The Scarab Path (56 page)

There was
a shrill whistle from Hrathen’s right, blown by one of Angved’s engineers. It
told him that the Khanaphir host was now within crossbow range.

‘Over to
you,’ he said to Jakal. He then looked out for the Khanaphir cavalry, seeing
the nearest detachment still far to his flank, waiting on a rise for their
chance.

And if it never comes?
He ducked his head as Jakal sounded
her horn again, the note cutting stridently through the shouts and yells and
screams. The main host should now be separating into three blocks, opening up
two avenues that led down towards the advancing Khanaphir. Most of that did not
happen: it had proved too much to try and teach the Scorpions in the short time
they had. Thankfully, Angved would be aiming high.

A count of twenty
, Hrathen thought. It was all the pause
Angved would leave. Obligingly the Khanaphir forces had halted again, waiting
for the next charge of the Many. This was how they had won their previous
battles: short, unstoppable advances whilst the enemy wore themselves down against
their interlocked shields.

He put
himself into the minds of the beasts, warning them, steadying them.
There will be a great noise
, he told them.
It is not for you to worry about
.

The
whole chariot quivered with their fear, even so, when a dozen leadshotters
spoke in rapid succession. He looked back to see the great plumes of smoke from
behind the Scorpion army, marking where the firepowder-charged engines had
discharged their shot. For a moment both armies seemed in disarray, and then
the missiles began to land. Angved had not used the solid balls that would soon
crack the walls of Khanaphes: instead he had something purpose-made for this
moment. Each shot would smash and shatter as it impacted, scything metal
fragments into the tight-packed ranks of the surrounding enemy.

Well
over half the shots missed the Khanaphir army altogether, impacting behind or
beside them in colossal clouds of dust, but two or three landed directly on
their mark, crashing down amidst those shoulder-to-shoulder squares of armed
men.

This was
part of any modern war, Hrathen knew: acceptable, unavoidable losses. Soldiers
too spread out were inefficient, hard to command, ineffective against any solid
enemy force. Only Ant-kinden possessed the almost supernatural discipline to
change from close to open formation at will. It was part of any modern war, but
the Khanaphir had never fought a modern war until now. Angved had made history:
he was the first man to bombard the people of Khanaphes.

Hrathen
had half thought they would break then and there, but they were made of sterner
stuff. They held together, reeling and milling, and all the time the
leadshotters were reloading. Command was slow in coming: no mindlinks here for
instant readiness. They stayed still, and Hrathen admired the restraint of his
own crossbowmen in not playing their hand too early. The army of Khanaphes
reordered its ranks, and then the leadshotters spoke again.

His
artillerists had been given a chance to correct their aim, and some had
over-corrected. One shot struck within the Scorpions’ own front line, and
another, worse still, ploughed through thirty loose ranks of Nem warriors,
exhausting itself before it ever reached the enemy. Hrathen felt the shock whip
through his forces, knew that he must find a use for them soon or they would
attack their own artillery.

Two
shells had missed the entire army again, proof of the practice the Scorpions
still needed, but the rest were on their targets, eight separate explosions
rocking the Khanaphir lines.

And there’s more where that came from
, Hrathen thought.
Work it out
.

He cast
another look to his left and saw the Khanaphir cavalry mustering, falling into
a phalanx.

‘Messenger!’
he bellowed, and one of his Wasps dropped down beside him.

‘Send to
Angved, have him ready his crossbowmen. The cavalry are readying for a charge.’

It was
the right thing to do, of course, assuming there were no more surprises. Just
as the main army was about to do the ‘right thing’, on the same assumption.

Whoever
was commanding the Khanaphir centre had now realized that staying still was a
death sentence. The bombardment, a mere friendly greeting by Imperial
standards, had killed more of them than both of the Scorpion charges, and it
did not take any great mind to see that such tricks would be of limited use
once the armies converged.

The
Khanaphir army sounded the charge, and their ranks of locked shields thundered
towards the disordered Scorpions with a great battle-cry. Their chariots began
to rattle forward on either flank.

Hrathen
took a deep breath, waiting for the whistle. Angved took his own time over it,
but then it sounded high and clear over the sounds of battle.
Second whistle: crossbows loose
.

He was
expecting a rabble of individual shots, but the crossbowmen had inherited a
kind of pride from their teachers, and that paved the way for something more
military. When they loosed, each unit was mostly together. The staggered
crossbow discharge caught the Khanaphir in mid-charge. Their right flank
managed to take the brunt on their shields, stumbling to a crawl but keeping
their lines intact. The Khanaphir left, on the far side from Hrathen, fell
apart instantly, men lanced through or speared in the leg, men falling over
fallen comrades. That entire flank of the Khanaphir army was crashing into
itself, utterly still, the uniform advance ruined.

The
crossbowmen would be drawing back their strings with all of their strength. The
Khanaphir centre had slowed to keep pace with its comrades, the charge
faltering. The crossbowmen had made, by their discipline, their own chance for
a second shot.

It
struck, without the previous savage cohesion, now that they were getting
excited, but it was enough. The Khanaphir right began pulling inwards,
retreating. On the broken left it was the unshielded archers that took the
worst of it, dropping in their scores. The left-flank chariots had mostly
stopped, some wheeling in disarray, others stilled, their beasts brought down.

Hrathen
looked back at Jakal and was about to signal to her, but she had the horn to
her lips already, sounding it loud and long.

Third horn blast: charge
. It was the end of tactics, for
the most part, but tactics had played their part. Now the great host of the
Many of Nem descended upon the halted Khanaphir line with all of its ferocious
might, and the real killing began.

From his station amongst the cavalry, Amnon felt abruptly hollow inside,
on hearing that earth-shaking roar from behind the Scorpion lines. Something in
him had cracked. His former certainty was leaking out.

It was
not immediately obvious to him what had happened, but something had struck
within the infantry lines. He saw the dust, heard the distant cries. It was
some device of the Empire, but he could not link cause and effect. It seemed
like magic to him, that the enemy could simply punch ragged holes into his
army.

He
hesitated, four score of riders about him trying to calm their high-strung
mounts, which were baring their mandibles in terrified threat at the very sky,
as though to challenge the echo.

Then the
sound came again, and he managed to connect it with the smoke of a moment
before, the line of brief flares visible behind the Scorpion host.

‘Form me
a wedge!’ he shouted out, but he had to give the order three more times before
his troop got their animals under control. The beetles were pattering about
madly, gaping their jaws and flaring their wingcases in threat, trying to scare
off the future. Their riders, lightly armoured men and women, with shields
slung over their backs, struck the beasts with the butts of their lances or the
reins of their Art until they were back under control. By that time, Amnon’s
officers had set the main army to moving forward. It was the right thing to do.

‘Charge
with me!’ he cried out. He could not remember what name Totho had given to the
weapons but he recognized the description. ‘They are exposed at the enemy’s
rear, these noisemakers. We will kill the men who operate them.’

They
were mostly behind him now. Penthet the locust bucked uncomfortably beneath
him, folding and refolding his wings. He and Amnon had been through a lot, and
the insect’s simple mind trusted him.

He put
his spurs in and the locust leapt twenty feet forward, the banner of Khanaphes
streaming out behind him. The beetle cavalry would come scuttling after at
their top speed, long-legged over the uneven ground, catching him at the end of
each jump and then being left behind again. He readied his first lance, letting
it rest between Penthet’s antennae as the world wheeled and plunged about him.

Enemy
cavalry was already moving to intercept him, but the armoured scorpions were
sluggish compared to his own fleet warriors. Only the swiftest outriders of the
Scorpion-kinden were in time to cause him any inconvenience. Amnon couched his
lance and let Penthet choose his own path down, wings steering so as to bring
the steel point thrusting through the chitin of a scorpion before the creature
or its rider even realized he was upon them. He unslung his bow as a rabble of
the Many’s fleetest riders bore down on him. His own fastest follower caught
the closest of them with a lance, skittering in from the side and hooking the
Scorpion cavalryman off his mount, while the Beetle archer seated behind the
lancer was busy loosing his shafts at more distant enemies. There was a chariot
rattling down towards Amnon, two beasts yoked to a two-wheeled cart. The
soldiers within were training some weapon upon him, but Penthet sprang
obediently into the air and Amnon sliced an arrow back down at them, killing
one of their animals and dragging the chariot to a stop. A moment later, he and
the bulk of his riders were past the enemy cavalry. The last few of his wedge
would meet them, he knew, peeling off to throw themselves at the enemy’s stings
in order to buy time.

He
spared a glance for the main army and saw that something was wrong. They were
now locked in with the Scorpions, but were being forced back, the host of
Scorpions surging to both sides of their formation.

Before
him he spotted the strung-out line of weapons, long black tubes that the Scorpions
were swarming around in some arcane ritual. He goaded Penthet onward, knowing
that the riders behind him would take up the pace.

There
were other Scorpions rushing to get between him and the weapons, but he knew a
cavalry charge would break them. The Scorpions had no decent spear-wall to fend
off riders, and their own cavalry was hopelessly outmanoeuvred.

Penthet
came down before them, and he realized his next leap would clear the mob of
Scorpions entirely. He felt the locust’s hind legs bunch with all the power of
their colossal muscles, knowing that his charging followers would scatter and
smash the Scorpions and join him on the other side of them.

Even as
he jumped, he saw the enemy crossbows let fly into the charging riders.

He came
down right behind them, within three yards of the hindmost Scorpions, and
turned to see his cavalry. By that time, more than half of them were dead.

Something
tightened inside him. The ground the Scorpions faced was strewn with fallen
men, with dying animals. Riding beetles, whose shells could shrug off javelins
and axe-blades, had been pierced through with holes, the short, heavy bolts
barely slowing for chitin or barding. They lay on their sides or on their
backs, legs twitching and kicking in uncomprehending agony.

By now,
the survivors had struck the Scorpion line, which fragmented before them, the
enemy simply running left and right. Though many of the crossbowmen fell to the
lances of the riders, or under the feet of their mounts, there were still
plenty left.

‘Onwards!’
Amnon cried, although he heard his own voice sounding raw with grief. Penthet
took him another great stride towards the enemy weapons, and his men followed
without question. The crossbow shot began to fall on them from behind now, and
from the left where the main Scorpion army was. The bolts zipped through the
air like wasps. One bounded from Amnon’s shield. Another skipped across
Penthet’s thorax right in front of him, leaving a shallow gouge, barely slowed.

The
Scorpions were fleeing from the nearest weapon but he was too quick for them.
He came down in their midst, his lance impaling one, and then his sword lashing
out to kill two more. A scattering of riders reached him, slaying the rest
before they could escape. He felt Penthet prepare for the next leap.

They had
shifted the next weapon round, he saw. Some of the crew there were not
Scorpions but Wasp-kinden, such as had so recently been the guests of
Khanaphes. The gaping maw of the leadshotter was now facing him.

Amnon
gave out a wordless cry, feeling two crossbow bolts impact into Penthet’s side.
The locust kicked off from the ground, unevenly but high.

The
thunder spoke.

It was
not just that one, but many, the others dropping shot on to the rear edge of
the Khanaphir forces. That one weapon filled Amnon’s view, though: the flash of
fire followed by the plume of smoke. The lead-shot ball struck into his cavalry
just as it was forming, smashing three riders and their beasts smashed into
bloody shards.

The
crossbows loosed again, and now there were just two riders behind him. The crew
of the weapon ahead of him had scattered, and he did not have the numbers to
hunt them down, or the strength to break the iron of the weapon itself.

He came
down again, his two survivors still with him. ‘Rejoin the army!’ he bellowed.
‘Fly!’