Free Vin of Venus by David Cranmer, Paul D. Brazill, Garnett Elliott Page A

Mainlander chieftains. As I watched, the warrior pointed his right hand at a Mold Man some ten yards away, running for a hut. His other hand tore the hood free and loosed the insect's bindings in a single movement. The beetle shot from his wrist like an arrow, humming towards its target in a graceful arc. It struck the Mold Man in the back. The mottled creature thrashed and fell into the water.
    I had to roll to avoid the strider's scuttling legs. The giant creature tensed again and leapt, this time landing atop a distant hut. I found myself alongside the Mold Man who had taken my sword. His chest was already swollen black from venom, and in his lifeless hands lay the beetle's crushed remains.
    Now was as good a time as any to affect an escape. The Sword of the Sea Clans jutted from the dead man's harness. I rolled over and pressed my web bindings against the blade's edge. After a few frantic rubbings, the silk parted. I was able to tear the rest free.
    All around me carried guttural shrieks, fierce war-cries, and the humming of poison beetles. The Mold Men were trying to rally at a center point in the village, forming a ring around their women and young. My tactical sense told me they were outclassed. I snatched up the sword and made ready to bolt for a nearby stand of reeds.
    "Hold!"
    A strider landed in front of me. Atop the beast rode a female warrior, bedecked in plates of iridescent blue-bottle chitin. I could see braids of dark hair falling from beneath her helmet. She still had a beetle lashed along one forearm, which she trained on me. "You're not like the rest of those rotting man-things," she said.
    She spoke in a dialect of the southernmost Sea Clans, with a strange accent. But I could understand her well enough. "I was taken captive," I answered. "I am Vin, Champion of the Sea Clans and consort to Queen Rhadma."
    That gave her some pause. "You're from across the sea?"
    "On an important mission, yes." I thumped the box attached to my thigh. "I have a gift for Siroth Hadz. A repayment, really."
    She stiffened at mention of the name. I thought to glimpse her skin going pale underneath all that armor. "You are ... in league with the sorcerer?"
    "Just repaying a debt. He helped us to win a great battle."
    "I've never heard of Siroth helping anyone," she said. "Your story must be strange, indeed. But this is not the place to discuss it. Surrender your weapon."
    "But I just—"
    "That wasn't a request." There was iron in her voice. She leaned down from the complex webbing that secured her to the strider's thorax, extending a hand. "Give me that sword."
    I was loath to hand my blade over, especially as I'd just gotten it back. But I sensed the woman wouldn't hesitate to send a beetle at me. So I complied. She held the sword aloft for a moment, appearing to admire the play of sunlight along the edge. "An archaic weapon. And so much metal. Very wasteful." She secured the sword and extended her hand again. "Now, up here with me."
    "Am I your captive, now?"
    "Think of yourself as a guest. And for your sake, don't mention the name Siroth Hadz unless I tell you."
    I did not question further, and wasted no time climbing up behind her. She helped secure me to the strider's harness.
    "Put your hands around my waist," she instructed. "Or you'll fall off with the first jump."
    She breathed a little faster when I did so. The chitin armor was flexible rather than rigid, and I could feel her muscles underneath.
    "You're a strong one, I'll say that much for you," she said.
    "You didn't give me your name."
    "Hajed. I am
Kuar
of the Blue Riders. And rest assured, if you try anything I'll throw you off this mount."
    "On my honor, I will not"
    "Hold tight, then."
    She dug her knees into the strider. When it leapt the whole world seemed to blur around me, and my empty stomach lurched. We were airborne for only a moment, and then alighted on a bank not far from where the main fighting raged. The little ring of Mold Men held tight, despite the