War Master's Gate (52 page)

But she saw now that her intervention was required, or else her troops would have no chance of victory. She saw how it must be done. ‘No, lead him away, take him some place safe,
Tegrec,’ she spat the words at the turncoat Wasp, ‘or I swear I will have your very spirit on crossed pikes for all eternity. Tisamon, guard me.’

Gorrec glanced at the Red Watch officer, Ostrec, but the man seemed disinclined to give any orders, just staring off into the grey mist of the trees as though he saw some great
truth there.
Up to me as usual. T
he Mantis woman who was Seda’s remaining bodyguard loped past him, the claw of her gauntlet jutting downwards like a dagger blade.

He was no great strategist, but he had led men in a fight before, and this cluttered and gloomy forest was as much ideal Pioneer territory as anywhere.

‘I’ll hold the centre,’ he announced, because it was what he was better fitted for than the other two. ‘Jons, left. Ic, right – flank, strike, fade. Once
you’ve engaged I’m pulling back.’

‘She’s not left you many places to pull back
to
,’ Jons Escarrabin pointed out, hands busy working the winch handle to charge his cut-down snapbow.

Gorrec shrugged. He had a broad-headed axe in each hand and a heavy feeling in his stomach.
How many enemy? How well armed? Nothing but ‘They come!’ from Herself.
Still, he
had known before now that he and his fellows were reckoned expendable. The Empress had not brought them here because she enjoyed their scintillating conversation.

Icnumon the halfbreed had his shortbow out, an arrow to the string, and he slunk off between the trees without a word, reliable as ever.

‘Good luck, Sergeant.’ Jons threw Gorrec an abbreviated salute and was gone, too, stepping away with stealth rare for a Beetle. The Empress was still in sight, behind, with that
armoured – whatever it was – standing before her.
Not my problem, not right now. Right now,
I’m
my problem.
He crouched down, taking cover leaning against a
tree, ready to throw himself at an enemy or out of the way, as circumstances recommended. Many thoughts rose to mind, but he let them pass.

When she passed beyond, through that gate opened by blood –
whose blood?
– Che realized that she had wooed the Nethyen too well. She was here at the very
heart, within reach of Argastos’s barrow – and so was
she
.

‘The Empress is here! Ready yourselves!’ she managed to gasp. ‘They’re coming!’ Because, of course, Seda would sense Che just as easily and, of course, she would
send her followers. No, more than that. Che
knew
they were coming, as if she could see the forest from above and track each man’s progress by the ripple of undergrowth. ‘There,
that way!’ She dragged her sword out, and instantly her three protectors – the Wasp, the Mantis halfbreed, the Beetle – were moving as directed, whilst Maure hung back, with a
shortsword in her hand and absolutely no intention of using it.

The woods here were less overgrown, but there was a misty gloom over everything that even Che’s eyes made little headway with. Still, she saw Tynisa clearly, as she rushed forwards,
leading the way with her blade – saw Amnon peeling off to the right, moving to intercept some enemy that he must have seen or heard, but that Che could not know about – save that she
did
. She could feel that dagger-like mind drawing near, drenched in thoughts of blood and honour.

She stood stock still, trembling, having stepped into a world that was crowding in on her with knowledge.

Thalric she had already lost track of, somewhere off in the trees and acting on his own recognizance. She reached for him but felt only a shadow, an echo of him that she could not pin down.

Then the killing began, as swiftly as that. A Mantis woman was abruptly rushing Amnon, breaking from the greying ferns too rapidly for him to bring his snapbow to bear. He caught her blade-arm
with one hand and her off-hand spines raked down his breastplate before he cast her aside. His snapbow swung back on its strap and, when she leapt for him again, he had his sword out, fending off
two jabbing lunges. Che felt the woman’s astonishment at finding a Beetle so swift, and yet still strong enough to snap her in half. The Mantis fell back a pace, daring Amnon to follow her,
darting in again as he tried to make more distance between them. Che found herself almost rehearsing Amnon’s moves as he made them, even though he was out of her sight, even though she had
none of his skill and experience.

Her own hands twitched as the big Beetle twisted at the woman’s next lunge, letting the metal claw gouge a furrow in his backplate. When his sword came in, the Mantis was ready for it, her
free hand slapping his strong, lumbering stroke aside – just the sort of artless stabbing she expected from a Beetle –
and Che saw the thought as if it had been her own
–
but then a solid blow from Amnon’s left hand thundered into the juncture of neck and shoulder, sending the woman staggering to one knee.

He did not hesitate, kicking her in the chest with all his strength, enough to send her sprawling six feet away. She was on her feet in moments, but he had his snapbow aimed and the trigger
pulled in the same space of time, and the bolt snapped her head back before she knew it.

Che’s attention jumped elsewhere, because Tynisa had found an enemy that she herself had almost missed. To her, he seemed barely there, just as Thalric had become a thing of glass and
shadows. This man came to her only through Tynisa’s focus on him: a big, burly Wasp-kinden, almost a match for Amnon, and more than happy to meet Tynisa one on one. He had a pair of huge axes
and he danced with them, never letting them fall still, so their whistling passage made a steel maze for Tynisa to step through. She was faster, but the man was an old hand, and Che could read in
his defences a long experience of fighting against swift Inapt blades, Mantis and Dragonfly both. Tynisa was forcing him back, evading his explosive counter-attacks, but he turned any retreat in a
circle, losing individual steps but never giving any real ground.

And elsewhere: here was a stealthy half-Mantis killer stalking her . . . here was another Wasp –
no, what was he—? –
watching Tynisa’s fight without stepping in
. . . there was the Empress, with Tisamon the revenant as her shield. And behind her, some others, making a crippled escape – but who was so important that the Empress herself would cover
their escape?

How do I know all this . . .?

Then came to her a sublime understanding that allowed her to master all this mental clamour. She was in a place of magic, as perhaps so much more of the Lowlands had been once upon a time. She
was a magician facing another magician, each with their cadre of loyal followers. She was waging a war the likes of which this land had not seen, perhaps, since the Revolution. She was fighting as
a wizard fought.

Chess, she realized. This was where chess came from, and the Tactician piece – or Arista, or Emperor, whatever name was given to it – so vulnerable and powerless,
that
was
her. But of course the Tactician was not powerless, because she governed and controlled the other pieces.

And the implication was plain: magicians did not care about the deaths of their pieces so long as they
won
; but the only pieces Che could advance were her friends.

For a moment she fought against it, ready to let them act according to their own direction. But, of course, the Empress would not hesitate, and surely Che understood this, or must soon grasp
it.

And the halfbreed killer was getting close now.

Che reached out and made her move.

Amnon, stalking forwards, suddenly changed his course, coming upon Tynisa’s battle with the Wasp. Too close together for a snapbow shot, he broke in with his sword, no doubt assuming that
the two of them could take the man, but Tynisa was already falling back, knowing only that she had to, until Che had drawn her to confront the halfbreed –
Icnumon. His name is
Icnumon
.

The man abandoned his bow in an instant, the paired blades sliding silent from their sheathes to meet Tynisa’s rapier.
Now I leave her and must trust to her skill.
Amnon and the
big Wasp were circling, both slightly wounded, the big Beetle’s direct style a better match than Tynisa’s for the Wasp’s two gleaming axes. But that other man, the officer . .
.

Still watching, and his mind –

Che touched his mind, and for a moment could name him Ostrec, Rekef man. And she would have passed on, save that . . .
how is it that I can touch him at all?
The axeman and Thalric were
transparent to her; even Amnon was a shadow barely illuminated by the distant, fading glories of Khanaphes that had shaped him. Tynisa and Icnumon were both fierce fires: Inapt and therefore
fitting tools for a magician. But this Ostrec . . .

And she pressed, and Ostrec broke like an eggshell beneath her touch. Then she and the man behind that mask were standing looking at one another. He drew new veils, too swiftly and skilfully for
her to find out who he was, but he was no Wasp. He was Inapt, he was an
impostor
, and she knew beyond question that Seda was not aware of it.

If you are an enemy of the Empress, now is your moment
. Her own voice sounded weak and timid in her mind, but he trembled when he heard it, as though some great warlord had spoken.

She had a momentary awareness of Thalric, full of purpose, skirting the flanks of the battle.
Seda, he is hunting Seda
, but Che couldn’t be sure, and then he was gone.

In her absence, Amnon had hacked the big Wasp across one hand, shattering bones and leaving an axe buried in the forest floor. Now the man was falling back, and Che could sense the Empress and
her guardian waiting there. Amnon was faster, though. He hurled himself forwards, getting an elbow across the man’s jaw, and then the two of them had toppled over, crashing into the briars.
The finish was brutal artistry, with Amnon pinning the man’s good arm, his own sword drawn back. Its descent was clean and final.

The officer, the impostor, the not-Ostrec, just stared at him, then a moment later he had vanished into the woods, absenting himself from the skirmish entirely.

Tynisa kept pressing Icnumon hard, keeping clear of those shorter blades that Che could virtually taste the poison on, but denying herself an opportunity for a telling blow. The man was good,
but he was no great duellist, better suited to striking from the shadows and in the back. Che reached for his mind, but it was slippery and venomous, and she could not get a hold on it.

Then he broke through Tynisa’s guard, sending her hopping back a handful of steps –
Surely a feint?
– but no, she was off-balance; one honed edge sliced a shallow line
across her arming jacket as she dodged away. Che witnessed the Weaponsmaster’s mystery then, that perfect unison of sword and wielder. Even as Tynisa fought for balance, her arm was coming
about, knocking her opponent’s lunge aside with her rapier’s curved guard and, though her quillons kept winding round, her weapon’s point was just hanging there between them, the
long blade angling and angling to keep itself there so that Icnumon almost ran on to it, trying to follow her up. In that moment, when he had skidded and twisted to a halt to avoid being impaled,
and both of his weapons were coming together to bind her sword aside, she lunged, arm snapping out straight to ram the point into his stomach, razoring through him halfway to the hilt and then out
again in another smooth motion that left her well beyond his reach.

Icnumon collapsed, shuddering but still silent, and Tynisa was already running back to support Amnon.

Che sensed the very moment that Seda understood what was happening. Perhaps because she exercised such autocratic control over her subordinates in the world outside, the woman had come to this
new form of battle moments too late. And now her forces were in disarray and fallen, and here came Amnon, led to her by Che’s firm governance, and only Tisamon stood between him and the end
of an Imperial rule.

Only
Tisamon.

Jons Escarrabin had been a Pioneer for many long years. He had cast in his lot with the Empire during the Twelve-year War, after a stint of fighting against it, because he
recognized what winners looked like. He had not looked back since. A loner and an opportunist by nature, the life of a Pioneer suited him well, and being a servant of the Empire provided him with
the latest toys – like his snapbow – and the opportunity to use them.

But he had never been anywhere like this, even in the Commonweal. The forest around seemed bizarrely inconstant, nothing ever quite where it should be when he took a second look, and since they
arrived they had been stalked by fleeting enemies, never quite seen but always sensed.

Now those enemies had become a reality, though, and he was inching forwards with his snapbow levelled, trying to flank a skirmish that he could hear far too distantly and not pin down.
I
hope you’re doing your job, Gorrec
. But he had a cold feeling that this clash was not one that could ever go well – not in this place.

He was trying to follow a curving course so as to take the notional enemy in the back or the side, as Icnumon should be doing opposite him, but still he had encountered nobody, and the actual
fighting seemed to have drifted away, leaving him seemingly the last man alive in this forest.

This is ridiculous; pull yourself together. Just another Mantis forest.
But he could not quite make himself believe it.

He pushed onwards, because even the illusion of progress was better than nothing, his eyes scanning the dingy greyness of his surroundings for . . . anything, any sign of life. Show him a
Sarnesh soldier right now, and he would be glad of it.

And then there was a shadowy figure in the drifting fog that seemed to hang in rotting sheets in front of his eyes. Surely, there was someone there – or, no, perhaps two of them? His eyes
ached from squinting, and he had a terror that, if he just loosed now at those nebulous forms, they would be gone and he would have no evidence that they had ever been.