Adrian Tchaikovsky - Heirs of the Blade

‘What do you want with us?’ she demanded. Her own sword was out now, a short Collegium piece.

‘With you, nothing. Go follow your man there, if you wish,’ the slaver replied.

‘I don’t wish.’ She stood closer to Thalric, despite the odds. Just then, he could have wished for her to take the man’s offer, because he was faster than she was, both on the ground and in the air, and protecting her would get him killed all the sooner. Still, the odds were hardly favourable even without her.

‘What’s this?’ he asked them. ‘Who are you?’

‘Captain Halter, at your service.’

There was an awkward pause, because clearly the man expected his name to mean something, but Thalric could not place it.

‘I don’t know you…’

‘No?’ Halter’s face betrayed a twitch of annoyance. ‘But I recall you, Major, or your description at least.’

This use of Thalric’s old rank sent a dangerous jolt through him. This may suddenly become worse than I thought.

‘I wasn’t always the man of means you see before you,’ Halter continued, clearly delighting in having a captive audience. ‘I used to be a very lowly man indeed. But not entirely abandoned: I still got the lists.’

Thalric stared at him. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘I used to spend a lot of time memorizing those lists,’ Halter explained, positively beaming over his own cleverness. ‘We got plenty of fugitives coming through the Principalities. It was one of the few ways I could really attract my superiors’ notice, by turning in a few decent traitors. Names and descriptions, I memorized every one. Used to recite them to myself before I slept, most nights.’

‘I don’t know who you think I am,’ Thalric started. ‘My name’s-’

‘Aulric, you told the merchant,’ Halter finished for him. ‘So he told me, but I remember a man who matches your description nicely – a man who was right near the top of those lists, not so long ago.’

‘Listen, I’m not-’

‘Then you won’t mind stripping off and letting me and my lads look at your scars,’ Halter proposed, leering. ‘You see, Sergeant Aulric, this Thalric I remember had picked up a big old scar running from his navel to just about his knee. The description was very specific.’

‘Those lists… they must be years old, though.’

‘Oh, but once you’re on a list, there’s only one way off, as everyone knows. Imagine the reward I’d get for turning in such an inveterate traitor.’

But I’m not a traitor: I was the Regent… And of course such a revelation would make matters a great deal worse. Thalric steeled himself, reasoning that this slaver would want him alive. Once again, he wished Che had fled, but to order her away now would surely give Halter the idea of using the woman as a hostage. Right now, the man probably thought Che was a servant or slave or something.

‘So, you’re going to strip, or shall we just fly you off to the Empire and see if they want you?’ Halter demanded.

Thalric was formulating a line concerning the wrath of his notional Consortium masters, when a voice shouted out from behind Halter.

‘Right now, you sneaky bastards! Face a real man!’

Halter whirled around, and half his men with him, to see an apparition come striding into the lamplight, out of the drifting snow, approaching almost within spear-reach before they could react.

The newcomer appeared colossal, but that was mostly the armour. A full-face helm exposed nothing of him save a narrow eyeslit, whilst segmented pauldrons encased his shoulders, and his torso was locked into a massive breastplate and backplate, from which hung curved tassets that descended clattering to mid-thigh. Brutal-looking gauntlets encased his hands. All of this was worn over the full layer of mail that Thalric had last seen the same man wearing, for that voice, despite its hollow echo, was Varmen’s. He had his heavy-bladed sword in one hand, and a broad heater shield strapped to his other arm. The man had transformed himself into a ghost of the Imperial past: here was the heavy armour of the Sentinels, who until not so long ago had been the Empire’s pride and joy and the unyielding fist of its line battles.

The only flaw in all this barrier of solid steel was a small, jagged hole in the breastplate, low-down to the left and barely noticeable.

‘Oh, piss-damn,’ Halter swore, shaken, and Thalric let fly a sting-bolt that killed one of the archers, whilst lunging at the other in a flurry of wings. The bowman twitched backwards, out of reach, but Thalric’s backhand swing smashed his bow before he could bring it to bear. Then Varmen was charging down on Halter, an unthinkable weight of both metal and man in smooth, furious motion. The slaver rapidly let fly with his sting three times, twice caught on the shield and once searing harmlessly off the breastplate. One of the Dragonfly spearmen, undergoing a surfeit of loyalty, tried to get in the way, but Varmen did not even give him the courtesy of a sword stroke, barging him aside as though the man was irrelevant, bellowing ‘Pride of the Sixth!’

At last, Halter tried to fly, wings suddenly sparking from his back. He had left it too late, though, and Varmen’s blade chopped down to catch him neatly between neck and shoulder and slam him to the ground.

The Dragonflies had joined in the fighting, and Thalric had been hard pressed to keep the spearmen at bay in those first few seconds, until Che had lanced one through the ribs. Once Halter was down, however, they scattered instantly into the night. Had there been a free archer left amongst them, Thalric would have expected some long-range reprisal. As it was, he reckoned he and Che were probably safe from at least that particular pack of villains for the rest of the night.

He turned his gaze to the armoured behemoth that Varmen had become, and saw that the man had not yet sheathed his sword, but instead was now staring at him through that dark eyeslit.

‘The lists,’ came the man’s voice, hollow from within the helm.

‘What?’ Thalric asked, with a sinking sensation in his stomach.

‘He said your name was on the lists,’ the other Wasp stated flatly.

Thalric felt himself tense, so as to be ready if the man came for him. Halter’s sting had barely marked that solid armour, but Thalric’s Art was considerably stronger than most, and he would aim for the lighter mail over Varmen’s throat.

‘What’s going on?’ Che wanted to know.

‘Lots of people were on the lists,’ Thalric said defensively, enlightening her not at all.

‘Oh, I remember the cursed lists, and all the names on them were Rekef,’ Varmen spat. ‘It’s true, isn’t it? You watched me doing all that mumming for the Dragonflies, all those hints about how you were a sneak, and all the time you were laughing at me ’cos it was true all along.’ His voice had turned raw and angry.

‘Varmen, listen,’ Che said hurriedly. ‘It’s not what you think-’

‘I remember your lists,’ Varmen snapped. ‘When we were waiting to march on Sarn with the Seventh, two or three times some pack of Rekef executioners would come from down the rail line, with their cursed lists. They’d haul someone out from inspection, hustle them off, and then it was an unmarked grave and no questions asked. Because they were on the lists. And, you know what, I don’t care. Let Rekef kill Rekef, I’m not going to piss any blood for that – but those poor bastards they hauled out, we knew them. We’d known ’em for years, you know? Ate with them, diced with them, trusted them to watch our backs – and they’d been Rekef all along, spying on us, writing down every last thing anyone said that sounded like it might be treason.’

‘So what are you going to do about it?’ Thalric demanded of him.