Empire in Black and Gold

‘Captain Thalric.’ The foremost slaver gave him a halfhearted salute. ‘This season’s harvest.’

Thalric looked over the new prisoners, about twenty in all. ‘More runners, Brutan?’

‘Why not?’

The officer gave the slaver a narrow look. ‘You’re sure you haven’t been exceeding your brief?’

‘You think they’ll care?’ replied the man Brutan. ‘A slave’s a slave. In the long term, what difference will it make?’

Thalric shrugged. ‘I’m sure you know your business. Nineteen bodies added to your tally then, Brutan. I’ll see the count is passed on.’

‘We’re coming with you, Captain. I’ll pick the bounty up myself.’

There was a definite murmur of distaste amongst the Wasp soldiers, but Thalric shut them up with a glance. ‘As you will, Brutan. I’ll put the whole lot of them into your care, then. As I said, you know your trade.’

The new prisoners were much of a muchness with the others, plus a scattering of half-breeds and a single man that Che decided could even be a Wasp himself. This realization came paired with the fact that two of Brutan’s slavers were clearly Ant-kinden, possessing the pale skins of Tark. These slavers obviously either operated by different rules, or they paid little heed to whatever rules they were given.

The regular soldiers were only too glad to give up their charges to the newcomers, and quickly left to huddle round their fire. The palisade was soon being widened, and the new slaves packed in so there was barely room for them all to sit. The slavers kept a close watch on them, but many of the prisoners seemed to sense that the regime had now changed. A low, cautious murmur was struck up, a halting exchange of names and places. Where did they take you? How far did you get?

‘Salma,’ Che whispered. ‘I’m frightened.’

‘I think you’re allowed to be,’ he encouraged her, squeezing her hand. ‘Just be calm. Stay calm and wait.’

She tried to be calm, but it was like meditating. She simply could not concentrate. The Beetle-kinden man sitting next to her turned and asked, ‘Where did you break from?’ in a hollow, weary voice.

‘Break from? They caught us just outside Helleron,’ Che replied.

‘No, no, where did you escape from, to reach there? How far did you manage?’

She understood, then. ‘This is the first time. I’ve never been a. . a slave before.’

He nodded in sudden understanding. The man looked about Stenwold’s age, but Stenwold made thin by a very harsh life. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Well, I’m sorry for all of us,’ she replied.

He shook his head, would not look at her. The tall, sallow man beside him took up the slack. ‘His meaning: we are escaped slaves and the Empire has harsh lessons for those who attempt to flee. You are with us now so you will suffer as we do. We are sorry for you because by being with us we have included you in our future suffering.’

‘You were slaves,’ Che said. ‘You can’t blame yourselves for escaping.’

‘You will learn.’ The sallow man of unknown race shook his head. ‘We are blamed. We are the lesser race.’

Che stared at him. In the dark it was hard to tell how he meant this fatalism, but she had a feeling that it went deep, that it had long been pounded into him.

‘I am not a slave,’ she announced stubbornly. ‘I will never be a slave. Not in here.’ She pointed at her forehead. ‘No matter how often they tell me it.’

None of them seemed able to look her in the eyes. She singled one out, a ruddy-skinned Ant-kinden woman. ‘You’re a warrior? I thought all Ants were warriors. Tell me you don’t think like this.’

The woman’s agonized expression implored her to keep her voice down. ‘I took part in the rebellion at Maynes,’ she replied. ‘We were warriors then — for the space of two tendays. Then their army returned from the front and they crushed us. They crucified four hundred men and women around the walls of the city. Not revolutionaries, just anyone — anyone they didn’t like the look of. They took hundreds of our children away to become slaves in other cities. The survivors, any who had fought, they branded in the face. I ran away. I am not a warrior any more. I have seen what misery it brings. Now they will kill me when I am taken back to them. They will kill me where the whole city can see it.’

‘Then why not fight?’ Che demanded. ‘What have you got to lose?’

‘You do not understand,’ the Ant woman said flatly.

The man of unknown race hissed suddenly, and they fell quiet as one of the slavers passed alongside the palisade. After he had gone, the high-browed prisoner leant over towards Che.

‘Tomorrow, if you still live, you will learn how to be a slave,’ he said, almost as though he was encouraging her.

‘If I live? You may not have heard, but we Beetles are tough.’

‘Tomorrow one of us will most certainly die,’ he said simply. ‘It is the Empire’s way.’

Most of the slaves woke at dawn, from long habit. Those who did not, exhausted from the previous day, were allowed a single whip-crack in which to wake themselves. After that the whip itself came down.

The dawn had woken Salma, and he shook Che into wakefulness before the slavers could get round to her. The prisoners were being hauled up and roped together again for walking. He looked about him, trying to gauge if this was their chance to make a break for it, but there were too many slavers posted all about. He might have given it a try, on his own: a lightning strike to get a knife in his hands, to cut his bonds and into the air. He was not optimistic about his chances, though, and Che would never make it.

Salma had never been the responsible type: he had always taken being a prince frivolously. This had given him a light-hearted outlook on life. At home he had played the games of court, wooed young women or sparred and flown with his peers. Even when war and the Empire had come to the eastern principalities, he had not taken it seriously enough.

Thereafter he had been sent to study at Collegium, where Stenwold had broached to him the subject of the Empire. It had all still seemed a game, a bit of excitement for him to intersperse amongst his studies and casual seductions. Of course the Wasps were his enemies, but that was all so far, far away.

In the Lowlands, though, they had developed so many wondrous means of transport, so that same far away could become here very quickly indeed. Salma found himself learning all about responsibility now.

‘Come on.’ He helped Che stand up, and a blank-helmed slaver tied them together and set them moving. Back in Collegium Salma had always found Che tremendously amusing, in a fond way, of course: how she bustled about and was always so serious about everything. Her studies, her ethics, her desperate attempts to break into the Ancestor Art. Everything was a crisis on which her personal world hinged. Privately he had found such endeavours hilarious, just as so much else of Beetle society appeared risible to him.

Now here she was, tied to him by three feet of rope, and he felt such a burden of responsibility for her that he wanted to thrust her behind him and strike out at any Wasp who even looked at her. This emotion surprised him: he did not know where it came from. He had never seen Che as a candidate for one of his idle conquests. Nor was it because he felt a responsibility to Stenwold to keep his niece safe. This was something entirely new: he wanted to keep her safe because she was all he had.

And thinking about her safety allowed him to ignore the ignominy of his own bondage.

The slaves had been lined up now in a single row and everyone was clearly waiting for something to happen. It came when one of the slavers removed his black-and-gold helm, revealing heavy-jawed features and a shaven scalp. When he spoke, his voice identified him as Brutan, their leader.

‘You are all slaves!’ he shouted at them.

Che glanced off to one side at Thalric and his soldiers, who were studiously ignoring what was going on. Instantly a whip cracked towards her, sending her reeling into Salma.

‘Look at me, you bitch!’ Brutan bellowed, the cords of his neck standing out. ‘Slaves look at their masters when they’re spoken to. Not in the eye, but you look!’ He cracked his whip again. ‘You are all slaves!’ he repeated. ‘Worse, you are all escaped slaves, slaves twice over. That makes you lowest of all slaves!’ Brutan was glaring at them all with an abiding and personal loathing, enough to make his eyes bulge and veins throb in his forehead. ‘You are the worst kind of scum because you have made the Empire waste my precious time in fetching you back!’ he almost screamed. ‘I only wish the Empire had more slaves to spare because then I would