The Scarab Path

Seven

They ran into trouble at Ostrander. It caught them unawares, having come so far without.

Trallo had found them lodgings in one of the shacks within Ostrander's wooden walls, and was now busy making arrangements for the trek onwards to Porta Rabi. The Vekken ambassadors would not venture out, because Ostrander was a hostile Ant city-state as far as they were concerned, even though the Ants of the Exalsee seemed to behave differently to their Lowlander cousins. (But doesn't everything, here? was Che's thought on that.) Che herself shadowed Trallo, because he was always good company and because his companionship was teaching her something of his trade. The academics she left to their own devices, which would also prove to be a learning experience.

Trallo had spent the day haggling with a succession of merchants over pack animals and automotives, and had concluded his dealings with each by angrily springing up and declaring that he would never do business with such a villain ever again. They would then meet the next day and renegotiate. It was a way of trading that exactly suited both the hot-blooded Solarnese and the proud Dragonflies of Princep Exilla, and the trading crowd in Ostrander was made up of both. There were a few Spider-kinden as well, and a miscellany of renegades and halfbreeds from Chasme. The actual locals took no part in Ostrander's role as a caravan stop, save by tolerating the rabble of newcomers' buildings in the shadow of their artificial mountain.

Che spotted the natives around, although fewer than she had expected. They were Ant-kinden of an unhealthy shade, greenish-white and anaemic-looking. The vast majority of them did not venture beyond the caverns of their pirated home, and they only came out to tax those who sought shelter in their shadow. They carried spears and crossbows and wore a mismatch of armour, from clattering vests of chitin shards to Solarnese plated leathers and full chainmail. Che already knew that most of the Ant-kinden of the Exalsee lived nomadic lives in the Forest Aleth and were reckoned a primitive lot, by the Solarnese at least. The Ostranden, however, had broken from that lifestyle, settled down in their inherited fortress and acquired civilized vices. In fact they were starting to become a mirror of the fiercely territorial Lowlander city-states that Che knew all too well.

With evening coming on, Che and Trallo found themselves sitting discussing alliances with a Spider-kinden woman and a Solarnese man. Travellers did not set off singly down the road to Porta Rabi, for the desert fringe held too many dangers to be travelled alone. The Solarnese was a rug-trader, the Spider was a slaver, and Trallo had brought them together and, as a reward for the introduction, earned a place in their company. Che had the vague impression they would be paying him for the privilege as well but, as they only made veiled allusions to money, she could not be sure.

Manny burst in just as they were concluding their business, thundering through the door and almost falling at Che's feet. The Solarnese and the Spider had drawn blades on the instant, and Che found her own shortsword in her hand by some instinct she had not known she still owned. The fat man was running with sweat, his fine clothes ripped down the back.

'Hammer and tongs!' Che swore at him. 'What's wrong with you?'

Manny shook his head so hard that his jowls quivered. 'Not me,' he got out, 'the others … Soldiers come to the lodgings … trying to arrest everyone-'

Trallo was out of the door at once, wings a blur. Che ran after him, trying to resheathe her sword as she went. The wretched Mannerly Gorget was left to recover his breath.

They found a dozen greenish Ant-kinden standing some distance from the lodgings as they arrived. Che saw that they had apprehended Praeda already, holding the Beetle woman tightly between two of them. A dark bruise was emerging on the scholar's face. Armed with crossbows and bows, the Ant-kinden were keeping a respectful watch on the lodging-house, and Che noticed movement in one of the ramshackle building's upper windows.

'What's this?' Trallo demanded, touching down ahead of her. 'What's this? Open arrest on the streets of Ostrander?' He pitched his voice loudly enough to carry to all the traders and travellers and caravaneers loitering nearby, all the other foreigners. The Ostranden Ants remained packed close together and Che could see that the incident had already attracted more notice than they were happy with.

It must be the Vekken, she decided, with a sinking heart. Had they not been able to resist antagonizing enemy Antkinden?

'You claim responsibility for these?' demanded one of the Ostranden, a woman. 'They have transgressed against us.'

'What? What have they done?' Che asked. She spotted a pitch-dark face at the upper window, and guessed that the Vekken had crossbows ready up there, and better ones than the locals.

The Ostranden woman stared coldly at Che. 'We demand our rights for trespass,' she insisted.

Che saw Trallo visibly relax. 'Oh, money,' he said, almost dismissively. 'We'll talk money. We'll come to an arrangement. Let's go do it now, before nightfall. There's no need for all this.' He glanced along the street, leading Che's gaze in the same direction. She saw another score of Ants approaching, called by their comrades' silent summons.

The Ostranden turned away, along with her soldiers, then turned back sharply. 'Tell them,' she said, jabbing her spear towards the lodging-house, 'they must leave. If they are still here at tomorrow sunset, we will burn them out, if we must.'

Che stormed off towards the house, determined to set some limits on ambassadorial freedoms. Behind them she heard Trallo begin to negotiate for the return of Praeda.

A crossbow bolt flowered suddenly in the dirt five feet ahead of her. She stopped dead, glaring up at the windows. She saw one of the Vekken there, knowing it would not be the shooter, who would now be out of sight and reloading. I cannot let these madmen have free run of the world, she decided. We must observe reason. She took a deep breath and marched towards the door. There was no second bolt.

She stormed upstairs, and they were waiting for her, standing almost shoulder to shoulder. One kept an eye on the street outside, the other faced her, expressionless.

'What have you done now?' she demanded. They said nothing. She waited a count of five for their answer, and then pressed on. 'There is an entire mountain full of Antkinden just over there, so what do you hope to gain?' She was fighting to keep her tone reasonable, though not entirely succeeding.

The Vekken stared at her for a moment longer. 'We defend ourselves,' said one, who must therefore be Accius. 'They bring the war to us and we defend ourselves.'

'By doing what?' she asked him. 'Trespassing, they said. Where did you go? Were you spying on them?'

There was a dry cough from a corner of the room. She now noticed Berjek Gripshod there, looking somewhat the worse for wear. His robes were dusty and there was a graze across his forehead. She had been so intent on the Vekken that she had missed him entirely.

'My apologies, Madam Maker, but the trespass was mine — mine and Miss Rakespear's.'

Che stared at him and the old man gave her a weak smile. 'We went to look at their home, that extraordinary construction. It would seem we were paying too much interest. One forgets how Ant-kinden can be.'

Che heard footsteps on the stairs and a bedraggled Praeda Rakespear stepped into the room. She had obviously heard the end of Berjek's statement, because she was nodding agreement.

'Suddenly they were looking at us in an unfriendly manner,' she said, always given to understatement. 'We decided to withdraw. They followed. Then they caught me when I stumbled.'

'I'm afraid for our Vekken friends here it was something of a confirmation of all their fears,' said Berjek. He was shaking slightly, but she thought she discerned a dry amusement now that the immediate crisis was past. 'They broke out the crossbows and starting sending out warning shots at the locals. If you and the Fly had not arrived when you did, then matters might have become considerably worse.'

There was no particular gratitude in his voice but Che realized that it was thanks nevertheless. She waved it away, mumbling something about it being due to Manny Gorget's finding her. Underneath, the two scholars were still reeling from having been under such unaccustomed threat so recently. Che felt the Vekken still staring at her. She supposed she should be thankful that they had not shot any of the Ostranden dead. All of a sudden she felt very tired.

'Well, it could have been worse,' she declared.

Berjek exchanged a sidelong glance with Praeda. 'It may even have been worthwhile,' he suggested, choosing his words carefully. 'What expense we have unwittingly incurred, I shall cover from my own funds. Madam Rakespear and I observed some remarkable things in the short space of time we were allowed. It has quite whetted our appetites for Khanaphes.'

That night, for once, Che absented herself from Trallo's company, leaving him to play dice with Manny and a pair of Solarnese he seemed to be looking to hire. Instead she sought out Berjek and Praeda, as they sat together in a corner of the lodging house's common room. The old man nodded when he saw her approach.

'I thought so. Still some scholar there beneath the ambassador.'

'What did you see?' she asked them.

They exchanged looks. 'The building … or perhaps artifact … is entirely artificial,' Praeda explained. 'It is made of stones and earth cemented together. I have never seen anything like it before, and so it is impossible to say how old it is, but …' She gestured to Berjek.

'There are carvings,' the old man continued for her. 'Around the base — to a height of perhaps twenty feet. Continuous carvings, made of many small, discrete images. They have eroded so far that it is impossible to make out the detail, but the style … I have seen some of the papers that Master Kadro sent back to Collegium, though I had to pry them out of Jodry Drillen's hands. The style of carving is Khanaphir, no mistake: Kadro had made rubbings and sketches. The tradition that was responsible for etching this monument, long before these Ostranden took up residence, is alive and well in Khanaphes to this day.'

In her dream she was below ground, walking beside a subterranean river in a darkness that was no darkness to her. The walls she passed were heavily carved, the details obscured by moss and damp. Ahead, where watercourses met and crossed, there was a plinth and a statue rising from the murk. The statue was long ruined. Only its broken base, showing the lowermost folds of a robe, still spoke of whatever dignitary or hero had been immortalized here. It was all so old that, in her dream, she wondered, Is this Khanaphes?

When she awoke she realized that her dreamscape was no more than the sewers beneath Myna: the ones they had rushed her through after rescuing her from Thalric's cells and torture chambers. For a moment she laughed at herself, but then she thought again: old. The Mynan sewers, seeming impossibly large, had been carved for another city — were the only relic of a time when the Apt folk of Myna had been mere slaves. There were also buildings in Collegium — parts of the Amphiophos and the College — that dated back to before the revolution. They had been put up by Beetle hands, but not for Beetle masters.

We know so little. For the Beetle-kinden, history proper began five centuries before, when they had thrown off their chains and driven out their masters. Of what had gone before that she had never really thought, until she had met Achaeos. The world appeared different to him, for he stood on the other side of that historic line. To him, the history of the world stretched back and back, full of ancient wars and pacts and rituals, but had been stripped bare in the last few centuries by the voracious jaws of progress.

And I am standing on his side of that line now. Achaeos knew of entire kinden that his people had once fought, traded with, defeated and cast into the darkness, that were mere myths to the Beetle-kinden, or less than myths. The scholars of Collegium were only now rediscovering the deep roots of the world they lived in, and their tragedy was that they would never understand what they uncovered. Their Aptitude, and therefore the limits of their world-view, would always stand in the way.

There was magic in the world, once. And her fellow Collegiates would never believe it.

On the road to Porta Rabi, only the slaves travelled first class. The Solarnese rug merchant had not been able to conclude his business in time, and so the Collegium delegation were obliged to set out beside the Spider-kinden slaver and her merchandise. She rode beneath a parasol in a howdah atop a burly, plodding beetle, while her stock in trade sat in a covered wagon drawn behind her. They had shade, they had water, and they were always fed first.The guards rode on footboards alongside the trailer, exposed to the sun and dust. Only after a day into the journey did Che realize that these guards were also slaves.

'Why don't they escape?' she asked. 'Why not free the others and escape?'

Trallo gave her the look he reserved for mad foreigners. 'Why should they? They've got it good: get fed, even get money. Only thing they ain't got is freedom, and that's an overvalued commodity.'

He had secured them a rattling automotive in which to make the trip, together with a pair of Solarnese to serve as driver and guard. The machine was broad-wheeled, all wooden save for the steam engine and its casing. Most of its open rear was loaded with coal and waterskins to quench the automotive's constant hunger and thirst. The academics and the Vekken were crammed into whatever space remained. A smaller beetle scurried behind them, so loaded with their luggage that only bags and legs could be seen of it. They kept pace easily with the slaver and her bulky animal, giving them plenty of time to reflect on the flesh trade.

The guards were Solarnese, as were most of the slaves within the wagon. All were debtors, petty criminals or the plain unlucky. Their patient, uncomplaining presence made Che feel wretched. It was not just that slavery was outlawed in Collegium: it was that she herself had been where they were now. True, slaves of the Wasps were treated worse, for the Wasp slave corps cared little for the physical condition of its stock and more for head count, but slavery was slavery. Che was watching a crime taking place here, and she knew she should make some protest, but there was nothing she could do. She seemed to be the only one who cared. Praeda and Berjek studiously ignored the whole slave party, and Mannerly Gorget had a speculative look in his eye. He leant over the side of the automotive thoughtfully but, when Che challenged him on it, he shrugged his rounded shoulders.

'They do things differently here,' he said. 'I mean, yes, I know it's wrong. Morally wrong and economically unsound. I've been to all the same lectures as you. Only we of Collegium are rather the exceptions, because most of the world is quite happy about it. And you haven't had the trouble with servants that I've had. Sometimes I do wonder whether the Spiders have the right idea.'

Che clambered forward to where one of the Solarnese stood beside the simple levers that controlled the machine. She was a lean, scarred woman with her hair cut very short. Her counterpart, a solidly built man, stood behind, ready with the next waterskin when it was needed. They both carried slender, curved Solarnese swords, and the driver also had a winch-crossbow slung across her back. She gave Che a wary nod when the Beetle girl reached her. The heat from the engine only added to the heat of the day.

'This is a desolate place,' Che said, trying anything for conversation.

The woman shrugged lopsidedly. 'This is the edge of the Nem,' she replied, one hand taking in a landscape that was merely scrub-covered hills and dust-filled air as far east as the eye could see. 'This is friendly. Go east and you'll know what harsh means.' There must have been a sudden change in the tone of the engine that Che had not detected, for the woman now turned from her levers and rattled a hopper of coal down into the furnace, shouting at her colleague for more water. I should help, Che thought, and then recalled, I can't. She had lost all sense of how things worked. She would only get it wrong, yet not be able to see why.

*

The road between Ostrander and Porta Rabi was like a string of three pearls, each pearl a water stop. The first was a great stinking steam-powered pump with a caravanserai enclosed by a palisade wall. The second was an oasis, where the land fell down almost sheer towards a sheen of dark water, fringed with an absurd riot of ferns and horsetails. Trallo's party were not the first to take advantage of it. As they drew near, with evening visible already in the sky to the east, they spied two pitched tents, one gleaming white and the other painted in jagged patterns. Trallo hopped aloft and flew ahead, his arms out to indicate peace, to see who they would be spending the night with. By the time the slaver's entourage had coaxed her huge beast to the water's edge, there was a welcome ready, of sorts. Che saw two handfuls of hard-looking men and women with weapons to hand, but lowered. They were waiting to see if this was a trick, if they would have to fight. It was an insight into Trallo's world, for all his smiles and banter. The caravan life was clearly an uncertain one.

There were a good eight Dragonfly-kinden there, reminding them how close they were to Princep Exilla, with its piracy and violence. They had long-hafted swords and recurved bows, and they wore loose clothes with cuirasses of leather and painted wood on top. Their faces were tattooed into scowls.

Beside them was a smaller knot of armoured men. They wore dark metal, with helms that hid their faces, and their shimmering tabards showed a dark hand prominent on a dark field. Iron Glove Cartel, Che remembered. There were only three of them, but their facelessness, their stillness, gave them a greater air of menace than the posturing Dragonflies. Che found her attention coming back to them over and over, as though their very presence was a secret she could not read.

The Spider slaver was helped down from her mount, giving both groups an impartial nod. Trallo flitted over to instruct his two hirelings where to pitch camp.

'Once we're all set up,' he said, 'we'll pitch torch-posts around everyone, get us a fence. We're about as far from home as you can get on this road, so I don't think anybody minds cosying up.'

'What are they here for?' Che asked him. The Dragonflies and the Iron Glove men had gone into one of the tents, leaving a single painted warrior standing watch outside.

'Not that they exactly told me,' the Fly said, 'but it's the weapons trade. I hear the Monarch of Princep doesn't like the Gloves and won't deal with them. They make the best kit, though, so all the little chiefs are falling over themselves to set up deals like this. No need to say, we've none of us seen any of this.'

Wake up!

Che did. She started awake in the tent, shocked out of a deep sleep to utter wakefulness by the urgent command. Her eyes were already penetrating the dark without her summoning the Art. She sat up.

The others lay crammed around her. Praeda Rakespear was a sloping, blanket-covered form to one side, and the Solarnese teamster was curled up on the other, knees drawn up almost to her chin.

Wake up!

'I-' She stopped the words, realizing the voice was inside her, not in her ears. She formed the name in her mind, as tentatively as touching a wound. Achaeos?

Get up! Now! The voice inside her was harsh, impatient. She stumbled to her feet, shaking off her blankets like a landslide, colliding with the tent pole. Her hand found her scabbarded sword by instinct.

The voice was urgent. Now!

I'm going mad. She slung her grey cloak over her nightshirt and blundered from the tent, hearing the Solarnese woman cursing sleepily behind her.

Outside, the world was immense. The sky reached cloudless, star-studded, from every horizon. For a moment she could only stare. Is this what he wanted to show me? She had not guessed at it, how vast the sky was, out at the desert's edge. It was well worth seeing.

Then: Hammer and tongs but it's cold!

'Bella?'

She jumped. The Solarnese, Trallo's hired man, stood nearby, frowning at her. The two of them stood in the middle of their triangle of tents, and beyond was the big marquee of the Spider slaver and the pitches of the Dragonflies and the Iron Glove. She stared about at it all, trying to read a secret that the scene did not possess.

There was a shimmer and a shadow in the air. The Solarnese man clearly could not see it. It was there nonetheless.

'Achaeos …?' she said, and she reached out, and who cared what anybody thought. 'Please …'

Draw your blade! the voice snapped, and the weapon was in her hands in the same instant. There was a startled shout from the Solarnese, a whisper of steel as his own curved sword leapt out. The shout further drew attention. A Dragonfly woman Che had not even noticed had abruptly stood up, drawing back her bow. One of the Spider's slave-guards appeared, running round the edge of her tent with a crossbow at the ready.

Everyone was staring at her.

'…' Her voice was dry. There were words inside her, but she was fighting to keep them down.

Say it.

'There's …' I don't know this. I can't say this. 'There's about to be an attack.'

They continued to stare at her. She saw that Trallo had put his head out of the tent he shared with Manny and Berjek, and that one of the Vekken was also looking out from their compact little billet.

'There's going to be an attack,' she said helplessly. 'An attack. Going to be an attack.'

'Woman …?'Trallo said hoarsely. The Dragonfly woman let loose a shout, and abruptly their tent started moving as her kinsfolk began to rouse themselves. Everyone else was still staring at Che, but the Dragonflies were moving. They're Inapt. They're Inapt and so they …

No. They can see better in the dark.

She turned, using her Art to penetrate the night, seeing the dust they were throwing, no matter how carefully they approached.

'There!' she shouted, a real shout now, born of true knowledge. 'There! There! There!'

The camp seemed to explode with life. It seemed that Che was now the only still point in it, the hub of a spinning wheel. The two Vekken were kneeling before their tent, each buckling the mail hauberk of the other with absolute concentration. There were half-dressed Dragonflies spilling from their painted tent with spears and bows. The Spider-kinden woman stepped fully out, wearing a nightdress of silk and with a rapier in her hand. She snapped out single words, and her guards were hurrying past her. To safeguard her slaves, Che realized. Her slaves were the most valuable thing at the oasis.

The first of the Iron Glove men was out now, half-armoured, helmed. There was a slender weapon in his hands that Che barely registered at the time.

The raiders arrived, breaking into a run as they neared the camp. There was something monstrous in front, a shape that Che's eyes could not piece together, rushing across the ground in a sudden scuttle, with something high above it. Behind it were men, huge men. She saw their blades first, great bludgeoning swords and massive axes that they held in hands jutting with claws. They wore patches of dark armour: hide and metal. Their skins were white.

Scorpion-kinden. For a moment she could only think of old Hokiak in Myna, but these were the wild version, the real thing, Scorpion raiders from the desert.

There was a rattle of crossbows as the Spider's guards loosed their shots. Che saw at least one of the attackers go down, then the tide was on them. The vanguard thing was revealed as a scorpion longer than a man, its sting poised like a fencer's blade.

Trallo knelt beside her, loosing a bolt from one small crossbow, then taking up a second. 'Someone load for me!' he snapped, and to Che's surprise it was old Berjek who took the slack weapon and wound the string back.

The huge scorpion lunged forward, and the Spider's guards scattered out of its way. Arrows seemed to spring off its carapace as the Dragonflies loosed, but it just shook itself once and lunged forward again. This time it caught a man in its claws. Che heard bones snap and then the sting darted in delicately, and stopped his heart.

A huge man loomed in front of her, drawing back his axe for a swing. The weapon was as long as she was tall and she stalled, sword loose in her hand, unable to strike. A crossbow bolt flowered in the giant's side, slowed by his armour, and he turned on Trallo instead, bringing the axe down. The Flykinden abandoned his bow and darted up and away, the axe-head following him with surprising deftness. Che lunged.

She had not meant to. Her blade skidded and then dug in and she looked up into that furious white face, with its monstrous, tusked underbite. Another shortsword raked shallowly across the man's ribs and he roared, turning with axe raised high. As it went up, the second Vekken rammed his own blade into the Scorpion's armpit all the way to the hilt with effortless strength, and then the two of them were moving on, wordless in their teamwork.

The great scorpion had torn a gash in the Spider's tent, and her guards had taken up spears to keep it back. Abruptly there was a series of harsh snapping sounds and the monster recoiled, claws raised high in threat. Che turned to see the three Iron Glove men calmly reloading, slipping finger-length bolts into the chambers of their snapbows.

Snapbows?

There was no time to wonder. Another Scorpion-kinden thundered past, another giant. They were all at least seven feet tall for sure. She stumbled back, seeing the huge man take a sweep with his greatsword, catching one of the Dragonflies and almost cutting the woman in half. The Scorpion roared in defiance, and then his head snapped back, the fletchings of an arrow jutting from between his eyes.

Abruptly there was nothing to fight, and Che was wandering amid a trampled camp with her sword in her hands. The Scorpions and their monster had fallen back into the desert. She spotted them regrouping, assuming themselves unseen, two hills away.

A lot of people were looking at her, with expressions she lacked the strength to analyse. She sat down heavily, feeling drained.

Achaeos? She said it in her head, but there was nothing but the echo of her own thoughts. Achaeos, thank you, but can you not give me more? Thank you for saving us all, but … But I love you and it is hard for me, with you dead and so close.

She found that she was crying, the tears streaking down her cheeks. Without warning the cold struck her, making her shiver uncontrollably. The sword fell from her hand. The two Vekken ambassadors were nearby, watching her doubtfully. She did not care. It was all too much. Her sobs escaped whether she tried to stifle them or not.

Trallo draped a blanket round her. It was hours from dawn but nobody would be getting any more sleep. There were five bodies to bury, and as many dead Scorpions to move from near the water. She heard the Fly give a businesslike sigh, steeling himself to his task.

There was no answer within her. Achaeos — or his ghost or her madness — had done his work and left without a word. Oh, you have grown cold, since you died. She felt like screaming for him to either stay and let her know he still loved her, or leave her for ever — and who cared if the Scorpions killed her? It was hard, it was so hard.