The Night of the Swarm

seems they are once more a functioning spy agency. You can’t lay the blame on us. Now then-’ he turned and raked them all with his eyes ‘-tell me how you came to be here, and who exactly you answer to in Maisa’s ranks.’

There was a long silence. Darabik broke it at last. ‘I serve under Her Majesty’s royal husband, Prince Eberzam Isiq. This girl is his daughter, who was the Treaty Bride. They are all crew on the Great Ship, the Chathrand, which has just returned from across the Ruling Sea.’

At first the Mzithrinis just stared at them, lost. Then as one they roared with laughter. Even their commander gave in. ‘Of course,’ he wheezed, drying his eyes. ‘Why didn’t I guess? And this explains why so many of you speak our language. And why a lapsed sfvantskor travels with you. And why the idiot was hooting and signalling from the tree.’ He waved at his men. ‘Go on, search the island. Maybe Empress Maisa herself is down there somewhere, wandering among the rocks.’

‘I’m Thasha Isiq!’ shouted Thasha, enraged.

This nearly finished them. ‘She got the name right, Captain!’ said one of the soldiers. ‘It was Thasha, the girl who died in Simja-

‘No, you ass, that was Paca, Paqui, something-’

‘Syrarys! Syrarys Lapadolma!’

‘How can you be so ignorant?’ bellowed Thasha. ‘Syrarys was my father’s consort, and she tried to kill us. Pacu Lapadolma was my maid-in-waiting, who took my place when I was nearly strangled. Have a look at my Gods-damned neck; you can still see the scars!’

Silence.

‘Well, come on! It’s not that mucking complicated!’

She had shouted in Arquali, of course. None of the Mzithrinis had understood her, but they had sobered nonetheless. ‘She sounds just like him,’ muttered one of the soldiers.

The officer rubbed his chin. He ordered Thasha gagged, and then walked away into the trees. Pazel could not see what was happening within the oasis, but a few minutes later he heard a number of people approaching, and the officer’s voice.

‘Turn him. The old fool’s looking the wrong way.’

Then a deeper voice boomed from the trees: ‘Oh Tree of Heaven! Oh sweet and merciful Rin!’

Crashing, stomping, and then out he came: a bald, barrel-chested man, trailing leg irons, trying to run in them, holding out his arms to Thasha. His tattered uniform trailed leaves and vines. He didn’t notice. With a flick of his hand he tore Thasha’s gag away, then knelt and embraced her. Thasha, hands still bound, laid her cheek atop his head and wept.

‘Prahba.’

‘My darling girl, my beauty-’

Eberzam Isiq. Pazel had thought of him many times since the Red Storm. The admiral had looked old and unsteady since Pazel’s first glimpse of him on the quay in Etherhorde. But now if anything he looked six years younger, not older. His flesh had colour; his limbs looked strong and hale.

He’s free of the deathsmoke, Pazel realised. No one’s poisoning him any more.

‘Thasha, Thasha,’ said Isiq. ‘I let them hurt you, take you from me, I’ll never ask you to forgive-’

Thasha shh’d him through her tears. Pazel wished he could blow everyone away from the spot, give them this moment, let them be alone together for a time. Isiq rose to his feet and pressed her cheek against his breast. Only then did he take in the rest of them.

‘Stanapeth! Undrabust! Pazel Pathkendle! Bless you, Darabik, you found them!’

‘They found me, Your Highness,’ said the commodore.

The Mzithrinis were wonder-struck. ‘You really are Thasha Isiq,’ said the officer. ‘Is the rest of your mad story true?’

Isiq was looking straight at Pazel. Uncertainly, he extended a hand. Pazel stepped forward and gripped it, not a handshake but a tight, fierce clasp.

‘You gave me your promise,’ said the admiral. ‘In Simja, on the road from the shrine. I asked you to protect her-’

‘I remember,’ said Pazel.

‘I meant her body. I thought it was a dead girl you were carrying away.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’ve stayed with her. You all have. You’ve kept my angel safe.’

‘Oh, Prahba,’ said Thasha, laughing through her tears.

‘We’ve helped each other, sir,’ said Pazel, ‘and Thasha’s done more than anyone.’

‘We feared for your life as well, Admiral,’ said Hercol. ‘For a time, Neda and Pazel’s dreams brought us glimpses of you, or at least of their mother’s thoughts of you.’

‘Many thoughts,’ said Neda, in her broken Arquali. ‘Always good thoughts, loving.’

Isiq looked at her, and seemed astonished both by her words and by the fact of her existence. ‘If Rin takes me today, I will die a happy man,’ he said.

Then the distant explosions reached his ears. For the first time he raised his eyes to the battle, and Pazel watched horror change the admiral’s face. His lips trembled. He shook his head, imperious, helpless: this thing must not be.

‘Now he knows why I kept him away in the palms,’ said the officer, not without sympathy.

Isiq looked at the officer, then at Pazel. ‘He must stop this. Tell him, Pathkendle. If Maisa’s navy is destroyed she will never recover, never take the throne of Arqual. Emperor Magad will be stronger than ever, and so will his will to destroy the Mzithrin. Tell him I’m begging, begging him to signal his fleet.’

Pazel took a deep breath, and repeated the admiral’s words in Mzithrini. The officer shook his head. ‘I have lived to see things beyond the visions of the seers,’ he said. ‘Admiral Isiq himself, begging the White Fleet to destroy the Arquali navy. Tell him not to worry: destroy it we will. But as for his rebellion: too late, too late. Even if I lit that beacon now, there would be little left of Maisa’s forces by the time they arrived.’

‘You wouldn’t have to arrive,’ said Pazel. ‘Just bring your fleet close enough for Magad’s forces to notice. They’ll have to break off fighting the rebels and sail north to face you. Or turn and run.’

The officer smiled. ‘Ah, but we don’t want that, do we? You are forgetting the hammer and the anvil. Magad’s forces have your rebels where they want them: we will engage Magad in the same place.’

‘There is more at stake here than one victory at sea!’ said Hercol. ‘If Empress Maisa fails, so too does the best chance for peace between the Empires. Maisa has sworn to end the conflict, to make peace once and for all.’

‘The famous Arquali hunger for peace,’ said the officer. ‘Perhaps she will suggest another treaty-signing on Simja. Enough! You will tell the rest of your story to my lieutenant. Your presence here changes very little — although I grant you have made this day. . stranger.’

‘Things are even stranger than you suppose,’ said Ramachni.

The soldiers whirled; blades whistled from sheaths. The mage was seated on a rock some ten feet away. The red rays of sunset glowed in his eyes. ‘Hold your fire,’ he said. ‘I make a much better friend than foe.’

‘A woken animal,’ said the officer, ‘what next? Come down from there, little circus-freak, before we put a shaft through your heart.’

Ramachni stood up slowly, eyes locked on the commander. ‘If you think that you will slaughter me as you did our harmless companion, you are mistaken,’ he said.

Nothing obvious had changed, but somehow Ramachni seemed larger, and in his stillness there was something of a threat. The Mzithrinis glanced nervously at their commander. He too looked shaken, but he stood his ground.

‘If you’re not a woken animal, what in the Black Pits are you?’

‘An ally, if you will permit it,’ said Ramachni. ‘Our tale is true, Commander, and the Chathrand has returned. You must have heard of the conspiracy that sent her forth. But you cannot possibly grasp the doom that calls her back. The Swarm of Night has been unleashed on Alifros. To defeat it we must make a landing on Gurishal, at a place marked by a sea-rock called the Arrowhead.’

The officer shook his head in disbelief. ‘That is a declaration of lunacy.’

‘I am quite the sanest person you are likely to meet,’ said Ramachni.