Heirs of the Blade

Ten

She awoke to darkness and a moment’s utter panic because the man who had awoken her, by slipping out of the bed and pacing across the room, was not Achaeos.

Cheerwell Maker’s mind remained blank. Her dream, something wild and horrible, was now gone from her head, and nothing came to replace it – just the sound of someone, some unfamiliar body, confined within the same four walls.

The thought returning to her first was that darkness was optional, given the Art that she had been blessed with, and so she banished it. The Mynan boarding-house room came into sharp relief, picked out in a whole other spectrum of greys, and with it came a fuller recollection of where she was and why.

Over by the window, Thalric was peering out through the shutters, wearing only his breeches. She stared at his broad back, picking out each scar in turn to read his history there, whose gaps she filled in as he turned back to her.

‘You’re awake,’ he observed. ‘Your breathing changes when you’re awake.’

She made a noncommittal noise. Here was the vertical line that Tynisa had drawn down his abdomen, that Che knew continued even to his thigh. There was one of the narrow jabs he had received from a former governor of Myna, in a fight he had told her about when they returned to this city and he got maudlin drunk on the memory, a curious lapse for Thalric.

That, of course, was the near-fatal wound another Rekef man had dealt him, after the Empire had decided he was expendable, and close by it was the curious, puckered mark where a snapbow bolt had penetrated, after chewing its way through layers of metal and silk.

Whatever else he had been, and all the different colours he had worn, Thalric was undoubtedly a survivor.

‘Can’t sleep?’ she asked him. ‘Conscience troubling you?’

He smiled a little sourly. ‘It’s nearly dawn.’

That surprised her, but she would have realized it herself after allowing her eyes to adjust. Her Art-sight, which cut through the dark, robbed her of the visual cues she had grown up with. ‘Today’s when Hokiak said to come back to him,’ she recalled. ‘I don’t imagine the old man gets up this early, though.’

Thalric shrugged. ‘I get twitchy in this place. Too many bad memories. I keep thinking that one of the locals is going to creep in here and cut my throat.’

Che and Thalric both had a curious relationship with the city-state of Myna. She had first come here as his prisoner, and while her uncle had been orchestrating her rescue, Thalric had been killing the aforementioned governor on Rekef orders. Later still, they had come back here together to try and foment revolution, and she had narrowly avoided being executed by the very resistance fighters who had helped rescue her in the first place; whilst Thalric had ended up as a prisoner of the new governor. Whom, she could hardly forget, he had also killed – an act that lit the flames of rebellion in the city, as a result of which Myna was currently free of Imperial rule.

They had been in the city now for two hard days and the first half-day had been spent in separate cells.

I had not considered we were fugitives, after all. Oh, being on the run from the Empire had become almost standard practice, and there had been no whiff of the black and gold here, but they should have entered Myna like war heroes. Instead they had been arrested: he for being a Wasp, she for being with him.

Che had told them a name, over and over: ‘Kymene’, and after the first hour or so she had begun to wonder whether there had not been some disastrous shift in Mynan politics, and that the woman who had led the city’s liberation had somehow been displaced, even executed. After about six hours, in which various blue-grey-skinned Mynans had asked her unsympathetic, suspicious and occasionally meaningless questions, she had started to think she might have simply dreamt the woman.

Then had come Kymene, looking anything but pleased to see Che.

‘So you’re back.’ They had been standing in that stonewalled, windowless cell lit by erratic gaslight, whose sporadic death and rebirth was more to do with the ongoing rebuilding effort than any attempt to disconcert the prisoner.

Kymene had looked older, and Che had wondered how much of the city’s current governance fell directly on her shoulders, how much of her strength she expended in fighting other factions. Myna had been united by Imperial occupation for all of Che’s life, and most of Kymene’s. Freedom demanded difficult adjustments that were slow in coming. The city had been at war, on each street, in each citizen’s heart, for too long.

‘We’re just passing through,’ Che had said urgently.

‘You and your Wasp.’

‘Thalric, Kymene,’ Che had told her, searching the woman’s hard face for any clues to his fate. For a moment there was nothing, and Che was abruptly sure that they had killed him. For that sliver of a second, the pain had been shocking, utterly unexpected.

‘I recognized him,’ Kymene had admitted reluctantly, and even that had provided no reassurance. How it must grieve her, to be beholden to a Wasp-kinden. ‘I’ve signed the orders to release both of you.’ The words were virtually spat out. ‘Cheerwell Maker, what do you want?’

There must have been some hurt and betrayal in Che’s face that got past Kymene’s armour, however, for the woman’s expression had shifted, a little ashamed perhaps, and a little defensive. ‘Maker, I’ve been all morning trying to keep this city together, to balance the warmongers and the cowards in the Consensus – if our government deserves to call itself that! – and then your name falls into my lap, you and your cursed Wasp both, and what am I to make of it? The last two times that man came here, he brought down the government. Is he going to make it a third?’

Che had almost laughed at that, save that Kymene was being so deadly serious. ‘We’re heading west.’ She was conscious of the Mynan woman burning to be elsewhere, anywhere else perhaps. ‘Heading into the Commonweal. I was hoping for your help in crossing the border.’

New suspicion had then clouded Kymene’s face instantly, but it had drained away to leave an expression that Che had become tiresomely familiar with: someone’s contempt at her naivety. ‘The Commonweal? You’re going west out of the Alliance?’

That name was new enough to feature only on the most recent maps. Three former slave-cities, Myna, Szar and Maynes, had broken together away from the Empire after two decades of subjugation, and were fighting to hold on to their independence even as the Empire regained its old strength and ambitions. Che had assumed the Mynans must have plenty in common with the Commonwealers, whose conquered principalities must also have rid themselves of Imperial rule: the Alliance’s combined uprising had cut them off from direct contact with the Empire. Nothing in Kymene’s face had suggested that was the case.

Do they fear that the Dragonfly-kinden will invade them, now? Do they trust nobody?

‘The border?’ she had repeated hesitantly.

‘There’s little can be done about that,’ the Mynan woman had told her. ‘Alliance relations with them are… strained. The border is patrolled on both sides, travellers are not being let through. If you wish to risk the crossing, I can give you papers to get past our troops, but as for the Principalities… I will not be able to assist you.’ For a moment her face had remained nothing but stern: the Maid of Myna, the woman who had unified the resistance and freed her city. Then came the tiniest twitch, an acknowledgement of old times. ‘But if you’re asking about crossing borders with goods or people, you know where to ask as well as I do.’

Freed from the cells, their first look at the streets of free Myna had not been inspiring. Life under the Imperial boot had taught harsh lessons to the Mynan people, which would not soon be unlearned. There were plenty of weapons on display, and soldiers drilling with sword and crossbow, and even a few of the new snapbows that had made such an impact during the war. The red and black flag of Myna was displayed everywhere, as though people were afraid it might be taken away from them again. Non-Mynans were regarded on a sliding scale of suspicion. The Ant-kinden of Maynes and the Bees of Szar were tolerated, as they represented Myna’s neighbours in its Three-State Alliance. Others, like Che, were treated coldly, as though every one of them was suspected of being a Rekef infiltrator. Thalric had resorted to a hooded cloak, but was still stopped several times by guards, to be searched, questioned and insulted. The papers Kymene had provided were pored over, creased, frowned at. The Mynans would take a long time to grow easy with their new freedom, and Che only hoped that such time would be granted to them.

Since their release they had found their own lodgings in the city. Thalric’s gold had sufficed to get them a room, but it was a dwindling resource that they needed to save for other tasks, and so this single chamber, this one bed, was all they felt able to afford.

Sleeping beside Thalric was a strange experience. Achaeos had slept quiet and still, breathing so softly she could hardly tell he was there. Thalric seemed to take up all available space, and in the darkest pit of the night he would twitch and start, pursued by all the bad dreams that his varied career had gifted him with.

Sleeping beside him was all that had happened, so far. Twice now they had come close to something else but, like a ship’s master suddenly seeing hidden rocks, she had steered away from it. She was a little scared of him, and feared what his effect on her would be. And then there was Achaeos, poor dead Achaeos, whose ghost she had been trying to exorcise ever since his death during the war. The revelation that the spectre that had formerly tormented her had not been his at all had not driven away that host of memories. The greater part of her felt that she was teetering over of an abyss of guilt, and that to give in to Thalric’s wishes would be to fall.

And the rest of her, a minority vote, wanted to jump just so she could be rid of this burden of propriety that was tying her in knots. Would Achaeos truly have wanted me to be chained to his corpse for ever?

The obvious riposte to that was: Achaeos would not under any circumstances have ever wanted to see me with Thalric.

They hit the streets early, leaning into those ubiquitous hostile stares as though into inclement weather. They managed to get a street away from the boarding house before the first guard stopped them for their papers. Looking into the man’s face, Che had a sudden revelation: not hatred, not loathing, not a lust for vengeance, but fear. The man now staring at Kymene’s signature was of Che’s own age. He had never known his city be free, until the uprising a few years back. It must seem that the least breath of air could snatch it away from him.

The guard had turned away, his initial interest subsiding into mere dislike, and in that instant Che had stumbled, leaning for support against Thalric, conscious of a ripple passing through the people around her, as they shrank away from her as though she had the plague.

‘Che, what…?’ Thalric had been asking, but she had only stared: bright sunlight, not Myna’s overcast skies; a beating heat she recognized. And the stone walls inscribed with legion upon legion of tiny carvings, spilling a thousand years of history across every surface…

Khanaphes.

And for a moment there had been a Beetle woman staring at her from amid the Mynan crowd, clad in Khanaphir peasant dress but with a Collegiate face. Praeda…?

And Thalric was virtually shaking her, as the crowd ebbed back from them, and there were guards approaching, so they would be arrested again, or worse, if she did not…

‘I’m fine.’ She felt anything but fine, though. Each night she woke to find shards of her dreams scattered about her like broken glass. Ever since Khanaphes, where she had been changed. Ever since awaking into the presence of the Masters. She had gone to that city because the war – and Achaeos’s death – had robbed her of her Aptitude, stripped from her the mechanical inheritance of her people, and thrown her into a world of magic she had never entirely believed in. In Khanaphes she had begun to understand, however, and the ancient, callous Masters had taught her more. But more doors had been opened than she knew how to close: her mind was leaking visions every night, fleeting and unremembered, just bright but receding shards inside her mind as she awoke. But this… never before in daylight, not like this.

She never remembered those dreams, save for one thing: they were dreams of Khanaphes.

‘Let’s move,’ she said shakily, wanting to lose herself in a crowd that would only reject her.

With the Mynan authorities unwilling or unable to help them further, she and Thalric had fallen back on an old acquaintance. Hokiak’s Exchange had not been changed much by the city’s liberation. It still possessed the same shabby emporium at the front, a drinking den at the back, and no doubt the same constant flow of smugglers, criminals and fugitives looking to use the old man’s services. Che was vaguely surprised that the new, iron-handed Mynan leadership had not decided to curb their old semi-ally’s practices, but then, no doubt, the ancient Scorpion-kinden had gathered a lot of incriminating information over the years which would be awkward if made public. Whatever the reason, he was apparently still operating as freely as during the Imperial occupation.

The man himself had barely changed, either. Che and Thalric had both encountered a great deal of the Scorpion-kinden in the recent past, in all their hulking and brutal glory. Hokiak was what happened when that glory burned out and withered away. He was a hollow-chested, paunchy, stick-limbed old creature, his white skin wrinkled and baggy, with one thumb claw become nothing but a broken stump. He walked with the aid of a stick, had developed a rasping cough, yet still exercised a remarkable amount of underhand influence over a great many people.

That he remembered Che and Thalric was clear. He did not welcome them effusively, not quite, and indeed the circumstances of their last meeting had been ambivalent to say the least, but something lit up in his yellow eyes when they found their way into his back room after so long.

Perhaps things are quieter here, with the Wasps gone, Che wondered. Perhaps the old man’s getting bored.

‘Well now, who’s this, eh? Maker’s girl, and the Wasp assassin.’ He leered at them through the stumps of his fangs. ‘Trouble coming, is there? For certain there is.’ He used his stick like a lever, prying his laborious way across the room before dropping down into a creaking chair. ‘Come join me,’ he invited. ‘Tell me what trouble you’ve brought us.’

‘No trouble, I hope,’ Che replied, and Hokiak chuckled.

‘They hanged two Beetle-kinden yesterday,’ he remarked, without further explanation.

CheandThalricexchangedglances.‘Whodid?’sheprompted.

‘The militia. Said they were Rekef. For once I believe it. They were asking questions before they were caught, these two stretch-necked fellows. There’s a certain stink off them, more even than normal Rekef, and that stink goes all the way to Capitas.’

‘What questions?’ Thalric asked.

Hokiak’s rotting smile was hideous. ‘You don’t need to ask it, assassin.’

‘I’m no assassin,’ the Wasp said irritably.

‘I know two governors of Myna who’d call you a liar,’ the Scorpion pointed out. ‘No wonder the Consensus is twitchy, if you’re back in town.’

‘What have you guessed?’ Che asked, annoyed at all this obfuscation.

‘Rekef from Capitas will be here looking for me – or they soon might be,’ Thalric explained. ‘General Brugan might not have given up. Which makes our business with you that much more urgent, Hokiak.’ He fixed the old man with a stern look. ‘Unless you’ve decided I’m merely a commodity again.’

Hokiak scowled, less the villainous broker and more – or so it seemed to Che – the put-upon merchant. ‘You flatter me, assassin. Those were the days, eh? Sell the resistance and the Empire to each other, and have both of them paying you for the privilege. Good times, good times. The current lot lost their sense of humour when they took over, I’ll tell you that straight. Her up top, Kymene, who I personally kept out of Wasp hands, she came down here after they chose her to run the Consensus. No more deals with the Wasps, she told me. No deals with the Empire. Keep your smuggling, your racketeering, your private work – but the moment anyone looking like a Wasp agent heaves into view, it’s pass them over to her, and I can whistle for a profit.’ The old man shook his head disgustedly. ‘So, tempted as I am, I wouldn’t be selling you to the Rekef, Master Assassin, even if I could find one with his neck kept short.’ The ruined smile returned. ‘Though I thank you for giving an old man credit.’ He looked from Che to Thalric, and back. ‘A man could wonder, it’s true, how come the two of you are still on the same road as each other, so long after, and whether there wasn’t something in all those suspicions we all had about the pair of you last time. But me? I stay out of politics these days. Consensus wants to interfere with my business, then I’m damned if I’ll go an inch out of my way for them.’

Che shivered, only now appreciating that narrow escape, for of course the Mynans had thought she and Thalric were Imperial agents last time, and Che herself had narrowly avoided being tortured or killed for it. And yet here the two of them were, together again, and it was bound to make Hokiak wonder.

‘We need a guide westwards,’ Thalric announced. ‘You must know someone. We have a little wherewithal.’

‘West?’ Hokiak grimaced. ‘West ain’t so easy these days, with troops on both sides of the border.’ Seeing their downcast expressions, he held up one hand. ‘But, yes, I do business with types whose work takes them that way. Easy enough to find one who’s willing to take a couple of friends over. There are a few kicking their heels in the city even now, waiting for a commission to take them back across the border. I’ll send word out, and you can just wait here. That’s it then, is it?’

‘Nothing more troublesome than that,’ Thalric started, but Che took a deep breath and added, ‘One more thing.’

Thalric plainly had not expected this from the look he gave her, but she pressed on valiantly. ‘I would like to speak to a…’ She could not form the word magician before the old Scorpion’s pragmatic stare. Thalric might just understand, after all they had been through together in Khanaphes, but Hokiak? ‘Somewhere in Myna there must be someone… a fortune teller, or a mystic, perhaps…’

But Hokiak’s expression was not encouraging. ‘Plenty of those where you’re headed, maybe, but in Myna? ’

‘Do you have anyone Inapt working for you?’ Che pressed, ignoring Thalric’s doubting expression.

Hokiak made an exasperated face, a feat in itself. He had one of his people run off, to return a moment later with a cadaverous old Spider-kinden in tow. Che recognized the man as Hokiak’s business partner.

‘Gryllis,’ the Scorpion said, sounding embarrassed to even be asking this, ‘you know any fortune tellers or quacksalvers or anything like that in this city?’ A thought obviously struck him. ‘Wasn’t there that deserter… what was her name, Wheezer?’

‘Uie Se,’ Gryllis pronounced it carefully, and Che reflected that there would be plenty more names like that to be found in the Commonweal. ‘She’s clinging on.’

Hokiak gave him a sidelong look. ‘You don’t ever go have your fortune told, do you?’

‘Old Claw, when you get to our age, money spent on a seer would be money wasted,’ Gryllis replied drily. ‘Who wants to know about Uie Se, then?’

‘ I do.’ Che interrupted. ‘Thalric, can you wait here for the guide? I won’t be long.’

‘So long as you know what you’re doing,’ Thalric cautioned her. ‘And so long as this guide of yours,’ he added to Hokiak, ‘won’t run a mile if they see a Wasp.’

‘Oh, I don’t reckon there’s a chance of that,’ the Scorpion replied, obviously finding the idea amusing.

Hokiak’s opinion of seers and magicians was sufficiently low that even he threw in this Mynan fortune teller’s whereabouts for free. Che learned also that the mystic had been one of the Auxillian troops the Empire had used to keep the peace in Myna during the occupation, that the woman had aided the resistance and then deserted once the Wasps were driven out.

It was an indictment of the current Mynan paranoia that all the risks Uie Se had taken on behalf of the locals had resulted in bare tolerance of her presence, rather than any true acceptance. She lived in a single room, in a house that had plainly belonged to a well-off family some time before the occupation, but was now falling to pieces a day at a time. The room itself was grimy, and the partitioning of the house’s interior had left the seer with a bare sliver of window, so that inside it was so dark that only by Art or magic could one see anything at all.

Che, whose understanding of magic was in its infancy, fell back on her Art, exchanging the darkness for a palette of greys. Uie Se, she saw, was a tall, lean and angular woman, a Grasshopper-kinden as all the other Mynan Auxillians had been. Her hair was kept long and tied back, and she wore a simple and much-darned smock reaching down to her bony knees.

The seer was staring at her bleakly. ‘You’ve come to the wrong room, Beetle,’ she said, her voice dry and hollow, and tried to close the door again. ‘Don’t bother me.’

‘Wait,’ Che said hurriedly. ‘I need your help.’

‘There’s nothing I can do for such as you.’ Abandoning her attempt to close the door, Uie Se turned and shambled back to sit down on a filthy straw mattress.

‘I have money.’ Meaning yet more of Thalric’s, and she suspected he would not approve, but her need was great.

‘Oh, then come in,’ said the Grasshopper, with a loose-jointed gesture, and Che realized that the woman was drunk. ‘Buy me a chair, so you can sit on it. What do you want, Beetle? Are you a scholar come to record stories of a vanished age? I will talk. I will talk all you want.’

Maybe this was a waste of time. ‘I want to talk about dreams.’

Uie Se was abruptly more still. ‘You have aspirations for the future, rich lady?’

‘No, dreams. I am having dreams that I know are important, but they never stay with me. I know how important dreams are to seers and magicians, so there must be some techniques to help me recall them.’

The Grasshopper eyed her edgily. ‘You have money?’

‘Some.’

‘You are…’ The woman could not bring herself say it, but her fascination was that of someone observing some bizarre freak of nature.

‘Inapt, yes.’ Che could say the word with equanimity now. The admission no longer hurt as it once had. Spending time away from the eminently Apt city of Collegium had helped. No doubt Uie Se assumed she had been born different, a throwback amongst her own people, but of course most of Che’s life had been spent amongst the technical elite, trained in mechanics and artifice and dismissing all those old stories of magic as deluded Moth-kinden propaganda. Then Achaeos had entered her life and touched her with his very real magic, coming to find her when she was captured by her enemies, and then taking her to that ghastly, haunted Darakyon and forcing her to witness its hideous ghosts.

And when he had needed her, when his people had been trying to raise their ancient magic against the Wasps who had occupied their home, he had begged her for her strength, and she had somehow found the capacity within herself to give it. Their minds had touched, and she had funnelled her stoic Beetle endurance towards him, given him the extra reach so that he could cast his net further.

And his call had rung out from the mountain top above Tharn, where the ritual was being enacted, and the things of the Darakyon had heard and answered.

If some magician had offered Che the chance to forget the feel of those cold, ancient, twisted things inside her head, but taken as his price all her memories of Achaeos, she would have thought a long time about the proposal.

But the things had come when Achaeos called, charged him with strength, set the Moth-kinden ritual ablaze, terrorized the Wasps out of Tharn, driven them mad and set them against one another. And Achaeos, already badly wounded, dragged from his sickbed to join the Moth-kinden’s dark venture… Achaeos…

She had felt his life wink out amidst the cackling and rustling of the Darakyon things. She had felt him leave her.

‘Dreams,’ she repeated to the Grasshopper seer, and there was a tone to her voice, dead and angry at the same time, that made the woman shrink back.

‘Yes, yes.’ Uie Se scuttled into the further shadows of her room. ‘There are herbs. I have some. You shall know them by their smell. They have been used for ever as a net for dreams. There are talismans, and I shall ready one for you now, soon, soon, now. Only a moment, great lady. They shall be a spider’s web, yes, to catch your dreams, so that you may feast on them when you wake. You shall have your dreams.’

‘How much?’

‘No money, none,’ the wretched creature told her instantly. ‘No, no, no.’

‘How much?’ Che repeated. ‘Look, I will pay for your services. This is just… business.’ Something about her had so clearly rattled the Grasshopper, and she wondered if the rush of memories that had briefly overwhelmed her had bled out of her and into this woman’s head. From somewhere the words came: ‘I absolve and forgive, and will leave nothing behind me but footsteps.’

The seer paused, staring back over her shoulder, her hands stilled for a moment where they had been sifting through pots and jars by touch. ‘Thank you, great lady, thank you.’ The tension was abruptly gone from her.

What have I said, and why did it matter? Belatedly Che recalled from where she had pirated the words – a play, of all things: a Collegium play set back in the time before the revolution. Supposedly it had been adapted from an older Moth-kinden work, but updated for a modern audience.

But they must have kept some of the original, nonetheless. She would have to be careful with that kind of trick. She had the unwelcome feeling that certain words and phrases uttered by her, that would have been just wind before her change, carried a mystical weight now, whether she knew their import or not.

Uie Se had gathered together her herbs, and handed Che a pouch full of them. ‘You should steep them in water, let the water boil as you sleep. Do you keep to any of the Apt?’ she asked and, at Che’s nod, made a sour face. ‘They will complain, so ignore them. As for this,’ she held up a ring of twisted copper wire, ‘hang it near your bed – anywhere there are spiders smaller than your fingernail. Let one spin its web within it, and your dreams shall not escape.’

When Che returned to Hokiak’s Exchange, the guide had arrived and, to Che’s surprise, turned out to be another Wasp-kinden. He was a big, broad-shouldered specimen, decidedly bulkier than Thalric, with a heavy jaw and hair trimmed close to his skull, looking every bit the thug. Thalric and he had been sharing a jug of wine, though and, given Thalric’s history among his own kind, were clearly getting on remarkably well.

‘Cheerwell,’ he greeted her. ‘This is – Varmen. He’ll be guiding us over the border.’ A moment’s pause before the name told her that he had been about to assign this man a military rank, before checking himself.

Deserter, then, she guessed, rather than a lifelong mercenary. ‘You’re a smuggler, Master Varmen?’ she asked doubtfully.

The big Wasp shook his head. ‘Been back and forth a few times, riding escort mostly. Still, I know the best places.’

‘I’d have thought getting into the Commonweal was hard enough with one Wasp, let alone two,’ Che commented, sitting down and reaching for a wine-bowl.

Varmen grinned. ‘Not so hard, at that, but we’re talking about Principalities, anyway. Commonweal laws don’t hold there, you’ll see.’