Adrian Tchaikovsky - Heirs of the Blade

‘On the other hand, if my masters were simply looking for someone to deal with, for Commonweal goods…’ Thalric ventured. He was aware of Che, at his elbow, watching him with mixed amusement and fascination.

‘Then we will no doubt get on extraordinarily well,’ the merchant announced. ‘I am Merchant-Colonel Aarth, and we are clearly well met.’

Thalric was at pains to nod solemnly at the absurd rank. Clearly those ‘Left Behind’ by the Empire’s formal withdrawal from the Principalities had wasted no time in handing out the promotions. He guessed that, when the world around here had still been sane, Aarth had been no more than Thalric was currently pretending to be: a merchant family’s roaming factor, lacking in either power or respect.

‘Aulric, Consortium sergeant,’ Thalric replied humbly. For impromptu identities, best practice recommended a name close enough to the truth for him to respond to it without hesitation. ‘Tell me, Colonel… My masters told me that there were Wasps still in the conquered principalities, but I had expected to find…’

‘War?’ Aarth completed for him. ‘All of us holed up in castles and forts, surrounded by a besieging horde? Not at all. Oh, there were some that were worried. The top people, the magnates and generals and governors, they all got out as soon as the news came and left us to our fate. They’d been keeping well apart from the locals, see? They were expecting this to become another Myna.’ He smiled, not without a touch of self-mockery that made Thalric like him more. ‘I won’t deny that we were worried, but then we realized we weren’t the only ones. Everyone left alive here was looking at each other and seeing that the nobles are dead, the generals are gone… You might not credit it, but a lot of locals here were just as concerned about the Commonweal coming back and lumbering them with another pack of princes.’ A broad grin, from a man who plainly thought he had made the right choice back then. ‘So most of the enterprising Dragonfly-kinden, those who had been something better than dirt farmers, started to look for someone to lead them. Sometimes they chose locals, more often they picked us. We were used to leading them, see? The main thing they remember about us is that we won, that we’re stronger than they are. We’d won the battles and we still held most of the castles and defensible positions, even if we were short on men.’

For a moment he paused, as if to savour his petty victories. ‘Pretty soon everyone was taking on any locals who wanted in just to protect us from all the others. Then we started talking to each other – sorted out a new hierarchy based on how many swords, how much land, all the basics. Those Dragonflies willing to deal with us, we accepted them as our near-equals, gave them ranks like proper civilized people. The others got to go to the bottom of the pile and, with our new allies, we had strength enough to keep ’em there. For about half a year it was… well, you know the North-Empire at all? The hill tribes? It was like that, every village and town for itself. But you know how we are, Aulric: we’re better than that. We sorted it out. And those locals we’ve taken in and taught, they’re proving good students. One of the governor-generals is a reformed brigand chief of theirs. I’ve met him – he’s mad for all things Imperial, splendid fellow.’ A shadow crossed the merchant’s expression. ‘Of course we hear things have calmed down back home, with herself in charge at last.’

Thalric made a quick judgement. ‘I’ve seen no sign of armies pointed your way, Colonel. The Alliance cities are a problem, but.. .’ He glanced briefly at Che. ‘Seems to me the Lowlands are likely to be foremost in people’s minds.’

‘That’s fine, because we’d value good relations with the Empire,’ Aarth explained carefully, and Thalric understood him perfectly well. They wanted trade and the chance to visit home, but not to return to the bosom of the Empress. They were on to a good thing here, as lords of their own little backwoods empire.

After that, he and Aarth discussed matters mercantile, Thalric improvising well enough to keep the man happy. Shortly thereafter, Varmen was back with them.

‘It’s not what I’d call safe, west of here,’ their guide explained, after Thalric had bid Aarth farewell. ‘Still a few places holding out against the governor-general, which is what the local crook calls himself. We’ll have to go carefully, and be ready for a fight.’

When they left Lans Stowe, or Landstower, Varmen’s little pack-beetle had taken on a more sprightly gait entirely, and Varmen had transformed himself. He wore head-to-toe chain-mail, from the coif framing his face like a hood, to the long hauberk falling most of the way to his knees, to…

‘I’ve never seen mail trousers before,’ Che declared, staring. ‘I think that’s more armour than I’ve ever seen anyone wear ever, Varmen.’ She had kept her distance from him so far, but the sight of the man so heavily protected evidently struck her as almost comical.

‘This?’ Varmen just grinned. ‘This isn’t armour, mistress. This is just clothes you need to keep the rust off.’

As soon as they were beyond the farmland attached to Landstower, they travelled away from the roads, at Varmen’s suggestion. The terrain was surprisingly hilly, with irregular patches of dense forest, but there were plenty of goat tracks, and Varmen explained to them that the roads themselves dated only back to the occupation, and were little better, just hard-packed earth. ‘You see, the locals never did travel much,’ he explained.

Oh, I know, Thalric recalled. All these lands were places where he had fought, undertaken Rekef missions and cut throats. Imperial policy had been strict concerning the longevity of noble families in all areas under conquest.

Also at Varmen’s suggestion, they travelled on after dusk each day despite the intermittent snow, making several hours’ careful progress along the animal tracks before camping for the night, so as to make better time despite the short winter days, and to make life more difficult for anyone hoping to catch them unawares.

That was why their enemies, instead of ambushing them at their camp, were eventually forced to descend on them raggedly as they progressed.

The three of them had been moving along a lightly wooded track between two hills, when Che called out the warning, her own eyes better in the dark than either of the Wasps’. A moment later, there were forms gliding down around them, half a dozen, and then more. Thalric had his sword out, his offhand extended to sting, and Che had a hand to the hilt of her own blade.

‘All right, what’s this?’ Varmen demanded, with weapon already to hand: a sword longer and heavier than army-issue standard.

‘Give me a lantern!’ someone snarled, and one of the figures produced a rush-light from beneath a cover, lending a faint illumination to their surroundings. The newcomers were mostly Dragonflies, partly armoured in their borrowed black and gold. Standingbetween, andalittlebehindtwoofthem, wasthespeaker: a Wasp-kinden, not Aarth but the slaver at the Wayhouse.

Thalric made a quick count and found eight Commonwealers gathered in a loose half circle around them. Most of them carried spears, but a couple had bows with arrows to the string.

‘Your name’s Varmen, no?’ the slaver asked.

‘I owe you money?’ the big Wasp asked. ‘I don’t know your face.’

‘No need to worry yourself. I don’t want you. You can just take off,’ the slaver told him.

‘Is that so?’ Varmen said, looking round at all the Dragonfly-kinden. ‘Kind of you.’

Thalric was not sure what he had expected from Varmen, but when the big man grabbed his beetle’s halter and just backed off into the trees he found he was not overly disappointed. Che obviously had possessed more faith in their guide, for she shouted after him vainly, even as a curtain of driving snow took him from view, and then rounded furiously on the slaver.