The Scarab Path

Twenty-Six

She had expected Totho to at least sit down and talk to her, after they bustled her into the Iron Glove factora. He seemed to have no time for her, though. She had assumed at first that this was some mad impulse of his, and that he could not know what a nest of hornets he would be stirring. Now she saw that he had planned everything.

They had moved her from room to room within the factora, ahead of a wave of fortification. Allotted such primitive facilities, the Iron Glove were not content to let them lie: the solid stone framework of the factora building was being re-edified even as she watched. She caught brief moments of the process as they moved her deeper inside. They were fixing metal grills over the windows, with apertures large enough to admit a snapbow's barrel. They had replaced the main door with something iron-bound and reinforced. Iron Glove people were running everywhere, now, strapping on breastplates and buckling on helms, checking the workings of crossbows and snapbows.

He's making ready for a siege. She could understand the logic. The Khanaphir could not stand by and allow these foreign merchants the run of their city. But they are not merchants. The staff of the factora had transformed their headquarters into a fort, and themselves into soldiers. She had no doubt that they practised regularly with all the different weapons that they sold.

At last she caught a brief glimpse of Totho again, helmet pushed back, his face appearing almost transformed. It was a look she remembered from when she had found him engaged in some artificing project or other, where everything was coming together just at the last moment.

She called out his name, even as two Iron Glove men began manhandling her up some stairs. She saw his head turn, then he strode over, leaving half a dozen metal-clad men waiting on him. He still wore his own elegantly fashioned mail, that made the serviceable equipment of the others look like something that should be hanging in a museum.

'Later,' was all he said, from the foot of the stairs, and then turned to go.

'Totho, tell me what's going on!' she cried, struggling furiously with the men that held her. 'This is me, Totho!'

'Yes, it is.' He turned sharply back to her, and he was actually grinning. It was an expression of desperation and elation all muddled together. 'Oh, I'll tell you all right what's going on, but not now. Soon enough I'll tell everybody what's going on.' Then he was off once more, marching back to his troops, and Che continued being hauled backwards up the stairs.

'Curse you!' she shouted after him. 'You can't do this!' She was about to add that he had no right, but Thalric's words came back to her, about what her 'rights' were worth.

'Bring her in here now.' She recognized the voice as Corcoran's, though his helm left him as anonymous as all the rest.

'You are all going to regret this so much,' she warned him, because she had nothing else to say.

'I imagine you're bang on the money there,' Corcoran concurred. 'Mind you, it's too late to be having second thoughts now, but I'm sure Himself will find a way out of this.'

'He's gone mad,' she hissed. Poised in the doorway to her latest prison, Che wrestled around to confront him, seeing his leather-clad shoulders rise and fall.

'And what manner of man hasn't said the same about his employer, once or twice?' was all Corcoran could offer before they propelled her inside. She heard a click — and saw that even the lock was new, bolted on to the solid Khanaphir door. She had to concede that she had clearly not done herself proud as a diplomat.

Are ambassadors kidnapped on a regular basis? And what is the diplomatic response? Are you supposed to remain calmly polite and thank everyone for the personal service?

The room they had put her in was located two storeys up, and they had not yet barred up the window. The opening was barely big enough for a Fly-kinden, though, which meant there would be no escape there. Scuff marks on the floor suggested that the Iron Glove had been using this as a storeroom, but now it was practically empty.

Someone else moved inside the room, and she froze, reaching automatically for the sword they had taken away from her. He had been standing by a desk in the corner of the room, small and still enough for her not to have noticed him.

'Trallo …' She heard the uncertainty in her own voice, on realizing he was no prisoner. A Fly-kinden could go in and out of that window as often as he pleased.

'Hello, Che,' he said, with an awkward look on his face, suggesting they had at last punctured his cheer. She gave herself a moment to rein in a temper that had been increasingly on its own recognizance of late.

'Just how many people,' she asked sharply, 'are paying you to "look after" me?'

He grimaced. 'Well, the thing is, you see … after that scuffle in the Marsh Alcaia, your Iron Glove fellow sent me a message, wanted to do business. Now, you know, in my line of work, you don't want a bad name with any of the big traders.' Seeing her darkening expression, he hurried on. 'And it was just … I was watching out for you anyway, and at the time it didn't seem that there'd be a problem about it.'

'I'm sure the shiny money blinded you to the obvious. And now?'

'And now I have what's known as a conflict of interests,' Trallo admitted. 'How was I to know that this Totho fellow would lose his mind so completely?'

Che stared out of the window. There was no crowd gathered yet, but it would only be a matter of time. It was not that she herself was so very important, but the sovereignty of their hosts had now been challenged. She knew how seriously they would take that. 'He's not mad,' she decided. 'I don't really know what he is, any more, but he's not mad.'

'Old friend of yours, he claimed.'

'He was, yes.' She thought about the man she had met after the Battle of the Rails, where it had still been possible to see her friend somewhere behind the scars that his recent history had scored across him. But the man she had met in Khanaphes had been all scars, and barely a hint left of the shy, awkward boy who had once helped her in her studies. Have I done this to him, somehow? Or is it Stenwold's doing? We cannot leave the Empire with all the blame.

She heard a rattle at the lock, and then they were around her again, bolting a grid across the window. This time she went with them without a struggle, accepting defeat. Trallo pattered along beside her, the Fly finally caught in the trap of his own diverse loyalties. She found she could muster scant sympathy, especially as he had taken her down with him.

They led her down one floor and into a long hall, where Totho was waiting with a dozen of his men.

'Now,' he addressed her, 'no more secrets.'

'Then tell me,' she said.

'I will, right now and, more than that, I'll make it a public proclamation.' He seemed on a knife-edge, as if waiting to see whether his carefully crafted project would succeed or fail. Out of everything about him, only that was painfully familiar. 'Come out onto the balcony with me,' he said.

'Totho …'

'No, no, let's …' He put on a smile. 'Let's — what do they say? — take the air? They're all out there now. The Empire, your people, lots of the locals.'

'I'm not surprised.'

'Neither am I, because it's what I wanted,' he told her. 'I've armoured this place up so that it's even given Amnon pause for thought, and now they're going to hear me out. And so are you. Come on, Che. You say you want to know what's going on? Now's your chance.'

Who would have imagined any of this? Looking over the gathering crowd, Thalric confessed to himself that he was surprised that some paltry Exalsee traders could achieve so much. Diplomatic history was being made. It was a tactic he might recommend to the Rekef: manufacture a common enemy and the world falls into your lap.

They were all here, that was his initial conclusion. Probably there were some people somewhere in Khanaphes who knew of Cheerwell Maker but had not turned out, but he could not think of any names. Her fellow Collegiates were here, of course. The three academics — old man, fat man and distant woman — were standing in a close-knit clump and looking worried. Separated from them by a pointed distance were the two Vekken ambassadors, who had arrived with their crossbows and their closed expressions. Near them was gathered the formal delegation from the Scriptora.

Ethmet himself had put in a personal appearance, together with at least a dozen of his fellow Ministers. They stood in their simple, one-shouldered robes like a gaggle of clerks, save for the respectful space that everyone else gave them. Behind them was the army, or that was how it looked to Thalric. Amnon had turned out the Royal Guard in their gilded scale mail, with their pointed shields, spears and bows. The big man was looking angry. What had happened here was a personal affront to his authority and, with perhaps a hundred men at his back, his authority was looking more and more sensitive to insult.

Did the halfbreed know what he was asking for when he opened the door on this? Thalric wondered. Looking at the way the Iron Glove had turned their factora into a fortress, he had to conclude that, yes, he had. But why? Is the man so mad for Cheerwell Maker that he will see his entire delegation slaughtered? Beyond the guardsmen were a mass of the ordinary Khanaphir, many holding staves or sickles or slings. Word of the outrage had gone quickly through the streets, no doubt tacitly encouraged by the Ministers.

Any welcome for the Iron Glove has finally expired, Thalric thought with satisfaction.

There was a silence falling on them now, a quiet focused on Ethmet, although he had made no sign. More soldiers were just arriving, who carried, slung between them, a bronze-shod tree-trunk. Appreciating the hush, they lowered it gratefully to the ground. Thalric eyed the reinforced door and decided the ram would burst it open after a dozen or twenty blows. He could see movement behind the metal-latticed windows, and knew the Iron Glove would be ready to defend themselves. There would be two prodigious bloodlettings, in Thalric's professional opinion: one to get the door open, and another inside once the horde of the Khanaphir began tearing every single Iron Glove man apart.

Up on the balcony that extended above the door, a handful of the Iron Glove emerged, bearing snapbows but keeping them low. The archers amongst the Khanaphir already had arrows to the string, just waiting for the command to draw.

Totho came forth next. Although most of those come to cause his ruin would not have recognized him, the sight of his armour, and the way his men deferred to him, singled him out. One of his men passed him a speaking horn, and Thalric felt a wrinkle of contempt for a man without a parade-ground voice.

Cheerwell was pushed out to stand next to him, looking angry and stubborn, and Thalric felt a twitch of relief to see her still alive. He had not expected otherwise, but still …

Totho coughed into the cone, the noise emerging garbled and tinny. 'Is everyone here?' he asked. His voice boomed back across the crowd, echoing from the walls across the street.

'Explain this!' Ethmet demanded, needing nothing but his own lungs. Thalric would not have thought the old man had it in him, but he would have made a fine drill sergeant. 'What is this insurrection? Have you declared war on the Masters of Khanaphes, O merchant? What is this barbarism?'

And not just on Khanaphes, Thalric thought, but the Lowlands and the Empire, all in one. I would not have thought it possible to make so many enemies so swiftly.

'You're owed an explanation,' Totho replied, and his voice, even amplified, was that of an awkward artificer trying to sound forceful. 'I will give it, but I wanted everyone to hear it. What I have to say is important.'

'Release the Collegiate ambassador,' Ethmet snapped back at him. 'We will listen to nothing until she is free.'

'She will be released,' Totho said. 'I won't hold her. I wanted her out of the hands of the Empire, that's all.'

'Do you make your merchant venture a sovereign state now?' Ethmet called. 'How do you dare meddle in the affairs of your betters? Release her!'

'Oh yes, we are ambitious, we in the Iron Glove,' said Totho, and his confidence was already building. 'You may not know, but Che here can fly. She can leave us right now.' He turned from the speaking horn to say something to Che, and Thalric saw her glance at the Iron Glove snapbowmen. Her wings flickered, putting her up on the very rail of the balcony.

'Say what you have to say,' she told Totho, loud enough for many of the crowd below to hear. Thalric saw another figure nip out to join her on the railing, and it took him a moment to recognize the Fly, Trallo. The sight gave him a slight edge of unease. And what has that villain been doing with the Iron Glove? Had they captured him, for information about me?

'Thank you.' Totho had returned to the horn. 'As I say, I owe you an explanation. I beg you to hear me.'

'Explain, and then gather yourselves to leave,' Ethmet told him.

'You have been deceived,' Totho's voice boomed out. 'You are victims of your own generosity, O Ministers. You are betrayed by your very guests.' There was a moment's murmuring before Totho caught up with the crowd's response. 'I don't mean myself. I don't mean this,' he said. 'This is nothing, a moment's misunderstanding, to be soon forgotten.' He waited, letting the murmur die down. His eyes sought out Thalric.

'There is an army marching on Khanaphes even as we speak,' Totho declared. 'An army of the Scorpion-kinden called the Many of Nem. Your enemies.'

There was a ripple of alarm through the crowd, but Amnon was having none of it. 'So they come again?' he roared out. 'So let them come, and we shall beat them back, as we have before. Totho, we made you welcome here, and what are the Scorpion-kinden compared to the thing you have done?'

'This is no army such as you have ever faced before,' Totho said, forcing sincerity into his words, overstressing them. Thalric realized he must have rehearsed all this, must have written his own script for this confrontation. 'These Scorpion-kinden possess new weapons, terrible weapons the like of which Khanaphes has never seen before. And why? Because they work for new masters. The Many of Nem now march under Imperial officers, and they wield Imperial arms. The Empire has set them upon your city, while their own ambassadors lurk within your walls and speak of peace!'

It was unexpected enough thatThalric ran the words back through his mind before fully grasping them. By that time he realized that everyone was now staring at him, the lone Imperial representative in all that crowd. Che was looking at him, too, and he returned her gaze and shook his head.

'What nonsense!' he said, pitching his voice to carry across the whole crowd. 'There is no Imperial attack on Khanaphes. Why would we? We have no ambitions here.' He heard that old empty promise of the Empire on his lips, betrayed a hundred times. But we have none, for what would we do with Khanaphes anyway? Give us ten years, and perhaps … 'There is no attack or, if there is, then these Scorpions come of their own accord.' He felt slightly unsteady in his stomach, though. And has there not been some piece missing, of all of this, ever since we arrived? Still, it made no sense. There was no attack. He would know if there were. They would tell me …

'Send your scouts west!' Totho demanded. 'Or just wait a day, perhaps two, and you will not need my warnings. Perhaps your hunters and farmers can already see a dustcloud on the horizon. The Empire is nearing with its Scorpion tools, I swear to you — and knowing that, what plans might they have had for the Collegiate ambassador? What could I do but rescue her from their grasp?'

The crowd was in uproar. Some were already hurrying off, perhaps to seek out family or friends. Totho's words would be across all Khanaphes before morning. Ethmet's call for silence might have stilled them, but he did not give it. Instead, he was conferring with his fellow Ministers and then with Amnon. The Royal Guard stood uneasy, looking sidelong at each other, still under their rigid discipline.

Che stepped out from the balcony, letting her wings carry her to the ground. She landed in front of Thalric, in the suddenly widening space that had appeared about him.

'I swear,' he protested, 'I know nothing of any attack. There is no attack.' He found his heart racing. They have me believing it now.

Che studied him for a long time, enough to tell him about the distance that had re-opened between them. 'Those are two different things,' she said.

'Yes, yes, they are,' he admitted. 'I must speak with Marger and the others. There has been some mistake.'

'Why would Totho make such a claim, if it were not true?'

'To buy himself time, no doubt. Or perhaps the Scorpions are raiding, for truth, and he wishes to paint them in black and yellow?' Thalric shook his head. 'There is no attack. I will speak with my people-'

'Ambassador Thalric.' Amnon appeared, abruptly looming at his side.

Thalric looked up at him. 'I need to return to my embassy-'

'You must first speak with the Ministers. They require assurances.' There was no hint of a request in Amnon's tone. Thalric cast a desperate look at Che: Trust me. There was no sign of trust in her face, though. And I have given her enough cause to doubt me, over the years.

He let his shoulders sag. 'Lead me,' he told Amnon, and fought down the urge to look back at her, as he went.

Che watched him go, biting at her lip. She felt strangely wretched for Thalric, and on the back of that came the thought: I believe him. For once in his lying life, I actually believe him. He has been out-danced by his own people.

She had to go to the embassy. She had to talk to Berjek and the others, who were even now being ushered back to safety there. This was, of all things, a diplomatic situation, but she had no idea what she, as ambassador, was supposed to do.

Come to us.

She stopped in mid-step. She was aware that, on the balcony above, Totho's people were talking to him, fast and all at once. He was trying to look her way, but he had kicked the wasps' nest, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

Cheerwell Maker, hear us.

It was not words. It was a feeling, an intense feeling washing over her like an unexpected tide. It came from all about her, from beneath her, from the very stones of Khanaphes.

Come to us.

She could not, of course. She had her duties now, whatever they might be. There were the scholars to take care of. There was Totho. There was Thalric.

Come to us, Cheerwell Maker.

She felt herself fading, drifting … the city around her losing focus. Like the Fir. But she had consumed no drug and still she felt the ghosts of ancient Khanaphes all around her. The walls swam, their idiot hieroglyphs abruptly thrusting their meanings at her, shouting at her from every wall, some of them couched in sense, some in gibberish.

Come!

She turned and walked away, but not towards the embassies. She turned and walked away, and was soon lost in the city.

His men had been picked for their ability to fly long and far. They had stopped for a few scant hours since leaving the Scorpion horde, making such time across the desert that the towering column of dust, the great battle-standard of the Many of Nem, had long been lost behind them. Now Sulvec of the Rekef had found Khanaphes.

And what a wretched place I've found. Sulvec was a major in the Rekef Inlander, by definition an ambitious man who fed his ambition any which way. This assignment would be the making of him: he would become Colonel Sulvec on his return, or not return at all. Like so many who climbed the Rekef ladder, his loyalty to the ideals of the Empire at large had been burned away by the duties he had been given. Now his loyalty was to his own advancement, in the sure knowledge that only the Rekef could reward him as he desired, and no other would punish him so hard if he failed.

And General Brugan met with me in person to give me this mission. Sulvec had been startled, at first, but he had long since ceased to question his assignments. It was not his place to act as moral arbiter. He was the hand of the Rekef, and that was all the sense of righteousness he needed.

He spared a thought for bumbling Hrathen, playing barbarian warlord with the Scorpion-kinden. He would do his work well enough, for he had been given the tools and he had just enough rough charisma to keep the savages pointed in the right direction. So much effort for such a little thing, Sulvec considered. There must have been simpler ways. He supposed that the Scorpion assault would serve other purposes, too, that perhaps the Empire might even genuinely want to assess the Many as shock troops, useful Auxillians for the future. We will probably have to kill Hrathen, though: he grows too fond of his role.

His third Rekef assignment had been to spy on a friend, to bring the man in and interrogate him about the Broken Sword cult. He had drunk himself into a stupor for a week, after that. Thenceforth, when the Rekef had sent him out for any task, he had been ready. Thenceforth, the lives of others had been just pieces to be moved or removed, as policy demanded.

He circled over the city, looking for the mark. His men had been ensconced in a farmhouse beyond the walls, sufficiently distant to avoid notice. The sky over Khanaphes was so clear, and he was the only human being in it. Nobody below would be looking up except his compatriots.

He saw the black and yellow flag singling out the roof of a large building. He made his swift descent, coming down on the roof's edge, between two statues of Woodlouse-kinden. Seeing no watchers, he dropped down to the balcony below and slipped inside.

It was a mere two minutes later that he had them assembled: three Wasps and a Beetle-kinden, representing the Rekef Outlander's presence in Khanaphes. A lean Wasp-kinden stepped forward, eyeing him with suspicion. 'I'm Captain Marger. I'm in charge here.'

'Are you indeed?' Sulvec replied, handing over his sealed orders, which Marger accepted reluctantly. There was a moment's pause before the man broke the seal, as though he was feeling out the future through the parchment. His shoulders rose and fell, and then he cracked the paper open. His eyes flicked over the few words there, checked the brief identifying sketch of Sulvec's face, noted the signatory.

'Says here we're at your command, Major,' Marger observed without inflection, handing back the paper. 'You've got commands?'

'I'm calling you out of cover, first,' Sulvec told them. 'From now you are no longer a diplomatic mission. You are soldiers of the Rekef. Now, who should I be giving orders to?'

Marger looked at the others, shrugged again, took a backwards step. The Beetle-kinden pushed forward and saluted. 'Corolly Vastern, Captain-Auxillian,' he rumbled. 'This is Vollen, this is Gram. I'm ranking Rekef Inlander here. What's going on?'

'Where's Major Thalric, first of all?' Sulvec asked.

'Diplomatic duties,' Corolly said. 'There was an attack on this embassy.' One thick thumb indicated the broad bruise across his face. 'He's been in with the natives for hours now, but he got a message out to us, and it made interesting reading.' The Beetle's eyes were suspicious. 'It's being claimed that we're attacking Khanaphes, sir. Using the local Scorpion-kinden.'

And how did that news outreach me? Sulvec already had his suspicions. 'Consider it fact, Captain,' he said. 'We have one official duty left to perform in this building, and after that we resort to stealth procedures. We will soon not be welcome in this city.'

They exchanged glances, none of them happy about it, but none of them about to say so.

'So what's the one duty, sir?' Corolly asked, expressionless.

Sulvec smiled like a knife. 'Tell me, when's Thalric expected back?'