Chapter Thirty-Four
The morning after the wounded kajh succumbed to his infection, Riordan discovered that city praakht had no rites for the dead. The only acknowledgement of his passing took the form of a debate over how best to dispose of his corpse before it attracted carrion creatures, yet in such a way that it would not leave any sign that might be useful to pursuers.
Ultimately, the dispute served no real purpose. First, Bey consulted with Newton about how best to reduce the body’s buoyance and then Duncan about the resources available to bind rocks to it. Since she would oversee the urldi as they sent the body on its way, Bey insisted on personally confirming that Caine approved of the method, even though the two IRIS professionals had final authority. He asked her why she felt the need to get his approval.
“Because you will rightly place the blame on me if the method fails. So if you deem the solution unsound, I wish to know before carrying it out.”
Riordan shook his head, assured her she had his trust in the matter, and then asked if the trogs had been too uncomfortable to reveal their burial rights to humans.
The look on her face was something between pity and distaste. “Trogs from cities are permitted no such rites and haven’t enough interest to risk conducting any in secret.”
“And trogs from the Free Tribes?”
“We are different,” she said proudly and held her head high. She seemed ready to hold it there until he responded.
“I see. You have my permission then. Carry on.”
She nodded, but as she turned to complete the task, he saw her expression change to one of perplexity.
Before he could join Yaargraukh to review the formation and its readiness for the day’s march, Bannor approached. “Something you’ll want to see, CO. Seven o’clock. Range about twelve hundred. Altitude four hundred.”
Riordan sealed his visor as he turned to face south-southwest and activated the HUD’s motion detector. Four guidons appeared where Bannor had indicated; whatever was there, it was too small to be reliably seen at this distance. Caine pushed the zoom to ten times as he finger-blinked for both thermal imaging and target lock.
Four shapes that resembled improbably large dragonflies appeared at the center of the magnification field, which shifted slightly to remain at the approximate center of the creatures. “Let me guess: those resemble the ones that appeared along with the x’qao you and Duncan engaged near Newton’s base camp.”
“And like the one that Ayana and Dora dealt with while they were paralleling the tributary running from Gurmugdu down to Forkus.”
“They don’t seem to be approaching, though.”
“Just like the ones Duncan and I saw.”
“Who’s talking shit about me?” Solsohn asked loudly, coming up the low slope behind them. “I hate it when you guys—oh! Morning, sir! Hey, what are you two looking at?” Before Riordan could answer, Duncan had found the insects. “Well, I’ll be damned. Haven’t seen those for a while.”
Insects had been the most frequent form of life they’d encountered marching beside the river, and the trogs proved adept at catching some of the bigger ones, particularly the type that had crawled across Caine’s visor the first morning on Bactradgaria. While they complained that the creatures were much better when roasted, they still consumed the viscous innards, albeit with resigned disgust. But these were not merely larger; their behavior was different. Unsettling, even.
Solsohn remarked on exactly that feature. “Just like the last time, not moving.”
“You seemed in a hurry to find me,” Riordan prompted, “or Bannor.”
“Wha—? Oh, yeah. Ulchakh said he had some business to attend to. Said it concerned you, Commodore. Have you seen him?”
“No. How long ago did he ask?”
“Almost half an hour, now.”
Riordan frowned . . . then recalled the h’achgan trader’s enigmatic and increasing fixation upon the wastes to the south. He turned back in that direction, wiped away the HUD’s current settings—target lock, thermal imaging, and magnification—and called up the motion sensor at maximum intensity.
Sure enough, despite the static-haze of wind-lifted debris, flying or crawling insects, and a myriad of other small movements that the naked eye could not see, there was a cluster of guidons approximately a kilometer to the south, close to the river.
“Gentlemen,” Riordan muttered as he zoomed in on that area, “I think we have visitors.”
“Friend or foe?” Duncan asked.
“Not entirely sure,” Caine replied as the clustered objects reappeared at the magnified equivalent of fifty meters. Then, with a smile: “Friends. Most definitely friends.”
Before he could explain, Bannor’s voice announced, “Good to hear it, particularly since I just found the foes. Almost directly under the insects, coming out of a wadi. I’ll be damned that I couldn’t see them before.”
Duncan was focused on the same area. “X’qai. Two are pretty big. Who are the friends, Commodore?”
“Ulchakh and the guests he was expecting: Arashk’s group. With an extra hand, I think.”
“And the X’qai are heading in their direction,” Bannor added.
Riordan had activated comms and was moving before realizing he was already formulating a response from pieces of different contingency plans. “Newton: report to OP. Bannor, you get Bey and bring her with all the trog archers. Follow me down to Ulchakh. Duncan—”
“Already on it, sir,” the IRIS sniper answered, unlimbering the Dornaani hand cannon.
Riordan saw Newton sprinting closer. “O’Garran!”
“Here, sir!” answered the chief, who was already charging the slope.
“Set a defensive perimeter. Wu in charge, Tagawa as his adjutant. Everybody with a firearm is your base of fire. Crossbows for those who don’t have a gun. Pair a loader with each.”
“Just like we trained it, sir!” howled Miles as he charged back down the slope as fast as he’d been charging up.
Newton arrived, not even winded, the heavy crossbow in one hand, grapple gun in the other. “Sir?”
“You’re with me. Everyone: switch to the day’s freekset. Duncan, tell me when you have a target you like and are locked.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Commodore, aren’t you forgetting something?”
Caine couldn’t help smiling as he turned at the sound of Yaargraukh’s voice. Holding a battle-ax in one hand as if it were a hatchet and gripping the longsword in the other, the Hkh’Rkh looked every bit as intimidating as the x’qai. “No, friend, I haven’t forgotten. You’re in charge of skirmishers supporting the perimeter. They don’t dare flee if you’re behind them.”
Yaargraukh’s rounded but massive shoulders may have slumped. “They shall fight well.”
Riordan nodded at him, jerked his head at Newton, saw Bannor coming up behind with Bey, the other female kajh Sho, and one of the males.
“Follow me!” Caine shouted.
But even as he led them in a sprint toward Ulchakh, he still saw Elena’s face.
***
Halfway to the h’achgai, who were just realizing that something was amiss, Riordan stopped and raised his hand. “Newton, ready your crossbow. And. Do. Nothing.”
“Sir? I—”
“I need your heart rate low enough to fire accurately. No exertion. Bannor?” Riordan called into his mic.
“Coming up behind you.”
“Fan out to my right, behind the low rise forty meters inland. Stay low, set up for flanking fire, and don’t be seen until I call for it. Duncan?”
“Still holding lock, sir.”
“Keep holding,” Riordan replied as he pulled one of the stun grenades, set it for maximum volume, and hurled it in the direction of the x’qai, still several hundred meters away from the h’achgai.
The small, light sphere landed about fifty meters away and, still rolling toward the creatures, unleashed its electronic caterwauling.
All three broke stride, then swerved toward it, yowling and snarling, apparently as eager to eat the newcomers as the h’achgai.
Arashk started to lead his group to link up with the humans, but Riordan waved for them to stop and stand. It took a few moments for that surprising order to be recognized and followed. But they did.
In doing so, their ragged group became the left flank, which put Newton and him in the center, and Bannor’s team forward deployed to the right. He trusted that despite their initial perplexity, the h’achgai would understand the plan soon enough. I hope. And now to spin the axle on which that plan turns. “Duncan, do you have target lock?”
“Same as twenty seconds ago, sir. Why are you waiting?”
“Because we need to take them all. No survivors.” Riordan ran a range estimate: three hundred meters to the lead x’qa, who also happened to be the smallest. “Count out the shots as you go. Fire on target one.”
“Firing . . . ” The lightning-crack report of the hand cannon clattered across the dust flats.
The rearmost and largest of the x’qa went down. The other two broke stride again as they profitlessly sought the source of the new sound. However, within a second, the smallest one—a q’akh—swerved toward Caine and Newton, probably because they were the proximate source of the infuriatingly loud grenade.
The second x’qao’s next several strides were slower, as if it was awakening to the other changes that had occurred. In addition to the unfamiliar sounds, it seemed to notice that new figures had appeared and in numbers that might change their classification from easy prey to dangerous adversaries.
From the corner of his eye, Riordan detected movement. The h’achgai’s two bowmen were in the act of drawing their composite bows. Caine shouted Ulchakh’s name as he flung up his left arm and held it there: An inconvenient posture, if I have to use my survival rifle. “Duncan, time remaining for recharge?” The h’achgai archers had relaxed their draw, watching Arashk. Who was watching Caine.
“Ready to fire, Commodore,” Duncan replied, “but target one is up again. Slow but still moving.”
“Did you reduce the standard charge setting?”
“Sir, I nudged it higher for today’s fun and games. Currently comparable to an old-fashioned antitank rifle. Do I reengage target one or—?”
“Negative. Engage target two and advise.”
“Roger. Engaging.” The hand cannon report was like razor-sharp thunder.
The second x’qao—the one that had paused for a moment—came apart in mid-stride. Hit just above center of mass, its extremities and head were flung away from the abrupt midair splatter that had been its torso.
The third was, as Riordan had gambled, less easily distracted, or alarmed, than its larger, more intelligent cousins. Fixated by ferocity, hunger, or both, it sprinted through the one-hundred-meter mark, still gathering speed.
“Status, Duncan?”
“Still charging, sir.”
Riordan waggled his upraised arm to ensure Arashk was still watching it. Riordan’s eyes were on the closest adversary. The q’akh was not merely speedy; the movement of its arms and head were arrestingly quick, like a moving image that skipped every other frame. As it came through the sixty-meter mark, Caine turned his head slightly toward Newton. “I will call for your fire separately.”
“Understood, Commodore.”
But Riordan was already back on the tactical channel. “Duncan?”
“Recharged, sir.”
“Do not—I repeat, do not—engage target three. Finish target one. On my order.”
“Roger that, sir. Reacquiring target one.”
Riordan began a slow wave toward Arashk as he muttered. “Bannor?”
“Standing by. Target three now at twenty meters, sir.”
“Fire, all,” Riordan ordered, slashing his left arm down.
What hit target three wasn’t a true volley: more a quick peppering of arrows and quarrels from Bannor’s team on the right and Arashk’s on the left. Approximately half the shots feathered the ’qo, staggering it. But instead of falling, it kept running unevenly, now at a human pace.
“Sir?” Newton asked as the Dornaani hand cannon cracked again.
“Fire,” Riordan replied as the q’akh loped over the seven-meter mark.
Baruch’s big crossbow discharged with a shuddering thwack-k-k—and the q’akh pitched backward heavily, limp in death.
Duncan reported a moment later. “Target one is down. And staying that way.”
“Well done, all. One last job for you, Duncan.”
“Sir?”
“Provide overwatch as we retrieve bolts and arrows and then assess enemy casualties. Miles?
“On the channel, sir.”
“Keep an eye on those insects. Let me know what they’re doing at two-minute intervals. If they leave, track them as long, and as accurately, as you can.”
***
At Bey’s whispered suggestion, Ulchakh, Arashk, and the rest of the h’achgai were formally requested to march mingled with the humans in the van. Riordan had already planned on that: they were known, reliable, and seemed well on the way to becoming actual friends.
But she obviously had a deep understanding of their ways and traditions. When Caine asked them to travel along with the command staff, Ulchakh and Arashk put their long, simian hands over their hearts and accepted with what was clearly a ritual response.
But that was not the end of the exchange. Ulchakh waved forward the new addition to their group: the second bowman, who was approximately Arashk’s age. “This is my kinsman, Yidreg, who was waiting at Vranadoc’s fortress for Arashk, that they might make their journey to Achgabab together.”
Riordan didn’t need Bannor’s glance to understand the implicit request. He turned to Yidreg. “It would be an added honor if you would walk with us. We hope you will share your tales and your counsel, also.”
Yidreg’s response was a deep nod and the hand-on-heart gesture.
The nod probably completed the formal introduction, Caine told himself, trying to commit it to memory as they began moving. And the second gesture was his appreciation and acceptance of my invitation that he walk with us.
Arashk smiled, but waited a few steps before observing, “You grow in knowledge of our ways, Caine-Riordan.”
“Well,” Ulchakh broke in, “he has had the benefit of my acquaintance, you see.” The trader’s quip felt like the verbal equivalent of a friendly poke in the ribs.
Yidreg masked a hint of surprise, followed by pleasure, at the exchange and Riordan’s response: a good-natured grin.
Looks like we are becoming friends, then. Riordan could not recall a human culture that did not use gentle ribbing as the first step from acceptance and alliance toward genuine amity. “However it occurs, I am glad to learn more of your people, just as I am glad that we shall now travel together. But I must ask”—he turned toward Arashk—“why you did not join us sooner, or”—he glanced at Ulchakh—“why you did not apprise us that they were following.”
Riordan recognized Arashk’s exaggerated blink at Ulchakh: a h’achgan expression that roughly translated as, It was your idea, so you tell him.
The h’achgan trader flapped his suddenly sagging jowls: a resigned shrug. “Separate travel was necessary if we did not wish to leave an easy path for pursuers to follow. But also, by beginning his journey later and following within sight of our path, Arashk was able to watch for pursuers. Of which there are none.”
“None that we can see,” Yidreg added.
And what does that mean? But that question would have to wait for a quiet environment where Riordan could craft the inquiry so that it did not reveal yet another huge gap in the Crewe’s knowledge. “As always,” Caine replied, “your wisdom is a great gift to us, Ulchakh. But why did you not tell us they were following?”
Arashk reprised his bug-eyed glare at the elder h’achga.
His reply was less facile than the first. “I shall not dissemble, Caine-Riordan. Arashk and Tasvar separately assured me that you and your companions could be trusted. And so I did . . . to a point. But understand: one does not travel the wastes and grow as old as I without reserving judgment for what my own experience shows me.
“Our travels have shown that you and your companions are who they claimed you to be, and fast friends besides . . . as you proved beyond doubt just an hour ago.”
Bannor leaned forward to face the h’achga. “It was an honor to be of assistance.” He smiled toward Arashk. “But next time, try not to bring such rude visitors along with you.”
Rather than responding to Rulaine’s jocular irony, the h’achgai were surprised. “But they did not follow us. We presumed they were preparing to ambush you, but saw us as easier prey.”
Bannor glanced at Caine. “This was the first we saw of them.”
“X’qao can be cunning,” Arashk said with a sympathetic frown.
“Very cunning, indeed,” Riordan replied, but understood his friend’s concern. Rulaine was, by a comfortable margin, the group’s recon expert. But after surveying the battlefield and the bodies, Bannor couldn’t explain why he, or anyone else, hadn’t seen them during the day-start sensor sweep. “It’s as if they appeared out of nowhere,” he’d muttered with a worried frown. The unspoken consensus—that no amount of “cunning” could render x’qao invisible to Dornaani sensors—was yet another conversation that had to await another time.
Riordan shifted to a related topic. “We also saw large insects nearby. Is that typical, with x’qai?”
Yidreg’s eyes hardened. “Very typical. Killspawn of all kinds, from the greatest M’qrugth pureblood to the lowly ’qo, are often followed by carrion. Sometimes close, more often at a discreet distance.”
“Jackals or vultures shadowing lions,” Veriden muttered from the rank just behind.
“I do not know these words,” Yidreg said apologetically.
Bannor explained. “She refers to carrion-seekers on Ea—from our homeland. Many fly, as did these, following carnivores at a distance and watching for signs of a chase.”
Yidreg nodded. “To feed upon what is left of the kill or fly close to lamed prey that escapes and dies later.”
Arashk’s tone combined disgust with grim satisfaction. “They are parasites, unwilling to risk killing their own food. So you can find them following almost every predator. Except for those of us who use tools.”
“Why?
Arashk bared his teeth in a savage rictus. “Because if they get too close to us, they become our food.”
“Yes,” Ulchakh agreed in a tone that seemed to invite Arashk to shed some of his sudden ferocity, “but today, the insects may do us a favor by attracting larger scavengers. I agree with Yidreg and Bannor that, if we are being followed—which is still quite possible—there will be little left of the carcasses by the time they arrive.”
Caine nodded. And, just as importantly, not enough to determine the means by which they were killed.
But Ulchakh was frowning and shaking his head. “It is a pity we had to leave their remains, though.”
“Why?” asked Solsohn from where he marched alongside Dora.
Yidreg shrugged. “X’qao bones are much stronger than those of humans, or even ours and trogs’. They are as steel is to bronze.”
“And,” Ulchakh added, “they are valuable, even if they are very costly to shape.”
“Is it costly because they’re so hard?” Duncan asked casually. But Caine knew what was behind the question: finding more ways to generate value on Bactradgaria.
Ulchakh shrugged. “I do not know if the difficulty lies in hardness of x’qai bones or in the different matter from which they are made. But it requires more shaping brew, more heat, and far more time.”
Newton, who was marching just in front of the group, turned his head. “Is the chemic—eh, ‘different matter’ also present in their flesh and their hide?”
“It is throughout them, I would say.” Ulchakh glanced at Yidreg.
He nodded. “Their flesh is not like ours. It is thick, stringy, as if shot through with small tendons.”
“The trogs claim it cannot be eaten.”
Good God, they would try? The x’qai are monsters, yes, but still, they’re intelligent creatures!
Ulchakh saw the look on Caine’s face. “You have questions about trogs, I think.”
Riordan nodded, glanced at the nearest ones only two ranks back.
Ulchakh smiled. “When we stop for the mid-march meal, we shall walk together.”