Adrian Tchaikovsky - Blood of the Mantis

He levelled his hand at them, and he saw them trying to muster courage, and failing. They would not go, yet nor could they act. He would obviously have to make their minds up for them.

With a curse, because it had been a reasonable day until then, he loosed his sting, punching one man off his feet into the arms of his fellows, with a blackened circle in the centre of his chest. The victim was dead before his friends could let him go, and by then Fragen and all his men had their hands levelled, making it plain that they would kill every man and woman of the mob unless they broke up.

One man, the man with the poleaxe, abruptly dropped his weapon and backed off, and then they were all going, suddenly running off and scattering amid the stalls.

‘Right,’ Fragen said vaguely. He looked at the petrified stall-holders about him, at the peasants with their bushels and baskets. ‘Someone clear that filth away,’ he ordered them, pointing at the corpse. ‘Give it to its family or throw it on the waste-heap, I don’t care.’

‘Sir!’ called out one of his soldiers, more urgently this time. Fragen turned to see another band of Szaren citizens approaching, filtering between the stalls, in groups of three and four, men and women of all ages.

He saw steel there, a lot of it: enough arms and armour that at least two in three were equipped as soldiers. Where could they…? But it was obvious enough. A few had the heavy russet-painted breastplates that the old Szaren army used to wear, but most of them were now wearing imperial armour and carrying army-issue cross-hilted shortswords or crossbows or spears, all crafted in Szar by the Bee-kinden. Others had the traditional Szar axes, each broad, curved blade balanced by a wicked back-spike. Many had squat triangles of sharp bone jutting from their knuckles, the gifts of their own Art.

Fragen tried to estimate their number but stopped when he realized there must be over a hundred of them, and more still coming.

‘Sir! Pull out, sir?’ the soldier enquired nervously, already backing off.

‘Stop where you are!’ Fragen shouted at the mob. ‘This is an imperial city, and any attempt at resistance will be taken out of your hides and your families! You know that, surely, you stupid peasants! Now back to your jobs! Back to your factories! Who do you think you are?’

The crossbow bolt lanced through him just as he finished speaking, causing him to spit the last word out with a spray of blood. Fragen stared at the fletched end of it jutting low down in his chest, and then he toppled over.

His men, already thoroughly unsettled, launched themselves into the air, wings unfurling to dart them towards the governor’s palace and the safety of the garrison.

It was the first such incident, but, by the time the soldiers had alighted on the palace balcony, it was no longer the only one.

When Colonel Gan returned to his favourite balcony again, it was under heavy guard.

Parts of Szar were already burning. He could not believe it: his beautiful, peaceful, affluent city tearing at itself like a mad animal.

‘Look at this,’ he whispered in awe. ‘What has happened? Are we at war?’ Were there foreign agents in the streets stirring up this dissent? Agents that could work so suddenly and efficiently as to upset two decades of absolute peace?

He felt like yelling at the city, shouting at it angrily as if it were an unreasonable child. He felt that a single slap should rightfully bring the place back in line.

‘You, go fetch me the Princess,’ he pointed to one of his men. ‘And where is that new captain? None of this started until he got here!’

As the first soldier ran off, Gan saw the very same captain approaching. The man was still in his dusty armour, stepping into view while he gave some final orders to a Fly-kinden kitted in imperial uniform. The small man took flight and was heading away eastwards even as the captain saluted his superior.

‘What was that about?’ Gan demanded suspiciously. ‘What game are you playing, Captain?’

‘That was a message for the rest of my soldiers, Governor,’ the captain replied, as though it was the most natural explanation in the world.

‘The rest of your…’

‘One thousand of the imperial army, all fresh from the garrisons of Capitas,’ the captain confirmed.

‘One thousand…’ Gan stared at him aghast. ‘Captain, I demand that you tell me right now just what in the wastes you’ve stirred up here.’

‘Not I, Governor, but someone realized it was coming,’ the captain said. ‘I should introduce myself, Governor. I am Captain Berdic of the Imperial Army, also Major Berdic of the Rekef Inlander.’

Gan drew in a sharp breath. They really are everywhere. He made sure that his posture and voice did not give any hint of his disquiet at what the man had said. ‘So, am I under investigation then?’

‘That remains to be seen,’ Berdic said noncommitally. ‘What exactly is going on in your city, Governor?’

‘You tell me!’ Gan snapped at him. ‘Clearly you knew it was coming!’

Berdic shook his head. ‘Governor, there are riots everywhere on the streets of Szar. There are parts of the city now held entirely by the local insurgents, so that the north and west are closed to us until further notice. Elsewhere it is only by putting all my soldiers onto the streets that peace has been maintained. Beyond those safe limits the population of Szar is arming itself for war.’

‘War?’ Gan was dumbfounded. ‘Against me?’

‘Against the whole Empire.’ Berdic shook his head. ‘Even my thousand troops may not suffice if this entire city takes up arms. It has been a while, maybe, but I’d wager these people still remember how to fight. Were you yourself here for the siege of Szar, Governor?’

‘No, and neither can you have been since you’re far too young.’

Berdic smiled without humour. ‘I have, however, read my histories. These Szaren Bee-kinden were fanatics in battle, true berserks. That is their Art, just as we have our stings and the Ant-kinden can speak mind to mind. That, Governor, is the barrel of firepowder we must now keep the spark from.’

In spite of himself Gan felt his initial antagonism towards the man draining away, leaving a kind of cold fear behind it instead. ‘What do you advise?’ he asked quietly.

‘I heard you sending for Princess Maczech,’ Berdic said. ‘That’s a good first step. Have her speak to her people. Convince her first that if Szar rises up, then the Empire will soon put it down hard. Tell her about all the men, women and children who will be strung up between pikes, the slaves sent off to other cities, the punishments meted out to her people already settled elsewhere. Tell her all of that, for it will be nothing but the truth. Now, excuse me, I must attend to the soldiers. I will leave enough men in the palace to defend it, but the rest must be a visible presence on the streets.’

He marched straight off without a salute, leaving Gan biting his lip and trying to work out where it had all gone wrong.

They escorted Princess Maczech to him within minutes. He looked into her face for signs of the madness that had gripped his city, but saw none of it there. She even smiled at him.

‘Princess,’ he said, gratefully. ‘The people of Szar are currently engaged on a course that can only lead to their destruction. Look down there, how they are tearing up their own lives! When the Emperor hears of this, he will have one man in twenty impaled outside the city. You must address them immediately. Will you now speak to them?’

‘The Emperor already knows,’ said Maczech, so softly he barely heard her.

‘I don’t understand,’ was all he could reply.

‘How is it that everyone knows but you, Governor?’ she asked him.