‘General.’ Vrakir broke away from his conference to step over to Nistic’s side. ‘Captain Nistic here is in charge of the force that Capitas is sending to defeat the Collegiate fliers.’
‘Is he now?’ Tynan stared at the two of them. ‘Perhaps you could explain to us just how that’s to be accomplished.’
‘No, sir,’ Vrakir said smartly. ‘The captain’s mission is one of utmost secrecy. Orders are that you simply meet Nistic and be informed that his troops are on their way. Estimated arrival is in a tenday, by which time I would think the Second will be outside Collegium’s gates.’
With no air support or artillery and precious little capability of maintaining a siege. Tynan locked eyes with Vrakir. ‘These are the Empress’s orders?’
‘I speak with her voice, sir,’ the Red Watch captain declared, not forcibly but firmly. ‘You are to bring the assault against Collegium, and their air forces will be dealt with.’
I should demand to see those orders, Tynan considered, but he knew there would be nothing written down. Perhaps the newly arrived lieutenant had not even brought any orders, but they had come to Vrakir from the same place all the rest of the Empress’s words seemed to emerge from – some space within his own mind.
And yet when Tynan had complained to Colonel Cherten about the maddening influence of the Red Watch his intelligence officer had become very solemn very quickly. ‘Don’t cross them, sir,’ had been his hushed advice. ‘I hear word from Capitas – they really are the Empress’s voice there, now that she’s off with the Eighth. You remember how it was with the Rekef at the end of the last war – men being arrested for treason, from soldier up to general, and most of them never to be seen again? And you remember how it was always the Rekef man you didn’t see who was the dangerous one, how the open Rekef officers at least trod carefully? Well, the Red Watch are all out in the open, and even the Rekef’s scared of them now – and, believe me, there’s a whole mess of high-ranking Rekef who haven’t been seen recently.’ Cherten’s eyes had been wide. ‘A general’s rank badge won’t save you, Tynan, if you go against them. For me, I intend to do exactly as they say, just as if they were the Empress herself.’
But Tynan was still a soldier, an officer, a man with thousands of subordinates depending on him. ‘Unacceptable,’ he stated softly, feeling Cherten twitch beside him at the word. ‘I cannot go into battle blind.’
There was a physical force in Vrakir’s stare that was now wrestling with his own, trying to get him to look away. But Tynan was an old campaigner, with the force of will to bend an army to his purpose, and he held firm. ‘Once he has carried out his orders here, Captain Nistic is no doubt returning to his “troops”, who are somehow approaching us without being spotted by either our own scouts or the Collegiates. Well, then: Captain Bergild, can your pilots spare you a day’s absence?’
The woman tensed immediately on being drawn into the confrontation, but she managed a ‘Yes, sir,’ because there was plainly no other suitable answer as far as Tynan was concerned.
‘Good,’ the general pronounced, still matching Vrakir stare for stare. ‘Then you will take Major Oski and escort Nistic back to wherever he happens to be going. Our major of Engineers will take a look at whatever reinforcements we can expect, and report back to me. This is my order as a general, and if the Empress herself were here I’d tell her the same. I will win this war for her, if it can be won. I will take Collegium, if it can be taken. But I will not be crippled by my own side.’
He felt his palms itch for stinging, so kept his hands clenched into fists, noting how Vrakir was doing just the same. And what a web of mutiny that would be, if we just killed each other stone dead. He well knew he was sowing a great deal of trouble to harvest later, just as if he had gone about tweaking the nose of the Rekef back when they were at the height of their power and paranoia. But here and now, he could stand on one unshakable fact: he was the general of the Second. The Empire needed him more than it needed this cold-eyed man with his red badge. Let Vrakir nurse his grievances in silence and look to tomorrow. Today’s victory was Tynan’s.
‘Very well, sir,’ the Red Watch captain said softly, and finally blinked.
For a moment Tynan thought he saw uncertainty in the other man – a second of wondering, Where did I get all that from? But then his mask was back in place and Vrakir was taking a step back. ‘Captain Nistic,’ he stated. ‘Make what preparations you need.’
‘I’ll have orders for the quartermasters right enough, and the engineers,’ the Hornet-kinden officer pronounced. His expression was still weirdly distant, as if the sparring match between Vrakir and the general had passed him by.
‘And, Major Oski, before you leave, I want to have your brightest artillerist brief me on our best approach to damage Collegium’s walls and engines,’ Tynan instructed, mentally adding, what little we have left. ‘Get me one of the Sentinel handlers, too. It’s about time they started to earn their keep.’
‘So,’ Oski ventured, as the group of officers set about their individual orders, ‘your ’thopter’s bomb hold, or whatever, can it fit me and a Bee-kinden?’
‘Your captain?’ Bergild asked, a little amused. ‘It’d be cosy. You’d not keep many secrets from each other, but yes.’ As they headed off towards the nearest band of engineers, who had gathered to inspect some damage to one of the remaining greatshotters, she levelled a shrewd stare down upon him. ‘Are you and he . . . Ant-lovers?’
Oski stopped and stared up at her. ‘It’s nothing like that,’ he snapped. ‘We’ve just been through a lot and, the way things are going around here, I don’t want to get back and find something’s happened to him.’
She spread her hands. ‘It’s no big deal to me, Major. I know they’re meant to whip you for it, the rules say, but I grew up amongst soldiers and I know it goes on.’
‘Well, you think whatever you want, Captain,’ Oski replied pointedly, before hailing one of the engineers. ‘Lieutenant Brant, compile a report on precisely what engines we can still field for the general, will you? With special reference to the fact that we won’t stand a hope against Collegium’s bloody walls.’
The man he had singled out looked mutinous, but saluted, and Oski spared no more time on him, already setting off on his next errand. Bergild saw the way the other engineers stared at his departing back, then hurried to catch up.
‘Always angling for the love of your subordinates?’
‘I’m a Fly-kinden and a major, and they’re never going to swallow that one easily. If I was regular army, I’d have been stabbed in the back during action by now. But it’s different in the Engineers: if you’re good at your job, then they have to respect you. A strong grasp of artifice is too precious to waste. How’d you think the old Colonel-Auxillian got away with it?’ Oski grinned. ‘Curse me, but he was a fine man to learn the trade under. A real bastard, but you could pick up more just by walking in his shadow than sitting in any classroom back in Capitas. And now he turns up again on the Exalsee, Lord of the Iron Glove, eh?’ He chuckled. ‘I like that. Man’s done well for himself.’
Bergild made a noncommittal noise, but by then they had reached two of the great articulated shells belonging to the Sentinels – the new war-automotives built for the Empire by that same Iron Glove Cartel. Even at rest they looked imposing, segment after overlapping segment of formidably durable armour making that high-prowed woodlouse shape with its single blank eye that served as the cover for a leadshotter barrel. Twin piercers, mounted low at the front, gave the impression of blunt and vicious mandibles, and the whole was mounted on ten jointed legs controlled by a ratiocinator that translated the driver’s controls into smooth, almost organic motion.
Though not ‘driver’, for the term used was handler, as if the Sentinels had crossed some fine line from mere metal into something that lived and thought.
‘Hoi, you two!’ Oski called. The handlers turned to him in unison: a pair of Bee-kinden from some lengthily named city on the Exalsee,
with closed, dark faces. Unsurprisingly, they did not mix with the Imperial forces, and the Wasps did not come near them out of respect for the murderous devices they commanded. The distance that surrounded them was more than that, though, for they almost never spoke even amongst themselves. They had no dealings with anyone save to draw rations, and seemed barely more approachable than the machines that they tended.
‘General wants to see one of you, don’t care which,’ Oski told them. ‘I reckon he’s going to put you through your paces, so maybe you’d better think about what your toys can do when we reach the Beetle city, hm?’
The two men gave him identical stares, then one of them nodded and marched off without a word.
Oski shrugged. ‘I’ll go get Ernain.’
Bergild nodded; the flat regard of the remaining Sentinel handler did not encourage her to linger. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she decided. ‘They’re already refuelling my ’Sphex, so I’m just baggage until we set off.’
As they left the shadow of the Sentinels, Oski jerked a thumb backwards. ‘You’ve worked it out, surely – what’s up with them?’
She nodded soberly. ‘I’ve heard that mindlinking turns up in Bees about as often as with Wasps – which is to say, not often. The Iron Glove was obviously thinking along the same lines.’
‘And if we managed to spot it, then it’ll be common knowledge back at Severn Hill,’ Oski agreed, naming the headquarters of the Engineering Corps. ‘The Colonel-Auxillian’s name is on more than a few people’s lips since he came back from the dead, and not in a good way, either. I hope he knows what he’s doing . . . Hoi, Ernain!’
Midway into a hand of cards with some of the Quartermaster Corps, the Bee-kinden looked up.
‘Finish up,’ Oski told him. ‘We’ve got a flight to make.’
Twenty-Two
‘She’s alive.’
The silence within the ruined airship had grown and grown, as the light outside waned, and Maure’s words, quiet as they were, made everyone start. For some time the halfbreed woman had been sitting cross-legged, eyes closed and oblivious, whilst the other three took wordless watches at the hatch in case the Nethyen decided that waiting until morning was not the Mantis way.
Thalric’s immediate reaction was to demand how she knew, but fighting that sort of question back was almost automatic now: he had gone off the edge of his map a long time before. Instead he just waited, leaving it to Tynisa to ask, ‘Where?’ From her sharp tone, Che’s foster-sister was plainly ready to mount a rescue attempt the moment she knew where to go.
‘Not that, not yet.’ Maure shook her head. ‘But she is out there, alive . . . not in pain, I think, or great fear.’
Tynisa stared at her angrily. ‘Then magic harder!’ she got out, before rounding furiously on Thalric when he snorted. ‘You think this is funny?’
He met her stare levelly. ‘I think it’s completely nonsensical, but telling someone to “magic harder” is surely not going to help.’
Amnon, standing at the hatch, shifted a little, and for a moment they thought he had something to add. Then he just shook his head and concentrated again on his watch. No doubt things had been done differently in Khanaphes.
‘Is there anything more?’ Thalric asked carefully. Questioning a magician was not unlike dealing with a particularly secretive agent, he decided: you didn’t know where they got their information from, nor would you ever understand their networks or their sources, but that did not mean that they could not tell you things. After that it was just a matter of weighing the information and sifting it for truth.
‘I . . .’ Maure’s eyes remained closed, her entire body very still, but her tone was conversational. ‘I am not a great seer: my training lies elsewhere. Still, I have some of the craft and I am trying to find where the web centres . . .’
‘Surely you can just cast about until you find her – or a trail leading to her, or something?’ Tynisa complained.
‘It’s not like that. Tracking someone, from their past steps to their present location, well, there are trades to help you there, but magic is by no means a good one. From the present to the future, though, where Che is going to be . . .’
Thalric found himself sharing a glance with Tynisa. ‘Explain, if you can,’ he prompted.
‘I never thought I’d be having this conversation with one of the Apt,’ Maure remarked drily. ‘But you’ve been in Che’s shadow long enough, and over in Khanaphes I think that not understanding and not believing are still two different things. Also . . .’ But whatever she was about to say about Tynisa – Inapt but raised by the Apt – went unspoken. ‘I have a rock, say, and you know that I will throw it. Can you tell me where it will land? No. But you know it will come from my hand, so you could try predicting its future. But the further the rock travels away from me, the further from your prediction of its landing it is likely to end up. Well, then, try to turn that inside out and you have a magician predicting the future.’ At the pointed silence that followed she sighed again and went on, ‘I can find where Che is going to be – she is significant, and her actions will be significant. When she exerts her power the world bends around her, and I can pare down the future to that moment – where the likelihood is that Che will be, and where she will act. But I cannot tell you the path that will bring her there, so it is like the rock in reverse – I know where it will land, but not from where it is thrown. Perhaps on my best day I could track it back a little, but here . . . the landscape is too heavily folded and twisted. More, whoever she is with has some magic and Art of their own that conceals them, and her. But I can see where they will take her in the end . . . Soon, tonight.’
‘Where?’ Tynisa demanded, and it was plain that ideas of ambush were already in her mind.
There came a sound from Amnon, merely a wordless indication that he had seen something. Immediately afterwards, Maure pointed. ‘There.’
‘What is it?’ Thalric demanded, ducking over to stand at the man’s shoulder.
‘Fire,’ Amnon said flatly, his snapbow resting on the hatch rim.
Thalric peered out into the darkness, where a burgeoning red glow was immediately evident, some distance away through the trees.
‘They’re burning the forest down?’ he suggested. Must be the Empire, surely.
‘Burning something,’ Amnon confirmed. ‘I don’t see it spreading.’
‘There,’ Maure said again, and Tynisa glanced back to her.
‘That’s where . . .?’
‘It is a Mantis hold,’ Maure said firmly. ‘That is where Che will be.’
‘They’re going to burn her?’ Tynisa hissed.
‘They would not. She is not fit for that,’ Maure told her. Then added hurriedly, ‘It is the Mantis way. Fire is the warrior, destroyer and purifier. A fire such as that is meant only for their honoured dead. The Nethyen are holding a wake.’
‘A little premature when we’re not done fighting,’ Thalric suggested.
‘The Mantis-kinden are never done with fighting,’ she told him bluntly.
‘Of course, I forgot. If it involves Mantis-kinden, it’s all about death,’ he spat tiredly. Tynisa shot him an angry look, but he weathered it, unrepentant.
‘There was more to their ways, in the past. In the Commonweal there still is. But when they are faced with doubt, with change, or with loss, it is the old certainties that they fall back on, and none more so than death,’ Maure pronounced. ‘They mourn a thousand years of decline. They have given up looking to the future, for they cannot find their way towards it. The coming of the Empire has only brought them sooner to a destination they have been approaching for centuries. So they burn their dead and sing their songs for the last time.’ Her voice had grown ragged and distant, and Thalric saw that she was shaking slightly.
‘Maure!’ he snapped, in his best officer’s voice, and she twitched and opened her eyes.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘The forest reeks of their despair. It can be . . . hard to stay clear of it.
’
Thalric wanted to say something like ‘I can imagine’, but it was so abundantly plain he could not, that any consolation would be absurd. ‘Well, we know something now that we didn’t before,’ he concluded brightly. ‘We know where they’ll bring Che tonight – guest of honour at a mass funeral.’
‘Fine,’ Tynisa agreed. ‘So that’s where we’ll go.’
The other three regarded her doubtfully, and she faced them down as though they were the enemy.
‘I am to fight their champion tomorrow. This badge and my sword have won that for us. Tonight, Che will be taken to their hold. Tonight we will meet her there, to get her out if we can, or to show her that we are there for her if we cannot. I will not sit out the night in this rotting coffin if we know where Che will be.’
‘They’ll kill us,’ Thalric insisted.
‘They will – tomorrow. After the duel they’ll kill us. Probably they’ll find some reason to try even if I win. So I’m going to walk into their hold and wait for Che, because I don’t see that there’s much to lose in doing so. You stay here if you want.’
‘Maure?’ Thalric pressed, because the magician seemed to have the best-honed survival instincts of anyone there, save for himself.
‘They will not kill us out of hand, I think. The duel is too important to them. But their despair is very heavy. It may make them act in strange ways. Mantis honour has not fitted in with the world well in living memory, and now they have to twist and strain it to breaking point to adapt to the events around them. It is hard to say what they might consider the honourable course of action.’
‘So you’re staying?’ Thalric confirmed.
‘I’m going,’ Maure said. ‘Because, once Tynisa leaves here, there is nothing stopping the Nethyen from killing the rest of us. She is our champion. They don’t need the rest of us.’
Tynisa’s expression was openly defiant. ‘Stand aside, Amnon. I’m going.’
‘We all are,’ the Khanaphir replied heavily, slinging his snapbow.
War Master's Gate (Shadows of the Apt) Page 32
