Dragonfly Falling (66 page)

Daklan and Haroc came
back out of his tent quickly. They had come quietly and without armour to catch
him asleep. He thought it possible they might regret that.

‘Ah, Major Thalric,’
Daklan began.

‘You had a message for
me, at this hour?’ Thalric prompted.

‘Of sorts. I have
received orders from Capitas, Major, which concern you.’

Thalric nodded. It was
no more than he had anticipated. ‘Perhaps you want to reveal them, Major
Daklan?’

Daklan glanced at the
Vekken tents all around them. ‘I think we may have some grounds for argument
shortly, Major, and I would hate for our allies to see officers of the Empire
in disagreement. Perhaps we should step off beyond the sentries.’

‘Into the dark, you
mean?’ Thalric clarified.

‘There’s a moon. Or are
you frightened of the dark, Major Thalric?’

He smiled at that,
watching the two soldiers stand uncertainly to one side, and Haroc and Daklan
step apart a little, anticipating his move.

But of course they were
right. A brawl between Wasp officers would damage the Empire’s reputation with
the Vekken, and Collegium had not fallen yet.

He felt suddenly very
cold, as though his life was already bleeding away.

‘My loyalty is always to
the Empire,’ he said softly. ‘If the Empire truly requires this, then who am I
to put my own interests before those of my Emperor?’

‘Very patriotic,’ said
Daklan, who did not believe him, but without another word Thalric turned and
headed towards the outer edge of the Vekken camp, leaving them to follow.

He stopped only when
they were barely still in sight of the camp lanterns. There was enough moon to
see the shapes of Daklan and Haroc, who held a sword in his hand now instead of
a scroll. The two soldiers trailed behind, obviously trying not to hear
anything that might prove bad for them.

‘I admire your
resolution, Thalric,’ Daklan said, tensely, expecting a trick. Thalric saw
clearly that, had his name been on the death-list, Daklan would not go so quietly.

‘I have served the
Empire all my life,’ Thalric said. ‘In its service I have done deeds that, if I
had done them in my own name, would have driven me mad. Only by knowing they
were for the greater good could I drive myself to accomplish them.’ He fixed
Daklan with a stare that made the man shift uncomfortably. ‘I have burned books
and executed friends, tortured women and killed children, all in the Empire’s
name. What would I be if, when my own life came before that same judge, I was
to reject the Empire’s will and obey it no longer?’

Daklan shifted
uncomfortably. ‘This isn’t personal, Major. I won’t pretend that I’m fond of
you, but orders are orders.’

‘Of course they are.’

‘You are to leave the
service of the Rekef, and as suddenly as possible – their exact wording. You
know what that means,’ Daklan said. Thalric saw his teeth white in the
moonlight as he grinned.

‘Can I ask why?’ Thalric
said. ‘If you know.’

‘I know well enough. The
orders are from General Maxin. That’s a name you must recognize.’

‘He’s your patron?’

‘I plan to do well by
him,’ Daklan confirmed. ‘There are changes happening in the Rekef, changes at
the top, but the ripples come down to lowly soldiers like us. It’s known that
you’re General Reiner’s man.’

‘I am the Emperor’s
man.’

‘The Emperor doesn’t
give a curse, Thalric. You’re Reiner’s man, and Maxin is having a little cull
of Reiner’s people just now. You’re a major, so you’re important enough to get
noticed, in all the wrong ways.’

‘I don’t think General
Reiner has any love for me,’ stated Thalric sadly.

‘Obviously not, or he’d
have protected you,’ Daklan agreed. ‘You’re big enough to make the list, but
small enough to be sacrificed. Bad luck, Major Thalric. Now, I’ve got sleep to
catch up on, so let’s put you out of your misery.’

Daklan was tense again,
expecting an explosion of anger or desperation, but Thalric carefully lowered
himself to his knees.

I
have always served the Empire, so let this be my last service.
And yet
even as he thought this, even as Haroc stepped over with hand raised, something
began turning deep inside him.
This was the will of the
Empire? Simply because some distant general was grabbing for power? Because the
Rekef was tearing at itself? The Emperor would
never
condone this if he knew.

He heard the crunch of
Haroc’s sandals on the ground right behind him.

How
does this serve the Empire?
But, above and beyond this plaintive call,
he heard a voice he had almost forgotten cry out
How does
this serve
me
?

Cut off, run out, left
hanging, abandoned to the butchers – and something stirred within him that had
been fettered for decades.

I
want to live
.

He twisted, so that
Haroc’s sting scorched the side of his face rather than caving in the back of
his head. Almost distantly, he felt his own hand flare with fiery energy, and
saw one of the soldiers immediately arch backwards. Daklan was running forward
with drawn blade, furious at being fooled. Thalric staggered upright, smashing
Haroc across the face with his elbow. The man moved with the blow, though, and
then his sword lashed across Thalric’s side, grating against the copperweave
mail beneath his tunic that once again saved his life.

Thalric let his wings
flare open, lifting him up, intending only to get away from here. Haroc was on
him, grappling with him in the air, and a moment later the two of them crashed
to earth with Haroc on top.

‘Kill him!’ Daklan was
shouting now, heedless of the Ants within earshot. ‘Kill the bastard!’

Thalric struck Haroc
still harder across the side of the head, but the lean man ignored it, slamming
his own fist into the seared skin of Thalric’s face, and then getting a hand on
his throat, the other hand raised with palm open.

‘Goodbye, Major,’ he
grunted – and then Daklan screamed in pain and Haroc’s head whipped round.

Thalric was bringing his
own hand up already, while Haroc’s palm was now pointing back the way they
came. Energy spat from it and Thalric heard a woman cry out.

He loosed his own sting,
and Haroc was already twisting to avoid it, but the blast caught him across the
shoulder and chest, throwing him off Thalric, who now staggered to his feet.

The last soldier was
running for him, casting a bolt of energy that sizzled over his head. With sick
regret Thalric shot him directly in the chest, then watched him pitch over,
roll once and lie still.

Daklan was down, trying
to prop himself up with one hand, the other one reaching round for the knife
buried in his back. Beside him, Lorica the halfbreed lay curled up into a ball,
after Haroc had blasted her in the stomach.

Thalric was about to
turn back to finish Haroc, but Daklan was suddenly on his feet, making a
jagged, staggering run with sword extended. Thalric swayed to one side,
reaching for the sword and letting Daklan’s momentum spin him round. Then he
saw Haroc standing, hand extended, and Thalric let go of Daklan to launch a
desperate shot at him. Haroc loosed his sting at the same time.

Haroc’s head snapped
back, his face a blasted ruin. His own bolt passed between Daklan and Thalric,
burning them both, and then Daklan’s sword pierced the copper-weave and sliced
into Thalric’s side.

He gasped in agony and
dropped to his knees. This was bad. He had suffered enough wounds to know this
was a bad one. If Daklan had drawn the sword from his flesh then there would be
more blood than he could have stanched, but Daklan was now stumbling away,
loose-handed, then falling. Thalric saw a shudder overtake him before Lorica’s
knife-blow finally did its work.

Beyond Daklan, he could
hear Lorica’s quiet whimpering.

He himself was hurt,
hurt enough to die, without some help soon.

But of course, there
would be no help, because the Empire had put him on a death-list. He certainly
could not seek refuge with the Vekken for, to his pain-racked mind, they were
the Empire near enough.

He began to crawl
towards Lorica. Haroc’s shot had been a solid one and Thalric guessed she must
be on the very brink of death herself. His hand touched her ankle, then worked
its way up until he could grasp her hand.

She could not speak, and
he himself had nothing to say, but despite his own suffering he clung to her
until her sobbing stopped and she relaxed into the calmness of death, because
Thalric had always looked after his subordinates whenever he could.

When she was silent, the
whole world was silent. The sleeping Ant camp made not a sound. Thalric
released Lorica’s cooling hand. He was breathing in fractional stages, each one
a burning ruin.

Dying
,
thought Thalric, and then the fierce thought,
No!
He
would not surrender to this. He would fight. He would fight. He would . . .

He levered himself to
his elbows, rolled onto his good side, and then he gave a short, retching cry
as he got to his knees. The world loomed dark for a moment, but he clung to
consciousness. If he lost it now, it would be for ever.

Have
to fight!

He crawled over to
Daklan, leant on the knife-hilt to drive it another inch further into the man,
hissing with spite.
Now comes the hard part.

He took the hilt of the
sword still lodged in him and closed his eyes. It took him three long breaths
to begin.

It should be done
slowly, he knew. With a strangled gasp he dragged the blade from his own side,
feeling the motion far too deep. The darkness clawed for him again as he
clasped one hand to his blood-slick flesh. He leant heavily on Daklan’s corpse
once again, fighting for every moment.

From the uneven tear in
the other man’s tunic he began to rip cloth in long, ragged strips. The idea of
pulling a binding tight made him sick with weakness. Instead he awkwardly
stuffed cloth in the jagged torn gash in his mail, feeling the fabric grow
instantly warm and sopping with blood. Thalric just kept tearing and stuffing
until the oozing blood had begun to cake and set, making the whole side of his
body a grimy clotting mask. Then he sat back and waited for his shaking to
stop.

Have
to fight.
He was Thalric the spymaster. He had plans to make. He was
never without a scheme. He needed to find somewhere to hide.
Somewhere to die?

Lurching drunkenly to
his feet he instantly doubled over about the wound, then began stumbling away,
no clear direction or destination, just away into the night.

Thalric’s mind faded in
and out, so that the night became a series of brief moments of lucidity amidst
constant descents into chaos. Every so often, like now, he had to stop to
remember simple things like his name, or what he was doing, or why his side was
running with blood.

He could not tell how
far he had gone, but he did not dare look back in case he saw the bodies of
Lorica and the others still clearly in sight.

The night was turning
grey to the east, now.
My last day, do you think?
He
had been making a shambling progress on knees and one hand, hunched over the
other hand pressed to his side, just managing a crippled-insect pace across the
dusty terrain.

Betrayed
.
He had known it would happen eventually, because he lived in a world of
betrayal. He had been ready to kill his mentor, poor Ulther, after all, and
lied to himself that it was for the Empire’s good.
Am I any
better than Daklan, for all my protestations?
Worse, perhaps. At least
Daklan had accepted the true darkness of what he did, while Thalric had
blithely convinced himself that he was still a loyal servant of the Empire, and
not just the tool of some faction.

He stumbled, and the
wound flared in his side, and for a moment he could not breathe. Inside him,
something howled for his lost Empire, like a child ripped from its parents.
Where did I go wrong? What can I do to make them take me back?

But it was too late for
that. There was only one thing the Empire wanted from him, and he would oblige
it shortly and settle his account. All he had accomplished through his
conscientious loyalty was to make himself expendable, and ultimately be
expended.

He did not feel he had
the motivation to get up again. He had always been a tough and leathery
creature, and he would spend a long time over dying. He felt he deserved it.

But there were footsteps
approaching, cautiously. No doubt the Vekken had tracked him. They might put
him out of his misery, or take him back and try to save him. He wanted neither
option.

Thalric lifted his head
to see who was coming. He saw booted feet, shimmering blue-green greaves and
the hem of a cloak.

With a great groan he
fell onto his back, staring upwards, his gaze following the armoured lines
until he came to her face. The sight of it stripped raw something in his mind,
something branded into his memory, never to be forgotten. He heard a wordless,
ragged cry, and knew the voice was his own.

Fate, he realized, had
truly found a fitting end for him.

‘I’ve found you at
last,’ said Felise Mienn. That was the last thing Thalric heard for some time.

A pain in his hands woke
him, shooting cramps that let Thalric know his clenched fists were bound shut
so that he could not use his sting.

Everything seemed
unexpectedly, appallingly bright. He had been trying to find somewhere to hide.
Now there was sun so dazzling he could hardly open his eyes. Though his hands
were bound, his arms were free, but he could barely lift them. He tried to sit
up,