City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [166]
Flicker, the fifth pose: now nearby, her victim screeched as she jumped and kicked out at its chest, sending it sprawling on to its spine. She marched closer and, with its other arm, the intruder raked its sword horizontally. The edge sliced through Artemisia’s thigh.
Rika gasped in concern, and Eir had to hold her back.
Artemisia buckled on one knee, dropping her blade, then the two began to grapple hand to hand. Pinning the enemy’s free arm, Artemisia brought up her remaining sword then stabbed it through the chest, the tip of the metal splintering the deck beneath.
After a moment of violent but silent juddering, the enemy fell still.
Artemisia pushed herself upright, panting, wiping blood from her brow, and gestured with her weapon at the corpse.
‘Earthlanders, come. I shall show you one of those we fight.’
Randur and the girls moved tentatively over to her side and for a moment they watched the warrior rip some material from her clothing then wrap it around her wound.
The body looked inglorious in its wreckage: yet this was something once noble, with a slender face almost human in its features, and something almost deer-like about its bodily form. A muscular white body was encased in golden armour, into which was carved all sorts of intricate designs, making it look too precious for use in combat.
‘It is one of the Pithicus – using your mythological term – who with others make up the nations of the Akhaioí. Another race invented by your early ancestors. These people command a wealth of forces, including the race which has breached into your world, their expendable foot soldiers – the Cirrips. Though no doubt your people would have given it another name by now. These Akhaioí deem themselves superior to other species, and I am surprised to find that they have come through already. Normally the Cirrips do all their fighting in the early stages.’
‘This creature seems so elegant,’ Randur remarked. ‘Clearly these things were wrought to look good.’
‘Do not be deceived by their beauty. These are people who, if granted victory, would see you wiped out in order to repopulate with their own kind. I have seen so many of their like, and fought . . . thousands of them. Be warned, the human and rumel races will come to an end if the Akhaioí lay siege to your dimension, like they do to our last city. Our people are becoming too few to protect you all.’
‘What do they want here?’ Rika enquired.
‘The same as we all do. To survive. Is that not what species seek? We may appear vastly esoteric to people of your culture, but I can assure you of this: when faced with the end of our existence, we are desperate and humble. The difference between ourselves and our enemy is that they wish to clear the land totally first, and then to use your bones as material to build their habitations. We simply wish to live alongside you, or quietly on our own in some distant corner. I repeat, this is why I have been sent to find you.’
‘How the hell can one woman achieve anything? I mean to say, you’re pretty sharp with a sword, but against whole armies?’
Artemisia seemed unconcerned by this query. ‘I may be able to disconnect their sentience – which is how they, your new enemy, communicate. The doorway through which they entered is a massive chain of communication utilizing various primitive signals transmitted through the air. Without this link, they become significantly less skilled as fighters. The rest, admittedly, may be up to your own armies. I am not a god, but I can still utilize this ship’s science.’
Randur began, ‘We have cultists—’
‘Your cultists’, Artemisia interrupted, ‘are constantly flapping about the Archipelago as if they actually know something. I can tell you this much: they know nothing.’
FORTY-THREE
Under pressure from the soon-expected sea landing, the meeting of the cultists with the commander was brisk and volatile, with an explosion of demands and requests for help.
As they discussed detail, Beami watched him, the albino, brooding over every statement in agonizing slowness, his elegant