Dragonfly Falling sota-2

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  ‘Now, you listen here. I know I ain’t any picture, but-’

  ‘Scuto, you’ve been working where? In the slums of Helleron? And why’s that? I know you’re a decent grade of artificer,’ Plius said. ‘So why not get in with the magnates, the propertied classes? No, you’re not that kind of fellow, Scuto. And this isn’t some Helleron mining baron here, this is the Queen of Sarn. And she won’t want to see you because, let’s face it, no sane person would. And she won’t want to see me either, because as an Ant late of Tseni stock I’m barely welcome even in the foreigners’ quarter, never mind how things’re supposed to have changed round here. So what’s your move, Scuto?’

  And then he and Scuto had turned and looked at Sperra, but she had refused. She had flat-out refused, protested, complained and objected and, at the end of the day, she had found herself going to meet with a dismissive Ant officer who had sneered down at her because she was a Fly and a foreigner. The next day there had been a better officer who had been sympathetic, but unhelpful, and then there had been a commander who seemed to have something to do with the Royal Court, but very little time. Then there had been a smiling woman, who Sperra had later discovered was a commander involved in counterintelligence, and who had suspected her of being a spy, although spying for whom, Sperra never found out. In any event their conversation had been manipulated so carefully that Sperra realized that she had learned nothing new at all and told everything that she knew, just about.

  And then the next day half a dozen soldiers had marched her to the Royal Court, which was where she had been trying to get to all along, but at that moment decided she would rather avoid. She had spent two hours waiting to talk to a serious-faced Ant-kinden who was one of the Queen’s tacticians, therefore the highest of the high amongst the city-states. She spoke to him for a full ten minutes, but he seemed not in the least interested in what she had to say. Instead, he quizzed her about the assassination attempt on the Queen.

  That was the first she had heard about it, and her surprise must have seemed genuine enough because he did not question her for long. She understood that, whilst the Queen was out hunting with her bodyguards and some of her court, there had been a surprise encounter with a pair of Vekken crossbowmen. The would-be assassins had died resisting capture and understandably everyone was concerned to know what this was all about.

  At around that same time the news had come to Sarn that the Vekken were indeed on the march, but that Collegium was their objective. Since then Sarn had been in an uproar, mustering its armies and breaking out its automotives, ready to defend the alliance the city-state had made with its Beetle neighbours.

  And the day after, Sperra had been sent for by the Queen. So here she was, a woman of three foot nine inches, in plain and darned clothes, appearing before the Royal Court of Sarn.

  Ant-kinden did not need hundreds of spectators to witness their deeds of state. Mind-to-mind, the whole city could be allowed to hear what words were said when it was deemed necessary. There were merely fifteen men and women in that room, gathered around one long table. The height of the table itself demanded that a servant fetch a stool for Sperra to stand on, just so she could be seen.

  In the middle of the table’s far end sat the Queen herself, and there could be no doubt of her identity. Since their increased dealings with other kinden, the Sarnesh had fully learned the use of symbols and insignia to distinguish themselves. The Queen of Sarn was the one with the crown sitting in the gilded chair, Sperra had divined. Other than that she looked just like any other Ant woman, her unwelcoming features in no way dissimilar from any of her kin. The Sarnesh were a dark-haired, brown-skinned people, but the severe set of their faces was that of Ant-kinden everywhere.

  The others around the table were mostly more of the same: tacticians of Sarn, the governing body from among whom, and by whom, the ruling monarch was selected. They were men and women wearing armour, even here, and none of them with a smile to offer her. The grim drabness of this array was broken by a pair of darker Beetle-kinden, both women, whose garments were dreary by Collegium standards but looked positively flamboyant here. They had clearly been around Ant-kinden too long and had borrowed their paucity of expression.

  The silence had stretched on for a while now, and Sperra realized that she should probably be saying something. ‘Your Majesty,’ she began, and her voice was shaking. ‘I have come here with a very urgent message from Collegium.’

  ‘We have received messengers from Collegium only yesterday,’ noted one of the tacticians. ‘We understand that you have been petitioning for this audience for almost a tenday. It seems news has outstripped you.’

  ‘Yes and no, masters,’ Sperra said wretchedly. ‘I am come from Master Stenwold Maker of the Great College to bring a warning of war.’

  ‘War has come,’ a female tactician intervened, almost dismissively. ‘We will go to the aid of Collegium and fight the Vekken. You should have no concern over that.’

  Sperra coughed, finding her voice dry up. ‘There is a greater war than that, ah, Your Majesty and esteemed masters.’ She had no idea of the proper address for an entire Royal Court at once, or even whether there was one. ‘You must have heard of the Wasp-kinden and their Empire, as they call it.’

  That took them a little longer to consider, and Sperra sensed the thoughts flashing between them. At last it was one of the Beetles that spoke up, after a nod of assent from the Queen.

  ‘The city-state of Sarn is not without resources,’ she said. ‘We have of course had intelligence of these people, and know that they are currently investing Tark, the result of which we await keenly. The extent of their ambitions is unknown but we are considering what threat they may pose to us, should they continue to expand and their ambitions remain unchecked.’

  ‘Then could I say something about what I have seen, and about Master Maker, and Scuto, who’s the person that recruited me.’ She was aware she was now jumbling it all horribly. ‘Only I can tell you what the Wasps want. They’re planning to take over all of the Lowlands. They’ll do it city by city, you see, and they hope that everyone will just sit back and let them. On account of. it’s like you said, just then. Tark is under attack and, well, nobody really likes Tark. Anyway. I certainly don’t.’ She looked from face to face. One of the Beetles nodded, but there was precious little encouragement to be found anywhere else.

  ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘so Tark goes down soon enough, because these Wasps, they’ve done Ant-kinden cities before. There’s a place called Maynes east of Helleron, and they took that years ago, and they’re much better at it now. Tark is gone, let’s say, and who cares? Only next they head for. ’ She wanted to say Merro, her own home, but that would not have strengthened her case. ‘For Kes, say. They get some boats and lay siege to the place. And of course, I suppose you don’t get on well with the Kessen either?’ She looked at them, and they gave her no response, but this time she waited until a smile twitched the Queen’s lips, who said, ‘The enmity between the cities of our kinden is well documented, Fly-woman. Make your case.’

  ‘Well it’s made, then, Your Majesty,’ Sperra said, ‘because we’re all sitting about glaring at each other, and waving flags every time one of our neighbours gets got, until here they are, at the gates of Sarn, say, and who do we call upon?’

  ‘We are Sarn,’ said one of the tacticians shortly. ‘Therefore we fight our own wars.’

  ‘But what if they had ten times as many soldiers, and better weapons, and they can fly, and just shoot you down with their bare hands? What then? What if they’re too big for any one city to take on? That’s what Master Maker keeps saying: there are lots of them, more than any one city could fight.’

  A silence. Again she looked from face to face. ‘Please, do you not believe me?’ she asked.

  The Queen shared a moment’s glance with some of her advisers. ‘Your words are understood, but we have more immediate concerns. You would not wish us, I am sure, to have us rush to the aid of Tark while
the Vekken besiege Collegium. We shall remember your words, however. Once our present business with Vek is resolved, then we shall speak further. We see some merit in what you say.’

  And that, Sperra realized, was the extent of her royal audience.

  ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ Che said.

  Achaeos sent her a sidelong glance, but then admitted, ‘I have not been sleeping well, recently.’

  She allowed herself a smile. ‘Am I to blame for that?’

  ‘When I do sleep, I have dreams. uncertain ones.’

  She was about to give a flippant answer but thought better of it. ‘I suppose dreams are important to your people.’

  ‘They are, and I think. I fear I know where these dreams come from. You remember the Darakyon, and what we both saw there?’

  ‘I could never forget.’ Although she had tried. It had been after he helped rescue her from the Wasp slave cells in Myna: they had been heading for Helleron and in the way was the knotted little forest of the Darakyon. A Mantis-kinden name, she knew, but no Mantis-kinden lived there now. However, Achaeos had told her that those who had once called the place their home, centuries before, had never left. All nonsense, of course. All superstitious foolishness from a people of hermits and mystics, except that one night he and Tisamon had taken her into that wood and shown her. It had been Achaeos reaching out to her, over the barrier that separated their peoples’ worldviews.

  And she had seen. In glimpses, perhaps, and for that she was thankful, but she had caught sight of what still dwelled between the twisted trunks of the Darakyon, in all its hideous, tortured glory, and her world had cracked, and let in something new.

  They were almost at the nameless little gambling den by the river, and there were plenty of shadows that could have hidden anything. She allowed her eyes to pierce through them, calling on her Art, but the shiver did not leave her. ‘Are they. have they come here?’ she asked him.

  ‘No. They could not, I think. But these dreams. they are calling to me. I do not know why, but I will in time.’

  They paused at the door, nerving themselves. The Arcanum, mostly in the person of Gaff, the stocky little man of unknown kinden, had not been forthcoming. They had met with him several times, and sometimes with the Mantis Scelae as well, but received only evasion. Now word had come for them. They had been summoned by the Arcanum. Something had changed.

  ‘Do you think it could be a trap?’ she asked, and he nodded glumly. ‘But these are your people,’ she protested.

  ‘The Arcanum are not my people,’ he said. ‘They are the political arm of the Skryres, and they have no one leader but serve many in Dorax and Tharn. Much of the time, it is said, they run the personal errands of their masters, who do not always agree. The Arcanum has turned on its own people before now, so why not against us?’

  ‘What option do we have?’ she asked him.

  ‘None — but be ready for trouble.’

  They saw Gaff as soon as they entered, in the midst of some game of chance. He noticed them too and made hurried apologies to his fellows, leaving money on the table and hurrying over to them.

  ‘You took your time,’ he grumbled. ‘Come right with me, sir and lady. There’s serious talk to be done.’

  He took them into a backroom, heading past the place’s owner, and then into a room beyond, that must have been part of the building adjoining. It was dark in there, a single lamp burning on a desk, and it was crowded. When Gaff had taken his place there was quite a gathering of people ranged there facing them. Che felt her hand drift towards her sword-hilt now, though it would now be of no use.

  Half a dozen were Mantis-kinden. Scelae was seated on one corner of the desk while the rest stood, lean and hard men and women watching the newcomers suspiciously. One bore a sword-and-circle pin that recalled Tisamon’s: a Weaponsmaster, then, who would be more than sufficient on her own to blot them out if she chose. Of the other kinden four were Flies, and three of those were robed and cowled like their masters. One was a Commonwealer Dragonfly. There were only three Moths in all that number. An elderly woman sat on the corner of the desk across from Scelae and a young man stood behind her, in an arming jacket with a bandolier of throwing blades strapped across it. Central behind the desk, though, was the obvious cause of all this assembly. He was thin and balding and, taken alone, his grey, hollow face and white eyes did not suggest any great pre-eminence, but Che could almost feel the crackle of authority surrounding him.

  ‘Master Achaeos of Tharn,’ the man said in a precise voice. ‘Mistress Cheerwell Maker of Collegium. Your recent careers have been quite remarkable. Do you know what we are?’

  Che and Achaeos exchanged glances. ‘You represent the Arcanum, Master,’ Achaeos said.

  ‘We are the Arcanum, as far as its presence in Sarn now stands,’ the balding Moth explained. ‘This is all of us.’

  The two newcomers exchanged glances, while the assembled agents watched them implacably.

  ‘You have come to us spreading warnings about the Wasp Empire. We are, of course, aware of those savages and we have no wish to involve ourselves in their affairs, either as allies or enemies. Still less do we wish to jump to the call of some Beetle magnate. We have retreated from the ugly and violent world that your kinden have built, and we would prefer that to be the end of it.’

  And why get everyone together just to tell us this? Che felt her sword-hand twitch, but fought the instinct down. There was more to be said. There had to be.

  ‘You have no great reputation on Tharn, Achaeos,’ the Moth spymaster said, ‘and few friends either. Your choice of paramour has seen to that. We have no obligation to you, still less to this woman.’

  A missed chance for an insult. Che found that she was holding her breath, and let it out carefully.

  ‘Master, I await your “however”,’ said Achaeos. ‘Or are all of these to be our assassins?’

  Scelae smiled at that, and Che saw that she must have been murderess for the Arcanum in her day. The spymaster glanced at her, and then back.

  ‘We had considered it, but we would not have called you to a meeting for the purpose.’ The shadow of humour twitched over his face. ‘We are not so procedural as that. So here is our “however”, Achaeos. Matters have changed. Information has come to us that has forced our hand, however much we resent it. I have spoken, by our traditional ways, to the Skryres of Dorax. They have called me home to take fuller counsel with them. They have said that we must do what can be done, against these Wasp-kinden — for now, until the circumstances change.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Che burst out, and he fixed her with a withering stare.

  ‘Do not presume,’ he told her, ‘that we have any new affection for you or your people. It is the mere chance of our times that we stand together. No more.’

  ‘Chance or fate,’ she said, and knew immediately that she had overstepped the mark. For a second there was a tension about Scelae that was likely to become an attack, but the spymaster was not so much angry as shaken.

  ‘Fate,’ he echoed. ‘Fate’s weave has been unclear. ’ His composure seeped back and he shook his head. ‘Scelae shall lead the Arcanum here when I am gone, and what can be done shall be done. Tharn has no armies to set against this Empire, but there is little that eyes that know no darkness cannot see. For the moment, while this lasts, those eyes shall be used to see in your cause.’

  It was two days before they discovered what had changed the Arcanum’s mind. Achaeos and Che came back from an errand in the foreigners’ quarter to find a sense of utter despair. Scuto was sitting at the large table in the common room of the taverna they were staying at, with his papers strewn utterly unheeded all about it, and some even on the floor. Beside him was Sperra, looking so ashen that Che thought at first her wounds must have reopened. She was trembling, and if Scuto had been less thorny it seemed she would have been clinging to him. Behind them both, Plius sat like a dead weight in a chair. He had a pipe out and was vainly trying to light it, but hi
s hands shook so much that the little steel lighter kept going out.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Che asked, and then a terrible thought struck her. ‘Uncle Stenwold! The Vekken? Is he-?’

  ‘No,’ Scuto said hoarsely. His eyes were red, she saw, and his hands had clasped each other close enough to pinprick bloodspots with his own spines, the only time she had ever seen him injure himself. ‘No fresh news from Collegium.’ In truth news from Collegium was coming in all the time. All day great slow-moving rail automotives had been dragging themselves in at the depot with all those residents of Collegium who could not stay to defend their home. Che had expected people from all walks of life, and indeed there were many foreigners, whose lives in the College City had been measured in a few years only, but most of the refugees were children. They arrived with small bags of food, books, a writing kit and spare clothes, and with little notes telling the Sarnesh who they were. The Queen of Sarn was honouring her city’s ally in its time of need. With typical efficiency the homeless and the lost, all these displaced children, were found lodgings amongst the Ant families of the city.

  But today at the depot had come a messenger from a different direction.

  ‘Sperra, she. ’ Scuto took a deep breath and tried to stop his voice shaking. ‘She was at the palace, so she heard it right there, when the Queen did. Helleron has fallen.’

  Che gaped at him. ‘Helleron fallen?’

  ‘A Wasp army turned up at their doorstep. Not even the ones fighting Tark, but a whole other army. They’ve put the city under martial law and commandeered the foundries. Helleron is now part of the Empire.’

  ‘Hammer and tongs,’ whispered Che. She glanced at Achaeos. His face was closed, expressionless, and she knew he would be thinking of his own mountain city, Helleron’s close neighbour.

  ‘They knew,’ he said. ‘This is the information the Arcanum had received. This is the threat to our people that has made them join us.’ He bared his teeth, abruptly feral. ‘We warned them that the Wasps would come. An army on the wing, come to Tharn to finish what your people started. The final end of the Days of Lore.’