The fourth: amidships, two strokes from the stranger and both connected with the deck; and Artemisia severed its arm, blood pooling all round.
Flicker, the fifth pose: now nearby, her victim screeched as she jumped and kicked out at its chest, sending it sprawling on to its spine. She marched closer and, with its other arm, the intruder raked its sword horizontally. The edge sliced through Artemisia's thigh.
Rika gasped in concern, and Eir had to hold her back.
Artemisia buckled on one knee, dropping her blade, then the two began to grapple hand to hand. Pinning the enemy's free arm, Artemisia brought up her remaining sword then stabbed it through the chest, the tip of the metal splintering the deck beneath.
After a moment of violent but silent juddering, the enemy fell still.
Artemisia pushed herself upright, panting, wiping blood from her brow, and gestured with her weapon at the corpse.
'Earthlanders, come. I shall show you one of those we fight.'
Randur and the girls moved tentatively over to her side and for a moment they watched the warrior rip some material from her clothing then wrap it around her wound.
The body looked inglorious in its wreckage: yet this was something once noble, with a slender face almost human in its features, and something almost deer-like about its bodily form. A muscular white body was encased in golden armour, into which was carved all sorts of intricate designs, making it look too precious for use in combat.
'It is one of the Pithicus – using your mythological term – who with others make up the nations of the Akhaioi. Another race invented by your early ancestors. These people command a wealth of forces, including the race which has breached into your world, their expendable foot soldiers – the Cirrips. Though no doubt your people would have given it another name by now. These Akhaioi deem themselves superior to other species, and I am surprised to find that they have come through already. Normally the Cirrips do all their fighting in the early stages.'
'This creature seems so elegant,' Randur remarked. 'Clearly these things were wrought to look good.'
'Do not be deceived by their beauty. These are people who, if granted victory, would see you wiped out in order to repopulate with their own kind. I have seen so many of their like, and fought… thousands of them. Be warned, the human and rumel races will come to an end if the Akhaioi lay siege to your dimension, like they do to our last city. Our people are becoming too few to protect you all.'
'What do they want here?' Rika enquired.
'The same as we all do. To survive. Is that not what species seek? We may appear vastly esoteric to people of your culture, but I can assure you of this: when faced with the end of our existence, we are desperate and humble. The difference between ourselves and our enemy is that they wish to clear the land totally first, and then to use your bones as material to build their habitations. We simply wish to live alongside you, or quietly on our own in some distant corner. I repeat, this is why I have been sent to find you.'
'How the hell can one woman achieve anything? I mean to say, you're pretty sharp with a sword, but against whole armies?'
Artemisia seemed unconcerned by this query. 'I may be able to disconnect their sentience – which is how they, your new enemy, communicate. The doorway through which they entered is a massive chain of communication utilizing various primitive signals transmitted through the air. Without this link, they become significantly less skilled as fighters. The rest, admittedly, may be up to your own armies. I am not a god, but I can still utilize this ship's science.'
Randur began, 'We have cultists-'
'Your cultists', Artemisia interrupted, 'are constantly flapping about the Archipelago as if they actually know something. I can tell you this much: they know nothing.'
F ORTY-THREE
Under pressure from the soon-expected sea landing, the meeting of the cultists with the commander was brisk and volatile, with an explosion of demands and requests for help.
As they discussed detail, Beami watched him, the albino, brooding over every statement in agonizing slowness, his elegant fingers tapping on the table as if to deepen any silences. She wished she possessed a relic for freezing time in order to get things done more quickly in real time. Commander Lathraea was proving unhelpful, as she had expected. The army were to have total control. The army would dictate everything.
The army this. The army that.
The other cultists in this emergency unit were seven men and one other woman. Originally congregated from various minor orders, two of which she'd never even heard of, they were all keen if not completely proficient.
Two of the men were middle-aged, one with grey hair and the other with none, and she felt immediately that they were powerful, despite their seeming unwillingness to take the threat of war all that seriously. They gave their names – well, one of them did: Abaris and Ramon.
Ramon had a look of psychopathic intensity about him, the kind of glint in his bright eyes that suggested he could be friendly one moment, but would have no trouble in slitting your throat the next. Stocky, with perspiration glistening on his bald head, he stank of stale sex and bad magic. His colleague, Abaris, chubby and moustached, was the only one of the pair who would ever speak. Only in the silences did she notice how Ramon had one blue eye, one brown.
Abaris made a minimal yet bold claim. 'We might', he said, 'be able to do things with the dead.'
He marched his fingers across the tabletop as if to suggest their intentions.
Necromancy… Is that what they do?
And how exactly would that be of any help? Beami had never heard of these people, but the more macabre cultists did tend to isolate themselves.
'Which is fine,' she replied to the weirdly light-hearted figure of Abaris, 'but what about making the enemy dead in the first place?'
'Lass, we'll require a measure of time before we can go into action. And then…'
Ramon did nothing but grin, yet she noticed the creases in his face, evidence of years of almost blissful anguish. The two of them frightened her with their deep serenity. They possessed a kind of confidence that overwhelmed her.
The conversation lurched back and forth between the commander and the cultists. She did not want her kind to be treated merely as weapons. They were people who thought and reacted carefully and could use relics to a devastating effect – if they were allowed a little freedom.
Messengers frequently interrupted them with updates on the invasion fleet heading towards the city. Every new one of them left the room feeling darker, as if a death in the family had been announced. And how many thousands of those would there soon be? The increasing stress was obvious on the albino's face. Frequently he would rise from his chair and circle the room as if no one else was present, and occasionally he'd catch the eye of Ramon, who would smile back at him in a macabre fashion.
As Beami peered out of the window trying to see where the enemy were currently, her vision drifted over the docks and the front line of fortifications, the makeshift barricades and the archers stationed in windows and other vantage points. Would they really be enough?
*
An idea came to mind and Beami announced it to the room.
Abaris clapped his hands. 'Lass, that's proper genius, that is. Me and Ramon will wait for you to finish up, before we can make our immediate contribution.' Ramon's head began to rock back and forth, his eyes firmly closed as if he was contacting someone outside the room via some ethereal means. Abaris adjusted his tweed robe and leaned in to await a further reaction from the room.
A murmur of approval rippled towards her.
The albino slumped forward in his chair, resting his chin on his hands, and he stared at her. He didn't seem particularly unenlightened in his attitude towards her, but did he really believe she was capable, this mere woman?
