Adrian Tchaikovsky - The Scarab Path

Teuthete killed: it was what her kinden did. It was the red heart of all their rituals and mysteries, their oaths and honour. It was what they put up all their masquerade of customs to hide. She killed because that was what she was made for. It was not glorious or noble, merely efficient.

Scorpions were not slack in that regard, either. They, too, had mostly cast aside their axes and blades. They had an understanding, their two kinden: unarmed is best . There was a pleasing simplicity in it, unmatched by the later layers of civilized war. Claws against spines, they slashed each other, Teuthete's handful a blur of blood and motion within the Scorpion host. The archers were not shooting now, but engaged in their own close combat.

It was over, and she knew it. She could feel it in the surge and swell of the melee, as each of her followers died. Not one of them departed before their path had been smoothed by the death of many enemies. Her own time was coming, and she accepted that without question. If she was Chosen, this was what she had been chosen for.

There was sudden thunder out of a clear sky, and she felt a mighty hand take hold of her, take those around her. Most were thrown flat, but she, with her wings momentarily outstretched, was hurled into the sky.

One of the weapons had died. Its death-agonies, instantaneous but colossal, had wrecked a space of the Scorpion camp and broken open the weapon next to it. It had been the same one she had poured burning oil into, she realized.

So that is how you kill them . It was too late now to exploit this knowledge.

The air was abruptly busy with stubby machine-shot arrows sleeting up at her. The moment had gone. She saw three others of her kinden also airborne, although one was picked off as soon as she noted him.

She darted higher, labouring her way into the air. Her kinden were not strong fliers but the darkness cloaked them. The three survivors swooped over the camp, heading towards the city walls. Something tried to follow them, some flying foreigner in banded armour, but she turned in the air with her bow ready in her hands and spiked an arrow through him.

I live .

It was unexpected and she was not sure how she felt about it. The shackles of Khanaphes were still fastened upon her, but that would not last long. Amnon would find other ways for her to die. It was what being Chosen meant.

In the dawn's first light, Hrathen surveyed the damage. Angved and his engineers were picking over the damaged artillery. The bodies were being looted and then hauled off into the ravaged farmlands to rot. Scorpion-kinden were not sentimental.

'Give me a report,' the halfbreed growled. Angved clapped one of his men on the shoulder, telling him to carry on, and stood up.

'I counted around a hundred Scorpion dead,' he said. 'Half of those fell in the initial ambush.'

'Ambush?' Hrathen spat. 'How can we have an ambush occur in our own camp?'

'Well, whatever the word is.'

'What loss to your artillerists?' Hrathen pressed.

'Of the Scorpions? Three or four. They'd expected our crews to stay with their machines, I suppose. In that case, they don't know how much of a shambles this camp is. No great loss there. However, one of my better engineers got himself killed. One of the shotters had a jammed cartridge and he was working double-time trying to sort it out. Shows what you get for being too keen. Oh, and one of your Slave Corps lads got killed because he was stupid enough to chase their survivors into the dark.'

'Enemy dead?'

'Seventeen bodies recovered. Some kind of local Mantis-kinden, like we saw in the battle. I fought Mantis-kinden in the Twelve-year War: this could be a nightly occurrence.'

'Camp security is very much on my mind,' Hrathen assured him. 'What about the engines?'

'We've lost two, neither repairable. Our guests cleared the jammed cartridge by setting fire to it, and of course it was chock full of the good stuff,' Angved confirmed. 'Thankfully we'd managed to drill it into the Scorpions not to leave the shotters loaded overnight. Otherwise we might just have lost the lot.'

'Well done,' Hrathen told him. 'I want those walls down by evening.'

Angved looked away from him over to the city, that yesterday's festivities had confirmed to be within easy bombardment range. 'Quite possible,' he said. 'Normally you don't have the luxury of setting up this close, what with enemy engines on the walls and the like. Because we can, we have all the benefit of our ranging practice of yesterday, without having to spend two hours finding our mark again. I reckon we can organize a concerted barrage on the walls and gate, and punch through in good time. Or I can give you three breaches by the end of tomorrow. Just one breach might become a big choke-point.'

Hrathen nodded, conceding the thought. A moment later a man dropped to earth next to him, making his claws twitch with the suddenness of it.

'Captain.'

'Report.'

'The streets are full of people, sir. Absolutely packed full,' the scout told him. 'They're all on the move.'

'They're going to fight? What are they doing?'

'On the move away, sir. Looks like everyone who can is shifting across the river. I saw what must be a hundred boats, of all sizes, ferrying people over.'

Hrathen stared at the scout for a moment, with Angved waiting at his elbow, and then he laughed. 'I see it,' he said. 'I see it plain. Jakal'll love it. We've scared them to death already. They're giving over half the city before the walls are even down.' His face darkened. 'And it isn't necessarily a bad move for them. They'd never keep us out, and they know what will happen to every man, woman and child once we get inside. We've been guilty of thinking like an Imperial army.'

'The river,' Angved agreed.

'Quite. It wouldn't stop an Imperial advance for a moment. We'd just send the airborne over to take the far bank, worry about the rest of it later. But of course, we have no airborne, and I don't think our friends here are good swimmers.' Hrathen chuckled, the sound of a man whose day has become more interesting. 'Get me a single breach as quick as you can,' he ordered Angved. 'Clearing half a city of people takes time. Even if they started yesterday, there'll still be some sport left for us if you can have the walls down by dusk.'

'And what about tomorrow night?' Angved asked him. 'More attacks?'

'There was a tribe responsible for keeping watch, last night,' Hrathen told him. 'By midday they will be extinct. The Warlord has taken their failure as a personal insult. That will give the army something to enjoy while they wait for you to do your job. Tonight our watch will take their jobs more seriously.'

At dawn, Amnon sought out the Iron Glove factora, eluding his officers and advisers. The Ministers had been making demands to see him, and he had a pressing invitation to the Scriptora to explain his decisions. In the meantime the evacuation of western Khanaphes had been going on all night, the discipline of his troops managing to control the panic and fear of the people. Every boat that could take to the water had been transporting the people of Khanaphes to the east bank of the Jamail, the sailors and fishermen and traders shuttling back and forth across the river. They stopped only if their boats were in danger of sinking or falling apart.

The Ministers had not countermanded his orders, and in its own small way that brought home to Amnon just how bad things had become. Their fearful forbearance would not last, he knew, so he was determined to achieve as much as possible before they confronted him.

And he had promised this one indulgence to himself. It meant a lot to him.

Totho met him within minutes of his arrival, already wearing half of his mail. All around them was the sound of a company of mercenaries preparing for war. Corcoran was already on the river with the Fourth Iteration , helping with the general evacuation.