Lineo Thadspar sighed. ‘So it is come to this at last, has it? Stenwold, you have set in motion a machine that no lever can stop or even slow. More, you have gone about it in an entirely reprehensible manner. You have been agitating amongst the students, you have been brawling in the streets. You have gone out and found an ugly, violent piece of the world, and – hammer and tongs! – you have transplanted it here, where it does not belong.’ He grimaced, showing teeth that were white, even and artificial. ‘This situation gives me no pleasure, Stenwold, and I regret that I have lived to see it.’
Stenwold nodded, still waiting.
‘The Assembly of Collegium concurs with you. It is our duty to resist the Wasp Empire.’
The words, spoken in that tired, dry voice, meant nothing at first. Only as he passed back over them did Stenwold understand what had just been said.
‘We have no right to set ourselves up as guardians of the Lowlands,’ Thadspar continued, ‘but it seems that is what we have become. All through Master Bellowern’s speech, his telling us who we were and what we stood for, many of us began to wonder just where he derived his mandate, to limit and define us in such ways. We had slept, I think, for many years, and he was now telling us to turn over and continue slumbering, while meanwhile you were shouting at us to wake up. And in the end, the picture of Collegium that Master Bellowern drew was not entirely to our liking. We have always regarded ourselves as the paragon of the Lowlands, looking down on the Ant-kinden and the others because they lack our moral sensibility. We pride ourselves in how well we treat our poor, our halfbreeds, the disadvantaged of all kinds. And yet we have thereby devised for ourselves a mantle that is heavy with responsibilities. If we truly stand for what we believe is good, the betterment of others, the raising up of the weak and the lowly, then we must take a stand against those with opposing philosophies. In Collegium, we are of a unique calling. There are members from all the Lowlander kinden amongst even our ruling body. Our perspective is broad. We are not the richest of merchants, and yet our inventions keep Helleron’s forges busy. We are not great soldiers, and yet we have conquered Sarn with our creed, and won a friend there. We are Collegium, College and Town both, but what are we, if we do not speak out against things we know are wrong?’ He shook his head. ‘We have therefore informed Master Bellowern that we consider the Empire to have broken the Treaty of Iron by marching on Tark. We were never party to that travesty they made the Council of Helleron sign. We have made our stand.’
‘But this is marvellous, Lineo,’ Stenwold said, but the old man shook his head.
‘It is terrible, Stenwold. It means a change that we will never put right. We will look back in future years, if we are so fortunate as to see them, and recognize the moment that you stepped before the Assembly as the beginning of the end of a world, just as the revolution was the end of the reign of the mystics. We have just made history, Stenwold, and I find that I prefer to teach it than to create it.’ Thadspar sighed, sipped at the wine that he had not, until that point, touched. ‘I should tell you, however, there are some conditions attached to this.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘First, as I mentioned to your delightful ward, there has been an embarrassing number of bodies turning up in certain rougher quarters of the city, and I rather think that you yourself may in some way be responsible. If it was you killing Wasp-kinden agents, in self-defence or defence of the city, then all well and good, but our poor guardsmen are going frantic over the matter. I would rather appreciate some clarification in due course.’
‘Of course,’ Stenwold assured him.
‘And second, Stenwold . . . Collegium is going to war. I know that is a very dramatic way of putting it but it is nevertheless true. We are putting ourselves in opposition to the Wasp-kinden and their Empire and, whether it is by words or deeds, that means war. To prosecute this war the Assembly requires a division of labour, and so it has been agreed to appoint certain men and women Masters – War Masters, I suppose, would be the rather unpleasant-sounding term. We have precious few volunteers, and many only willing to put forward the names of others, but, as you have brought this plague down on us, almost everyone is most especially agreed that you should do your fair share. The Assembly wishes to make you a War Master, and if you will not take the post and thus stand by your principles, then I doubt anyone else will.’
‘Then I accept, of course,’ Stenwold said, ‘and I’ll do whatever I can. I have some recommendations for others, as well.’
‘In good time,’ Thadspar said. ‘This is quite enough history for one day. My hands are rubbed raw with the making of it.’ He drained the bowl, and then poured himself another, looking older now than Stenwold had ever seen him. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘when the Wasp-kinden came to join in the games, I was delighted: a delegation from a savage nation coming to pay its respects. I foresaw Wasp students at the College and Wasp traders in the market. I saw the Lowlands expanded, by a manageable degree, to embrace seven kinden rather than six.’ He rubbed at his forehead, stretching the lines furrowed there. ‘Why could it not have been as it then appeared, Stenwold? How much easier life would have been.’
Stenwold was about to say something consoling, when they heard the door slam open and both men jumped to their feet, the aged Thadspar just as swift as Stenwold. Into the room came a bundle of visitors, but Tisamon was at their head. He was dragging a girl and Stenwold’s heart leapt, to his own great embarrassment, to see it was Arianna. At the rear followed three or four of Thadspar’s guardsmen, who had obviously been trying to stop Tisamon barging in, with so little success that he had barely noticed them.
‘Tell them!’ Tisamon snapped and, whipping out his arm, threw Arianna forwards. He had no doubt intended to cast her at Stenwold’s feet, but instead Stenwold found himself stepping forwards to catch her. For a second, the entire room was still, with Arianna trembling against his chest and Thadspar blinking at the Mantis-kinden.
‘Master Tisamon of Felyal, if I recall a face,’ the old man said. ‘Please calm yourselves,’ he added, for the benefit of his guards. ‘I don’t believe anyone is in danger of immediate harm here. Is that the case, Master Tisamon?’
Tisamon nodded shortly. Stenwold glanced from him to Arianna.
‘You’ve come at a good time, Tisamon,’ he said. ‘The Assembly has agreed to work against the Empire. Collegium is going to war. This is Master Gownsman Thadspar, the Speaker.’
‘It’s just as well,’ Tisamon said darkly. ‘Tell them, woman.’
Arianna stood back from Stenwold, not meeting his eyes. ‘The Wasps have sent an embassy to Vek,’ she said quietly. ‘They are encouraging the Vekken to attack Collegium. And it will work, and the Vekken will come.’
Silence fell throughout the room, from the guardsmen hovering in the doorway all the way across to Balkus at the far end of the table.
‘Tisamon, is this—?’ Stenwold started.
‘I found her on the run from her own people,’ Tisamon said derisively. ‘There’s been a falling out, it seems, and right now you’re the only thing keeping her from either assassination or execution. So, yes, I think it may well be true. I don’t know about Collegium going to war, but for certain the war’s coming here.’
To Tisamon it all seemed a colossal waste of time. The War Council of Collegium, it was soon grandly known as, but precious little war seemed to be discussed. There were about forty members of the Assembly present. To the Mantis’s amusement they were using a classroom for their meeting, so only one person at a time could take the stand to talk, while the rest sat on the tiered wooden seating and listened like pupils, or more often talked among themselves.
The first matter of business had been whether, after informing the Empire’s ambassador that they were now at war, the city should send envoys to the Wasps suing for peace, apparently on behalf of all the Lowlands. Almost half of the men and women there had been for that measure, which had only narrowly been defeated in the vote. They were very fond of such
voting in Collegium. The Assemblers themselves were elected by a vote of the city, meaning by anyone of age born there, or who could acquire honorary citizenship. The members of the War Council had similarly been voted for from within the Assembly at large, although it seemed that several people were there, and quite vocal, who had simply been interested enough to come, while others thus voted for were absent.
Stenwold had been hoping for whatever few Ant-kinden belonged to the Assembly to be present now. The duelling master, Kymon of Kes, had made an appearance, as well as a Sarnesh woman. The rest of their race were mostly gone from the city, because Ant-kinden loyalties lay strongest with their own kind. The Tarkesh had gone to help their home city-state, and the Kessen, Kymon excepted, to prepare for when their own time came.
Yet here they were, still choosing roles as though the entire business was some grotesquely disorganized theatrical endeavour. Stenwold himself had become some kind of military commander dealing with the walls. Kymon had been given charge of some of the city’s militia. It seemed that anyone who felt himself an expert in war could bag some slice of the city’s defences, and any artificer with an invention that could be put to good use was being given whatever was needed to deploy it.
To Tisamon it seemed an utter shambles, but he was only too aware that these were not his people. They had their own way of doing things, and in that way had built Collegium and made it prosper. Until now, at least.
He fidgeted impatiently. Stenwold had wanted him to witness this, and so Tisamon tried to understand what was going on. There seemed to be far too many interminable speeches and not enough actually being decided or done.
Now the talk had finally arrived at what, in his opinion, should have come first.
‘We must gather our allies,’ Stenwold said firmly, taking his place before the class, ‘not only against Vek but against the Empire. Unity or slavery, as I said before. We must impress upon all the Lowlands that their smaller squabbles must be put aside for now, until the greater threat is over.’
‘Good luck with that,’ someone spoke up, and Stenwold invited the woman to take the podium. She did, looking as though she had not been intending to.
‘What I meant is, your pardon, Masters, but we know our neighbours only too well, do we not?’ She was some kind of merchant, Tisamon guessed, her bulky frame heavily festooned with jewellery. ‘We know them and their prejudices. We of Collegium are broad of mind; can the same be said for many others? The Ants of Kes are no doubt rejoicing to see Tark being invested. The Moth-kinden will not help us because we are Beetles. The Mantids care nothing for anyone save the Spider-kinden, whom they hate. You cannot simply tell these people to stand side by side. It won’t work.’
Stenwold took the podium back. ‘I thank Madam Way-bright for her insight, which has made my point more clearly than I could. The situation of rivalry she describes is the one the Empire is most relying on to win its wars for it. If Vek saw clearly the threat they represented then, as rational human beings, they would not even now be mustering against us.’
There was a rude noise from one of his listeners, and he picked up on it. ‘Not rational, you say? But they are, Masters. They are strict in their duty and their discipline, as Ant-kinden are, but they are human yet. Had we perhaps made more overtures to them, and not crowed instead about the strength of our walls, then they might not be marching against us now. You see? We are by no means blameless.’
He stared down at his hands, balled them into fists, then looked back up at his audience. ‘Let us first speak of those we know will answer our call. No man here can dispute sending messengers to Sarn and Helleron. Helleron especially, for they are closest to the imperial advance.’
There was scattered nodding, and he pressed on.
‘I have agents in Sarn already, seeking their help, but they will not know of the threat from Vek, which requires swifter action. Moreover, my agents in Sarn are attempting contact with the Moth-kinden of Dorax, who I know keep a presence in that city. I myself fought alongside the Moths in Helleron, against the Empire’s schemes there, and I have some hope that, as they profess wisdom, they will be wise enough to forget, for some short space of time, that they have such grievances against us.’
His audience were less enthusiastic about that but, at the same time, he was asking for no commitment from them, merely unveiling his own existing plans. They could hardly turn down help from outside if it was offered.
‘Messengers to Kes, too,’ Stenwold continued. ‘They have never been our enemies, and they have no love for Vek. More, if they can see past their enmities they will realize that they are the next hurdle the Empire must clear. Their seas will not defend them against a massed aerial assault. A messenger to the island of Kes, surely? What do we stand to lose?’
‘The messenger,’ someone suggested, but he still had their attention.
‘And to the Spiderlands—’ he started, but there was a chorus of jeers even at the proposal.
‘The Spiderlands are not of the Lowlands, Stenwold,’ interrupted another of the College masters, a teacher of rhetoric and political history. ‘They will not care and, worse, if we ask for their help they will make us pay for it. If they become involved, they will keep this war going for ever simply for their own amusement. It would suit them well to have us daggers-drawn with our neighbours for generations to come. They would then deal with both sides and only become richer. We cannot invite the Spiderlands to intervene.’
‘And besides,’ said another, a quiet woman who had surprised everyone by turning up, ‘what help could they bring us? Do you think they will field armies for us? They deal in treachery and knives, and we would sully ourselves by inviting that kind of help, even if they could be relied on to turn it solely against the Wasps.’
Stenwold recaptured the podium, hands in the air to concede the point. ‘Very well, no embassy to the Spider-lands.’ Then his eyes sought out Tisamon. ‘I . . . hesitate to ask this . . . I know the Ants of Sarn have fair relations with their Mantis neighbours, but—’
‘But we folk of Felyal are less approachable, is that it?’ Tisamon suggested.
There was a murmur of amusement from amongst the War Council. ‘Can you deny it?’ Stenwold asked.
‘Nor would I wish to.’ Tisamon strode down the steps until he stood at the front, although he did not seek to take Stenwold’s pride of place. ‘And, yes, I will be your embassy to my own people, although I can promise nothing. Draw a line from Tark to Collegium, though, and the Felyal lies square in the way. I think my people would be even more unapproachable to the Wasps than to you.’
When the debate was over Tisamon sought out Stenwold again. The Beetle was seated in a spare office of the College, three rooms down from where the War Council had been held, with several pyramids of scrolls stacked ready to hand for the scribes to copy.
‘You seem to be keeping them busy,’ the Mantis remarked.
Stenwold raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s on your mind, Tisamon?’
‘You should know that I’m taking Tynisa with me.’
‘Absolutely out of the question,’ Stenwold replied without hesitation.
‘She wants to go.’
‘That’s not the issue.’
‘And you cannot stop her.’
‘Maybe not,’ Stenwold admitted. ‘Tisamon, my past record in keeping members of my family from danger is poor, but just think for a moment. I know they are your people, but they will kill her. They will kill her because they’ll assume she’s Spider-kinden, and if they find out what she really is they’ll kill her that much quicker. You almost killed her yourself when first you met her.’
‘There is a way,’ Tisamon said, ‘though her stay will not be pleasant, I’m sure. All you say about my people is correct. but they will not kill her out of hand.’
‘Tisamon, please—’
‘She deserves it, Sten. Her own people, remember. For all they will hate her, and hate me too, no doubt, she deserves to see her father’s tribe,
if only to reject it.’
Stenwold grimaced. ‘I can see this means a lot to you.’
Tisamon smiled bleakly. ‘We are not a numerous kin-den. If the Wasp army comes to the Felyal, with its machines and its thousands, my people will fight, you may be sure of that. They will kill ten of the enemy for every one of themselves that falls, and yet there will still be more Wasps in the end.’
‘You . . . think it will come to that?’
‘If the Wasps attack us, it may. I would say they would pay dearly, if only the Empire did not value its own soldiers so cheaply. I can see the Felyal cut and burned, the holds of my people shattered, and for that reason, if no other, I must warn them of their enemy’s scale and power. And Tynisa must see them as they are, in case, when this is all over, there is nothing left to see.’
Something in Tisamon’s face shocked Stenwold, right then. Familiarity makes us forget these differences. Tisamon had been his friend for such a long time that he had become, in Stenwold’s mind, almost the tame Mantis, the man half-divorced from his wild people, his ancient, dark heritage. Now, in those angular features, he saw a weight of history that made all Collegium seem like a single turn of the glass, and it was receding, it was fading. It was falling into darkness.
‘Yes,’ said Stenwold. ‘If she will go, I have no right at all to say no. But, Tisamon—’
‘Of course,’ Tisamon said, a hand on his arm. ‘What harm I can prevent, I shall. Whatever harm that is in my power to prevent.’
There was an abrupt rap at the door and Stenwold sighed. ‘More war business,’ he said heavily. ‘You’d better make your preparations.’
Tisamon’s hand moved to his friend’s shoulder, exerting a brief pressure. ‘Be safe, Sten. You’ve now got what you’ve been wanting for twenty years. You’ve got them listening to you, so don’t waste your chance.’
Stenwold nodded, opening the door for him, seeing the Beetle woman messenger waiting. He waited until Tisamon had strode out of sight before asking about her business, sure that it was bound to be another burden of the coming conflict.
Dragonfly Falling Page 29
