Sentius stared at her bleakly and everyone was still waiting for him to utter some response when a handful of his men loosed their crossbows, cutting the Nethyen pair down where they stood.
The Ant gazed about, at his soldiers, at the Etheryen. ‘This is war. We don’t piss about,’ he announced, almost to the forest itself as much as to anyone in particular.
Che held her breath, because surely this breached the ironclad Mantis code. Surely the Etheryen would revolt, would turn on their allies with bloodied steel?
But the Mantids just looked at the bodies, and at the Ant-kinden, and shuffled silently, and she felt exactly what they felt, as much as if she had been one of them — standing there on ground they no longer recognized, their way of life suddenly brittle in their hands. What is right? It could hardly escape their notice that the bulk of the bodies all around them were of their own kind.
That night, the Nethyen came.
With her blank eyes, which knew no darkness, Yraea watched them arrive: a dozen, then a score, then two score, filing solemnly through the trees with the Loquae at their head. The halfbreed Pioneer gave a warning, and the Empress’s camp was quickly up and ready, but the Mantis-kinden gave no sign that anything was amiss, save that they surrounded the little band, quietly and seemingly without threat.
The Moth watched the Imperials carefully — the Pioneers tense and unsure, with weapons to hand; the Red Watch man, Ostrec, taut as a wire, hands ready to sting or to strike. The Empress’s bodyguard had already rallied round her, their steel claws extended, and at their head was Tisamon, the abomination of steel and spirit that the Empress was so proud of. And I’m sure he scares those poor Apt generals and officers, but my people were playing with magic when yours were still trying to light fires.
Closer by, the old man Gjegevey was watching her. Does he suspect? What can he know? She found that she, too, was on a knife-edge. But it is too late for them to fight or flee. We have them.
Tegrec appeared at her elbow then, anxious as usual. ‘What’s going on?’
For a moment she wanted to tell him, in the hope that his loyalty really was to Tharn now, and not to the Empire he claimed to have turned his back on. But hope was not a luxury that circumstances allowed her. I’m sorry, Tegrec.
The Loquae stepped forward and bowed before Seda. ‘Empress, you must come with us. Let these others stay here, but the forest calls for you.’
Yraea shifted uneasily, because that seemed too transparent, and she would prefer this moment to pass without an actual fight — the Empress’s people would lose, but there was too much chance of Seda herself dying in some way that was no use to Yraea, or even of the Moth herself getting hurt. Just do as I told you, she thought, knowing that her words would echo in the old Mantis’s head.
Seda was now speaking, as she glanced back at her followers.
‘Tisamon, Ostrec, Gjegevey,’ she decided. ‘The rest of you stay here and await my return.’
The Loquae made no complaint, and the Mantis-kinden parted, opening a ragged path forwards. Yraea saw doubt and confusion on the faces of those about to be left behind — and they will be waiting here until the forest claims them. Then the Empress went striding through the Mantis throng as though they were indeed her subjects, and her select handful hurriedly followed.
Gjegevey came last, the old man shuffling slowly and leaning on his staff, as his wavering steps brought him close to the Moth.
‘It is not too, hm, late,’ he told her, in a hoarse whisper.
She blinked at him, momentarily fearful. He knows? He can’t, or he’d have said something, done something. . With no ready answer, she merely ignored him, and as the Mantis host began to filter off through the trees, she followed, slipping unseen from the camp, cloaked by magic and Art.
The old Mantis icons still stood in certain places of the forest, and Yraea knew that the Nethyen sometimes shed blood there after the fashion of the old ways. They had forgotten much of the rituals that would give true power to such sacrifices, but the Moths forgot nothing. Yraea had made a study of them before setting out. For one might wander forever in trying to find the way to Argastos, even with his covert aid, but blood will open the gate.
There it was ahead of them, the place that the Empress was being led to. The icon was composed of a patchwork of rotting wood, a great mantis sculpture eight feet tall, with its crooked arms outstretched for its next victim. The creatures of decay, and those that fed upon them, were busy about it, and the Nethyen would be constantly adding fresh wood to the feast. The idol lived through its own corruption, and in that it was part of the forest itself. Mantis magic is such a crude and single-minded pursuit, but sometimes one gains a little satisfaction in descending to their level.
Now the Empress stood directly before the icon, and still she did not fear. Is that Wasp arrogance or Wasp ignorance, I wonder? To Yraea, the mood of the Nethyen was quite plain. They were here for blood shed in the prescribed manner, and the forest had not seen a sacrifice such as this in a long time. Let all your sweet power, Empress, become my weapon to put Argastos back in his place.
‘You know why you are here.’ It was the voice of the Loquae.
‘Of course.’ Seda’s prompt response.
Yraea gathered herself, took a deep breath, and cried out, ‘Take them!’
There was a confusion of motion. Gjegevey was seized at once, incapable of offering harm even if he meant to. Two of the Nethyen staggered back from Ostrec, to Yraea’s surprise — and she saw blood here, but none of it the Wasp’s. A circle had formed about Tisamon and Seda, and she saw that the Mantids’ old fear of magic — her own kinden’s eternal hook in them — was working against her.
She spat out a word, fingers pointing towards the armoured form, and Tisamon fell still, shackled within his own steel. Pathetic.
Seda herself watched it all with an utter, regal calm, not even deigning to notice Ostrec when the Red Watch officer moved up to put his back to hers.
‘Did you really think toys such as this were new?’ Yraea asked the Empress, moving to touch Tisamon’s breastplate. ‘Did you think any true magician would fear them? Why do you think we had Mantis-kinden as our soldiers all those years, if such constructs of magic had been of use against our enemies?’
She knew that, magic aside, the Art contained within the Empress’s very hands was dangerous enough, but she wanted the Wasp girl to recognize her own hubris before the end. She wanted to finally breach that reserve. I want her to beg.
‘You have come far, for one of your kinden, but no further than this,’ Yraea told her. ‘You have discovered enough of the old ways to be useful to me, but no more.’
‘Oh, quiet,’ Seda told her. ‘Do what you must.’
Yraea drew a sharp breath, but realized that the words had not been meant for her. Hands were laid on her before she could evade them: Mantis hands, wrenching her arms back, holding her tight. Her head whipped round to look for the Loquae. ‘You!’
‘I did all that was in my power to speak to my people,’ the old Mantis woman said sadly. ‘I told them to wait. I invoked the Masters of the Grey, our leaders since the dawn of time. I told them what they must do.’
Yraea was hauled forwards towards the icon, seeing Seda’s slight smile pass her by. ‘Release me! You traitors! Servants of the Green, release me!’
‘They want more than you can offer,’ Seda’s light tones drifted over to her, whilst Tisamon stepped to her side, breaking Yraea’s chains in the instant that he moved. ‘And I have promised them so much more: Servants of the Green, Masters of the Black and Gold. This is a new world, Moth, and they do not understand it, and they do not like it. But one thing they do understand is that your people abandoned them long ago, after the revolution. You left them simply to fade away.’