As with the camp previously, a crowd of the locals was fast gathering, but here there were hundreds of them, too numerous to count. Many scrambled atop walls and buildings to overlook the wagons, clasping axes and spears ready to throw. A few even held bows, but to make a good bow required suitable wood, and the desert denied them that.
That's good, Hrathen decided. That fits with the plan.
He jumped down from the wagon again, observing the woman who was their leader. Her complete mastery of them was evident in the way she stood, and in the way they gathered around her. He had to remind himself: This is not just any chief, this is the Warlord of the whole Nem desert. It would be a hard title to win, a harder one to hold. Something about this woman had brought them under her rule, and it must involve more than mere skill with a spear. He would have to be careful with her.
'I am Hrathen of the Empire,' he declared. The other Wasps had again taken up their fighting stance, but if things went badly here it would not matter. 'I seek the Warlord of the Many.'
'You have found her,' the woman replied. She approached, two or three steps at a time, and then stopped again, regarding him. 'I am Jakal of the Many, and my people have brought me word of you. I hear Kovalin lies dead in the sand.'
'Do you mourn him?' Hrathen asked. Strength, always. There was no room for sentiment here.
'You have spared me the chore of killing him myself. It would have been dull work,' she said. The words were for the crowd, and the crowd liked them. Behind that helm, though, her eyes were careful, wary. 'What brings you to the Nem, Hrathen of the Empire? What brings you to my citadel of Gemrar?'
Hrathen heard Dannec snort at the mention of 'citadel'. The Rekef officer had a Wasp's eye for other nations, and he had decided from the first that the Scorpions were barbarous savages, and Hrathen little better.
'The Empire brings you gifts,' Hrathen announced. 'There is nothing in these wagons that you may not have.'
'That would be so, whether you willed it or not.' Jakal had moved closer, yet had not so much as glanced at the automotives. 'However, it is always pleasing to hear that we are known and feared by your Empire, who wish to bribe us so. You may join me at my fire tonight, and we shall discuss what you have brought me.' She was standing right before him at last, a few inches taller than he was, so that he had to look up to her. Hrathen was a man of instincts, and they were all telling him now to make a distance between them, to take himself backwards out of the reach of her claws. It was entirely possible she would kill him right there, and he realized he could not discern, from her stance, whether she would do it. She was impossible to decipher.
From the shadow of her helm her eyes challenged his. 'Good,' she said eventually. He had not moved or backed down. 'You are welcome amongst my people, until I change my mind. If any vex you, bring them to me and I shall remind them of their place – and mine.'
'I would rather kill them myself,' Hrathen replied, because that was expected of him. He saw her fanged lower jaw curve in a smile.
'Then perhaps we shall have some sport, later,' she said. 'We are not all as weak as Kovalin was.'
*
'You think I am ignorant,' she said, when they had re-gathered after dark. 'I know of your Empire. My advisers have told me of it.' The bluish light of the burning oil made the Scorpions' pale skin gleam and glow.
'The Empire's fame deserves to travel,' said Hrathen. He had called upon Dannec, of all his people, to sit with him at the Warlord's fire. The ragged circle was made up otherwise of Jakal's people, and he was surprised to see several there who must have been aged forty, fifty even, wrinkled about the eyes, with tusks missing or broken, skins spotted with time. Her advisers, then? Age had always been a death sentence in the Dryclaw but, with their more settled life, the Nemian Scorpions had clearly found some use for wisdom. A clay jar of something was being passed around, but it avoided the visitors scrupulously. Hrathen had meanwhile broken the neck on a bottle of Imperial wine, and was taking careless swallows of it, to Dannec's disapproval.
'My advisers tell me the Empire is a great beast lurking to the north, that is always hungry. That each year it moults and splits its skin and grows larger by eating another of its neighbours.'
Hrathen laughed at that, but Dannec drew his breath in sharply.
'The Empire is not as you describe,' the Wasp protested. 'Those brought within our borders only benefit from our rule. So, many of our neighbours beg to join us.'
'Fascinating,' Jakal said, dismissing with a word everything he had said. 'Tell me' – she returned to Hrathen – 'how long before we are your neighbours? We do not beg.'
Hrathen glanced at Dannec, who replied, 'There will be no need for bad blood between us. After all, we are here now to strengthen bonds of friendship, are we not? Why talk of war?'
'One cannot strengthen that which does not exist,' Jakal retorted, amidst a mutter of laughter from the other Scorpions.
'But alliances are always to be wished for, are they not? We have things you lack,' Dannec pointed out. 'I do not believe your advisers realize what the Empire has to offer.'
'Tell me,' Jakal said, pointedly to Hrathen, 'is this your lord, that he talks so much in your place, or is he perhaps your mate?'
The other Scorpions loved that, and Hrathen smiled, too. 'You are right, of course. I shall have words with him.' He turned the smile on Dannec and, as the man opened his mouth to speak, he rammed a thumb-claw as far as the knuckle into the Wasp's throat. Dannec, words abruptly gone, stared at him. With faint interest Hrathen saw his own bloody claw-tip within the man's gaping mouth. He jerked his hand three times, feeling the sharp bone slice flesh and arteries, and then withdrew his thumb with a practised movement. He turned back to Jakal as the Rekef man's body slumped lifeless to the ground, thinking, Thank you, General Brugan. He was perfect for the purpose.
The Scorpions were still laughing, but their tone had changed from mockery to appreciation. Strength again, and a strong leader did not tolerate weakness in his followers.
'Very good,'Jakal said quietly. 'I admire your performance.' Her tone told him that she had seen through the device but still appreciated the effort. The next time the jar came round, she passed it over to him, and he took a great swig of the fierce, fiery liquor.
He let the Scorpions talk amongst themselves for a while, let Jakal watch him and wonder, and then excused himself, wandering off into the dark to relieve his bladder. On the way back, he located the artificer, Angved, leaning on a capless pillar and carefully watching the group at the fire.
'Well?' Hrathen asked him.
'Well, I never liked the man, but even so,' the old man replied. He wore his armour still, even the helm. Field engineers seldom had to fly, and represented years of Imperial training, so they had better mail than anyone else except the sentinel heavy infantry.
'All part of the plan,' Hrathen said. 'Don't tell me you didn't see it coming when I called him to the fire.'
'I know he didn't,' Angved remarked. 'Tell me, sir, when do they descend on us with sword and axe and cut us all into pieces?'
'When we're no longer useful to them,' Hrathen informed him. 'Have you guessed at your duties?'
'Doesn't take much to work that out.' Angved spat. 'Can't see them as quick students.'
'Living out here, you learn anything fast, so don't underestimate them,' Hrathen warned. He assessed the artificer as a level-headed man, someone who could be relied on. Considering the man would suffice, he headed back to the fire.
'So why does the Empire seek out the Many of Nem?' Jakal asked him, as he sat down again. 'I am not such a fool as to believe you fear us. You are far away and strong, so if you are giving gifts to us, it is because you want gifts in return.'