Adrian Tchaikovsky - Empire in Black and Gold

‘Take her!’ he shouted, and without much option she rammed her forehead into his chin. He cursed, and for a second his grip loosened, and she was out of it. Then two solders had grappled her to the floor again. Thalric wiped blood from his lips.

Salma got two fingers on the sword before one of the soldiers kicked him in the gut. He twisted about the blow and put the heel of one hand solidly into the kicker’s knee, sending him to the floor with a crunch of the joint. Another soldier piled on top of the Dragonfly, knocking the breath out of him. Then two of them were hauling him up, a knee jammed in his back. The man with the broken knee had his fist raised, already burning with golden light.

Salma closed his eyes.

The sound was more violent than he expected in the sudden silence of the room, a hissing crackle of violated air. He opened his eyes. The injured man was lying on his front, the back of his head now smoking and charred.

‘Alive!’ snapped Thalric at them. ‘Alive, I said! Not so difficult, is it?’

Salma saw that Che was a captive too, and knew that would complicate matters.

‘Bind him. Use the Fly manacles,’ Thalric instructed. His lip was still bleeding and he wiped at it absently.

‘And the Beetle?’ one of his men asked.

‘Just tie her hands. She won’t be flying anywhere we can’t follow.’ Thalric took a deep breath. ‘Master Monger, your assistance is most appreciated and will, of course, be rewarded.’

‘You’re taking this man’s money? ’ Che exploded. ‘You’re selling your own cousin for money?’

‘For contracts, Cheerwell,’ said Elias, as if that made it all right.

‘But they’re invaders! They’re going to come here and take over everything!’ she shouted at him.

‘You obviously have not heard of a little something called the Treaty of Iron,’ Elias said airily. ‘The Empire has no interest in us. And besides, nobody takes over Helleron.’ He settled back in his chair. ‘Helleron serves everyone best by remaining as a free city. Everyone has always known that. Here we do business with every city, every general, every merchant. Captain Thalric’s people are no different. In fact, they are some of the best customers Helleron now has.’

‘A lot of good that’ll do you,’ she snapped, ‘when they invade your city using your own weapons!’

‘Enough!’ Thalric was not loud, simply extremely authoritative. ‘I can have you gagged, Miss Maker. Don’t force me.’

Salma had been securely tied, his arms pinioned tightly behind his back, contorting him enough so that he would not be able to summon his Art-wings. He caught Che’s eye momentarily with a look that said, Be strong.

‘Take them outside. We’ll be heading east tonight,’ Thalric ordered his men, and they bundled Salma and Che out of the dining room, twisting their arms painfully at the first sign of resistance.

‘Well, I’m glad that’s over,’ said Elias primly, looking around the devastated room.

‘We will pay for any breakages, of course,’ said Thalric. ‘And I think I will leave half a dozen men here, as well.’

‘I. .’ Elias eyed him, for the first time with a little suspicion. ‘I’m not sure that will be necessary.’

Thalric smiled sardonically. ‘For the Empire’s love, Master Monger, do you think I’m going to garrison Helleron house by house, starting with yours? You forget, Stenwold Maker has arrived in Helleron, and doubtless he will come here, and soon. I have a great respect for his abilities to follow a trail of information, especially information I have planted for him to find. When he does, my men will seize him and then he will cease to trouble you.’

Achaeos lay back on the hay bale and closed his eyes. He was not sure what was happening, but he knew it was bad.

The Beetle-girl, Cheerwell, had just been dragged out of the house as a prisoner, along with some unknown Commonwealer. There was a whole pack of soldiers about them, their black-and-gold striped armour gleaming. Even now they were hauling the Dragonfly about by his bonds, jeering at him, boasting of how many of his race they had killed.

Achaeos tried to recall the wars the Commonweal had fought. He could have listed every major conflict of his own people in the thousand years before the revolution, but more recent history was hardly their strong point up in Tharn. Always fighting old battles. He cast the saddening thought away angrily.

He had a dagger but he was injured. He did not know whether he could even fly. He had lost his bow and quiver in the fighting last night. The one had leapt from his hand when the crossbow bolt found him over the mine workings. The other he had cast off himself, for more speed, as he had fled — fled here, and some sanctuary it had turned out to be. Still, he had successfully evaded Beetle soldiers before and he would do so again if he must. They were clumsy things and even if a very few Beetles could see in darkness almost as well as the Moth-kinden, none could see so well as to see him.

He peeked through the crack of the stable door and saw that the Dragonfly had fallen to his knees and been jerked roughly up again.

There had been a war just recently. The Moths had seen some of it, by scout and by distant divination. There was some new tribe on the march in the east, but that had not been important to the Moths of Tharn, who had their own battles to wage. Battles lost a long time ago. .

He wanted to dash airborne from the stable, to put his blade to use and get the debt he owed off his shoulders. Moths were not bound to honour as the Mantids were. They would break a promise or let an insult slide if circumstances suited. Still, they never did so without knowing it was a choice they had made deliberately, to turn their backs on something significant. Achaeos wanted to act but his back was being turned by his very situation. He was in no condition to help the girl.

And she’s only a Beetle . But that thought didn’t help. Strangely, he felt even more moved to help her, to show her that her people had no monopoly on good deeds. In some strange way his race’s reputation was now at stake.

There were more soldiers than ever out there and one who seemed to be in charge was giving them orders. One squad went back into the house, the rest were moving off elsewhere.

Achaeos bared his teeth. If I act now, then what?

As always, he fished in his pouch for the bones. It was a habit for him, especially when cut off from his own people. Good or bad, the omens never ultimately decided his actions. Bad omens just made him more careful.

He dropped to one knee and cast a handful of these shards of bone onto the floor, noting which sigil fell where, which of them touched another, which were alone. It was a bad spread but, unlike some of his comrades, he did not then try for a second opinion. The bones were warning him that he would not succeed if he ventured out now. Had he been already determined to go, this would not have stopped him, but here it merely confirmed his opinion. He let his hand stray from his dagger.

Good fortune, Beetle-girl. I cannot help you. The bones spoke of the future. He hoped that meant she would have some chance to free herself before she fell victim to the fate of so many female prisoners. The thought did not sit well with him. But there is nothing I can do!

He told himself that he would fly at nightfall, if he could. He could then look for her, even — if he felt his indebtedness stretched so far. Or he could simply go straight home and forget about Cheerwell Maker and her fate. No doubt his mentors in Tharn would find his quirks of conscience on this matter ridiculous. Five centuries ago their rule of the Lowlands had been shattered, defeat after defeat at the hands of their slaves’ new weapons. In the Moths’ minds a battle line had been drawn with the revolution, and they had been engaged in ideological warfare ever since.