The Scarab Path

Thirteen

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.

Who are his Masters? Accius wondered.

He felt Malius shrug. More Beetles. No doubt we will meet them in time, instead of this functionary.

And then what?What does the King expect of us, here?

We only observe, Malius replied, but he sounded uncertain. The Collegiates have some purpose in coming here, and it can be no purpose friendly to Vek. Perhaps they seek military supplies or aid. He looked about the crowded dockside, noticing there was a distinctly primitive feel to it. Perhaps they seek expendable soldiers to send against us. They could plan to offset our superior troops with sheer numbers.

It was Accius's turn to shrug. Everyone was now moving on. Malius brought up the rear, keeping watch over him as he forced himself to wade into the rushing torrent of people, seeking to keep pace with the Maker woman.

He reached out, felt Malius's presence. I would go mad. How can they live like this? The business of the docks was picking up again all around them, so many flapping mouths, so much wasted noise. Have we made a mistake in coming here? Is this merely a diversion? Perhaps our comrades in Collegium have been killed by now. There may already be a war.

Malius had no answer for him. Surrounded by his enemies, it was all Accius could do not to draw his blade again.

Everything was going well. Everything was falling apart.

The Empire is here in Khanaphes. Che recited the words to herself in a tone of urgency. That, she insisted, explained the shock she felt still resonating through her. Thalric is in Khanaphes. She did not know what to make of it. When last they had met, over a year ago now, he had been the big man in the Empire, consort of their new ruler. What would such a prominent figure be doing here?

Concentrate on the Empire, she urged herself. Hypothesis one: the Empire is here because we are. Hypothesis two: the Empire has an independent reason for being interested in Khanaphes. Which leads us on to hypothesis three: We are here because the Empire is here, and Uncle Sten didn't trust me with the information. So when was I going to find out?

She knew now that she had to seek out their people in Khanaphes as soon as possible. In light of this new discovery, it made sense that they must be Stenwold's agents as well. She had heard not a whisper that Stenwold had been plying his trade this far out, but then a lifetime in the intelligencing business had made him highly secretive, even with his own niece.

Too cursed secret, Uncle Sten.

But there was nothing she could do about it now. She pushed forward a little to walk alongside Ethmet, very conscious both of the Khanaphir honour guard around them, and the twitchy Vekken following just behind her.

'Excuse me, First Minister.'

'What may I provide you with, O Beautiful Foreigner?' he asked, with an elegant gesture of his spreading hands, from his stomach outwards. The mode of address put her off balance, for all that it was an obvious formality.

'Well … I was wondering, there are some scholars from Collegium in the city already. I was hoping to meet with them soon, just to catch up with their news.'

'Why, this has already been anticipated,' Ethmet replied, with a small smile. 'You shall see as much, when we reach your dwelling.' His manner should probably have reminded her of the magnates of Collegium, but he lacked their vigorous pomp and vanity. There was a quiet, self-contained authority to him, an assurance that put her more in mind of Spider-kinden Aristoi or the seers of the Moths. Here was a man who was absolutely sure of his place in the world.

She fell back until she was close enough to Berjek Gripshod and the others to converse with them. 'Well?' she said.

'Speechless,' Gripshod admitted. 'I mean, look at the place — so much stone and so large. How long did it take to piece all this together?' He shook his head. 'We were right to come here. I've never seen anything like it.'

'But we build in stone,' Che pointed out.

'Not like this,' he insisted. 'New buildings in Collegium are constructed of brick, or perhaps wood and plaster, at least above the first storey. It's only the grand old structures, the College and the Amphiophos, that are entirely of dressed stone. And that's only because they date from before the revolution. Our erstwhile masters preferred stone — and so, clearly, do the Khanaphir. And look — every piece is carved. Every piece.'

With all the rest on her mind, after seeing Thalric here in Khanaphes, she had not noticed it. Now the facades of the riverside warehouses and residences came into focus as rank upon rank of elaborate inscriptions. These carvings were hand-sized, square-ish, abstract, and everywhere, arranged in rows as high as a man could reach, on every surface of stone she could see. On some buildings, which looked older, they reached even higher, ascending all the way to the flat roofs. The myriad pictures swam before her eyes, marching for ever and for ever along every stone in an innumerable sequence.

'I've seen similar, and not just on the big mound-fort at Ostrander,' Berjek continued. 'I believe they tell stories, even histories, in pictorial sequence, but they're so stylized as to defy comprehension. So much to study here! Give me another twenty years!' He shook his head sadly. 'Give me a Moth-kinden's lifespan and I'd unravel it.'

Che felt suddenly dizzy, stumbling so that Berjek had to grab her elbow to keep her upright. For a moment she had seemed to perceive something more in the carvings. It was as though she had seen the message behind them, not just a series of drawings but as though words had been scribed there — jumbled words, nonsense words. She felt the world lurch for a moment, on the edge of some revelation that would still not come.

'Steady there,' Berjek murmured. 'The heat, I know. We all feel it.'

She shook her head, frightened at the sudden shift in perspective. The carvings were just carvings. She did not look at them, again, but focused ahead or glanced downwards. Yet still she was aware of them, pressing on every side.

'Look at the bridge,' Praeda Rakespear murmured suddenly. Khanaphes rose on both sides of the river, and a solitary bridge spanned the flow to link the divided city. It was a single soaring span resting on three pillars, and all faithfully inscribed with large and comprehensible representations of hunting and farming surrounded by the endless little pictograms continuing their never-ending procession.

'Architecturally remarkable,' Praeda declared, and Che knew her well enough to see how impressed she was beyond that cool exterior.

'Socially remarkable,' Berjek countered. 'Look how low it sits. Then consider the docks behind us and think about it.'

Che understood instantly. 'A ship couldn't pass beyond the bridge — not without taking down its mast at least.'

'And so they have total control of the river, simple as that,' Berjek agreed. 'There must be riverside docks on the other side. Anything coming in, anything going out, of any size — it must stop at Khanaphes.'

The city had grown strangely, its original plan still visible but blurred by time. They observed many great buildings, statues, columned arcades, palaces and gardens, and in between them were the smaller homes of the artisans and labourers of the city, huddled close together and yet always in sight of beauty. At first Che approved. How much better was this than the squalid stews of Helleron! Then she began to wonder if it had been intended that way at all. It seemed to her now — she could almost envisage it in her mind — that there had once been empty space between those grand edifices, and the people had taken over that space and made it their own, built houses and workshops where once the great lords had strolled. It was as though the architects had lost interest in their original design, abandoning it to those who would actually live there.

The mere sight of the gold-trimmed guards served to clear them a path ahead. The locals stepped aside into side streets, into doorways, and watched in silence. Che expected the fear that armed guards seemed to generate everywhere, even in Collegium, but there was none of it here, only a quiet respect.

'I am afraid we have received no emissaries from your people previously.' Ethmet clasped his hands apologetically. 'So we have had to borrow an embassy building for your use. I hope that we will have caused no offence through our choice.'

'Ah … I'm not sure I understand you. We weren't expecting you to have, what … built something for us …' Che replied uncertainly.

'Ah, no indeed, but we have played host to foreign potentates before, though none for some time … not until recently.' The guards stopped suddenly, and Che nearly crashed into the one in front of her. Ethmet had stopped simultaneously with them, of course, and his expression generously overlooked her clumsiness. 'We are now at the Place of Honoured Foreigners. Pray do me the honour of following, and I shall show you what we have managed to set aside for you.'

He stepped into a smaller side street overlooked on one side by three-storey facades marked out with small doors and smaller windows, and on the other by a looming blank wall whose expanse was pierced only by an arch. Ethmet stepped through this entrance, and Che and her company could only follow.

She bent to whisper to Trallo, 'Do you know what's going on now? Is this their usual welcome?'

The Fly's lips were pressed together and he shook his head.

They stepped out again into a world of sunlight and wonder and the sound of running water. Che's breath caught in her throat at the sight of it.

The Place of Honoured Foreigners was a broad open square, lined on three sides by great buildings, veritable palaces. There was a continuous band of rushes fringing the open space, interrupted only where little bridges crossed them to reach the steps of each palace, and where two archways gave access to the wider city beyond. In the centre was a pool, a marble-floored rectangle floored with an intricate mosaic that promised meaning and delivered nothing, just like the ubiquitous pictograms. Che could not stop herself from running over to stare into it. The water was clear as glass, no more than twelve inches deep. Tiny fish and water insects sculled across it, wholly oblivious to their audience. Benches of carved stone lined the pool's two long sides, and the quarters of the square around it were set with four crescents of green, tall grass and ferns.

Che shook her head. 'It's beautiful,' she said, forgetting diplomacy and just divulging what was in her mind.

'We are pleased that you find it so,' Ethmet said mildly. The academics were meanwhile staring about themselves like people in a dream. Only the two Vekken remained aloof, doubtless waiting for some trap to be sprung. Even the removal of the guards had not improved their mood.

'The larger arch, in the far wall, leads into the Place of Government and the Scriptora, where I and my fellow servants of our Masters dwell. Once you have had a chance to acclimatize yourselves, perhaps you would consent to visit us there. We would hold a banquet in your honour, if you would agree. For now, we have set aside this house to be your residence, while you are among us.' One of Ethmet's hands indicated a column-fronted building adjacent to the arch through which they had entered.

Che turned to look at it and she could not help giving a cry of dismay. As she recoiled back, only Berjek's quick grab for her arm stopped her toppling into the pool.

Each of the palaces — the embassies she supposed — had statues standing before it, flanking the door, but she had not registered that they were not statues of locals. They were not even like the cold, beautiful watchers flanking the Estuarine Gate. These were faces she recognized, or some of them.

The stone visages that met her gaze were those of cowled Moth-kinden. In that first glance, the male of the pair had seemed close enough to Achaeos to nearly stop her heart.

A lot of people were talking to her, but she could not focus on what they were saying. For a moment the air about the statue blurred, and she feared that his ghost would emerge from it to chastise her. The impression was soon gone, though, the blur due only to the heat. She felt stifled by the sheer number of people trying to find out what was wrong with her, and she virtually elbowed her way past Berjek and Manny and Trallo, until faced by the old man Ethmet.

She had finally elicited a genuine expression out of him, and it was surprised concern. Nobody had laid this trap deliberately, it had all been mere chance. Predictably, the Vekken had drawn their swords, but she did not feel she had the strength to reason with them again.

'It was … it was nothing,' she got out.

'We have displeased you,' Ethmet said mournfully. 'You must forgive us our ignorance of your ways.'

'No, no, please,' she said, and she looked the statue directly in its cold face.

Can I live with this, even for a tenday? What should I say, if I cannot? How could I explain?

I must live with it. The alternatives are too humiliating.

'Please …' she said. 'Please, it is just … the journey was long and I am tired, very tired.' The Vekken resheathed their blades sullenly, obviously resenting their inability to use them.

'Of course,' said Ethmet. He made a quick signal and the porters began moving the expedition's baggage inside. Che heard a startled cry from within, but she was already gazing around at the other embassies, the other statues that adorned them. She saw Spider-kinden, clearly recognizable by their features, although the garments were strange. She saw long-faced, hunchbacked people she could not name, and beside them were lanky Grasshoppers. There were even two that might have been Dragonflies.

'How long … how old …?' she murmured to herself. The carvings that circled the pillars and scaled the walls writhed under her gaze, and now seemed on the threshold of forming actual words, to reveal terrible secrets of time and antiquity.

She heard the sound of running feet behind her, and the all-too-familiar leather whisper of the Vekken drawing their swords again. A Beetle-woman burst out of the Moth-flanked embassy, knocking over a porter in her urgency. Che stared at her, wondering What is wrong with her? and seeing a moment later that it was the hair, of course. She had hair, which meant she was no native. When the woman cried out, 'Please, wait. Listen to me!' she had a Collegium accent.

Everyone had gone quiet, waiting for what she would say but, after a sidelong look at old Ethmet, she said nothing. The pause grew awkward.

'I'm sorry,' Che addressed her, 'who are you?'

'I'm … Petri Coggen. I'm Kadro's assistant,' the woman got out. She looked as though she had not changed her clothes or combed her hair for a tenday. Her eyes were wide and flinching. Che shared a frown with Berjek, then knelt beside her.

'What is it?' she asked. 'What's the matter?'

Petri's eyes kept being drawn to Ethmet, despite all her efforts to stop them. Che recognized a physical struggle within her, to control some outburst.

'I have to tell you things. Please-'

'Where's Master Kadro?'

'Ssh!' Petri's eyes went wider still. 'Not that — never that!'

Trallo had said as much when he briefed Che in Solarno. 'Where is … Sieur Kadro, then?' It seemed disrespectful to give a Master of the College nothing more than his name, and so Che compromised on the Solarnese title.

'Disappeared. Gone.' The words were barely a murmur on Petri's lips. 'This place …' Again her eyes were dragged over Che's shoulder towards Ethmet, whose expression suggested polite puzzlement at the ways of foreigners.

'Perhaps we had all better go inside,' said Che loudly, part worried about this woman's state of mind, part embarrassed at making a spectacle in front of their hosts. The porters had completed their job and Che saw a row of Khanaphir men and women lined up in the entrance hall, obviously the staff waiting to greet them. Glancing back she saw that the two Vekken still had their swords drawn, standing shoulder to shoulder, tilted away from each other.

'Please forgive us … First Minister.' In between turning to him and remembering his proper title she had caught, for a brief instant, a strange expression on Ethmet's face. It was the look of a man listening to a voice only he could hear. Are these people mindlinked too, like Ants? But this was something else, and she realized what it reminded her of. As she stepped over the little bridge, she put a hand on the Moth statue's shoulder, remembering how the magicians of the old races could speak to one another, distance no object. Achaeos had told her so many times.

The races who had graced this square in times past were all Inapt. The lords of the Days of Lore would have sent their emissaries here, before the revolution had put paid to their world. Those days, those far-off days, were engraved here in the very stone, enshrined in the reeds and the water, in the very faces of the locals. She felt her own loss, her deficiency, very keenly, but it was different here. Here, amongst the Khanaphir, it was surely no deficiency. Instead, it put her closer to them. Have I found a home here? Will they have words for what I have become?