Part 39 (1/2)

'Halmir, me,' said another man appearing on the far side of him. There were soon quite a few gathered, sitting on stones or the ground, in a loose circle that now included him.

'Totho,' he said awkwardly, 'of Collegium.'

'You have done much for us, Totho,' Dariset said. 'Much that you did not need to.'

And to please a woman who won't even turn up and witness it, he thought, but he just nodded noncommittally.

'We are honoured that you and your giant and your people fight alongside us, Totho,' said one of the others, and something clicked inside Totho, as he thought, This is the first time that any of them, save Amnon, has called me something other than 'Foreigner' This is the first time that any of them, save Amnon, has called me something other than 'Foreigner'. He looked into their faces, the faces of simple, hardworking people who were prepared to die for their city. This is something that Drephos never did. He never knew the names of his soldiers. He would never have cared This is something that Drephos never did. He never knew the names of his soldiers. He would never have cared.

It was a terrible trap, though. They would die, he knew. Perhaps even today. Perhaps in an hour's time or less, Ptasmon would be writhing in agony with his gut ripped open by a Scorpion halberd, or Dariset would lie still with a crossbow bolt through her eye. In knowing their names, in making them real people and not components of a machine, he was baring his flesh for the lash. They are meat for the war machine They are meat for the war machine, he tried to remind himself but, sitting there with them, it came hard.

He was going to say something dismissive, cast them off, become the Foreigner again in their eyes. They were now going about their midday meal industriously, talking amongst themselves, in between mouthfuls. But these people are so solemn and silent, almost like Ant-kinden But these people are so solemn and silent, almost like Ant-kinden, he thought, but the notion was easily corrected: They are like that only in front of strangers. Like Ant-kinden, amongst their own they behave like all people They are like that only in front of strangers. Like Ant-kinden, amongst their own they behave like all people.

He said nothing further, just let them talk. He learned about the widow that Halmir was hoping to woo, and that Ptasmon did not yet know whether his family had got safely over the river. He learned that the scarred man called Kham was Amnon's cousin, yet was openly critical of much that the First Soldier did. He learned that Dariset had once gone on an expedition to scout the ruins in the heart of the Nem, but they had turned back on seeing the shapes that moved there, and the signs that those shapes left behind: crucified Scorpions poisoned and desiccating in the sun and sand, and yet some of them still alive.

I should not have shared in this. He felt their lives loading him with emotional baggage that Drephos would have scoffed at. He remembered when he had let so much similar baggage slough off him, during the siege of Tark. He had been granted a kind of icy rationality at that point, a clarity of vision he would be loath to lose. But, he now considered, had he ever truly been free of sentiment?

Remind me again why I am still here, and not gone from this doomed city? Che's face, in his mind, never failed to twist something inside him, some organ that seemed designed purely to wreck his life and ruin his every dream. Che's face, in his mind, never failed to twist something inside him, some organ that seemed designed purely to wreck his life and ruin his every dream. Cursed woman! Wretched wasting woman! Can you not let me be, after all this time? Cursed woman! Wretched wasting woman! Can you not let me be, after all this time? He had tried oh how he had tried to excise the callow, clumsy youth who had been so besotted with her, but no matter how deep his reason cut, up to its elbows in blood and tissue, his younger self always grew back. He had tried oh how he had tried to excise the callow, clumsy youth who had been so besotted with her, but no matter how deep his reason cut, up to its elbows in blood and tissue, his younger self always grew back.

And so we are brought to this pa.s.s. I will fight to defend a city I should care nothing about, and then I will most likely die, and so will those who follow me. Drephos would laugh himself to death if he knew. Or would he weep for me? If Drephos could weep for anything, it would be at such a futile waste.

He looked over to Meyr, saw the huge man still sitting, Teuthete standing by him, their heads almost on the same level. The Mantis was speaking, but Totho could not hear her quiet words. The Mole Cricket shook his head slowly, and she put a hand to his chest, her arm-spines flexing.

A shout went up from nearby and suddenly they were all in motion again, rus.h.i.+ng for the barricades, cramming a last mouthful before taking up weapons. Meyr pulled his helm forward over his face. Totho saw Amnon embrace Praeda one more time and then take up his s.h.i.+eld.

The next wave of the Many were coming.

Corcoran felt the engines of the Fourth Iteration Fourth Iteration turn over, first slowly and then with a building urgency. The crew were casting off, letting the rudders and the current of the river pull them away from the quays. turn over, first slowly and then with a building urgency. The crew were casting off, letting the rudders and the current of the river pull them away from the quays.

There was already a movement among the Scorpion-kinden in antic.i.p.ation. A great ma.s.s of them was gathering by the west pillar of the Estuarine Gate, antic.i.p.ating that the s.h.i.+p would have to come close enough for them to rake it with crossbow shot before it quit the city. And we should, we really should And we should, we really should, Corcoran thought. What we should be doing right now is leaving. Khanaphes was never going to be a market for us, and soon it won't even be a city any more What we should be doing right now is leaving. Khanaphes was never going to be a market for us, and soon it won't even be a city any more.

He did not understand his leader: Totho seemed to have gone mad, caught some local fever. Gone native, perhaps. Where was the profit in this, to defend one pack of primitives against another? What could they possibly gain? Especially as the beast they had backed was going to lose. It didn't take any tactical mind to see that.

Corcoran was not a soldier, despite the armour. He was a merchant, from a family of small traders. When the Iron Glove had hoisted its banner over Chasme he had seen the opportunity. He had been in near the start, and done well out of it. It had been worth exchanging the cluttered security of Solarno to make that bid for profit. He was a merchant and profit was his business. That was what he understood. Profit allowed him to live well and be a pleasant and amiable person, because to be pleasant and amiable in this world you needed a buffer between you and its woes.

The world's woes were coming right back at him today. Sure and I'm very sorry for them all Sure and I'm very sorry for them all, he thought, but it wasn't as if they were family. The Khanaphir were having their last days on the map before the Scorpions consigned them to the past they had dwelled in for so long.

But the halfbreed had decided that the Iron Glove should be making some kind of idiot stand stand now. It was beyond comprehension. Corcoran wanted so very badly to sail the now. It was beyond comprehension. Corcoran wanted so very badly to sail the Iteration Iteration towards the river mouth and demand that they raise the gate. Surely he would then be doing what was best for the consortium. Totho had plainly gone mad. towards the river mouth and demand that they raise the gate. Surely he would then be doing what was best for the consortium. Totho had plainly gone mad.

If it had been any other man, perhaps, but Totho was a favourite of the Grand Old Man himself. It was well known that he and the big chief had built the Iron Glove with their own hands. Whatever Totho did would be given the nod, no matter how insane. Which left Corcoran out on the river, turning the bows of the Fourth Iteration Fourth Iteration towards the bridge. towards the bridge.

They were fighting up there. Totho was fighting up there. And maybe there'll be some justice and he'll get killed before I do And maybe there'll be some justice and he'll get killed before I do. There would be a signal, but the Iteration Iteration had to be in place by then. had to be in place by then.

'Take us in closer!' Corcoran called, and the order was relayed down to the engine rooms. 'And get the smallshotters loaded and on the rail,' he added, trying to sound adequately military. His hands were clenched on that rail themselves because otherwise they would be shaking.

The Iteration Iteration was a good s.h.i.+p, made to stand the perils of hostile seas and hostile seafarers. In the river current it handled choppily, the engines constantly adjusting to the water's flow. Corcoran had the bulk of the Iron Glove people aboard with him, both to handle the craft and to man its armaments. They were short-handed even so. They had left a fair slice of their crew on the Spider-kinden pirate that had tried to overhaul them on the way to Khanaphes. was a good s.h.i.+p, made to stand the perils of hostile seas and hostile seafarers. In the river current it handled choppily, the engines constantly adjusting to the water's flow. Corcoran had the bulk of the Iron Glove people aboard with him, both to handle the craft and to man its armaments. They were short-handed even so. They had left a fair slice of their crew on the Spider-kinden pirate that had tried to overhaul them on the way to Khanaphes.

The Scorpions on the bank were watching, fascinated, as the s.h.i.+p completed its c.u.mbersome turn and chugged towards the bridge. With its mast down and sails stowed the Iteration Iteration might just have sc.r.a.ped under its arches, in another breach of Khanaphir tradition. might just have sc.r.a.ped under its arches, in another breach of Khanaphir tradition. That lot can rot That lot can rot, Corcoran thought. If they'd had any sense they'd have bought a job lot of snapbows off us, and they'd already be chasing the Scorpions back into the desert about now If they'd had any sense they'd have bought a job lot of snapbows off us, and they'd already be chasing the Scorpions back into the desert about now.

'Keep us steady!' he called, as they neared the bridge. 'Steady here.'

'You want the anchor out?'

'No, just keep us steady.' He was not a sailor, either. Let his crew wrestle with engines and rudders to fulfil his orders. If Totho didn't have to make sense, neither did he. He did not want to be anch.o.r.ed down, though, since the Scorpions were not exactly powerless to retaliate.

They had not seen the s.h.i.+p as a threat, he realized. There were ma.s.ses of them gathered, set on funnelling on to the bridge. The Iteration Iteration had turned to put its broadside towards them and the crew were clipping the smallshotters to the rail. Tiny compared to the Scorpions' own siege weapons, they could shoot b.a.l.l.s three inches across that would make a mess of a wooden hull, but were even more useful against human targets. had turned to put its broadside towards them and the crew were clipping the smallshotters to the rail. Tiny compared to the Scorpions' own siege weapons, they could shoot b.a.l.l.s three inches across that would make a mess of a wooden hull, but were even more useful against human targets.

'Grapeshot,' Corcoran ordered. His people industriously dropped bulging little paper sacks into the weapons' muzzles, each one a careful measure of firepowder and shot.

Might as well make the first one count, Corcoran thought. 'We'll give it them all together,' he shouted out. Then he started as a small figure dropped on to the deck beside him.

'Himself says now would be a good time,' Tirado told him.

Corcoran nodded. 'Let them have it on my mark!' he cried, and then, 'Three, two, one loose!'

The combined shock of a dozen smallshotters detonating at once rolled the Iteration Iteration back in the water amid a bellowing of smoke and fire. The fistfuls of lead shot tore through the ma.s.sed Scorpion warriors, ripping dozens of them apart. Corcoran was glad enough he didn't have to witness it. The aftermath, as the s.h.i.+p righted itself, was bad enough. back in the water amid a bellowing of smoke and fire. The fistfuls of lead shot tore through the ma.s.sed Scorpion warriors, ripping dozens of them apart. Corcoran was glad enough he didn't have to witness it. The aftermath, as the s.h.i.+p righted itself, was bad enough.

'Load and loose in your own time,' he instructed his crew, seeing the Scorpion host boiling and reeling from this new a.s.sault. That will have taken pressure off the barricades That will have taken pressure off the barricades. 'You go back now and find out how long he wants us here,' he told the Fly, and Tirado kicked off from the deck, darting upwards towards the bridge itself.

The smallshotters were discharging independently, each at the speed of its own crew, las.h.i.+ng at the Scorpions wherever they were thickest. There was some return of crossbow bolts, but the distance defeated them, only a few coasting far enough to bounce back from the s.h.i.+p's armoured hull.

'They're bringing up the big engines!' someone called. Corcoran glanced up at the bridge. Surely they were done by now? Surely Totho didn't need them to stay out here. Perhaps Tirado had been killed or hurt, or simply forgotten to deliver the message.

'Try to keep them busy,' he shouted. He located one of the big leadshotters, and saw that it was some way inland, taking advantage of its own better range. The Iteration Iteration was armoured, but it was designed to be proof against the sort of pieces that another s.h.i.+p would carry. No s.h.i.+p had ever put to sea with something as heavy as the Scorpion ordnance. A few hits near the waterline would soon take care of the was armoured, but it was designed to be proof against the sort of pieces that another s.h.i.+p would carry. No s.h.i.+p had ever put to sea with something as heavy as the Scorpion ordnance. A few hits near the waterline would soon take care of the Iteration Iteration.

'It'll take them a while to find the range,' he said, hearing his own voice tremble. Over the sporadic boom of the smallshotters he could barely be heard anyway. The bulk of the Scorpion advance had scattered, seeking shelter from the Iteration Iteration's salvos. The fighting above must falter, surely, the grinding wheels of death no longer fed by a flow of fresh bodies. Corcoran gritted his teeth, watching the Scorpion crews load their ma.s.sive weapons.

They were quicker than he had a.s.sumed. He saw the gust of smoke from one leadshotter and instinctively dropped to his knees.

A tremendous column of spray spouted from the river, a full twenty yards past them and astern. They hurried their aim They hurried their aim, he thought, and it was oddly rea.s.suring to know that he had done enough damage to secure the enemy's attention. A second leadshotter roared even as he thought this, and the water erupted a few yards off the bows, between the Iteration Iteration and the piles of the bridge. Corcoran clung to the rail as the swell rocked them. Meanwhile, some of the smallshotters were loosing solid shot, trying for enough range to trouble the Scorpion artillerists. and the piles of the bridge. Corcoran clung to the rail as the swell rocked them. Meanwhile, some of the smallshotters were loosing solid shot, trying for enough range to trouble the Scorpion artillerists.

Tirado dropped almost on to his shoulders, swerving in the air to make himself a harder target. 'Time to go,' he announced. 'Pull back to the docks, and be thankful this river's so wide.'

'Stop shooting and let's get out of here!' Corcoran shouted to the crew at the top of his lungs. He had to repeat it twice, running down the length of the s.h.i.+p, before everyone had pulled the smallshotters back and the s.h.i.+p's engines started to turn them. Another plume of water exploded nearby, but they had become a moving target now, spoiling the enemy's calculations.

But they'll be ready for us the next time, won't they just ...

Above, on the bridge, the latest Scorpion a.s.sault was falling back, unsupported, shot through with arrows. Yet the host of the Many of Nem seemed barely diminished.

Thirty-Six.

She woke up because he had stepped on her arm. The sudden pain, and waking into utter dark, left her wholly bewildered. Che had no idea where she was. Someone was apologizing to her but all reference escaped her. For a brief moment she was nowhere, and had no idea even who she was.

Then she remembered her Art: it was still not second nature to her. She let her eyes gradually find their way, and saw Thalric a few paces away, looking frustrated.

'Clumsy b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she told him, and enquired, 'I've been asleep?'