But they had provided her with the answer, of course. Thalric’s plan was better than he knew.
She took a deep breath. None of the mummery of before, involving candles and circles. She did not want to pacify these ghosts, and indeed she was not sure that calm was even in their nature. She wanted them fighting mad.
They would be drawn from the minds of the Salmae’s followers, from each and every one, either from personal experience or from second-hand fear brought on by the stories they would have heard.
She closed her eyes and concentrated upon the black and gold.
Thalric and Varmen: representatives of the Rekef and the invincible Imperial army, those spectres that had poisoned the Commonweal over twelve years of bloody warfare, that had left fearful ghosts in every mind: that had even replaced blood-drinking Mosquitos as the terrors invoked to caution children with. Terrors that any moment could march back across the border to continue their slaughter. Terrors of the machine-handed, the disciplined, the cruel, slavers and butchers, rapists and child-killers.
The ghost she raised and sent to follow Thalric and Varmen was the nightmare that troubled the sleep of the entire Commonweal. The two Wasps themselves would never know, never see, but they were trailed by a wake of black and gold shades with flaming hands and red swords.
The Salmae’s warband had entered dense forest now, following the recaptured trail of the fugitives. Under such cover, Thalric’s party had been able to move far closer than they could while pursuing the Salmae through hilly open countryside. Now he hoped to use the same cover to get within sting range before he was spotted. There must be sentries, he knew, for nobody was fool enough to hunt brigands through woodland without setting plenty of watchmen. Still, he was already within sight of the camp’s edge, a chaotic gathering of tents spread out in a maze of canvas between the trees, and he was just beginning to think that he should have left Varmen behind. It seemed entirely possible he could sneak into this place, find Che, and get her out again, all on his own.
Then a scout dropped from the branches above, her bow already bent back. Thalric could not see the woman’s expression, but he was sure she was next to laughing at him: just one man come to storm half a hundred of the Commonweal’s finest. He tensed himself to dive aside behind a tree, his hands warming to sting. Then Varmen caught up with him.
The archer swung the arrow towards the newcomer and then recoiled away, her back rebounding from a tree trunk and her arrow skipping off one of Varmen’s pauldrons. She tried to shout something, but for a moment nothing emerged but jabber, the terrified stutter of a warning as she fumbled frantically for another arrow. The flash from Thalric’s outstretched palm struck her down, and then the two were moving again.
Just the two of them, because Thalric knew that there was only himself and Varmen in this raiding party. But as he rushed past the first tent, it seemed that the forest all around was alive with running feet, the rattle of armour, even the distant sounds of heliopter engines. For a moment, this chill Commonweal night intermeshed with one from his memories, and this was no longer a doomed rescue but the inexorable weight of the Empire’s military might descending to crush yet another disorganized Commonweal force.
He saw armoured men and women ahead, spears and swords glittering in the firelight. An arrow lashed past, far to his left. He let his hands speak for him, taking any target that presented itself. He knew that the scintillating Commonweal mail could scatter stingshot from itself at the right angle, but it did not seem to matter. He and Varmen had become an unstoppable force, and the Dragonflies did not even try to resist. They scattered right and left or straight up, a few falling to Thalric’s sting, but none staying to chance Varmen’s sword. Then the two Wasps were charging through the heart of the camp, trees looming on all sides, Dragonfly-kinden came rushing half-dressed from their tents, to stare or flee at the sight of Varmen’s armoured form,
This won’t last, Thalric thought and, even as he did so, a Dragonfly noble dropped down to engage Varmen, his face a fixed mask of self-control. His long-hafted sword swung three times at the Wasp in rapid succession, bounding back from breastplate, shoulder and helm, and leaving barely a dent. He made to dodge around his bulky enemy, to use that restricting helm and the weight of mail against him. Varmen turned the other way, faster than Thalric could quite believe, and flattened the attacker against his shield, wheeling again to stab the Dragonfly in the leg as the wretched man staggered. The glittering mail, the work of master armourers with a thousand years’ experience, did not stretch to protecting the inner thigh, and the nobleman went down without ceremony.
Arrows clipped from between the trees, but Thalric was running in Varmen’s shadow. The shafts sprang back from his shield or slanted from the planes of his mail, as the armoured man stomped his way forward.
Where is Che?
Three of the enemy mustered sufficient understanding and courage to attack Varmen from behind. Thalric, unseen beside the black and gold ironclad, killed one as they rushed in, the assailant arching backwards with a blackened hole in his face, for the Commonwealers had never designed full helms. Another man rammed his spear full strength into Varmen’s back without any understanding of the weak points of heavy mail. The point struck in the middle of the backplate, rather than seeking out the joints, and Varmen lurched forward a step under the impact, as the spear shaft bent and then snapped. The Sentinel swung round, his cleaving stroke knocking the third man’s blade from his hands. For a second the blank visor stared at them, and then Varmen had turned and was striding further into the camp.
And Thalric heard her call his name. Those Commonwealers had no idea about how to secure prisoners either. She was merely tied to a tree beside a rank of restless horses, not penned up, not even gagged.
‘Varmen!’ Thalric began running for her. A Grasshopper groom or functionary came dashing along the row of horses, quite possibly for purposes unconnected with the rescue, but Thalric took no chances and stung him down anyway. He heard the clatter of steel behind him and knew that the Commonwealers were regaining their dented courage, and coming in greater numbers. He dared not look back to see how Varmen fared.
There were no chains, no locks. He had his sword out, hacking at the ropes and cutting jagged gashes in the tree itself, and in a moment Che was free.
An arrow dug into the trunk just above her head, even as she slumped forward. Thalric hauled her to her feet, but she sank back on to her knees, and for a moment he thought that she had been shot.
‘Been on a horse for days,’ Che gasped. ‘No idea how sore I am.. . barely walk.’
‘You’re going to have to,’ Thalric cautioned her. ‘Running would be even better.’
She cursed as he dragged her upright again, but at least she managed to stay standing. Thalric calculated quickly, deciding the swiftest way out of the camp. True to his bad luck, the Salmae had tethered their animals safely towards the centre, and of course their prisoner too. For a moment he considered stealing a horse, but his riding skills would barely manage a sedate trot in daylight, let alone a mad gallop at night.
‘Varmen!’ he yelled again. Glancing back, he saw the armoured figure striding in the opposite direction. From here, all ways led out, and it seemed that the Sentinel’s shadow allowed room enough for a bruised Beetle girl as well as a former Rekef man.
Even as they caught up, Thalric forcing Che to keep the pace, another flurry of Commonwealers attacked. A brace of arrows bounded from Varmen’s raised shield, and then there were airborne forms about him, wheeling and darting, striking at his head and shoulders. They were trying to keep him off balance, first one attacking and then another, but it seemed as though Varmen was in another world, within his helm, and no matter how hard they made it ring, none of their feints could fool him. The Sentinel’s skill was not simply in bearing the huge burden of his mail, but in fighting with complete focus and awareness, so that the mail was no burden, the visor no restriction. As each attacker lunged downwards, Varmen was ready, taking their blows on his shield, striking back only when it was economical to do so. He brought down two of five, leaving them, crawling away bloodied on the forest floor, and he did not stop for them.