The Scarab Path

letting all the Scorpions see him and know him as the leader. Enough of them were now riding ahead towards the camp to ensure there would be the right kind of welcoming committee. These were not the Aktaian Scorpions he was familiar with, but there was enough traffic between their two peoples for him to know he could expect similar customs.

Here is fringe desert, with sporadic contact with the Empire, he reminded himself. The Warlord will not be so familiar or predictable. I must not become complacent.

Sure enough, the whole camp had turned out to see them arrive. The ruins here were no more than three or four stone buildings that looked as though some ancient fire had started what wind and time had subsequently brought close to finishing. The camp itself was no more than awnings propped on sticks, a scattering of canvas all around. Scorpions were a hardy folk and not a private one. Simply getting to sleep up against the stone walls here would be a sufficient mark of rank and favour.

As the caravan approached the camp a flurry of creatures rushed out to investigate. These were more scorpions, three or four feet long not counting the over-arching tail, and they scrabbled forth with their claws held high in threat. Hrathen heard Dannec swear and saw him recoil in fear. He himself jumped down from the wagon and dropped to his knees in the path of the leading beast, summoning up his Art, which had slumbered for so long.

It was an Art little known, these days, though all kinden possessed some facet of it, and he guessed it had once meant sheer survival to people when the world was young. Now few deliberately sought it, fewer still chanced upon it. Hrathen had always been the exception.

He extended his mind and felt the small, aggressive barb that was the beast's.

Well, now, he thought to it, how is it with you, little brother?

The creature was slowing, but its claws were either side of his head when it finally stopped. He could sense its confusion at the sound of the engines and the smell of the machinery. Confusion made it angry and it wanted to sting something.

Oh, I know how that feels, he told it, believe me. It did not quite understand the words, but it felt the sense of them, and calmed. When he went to walk beside the lead wagon, it trotted at his heels, its claws now drawn in. The other animals were unsure at first, thrusting spread pincers at the newcomers, darting towards Hrathen and the slavers in mock charges. The lead beast had been the dominant one, and by earning its trust he had thwarted them all.

He saw the chieftain approach, a hefty Scorpion wearing overlapping metal plates across his chest and shoulders. His hands were big and Hrathen could imagine them clenched into fists so as to free those scythe-like claws for fighting. The chief strolled up to the lead wagon as the artificers braked the engine, putting one taloned hand on the machine's flank.

'We were not expecting such wealthy visitors,' Hrathen heard him say. 'Perhaps we should be wearing our fine clothes for you.'

Hrathen faced him, making his stance a challenge. 'My name is Hrathen, of the Empire.'

The Scorpion turned to squint at him through small yellow eyes. 'You do not look 'of-the-Empire' to me, but I have met with the slavers before, and I know they are slack in what servants they take on.'

'Is that so?' In fact it was indeed so. Some of the Slave Corps that Hrathen had once led had not been good Wasps: there had been Spider-kinden amongst them, rogue Ants and halfbreeds. Still, it did not do to let insults go unchallenged amongst the Scorpions.

'I am Kovalin,' the chieftain rumbled. 'What is this you have brought me, Of-the-Empire?'

'I bring many gifts for the Warlord of the Nem,' Hrathen said, loud enough for them all to hear. 'Will you show me to his camp?'

'She will be grateful. She loves gifts,' said Kovalin, and Hrathen blinked at that revelation. Thinking like an Imperial, shame on you. Scorpion women fought just as fiercely as their menfolk, and indeed there was little to tell them apart. A little slighter at the shoulder, a little fuller at the chest, but otherwise as hairless, fanged and clawed as the males. They were no other race's ideal of beauty.

'However,' Kovalin went on, revealing no more than Hrathen had expected, 'she does not love outlanders, not from your Empire, not from anywhere. It would serve better for your gifts to be given to her by one she knows well and loves well, such as I.'

'No doubt,' Hrathen said, 'but that is not my plan. I will give her these gifts myself, with all my men present, and explain the workings of them.' He saw that his people, even Brugan's shadowy lot, had done exactly as he had forewarned them. They were arranged in a loose double line either side of the first wagon, swords out and pointedly ready to fight. There were perhaps fifty fighting Scorpions before them, once Hrathen discounted the rabble of attendant children. The locals were not obviously about to attack, but there was not one of them that did not have a spear or axe or halberd to hand.

'And if I just take these things?' Kovalin asked. He was taller than Hrathen, his claws far larger. Hrathen's impure blood had given him a broad Art, but neither parent's inheritance showed as strongly as in a true- breed.

'Why need to take gifts that will be freely given?' Hrathen said easily. He shrugged his shoulders, loosening his joints for the coming fight.

'I take what I wish,' Kovalin declared. 'I give you the chance now: gather up your people and return to your Empire. You are not wanted here.'

'Do you fear me so much?' Hrathen asked.

Kovalin went very still, and two different waves of tension passed through the camp. The Wasps were ready for an explosion, and though he had ordered them not to intervene unless the rest of the Scorpions made a move, it seemed to them now that things were poised on the very cusp of violence. But Hrathen knew that the Scorpions were excited, not angry. They were about to be entertained.

'Come on, then,' he said. 'Let us have this out. With nothing more than nature gave us, yes?'

Kovalin eyed his rival's claws, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 'You may know no better than bare hands, Of- the-Empire, but I have this. He unslung a long-hafted axe from his back. The head was solid, dark metal, shaped in a vicious, heavy crescent.

'Well, then.' Hrathen drew his Imperial-issue shortsword. Against the axe it was tiny, and Kovalin roared with laughter.

'A knife!' he cried. 'Of-the-Empire has a knife!' And then the axe was in motion, a great sweeping slash that sent Hrathen diving aside, rolling in the dust. He knew Kovalin would be coming straight for him then, the axe still in motion from that first swing, so he kicked himself back on to his feet. He thrust his free hand out and summoned his Art.

The flash of fire struck Kovalin about the neck and shoulders but did not stop him. Hrathen made a circular parry that took the axe-blow just past him, then loosed his sting again and again. Kovalin was already reeling when the third bolt caught him directly in the face. He fell to one knee, began struggling to rise, whereupon Hrathen backed off and lashed out at him with his Art until at last the Scorpion collapsed.

There was a silence, and Hrathen received a keen sense from his own people that they suspected this would mean foul play, that the Scorpions would descend on them.

They have no concept of foul play, he thought. No codes of honour, no complex laws — no noble savages here. All they have is a fierce respect for strength in all its forms, and that includes cleverness.

'I have no wish to take his place,' Hrathen announced loudly, 'for who would want to lead such wretches as these?' Again the Wasps behind him braced for the fight, but he was playing by Scorpion rules. He was proclaiming his strength. Flattery was only for the weak.

A woman approached him, her face claw-scarred. 'He was food for the animals before you came. His death is nothing to boast of,' she said. 'Stay here tonight and we will send you on your way tomorrow. I think the Warlord will be curious to meet you.'

She was tall, but not as massive as most Scorpions across the shoulders and back. Her arms and legs were long, and she stood with a poise that few of her kinden possessed. Just from her stance Hrathen could tell that this was an exceptionally dangerous woman. He would not want to try the same tricks that had killed Kovalin against her, and he was thankful that his plan did not call for it. If the Rekef men here with him intended to kill her, then,