Adrian Tchaikovsky - The Scarab Path

But there are no Masters! But Totho knew that to say this would be to go too far.

'I must go find my own mount, and then join my soldiers,' Amnon said. 'May we meet again.'

Totho clasped hands with him. 'Technically all my people and I have been banished from the city. It's just that so far they've not had the spare hands to make us go. I will try to stay for your return, at least. So, yes, may we meet again.' Totho tried to smile, but he saw doom reflected in Amnon's solemn nod.

Amnon's tread was heavy as he descended to the stables. Totho's words were like a weight on him — and not the only weight.

Amnon was not a stupid man, by any means, for the First Soldier's role could not sustain a fool in office. He oversaw the city watch and the militia's training, received reports from every settlement along the Jamail river, liaised with the Marsh people. It was more than just shiny armour and parades.

He believed Totho's story. It was not simply the Many of Nem on their way, who the Khanaphir had repulsed a hundred times before. The Empire, too, was coming by proxy. The Empire was coming in the shape of the new weapons they had gifted to the Scorpion-kinden. And why does this Empire hate us so? The answer was clear and uncomfortable. They barely know we exist. They woo the Scorpions with gifts, and bid them make use of them. It is simply because we are here, waiting for their attentions .

But Totho did not know the might and the will of the army of Khanaphes. The halfbreed's own people were strange, aloof and passionless. They spoke too much and too loud, these foreigners. They strutted and bragged, and had many marvellous inventions, but they lacked true spirit. This was what the Masters had preserved their city from, this shallowing of the soul.

His mind tugged itself towards that marvellous suit of armour, strong as stone, light as leather, that Totho's people had made for him. It had been forbidden him. The Ministers had spoken and, through them, the Masters.

In the stables, amidst the muted smell of the insects, he instructed grooms, 'Saddle up Penthet. I will ride him into battle.' To command his army truly, he would need to be mobile when the battle came. He flexed his broad shoulders, hearing the slight scrape of metal scales. The Many of Nem had not raided so near the city for eight years now, and never had they come in such numbers. That alone lent Totho's warnings more truth than Amnon needed to hear.

Why is he still here? Does he seek to profit somehow from the fight? It was an uncharitable thought and Amnon regretted it instantly. The unhappy halfbreed was still here because he was bound by chains that all his artifice could not break. Amnon understood, because he felt the tug of those chains himself.

He had gone to Praeda last night, seeking distraction, finding only argument. She thinks she is so clever, with all her learning. She does not understand . She had not understood when he had told her he must go to war on the morrow. Her objections had been Totho's objections, taken from that patronizing position of superior culture that all these foreigners seemed to hold, and not know they held. Amnon had weathered it — he was good at that — and in the end she had broken down, swearing that she would never speak to him again, that he could go hang himself if they could make a rope thick enough to hold him. The expressions on the faces of the other foreigners, the old man and the fat man, had been horribly embarrassed, as he made his exit. It was clear they had heard every word.

And, of course, he had thought that she might come here, before the army marched, with some last words to clear the bad air between them. She had not come.

One of his grooms brought him his favourite bow, short for cavalry work but curved back and back on itself, coiled with tautly strung power, of Mantis craftsmanship. He slung a broad quiver over his back, the arrow-tips spreading out like a chitin-fletched fan across his shoulders, ready for his fingers to pluck. When he turned round, it was to find a Beetle woman standing there.

It was not her , though. It was the other one, the ambassador who was shorter and rounder than Praeda. She was looking awkward, yet she had talked her way into the stables of the Royal Guard, and for no other reason than to see him.

'Yes, O Foreigner,' Amnon addressed her, 'how may I assist you?'

'Just Cheerwell, please,' she said. 'Or even Che.' She looked ragged, as if she had been short of food and sleep for a good while. 'Amnon …' she started, and stopped.

'Speak,' he told her.

'I've been talking to Praeda.' And she paused again, scowling at her own inability to push the matter forward. Then the grooms brought out Penthet, and she exclaimed, 'Hammer and tongs, what's that?'

The question brought a slight smile to his face. 'He is Penthet. He is a desert locust. My grooms raised him for me, from the very egg. We two have been companions in the fray for many years.' He ran a hand down the long, segmented flank of the creature, and it resettled its legs, one glittering eye watching him from above the constantly-working mouthparts. 'From his back I shall command the battle.' His hand moved to the high-ended saddle that sat so naturally over the locust's thorax, just in front of the wings. His face darkened momentarily. 'I am glad to see there is one part of war that you wise foreigners do not understand. Perhaps your predictions are not so all-knowing as you think.'

'Amnon, she could not make herself come and see you,' Che told him.

He nodded grimly. 'I had assumed as much.'

'She fears for you. It is true that we do not understand your ways here — of all people, I know that! — but you do not understand what is coming, with the Scorpions. They are bringing a part of our world against you — the worst part. Praeda … she fears that she will lose you.'

'All men must die. Warriors die in battle. Your world is not so different, I am sure,' he said. 'What would she ask of me? That the First Soldier of Khanaphes hides away, while his army fights?'

'She would have asked, I think, that you changed your battle plan — that you changed your ways as the Scorpion have changed theirs,' Che said. 'She would have asked that you took all the weapons and armour that Totho could sell you, and thus sent the Scorpions back to the Empire asking for more and better in return. She is a logical woman, but she does not see where her logic would lead. Besides, I myself have seen battles, and she has not. You cannot change an army in a day. Order and discipline are built from practice. The Scorpions cannot have had so very long to become used to their new toys.'

He regarded her for a long time before responding, 'Speak the rest, O Foreigner. I see it in your face. These crossbows … Totho tells me they are a simpleton's weapon, that any fool can take them up and shoot. And the Scorpions have had many tendays to practise. Who knows how long the Empire has been dwelling amongst them? And the Many of Nem are truly many , in their war host. Never have we known the like, this swarming of them.'

'You see it all, don't you?' Che said.

'I see that we must fight. That is the true word of the Masters. What can we do but defend our homes? The Scorpions will accept no peace, give no quarter. They seek only to loot and kill. The Empire may have armed them, but it will not have changed them.'

'And we cannot change you.'

As he met her eyes, the force of his gaze was almost like a blow. 'The Ministers declare that the Masters will save us, at the end.'

'Do you believe that?'

'I will believe it at the end. I will have nothing to lose then.'

It was a bright, cloudless morning, as they always seemed to be here. The dust of an army on the move had not yet started to choke the air. The war-host of the Many of Nem was just stirring.