Solarno had been declared a free port, under the protection of both sides, retaining a notional independence. Already the gates had been opened, the wharves cleared for trade, the relief felt by the hungry citizens quickly blurring their memory of who had taken the bread from their mouths in the first place. Against that, the news that the Cortas would sit under the watchful gaze of Imperial and Spider-kinden advisers went almost uncontested. Having heard the rest of the news, the Solarnese reckoned that they might just have got themselves a good deal, after all. The first rumours were seeping in about Myna, and defiance was looking like an overrated quality.
The Second Army, swelled by Mycella’s own troops, would be moving west, and nobody had any doubt about their joint objective. Both General Tynan and the Aldanrael had unfinished business with Collegium.
When Laszlo got back to the surgeon’s house — flying at best speed all the way — and burst into Lissart’s room, he had one thought in mind.
She voiced it for him. ‘We have to leave.’
His thunder stolen, he gaped at her.
She misinterpreted his surprise as reluctance, sitting up in bed with a grimace, but doing her best to show that she was fit to be moving by now. ‘Listen to me — I don’t care if my legs fall off, we’re getting out of Solarno. I saw her.’
Laszlo blinked. ‘Her who?’
‘Garvan,’ she told him urgently, and hissed in frustration when he didn’t know who Garvan was. ‘The Wasp, Laszlo. The Wasp that stabbed me. Come on. ’
‘ Her? ’ he demanded, more shocked by this than almost anything else.
‘Yes, her. Why d’you think she stabbed me?’
‘Liss, this isn’t making any sense-’
With a sound more of annoyance than pain she levered herself out of the bed. The bandages across her abdomen, plainly visible beneath the cut away hem of her borrowed tunic, remained unspotted with fresh blood. The old surgeon knew his craft. ‘Listen, pirate, a Wasp here in Solarno will kill me if she sees me, and I am in no state to either escape or fight back. What part of “Let’s get out of Solarno” isn’t getting through to you?’
‘They have people on all the gates, and at the docks,’ Laszlo said. ‘Maybe after the armies leave, it’ll be easier.’
‘I’m serious; I saw her from the window, on this very street, along with soldiers…’ She trailed off. ‘Hold on: “armies leave ”?’
So he explained just why he himself wanted to leave the city too, which calmed her down quickly enough.
‘Right,’ she said, after a while. ‘Looks like I picked the wrong time to change sides.’ A spark came back with that thought. ‘And don’t think that means I’ve picked yours, Laszlo. When are the bastards moving out?’
‘Any day now, sounds like. Looks like their supplies and all that are already in place, for Wasps and Spiders both,’ Laszlo told her. ‘Whatever I witnessed today, the details were worked out a long time ago, and a long way from here. Solarno just happened to be a convenient place for Empire and Spiderlands to meet — and they got to slap down an ally of Collegium at the same time.’
But Lissart was only half-listening to him. ‘Fine. I’ve got a plan. You listening?’ and, when he nodded cautiously she told him, ‘We’ll march out with the army.’ That failed to draw any intelligible response from him, so she elaborated, ‘It’s perfect. Once we’re out of the city, we can… well, we could make a break for it when I get my wings again. But if you’re serious about spying for the Lowlands, where better to be?’
‘You’re mad. They’ll spot us in an instant.’
‘There’re always a load of non-fighters with an army. You’d be amazed how few questions people ask — everyone assumes you’re someone else’s slave. You’ve seriously never done that? Just tagged onto an army and turned parasite?’ Her enthusiasm for the idea was almost childlike. ‘We’ll hole up with the Spiderlands soldiers — less formal, far easier to blend in.’
‘But you’re running from a Wasp — and there’ll be more Wasps than you know what to do with, marching out west,’ Laszlo objected.
‘Oh, but they’ll be soldiers,’ she stressed. ‘Garvan’s Rekef or something and, from her little jaunt outside, I reckon she’s on counter-intelligence, rounding up troublemakers. She didn’t look as though she was marching out, anyway.’ Seeing his concerned expression she managed a rusty laugh. ‘You have me at an advantage, Laszlo dear, and that’s never a good start to any relationship. Nestling inside the army, we’ll balance your sound body with my understanding of how things work.’ Her smile, when she gave it, was as brilliant as ever, and made his breath catch in his throat.
The Cortas of Solarno had been reconvened, heavily supervised by both Imperial and Spider-kinden deputies who had power of veto over any decision they did not like the sound of. The Satin Trail and Crystal Standard parties listlessly argued import duty and property tax, while most of the Path of Jade, which had come to prominence on the back of the liberation, had either gone into hiding or been arrested.
General Tynan had taken over a townhouse belonging to one such departed magnate, for his brief sojourn in the city. His replacement, some lucky colonel from Capitas, had already arrived and was taking the city in hand as liaison to the Spider-kinden, who would have the greater share of the governance, Solarno being more a Spider city than anything else. Whether this peculiar arrangement between the two great powers would stand the test of time, or even work at all, was something that he was entirely uncertain about. He would have to do his best to make it work, though, because, when the Second marched west, his troops would be accompanied by several thousand Spider-kinden and their sundry hangers-on and mercenaries.
This evening Tynan would have some intimation, he hoped, of how this business was likely to work.
The rap at the door came at dusk, and one of the house slaves rushed to attend to it. Tynan had located what had presumably been the former owner’s audience chamber, and had entertained the idea of receiving his guests there in full Imperial pomp, playing them at their own game. That seemed a good way to make a quick fool of himself, though, and in the end he had ordered his staff to set out a table with the logistical charts laid out neatly at one end, and a couple of couches at the other. He would have preferred chairs, but the Spider-kinden resident of the townhouse did not seem to have owned any.
He had two officers with him, who would be meeting their opposite numbers at the same time. Colonel Mittoc was one of a seemingly endless sequence of new promotions within the Engineering Corps, a lean, bony-faced man whose chief expertise in life was destroying things at a distance with great skill and enthusiasm. On Tynan’s other side was Major Cherten of the Army Intelligence, who was overseeing the logistics. Intelligence men were always a mixed bag, and a disappointing number turned out to be Rekef all along, which meant that they were not only spying on their superiors, but were also usually bad at the job they were pretending to do. Tynan had worked with short, amiable Cherten before, and felt that the man could be at least cautiously relied on.
The Fly-kinden slave — one of the previous owner’s fixtures that Tynan had kept on — backed into the room, bowing low. In his wake stalked the woman that Tynan had shaken hands and sealed treaties with earlier that day. She had done away with her armour and her martial persona, and stood before him now in a surprisingly plain white robe, save that a faint shimmer, as she moved, betrayed the myriad of gold threads shot through it, to complement the metal of her girdle and the torc about her neck. Her silver hair was held back by a comb of turquoise in the shape of intertwining centipedes: Beware, for I am venomous. She saw him notice it and smiled a little.
She should have filled the room with her presence, bringing awe and humility in her wake, but he felt that she was not trying to, but instead withholding her hand and her Art from their minds. Moreover, he had stood before the Empress Seda not so very long ago. There were no great prizes for being the second most powerful woman that Tynan had ever met and, for all that Myc
ella of the Aldanrael was beautiful and dangerous and cunning, the Empress had seemed something more than merely human.
The slave was bringing the wine in early, and yet the moment was right for it, and Tynan made a mental note to take the little man with him on campaign. Efficiency was something he prized, in servants and armies both.
‘Is the correct address “My lady”?’ he enquired. He was aware that Mittoc and Cherten were somewhat more struck by her, while his own cool civility in the face of the Arista was no doubt adding to his military legend.
‘In that case I must call you “General”, I suppose. How dull.’ The smile was an invitation at collusion. ‘These are your officers?’
Tynan introduced the two men, bringing them back to themselves by speaking their names, just like in the old stories of magic and charms. ‘It’s a change in structure from the old field and camp colonels, but the engineers are shouldering more of the war, these days, and Cherten will be overseeing our side of the march. Who’ve you got?’ He was keeping his tone businesslike, and did not intend to sprinkle his words with too many ‘My ladys’ either. From their formal meeting, he had gained no sense of the real Mycella behind the gilded front, and he had anticipated a woman gravid with her own self-importance. Instead, she matched him, practicality for practicality, adjusting to his manner effortlessly.
‘Jadis of the Melisandyr,’ she named the man to her left, broad-shouldered, fair-haired and square-jawed, a hero in waiting. ‘Think of him as my colonel of the camp. He captains my bodyguard, which means he also oversees the Satrapy forces and orders our march. He will need to speak with your Major Cherten, I imagine. I suggest we let them get on with it. I have no great love for counting biscuits, myself. This,’ and she indicated the cadaverous man on the other side of her, ‘is Morkaris, adjutant of our mercenaries.’ Some reaction must have shown on Tynan’s face, despite himself, for she flashed some teeth. ‘We have a great many mercenary troops, General, and someone must be given overall responsibility for them or they’ll run riot. Morkaris is here to keep them in line, and to answer to me if he fails. Believe me, I envy you your soldiers’ unity of purpose, but things are done differently in the Spiderlands.’ A moment later she was gliding past him towards the couches. ‘Shall we sit, and let our henchmen argue about rope and tents and pairs of boots, or whatever it is that makes an army go?’
‘I think that your understanding of such matters is greater than you pretend,’ Tynan rumbled. He gestured for Mittoc and Cherten to take up the arrangements with Mycella’s underlings, and cautiously followed after her, feeling as though he should be ready for the touch of silk, the sudden triggering of a trap.
For a moment he thought that she would recline on her side, as Spider Aristoi supposedly did, languorous and impossible to speak to in a civilized manner. Instead she simply sat, like any army officer might, leaning a little against the couch’s low back. ‘We’re doing something new, General, and therefore we set the rules. Let us do so in a way that will not have us at each other’s throats before we reach Tark.’
‘Fine,’ Tynan said shortly. Dropping down onto the other couch, he was aware that he was still studying her blatantly, but then he was a Wasp man, and women were set to be wives and mothers of soldiers, in his culture. Having travelled more than most — admittedly with an army at his back most of the time — he was aware that this belief was not shared by the rest of the world, but then the superiority of the Empire over the rest of the world was a subject beloved of Imperial philosophers. Here, before him, was the product of the exact opposite belief.
‘Colonel Cherten told me you’d be a man,’ Tynan observed. ‘He said men lead Spider armies because the women consider it beneath them.’
‘Then perhaps we are honouring you, for I know Wasps know of no higher office,’ she replied drily.
‘Was the last clash between you and Collegium so personal that you had to see the business ended yourself?’ he pressed.
She glanced from her wine over to their subordinates. Colonel Mittoc was explaining something to the others in his rough voice, some detail of how to transport his new artillery toys, no doubt, and the two Spiders were listening with some interest.
‘General, you were closer to the mark before,’ Mycella said softly.
Tynan raised an eyebrow, not committing himself, and she went on, ‘To lead an army is no honour in our culture. Yes, the duty would normally devolve on some son or nephew.’ When he made no comment she let her expression fragment a little, so that he could see behind it. ‘There was a trade dispute, nothing greater than that. Collegium killed a niece of mine, and then a son. I led an armada against it, more ships than have sailed from the Spiderlands in generations, the grandest venture of the modern age. We turned back. Can you imagine? We were not even defeated. The defences of the Beetles were such that we had no option but to turn back or lose everything. Even now, we will be marching the long coast with you, rather than taking to the waves. What does this suggest to you?’
‘That you were not well received when you returned home,’ Tynan suggested. ‘But you are the head of your family, are you not? Who could discipline you?’
‘I am the Lady of the Aldanrael,’ she confirmed, ‘but I am sure that your people are no more tolerant of public weakness and failure than are mine. So it is that my house is laid low, our holdings stolen, our name a jest on every lip. So it is that, to preserve my family’s very existence, I have chosen this path: the path of the Lady Martial. No great triumph amongst my kinden, no great standing, and yet honour enough, and that you will understand. There is honour in taking the sword by the blade when it is presented.’ At last she smiled, and he almost felt he had been holding his breath for it. ‘Beware me, General, for I am a desperate woman. I have so very little left to lose.’
Seventeen
The fixed-wing Sweet Fire had stopped for fuel on a Helleren airfield, and Stenwold had taken the chance to sample the mood of the city, while other Mynan stragglers arrived and joined up with Kymene.
He found little to surprise him, and much to disappoint. Nobody cared about the fall of the Three-city Alliance. Indeed, many of the merchants were already rubbing their hands over simpler access to Imperial markets. There were plenty of Wasps on the streets, mostly Consortium men. The road for the Empire’s return had been well and truly paved.
He returned to find Kymene taking reports. Some dozen or so pilots had dropped down onto the Helleren airfield now, with more expected, their scatter of ungainly and damaged craft drawing derisive comments from the locals.
‘It sounds as though those of our soldiers who got out have headed for Maynes,’ she told him.
‘You’ll join them?’ Stenwold asked.
‘I’ve sent word to them to get clear of Alliance lands altogether if they can. If we can’t stand, Maynes won’t. They were prouder than us about buying in outside weapons and machines. They have almost nothing to put in the air.’
‘Come to Collegium,’ he suggested.
She looked at him levelly, a half-circle of airmen watching this exchange silently. ‘Will your people fight again, Maker?’
‘If they will not, then I’ll go with you to Sarn, or wherever else we must, until we find someone who will.’
‘Satisfactory,’ she agreed.
Another orthopter skimmed overhead, making the Mynan airmen jump and twitch for the safety of their machines. It was Taki’s Esca Magni, though, looking decidedly more chipped and battered than when Stenwold had seen it last. The Fly-kinden herself looked dead on her feet as she levered herself from her cockpit.
A ragged cheer went up, for the Mynan airmen had all seen her efforts in the skies over their city, and the sound of their applause transformed Taki from a weary refugee into some shadow of her past self: the Solarnese air-duellist. She managed a grin for them, and then was striding forward to clasp hands first with Edmon, then the short Bee woman beside him, then going round the circle, dismissing Kymene almost as an irrelevance.<
br />
‘Someone get me wound again,’ she called out to nobody in particular. ‘Or are we putting down roots here?’ Stenwold could see how tired she must be, but either she was putting on a brave face or her pride would not let her acknowledge it.
They flew east next, not straight for Collegium as only Taki could have managed the journey in one leg, but navigating for Malkan’s Folly, the new fortress that marked the most westerly point that the Imperial Seventh Army had reached in the last war. Stenwold needed to warn the Sarnesh.
Malkan’s Folly had been the project of the Sarnesh since shortly after the war because they, like Stenwold, had known the day would come when the black and gold would look westwards once again. The Ants lacked something of Collegium’s ingenuity, but they were united in a way their Beetle allies were not. When the King of Sarn and his tacticians set their minds on a project, then progress would be rapid, all hands turning to the task.
The fortress was a great slope-walled monster of black stone, rising to a jagged crown of towers. There had been some talk of raising a series of smaller edifices, as a line to cut across the path of any Wasp advance, but the cost would have been great, the utility small. The Ants knew that it would be impossible physically to stop an enemy force with fortifications, given how mobile Imperial armies were. The impediment that Malkan’s Folly offered was logistical. A whole army of Ants could be stationed there, well provisioned, unassailable, sallying forth at will to disrupt enemy supply lines or to attack the Wasps in the flank or the rear, coordinating with the main Sarnesh army with that impeccable ease that only Ants, with their interlinked minds, could muster. With that plan, Malkan’s Folly became an obstacle no general could afford to circumvent.
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