‘And will you sign this oath, for Collegium? We understand that Collegium is even now raising an army equipped with such devices,’ the Sarnesh woman said.
Stenwold gave her a flat look, then delved in his pocket and brought out the much-creased oath he had laboured over. Before their eyes he unfolded it and signed it with his reservoir pen.
‘It is done,’ he told them. ‘Who will be the next?’
They watched each other now, not him, and he feared they would not. At least I can go home, then, was his only thought.
‘I shall sign next.’ Teornis took the oath from him and signalled for a servant to bring him pen and ink. ‘I know there are those who will not trust me, but I shall bind the Aldanrael by my mark, nonetheless. If they believe themselves to be so much more trustworthy, I invite them to place their own marks beside it. After all, the new-woven Ancient League lies a long way from my lands. I do not believe this new weapon has sufficient range that my anticipated treachery might endanger them.’
He pushed the document across the table towards the Skryre from Dorax, ignoring the hostile glares of the two Mantis women who flanked her. The Moth-kinden, looking old and very small, looked at the paper and those two fresh signatures.
‘We have nothing to pledge. We shall never use this deadly toy,’ she said. ‘We are at the mercy of all of you. This weapon shall likely be the death of us.’
‘Will the League draw back even now?’ Stenwold asked her. ‘I do this to protect you, for what protection it can offer. Nothing we do or say will prevent the snapbow coming into general use here, as it already is in the Empire.’
‘Do not presume to lecture us, Beetle,’ she said, but she was tired, defeated. ‘It means nothing. However, the Ancient League shall put its mark to this.’
After that, the oath passed about the table until it landed before the Sarnesh Tactician, who had no doubt been communicating with her king and her entire city all this time.
When she signed, there was no great upsurge of relief in Stenwold, just the thought that he could leave this wretched city at long last and see his beloved Collegium once more. He forced himself to wait, even as the dignitaries filed out with their various expressions of suspicion and dissatisfaction, forced himself to remain the impeccable diplomat to the last. When Teornis appeared at his elbow, as silently and familiarly as his own shadow, he was not surprised.
‘Masterfully done,’ the Spider said. His smile, as always, looked as genuine a smile as Stenwold had ever seen, and more practised than any.
‘I am not meant for this,’ Stenwold sighed.
Teornis shook his head, seeming amused. ‘I only hope that we always remain allies, Master Maker, for you would be a formidable foe.’
‘High praise from the Lord-Martial?’
‘And well deserved.’ Teornis’s smile twitched broader, and even that reaction, seeming so spontaneous, could just as easily have been deliberately contrived. With these Spiders I truly cannot ever know. The thought turned him to reflect on Arianna, and he dismissed the association quickly.
‘You should listen for news from the east, War Master,’ Teornis advised him. ‘It is at least passably pleasing this season.’
‘There is some new winter fashion, is there?’
‘A new fashion in warfare, indeed. One hears on the wind that a certain protégé of yours has been causing the Imperial Army some degree of embarrassment.’
*
Where the Seventh Army had come to rest after the Battle of the Rails there had once stood a Beetle-kinden farmstead. That was gone now, and in its place was a series of wooden fortifications that the Winged Furies had put up during the winter, in anticipation of retaliation from Sarn. They were Wasp field fortifications, though, nothing the Ant-kinden would have recognized: slanting walls and overhanging ledges, bristling with sharpened stakes, to make the camp as difficult to attack, from ground or air, as the Wasp mind could devise.
But there were still losses the walls could not guard against. There always were. Scouts went missing; foraging parties sometimes failed to return. The land beyond the fort was the hunting ground of Sarnesh rangers, of bandits, brigands and desperate refugees. This, though . . . this latest news had brought General Malkan out to see for himself. He required the evidence of his own eyes to understand the true scale of the attack.
There had been a troop transport coming down the track from Helleron, packed with men and supplies, going at a speed that only well-maintained rails could allow. Three miles from the fort, there had been a series of explosions that ripped apart the engine automotive and suddenly the tracks had been gone, hurled aside into splayed and coiling shapes, and the entire convoy had come off the rails, carriages shunting into carriages, the straight line of the transport’s passage thrashing suddenly like a whip.
The corpses had gone by the time he reached the site. Travelling with a guard of 600 men was time-consuming but Malkan was not a rash sort. He was the youngest general the Empire had and he fully intended to become the oldest, in good time.
‘One hundred ninety-seven men died in the initial impact,’ one of his aides was recounting without emotion. The man was his intelligence officer, almost certainly Rekef, and probably did see this number as nothing more than that. ‘Over four hundred injured, best count.’
‘And then?’ Malkan prompted, though he knew already. The word had run quickly through the entire Seventh.
‘And then the convoy was attacked, sir,’ his aide said. ‘The soldiers trying to exit the train came under shot from both north and south of the tracks. We estimate that another three hundred and twenty men were killed outright before any defence could be mounted.’
‘And that defence consisted mostly of staying under cover and keeping their heads down,’ said Malkan, wondering what he himself would have done in the circumstances. ‘Engineers, I want news!’
‘Sir.’ One of his artificers left the rails and ran up to him. ‘Judging from the wreckage it could have been either a steam-expansion bomb or triggered steam pistons making the tracks jump. Just simple mechanical force to unseat the automotive, nothing flammable until the automotive’s fuel lines ruptured in the impact.’
‘So?’
‘It’s a simple and robust device, sir, but whoever set it would need to be a skilled artificer in order to gauge its precise disposition. It must have been initiated on a pressure trigger, sir. The trains aren’t regular enough for a clockwork timer.’
‘Could you make such a device in the field?’
‘You could assemble it, but the parts must have come in from Sarn.’
‘Or Helleron,’ Malkan mused, ‘or Collegium.’ He had already heard the reports of some soldiers who had survived the attack, reports that gave descriptions of the attackers. No disciplined Sarnesh Ant-infantry, these, but a rabble composed of different kinden. A rabble with a common mind, like bandits but more organized . . .
‘What of our scouts?’
‘Two have not returned, while the others report no sign of any large force nearby,’ his aide confirmed.
‘They won’t. After you achieve this kind of success, you scatter, then rendezvous later . . .’ The attackers had taken their own dead with them, but their departure had been hurried. There had still been clues: crossbow bolts, discarded weapons . . . yet there was no pattern, nothing uniform. Malkan ground his teeth. He could send men after the missing scouts, but whoever had not wished to be seen would have moved on by now, or alternatively it could become an ambush.
‘I want those rails repaired in double time,’ he told the engineer, who saluted and returned to his men. Malkan pondered the situation for a while, putting himself in the position of his enemies as best he could. ‘Keep at least two hundred men here to guard them, though. I’d come back, if I were him, and kill the artificers as they worked.’
‘There is a lot of rail-line between here and Helleron, sir,’ the aide noted.
‘Indeed, so get a messenger off to Helleron . . . bet
ter send three, separately. We need a new way of transporting supplies and men. Just march them overland if they have to.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The Seventh had been relying on the rail-line to Helleron over the winter. It would now be a difficult adjustment to make, going back to old-fashioned methods, but it might be for the best. Simplest done was simplest fixed, as the artificers always said.
The dead men were a waste of resources, the broken rails and automotive an annoyance. What was really concerning General Malkan was the loss of almost 500 snap-bows that the attackers, whoever they were, had made off with, having deliberately targeted the carriage they were in.
‘Explosives . . . and these new weapons . . .’ he murmured. ‘If it weren’t for that . . .’
‘What, sir?’
‘In the Twelve-Year war . . .’ he began. It had been the cause of his meteoric rise through the ranks, his conduct at that war’s end. ‘. . . Towards the end, they were always springing surprise attacks, ambushes. They had inferior discipline, inferior equipment. We had broken their field armies by then, so they had to make up for it in tactics, using the land itself . . . those Dragonfly-kinden . . . I want to know any news received about Dragonfly-kinden.’
He stared out across the broken ground, hearing the hammering of the artificers as they straightened the rails, and knowing that his enemy was somewhere out there, staring back at him.
Eighteen
There seemed to be a Wasp soldier on every street corner, as though they had already occupied Solarno without the courtesy of letting anyone know. In the open-fronted tavernas the conversation hovered about them like a fly over fruit, but never quite touched on the awkward questions.
Che, Taki and Nero had gone out into the market district to see the true scale of the problem, with the Dragonfly Dalre and a couple of others shadowing them in case of trouble. It was hard to judge accurately, though, as the Wasps were spread out in groups of no more than two or three, but it seemed impossible to go anywhere without at least a glimpse of their black-and-yellow presence.
Nero had left them a short while ago, to undertake some aerial surveillance, and they had taken a table at a taverna to hear what the Solarnese themselves were saying. The uneasy local consensus seemed to be that one or other of the political parties had invited them in, or was even hiring them as mercenaries. That was the only way the locals could account for such an influx of foreigners in their midst. The idea that the Wasps might have an agenda of their own was not spoken about.
‘The problem is,’ Taki said, ‘it’ll become true. One of the parties will decide to make a deal with them, and that’s just the start of the downward slope. The Wasps will keep that party strong, and the same party will rely on the Wasps all the more.’
‘I don’t think the Wasps are likely to wait that long,’ said Che. ‘They’ll soon be making demands to whichever party looks most gullible. Will that be yours, do you think?’
‘I don’t have a party,’ Taki reminded her. ‘I’m not into politics. All I want to do is fly.’ She considered the thought further. ‘But it could be the Destiavel’s party, the Satin Trail, that I’ll grant you – or else the Crystal Standard lot. The Crystals are in the Corta Obscuri now, and they might risk a lot to stay on there. If they don’t alter their fortunes, word is there’ll be a new Corta soon enough, and then they’ll be out.’
‘What about the other cities of the Exalsee?’ Che asked. ‘Will they step in?’
Taki looked almost horrified. ‘That pack of pirates and lackeys interfere with Solarnese politics? If Princep and Chasme and the rest turned up here protesting against the Wasps, the only thing it would do is have every local inviting Wasps to marry their daughters and take over the family businesses. No, this is a Solarnese problem.’
‘Then we have to talk to Genissa.’
‘Domina Genissa is not happy with the Wasps,’ Taki agreed. ‘She just doesn’t like the look of them, and with her that counts for a lot. Mind you, she’s generally a good judge from first impressions, and like a lot of the Dominas she doesn’t want something new coming in and changing the mix. Actually, the only people who would really welcome that happening would be the Path of Jade crowd, and that’s because at the moment they’re in danger of dying out altogether. Mind you, they’re in for all sorts of odd ideas, like banning slavery and the like. Not the sort of thinking your Wasps will want to encourage.’
Che was about to reply when she noticed a pair of Wasp soldiers approaching, their attention clearly fixed on either her or Taki. She felt for her sword-hilt, loosening it in its scabbard. Taki moved away from the table a little, allowing herself room to fly.
The lead Wasp, obviously the one in charge, was both shorter and leaner than most of them, but he bore himself with an air of arrogant confidence that made up for his lack of stature. His barred cuirass was fashioned of leather, not the metal bands the imperial soldiers normally wore. His hair was still tawny but he was older than Che had first thought, with a little burn-scarring evident about his chin and neck. As he arrived at their table he nodded to Taki, ignoring Dalre and the other Destiavel men, who had stood up warningly as he approached.
‘Do I address the Bella te Schola Taki-Amre of the Destiavel?’ he said, fumbling slightly over such unfamiliar names.
‘What of it?’ Taki asked him suspiciously.
‘My name is Lieutenant Axrad of the Aviation Corps,’ he said. ‘I have sought you out to congratulate you on your flying.’
Taki stood too, sizing him up. ‘And what would you know about my flying, Sieur Axrad?’
Axrad smiled bleakly. ‘I flew against you, Bella Taki-Amre, over the Exalsee only yesterday. You downed several of my comrades, and damaged my flier enough that I could not continue our duel.’
Taki glanced at Che, and then turned back to him, obviously re-evaluating the situation. ‘You’re a pilot?’ She remembered the one Wasp machine she had not been able to pursue, just taking a single shot at it before heading for home. ‘That’s not a title to lay claim to lightly, in this woman’s city.’
‘I am aware of that,’ Axrad said. ‘While I consider myself the best of the imperial fliers in this region, I admit to having nothing but admiration for your skills, Bella Taki-Amre. I know it is likely that we shall cross swords once more, but I wish you to know I bear you no ill will, and if it is your fortune to send me to the waters I shall consider it an honour.’
Che had been waiting for the catch here, the threat that the man’s words must surely be leading to, but she saw now there was none. It was just a normal exchange in a world she was not part of. She glanced at the other Wasp soldier, and saw him looking bored and shuffling, and no more included than she was.
‘Well, Sieur Axrad,’ said Taki slowly, ‘I think you understand our customs better than most. You also flew well. Tell me, do many of your – what was it, Aviation Corps? – think as you do?’
‘Not so many, but I am not the only one. For my people, to fight is to live and to excel is to succeed. We are a warrior kinden not without honour on the field or in the air, though I am aware that some of my kin do not show the nobility of spirit that befits them. I wished to speak with you in order to redress this.’
He was standing so stiffly, so awkwardly, that Che finally realized that he was actually frightened. He was a newcomer petitioning for membership to a club, and with no guarantee of receiving it. He wanted acknowledgement.
A flick of Taki’s wings took her up on to the tabletop, and matching his eye level. ‘You’ve surprised me, Sieur Axrad, and I think we have something we can talk about. Would you join me?’ She indicated a table further across the Taverna’s courtyard. Che opened her mouth to protest, but Taki’s warning look told her that this was not a matter for her to interfere in or eavesdrop on.
‘I must warn you right away, that my respect for you does not compromise my loyalty to the Empire,’ Axrad announced.
‘I would not expect it to,’ Taki said, and with
that, the two of them moved out of earshot, heading to the other table.
Che caught the look of the other Wasp soldier, now consigned to standing out in the street while his superior amused himself, and she almost felt a kindred spirit there. Then Nero returned, pausing to hover in mid-air as he spotted Taki’s new companion.
‘Apparently he’s a pilot or something,’ Che explained dismissively. ‘So what did you see?’
‘Enough to guess at a little secret the Wasps have here,’ Nero said grimly, keeping his voice low. ‘They’re scattered all over the city, but they’re working in cells, each group of them checking in with a single soldier over and over. Not an officer, mark you, or at least not always – mostly just an ordinary soldier. I think they’ve got a mindlink between about a dozen Wasp-kinden across Solarno, just close enough together to stay in contact. They can do that, a few of them, though as far as I know it’s a rare Art among their kinden. It means they’ll be able to act all together, however separated they are.’
Che nodded, her eyes fixed on Axrad’s back. The news was not getting any better.
Instead of the dingy confines of the Clipped Wing, it was an elegant drawing room, its high-arched ceiling supported by seemingly too-slender pillars with gilded capitals, and whose expanse was painted with a scene of aquatic creatures engaged in improbable play together: fish, water-beetles, insect nymphs and the like. Che had exchanged her audience as well. Instead of half a dozen aviators intent on her words, there was nearly a score of Solarno’s great and good here, Spider-kinden all, and some with red cravats for the Satin trail, others with green and gold sashes for the minority Path of Jade, and a single old Spider who wore purple satin about his brow and draped over his shoulders in a kind of scarf, representing Che knew not what.
The grander surroundings, the most prestigious company, none of it changed the speech she delivered, which mirrored the words she had given the pilots: this is the Empire.
Blood of the Mantis Page 29
