Spoils of War (Tales of the Apt Book 1) by Adrian Tchaikovsky (best young adult book series .txt) 📕

ten yards in, a nuisance at first, a menace pretty soon after. The heavies and the Auxillians were decently armoured, but those Commonweal bows were like nothing I’ve ever seen in the hands of the Inapt. A clean shot could go through mail and still leave enough punch in the arrow to make a mess of the man inside. The Commonwealers didn’t stand still, but they knew the woods better than we did and they could move faster. They were behind us soon enough, as well. If we held together we were slow and they picked at us. When the airborne, or individual maniples of the heavier troops, rose to the bait and went for them, then the Commonwealers were always there in force to make them regret it.

I had a decision then, to push on as per orders, or to fall back and bare my throat for Old Mercy’s knife. I ordered the advance, such as it was, to continue. I was not one of my more inspired moments, but I was only a lieutenant, and more used to relaying tactical decisions than actually originating them.

Things went to pieces pretty soon after that. Our line was broken up courtesy of some precise strikes by parties of Commonwealers, mostly Mantis-kinden, appearing from the trees and getting to blade range before anyone was the wiser. The arrows followed hard on them, once the Beetles’ shields were in disarray. I sent messengers up and down the line with instructions to keep it together, but the Commonwealers had a habit of picking the messengers off, and the entire advance turned into a series of skirmishes, with most isolated groups independently deciding to pull back out of the forest. Goes to show that soldiers have more sense than their officers, sometimes.

I was with the Wasp heavies when they came in for their battering. There was a feint at us by a half dozen Mantis-kinden with spears and swords, whilst a larger force assailed the Beetles down the line. Then it turned out that was the feint, while we were suddenly up to our ears in Mantis-kinden. The enemy were unarmoured but swift and very good. The heavies did their best, but they were beset from all sides. I ordered the retreat and we began to back out, hoping that we’d run into some of the Auxillians we might have outstripped. Then I got an arrow through the leg and went down.

I lay there, expecting to find a Mantis about to cut my throat at any moment – don’t believe all that rot you hear about their vaunted bloody honour, they’ll gut you without a second thought, any chance they get. Either they had followed up the retreating heavies or they were off fighting someone else. I was left with a few corpses for company and a long shaft gone right through my thigh.

I couldn’t muster my wings at all. Having a shaft through you like that will play hob with your Art. I tried crawling, but the arrow stuck out too far both ways, and each time I snagged it on something I nearly passed out. The same applied when I tried to snap the head off, which is what you’re supposed to do, I’ve heard. Also, there was surprisingly little blood, and pulling the arrow out might change that in radical and unwelcome ways. I lay there, feeling my life creep slowly out from what, on a properly ordered battlefield, would not be a serious injury. The night was coming on, I knew, and Commonweal nights are cold.

I would like to say that I took this all very philosophically, knowing that it was my own failure as an officer that had got me in that predicament, but frankly I was cursing Old Mercy every which way. If you ever needed to prove to some Moth or Commonwealer that all that magic stuff doesn’t work, then take me as evidence. If it was even slightly possible to put a curse on someone then Old Mercy would have burned up on the spot with the fire I was spitting about him inside my head.

Then there was someone stepping very near me and I stopped even those thoughts, as if they might somehow have betrayed me, led an enemy to me. I looked about, but for a moment I saw nobody. Then I realised that the nobody I saw was Cari. She was crouching right by me, festooned with greenery, blending in with skill and Art. Within the cocoon of her stolen foliage I saw her crossbow. She was scanning the trees around us.

“What are you doing here, soldier?” I got out, though my voice (so fierce in my head when I was biting at Old Mercy) was just a croak.

“When you didn’t come back, sir, I thought I’d see if I could find your body. Didn’t want them to, you know...” She made a chopping motion with her off hand.

“Get me out of here,” I rasped at her.

She considered me dubiously. “Dark now, sir, and you can bet they’ll be hunting. Bastards for the dark, Mantis-kinden. No way I could keep quiet with you over my shoulder. Besides...” I thought I saw her grin, “Don’t reckon you’d survive my carrying you anywhere. Now, come morning the other pioneers are going to come out and look for me, and we’ll get you out of the woods. I reckon you and I’d better keep company here ’til then.” After a pointed pause she added, “Sir.”

I wanted to be angry with her, and to assert an officer’s authority, but I was cold and weak and probably the first person in the Empire’s history who’s actually been glad to see a Thorn Bug. I said – I could not stop myself – “You’ll stay with me.” It was a wretched, whining thing to say, and said in a whining way.

“As much as I can, sir,” she said softly.

I kept losing her in the dark, with nothing of the human