‘Here!’ she called, pitching her voice high over the crump of explosives beyond. ‘Map!’
Straessa struggled over, her chest heaving and already envying the solid endurance of the Beetle-kinden. The Fly proffered a tattered piece of paper, on which she had drawn a rough sketch of the camp’s layout – something she must have done while in the air – marking out whatever looked as if it needed blowing up. ‘Remember, strike fast, then pull out!’ she shouted to Kymene. ‘The airships will be coming in, and we’ll cover them while you get away!’
The Mynan woman took a second to stare at the scribbled map, committing it to memory. She made no promises about the retreat, Straessa noted. Then the Antspider found the map in her own hands, and Kymene and her squad were off again, and so must she be if she did not want to get left behind.
She picked up speed, an extra burst to try and make up lost ground. Ahead, the bright flare of a bomb going off revealed the great Mantis host as stark silhouettes. Beyond them, some of the Second’s camp was on fire, and there was a brief impression of a great many Wasps rushing about, in the air and on the ground, without having a clear idea of what was going on. Then . . .
Straessa would remember this moment. She would dream of it: the Mantis-kinden of the Felyal hitting the Second Army’s camp. Not just as a mob of warriors and old men and children, not the last dregs of a culture casting themselves into the fire. In her memories they would be like a tide, a great cresting wave and, although the Wasps put a fair few soldiers in their way, nothing could stop them. They had come to finish their long history with the Second Army, one way or another.
They let nothing stop them. The Wasp sentries were hacked down within seconds, and even though the flashes of stings and the deadly needles of snapbow bolts kept darting out from amidst the camp, there was no suggestion of strategy from the Mantids, nothing so human as a fear of death, or even an acknowledgement of it. They ran and they flew as a great barbed host, and killed everyone they encountered, even as the Wasps pulled back to form up again deeper within their camp.
The air was alive with their arrows, and the night’s darkness to them was merely dusk. As the first reordered force of Wasps advanced to try and hold them, the wave broke, the Mantid onslaught fragmenting into war bands of a dozen or a score, each hunting its own bloody end in the streets of the tent city that the Second had built.
‘What’s first on the shopping list?’ Gerethwy shouted in Straessa’s ear. The bombing had stopped – and just as well! – but the camp was reduced to a chaos of random clashes of arms, with Mantids and Wasps hurling themselves at each other, neither quarter nor hesitation from either side. When Straessa’s squad halted at a crouch, quiet and still, they might as well have been invisible. The Imperials had other problems right then.
‘Fordyke, take a dozen and head left, that way. Velme, you cut left of centre, down that way. And you’ – and I have no idea who you are – ‘you’ve got straight on.’ And she parcelled out her command into tiny vulnerable pieces, just as the plan had called for, so that they could inflict the most damage for the least cost, for if the Wasps caught them all together, they would be butchered to a man. ‘I’m heading deeper in. Looks like something’s there needs setting on fire.’ She squinted again at the pilot’s map and hoped it wasn’t just an inopportune twitch of the pencil. ‘Use your grenades, but make sure you lob them away from your friends. Shoot every damn Imperial you see, and anyone else who isn’t a Mantis and doesn’t wear a sash. Blow things up. Questions? No? Get going.’
All said far too fast to allow objections, of course, and just as well because Straessa herself could feel fear gripping her by the throat, trying to throttle her words, and only by rattling them off that quickly could she get them out at all. The expressions of those Merchant and Student Company soldiers fool enough to volunteer were wide-eyed and horrified, and if she left them a moment they would just lock up, the reality of their situation clenching like a paralysis about them. But she shouted ‘Move!’ for her own benefit as much as theirs, and then they were all going, peeling off on their separate assignments, running as if all the ghosts of the Bad Old Days were after them.
She herself had the Dragonfly Castre Gorenn, who had brought a longbow that even the Mantids might envy. She had Gerethwy, who was holding his snapbow off-handed because he had lost his usual trigger finger in the last big fight. She had another half-dozen Beetles and Fly-kinden, and they were all waiting to follow her lead.
She went, feeling as though she had to put a shoulder to her fear and shove it out of the way by brute force, but she went anyway. There were Mantis-kinden fighting ahead, a handful of them cutting and leaping at Wasps who were trying hard to stay out of reach until reinforcements arrived. Straessa levelled her snapbow even as she ran, her aim shaking and bouncing as she tried to steady the barrel long enough for a shot. She loosed – but her target was already out of her sights, the bolt flying wildly off into the night. Then the man was dead, just pitching over without a Mantis anywhere near him, and she only heard the thrum of Gorenn’s bowstring as the woman’s second shot took an unarmoured Wasp in the small of the back. Straessa herself was trying to reload and recharge without slowing her pace, but the Dragonfly was already ahead of her, plucking another arrow from one of her two quivers, nocking and drawing, then letting her wings lift her from the ground, steady in the air for a heartbeat as she shot, then down and running again without missing a step.
As the Antspider’s little band passed the melee, Gorenn put five arrows into it, each one claiming a Wasp, and two of those victims picked out of the close fighting with the Mantids. The Dragonfly’s face was serene. The Commonweal Retaliatory Army, she had named herself, but Straessa had never taken her seriously before now.
‘Behind us!’ someone shouted, and she risked a glance over her shoulder to see a good score and a half of Wasps bearing down behind them – more intent on wiping out the Mantids than Straessa’s people, but that would only be a matter of time. Then one of her Fly-kinden had kicked off into the air, his wings propelling him back towards the enemy. The Antspider saw a flare as he dragged the fuse of a grenade over the rough catch-strip tab on his belt and, as he swung out of his dive, he left the grenade behind, arcing its way into the Wasps with the momentum of his flight. He timed it perfectly – the bright lash of it hurled the front dozen Wasps in all directions, with only some of them staggering to their feet afterwards. And then the Mantids had rushed them, just four now against so many, but Straessa had no chance to see how they fared. She had her own mission.
She heard the first explosion, one of the sabotage teams either being creditably fast or horribly premature. ‘Gereth, start the clock!’ she ordered. Now the sands were running, and she hoped that all her other teams were counting as well.
The seer said there would be fire and blood.
Mycella regularly had her fortune cast, and seldom paid much heed to it. ‘Fire and blood’ could mean just about anything – the daily Collegiate fly-overs, the continual just-controlled friction between the Empire and its Spider allies . . . But this morning her seer had been insistent – not specific but very, very emphatic.
She had listened, this once, and given orders for more of her people than usual to be in readiness at all times, doubling watches, overlapping shifts. She had reckoned it nonsense at the time, but some deep instinct had compelled her.
Seeing what she saw here, she was not sure that she had done the right thing.
Hatred had a face, and that face was Mantis-kinden. She had always known that their people hated hers from time out of mind, and with a fervour that defied logic and offered no reasons. Back in the Spiderlands it had been a joke, those ravaging rustics in their primitive longships and shabby tree-houses. Whatever the Mantis-kinden had once been, they were that no longer – just an atavistic pack of malcontents squatting in their coastal forest between Kes and Collegium, menacing the nearby shipping and brooding over their obsolescence.
N
ow they had come in all their fury, and she saw that, just for this one night, they had recaptured the days of their old glory.
They came in a ravening wave, killing everything in their path, slaughtering the Wasp sentries who tried to deter them, killing unarmoured, just-woken Imperial soldiers scrabbling desperately from their tents, putting their hungry blades into every living thing in their path, combatant or not, Wasp or Auxillian or mercenary. Or Spider. Most especially Spider.
They were wild and fierce and had no plan, no strategy that she might have misdirected. All she was faced with was their hate.
Her soldiers, those brave men and women loyal to the Aldanrael and its tributaries, were flooding past her, clad in their armour of leather and chitin and silk, throwing themselves into the maw of that bloody melee, killing Mantids and being killed in turn – losing two for one at best, perhaps more. They were gallant and skilled, her soldiers, and they loved her and were loyal to her every inch as much as Tynan’s people obeyed him and revered their Empress. They knew, too, that they were not the born and honed killers the Mantids were, and yet they rushed in and fought, and they held the line even as their very presence – the hated Spider-kinden – drew more and more of the Felyen into the fight. Her people held out because more of them were still coming, rushing past her into the fray with grim desperation, decanting out their lives like spilt wine, just to keep the Felyen assault at bay.
‘Mistress.’ She heard Jadis urging at her side. ‘You must fall back. They cannot keep the Mantids back long.’
She shook him off, feeling his fear for her – not ever for himself – and drinking in the strength which that love and fealty gave her. She summoned up all her reserves of Art.
‘Servants of the Aldanrael!’ she called out, and her voice thundered over them all, friend and enemy alike. ‘Hold fast, Aldanrael! Be not afraid! I am with you! I shall take not one step back! Hold fast and make them pay in blood for every inch of ground! Aldanrael! Aldanrael and the Spiderlands!’
Her Art, the hidden strength of the Aristoi, washed over her soldiers, firing them with courage and giving them heart, quickening their limbs and staving off pain, so that for a moment the Mantids began actually losing ground. Then the arrows came in, feathering through the air towards her, and she stepped left and right in a graceful dance, and let Jadis’s shield take the rest – nimble as a young girl until one found her shoulder.
The silk and mail she had donned took the brunt, but it drew blood nonetheless, and Jadis was practically dragging at her arm, but Mycella stood her ground, just as she had exhorted her servants to do. ‘Hold!’ she called again, aware that the Mantids were trying to flank her forces; aware that the battle-lines were getting thinner and thinner. ‘For the Aldanrael, hold!’
Fire and blood, she remembered suddenly. And we have had the blood but was that little bombing really the fire? ‘Bring me Morkaris,’ she demanded. ‘Where is he?’
The mercenary adjutant was fighting at one end of the line, with a pack of his unruly Scorpion-kinden, but at Jadis’s shout he dropped back to join Mycella, still keeping half an eye on the conflict. His black armour was battered and scratched and he had a jagged, bloody gash across one cheek, but his eyes widened when he saw the arrow still standing proud of her shoulder.
‘There will be others,’ she informed him, calm and clear despite it all. ‘Beetles, Ants, the Apt – they will send artificers against the same targets their flying machines have been trying to destroy.’ Now she had thought of it, it seemed obvious. ‘Take your Scorpions and any other of the mercenaries you can gather. Spread them out. Send them to check the provisions, and the siege machines. Drive off any enemies you find there.’
Morkaris glanced from her to Jadis, and from Jadis to the ongoing battle, to the line that was being pushed closer and closer.
‘Obey the Lady-Martial!’ Jadis snapped at him, and the mercenary scowled and went to drag his Scorpions out of the fray.
Jadis of the Melisandyr had moved closer to her now, arrows rattling off his shield. ‘Lady . . .’ she heard him start, but he added nothing, for to say more would be to question her.
‘We are buying time, Jadis,’ she told him gently, drawing her rapier with her uninjured arm. ‘We must hope that Tynan can order and rally his men in the space of time that we are buying him, because soon enough we will need him to return the favour.’
Ahead Straessa saw several automotives burdened with some bulky load. She was not at all sure she knew where she was on Taki’s map, and she was keenly aware that shortly the only relevant direction would be ‘out’, in any event.
‘There!’ she directed. ‘Set your bombs there!’
The two chosen artificers hurried forwards, and Straessa began looking round for the enemy, snapbow raised to her shoulder. Beside her, Castre Gorenn loosed a shaft that caught a half-armoured Wasp in the throat even as he stepped out from around the automotive, killing the man before he knew what was going on.
A skirmishing knot of Mantids passed by, briefly visible between the tents, Wasps converging on them on the ground and from the air. Straessa crouched low, Gerethwy beside her.
‘Come on, come on,’ she murmured impatiently, but she knew the bomb-setters would be working as quickly as possible, securing their explosives to the automotives at their most vulnerable points, setting their clockwork timers carefully.
‘Inbound,’ Gerethwy said flatly. ‘They see us.’
She saw just huge shapes moving in the dark, at first – far bigger than Wasps had any right to be. Then they resolved into Scorpion-kinden, a dozen at least, bearing down on them at a full charge.
Her snapbow jumped in her grasp and one of them stumbled and fell, while an arrow from Gorenn wounded a second. She saw Gerethwy fumbling with his weapon, teeth bared. Another two shots sounded from nearby, claiming one victim between them.
The Scorpions let out a hoarse roar of fury, almost upon them now. Straessa saw Gerethwy drag his snapbow up, missing his target at close range, then just swinging the weapon into the face of the leader, whipping his helmed head to one side. The Scorpion was already bringing down a halberd at him, too close, and he caught at the shaft desperately. His long-boned frame was surprisingly strong, Straessa knew, and for a moment he held the weapon off, and she leapt in with her rapier and found the thin mail under the big man’s arm, lancing through the links and provoking an agonized yell.
Another huge warrior loomed before her as she hauled on her blade to free it. She looked up to see a greatsword drawn back, and then the Scorpion’s head snapped sideways, an arrow standing out from the visor of his helmet.
‘Come on, Antspider!’ Gorenn was shouting. ‘More on the way!’
Straessa finally got her blade clear, and immediately lunged at another enemy, even as Gerethwy liberated the halberd and began laying about himself, sacrificing finesse for sheer force and speed.
‘Officer, we’re done!’ She heard the words but made nothing of them as she twisted aside away from an axe-stroke, her own thrust scraping off mail. Gerethwy’s halberd blade bounced off her opponent’s shoulderguard, and sent the man staggering.
‘Seriously, Antspider! Time to go!’ the Dragonfly yelled, while someone else shouted, ‘Clock!’ as though they were still at the Prowess Forum.
Belatedly the understanding stumbled into her mind that all this chatter meant that the bombs would shortly explode.
She measured her sword against the axe of her opponent, let his stroke fall short and then lunged, throwing her shoulder forward the way she always employed to out-strike her fencing opponents, this time gashing the Scorpion across the side of his neck and sending him staggering away.
‘Clear! Go!’ she cried, and did her best to obey her own order. Clock meant that it was time they were gone for good – too much time having elapsed since the first explosion. Time to try and extricate their fingers from the trap, or the airships would leave them behind.
Another enemy was upon her, though, befo
re she could get more than three steps away – a cadaverous Spider in dark mail, whipping an axe at her double-handed. She tried to dodge back, fell over instead, so that the crescent blade scythed just overhead. Her reflexive stab caught him at the knee, but his armour turned the blow. He had his axe upraised again in one smooth motion, and she rolled aside frantically, but then he had turned, shoulder coming up, and Gorenn’s arrow struck the high neck-guard of his pauldrons, sending the Spider reeling but otherwise unharmed. Straessa seized her moment and scrambled away, but gained only another foot of ground before a Scorpion blade sliced down in front of her.
Gerethwy barged into the newcomer, knocking him aside, and the two of them went down in a tangle of flailing limbs. Straessa forced herself to her feet even as the Spider came back for her.
Then the explosives blew.
The artificers had done well, for the automotives were gutted in an instant. The force of the blast was mostly directed in and up, so that one machine’s entire weight of iron and brass and wood jumped five feet before coming down on its side, a second explosion slewing its back end towards the fighting. The rush of displaced air knocked the Spider over, and Straessa as well, slapping her to the ground with casual force and leaving her weak and dizzy with the impact. A moment later, though, long, lean arms had hauled her up, and she was in Gerethwy’s grip, being hurried away, as Gorenn’s arrows darted past, swift as angry thoughts, to discourage pursuit.
‘Put me down, you bastard, I can run as good as anyone.’ But she said it so quietly, mumbling through a mouthful of blood, that he didn’t hear her.
‘General, we’ve got them on the run!’
Tynan regarded Colonel Cherten narrowly. ‘Don’t give me that nonsense. They’re Mantis-kinden.’ The problem with the Intelligence Corps is that they underestimate everyone else’s. ‘What’s the situation?’
War Master's Gate Page 28
