The Scarab Path

looking at her, he wished them luck.

She was young, too, although Scorpions never got very old out here. Still he guessed she was younger than thirty, and yet already Warlord of all the Many of Nem. Her face was half-hidden behind a crested helm, eyes glittering from within it. She had capped her tusks with gold, and her white skin, wherever exposed, was decorated with twining patterns of black and red. They meant something, of course, but Hrathen was beyond his range of knowledge now. He would have to hope that these people had not diverged too far from the customs of their Dryclaw brethren.

He saw how she had made the best of the equipment her people scavenged. She wore a mail hauberk of a fineness he had never seen before, the links silvery and flowing like water. Panels of cruder mail riveted at the front and sides showed where they had broadened it to fit her. She had steel greaves on her shins, plated leather guards strapped to her thighs. One arm was completely covered by interlocking metal plates, only the claws jutting forth from a ravaged gauntlet. She held a spear, its slender head comprising almost a third of its length.

They had spent nine days in the desert, just to reach this place. Although Hrathen had made sure they would have ample supplies, he had traded with the Scorpions along the way. If he had not, they would have decided he had too much, and would have made a move to take it from him. Dannec, of course, had been critical of such expense, such waste. He had let the man simmer. They had attracted many Scorpion-kinden from the desert, come to stare and to question their guides about these intruding foreigners. Twice there had been attacks, but the Wasps' stings, and the resistance put up by what had previously been Kovalin's people, had driven their attackers away easily.

A day ago they had come within sight of these ruins, and had expected to reach them sooner. The sheer scale defeated them: this was no fallen farmhouse or outpost. Here was a city of the old days, the days before the Nem had become a desert. Even Dannec's endless carping had faltered to a halt as they approached, to witness those great cracked walls, the massive plinths whose statues were severed at the ankle or the knee. It seemed a city built by giants, but however mighty the hands that had laid stone upon stone here, time and the desert had finally undone them. As they passed in through a break in the wall, they bore witness to a desolation that only the usurping Scorpions had brought to life again: streets and squares of fallen stones; stretches of wall so shot through with gaps that they looked like the teeth in a battered skull; pillars lying like so many sticks cast at random; the cracked and collapsed eggshells of fallen domes. The Scorpions had descended on this place with a scavenger's eye. They had dug out the ancient ruin's old wells and found the waters still clear. They had made fields out of the dust, now watered and tilled by their slaves. They had dug through the ruins for metal they could melt and reforge. Whoever had built here had been wealthy beyond measure, and what they had left behind, for the Scorpions, seemed riches worth taking. Hrathen had never known Scorpions to settle in one place. In the Dryclaw they moved constantly on and on through their desert, preying on each other, trading with the slave markets, raiding border farms and towns. Looking around the ruins, he could see that they had been here for generations, and any building still owning to three walls had become a permanent dwelling, now completed in cloth and wood. The children were everywhere underfoot, chasing and fighting each other. It had become a Scorpion city, as though the ghosts of its builders had stayed on to teach the newcomers some shadow of their old way of life.

As with the camp previously, a crowd of the locals was fast gathering, but here there were hundreds of them, too numerous to count. Many scrambled atop walls and buildings to overlook the wagons, clasping axes and spears ready to throw. A few even held bows, but to make a good bow required suitable wood, and the desert denied them that.

That's good, Hrathen decided. That fits with the plan.

He jumped down from the wagon again, observing the woman who was their leader. Her complete mastery of them was evident in the way she stood, and in the way they gathered around her. He had to remind himself: This is not just any chief, this is the Warlord of the whole Nem desert. It would be a hard title to win, a harder one to hold. Something about this woman had brought them under her rule, and it must involve more than mere skill with a spear. He would have to be careful with her.

'I am Hrathen of the Empire,' he declared. The other Wasps had again taken up their fighting stance, but if things went badly here it would not matter. 'I seek the Warlord of the Many.'

'You have found her,' the woman replied. She approached, two or three steps at a time, and then stopped again, regarding him. 'I am Jakal of the Many, and my people have brought me word of you. I hear Kovalin lies dead in the sand.'

'Do you mourn him?' Hrathen asked. Strength, always. There was no room for sentiment here.

'You have spared me the chore of killing him myself. It would have been dull work,' she said. The words were for the crowd, and the crowd liked them. Behind that helm, though, her eyes were careful, wary. 'What brings you to the Nem, Hrathen of the Empire? What brings you to my citadel of Gemrar?'

Hrathen heard Dannec snort at the mention of 'citadel'. The Rekef officer had a Wasp's eye for other nations, and he had decided from the first that the Scorpions were barbarous savages, and Hrathen little better.

'The Empire brings you gifts,' Hrathen announced. 'There is nothing in these wagons that you may not have.'

'That would be so, whether you willed it or not.' Jakal had moved closer, yet had not so much as glanced at the automotives. 'However, it is always pleasing to hear that we are known and feared by your Empire, who wish to bribe us so. You may join me at my fire tonight, and we shall discuss what you have brought me.' She was standing right before him at last, a few inches taller than he was, so that he had to look up to her. Hrathen was a man of instincts, and they were all telling him now to make a distance between them, to take himself backwards out of the reach of her claws. It was entirely possible she would kill him right there, and he realized he could not discern, from her stance, whether she would do it. She was impossible to decipher.

From the shadow of her helm her eyes challenged his. 'Good,' she said eventually. He had not moved or backed down. 'You are welcome amongst my people, until I change my mind. If any vex you, bring them to me and I shall remind them of their place — and mine.'

'I would rather kill them myself,' Hrathen replied, because that was expected of him. He saw her fanged lower jaw curve in a smile.

'Then perhaps we shall have some sport, later,' she said. 'We are not all as weak as Kovalin was.'

'You think I am ignorant,' she said, when they had re-gathered after dark. 'I know of your Empire. My advisers have told me of it.' The bluish light of the burning oil made the Scorpions' pale skin gleam and glow.

'The Empire's fame deserves to travel,' said Hrathen. He had called upon Dannec, of all his people, to sit with him at the Warlord's fire. The ragged circle was made up otherwise of Jakal's people, and he was surprised to see several there who must have been aged forty, fifty even, wrinkled about the eyes, with tusks missing or broken, skins spotted with time. Her advisers, then? Age had always been a death sentence in the Dryclaw but, with their more settled life, the Nemian Scorpions had clearly found some use for wisdom. A clay jar of something was being passed around, but it avoided the visitors scrupulously. Hrathen had meanwhile broken the neck on a bottle of Imperial wine, and was taking careless swallows of it, to Dannec's disapproval.

'My advisers tell me the Empire is a great beast lurking to the north, that is always hungry. That each year it moults and splits its skin and grows larger by eating another of its neighbours.'

Hrathen laughed at that, but Dannec drew his breath in sharply.

'The Empire is not as you describe,' the Wasp protested. 'Those brought within our borders only benefit from our rule. So, many of our neighbours beg to join us.'

'Fascinating,' Jakal said, dismissing with a word everything he had said. 'Tell me' — she returned to Hrathen — 'how long before we are your neighbours? We do not beg.'

Hrathen glanced at Dannec, who replied, 'There will be no need for bad blood between us. After all, we are here now to strengthen bonds of friendship, are we not? Why talk of war?'

'One cannot strengthen that which does not exist,' Jakal retorted, amidst a mutter of laughter from the other Scorpions.

'But alliances are always to be wished for, are they not? We have things you lack,' Dannec pointed out. 'I do not believe your advisers realize what the Empire has to offer.'

'Tell me,' Jakal said, pointedly to Hrathen, 'is this your lord, that he talks so much in your place, or is he