War Master's Gate

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  The Others

  Across the Lowlands and the Empire and beyond, cracks had begun to show.

  Tiny fissures, hairline fractures in stone, like the unexpected gap that those students had crossed to escape the doomed College. But they were deep. Look down into that sliver of abyss, and there might be distant lights, movement.

  Sometimes the cracks were more than that, chasms rupturing wide into caves, the earth abruptly hollow . . . and then things came out.

  They took the living and the dead. They left no bodies. They cared nothing for Empire or Lowlands, Apt or Inapt.

  They had been away a long time, but they had not forgotten.

  Glossary

  Characters

  Aagen – renegade Wasp, now of Princep Salma

  Akkestrae – leader of the Felyen Mantids within Collegium

  Amalthae – forest mantis

  Amnon – former First Soldier of Khanaphes

  Argastos – ancient Moth mystic

  Arvi – Fly-kinden secretary to Jodry Drillen

  Averic – Wasp student at Collegium

  Balkus – renegade Sarnesh Ant, now of Princep Salma

  Bergild – Wasp Air Corps captain with the Second Army

  Berjek Gripshod – Beetle-kinden lecturer in history at the College

  Brant – Wasp engineer lieutenant, Second Army

  Castre Gorenn – Dragonfly archer with the Coldstone Company

  Ceremon – Nethyen Mantis, consort of Amalthae

  Cheerwell Maker – Inapt Beetle magician

  Cherten – Wasp colonel, Intelligence Rekef, Second Army

  Cornella Fassen – student at the College

  Dariandrephos (Drephos) – master artificer and leader of the Iron Glove

  Despard – Fly artificer, Tidenfree crew

  Elder Padstock – Beetle chief officer, Maker’s Own Company

  Ellery Heartwhill – student at the College

  Elysiath Neptellian – Master of Khanaphes

  Ernain – Bee engineer captain, Second Army

  Esmail – Assassin Bug spy masquerading as the Wasp Ostrec

  Eujen Leadswell – Beetle student and leader of the Student Company

  Gerethwy – Woodlouse student at the College

  Gjegevey – Woodlouse adviser to Empress Seda

  Gorrec – Wasp Pioneer sergeant, Eighth Army

  Grief – formerly Grief in Chains. Butterfly Monarch of Princep Salma

  Hanto – Fly Pioneer, Ninth Army

  Helma Bartrer – Beetle historian and diplomat

  Helmess Broiler – Beetle Assembler, Wasp sympathizer

  Howell Graveller – Bettle student at the College

  Icnumon – halfbreed Pioneer, Eighth Army

  Jadis of the Melisandyr – Spider bodyguard to Mycella

  Jen Reader – Beetle College librarian and wife of Willem Reader

  Jodry Drillen – Beetle-kinden Speaker for the Collegiate Assembly

  Jons Allanbridge – Beetle aviator

  Jons Escarrabin – Beetle Pioneer, Eighth Army

  Kymene – Mynan commander in exile

  Laina Mowwell – Beetle soldier of the Student Company

  Laszlo – Fly agent and occasional pirate

  Lissart – Firefly agent and arsonist

  Madagnus – Ant-kinden chief officer, Coldstone Company

  Maure – halfbreed magician from the Commonweal

  Milus – Sarnesh Ant tactician

  Morkaris – Spider-kinden mercenary adjutant for Mycella

  Mycella of the Aldanrael – Spider noblewoman

  Nethonwy – ancient Woodlouse adviser

  Nistic – Hornet-kinden captain

  Oski – Fly engineer major, Second Army

  Ostrec – Wasp Rekef major, Esmail’s disguise

  Paladrya – Kerebroi adviser of the Sea-kinden

  Parrymill – Beetle-kinden Collegiate Assembler

  Peddic Gorseway – Beetle-kinden soldier of the Student Company

  Remas Boltwright – Beetle chief officer, Fealty Street Company

  Roder – Wasp general, Eighth Army

  Sartaea te Mosca – Fly lecturer in Inapt studies at the College

  Scorvia – Sarnesh Ant sapper-handler

  Seda I – Empress of the Wasps

  Sentius – Sarnesh Ant commander

  Serena – Fly officer, Fealty Street Company

  Sperra – Fly of Princep Salma

  Stenwold Maker – Beetle-kinden, War Master of Collegium

  Storvus – Beetle-kinden Collegiate artisan

  Straessa – the Antspider, officer of Coldstone Company

  Syale – Roach-kinden diplomat of Princep Salme

  Taki – Fly aviator of Solarno and Collegium

  Tegrec – Wasp magician, ambassador to the Empire from Tharn

  Terastos – Moth agent from Dorax

  Termes – Vekken Ant commander

  Thalric – renegade Wasp

  Tisamon – dead Mantis Weaponsmaster raised by Seda

  Tomasso – Fly-kinden pirate and merchant, captain of the Tidenfree

  Tynan – Wasp general, Second Army

  Tynisa – halfbreed Weaponsmaster, Tisamon’s daughter

  Vendall – Beetle Collegiate magnate

  Vollery – Beetle Collegiate artisan

  Vrakir – Wasp Red Watch captain

  Willem Reader – Beetle Collegiate artificer

  Wisden – Beetle Collegiate Assembler

  Yraea – Tharen Moth diplomat and magician

  Zerro – Fly scout working for the Sarnesh

  Places

  Capitas – capital of the Empire

  Collegium – Beetle city-state

  Commonweal – Dragonfly domain north of the Lowlands

  Darakyon – Mantis forest, formerly haunted

  Dorax – Moth retreat

  Etheryon – Mantis hold

  Felyal – Mantis hold and forest

  Helleron – Beetle city-state

  Hermatyre – Sea-kinden city

  Kes – Ant island city-state

  Khanaphes – ancient Beetle city-state

  Malkan’s Folly/Malkan’s Stand – battlefield, former site of Sarnesh fortress

  Myna – Beetle city-state, formerly part of the Empire

  Nethyon – Mantis hold

  Princep Salma – city founded by refugees of the last war

  Parosyal – Mantis-kinden sacred island

  Sarn – Ant city-state, ally of Collegium

  Seldis – Spider city

  Solarno – Beetle city on the Exalsee

  Spiderlands – large domain south of the Lowlands

  Tark – Ant city-state

  Tharn – Moth retreat

  Vek – Ant city-state, recently at peace with Collegium

  Organizations and Things

  Amphiophos – Collegiate centre of government

  Arcanum – Moth secret service

  Aristoi – the Spider-kinden ruling class

  Army Intelligence – Imperial army corps

  Assembly – Collegiate ruling body

  Aviation Corps – Imperial army corps, part of the Engineers

  Battle of the Rails – battle in which Malkan’s Seventh defeated the Sarnesh

  Coldstone Company – Collegiate Merchant Company, motto: ‘In Our Enemies’ Robes’

  Consortium of the Honest – mercantile arm of the Empire

  Engineering Corps (‘the Engineers’) – Imperial army corps

  Esca Magni – Taki’s orthopter

  Farsphex – new Imperial model of orthopter

  Great College – Collegiate centre of learning

  greatshotter – new Iron Glove-developed artillery

  Imperial Eighth Army – commanded by General Roder

  Imperial Fourth Army – ‘the Barbs’, destroyed by Felyen Mantids in the last war

  Imperial Second Army – ‘the Gears’, commanded by General Tynan

  Imperial Seventh Army – �
�the Winged Furies’, Malkan’s command, destroyed by Sarnesh in the last war

  Iron Glove – artificing cartel led by Drephos out of Chasme

  lorn detachment – soldiers sent on a suicide mission

  Maker’s Own – Collegiate Merchant Company, motto: ‘Through the Gate’

  Malkan’s Stand/Malkan’s Folly – Sarnesh defeat of the Empire, now Sarnesh fortress

  Outwright’s Pike and Shot – Collegiate Merchant Company, motto: ‘Outright Victory or Death’

  Prowess Forum – Collegiate duelling school

  Quartermaster Corps – Imperial army corps

  Red Watch – new Imperial corps, the mouth of the Empress

  Rekef – Imperial secret service, divided into Inlander and Outlander

  Slave Corps – Imperial army corps

  Spearflight – Imperial model of orthopter

  Stormreader – Collegiate model of orthopter

  Student Company – newly formed Collegiate unit, motto: ‘Learn to Live’

  Twelve-year War – Imperial war against the Commonweal

  Continue reading for an

  exclusive short story set in

  the world of the Apt from

  Adrian Tchaikovsky.

  Heart of the Green

  It was the storm that tipped the balance. Everything else could be accounted for as just bad luck. By Sergeant Corver’s estimation, bad luck was his lot in life, as if by a decree of the Emperor himself. The storm, though: that was through the other side of his luck and into a whole different country.

  Bad enough to be on this little airship in the first place, let alone without clear orders to tell any of them where they were going. Worse still to be under the command of a slimy, self-interested creature like Captain Ordan of the Rekef Outlander, roped into some secret mission. Worse even than that to be in this piss-pot defenceless little craft headed westwards of that north–south line that the Empire’s armies had drawn across the Lowlands, on one side, ‘ours’, and on the far side – the side the airship was flying over – ‘theirs’. Sandric, the pilot, had been keeping up a steady, wretched muttering for hours now, waiting for the dots of Sarnesh orthopters to appear. Then the sky had gone from blue to grey, from grey to a thunderous, angrier grey, the wind had picked up, and Corver’s luck had simply taken the day off. You don’t need me any more, it had told him. You’re now so thoroughly pissed on that I can’t possibly make things worse.

  There had been an abortive conversation between Sandric and Captain Ordan with the pilot insisting that they needed to set down, and Ordan pulling rank: ‘This is enemy territory! What do you think we’ll see if we set down here?’

  Well, quite, had been Corver’s unspoken thought. And so where the pits are we going?

  A day before he had been sitting in the quartermaster’s tent, dicing with an off-duty engineer and the duty sergeant, when Ordan had commandeered him to load an airship. The loading had been of a single metal-bound chest, and Corver had commandeered Vrant, one of his regular squad – and even then the two of them had struggled. It was noticeable that the two other soldiers following Ordan like his shadow had not lifted a finger to help, neither had the shifty little Fly-kinden in a Consortium greatcoat, who was either the captain’s secretary or his overage catamite. By the time the chest was ensconced in the back alcove of the cabin that made up most of the airship’s below-decks, Ordan had given Sandric orders to lift off, and Corver and Vrant had simply never been allowed off the ship, unwillingly seconded to the Rekef Outlander.

  Sandric had become increasing panicked as the wind picked up – meaning as the wind picked up the airship and started throwing it about the sky. There was no way he could hold a course, the pilot had insisted. They could end up anywhere. Ordan had shouted at him to do his job. That was really just the final brick in the tower of suspicions Corver had about Ordan – a piece of mental construction finished behind time, far too late to do any good. By then it was plain that not only did Ordan have no idea about flying airships, but also that his plan appeared to be mostly to do with moving away rather than specifically towards. Away, in this case, from the camp of General Malkan’s Seventh Army.

  There had been a shake-up in the Rekef – everyone had heard the rumours. They said there were purges going on. Corver, like any sane man, had as little to do with the Empire’s secret police as possible, but his luck, once again his luck, had found a way to get him stuck right in there with them.

  Ordan had retreated to the rear of the cabin as the wooden walls around them began creaking and shuddering, the gondola jumping like a puppet as the battered balloon pulled its strings. The engine kept chugging, but its propellers might as well not have been there. They had all become the wind’s playthings, despite Sandric’s best efforts.

  Behind Ordan: the chest in its alcove, shifting against the ropes that held it there, ready to become the sort of missile suitable for siege warfare the moment its restraints broke. To either side of the chest, Lucen and Tarvoc, Ordan’s two silent accomplices, ensuring that nobody as untrustworthy as a sergeant of the Seventh Army should so much as get a look in. The wretched little Fly, Sterro by name, was clinging on for dear life somewhere, looking pasty and about to throw up, whilst Sandric held futilely to the controls and pretended he had some influence on where they were going. Corver and Vrant were left to their own devices.

  Corver’s own devices took him to Sandric’s shoulder, peering through the glass of the ports at the sky ahead and the land beneath. ‘Stab me,’ was his immediate reaction. ‘Should there be all that green down there?’

  ‘No, no there should not,’ Sandric spat back, any other words lost in the instinctive whimper as the airship took another battering, every part of it creaking and straining and trying to break free from the rest. Corver tried to picture what the land west of the Seventh’s camp looked like – a sergeant didn’t get to see the campaign maps, but he knew that there was the city of Sarn there somewhere, and north of that . . .

  He felt cold all over: the Mantis forest, the name of which he could not recall, but he had enough jagged memories of their kinden from the Twelve-year War. For a moment he was clinging to the back of Sandric’s seat, seeing the dark between the trees, hearing the whoops of the Mantids and the screams of their victims, of Corver’s own men . . .

  Then something struck the airship hard, making it lurch far more than the mere wind could account for, and Sandric let out a high, panicked cry. Fleetingly the gondola and balloon were in serious dispute as to which of them should be above the other.

  ‘What? What is it?’ Captain Ordan was demanding, shouting over the gale.

  The face that Sandric turned back on him was white with dread. ‘There’s something on the canopy, sir!’ The entire airship lurched again, drunkenly. ‘We’ve got to get it off, whatever it is!’

  Ordan blinked at him for a moment, then jabbed a finger at Vrant. ‘You! Get out there and see what’s going on.’

  For a moment Corver thought that Vrant wouldn’t do it – not through fear of the weather or the unknown but just because Vrant was like that, but then the big soldier stomped over to the side hatch, braced himself and unlatched it. He had to lean into it with some force to push it open, but then the wind caught it and slammed it out against the hull, its invisible claws rushing into the cabin and whipping every loose thing about the enclosed space, dragging at everyone, the great void of the sky hungry for them to join it. Vrant bared his teeth, and then bundled himself through the hatchway.

  He was a bad soldier, Vrant. In a fight, under pressure, none better, but without something to focus his attention on he was first in line for any disciplinary charge you cared to name. Half his military career had been spent undoing all the good the other half had won through hard fighting and bravery. Men like Ordan, Rekef men with big mouths and no backbone, got right up his nose.

  We will have a reckoning when I’m done with this, he promised himself, and hauled his body onto the top of the gondola
, his Art wings a constant blur as they fought to counter the tug and push of the wind. The balloon was a great bloated moon immediately above him, impossible to see what was supposed to be wrong with it from here. For a moment he couldn’t even work out how to go about this – taking flight would be a sure recipe for ending up miles from the airship. Then he spotted that some of the lines holding the canopy to the gondola were made into rope ladders, presumably for some arcane engineer business not normally carried out in the teeth of a pox-rotten storm.

  I am going to kill Captain Ordan with my bare hands.

  He set to climbing, with the same bloody-minded stubbornness with which he approached most things. Immediately the wind tried to snatch him, but he was a strong man, and his angry thoughts made him stronger. One hand, one foot at a time, and he ascended, bouncing and dancing with the strumming ropes like a webbed fly with the spider coming. He did not look up, or anywhere except at the rope ladder itself, closed his ears to the storm, brought to the task the single-minded vigour he normally reserved for thwarting his superiors. At first he was climbing half-upside down, up the underside of the balloon, but then he was righting himself, creeping over the curve, feeling the wind only stronger as it sought to brush him off the great rounded expanse of the canopy.

  Right then, what—

  But as he lifted his head it was immediately obvious what. They had a new passenger, hitching a belligerent lift atop the balloon. Vrant, not a man prone to fear, felt it touch him nonetheless, before angrily shaking it off.

  There was a praying mantis twenty feet long lying along the top of the balloon, the weight of the beast deforming the silk into a sagging bowl-shape. Its legs were spread wide, claw-feet digging for purchase, and it stared right back at Vrant with more self-possession than he himself could muster just then. The huge, glittering eyes that made up so much of its triangular head kept a steady hunter’s gaze on him, even as its slender antennae were lashed about like whips by the wind.

  Its wing-cases were part-folded, the wings themselves protruding unevenly from underneath, and he guessed that the storm had caught it in mid-flight, cast it through the air until this unhappy meeting of aircraft and insect.