Already some of the slaves had just abandoned them, heading off on their own in the bleak hope that they might evade the enemy and escape the coming slaughter. The Hermit had been amongst them, leaving without a word, just heading off into the dark. He, at least, would be able to walk past the forces of the Worm. The rest . . . well, perhaps their chances were still greater than for those staying here.
Having led them all into this hopeless trap, Che could hardly begrudge the desertions. Thalric had railed, but only because he reckoned that those with the initiative to run would probably also prove the most spirited fighters once backed into a corner.
They were all backed into a corner now.
They were doing what they could. They were breaking rocks and hauling them up on either side. Several hundred Mole Crickets were using their Art to shape the stone, creating obstacles, walls, hoping to funnel the Worm’s advance and to slow their charge. Moth scouts were keeping track of the enemy’s steady, relentless advance. There was so little time.
‘If you have anything, now’s the time,’ Tynisa told her. Che glanced at her in surprise. Had her foster-sister sensed the fickle gains that magic had made here since the breaking of the Seal?
No, she was just desperate, and in her desperation she had turned to Che. Somehow, clumsy, awkward Che had become the last forlorn hope even of Tynisa, who should know better.
But she’s right. If it can be done at all, then now’s the time. Once the Worm gets here, I can’t say if its influence will reach this far up. All my hopes might be snuffed out the very moment they arrive.
So here she sat, surrounded by the fools that she had gathered here, by the industry of those who had faith that somehow they would survive what was coming. Here she sat with Tynisa beside her, whilst Thalric marshalled his slingers and his makeshift soldiers and the strong but otherwise useless, who would be pushing rocks down onto the enemy.
Che opened her mind as best she could, penetrating the parched drought of this place, through her own fear, and called out to her other sister, to Seda the Empress.
At first: nothing, just the echo of her own thoughts and the unmuted cacophony of those around her, their frightened words, their cries – adults and children both – and the crack and slam of rock on rock, Thalric’s barked orders . . .
Seda . . .
And, distant, almost inaudible, and yet in no way drowned by the real sounds around her, Che caught the response.
I am here, Che. The faraway voice sounded strained, as if under as much pressure as Che herself.
Seda, I need your help. I need to break out of here. The Seal is gone, so it should be possible. Please . . . Even as she expressed this thought, Che was doubting herself. She could not think through the logic that would allow such a violation of this place, and now that its mundane relationship with the wider world was being restored, such a piece of magic would surely become less and less possible. The opening of one door meant closing another.
Che, you cannot, Seda insisted. Che, I would save you if I could. I know you must hate me for casting you into that place. I am sorry. If I could bring you out from it, then I would. But I must think of the world, the whole world. Che, I need your help.
The suggestion dragged a wretched laugh out of Che, startling Tynisa beside her. What help could I possibly give you?
Your power, all your power, everything you have. It should have sounded false, coming from the Empress of the Wasps, but Che heard a terrible sincerity there. Che, I have damned the entire world by breaking the Seal, but I can put it right. I can put it all back where it should be. I can banish the Worm.
Che clutched at the stony ground to steady herself. It cannot be done.
It can. Believe me, I have spent so long constructing the ritual, but it can. The Moths did it once.
You intend to . . .
I must restore the Seal. I must separate the worlds again.
Che looked around her, at the great mass of humanity that had followed her this far, and no further, who even now were choosing to believe that she, Cheerwell Maker, had some last-moment plan to save them. There are people here, hundreds, thousands, whole kinden.
I know. I have seen them, through you. The expected Wasp invective did not come, only regret. I am sorry, Che, but there is no hope for them. There is only hope for the real world, the true world, and only then if I can gather enough strength to force this ritual into being.
The Moths had far more, a thousand years ago, than we do now. There isn’t enough strength in the present-day world, Seda. And Che was aware that, with that thought, she was conceding something: that Seda’s plan had merit. That the sacrifice of Che and Thalric and Tynisa, of Messel and his whole kinden, of all the thousands here, would still be the correct response. The world was wider than their existence, after all.
There is. The steely resolve in Seda’s words startled Che. I have found a way. It can be done, and I will do it, with or without you. But they are cheating me, Che. They are denying me the strength I need, destroying my plans with their idiot sentiment. I need you. I am asking you to help me save the world, Che.
And the Empress’s mind opened further, and Che understood.
In the throne room at Capitas, Seda had banished all others save for General Brugan. The Rekef general crouched at the doorway, as far as he could get from the throne itself, where Seda slumped. His agents came to him, whispered their reports and then fled. There was something about the air in that room that made even the Apt fearfuclass="underline" it twisted and crackled as Seda fought to keep hold of the power she was amassing.
And still the deaths come rolling in, and still the tower builds higher. But not enough, not enough. She could feel cracks in the foundations, inevitable when she was forced to rely on others. Tisamon was on his way back from clearing another camp, but the orders she was sending to the Slave Corps were not being obeyed, the bloodletting that she was demanding was not happening. They were strangling her. How dare they question?
‘I am the Empress,’ she insisted to the cavernous space around her. She heard her own voice: just a frightened Wasp girl’s after all. ‘I am the Empress!’ she shouted, challenging the echo. She saw Brugan twitch and cringe, desperate to go and yet unable to leave without her permission.
She had sent Red Watch men out to teach the recalcitrant slavers what it meant to obey. Of all the vile wretches under her command, how was it that the Slave Corps should suddenly decide to grow a spine and a conscience?
Well, it was too late for them to interfere. She had sent soldiers headed by her Red Watch to every camp, for all that their departure leached some of the strength from Capitas’s defence. Her chosen would await her order; they would hear it like a spur in their minds. They would ensure that she had her blood, her death, the currency of her magic.