, a ceremonial display,’ the Maker girl hissed. ‘Look at
them.’

Their spears are real, as are their swords. The gold trimming
does not mean that their armour is not functional, you stupid woman
. But
he simply did not understand. A lot of people were staring at him now. Somehow,
despite the fact that their minds were all so obstinately separated, some idea
had travelled between them all, excluding his brother and himself. He sheathed
his sword, though his training resisted fiercely. As he had so many times
before, he wanted to shout at them, to rage at them. They would not hear,
though, because they could not. He had spent whole evenings cursing the Maker
woman and the others, as loud as he could, with Malius competing with him for
the most apposite phrase. It was wasted – more, it was misconceived. She had
got them here without any apparent difficulty, and he could not understand how
she had managed it.

The aged
Khanaphir was stepping forward. He wore a white robe that fell from one
shoulder to mid-shin, reminding Accius uncomfortably of the Assemblers of
Collegium. He was barefoot, but he wore a considerable amount of jewellery.
Like the other locals he was bald, although he wore a thin gold band about his
forehead, the ends of it spiralling together above his brow. To Accius’s eyes
he differed from all the rest only because he was clearly so old, his face
lined and wrinkled.

‘I give
you greetings, ambassadors sent from our distant kinfolk,’ he began. His voice
was very quiet and yet clear. Everyone, locals and foreigners alike, had fallen
completely silent. The sounds of the city beyond were now a distant tide
surging behind him. ‘The city of Khanaphes is seldom graced with such an honour
as to meet more of our long-lost family. My name is Ethmet and I am privileged
to be the First Minister of this city. On behalf of my Masters, I extend the full
welcome of Khanaphes to you and all your people.’

The
Maker woman stepped forward and said some words in response, the usual patter
of meaningless pleasantries that Accius had heard before. They said so much
that was unnecessary, these Beetles, or so much that defied interpretation to a
poor Ant-kinden of Vek.

Ethmet,
the First Minister, was making some offer of accommodation, which had
apparently been accepted. Local porters were coming forward to take up the
Beetles’ baggage. Accius felt Malius, on board ship still, reach down to
shoulder their own compact belongings. No doubt these local Beetles would
understand privacy as little as their Collegiate cousins.