Adrian Tchaikovsky - The Scarab Path

His men were returning now, and he began his count.

The fat man came first, ballooning out his nightshirt and complaining vociferously. He had a half-full bottle in his hands and nearly tumbled down the full length of the stairs, saving himself only by clutching at the soldier who escorted him.

'What in the wastes is going on?' he demanded of Vollen. 'I'm a Master of the College of Collegium, curse you!'

'Shut up,' growled Vollen, and backhanded him into silence. In the ringing echo of the blow the fat man reached up to touch his reddening cheek and there were actual tears in his eyes. His flabby lips phrased words of protest, but no sound emerged. Vollen smiled approvingly.

The others were appearing now. A half-dozen servants had been rounded up by two of his soldiers, young Khanaphir men and women, wide-eyed but docile, being herded like beasts out into the hall. Best to kill them as well , Vollen decided. No witnesses, then. Not that this will be any great mystery, but let them wonder about it nonetheless .

The older man and the proud-looking woman were being hustled after them. He wore a loosely belted robe that bared his dark chest, wiry with grey hair, and thin enough for Vollen to have counted his ribs. The woman had obviously succumbed to the Khanaphir heat, for she was wrapped in a bedsheet and he guessed she was naked beneath. She was a good-looking piece of flesh as well, for one of inferior kinden. For a moment he wished he had more liberty and time to spare on this mission. She would have proved a welcome reward for staunch Imperial service. The Rekef came before personal pleasure, though, and besides, his men would all want a piece. That was bad for discipline, and this was not the Slave Corps, after all.

'Hurry it up,' he hissed, mostly to himself. There was another coming now from upstairs, a black-skinned Antkinden who was fully dressed, even to the now-empty scabbard at his hip. The soldier with him kept a few steps behind, well out of striking distance. Of the lot of them, he was the only one who looked dangerous.

There was a flurry of activity further along the landing. A small figure flitted out and over the rail, landing so close to Vollen that his forehead and Vollen's palm were just an inch from touching.

'Vollen, isn't it?' Trallo began, with a cheerful nod. He was fully dressed, and Vollen guessed he had been flying in and out this night already. They had not expected him to be here.

The Fly was now smiling up at him. 'What's going on?' he asked, looking around the academics and the soldiers.

'Just stand with the others, Fly-kinden,' Vollen told him sharply.

'Now, wait, you know me and Ambassador Thalric …' The sentence died as Trallo registered Vollen's expression. Vollen saw something click into place in the little man's head, an understanding quicker and deeper than any to be found amongst the Beetles.

He goes first , Vollen decided. If anyone has a chance of escaping, it's him . 'Keep a stern watch on that one,' he instructed his men.

The last of his force was leaning over the landing rail now, waiting for orders.

'Where are the others?' Vollen demanded of them.

'That's all there are, sir,' one of them reported. 'We've gone through every room.'

That's not right . There was that woman who had met them when they arrived, and most of all there was the ambassador. Something else was niggling at him too, but he could not immediately place it.

'Where's your ambassador?' he demanded of the old man.

'Abed,' was the dignified reply. 'My name is Berjek Gripshod and if you have diplomatic business, at this late hour, I shall assist you.'

'There's nobody else here, sir,' the soldier left on the landing insisted.

Vollen put a hand out to pincer the old man's chin with thumb and forefinger, the heat of his sting already warming his palm. 'Where,' he said again, 'is the ambassador?'

'She was here.' It was the Beetle woman. 'She's been here all day, and I saw her going to bed.'

How did she know? was Vollen's immediate thought, because he understood instantly that the woman Cheerwell had somehow fled the embassy already, abandoning her companions to their fate.

He had a sudden and unwelcome conviction that she would be somewhere with Thalric. The two of them had seemed too close for Imperial propriety.

'Where is the other woman? The …'What was the name now? 'Coggen.'

'Dead,' Gripshod explained. 'Some days back.'

Vollen released him, stepping back and levelling his hand. It seemed to him that he had heard something of that, now it was mentioned.

'What is going on?' the old man asked, rubbing at his jaw. 'You must be mad.'

'Vollen, listen to me,' Trallo spoke quickly. 'Vollen, there are other ways than this. There's no war between Collegium and the Empire — not yet. Do you really think that this will go unnoticed? Vollen, nobody wants these kind of complications, really, when you think about it clearly, come on-'

Vollen turned his open palm on the little man, choking off the words. Fly-kinden — loathsome, treacherous vermin, and this one most of all .

'Deal with them,' he snarled.

The crossbow bolt took him by surprise, lancing into the back of the man standing nearest to the Vekken prisoner. Vollen's own stingshot went wild as the Fly-kinden ducked desperately away. There was another Vekken on the balcony. There were two of them? Of course there were two of them! So little had been seen of either of the Ants that somehow the two had become one in his mind. The ambassador's had been the absence that Vollen had fixated on.

The soldier on the balcony turned his sting towards the newcomer, but the Vekken had closed already, and they were sword to sword instantly.

'Kill them!' Vollen shouted. 'All of them!' The first Vekken was now wrestling with another of his men, holding both wrists away, trying to bend the Wasp backwards. Vollen turned back to the Beetles.

The fat man moved. It was a ponderous lunge at the man next to him, but unexpected. The bottle smashed over the Wasp's head, and one thick hand closed about the man's sword-hilt and wrenched the blade from its sheath, hard enough to spin the Wasp half around. With a grunt of effort he drove it into the disarmed soldier as hard as he could. It punched into the man's armour, leaving a savage dent and knocking the man off his feet. The Wasp's sting flashed, more by instinct than intent, knocking the fat Beetle backwards.

The old man made a try for Vollen, but the Wasp punched him in the face as hard as he could, laying him out on the floor. The Khanaphir slaves were cowering away, keeping as low as they could. Vollen snarled and looked around for the woman with his hand already extended.

Something struck him hard, almost throwing him from his feet. He felt a blade scrape across his armour, and then the Fly-kinden, Trallo, was fighting with him, trying to wrench his arm aside. Vollen made a grab for him, but the little man was agile, tugging and pulling at him and escaping his clutching hands — a nuisance with a small knife, but a nuisance that was taking all of Vollen's attention.

The Beetle woman lunged at him and broke a chair across his back, smashing the priceless Khanaphir craftsmanship to splinters. Vollen hit the ground hard, feeling his shoulder take the brunt of the attack. He turned onto his back, palms up. The woman grabbed one of his arms, trying to twist it flat. Trallo raised his dagger, his face a white mask of fear.

The flash of the soldier's sting warmed Vollen's face, and the little man was thrown halfway across the entrance hall by the impact of it. The woman screamed and leapt away, staring at the Fly's charred body.

Vollen whisked himself to his feet with a flick of his wings. 'Right,' he said, fully aware that he would receive no commendations for this. Then the front door burst open.