Heirs of the Blade Part 25

She picked her next target, a raggedly armoured Dragonfly c.o.c.king back his spear, about to drive it into a Mercer's back. Levelling her rapier, she let it carry her to its inevitable destination, running the man through the ribs and out again, with barely more resistance from the flesh than from the air. She caught another before he even saw her, virtually by accident as he walked through the deadly path of her blade, and then she was pa.s.sing on again, pa.s.sing through the conflict like a plague, instantly striking down all who came within her orbit.

The rage was upon her, but it was harnessed now, tamed to her will. Her sword, her body, her father's memory, all of them were working in seamless harmony, so that she could ghost through a scrum of half a dozen enemy, their spearheads and blades pa.s.sing on every side, and barely have to sway or parry, their blows falling wide as if by prior arrangement. Once or twice an arrow flashed towards her, but she caught it with her sword, each shaft slanting away, spent or broken.

There was something in the faces of those she killed, and it was adulation. It was her due. In that succession of fatal moments, she became real and fulfilled, and so did her victims. She rescued them from a lifetime of greed and murder and made something great of them by using their bodies as her canvas.

She realized that they were gone, all the brigands. They had fled into the woods rather than face her. The ground was littered with them, and with the dead of her own side as well. She was not even bloodied, though. She was not touched. Instead she was smiling, and perhaps it was that smile alone that had finally driven them away.

As she looked round, something miscarried within her. For a moment the fierce killing flames guttered.

Telse Orian lay cradled in the arms of one of his fellows, an arrow sunk so deeply in his neck that the point must surely be jutting out behind. He was not dead, not quite yet, but beyond the skill of any healer they had brought with them, and it was plain that moving him would be certain to bring his end that much the sooner.

He was looking at Tynisa, or at least his staring eyes were turned towards her. His mouth worked, b.l.o.o.d.y at the corners, but no sounds came out.

Tynisa gazed about with fresh eyes. Of the score who had set out, only she and six others remained, four of the armoured n.o.bles and a couple of the most fortunate peasants. The two of them, lean spearmen clad in leather cuira.s.ses and helms, stood close together and regarded Tynisa with fear and awe. They did not look so very different to the bandits, and it seemed to her, in that moment, entirely possible that some of the flesh that had fallen before her blade might not even have been the enemy's.

What am I doing? She asked herself, looking again at Telse Orian. His eyes were still fixed . . . no, not at her exactly, but as though he saw something or someone at her shoulder.

She saw the light go out, the last spark of what had been Orian, who, out of all Alain's peers, had shown her kindness. For a moment she felt that she should run, should flee this place while she was still free of . . .

Tynisa shook her head to clear it of such foolishness. 'We must report back to Alain,' she told the survivors, a.s.suming command effortlessly. 'We must report how the bandits are driven back.'

For a moment they stared at her blankly, trying to equate her triumphant tone with the scene around them.

Che woke up into perfect awareness in the pre-dawn greyness, staring up at the ceiling. The previous night's images stirred in her mind, but most of all she remembered Tynisa, fighting with breath-taking elegance and grace, and not alone. Her every move had been shadowed by a twisted figure always at her back, one hand on her shoulder, corded with vines and racked with thorns. Tisamon had found his daughter, and Che had witnessed how he was moulding her. What part of the Mantis Weaponsmaster that was still left to haunt the land of the living had obviously decided to cling to the ancient values of his kinden: blood and death, fierce and uncompromising, with not a hair's-breadth gap into which mercy or regret could pry. Che remembered Tisamon, and what she had heard of the man's last days. From what she gathered, regrets had eaten him alive, unable to reconcile his humanity with the impossible and terrible ideals his people aspired to.

It was plain that his ghost did not intend to let his daughter go the same way, even if he had to cut out her humanity to do so. What will Tynisa become?

Her sister was suffering, and there was n.o.body else who could go to her aid, but Cheerwell Maker.

By the time dawn had claimed the east, she was ready. She had dressed, recovered those of her possessions that Thalric and Varmen had brought with them, and now sat waiting impatiently for the light to waken her companions.

First up was Gramo Galltree, whom she had met briefly the previous evening, before she abandoned the world for much-needed sleep.

He eyed her cautiously. 'You seem recovered.'

With what she now knew, such small talk seemed an unconscionable waste of her time. 'Will the prince see me?' she asked flatly. 'Alternatively, will he mind if I take my leave . . .? Why are you smiling?'

Gramo coughed into his hand, a perfectly Collegiate way of hiding amus.e.m.e.nt. 'Prince Felipe Shah departed, with his retinue, even as you were being . . . recovered,' he told her. 'He had an audience with one of your Wasp friends, and then he set off for Esselve. Today is the first day of spring. A prince-major is expected to visit his va.s.sals, although for the last few years Prince Felipe has not been too prompt in that.'

After an audience with one of my Wasp friends . . . Che considered, hoping that Thalric had not managed to offend one of the most powerful men in the Commonweal.

The two Wasps rose soon after. Varmen was first to appear, bustling out of the emba.s.sy with only a brusque nod to her, off to check on his pack-beetle. Thalric stepped out a moment later, finding Che sitting near the door, looking towards the centre of Suon Ren, at the Dragonfly-kinden going about their business there.

She glanced at him, expecting that familiar closed look, the cynical Thalric armoured against the world, but instead she caught a strangely vulnerable expression there. Relief at her recovery, yes, but more than that. He stared at her without words, and at last she found her feet, with a flick of her wings, and walked over to him, holding his gaze.

'You put me to a great deal of trouble, Beetle girl,' he told her, but his voice trembled slightly, and she put her arms around him and hugged him tight, feeling his own embrace respond a moment later.

'We must set off north, as soon as you're ready to go,' she murmured into his chest. 'Tynisa needs me.'

He grunted. 'Does she know that?'

'No. Quite the opposite, probably. But I can't abandon her to . . .' She remembered that he would almost certainly not understand, and just let the sentence tail off.

'Well, then, I can't think of any urgent social engagements here that I can't put aside,' he told her. 'Let's beg some supplies and we'll set off.'

Thalric had looked out a map, soon after they had arrived, in preparation for this moment. He produced it with something like embarra.s.sment, because it made no sense to him, lacking the careful proportion and measurement of the charts used by the Imperial army. Che studied it with interest, though, seeing how the Inapt cartographers had set out their world, places and trails, landmarks and directions. She understood it perfectly.

When they were ready to set off, they found Varmen waiting for them, his laden beetle at his heels.

'You're heading back east?' Che asked him.

He shuffled his feet. 'Thought I'd come with you.'

She glanced at Thalric, who was frowning, clearly as surprised as she was. 'You've been paid off?' she pressed.

Varmen shrugged. 'Paid, certainly. Listen, where you're heading, it's Rhael Province bandit country. You're saying you can't use an extra sword?'

Che scrutinized his face, trying to detect treachery. She sensed a crack in his bluff and simple exterior, but she did not read guilt there, exactly. 'What is it?' she murmured, feeling obscurely that she should be able to tell precisely, to extract the knowledge from his face or his mind.

'You were with Felipe Shah,' Thalric noted, and Che readied herself for a display of suspicion, but instead the former Rekef man was nodding. 'He's hired you, hasn't he, to look after Che?'

Varmen shrugged awkwardly. 'He wasn't exactly going to pay me anything to look after you,' he said, still evasive. Thalric seemed satisfied with his own deductions, but Che could sense the gap, the discontinuity. Not that Thalric was wrong, but she knew there was more that was going unsaid by Varmen.

They set off shortly after, following a path that was little more than an animal track. They were barely a quarter mile from Suon Ren's outskirts, though, when someone was calling them back. Glancing behind them, Che saw a figure swathed in a dark cloak hurrying to catch up.

'It's the world's least subtle a.s.sa.s.sin,' Varmen murmured, mirroring Che's thoughts so closely that she could not suppress a bark of laughter.

'It's Maure,' Thalric observed, 'the . . . healer.' It would be a desperate day indeed before the word 'necromancer' pa.s.sed the Wasp's lips willingly.

With that, there was no choice but to wait for the halfbreed to catch up. She stopped a little short of them, glancing from Wasp to Wasp, but looking mostly at Che.

'What do you want?' Thalric asked, a little harshly.

'You just happen to be going the way I was heading,' she told them, still hovering at that awkward distance, neither with them nor apart from them.

'And what way's that?'

'Away from Suon Ren's a good start,' she told them. 'Or you may not have noticed how I wasn't exactly loved there, hmm? Got thrown out by that boot-faced seneschal on his master's orders, first time round, and next thing I know is the prince's soldiers are dragging me back, so I can look at you, lady.' The nod she gave Che seemed overly respectful, endowing Che with the sort of gravitas that a great prince like Felipe Shah should own. 'Now you're well again, there's no welcome for me here.'

'So there's a wide world,' Thalric told her. 'What do you want from us?'

'Well, much as I love the thrill of travelling these roads on my own, what with the threat of robbery and rape to keep life interesting, I thought I might try walking in your shadows for at least a while.'

Thalric was opening his mouth to issue some fresh objection, but Varmen quickly said, 'Let her come. Why not?' And, in the moment before Varmen was reminded by Thalric that he had no vote in this issue, Che was saying, 'Enough.'

They all listened to her. That was the frightening thing.

'Maure,' she said simply, 'I owe you a great deal, and if Suon Ren has no grat.i.tude, then don't think we'll repeat that failing. Travel with us if you wish. You're welcome.'

Again she felt that these words carried more weight to them than the simple meanings she was used to. It was as though she was now some great queen whose merest nod or favour carried unthinkable importance. Maure seemed relieved, but at the same time in no great hurry to come closer. 'That is all, is it?' Che pressed her. 'Safety in numbers?'

'Oh, of course,' Maure said, and the lie was obvious, but Che let it pa.s.s.

Twenty-Nine.

In the end, Che let Maure choose their path through Rhael Province, by roads that the woman had obviously travelled before. They made a point of keeping under tree cover whenever they could, and it was clear that the halfbreed was deliberately avoiding settlements along the way.

'You don't like doing business with brigands, then?' Che had asked her.

'I do business with anyone, if I have to. Brigands pay better than princes, and they pay in advance. I thought you wanted to get to Elas Mar as quickly as possible, though, so best to avoid the locals. They're a curious lot, and might ask pointed questions.'

Che found herself still convalescing, lacking something of her customary Beetle stamina, which left her trailing behind whilst Varmen strode on ahead, his beetle ambling at his heels. Thalric, however, kept pace with her, which she found by turns comforting and annoying. She was not used to being indulged as an invalid.

After a while, she stopped paying much attention even to Thalric, because the long trek was wearing her down. She cut a walking stick to lean on, and still she laboured her way at the rear, so that Maure and Varmen were perpetually having to stop and wait for her. A shame no northbound barges are expected any time soon.

Towards the end of the first day she glanced up from her plodding feet, for the first time in a while, and saw the halfbreed necromancer leaning in towards Varmen, talking closely, and then the big Wasp's head c.o.c.ked back as he laughed at something she had said. Maure had never seemed much of a humorist to Che, but then the woman's reaction towards her had been curious from the start. Plainly, with others she felt able to let go a little more.

'Look.' She managed a gesture towards them, for Thalric's sake.

'I see it.' His tone of voice was not approving.

'Surely you're not . . .' Che caught her breath, 'still toeing that line of Imperial dogma? Superior races and all?'

'Che, I don't know why either of them is still with us. Allow me my suspicions, and I'll let you remain trusting as a newborn, and we'll agree to differ.'

She glanced at him, and could not suppress a tired smile. 'Looking after me, is it?'

'Someone has to. I'm only surprised I've not had to rescue you from something over the last few days.' His tone, delivering acerbic banter calculated to hide whatever deeper feelings were hidden there, reminded her irresistibly of their time in Khanaphes together, first as amba.s.sadors and then as fugitives.

'I don't know what I'd do without you,' she said, trying to put a smile into it, but the words came out as far too solemn, and he gave no reply.

That night, after an argument over how hidden they should remain, Varmen stubbornly set a fire, albeit low down in a dip between trees. The pantries of Suon Ren had come up with some peculiar travelling provisions: a spiced hotchpotch of seeds, nuts, shreds of meat and dried fruit that could be eaten dry or cooked up into a kind of stew. It was filling, but promised to become dull eating after a while.

'Honey would set this off well,' Che opined, between heavily chewed mouthfuls. 'They don't seem to like it much around here, though.'

'It was one of the commodities the army s.h.i.+pped in by the ton, during the war,' Thalric agreed. 'That and good wine, since Commonweal drink is an acquired taste.'

'I'm sure you managed to acquire it.' The simple act of eating was wearing her out, and she glanced up to offer her half-finished bowl around, but found Varmen and Maure were both missing.

'Where are . . .?' she started, but, on registering Thalric's look, she abruptly understood. 'That was quick work.' She felt a sudden and irrational stab of envy that such casual liaisons had never been something open to her: raised as she was in Collegium, city of propriety, under the guidance of a respectable public figure and, besides, when had she ever even had the opportunity?

Of course, Tynisa had never let Stenwold's high station stop her enjoying herself . . .

You are not here for that, anyway, she told herself. You have a higher purpose. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the faint thorn-point that was the spectre of Tisamon, penetrating Tynisa's mind like a wound that could only suppurate with time. It seemed very far off, and she seemed altogether too weak a vessel to provide any great aid to her wayward sister.

The night was cold, and Che felt very alone just then, so when Thalric put his arms about her, she gave herself up to his embrace, leaning into his chest, feeling his chin b.u.t.t gently against the back of her head. His hands rested across her stomach, and she felt a little s.h.i.+ver at the thought of their killing power, the Art that slept within them. Reclining against him, his arms seemed to form a barrier keeping the world at bay. His very Apt ignorance was a s.h.i.+eld, and she felt that she would not dream whilst he held her. Some part of him would stand sentry, and burn down any dreadful revelations that tried to ambush her.

His breath was at her ear, and so it was simple enough to tilt her head back and find his mouth with her own, expecting him to start with surprise, but the pointed absence of Varmen and Maure must have led his thoughts along the same path, for he kissed her hungrily in return. A moment later, and his hands were moving up to cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, brashly at first but hesitant just before they came to rest, a fulcrum moment when he was plainly unsure whether she had meant to allow him so much.

Then she was slipping to one side, but only so she could draw him down over her, one hand working at his belt, and their lips never quite parting, no matter what contortions they went through. His killing hands remained firm on her, like another Imperial conquest.

There was a moment, the inevitable moment, Achaeos! as she contrasted the gentle touch of the Moth with Thalric's fierce strength. And after that came the thought of what Stenwold would say if she took this last step, this final fall from grace. I can't lie with Thalric. I can't, not after all he's done, no no no . . .

And he sensed the sudden tension, and she saw complete understanding appear in his face as she twisted her head away from him. It's wrong, it's wrong . . . The well-bred Collegium girl, Maker's niece, the enemy of the Empire, all shouting that reproach at her.

To the pits with the lot of you. She'd had enough of being haunted by herself, and it had been a long time, and she wanted this. She almost lunged at Thalric, arms dragging him down towards her again, feeling all those walls of propriety and repression shatter like gla.s.s. The two of them now fighting out of their clothes as though they were being reborn, a new stage of life clutching at each other in something as much relief and catharsis as it was desire.

Che awoke in the chill hours before dawn, her back pressed against his warm chest, aware of hearing quiet movement nearby. With a start she sat up, fumbling for her sword hilt, but it was only Maure poking at the embers, trying to leach a little more warmth from the corpse of their fire. Thalric woke up with a growl, glared at the world balefully, then turned over, wrapping himself in the cloak, that had previously covered them both. On the far side of the fire, Varmen was snoring with a beehive drone.

Maure added some kindling to the fire, with obvious pessimism, but soon there were a few brave flames venturing forth, and she had quickly nurtured a steady little blaze. Seeing Che's eyes still fixed on her, she retreated over to Varmen's side of the fire, raising an eyebrow. On that invitation, Che carefully got to her feet and followed her, leaving Thalric to sleep alone.

'My mystical intuition tells me you have questions,' Maure said, with a slight smile, which only broadened when Che could not help glancing down at Varmen.

'Thank the world for Apt men, hmm?' said the halfbreed.

Che frowned at her, caught unawares. 'I don't understand.'

'No? But surely you do,' Maure corrected her. 'I mean men to whom everything we are and do, the very world we live in, is a fiction. You don't see the advantage in that? No questions, no requests, none of the reverence that's equal parts fear and distrust. I thought that's why you were with him.' One finger indicated Thalric's supine form.

'No, that's . . . complicated,' Che replied, but even as she spoke she was thinking, And yet perhaps she's closer to it than I give her credit for. Oh, it's frustrating, sometimes, that he cannot understand, but still . . . would he stay with me, if he did?

'Complicated, you can keep,' Maure declared. 'I like men to be simple. I've rolled the lucky dice with this one.'

Che nodded companionably, and felt almost guilty when she threw down, 'And your reasons for travelling with us, they're just as simple, are they?'

Maure paused, and her expression was both hurt and guilty. 'That was uncalled for.'

'You're making Thalric nervous, the pair of you, and I can see why. He's had plenty of people try to put a knife in his back, and he's right that Varmen should be heading back east by now, and you should be going . . . wherever it is that you go. So tell me.'

'Varmen's reasons I don't know, but I can guess.' Maure's eyes were downcast now. 'He has a ghost on his shoulder. No surprise, you'd think, but most Wasps I ever met see the world in a way that paints everything they do with the Empire's colours. No guilt, you see, and guilt lets the ghosts in like nothing else does. But then you knew that.'

She now caught Che's eye, and for a moment the Beetle girl could not answer.

'And you?' she challenged at last. 'Don't ask me to believe you came running after us to save you from the brigands you're obviously familiar with, or to get inside Varmen's mail. Help me to trust you, Maure.'

The halfbreed mystic looked away again, her good humour ebbing and leaving her vulnerable again. 'Ghosts, Cheerwell Maker . . . do you know what ghosts are?'

'They're . . .' They're what happens to us after we die? But that can't be right.

Maure had apparently read her mind. 'n.o.body knows what happens to us when we pa.s.s on the vital spark that animates our crude flesh. Perhaps we are merely gone, after all. Or perhaps we fly back to rejoin our ideal, thus Beetles to the essence of beetle-ness and so on, although that begs the question of what happens to someone like me. Perhaps there is another world, yet, a metamorphosis into something splendid, out of this coa.r.s.e life. Some Woodlouse-kinden even believe we may simply be born once again. But we don't know, and that's not what ghosts are. Ghosts are . . . it's as if we were a nymph or larva all our lives, and in our dying moments, we hardened our skins, made of ourselves a chrysalis, and then . . . the spark of us, the thing that made us live, flies free somewhere else, but something's left behind that still has our shape, our nature. It fractured, when the life burst forth and flew away, and most of the time that's all there is left, just shards of the husk blown by the wind, but some deaths horrible deaths, terrible deaths, deaths cutting short unfulfilled lives, deaths of magicians especially those can leave a husk behind that is still them, or part of them, some fragment or aspect of their being that still possesses urges and needs. They can be spoken with, and bound to service even, and they can haunt others, or objects, places. Broken things, they are, most often, but still recognizable as who they once were. Even the smaller fragments may contain some ounce of self, some emotion a hate, a love.'