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

man forwards hard enough to overturn his hiding place. Then a second Scorpion had arisen from a few feet to Mordrec’s left, lifting a halberd with a roar of fury, and everything started to happen at once.

Ecta was single-minded and he went for Hokiak still, trusting to his men to deal with the noise. He changed his mind when an arrow clipped his shoulder, signing a narrow line of blood against his dead white skin. Turning, he saw a Dragonfly drop to the ground across the market square, already reaching for another shaft. Ecta was at him, though, covering the intervening ground with startling swiftness, the greatsword’s blade blurring between them. Dal Arche’s wings flickered in and out of sight, landing him ten feet back, but the string of his borrowed bow snapped as he tried to get his second shot off, whipping across his face.

As the halberd came for him, Mordrec loosed his sting, the golden energy flashing from his palm to scorch across the Scorpion’s flank. The man snarled and hacked for him, and the Wasp let his wings cast him sideways between two stalls, nailbow dragging in his wake. He almost barrelled straight into another man who was rushing towards the noise. For a moment he was caught between them, stumbling aside from the newcomer’s scything claws. The halberd came down again and Mordrec bounced the haft bruisingly from his forearm, waiting for the claws to come in. Instead, the second man went down with a howl, and Mordrec tripped over him. He landed half on something hard and lumpy, and rolled off with a yell when he saw that it was Scutts’ segmented back, the sting poised above him like a stiletto.

Mordrec twisted urgently to one side, seeing a brief glimpse of the creature’s claws clasped about his fallen opponent’s knee. Then the needle point of the sting lashed down into the luckless man’s groin. The halberdier roared and raised the heavy blade of his weapon to strike, and Mordrec emptied the nailbow into him in an explosive judder of finger-long bolts.

When he looked round, Scutts had made herself scarce amongst the stalls. And I hope that bloody Ygor keeps her on a firm leash.

Dal Arche had a Wasp-issue shortsword out now, looking like a butter-knife compared to Ecta’s greatsword. He could have flown away without difficulty but Hokiak still stood there, staring pop-eyed at the spectacle of a Commonwealer rushing to his defence, and so he led the Scorpion chieftain a chase about the market square, keeping out of the broad reach of that massive blade. Initially he had hoped to be able to feign his way past the Scorpion’s guard for a swift strike, but Ecta was both fast and skilled. Twice now he had almost caught Dal Arche with a sudden burst of speed, or an unexpected leap forwards that extended the man’s reach four feet. Every time Dal tried to turn the assault, the sweep of the greatsword almost had him, every time he fell back Ecta drove for Hokiak. Where are the others?

Mordrec was heading for the market’s centre when a couple of fighters crashed through a stall immediately in front of him. For a moment he saw only two Scorpions fighting, but then he spotted the shorter one as Ygor. The Wasp barked out a shout, the sort the Corps used to stop running slaves in their tracks. With a supreme effort, Ygor’s adversary cast him down to the ground and stared at Mordrec, obviously unsure whose side he was on. With a hard grin the Wasp levelled the nailbow at him and pulled the lever.

Of course, I should probably have reloaded the cursed thing...

The backhand blow of the Scorpion’s clawed fist knocked Mordrec entirely off his feet, his head ringing with the force of it. For a moment his enemy stood over him, hand raised to drive those Art claws down like daggers, then the man was running, seemingly without transition, and a moment later Scutts bounded past, pincers wide and body a sinuous curve. Ygor had recovered his crossbow from somewhere and got off a bolt that flew a good eight feet wide of the fleeing man, but a moment later a long arrow appeared like magic through the running Scorpion’s neck, stopping him for a moment, upright and dead still, before he collapsed.

Without a word, Modrec and Ygor ran for the central square with Scutts pursuing them excitedly.

Dal was running out of options. He was relying on his wings more and more to keep him out of Ecta’s way, and the Art was draining him slowly of his strength. The Scorpion seemed indefatiguable and had found a rhythm now, was even giving the retreating Dragonfly a fang-bristling smile.

“About time!” Dal shouted, as Modrec and Ygor pounded into sight. “You get the rest?” Then he kicked high into the air, passing entirely over Ecta’s bald head to land in a crouch, rasping for breath, behind him. When the big man turned he saw three human opponents and a barely-restrained animal facing him.

He seemed utterly undaunted. He was barely breathing hard, they saw. “Oh this is good,” he murmured. “Hokiak, you amuse me.”

Mordrec had his hand out, fingers spread, ready to sting, and Ygor had reloaded his crossbow, dragging the string back with one notched thumb-claw. Ecta barely seemed to care.

“Come forth, my warriors,” he bellowed. Mordrec was frantically counting in his head. He had done for two, and Scutts had stung another, and presumably removed him from the fight. Dal Arche had gone straight for Ecta, as they had planned. Had Ygor killed any others? That still left...

None. Apparently that left none. Nobody came forward to answer Ecta’s summons. The Scorpion chieftain shrugged, looking from the newcomers to Hokiak. It seemed he would say something, some threat or piece of defiance, but then he launched himself at the old man, sword drawn back, an unstoppable, unheralded charge. Ygor loosed and missed, and Mordrec held off his sting for fear of