The Scarab Path

Ten

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.'

They took their place and stood there, still as statues around her throne, their faces hidden in the shadow of their helms. In their midst the Empress Seda looked young and demure, dressed in the minimum of finery. Her own natural beauty was all the adornment she needed. She smiled warmly at Thalric and held out a hand. He made himself walk forward and take it, stepping within the Mantis circle to seat himself beside her. Her touch felt shockingly warm.

It was like sitting next to something venomous: a scorpion with sting raised. He sat there very still, tried to ignore the brooding presence of the Mantis-kinden who had been sold into her service.

'You will be joining me in my quarters later, of course?' she said.

'Of course, Your Imperial Majesty,' he replied, with a broad, despairing smile.

The next day he lay recuperating in her chambers, pale and feverish. The day after that, he made himself scarce from any public engagements, retreating to the palace storerooms to seek out Osgan.

Theirs was an unlikely association and it had come about through Thalric's desperation. Had he still been his own man he would have spared the wretched Osgan not a word, would as like as not have despised him.

This was not the first time his eyes had been opened to the sort of man he was. When he had been on the run from the Rekef, he had viewed his life from the outside and the world, he knew, held more pleasant sights. I was a model Imperial citizen, he reminded himself. Filtered through his experience, the thought was a painful one.

'You look like I feel,' Osgan remarked and it was broadly true. Mid-morning and Osgan was still unshaven, eyes redrimmed in a sagging grey face. Once a solidly built Wasp, he was now fast becoming simply heavy. There was already an open bottle on a crate beside him. The Rekef man behind Thalric's eyes looked at him and recognized a liability.

Images from the night before last still recurred to him as he sat down opposite. He and Osgan avoided each other's eyes, both of them men who had seen too much.

Osgan shook a pair of dice out of a leather bag, a handful of small coins from another. 'Might as well make use of the time,' he grunted. He was an appalling gambler, but Thalric made sure he did not lose too much. Only a year ago Osgan had been a rising star in the Consortium of the Honest: supply officer for the Ninth Army, stationed in Capitas, with his hands immersed in the stream of Imperial funds, even holding the favour of the Emperor, but now …

He held his current position among the steward's staff becauseThalric made it so. If not for that he would have been a debt-slave by now, meat for the fighting pits, conscripted into the Auxillians. It had all fallen down for Osgan, on the day the Emperor died.

It had fallen down forThalric: same day, different reasons. Thalric who had been a traitor, just as Tegrec had named him, who had killed a Rekef general, who had been brought to Capitas in chains. Thalric who had been saved from a bad fate for, he was discovering, a worse one. Thalric who found the Empress's court at Capitas that bit stranger each time he was dragged back to it. Thalric, who had grown used, in his career as a traitor, to having people around to talk to.

The Rekef man he had once been could not have cared less. That Rekef man had underlings and superiors and enemies. The traitor he became had stood alongside such as the redoubtable Stenwold Maker, the Mantis butcher Tisamon, the enigmatic Achaeos. They saw more of me than my own people were ever allowed to. It had seemed right, then, but he had not thought he would ever be coming back.

But I grew used to having someone to talk to. Well, now he had Osgan. He could say what he liked to Osgan. Nobody listened to a shaky supply officer who was drunk most of the time. Nobody cared about this man, except Thalric.

And who cares for me? The image of Seda's face came straight to mind. She must feel something to draw him back and back again, but he had no word for that emotion. She had summoned him to her chamber, where he had been bathed and readied by the slaves, dressed in Spider silks and then taken to her bed. He knew there were many who would give everything to swap places with him. He would give anything to oblige.

'So what's new, chief?' Osgan asked, making a cavalier throw of the dice that spilled them off the crate entirely. The bottle was near empty, and Thalric took it up and drained it until it was. The bitter soldier's beer Osgan had purloined tasted of honesty.

'Someone's trying to kill me,' Thalric said.

Osgan made a grotesque mime of surprise. 'News? Since when's that news?' He retrieved the dice. 'Give me a quill and a week, I'll draw you a list of them that want you dead. Lowlanders, Comm'wealers, even your own friends and neighbours. So what?'

'They had a solid try at it outside Tyrshaan.' Thalric frowned. 'Wasp assassins, so not Commonwealers. And the Lowlanders who know me wouldn't send assassins. Not since the Mantis died.' Osgan flinched at that. Thalric grimaced. 'Someone inside the Empire wants me dead,' he finished.

'Everyone wants you dead,' Osgan muttered. 'Everyone but me. And why not? If they hate Herself, then they hate you too. If they like Herself, then they hate you. Some of them probably just hate you anyway.'

Thalric nodded glumly, conceding the point. His position had endeared him to few. 'I would shed this role if I could.'

Osgan was sober enough to grimace at that. 'I know, I know,' he said, almost whispering, 'but don't say it. I don't want to hear it in case they come after me with their hooks to find out what I heard.' He fumbled out another bottle, drew the cork with his teeth.

When Thalric had entered her chambers two nights ago she had been waiting for him, wearing a dress of white silk that hung from one shoulder and followed to her body's every line. There was that happy glow to her that he had learned to recognize, just as he recognized the taste on her lips.

She had offered him a goblet.

Thalric grabbed the bottle from Osgan and took a great swallow, because that taste had suddenly recurred to him.

'I have to get out of here,' he said desperately.

Osgan shrugged. 'Door's right there, chief.'

'You know what I mean.'

'I know, but it's like the army, chief. You don't get out till it's had its full use of you.'

Thalric had looked into the red, red liquid in the jewelled goblet, and he had drunk deep of it, because she would accept nothing else. The taste of salt and rust had coated his throat. She had kissed him, drawn him towards the great bed.

How long can I survive? A lucky man could retire from the army, but there would be no quitting this post. She took me as a prisoner and a traitor. She saw just enough in me to be worth keeping. Now she devours me at her leisure.

She would ask for him again tonight. She always left him a day and a night to recover. He wondered what arrangements she made when he was absent.

The most terrible thing about it was that he thought she did feel something for him, some attraction, even some affection. She was cold, though, and everything new she learned from her select advisers was making her more distant still. She was different. Everything about her appearance suggested simply a young Wasp woman who was little more than a girl. Her beauty almost broke his heart, but only because he knew that under the skin some part of her had been stripped away.

This last time, he had not looked into the antechamber where the detritus of her preparations would still be on display. He did not wish, when sipping from the red cup, to know what vintage she had provided him with.

She will be the death of me. It was no more than the truth.

General Brugan let him stew for a tenday before calling him in. Thalric spent the meantime in standing dutifully beside the Empress with a tight-lipped smile, or in hearing the words of those who courted his own favour. He spent his time in sloping off to talk with Osgan down in the cellars, and dulling the edges of his life with drink. He spent it in Seda's chambers, stepping into her embrace, meeting her red lips as her slender body entwined with his.

Sometimes, as she arched atop him at the very climax of their coupling, he saw something in her eyes: a girl whose childhood had been lived in the shadow of death, and who had seized her only chance to live. The image was despairing, and it called to him for help. He wondered if she saw some similar plea for rescue in his.

He had lived his previous life hoping that a Rekef general would never call for him, but when Brugan's messenger came, it was only a relief.

The office was lined with racks full of scrolls and shelves of books and next to it was housed a coterie of clerks who sifted every word that came into the Empire, searching for the least drachm of significance. It had belonged to Brugan's rival and predecessor, yet he had changed nothing, and Thalric wondered whether this was to celebrate Brugan's victory, or remind him that nobody lasts for ever.

'Ah, Lord Regent,' he said without expression. There was a Wasp-kinden woman sitting in the corner, ready to record whatever was said.

'General,' Thalric was aware of the absurdity, 'you can call me Major, if you want, sir. I think I still own the rank.'

Brugan shrugged. There was no warmth towards Thalric in his expression, but it was not the job of a Rekef general to like people. 'I suppose I am calling on you for information, as I would with any agent,' he said carefully, with a curt gesture for Thalric to sit. 'I am aware you had a many-coloured career in the war.'

Thalric took the one seat before the desk, wondering how many others must have sweated and trembled here. However, he did not rise to the barb.

Brugan's lips twitched slightly. 'That may be of use,' he continued drily, 'now that you are a good son of the Empire once again. You were in a position to see things that sounder agents had no chance for.' His eyes said traitor, but Thalric met them without flinching. For a long time they stared at each other, with neither breaking from the other's gaze.

'Do you consider that you're immortal, Regent?' Brugan asked at last.

'I am sure that if you thought it in the Empire's interest, you'd make an end of me,' replied Thalric. The thought rose in him, If you must, then do it sooner rather than later, and he swallowed it down.

'Apparently someone tried to have you killed,' Brugan went on. 'Outside Tyrshaan, I am informed. The Regent may do as he likes, but perhaps Major Thalric should have made his report before now?'

Thalric looked down, at last. 'You are correct, of course, sir.'

'Well, it is now known to us and we will determine who is responsible,' said Brugan dismissively, as if now bored with the subject. 'Stenwold Maker, you met him, I believe?'

'I did. Several times.' This change of direction threw Thalric temporarily. 'What of him?'

'My agents there say that Collegium believes in peace, but what does Stenwold Maker believe in?'

'He believes that the peace is transitory,' Thalric replied. 'May I speak frankly?'

'Do.'

'He would make a good Wasp. Indeed he would make a good Rekef agent. Perceptive, loyal and selfless, he lives for his people and he sees threats to them very clearly. He foresaw the invasion of the Lowlands an entire decade early and spent all that time laying plans and training agents.'

'You admire him.'

'He has many admirable qualities. It is unfortunate he is our enemy.' The brief time he himself had been Stenwold's agent-captive, and the work he had done for Stenwold's cause, flickered briefly in Thalric's memory.

'He's sending agents out again,' Brugan growled. 'South of the Empire now. To places we will be looking to, once the South-Empire is fully ours. It would make sense for the Lowlands to make our Imperial ambitions there difficult, and they already have allies around the Exalsee.'

Thalric nodded. 'It's a good move for him. I can understand him making it.'

'We are far from ready yet for another conflict with the Lowlands,' Brugan said. 'Is he likely to force war upon us?'

'No.'

'So certain?'

'Stenwold will not start a war, not fought by his own people. He may, however, start a war with others' blood, as he did at Solarno.'

Brugan nodded. 'You are well informed.'

'Old habits die hard, sir.' Some emotion had stirred in Thalric's chest. 'Sir, you'll be sending out agents to keep an eye on Maker and his people?'

Brugan studied him with narrowed eyes but remained silent.

'Send me,' Thalric said. Please, send me. Send me away from here. Give me my life back.

'Why?'

'Why not? I am Rekef, still — Regent or not. I was good at my job. I know Stenwold Maker better than any agent you have. Give me a small team, embassy credentials perhaps. Who would be better?'

Brugan stared at him for a long moment, his heavy face expressionless. Rekef thoughts would be scuttling through his head.

'An Imperial embassy to Khanaphes,' he spat out finally. 'Ever heard of it?'

'I could soon learn,' Thalric replied.