The Scarab Path

assurance.

The banks of the Jamail were lined with fields irrigated from the river. They were dotted with villages, and each village, amongst its reed huts that looked flimsy enough to blow away in the wind, boasted at least one structure of stone. It seemed to Thalric that these were the markers to show where original villages had stood centuries before, and around them other buildings had come and gone, but the village itself had lived on.

They had passed the town of Zafir the day before, with its twin walled fortresses situated on either side of the river, joined by a spanning arch that rose high above their ship's mast. The higher reaches of the twin forts had been decorated with statues, although Thalric had not been able to discern, from midstream, what they might represent. He had leant in to Corolly, who had been staring up at the bridge with his mouth half open.

'Could we make the likes of that?' he asked.

'We could bridge this river,' the Beetle artificer replied defensively. It was not the same thing and he knew it.

'What do you want to know?' Hrathen asked.

'Think of me as a wide-eyed scholar eager for knowledge,' General Brugan said. 'Indulge me.'

So you can see how fondly I still hold them, Hrathen decided. Well, scholar, a lecture you shall have.

'We divide the Scorpion-kinden we have met so far into two,' he began, 'the Aktaian Scorpions who live in the Dryclaw desert, south of the West-Empire, and the Nemian who live in the Nem south of the East-Empire.'

Brugan nodded, showing neither interest nor boredom.

'The Scorpions of the Dryclaw have dealt with civilized nations for a long time. They have preyed on the eastern edge of the Lowlands and the Silk Road, and they have traded with and been employed by the Spiderlands since time immemorial. They have also worked with our Slave Corps for two generations.'

'In which capacity you yourself were introduced to them,' Brugan noted.

'Indeed.' A pause. Brugan nodded his head for him to continue. 'Well,' Hrathen went on slowly, 'their way of life revolves around others now, whether it is through their raiding or their slaving. Between the Empire and the Spiders, they work for the highest bidder and take whatever they can.'

'Including Imperial supplies,' Brugan remarked. 'Tell me, Captain Hrathen, did you fall from the path of duty by action or inaction? Not that the difference is material.'

Hrathen scowled before he could stop himself. 'You … do not understand what it is like, to live amongst them.'

'So tell me.'

'Strength,' Hrathen explained. 'Power is all they value — the power of the arm's reach. If I had cried foul when they took the supplies and killed the men, they would have turned on me. To run with them, you must live as they do, believe as they do.' Brugan was now staring at him as though he was something in a menagerie, but he pressed on. 'But if you can run faster than they, kill more swiftly, carry more spoils, care less, dare more, then they will welcome you in and make you theirs, without care for either kinden or blood. Any man may be free, amongst the Scorpion-kinden, if he is a greater monster than they are.' He paused.

Brugan's smile showed delicate distaste. 'Are you such a monster?' he asked softly.

Well, what does he expect me to say? 'Look at me, sir,' Hrathen said. 'I am the Empire's monster, but I am a monster.'

'Tell me about the other Scorpions,' Brugan prompted.

'They are … not so used to civilized nations,' replied Hrathen. 'The tribes of the Nem call themselves 'the Many' and, unlike the Dryclaw Scorpions, they are unified, most of the time, under a single warlord — whoever is the strongest of the strong, both in mind and body. They are not so nomadic as the Aktaian, either. The Nem had cities once, before it dried up. There are ruins in the mid-desert, beyond the fringes, and the Many dwell in some of them, wherever the wells still give water. They even raise some crops there — or at least their slaves do. There are cities in the deep desert, too, but even the Many do not dwell there. The reasons for that are … confused. The desert of the Nem has never been mapped. The Imperial scouts never penetrated it. It is said to contain … unusual threats.'

'Would you venture amongst the Nem, if I asked you?' Brugan said.

'Yes.'

'Would you hold the Empire in your heart, even so? Look at me as you answer.'

Hrathen met his eyes, but the answer was long in coming. 'I am Empire,' he replied. 'I am Rekef. I shall do what is needed to fulfil your tasks, but I must do it in my own way. It may be that this seems to harm the Empire, but I know the Scorpion-kinden, of whatever tribe, and I know how to deal with them. General, will you trust my judgement?'

'Why else would I propose to send you?'

'Then give me men and supplies, and perhaps, as my second, an officer you are not overly attached to. With that I shall go to the Nem and accomplish whatever you wish.'

Brugan smiled widely then, his teeth very white. 'I shall give you soldiers, and artificers. I shall give you siege engines and better weapons than the Many of Nem will ever have held. I shall give you all of this, Hrathen, and for one purpose only.' Abruptly he was on his feet and walking round the desk. There was a knife in his hand.

Hrathen knelt very still. The knife flicked once, twice, and the bindings about Hrathen's hands and arms were severed and he hissed in pain as his long-constrained joints were shocked into motion.

'I shall send you now into the desert to destroy a city: to have your precious Scorpions shatter its walls and slay its people and feast in their halls. I give the Many of Nem the city of Khanaphes to play with. I buy them with that coin. Do you understand me?'

He was still smiling, and Hrathen matched his grin despite the pain, his fangs bristling in delight.

'General,' he said, 'I do.'

Part 3

The Sacred City

Thirteen

Accius of Vek made sure that he was one of the first to reach the quayside. It would not do for the city-state of Vek to be thought fearful of these foreign lands. Inside, he was fearful: no Vekken had ever travelled so far, unless perhaps some luckless slave sold to the Spiderlands. He had no clear idea of precisely where he was. They were off all Vek's maps.

At the rail of the ship stood his brother Malius, watching over him. Only the contact of that one other mind gave him strength. Around him was a seething, babbling bustle, the unscripted chaos of this Beetle-kinden city. Numberless hordes of the locals, bald and indistinguishable, were heading in all directions, jostling and pushing, carrying loads and setting them down, meeting and talking. The air was full of it. Accius was amazed that anybody could hear anybody, that all those thronging words did not choke the whole dockside with their din.

I wish we were in Vek, he thought.

I know, came Malius's answering thought. I too, but we have our orders.

Accius stood by the gangplank, a hand on his sword-hilt, feeling the weight of the chainmail beneath his tunic. It was not precisely concealed, for the sleeves and the hem of it extended beyond his civilian garment. The latter was his concession to being polite, and beyond that he would not go. He was a soldier. Yet they have made me an ambassador. It was an empty title, but the Beetles of Collegium were mad and an ambassador was what they wanted. Somewhere in Vek was Collegium's own ambassador, being treated civilly, enjoying the tranquil, industrious quiet of a properly ordered city-state. Accius envied him.

The Beetle woman in charge was talking to her Flykinden servant now, as locals hauled down all the baggage