The Scarab Path

'Where is the other woman? The …'What was the name now? 'Coggen.'

'Dead,' Gripshod explained. 'Some days back.'

Vollen released him, stepping back and levelling his hand. It seemed to him that he had heard something of that, now it was mentioned.

'What is going on?' the old man asked, rubbing at his jaw. 'You must be mad.'

'Vollen, listen to me,' Trallo spoke quickly. 'Vollen, there are other ways than this. There's no war between Collegium and the Empire — not yet. Do you really think that this will go unnoticed? Vollen, nobody wants these kind of complications, really, when you think about it clearly, come on-'

Vollen turned his open palm on the little man, choking off the words. Fly-kinden — loathsome, treacherous vermin, and this one most of all.

'Deal with them,' he snarled.

The crossbow bolt took him by surprise, lancing into the back of the man standing nearest to the Vekken prisoner. Vollen's own stingshot went wild as the Fly-kinden ducked desperately away. There was another Vekken on the balcony. There were two of them? Of course there were two of them! So little had been seen of either of the Ants that somehow the two had become one in his mind. The ambassador's had been the absence that Vollen had fixated on.

The soldier on the balcony turned his sting towards the newcomer, but the Vekken had closed already, and they were sword to sword instantly.

'Kill them!' Vollen shouted. 'All of them!' The first Vekken was now wrestling with another of his men, holding both wrists away, trying to bend the Wasp backwards. Vollen turned back to the Beetles.

The fat man moved. It was a ponderous lunge at the man next to him, but unexpected. The bottle smashed over the Wasp's head, and one thick hand closed about the man's sword-hilt and wrenched the blade from its sheath, hard enough to spin the Wasp half around. With a grunt of effort he drove it into the disarmed soldier as hard as he could. It punched into the man's armour, leaving a savage dent and knocking the man off his feet. The Wasp's sting flashed, more by instinct than intent, knocking the fat Beetle backwards.

The old man made a try for Vollen, but the Wasp punched him in the face as hard as he could, laying him out on the floor. The Khanaphir slaves were cowering away, keeping as low as they could. Vollen snarled and looked around for the woman with his hand already extended.

Something struck him hard, almost throwing him from his feet. He felt a blade scrape across his armour, and then the Fly-kinden, Trallo, was fighting with him, trying to wrench his arm aside. Vollen made a grab for him, but the little man was agile, tugging and pulling at him and escaping his clutching hands — a nuisance with a small knife, but a nuisance that was taking all of Vollen's attention.

The Beetle woman lunged at him and broke a chair across his back, smashing the priceless Khanaphir craftsmanship to splinters. Vollen hit the ground hard, feeling his shoulder take the brunt of the attack. He turned onto his back, palms up. The woman grabbed one of his arms, trying to twist it flat. Trallo raised his dagger, his face a white mask of fear.

The flash of the soldier's sting warmed Vollen's face, and the little man was thrown halfway across the entrance hall by the impact of it. The woman screamed and leapt away, staring at the Fly's charred body.

Vollen whisked himself to his feet with a flick of his wings. 'Right,' he said, fully aware that he would receive no commendations for this. Then the front door burst open.

He turned to see a huge Beetle-kinden in Khanaphir armour, a sword in his hand and bloody murder on his face.

Emperor save us! he thought. It's the First Soldier.

Amnon made a wordless sound and charged. Vollen's sting spat its fire, melting a hand-sized section of scale mail but not slowing the giant in the least. Then Amnon's leaf-bladed sword was thrust, effortlessly to the hilt, into his chest.

Vollen fell to his knees, everything around him suddenly more than he could cope with. Amnon had his sword raised again, and the two Vekken were still spoiling for a fight. Two of his men fled out of the windows, the rest were already dead save for one man, who made a feint at Amnon and then plainly decided the big Khanaphir was too much to deal with. He tried to fly away, too, but the Vekken crossbowman picked him off even as he lifted into the space of the entrance hall.

Feeling the world fall from him, Vollen toppled face-first onto the tiles of the Collegiate embassy.

Praeda crouched beside Berjek Gripshod, calling his name and shaking him roughly. At last his lips moved and his eyelids fluttered. Peering up at her from floor level, his gaze was unsteady. 'Uncalled for,' he murmured. 'Quite uncalled for.'

'They killed Trallo,' she got out. 'Oh Berjek, they killed Trallo.'

She looked up, and saw another fallen body. Her hands went to her mouth again, she was feeling ill. 'Oh, Berjek …'

The old man levered himself up, and then saw what she had seen. He struggled to his feet, a hand to his head, and staggered over.

'Gorget! Get up! Manny …'

Praeda saw him stop as he reached the great sprawling form, then drop painfully to his knees. She joined him there tentatively. There was no doubt at all from the outraged expression in those open eyes, or from the char- edged burn-hole in his chest. Mannerly Gorget was dead.

Praeda stared about her, as though, somehow, someone would be able to help. Do magic. Bring back the dead. She saw the two Vekken standing close beside each other, like some trick with mirrors. And we would all be dead, if not for them. Then her eyes found Amnon. His face, though expressionless, was watching her.

Trembling, she put out a hand towards him. Without a moment's thought he swept her up in his arms, clasping her to his broad chest where the armour was still warm from the Wasp's stingshot. There she let herself go, sobbing into his embrace, shuddering over and over until at last she could manage the words.

'You came,' she said. 'You came for me.'

'It should have been sooner,' he said gently. 'But I had a dying friend I could not leave. This has been a night for death. First my Penthet, and now your companions. I am sorry, I should have come sooner.'

'You came,' she said.

Berjek gave a long, sad sigh. 'This is too much,' the old man's voice came to her. 'Too much to bear. War … murder … the time has come to cut our losses, Praeda. We should have left long before, while we all could.'

She felt Amnon's arms tighten slightly and she said to her colleague, 'Go. You must leave. The Khanaphir will find a ship for you, and lower the Estuarine Gate.' Around Amnon's shoulder she met his gaze. 'But I will stay.'

'I suppose I should not be so surprised at that,' he said sadly. 'And, as for Cheerwell, she will not leave, I am sure. Something in this city has its hooks in her.' He glanced up at the Ants. 'And you two?'

'We have a task unfinished here,' replied one of them. Berjek could not guess at the conversation that they were holding, in the space between their heads. 'We may decide to leave with you, but it depends on other factors. Perhaps, if the ambassador leaves with you, she could assist us on the journey back.'

Thirty-Two

'I've done what I can for your arm,' Che said. It had involved more of her night's work than her earlier talk with Thalric. The wound was infected, and she had cleaned it out and applied whatever salves she had handy to keep it pure and deaden the pain. Osgan was conscious but pale, his forehead shiny with sweat even in the cool of the night.

'Thank you,' he croaked.

'If we were in Collegium …' Che shrugged. 'I can't guarantee that you'll keep the arm, though. I'm sorry. It's not gone rotten yet, but …' Her gesture took in the shabby little room that Thalric had found them, a cellar dug out beneath a drinking house and with one of the walls cluttered with barrels. The first dawn light glimmered through the two wide shafts cut into one wall, where the river-borne goods came in. They were also the way Thalric would escape, if the worst came to the worst.