But Amnon has his woman beside him, while I myself have … nothing. And what did I ever have?
The tide of self-pity was rising like the turbulent waters of the Jamail, and that was something he was adamantly not thinking about. There would be an explanation for the water's intervention, but just now he could not be moved to find it. The sight of those rushing floods encompassing only one half of the city had profoundly disturbed him. Time would smooth over the queasy feelings it had left within him, and give him a chance to piece together a rationale. Until then the memories were to stay under lock and key inside his mind.
And, of course, I am exiled from this place, never to return. It was a strange thing, to be walking alone through a city that was supposed to have thrown him and all his kind out, with only his snapbow over his shoulder, and his battered breastplate. The truth was that his casting out was still very much in force and, equally, would not be enforced. Not a soldier of Khanaphes would lift a finger against him, nor any of its citizens. The Ministers were too wise to issue the direct orders and risk an uproar. Totho was a hero of the city, they all knew. He had stood with Amnon on the bridge.
And I should be proud of that, shouldn't I? That I played the hero? He didn't feel like a hero. He had known heroes in his day, people who would fight for what they believed in, without hesitation. People who did not need time and thought to cajole themselves towards doing the right thing. Salma had been a hero, so Totho had always thought that he must have felt like a hero: knowing no doubt, no fear, worry or uncertainty. Did Salma feel empty instead, like me? Did Salma do all those things because not doing them would only make him feel worse?
No. Salma had been a hero. Amnon was a hero. Totho was not fit for their company save that chance had thrown him that way. I did the best I could with bad materials. I botched it together, when the moment came. That's all. I'm not a hero, but we were short of one, so I stepped into the gap.
He was going to find Amnon, to bid him farewell. There were a half-dozen Iron Glove men left, survivors of the Iteration. Totho had found them a ship out of Khanaphes, and it could not happen too soon.
He walked out into the square in front of the Scriptora, and saw her stepping down the pyramid as though she had simply been frozen among the statues on the summit all this time.
Che.
It had been a fight to be quit of that place. After Garmoth's death, the tunnels and halls had turned against them, but Che had proved their equal in the end. She had pushed and pushed. They were immeasurably stronger, of course, but they were tired: the Masters most of all wanted to sleep again, and she possessed a Beetle's persistence. In the end she had outlasted them, and forged her way through to the open air, guiding the two clueless Apt with her.
Climbing out into the sunlight was the sweetest thing in the world. She stood still, a statue on either side, as though she was part of their irregular order. Irregular, she realized, and purposefully confusing so that when the Masters came up here to view their shrunken dominion, no eye would note them there, even if the moon was bright.
She pushed out of her mind all she had been told and all she had seen, down below. There would be sleepless nights later for her to digest it. For now, she was free, and the war was over, and …
She took one step down the pyramid and saw Thalric emerge from the shaft and alight, wings blurring and fading. He had the temerity to lean on a statue, looking up at the cloudless sky as though he had not seen it in a hundred years, drinking in the blue.
'I thought I'd never …' he said.
'I know.' She turned to see Accius now climbing out, wiping the slime off his hands with an expression of revulsion even on his normally blank face.
He nodded to her. 'Malius and I are discussing what should be done, regarding our two cities: what report we will give,' he said. 'It is true, there are events that cannot be understood.' There was an awkward look about him. 'Events that, if reported, will cast doubt on our competence as reporters.'
'I understand,' Che told him.
'We have stood together, in this place.' The admission seemed somehow prompted, and she wondered if it was Malius or Accius who was making it. 'You released me from … some torment that even my brother could not unlock, and we are unsure what this means. We shall confer, and then we will come to you.' He settled his sword in its scabbard, a nervous, reassuring gesture, and stepped off quickly towards the Place of Foreigners.
'Hope yet?' Thalric enquired.
'I don't know. Perhaps. It would please Uncle Sten.'
Thalric smirked at that answer, and she demanded, 'What?'
'War Master Stenwold Maker, spymaster of Collegium and defier of the Empire, now reduced to "Uncle Sten". The Rekef would be mortified to hear it.' His grin faded at the memory of Marger's revelations. 'And that's another problem.'
'Which we'll solve, somehow,' Che assured him. 'For now, though, we're out, Thalric. We're free of the Masters. We're free.'
His smile returned and he caught her around the waist and kissed her. She heard somebody shout.
Turning, she saw Totho running towards them, and her heart sank. Oh, timing, Totho, always timing. Your eternal gift. 'Totho, wait …' she started, unsure what she could honestly say. Thalric's wings had taken him two steps up the pyramid, hand held out, but Che was between them.
The Wasp did not loose. Totho did.
He was shooting whilst running. She heard at least one bolt ping from the stones very close to her. Another tore her sleeve. A single shot punched into Thalric's shoulder, knocking him back against the steps. She fell across his body, hoping to shield him, seeing him clutch at the point of impact. Thalric's expression was not pain so much as fury, and it was contagious, leaping to her like wildfire. Totho had stopped shooting by then, was just running forward, shouting her name.
No, no … But it was too late. Something fierce and mad had arisen inside her at the sight of Thalric's blood, and she wrenched the Wasp's sword from its scabbard and was already turning to meet Totho. She felt empty hands guiding her, and an unfamiliar insanity gripping her mind. A whirl of alien thoughts — honour and vengeance and bitter pride — rose in her like bile. After so many months in residence, Tisamon had left some echo behind, the ghost of a ghost.
She lashed out even as Totho arrived, striking sparks from his breastplate. He called out her name, and she hit him thrice more, denting his pauldron, smashing the snapbow from his hand, and then slamming the sword so hard across his body that he stumbled backwards down three steps.
'Che! It's me!' he yelled at the stranger he saw behind her eyes, and she stabbed him as hard as she physically could, so that the blade of Thalric's sword snapped off close to the hilt, as Totho was punched off his feet. He landed with a hard clash of metal on stone and slid to the base of the pyramid. She was on to him as soon as he started to get up, drawing back the jagged, broken edge of the blade, about to jam it into his upturned face. The urge to kill him keened inside her, not through the Mantis's influence but just the bloody handprint his presence had left.