The Night of the Swarm

by now if the maukslar hadn’t smelled something odd in the mountains. Well, get out of there! We’ve have that cursed dog-pack to locate yet.’

The rider spurred his horse back towards the road. Kirishgan took his hand from his sword, and Pazel let himself breathe. Not today, thank Rin in his heaven. At a shout from their captain, the host gallopped on into the east.

The travellers regrouped. ‘Four hundred horsemen, and fifty more on sicunas,’ said Prince Olik. ‘An Imperial battalion, no less.’

‘And the maukslar was with them,’ said Thasha. ‘I wonder if it had taken Dastu’s form already.’ Her eyes were bright. ‘The mucking idiot. I expect they’ve killed him.’

‘That is one possibility,’ said Kirishgan. ‘Let us not speculate on the others. But it is the fate of your mage that worries me now.’

A heavy silence descended, and it fell to Hercol to break it. ‘We must try to keep our spirits up, as Ramachni would no doubt implore. Well, Kirishgan, what shall we do? Crawl?’

‘Yes,’ said the selk, ‘crawl. And that is not a bad thing, for very soon we shall bid this good land farewell. It is fitting to touch it with our hands, to breathe the air closest to its skin. The wicked have many servants — even the selk have been corrupted now and again, to our shame. But stone, snow, grass, forest: these are ever willing to help us, in their humble ways. I shall ache for this land when we depart. It is an ache that can only end when I find my way back here, or my errant soul finds me.’

So they crawled, knees aching but sore feet relieved, and passed slowly across those miles of open grass. An hour later, the host of riders swept back westwards along the road, sounding horns for the pack of athymars that lay dead at the foot of Urakan.

Finally the trees resumed, and the travellers stood and continued their painful run. The ground rose and fell; sharp rocks pierced the earth among the roots and leaves. The forest was pathless, dense. They scrambled down into ravines, pushed through walls of savage thorns, forded rivers with the icy spray about their hips. But that night Kirishgan brought them to the shelter of a cave, and the fire they built in its mouth warmed them all. There the selk told them a tale about Lord Arim and Ramachni, and their battle with Droth the Maukslar-Prince. It was a harrowing tale, and the others listened, rapt. All save the wolves: they paced uneasily in and out of the cave, and raised their muzzles often, appraising something on the breeze.

‘What do you smell, Valgrif?’ Myett asked, rising and touching his flank.

The wolf looked down at her. ‘Nothing, little sister,’ he said at last. ‘ The enemy is far away.’

That night Pazel slept deep, his fingers and Thasha’s interlaced. He did not dream, except for a single, phantom moment, when he thought a dog’s tongue licked his chin. But at daybreak Myett was sitting cold and apart, and the three wolves were gone without a trace. Then Pazel knew. Valgrif had smelled salt. He feared no living thing, but waves and surf filled his heart with dread. Waves and surf, and farewells perhaps.

They nibbled some seed-cakes, sipped wine against the morning chill. Hercol and Kirishgan swept out the cave, hiding every trace of their visit. Then the travellers set off through the last of that dense wood. In time they came out upon a windy plateau and crossed it running, scattering a herd of spotted deer. From the plateau’s rim they saw a silvery tongue of water below them, twisting among dark cliffs, and tracing it with their eyes for several intricate miles, the sea.

22

Practical Men

No man can know his deliverer, nor yet the thief of his soul. Their faces are covered; they swirl in the mob at the masquerade ball. Wine flows, and dance follows dance, and we are never certain of their names until that Midnight when all masks are removed.

— Embers of Ixphir House by Hercol Ensyriken ap Ixhxchr.

1 Fuinar 942

For Ignus Chadfallow, Mr Uskins had become an obsession. Not only had the first mate achieved something no other human ever had — recovery from the madness produced by the plague — but he had actually rebounded into a state of clear and lucid thought greater than any he had previously enjoyed. He was a smarter, saner man. And today Dr Chadfallow was no closer to discovering what had cured him than on the day his investigation began.

Now the captain himself had the plague. All the signs were clear — the lemon sweat, so easily overlooked; the wild swings of emotion, the slowly mounting struggle to think clearly. It had cost Rose a great deal to admit the latter, but in the end he had done so: right there in front of Fiffengurt, Marila and Chadfallow (Lady Oggosk had yet to awaken from her faint).

‘Need I describe what would follow should my condition become known to the crew?’ Rose had asked them. ‘Have no doubt: it would be anarchy and death. There is no one else around whom to rally. Fiffengurt is easily the most capable sailor-’ the quartermaster looked stunned by the compliment ‘-but he is tainted by mutiny, and he lacks the fire and rage of a commander. Elkstem is pathologically quiet, and thinks only of things mechanical. Coote is too old, Fegin and Bindhammer too stupid.

That leaves no one; that leaves a deadly void. Ott and Haddismal will attempt to fill that void. They’ll try to run the ship like an army camp, at spearpoint. The gang loyalists will conspire against them, and each other. The dlomu will withdraw; there will be murders, riots, suicides. And all this at a standstill in a protected bay: on the open sea matters will be infinitely worse. Do you doubt these predictions, any of you?’

They had all stayed silent. ‘Very well,’ said Rose. ‘Chadfallow tells me to expect a few more weeks of life. I wish to use them efficiently, provided the crawlies do not manage to overwhelm us somehow.’

‘You’re not even angry!’ Marila had blurted. ‘That we kept the truth about Stath Balfyr from you, I mean.’

Rose’s eyes had smouldered at that. He appeared to struggle for words, breathing heavily, staring her down like a bull. At last he said, ‘I have been anger’s slave for sixty years. I will not die a slave. I will die trying to save this ship, and if that means cooperating with fools and mutineers, I will do so. But understand this: if you hide anything from me, ever again, I shall treat you to a death more slow and excruciating than ever Ott devised for a traitor to the Crown.’

After his words there fell a silence, in which they all heard Oggosk snoring in the captain’s bed.

‘Fiffengurt is quite correct, all the same,’ grumbled Rose. ‘Knowledge of the crawlies’ deception would only have led to our abandoning the South that much sooner. And I know we must not do that without the Nilstone. I too have seen the Swarm.’

‘Then what shall we do presently, sir?’ asked Fiffengurt. ‘The duchess has it right, I’m afraid: we’re better off not trying for a landing, easy as it seems to drop a boat over the side.’

Rose had stalked slowly away from his desk, around the formal dining table and the admiral’s chairs, to the smaller, round meeting table near the stern windows. He had placed his hand on its dark surface.

‘What shall we do? Wait for the tide to turn again, and then slide back out of this bay before sunset. We will not spend the night here, even though a mile of deep water lies between us and the closest beach. Never again will I underestimate the crawlies.’

He raised his eyes, but they were closed; he was looking at something held tight in memory.

‘The nearest islands are small and dead. But forty miles to the east stands one with greenery: we will find fresh water there, and silage for the animals. I saw no good landing spot, but we will manage.’ He opened his eyes. ‘There remains an overriding danger, however.’

‘Macadra?’ Chadfallow offered.