‘What, you thought there was only a thousand of the bastards? Just a name, landsman, just a name.’
‘Look.’ Paladrya was pointing, but it was not clear at what. Then Wys had seen it, too, rushing over to the panes of her viewport to get a better look. Stenwold remained baffled, unable to see anything in this advancing horde beyond the doom of their plans.
‘It is all the Thousand Spines,’ Phylles explained to him quietly. Her eyes were still intent on the scene outside.
‘Well, yes, that’s the problem, isn’t it?’ Stenwold suggested.
‘No, land-kinden, all of them. All their goods, their wagons, their creches, their infirmaries, everything that they need to live, out in the depths.’
Stenwold frowned, trying to understand it. True, a great many of the crawling beasts were heavily laden, but he had assumed that was the norm for this place and these people. ‘Then…?’
But by then it was clear. The direction that Rosander’s Benthists was taking would neither draw them up before the city nor crash into the advancing dissidents. Instead they were simply going away, heading off across the seabed towards the depths, resuming the Benthist life after living so long on Claeon’s promises.
‘Save me from sea-kinden with a sense of drama,’ Stenwold murmured, but then Paladrya was hugging him, hard enough to drive half the breath from his body.
‘You did it!’ she shouted. ‘You drove away Rosander!’
He put an arm about her, finding that the gesture could be both affectionate and comradely, without any awkwardness. ‘Just talk, that’s all it was. The sort of talk my people are good at, though.’
She kissed him, without warning or apparent premeditation, and their eyes locked, Paladrya seeming more startled by it than Stenwold himself.
‘I don’t want to piss on your party, or anything, but there’s still more of Claeon’s lot than of us,’ Wys pointed out sourly.
Stenwold eyed the defenders, seeing them eddy and mill aimlessly now that the Thousand Spines were abandoning them. More of them than the attackers, yes, but not so very many more that victory would be swift for them. In fact, this looked like a recipe for a bloody and mutually destructive contest. He shivered at the thought.
The attackers’ advance became swifter now, and he could see the defenders forming into a rabble of a line, ready to receive them. Then something detached itself from the pitted surface of Hermatyre, and rippled towards them in a flurry of tentacles. Stenwold found that he recognized it: not only because it was far larger than any other of its kind there, but from its very attitude, the pale and rubbery hide laced with scars, those great flat-pupilled, white eyes.
Arkeuthys.
The sea-monster that had dragged him down into this nightmare world the first time. All across the surface of Hermatyre, the smaller octopuses were now squirming into the water, fanning out across the defenders, coming to rest on the seabed or simply undulating back and forth. Arkeuthys just hung there before the attackers, though, like a vast tentacled skull, as the attackers’ advance began to slow to a crawl. The reputation alone, the very name of the great monster, seeped into each mind like a curse.
Aboard Nemoctes’s companion, Aradocles lifted his head.
‘It’s the big beast, Arkeuthys,’ Nemoctes suppied, watching through the eyes of the creature that carried them. The Pelagist was fully geared for war, shell armour and shield and hook-headed axe.
‘Oh, I know that,’ said the heir of Hermatyre softly. It had been a long time since he had used the Art of Speech, years indeed since he had been close enough to one of Arkeuthys’s brood. Now he felt the mind of the creature just like a sun, burning away in the water with the malevolent fire of its long years. The octopuses, the Krakind’s namesake beasts, were more than mere animals. They were guardians and patrons to the humans who claimed kinship with them, and in return the beasts lived longer and longer, lifespans stretching from the brief span allotted to their lesser cousins until they could count their years as men did, or longer. As they aged, they grew wiser, too, more cunning in the ways of the world, and of humanity. They had always been a force here, in Hermatyre, a silent but influential counsel in the affairs of the Edmirs.
Arkeuthys, sent out Aradocles, into the watery void. Hear me.
He was not sure that he had properly recaptured the Art of it, until that slow voice came back, sounding like stone grating on stone. So, you have returned after all.
Did you ever doubt it?
It would not be the first time, Arkeuthys replied, that rumours of you have stirred up fools. I have personally defended your honour by putting down such lies. Has the idiot Heiracles not told you of his previous attempts at unseating your rightful blood? Or would he perhaps clothe himself in virtue now, as though it could be accreated, like metal or shell?
I have no illusions about Heiracles, Aradocles replied. The presence of Arkeuthys in his mind was vast and heavy, and it made his knees want to buckle, his bowels to loosen. But he stood all the straighter, under the force of that vast scrutiny. Heiracles knows his place, now.
And do you? There was bleak amusement in the great monster’s thoughts. Your rabble cringes from me even now. What did you expect, Aradocles?
From them? That they would follow me this far – and further, as they must. Aradocles took a deep breath, sensing the abyss beneath him that he must plumb. And from you? Obedience, as due to your rightful Edmir.
There was a very long pause indeed, and the eventual response was not words at all, but a feeling that indicated amusement – only amusement.
Hear me, Arkeuthys, Aradocles persisted. You served my father well, and you are a great ruler of your own people. After I was lost to Hermatyre, when I was believed dead, you then served my uncle. Why should you not? He was thought by all to be the rightful Edmir of Hermatyre, so it was not your place to question him. Now you know the truth of my return, why should you not serve your rightful lord, and turn from the false one?
He sensed the quality of the silence change at the far end of his link with Arkeuthys. At last the great beast murmured, Claeon has valued my support, and given me much freedom. He has made me a very Edmir of my people, as he is Edmir of yours.
As he was, corrected Aradocles sharply. Arkeuthys, you are your people’s ruler. It has never been the place of the Kerebroi to interfere in such matters. Do you think I would try to unseat you because you have served others in my family? Only continue to serve my family still, and why should I bear you any grudge?
And the baffled reply followed fast on the heels of his words. But your people will remember only too well what I have done in Claeon’s name, little one.
They will remember that it was done in Claeon’s name, that is all. And if they should ever complain, well, if they would have me as their Edmir, then they will live by my decision.
The attacking force’s advance had stopped entirely now. All eyes, on both sides, were fixed on the giant octopus, as it undulated slightly between both lines, its eyes narrowed to the merest of slits.
Claeon would not make such a generous offer, nor would your father, if they found themselves in your place. You must be aware of the reality of what I have done, of the weapon I have made myself in Claeon’s hands against those who resisted his rule.
I have spent time amongst strange people, Aradocles replied simply. I have learned new arts. Their word for this is amnesty, and that is what I offer. Do you see its meaning, here in my mind?
I do…
Then speak to the Krakind Kerebroi gathered amongst the defenders. Tell them one thing only. Tell them I have returned, the true heir, to claim my throne. Do this, and you shall remain to me as much as you ever were to Claeon – and with one advantage more.