They were now in closed session, debating what should be done about Stenwold’s motion. Also debating what should be done with him, if need be. The next he heard of it could be a warrant for his arrest. Still, he would wait for it patiently, sitting here at his table with a bowl of wine untouched before him, his two bodyguards beside him.
‘You don’t have to stay here,’ Stenwold insisted.
‘I do. I really do,’ Tynisa told him. ‘And you know why.’
‘I’ve spoken before the Assembly now.’
‘Wasps’ll not hesitate to kill you because you’re their enemy, Master Maker,’ said Balkus, from the other side of Stenwold’s parlour. ‘Doesn’t make any difference where you’ve been opening your mouth.’
‘I shouldn’t be like a prisoner in my own home!’ Stenwold grumbled. ‘Waiting for the Assembly’s response is bad enough, but now I’m kept under lock and key, virtually, by my own ward!’
‘And what else would you do?’ Tynisa asked him. ‘Where would you go?’
‘I don’t know, but I’d like the freedom to do it. Tynisa, I’m not such an old man. I’m capable of looking after myself.’
‘Listen to me, Sten.’ Tynisa suddenly gripped him by the shoulders. ‘Nobody is saying that you can’t hold a sword or use it, but nobody lives for ever. I’m worried about Tisamon, right now, and he’s as good as they come. But if he dies,’ he saw her lips tighten, ‘or if I die, or Balkus here, then it will still not matter so much as if you die because, if the Assembly ever does see sense, they will need you.’
‘Besides, if they don’t,’ Balkus added, ‘then there could be a squad of their fellows coming after you. You said how they were talking about putting the irons on you.’
Stenwold clenched his fists impotently, and Tynisa slowly released him. ‘Is this about . . . her?’ she asked gently.
‘No,’ he said, too quickly, and she gave him a sidelong look before moving away to speak quietly to Balkus.
Thwarted, Stenwold sat and stared at his hands. These have mended machines, he thought, and taken lives. They were strong hands still, but not young ones. Such a painful admission of something so obvious.
I was young at Myna, that first time. When had the change come? He had retreated to here, to Collegium, to spin his awkward webs of intrigue and to lecture at the College. Then, years on, the call had come for action. He had gone to that chest in which he stored his youth and found that, like some armour long unworn, it had rusted away.
He tried to tell himself that this was not like the grumbling of any other man who finds the prime of his life behind him. I need my youth and strength now, as never before. A shame that one could not husband time until one needed it. All his thoughts rang hollow. He was past his best and that was the thorn that would not be plucked from his side. He was no different from any tradesman or scholar who, during a life of indolence, pauses partway up the stairs to think, This was not so hard, yesterday.
The aches and the bruises of the last night’s action, when he had thrown his baggy body across the warehouse floor to escape Thalric’s men, would they not have faded by now, not so long ago? He still hurt and yet they had not actually laid a finger on him.
Not for want of trying! he tried to crow, but he knew it was false bravado. He had simply been staving off the inevitable until Tynisa arrived.
It was all the worse because Tisamon was his age, too, and yet time had done nothing but hone him where Stenwold had rusted. Still, Mantis-kinden lived longer, aged slower and died, almost inevitably, in violence. And besides, was he so sure that Tisamon did not pause on that same stair, once in a while? The other man would never admit it. He would take greater and greater risks to prove himself, until time caught him in the act.
Mantids did live longer, Stenwold reflected. But I will outlive him, I fear.
All this inward looking and brooding, it was because of her. Tisamon had emphasized the same word to talk of Atryssa, Tynisa’s mother, who he thought had betrayed him. Now Stenwold had found a genuine Spider-kinden traitress to apply it to. Like a man who walks blithely from a fight only to find blood on his clothes, he found she had cut him after all.
What an old fool am I.
But she had made him feel young just for a little while, and however false the intention behind it, it had been a great gift to him at the time.
And now Tisamon was going to kill her, as he had every right to do.
*
‘You did well there at the warehouse,’ Tynisa remarked.
Balkus gave her an odd look. ‘I’ve been in this business since you were a kid, I’d reckon,’ he pointed out.
‘But I’ve not known you for long, and I don’t know anything about you,’ she replied. ‘And since Helleron, and that spy, I’ve been slow to trust people.’
‘Fair,’ he said. He really was a big man, she realized, almost as tall as Tisamon and much broader across the shoulders, much larger than Ants normally grew.
‘So tell me about yourself,’ she said.
‘Are you doing that Spider-kinden flirting thing?’ he asked, apparently seriously.
‘No, I am not. I just want to know why I can trust you. Besides, I’m only a halfbreed. Hadn’t you heard?’
‘I heard you were the Mantis fellow’s get, yes, though I don’t quite see how that worked out. Besides, Mantids do flirting: this one I knew, when she was looking for a man, she’d kill an enemy of his, just to get his attention. She was mad.’ He used the last word as a sign of approbation.
‘Well take it from me, I’m not flirting with you,’ she said. He was grinning a little and she wondered whether he was actually trying to flirt with her. ‘Tell me why you’re here, Balkus. I need to know how far I can lean on you.’
‘Scuto and me, we go back years.’ He smiled suddenly, an oddly innocent expression. ‘I took my trade in just about every way a man with a sword and a nailbow could make a living, but it was always good to know that old Scuto was up north with a place to hide out, and some work like as not if times were hard.’
‘But you’re Sarnesh? That’s a long way from home.’
‘The further the better,’ he said, heartfelt.
‘But why did you leave? What did you do?’ she pressed.
His smile stayed on, unoffended. ‘Just in case I’m a mass-murderer or slept with the Queen’s daughter or something, right? The thing is, nobody understands my kinden. You think we’re all in and out of each other’s minds like everybody’s friends every hour of the day. It isn’t like that. It’s more like you’re a kid in a big gang, and if you don’t do what they say, then you’re no good and they all turn their backs on you. And don’t think that they can’t put silence into your head as good as putting words.’ The smile was fading now. ‘Only there are loads of us who just want to do something else, but loyalty is everything, to the city-state. You don’t have to do anything to get where I’m standing. You just have to not do what they say. Once you turn your back on them, you’re out, and there’s a world of trouble waiting if you ever go back. Even in Sarn, which is better than the rest by a long mile, they don’t take kindly to deserters.’
She nodded soberly. ‘I see.’
‘Oh, and running off with one of their nailbows isn’t going to make them any happier,’ he added, the smile returning. ‘You know what the really mad thing is, though?’
‘So tell me.’
‘Even when you’ve escaped, you find you’ve brought so much of that cursed business with you. You’re never free of it. That’s why Ant mercenaries are always the best. They’re loyal. Nobody ever got double-crossed by an Ant. Or precious few, and not without good reason. So when I got to know Scuto, I got loyal to him. And, now that I’m with your pack, I’m loyal to you. It’s just the way we are. So you don’t need to worry about trouble from my direction.’ He slipped the heavy nailbow off his shoulder and laid it on the table-edge, opening its casing and taking a swab of cloth from a belt-pouch. ‘You mind keeping your eyes about you while I
clean her?’ he asked, and she nodded agreement, thinking about all he had said.
To Arianna they seemed so obviously on edge that she was amazed Thalric did not shoot them all on sight. Her blood and her profession had given her a very good eye to read people and she perceived the taut bonds of conspiracy between herself, Hofi and Scadran as though they were bright ribbons binding them together.
Graf sat at his desk, no doubt dealing with the contracts of the men killed at the warehouse and the few who survived. He looked in an ill temper, barely glancing at them as they filed in. Thalric himself was obviously ready to depart for Vek. He had donned a long coat and there was a pack slung ready on the back of his chair. He did seem to frown a little as the three of them took their places about the room. Hofi moved close to Graf, flicking his wings to perch on the corner of the desk. Arianna herself was leaning by the window, and she knew she was looking casual, nothing in her stance to betray her. Scadran just stood in the middle of the room, and to her he radiated tension.
She supposed they had a lot to be tense about, considering all the changes recently. A lot had happened and a lot had gone wrong. The future held clouds yet to come.
Thalric nodded at them, eventually. He seemed tired, which would work well for them. No doubt he had been busy from the early hours, putting his plans in place.
‘I have your final assignments before the Vekken get here,’ he told them. ‘After that I will try to get word to you, but you’ll understand I can’t guarantee it. After the siege starts I’ll leave it to Graf here, and to your own judgements, how the city’s defence can best be sabotaged. A quick victory for Vek will serve us best, although one that kills a great many Vekken troops at the same time would be the perfect result.’
‘Excuse me, Major, but what should we do when the walls actually fall?’ Hofi asked. ‘You won’t be able to provide the entire army of Vek with our descriptions.’
His tone was too confrontational, and Arianna guessed he was steeling himself to the task. Thalric’s frown returned.
‘If you can’t extract yourselves from the situation then you’re in the wrong trade,’ he said shortly. ‘If all else fails, defect at the last moment and drop my name to whoever chances to question you. I’ve not abandoned my people before and I will not do so this time, worry not.’
‘What do you have for us, sir?’ Arianna asked.
‘Well for you, I want you to work your charms on someone in the Collegium militia. One of their senior officers, in fact. They’re all old men who like wearing medals and uniforms. Most of them haven’t held a sword in ten years. I want information about the military, and you’ll be in a position to throw a wrench into their gears when the fighting starts.’ He turned from her. ‘Hofi, I want you to start spreading rumours amongst your clientele and your peers. Rumours about the military weakness of the city. Rumours that Sarn has become sick of this place. Rumours that Sarn may even be looking to make Collegium merely the junior partner in their alliance. A Sarnesh attack – yes, that might sell well.’
‘I see, sir,’ Hofi said. ‘Lower their morale, you mean. Take away their hope.’
‘Indeed. As for you, Scadran, you must look to the port defences. The attack will surely include a naval action, or the Vekken are greater fools than I take them for. Look to see what can be sabotaged at the relevant moment.’
Scadran nodded sullenly.
‘Well, I take it we all now understand our tasks, and I wish you good luck with them. Now, I have an appointment with our people in Vek.’
He rose, and just then Hofi slammed his open palm on the desk, their signal.
Arianna had her dagger already clear of its sheath as Hofi drove his own into Lieutenant Graf. The Fly-kinden had been trying to sink the blade over the man’s collarbone, but Graf jerked back even as he struck, and Hofi ended up driving it up to the hilt into his shoulder, the Fly’s wings powering the blow. Graf roared with pain and reached for his sword.
Scadran was already rushing for Thalric. He had a heavy-bladed sword out, but swung it so wildly that Arianna could not get close to help him. Thalric swayed back, his face set and hard, and as the blade came down again he tried to catch Scadran’s wrist. The force of the blow knocked Thalric back into a corner of the room, Scadran’s weight and strength pushing him almost to his knees. The big man’s off-hand fumbled at Thalric’s collar, trying for a hold around his throat.
There was the familiar crackling sound of a Wasp sting from behind her, and Arianna turned to look. Hofi was hanging in the air amidst the glitter of his own wings, and Graf had blown a charred circle into the far wall. Then the Fly slashed savagely with his blade and Graf was reeling back, clutching at his face and screaming. There was blood spitting from between his fingers and Arianna realized that Hofi had gashed the man’s one good eye.
She turned back to Thalric. The Wasp was stronger than he looked, every muscle straining to keep Scadran off him, but his halfbreed assailant had the advantage. Thalric’s teeth were bared and his eyes bulged, not from Scadran’s throttling grip but from his own sheer fury. They swayed back and forth, but with Scadran always forcing him into the wall again at last. Arianna saw her moment. She darted in and rammed her dagger into Thalric’s side.
Or that had been the idea. Instead, although the stroke was true, she struck something hard beneath his coat and the blade of her knife snapped at the hilt.
Thalric made a hissing sound that might have been triumph, and kicked Scadran solidly across his bandaged calf. The big man roared in pain, his grip loosening for just a second, and Thalric put a hand under Scadran’s chin and unleashed his sting.
Scadran’s head simply exploded. There was nothing more to it than that. The body that fell colossally back to the floor was virtually decapitated. Arianna felt her insides lurch in fear and horror but she had her Art-made weapons out now, the narrow claws jutting from her knuckles, and she struck Thalric across the face, gashing his cheek. She had hoped to snap his head round but he took the blow without flinching, and then backhanded her solidly, spinning her to the floor.
He walked past her, and she tried to stand, her head spinning. He had not killed her, which could only mean he wanted to question her or to prolong her death. The Rekef showed no forgiveness for treachery.
She saw Hofi, red with Graf’s blood, rise from behind the desk and see Thalric. The Fly-kinden did not hesitate. She had never guessed that the unassuming barber was such a fierce fighter but he hurled himself on Thalric instantly, his wings flinging him across the room. Arianna was on her feet now, swaying, seeing Thalric’s sword clear its scabbard and cut across Hofi even as the Fly charged him. The impact spun the blade from Thalric’s hand, but trailing crimson as it flew, and Hofi had fallen from the air, striking the ground hard with his hands pressed to the red stain growing over his tunic.
She looked at the sword. It lay beyond Thalric, but a concerted rush might capture it.
Thalric stared down at the writhing Fly for a moment and then raised his arm and finished him with a single sizzling bolt of energy.
Arianna ran. She flung the door open and was out of the room, then out of the building, unarmed and spattered with Scadran’s blood.
Thalric sighed heavily. He should have seen this coming, but a lot of things had been demanding his attention recently. He had not thought to look more carefully into the faces of his own people.
That will teach me to trust any inferior race, but in the Rekef Outlander there was frequently little choice. He went to check Graf, in faint hope, but just the sight of the man’s butchered body was enough. No help there. Graf had been a good agent, a loyal subject of the Empire. He deserved a better end than this.
Thalric reclaimed his sword, and one hand found the puncture that Arianna had made in the leather of his coat. Beneath it gleamed the links of his copperweave shirt. Though not what it once was, having been pieced back together with steel after Tynisa had sheared it open down the front, it had saved his life again.
Then he stepped out of the room, following Arianna’s path, for he had unfinished business.
Fifteen
‘Explain to me why these machines are such a threat,’ demanded one of the Tarkesh tacticians, sounding irritable. He might even have been the king, for Totho found it difficult to distinguish Tark’s ruler, to whom he had been briefly introduced, from the other men on his staff. There were about a dozen of them, men and women, and they all had the same Tarkesh features that made them look like siblings. The king wore no special garments or insignia, just the same plate and chain armour as the others, even here in his war-room, and like them looked as though he was short on sleep. Totho supposed that, mentally, he kept saying, ‘I’m the king, I’m the king,’ but for outsiders it was impossible to tell.
‘It’s all to do with flight: Art flight and mechanical flight,’ he said, looking from face to face just to be sure. ‘I’m afraid I don’t fly any more than you, so can I ask my friend here to explain about Art flight?’
One of them nodded, one of the women, and Salma stepped forwards. Totho glanced around to see Parops standing to attention behind them, having persuaded the court to see them at all.
‘Your Majesty,’ Salma said tactfully, bowing to the correct Ant, ‘may I present myself as Prince Minor Salme Dien of the Dragonfly Commonweal, arrived here in common cause with your city-state at the behest of Master Stenwold Maker of the Great College.’
It sounded impressive, but he prompted no awed reaction from the assembled tacticians. Instead they just eyed him suspiciously.
‘The Wasps are not strong fliers,’ Salma continued. ‘With only the wings their Art can summon up, they cannot fly for long distances. They can just about get from their camp across your walls, but they could not simply circle over your city for hours, or even many minutes. Moreover, they could not gain enough height to get out of range of your crossbows without wholly exhausting themselves. You’ve seen that for yourselves, I’m sure.’
There were nods and a few hard smiles around the war table, and Salma thought, They actually think they’re winning!
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