'You're about to do something really unwise, I can tell that. You're about to go somewhere very dangerous.'

'It's my decision.'

Trallo glanced from Che to the shaking Petri, and back. 'Fine, I'll come with you. That's my my decision.' decision.'

Che was caught in mid-protest, suddenly thinking, Was that not what I wanted? Was that not what I wanted? Trallo would surely be of more use than poor Petri, and Petri just as surely would not come willingly. 'Do you know ... You know Khanaphes. You should know what we're about before you make such an offer.' Trallo would surely be of more use than poor Petri, and Petri just as surely would not come willingly. 'Do you know ... You know Khanaphes. You should know what we're about before you make such an offer.'

Trallo shrugged. 'Like I said, our friends have asked me to ensure you're safe. They're worried about you.'

Che thought of Berjek and the rest, and would not have believed that of them, but here the Fly was, all the same.

She leant close to him. 'We are going to the Fir-eaters. You've heard of them?'

'Heard of, but never met.' He made a face. 'Tell your hungry friend there to pack his bags, then. Bella Petri, you get yourself back to the emba.s.sy and not a word of this to anyone, you understand?'

Petri nodded gratefully and, before anyone could retract the offer, she was hurrying for the door.

'I'm grateful for this, Trallo,' Che said.

The Fly spread his hands. 'What are friends for?'

And she was happy enough with that answer not to notice the signal he gave, as they left the open house.

Eighteen There had been Scorpions keeping pace with them for at least three days, and Hrathen guessed probably a while longer. Since that morning they had let themselves be silhouetted against the barren skyline. On foot, or seated on their beasts, with spears held high, they had stared at the odd caravan but made no move against it.

Why would they, Hrathen thought wryly, when we are so obligingly going where they want us to go? when we are so obligingly going where they want us to go? Imperial mapmakers had not made much inroad into the Nem. It was a wasteland of stones and dust, of coa.r.s.e ridges of b.l.o.o.d.y-minded gra.s.s that cut the skin like knives, and of ruins. Here and there some fault in the rock beneath opened narrow roots.p.a.ce with access to underground water, nourishing stark, barrel-trunked trees with fleshy leaves shaped like the sort of arrowheads the Empire used to pierce strong mail. The going was uneven, the dusty terrain rising and falling with the stony bones of the land beneath. Sometimes those bones speared through into crags and juts of red-black rock that the coa.r.s.e wind had rounded and bowed. Imperial mapmakers had not made much inroad into the Nem. It was a wasteland of stones and dust, of coa.r.s.e ridges of b.l.o.o.d.y-minded gra.s.s that cut the skin like knives, and of ruins. Here and there some fault in the rock beneath opened narrow roots.p.a.ce with access to underground water, nourishing stark, barrel-trunked trees with fleshy leaves shaped like the sort of arrowheads the Empire used to pierce strong mail. The going was uneven, the dusty terrain rising and falling with the stony bones of the land beneath. Sometimes those bones speared through into crags and juts of red-black rock that the coa.r.s.e wind had rounded and bowed.

The Imperial scouts, mostly staying with the dubious safety of the Slave Corps, had nevertheless ventured far enough to pinpoint a Scorpion-kinden camp, and it was this tenuous landmark that Hrathen had set his compa.s.s by. Overall, it was Brugan's plan but Hrathen's details. Hrathen found he liked this mission, as Brugan had known he would, and in liking it, he would remain faithful to it. Until it suits me otherwise Until it suits me otherwise. Such was the constant clash of his mixed blood: the Wasp crying, Serve yourself by serving the Empire Serve yourself by serving the Empire, while the Scorpion roared out, Do what you will Do what you will.

The Scorpions of the Nem were not so dependent on outside trading to make their living as the Dryclaw tribes Hrathen had known, but still, a caravan of this size walking obediently towards one of their camps had attracted a lot of interest: three heavily laden automotives grinding their monotonous way over the desert ground, and each of them with two draught beetles plodding meekly in traces before them, not labouring as yet but ready to haul the wagons if they broke down or ran out of fuel. Hrathen had asked for a score of the Slave Corps's most intrepid, and Brugan had not stinted on obliging him. They were like old friends, to him, for he knew them for men who adulterated Imperial writ with their own self-interest, willing to go further and risk more for the sake of their profits and their pleasures. Proceeding alongside them were a dozen who wore the armour of the Light Airborne, but who mostly kept to themselves with a quiet discipline. Hrathen had marked these as Rekef agents, and guessed that they would be keeping a close eye on him.

Still, twelve of them? He flatters me. Or perhaps Brugan had some other mission in mind, and that was an unwelcome thought. If these men had received orders to a.s.sa.s.sinate the Warlord of the Nemian Scorpions, then this expedition would be everyone's last service to the Empire.

After the soldiers came the experts, who got to ride while the others walked. Chief amongst them, and most vocal, was Dannec, the political officer of the Rekef and its most overt representative. He was a thin-faced, ambitious man who did not relish being sent off into the wilderness, not even by the Rekef's supreme commander himself. He wasted no chance to complain, and even now he was suggesting that they drive the Scorpions off the ridge over to their left. Hrathen had ignored him from the start, and by now everyone else did, too. Aside from Dannec, there were eight men from the Engineering Corps, led by a grey veteran named Angved. They formed a mysterious and silent cabal of their own, and Hrathen was looking forward to putting them through their paces.

The sky was darkening but the horizon ahead was heaping up with a range of stark artificial shapes: one of the famous ruins of the Nem desert that the Scorpions had made their own. There were flames to be seen there, burning bluish-white. They were fuelled by a rock-oil, Hrathen understood, that the Scorpions, or their slaves, extracted wherever it bubbled to the surface. Here in the desert it was more readily available than wood, and continued burning for days.

The Scorpions began to close in now, bringing their mounts nearer and nearer until they had turned from scouts to an escort. They rode humpbacked black desert beetles that skittered along on high, long legs, fast over the dusty ground. They also rode low-slung scorpions, whose claws had been capped with sharp iron, sitting on them in strangely made offset side-saddles to keep the riders out of the path of the curved stingers. Others were on foot: tall and burly men and women with waxy-pale skin and snaggletoothed underbites, wearing brief garments the colour of dust. About half of these had armour too, some merely with primitive carapace scale, but many with mail or plated leather. One even wore an undersized banded cuira.s.s that had once borne the Imperial colours.

'Savages,' Dannec muttered, but Hrathen smiled to see them. He stood up from his seat on the lead wagon, 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 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? 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 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 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 pa.s.sed 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 n.o.ble savages here. All they have is a fierce respect for strength in all its forms, and that includes cleverness No codes of honour, no complex laws no n.o.ble 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 ma.s.sive 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, 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 ma.s.sive 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 pa.s.sed 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 eggsh.e.l.ls 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 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 This is not just any chief, this is the Warlord of the whole Nem desert. It would be a hard t.i.tle 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 Strength, always. There was no room for sentiment here.

'You have spared me the ch.o.r.e 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? 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 pa.s.sed 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. 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 pa.s.sed 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 perhaps your mate?'

The other Scorpions loved that, and Hrathen smiled, too. 'You are right, of course. I shall have words with him.' He turned the smile on Dannec and, as the man opened his mouth to speak, he rammed a thumb-claw as far as the knuckle into the Wasp's throat. Dannec, words abruptly gone, stared at him. With faint interest Hrathen saw his own b.l.o.o.d.y claw-tip within the man's gaping mouth. He jerked his hand three times, feeling the sharp bone slice flesh and arteries, and then withdrew his thumb with a practised movement. He turned back to Jakal as the Rekef man's body slumped lifeless to the ground, thinking, Thank you, General Brugan. He was perfect for the purpose Thank you, General Brugan. He was perfect for the purpose.

The Scorpions were still laughing, but their tone had changed from mockery to appreciation. Strength again, and a strong leader did not tolerate weakness in his followers.

'Very good,'Jakal said quietly. 'I admire your performance.' Her tone told him that she had seen through the device but still appreciated the effort. The next time the jar came round, she pa.s.sed it over to him, and he took a great swig of the fierce, fiery liquor.

He let the Scorpions talk amongst themselves for a while, let Jakal watch him and wonder, and then excused himself, wandering off into the dark to relieve his bladder. On the way back, he located the artificer, Angved, leaning on a capless pillar and carefully watching the group at the fire.

'Well?' Hrathen asked him.

'Well, I never liked the man, but even so,' the old man replied. He wore his armour still, even the helm. Field engineers seldom had to fly, and represented years of Imperial training, so they had better mail than anyone else except the sentinel heavy infantry.

'All part of the plan,' Hrathen said. 'Don't tell me you didn't see it coming when I called him to the fire.'

'I know he he didn't,' Angved remarked. 'Tell me, sir, when do they descend on us with sword and axe and cut us all into pieces?' didn't,' Angved remarked. 'Tell me, sir, when do they descend on us with sword and axe and cut us all into pieces?'

'When we're no longer useful to them,' Hrathen informed him. 'Have you guessed at your duties?'

'Doesn't take much to work that out.' Angved spat. 'Can't see them as quick students.'

'Living out here, you learn anything fast, so don't underestimate them,' Hrathen warned. He a.s.sessed the artificer as a level-headed man, someone who could be relied on. Considering the man would suffice, he headed back to the fire.

'So why does the Empire seek out the Many of Nem?' Jakal asked him, as he sat down again. 'I am not such a fool as to believe you fear us. You are far away and strong, so if you are giving gifts to us, it is because you want gifts in return.'

'Tell me about Khanaphes,' Hrathen said, and the Scorpions went quiet again. 'Are the people of Khanaphes your friends?' he persisted. 'Do they pay your warriors tribute? Do they send you gifts?'

Jakal tilted her helmet back. The face she revealed was a hard one, even for a Scorpion. Her eyes were red, and the oil-fire made them shine with a mad light. 'We raid the Khanaphir all along the Jamail,' she replied. 'We strike at their farms, their merchants and tax gatherers. When they are strong they hunt us, but we are fast and they are slow. When we are strong, they fall back to their stone walls that we cannot breach.'

'The Empire wishes an end to Khanaphes,' said Hrathen. The Scorpion laughter was derisory, but Jakal held up a clawed hand to quell it.

'Why?' she demanded. 'What offence has it caused, being so far away?'