Dragonfly Falling sota-2

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he repeated, and then Che cried out, ‘Mantis-kinden!’

  ‘Not just Mantids.’ The Queen was stepping down from the automotive. ‘My scouts say there are Moths there as well. What do they intend? Is this your doing?’

  Achaeos opened his mouth to deny this, but Che cried out, ‘Yes!’

  They all turned to her, astonished, Achaeos and Sperra included.

  ‘Your Majesty, when we first came to your city it was with two purposes. Whilst Scuto and Sperra were to seek out audience with yourself, Achaeos and I were to contact. those allied to the Moths of Dorax. When last we met them they had heard of the fall of Helleron, at which they were much concerned. They were going to speak with their masters and I think. ’ The feeling of hope swelling within her made it hard to breathe. ‘I think they may be friends.’

  The newcomers could now clearly be seen as Mantis-kinden. Compared with the rigidly organized Ant army they seemed a ragged host, and far fewer in number. Che studied them individually, though, and saw them differently: lean, hard men and women with spears, bows, swords and claws just like Tisamon’s. No two were alike in their weapons, nor in their armour: she saw leather coats, cuirasses, crested helms, breastplates, scale-mail, even a few suits of fluted plate that looked as if made for another era entirely. They all had about them the same air, though. These were warriors, and they were ready for war.

  One of them stepped forward, approaching the rigid Ant line without fear. At some unheard signal from the Queen, it parted to let the envoy through. Che’s heart leapt when she recognized Scelae. The slender Mantis-woman wore a long coat of scales, backed with felt to silence the clink of metal, a tall unstrung bow was slung across her back and she walked confidently through the staring Ants and made a respectful bow to their Queen.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘I bring you greetings from the Ancient League.’

  ‘And what might this League be, that you speak of?’ asked the Queen, still not entirely trusting this new force. ‘I have never heard of it.’

  Scelae smiled slightly. ‘The name has an irony to it, as the League has existed just these last five days. The traditions it pledges to are ancient, though, for in the face of our changing world we have renewed some old ties. Just as your city is now ranged with the Beetles of Collegium, so the holds of Etheryon and Nethyon have come again to seek the wisdom and guidance of Dorax and the Moth-kinden.’

  ‘A new power on my doorstep,’ observed the Queen. ‘Should I rejoice in this?’

  ‘I am no seer and I cannot tell the future,’ Scelae said, ‘save in one thing: this force you see was gathered in one day, made up of all those ready to hear our call. We march with you now against the Empire.’

  ‘How many?’ the Queen asked and, before Scelae could answer, some word came to her from scouts who had been counting all this while. ‘Eight hundred. Eight hundred Mantids — and perhaps a hundred Moths as well. And you will fight alongside us?’

  ‘We will fight,’ Scelae assured her. ‘There is nothing in the world you may be more sure of.’

  Thirty-Five

  That day, Stenwold had cause to remember how he had told Doctor Nicrephos that it could wait until evening because of the urgent duties he had to fulfil.

  He remembered particularly in the first few hours after dawn, when the remaining Vekken armourclads made another pass at the harbour, grinding their engines to breaking point to try and nose their own half-sunk siblings out of the way, whilst simultaneously their artillery lashed the harbourfront again and again. As Stenwold’s role was to defend the harbour, he had waited there with a few hundred soldiers, crouching behind every piece of cover that was available and watching while the great ships shoved repeatedly, and the sound of their engines groaned across the water.

  Over sixty of his men had been killed during the bombardment because, at that range, if he had pulled them far back enough to be out of the way, the Ants would have been able to establish a presence on the waterfront itself before he could have formed up enough men to stop them.

  And then, mid-morning, the armourclads had given up and reversed their engines, pulling back into open water. To Stenwold, however, it did not seem like a victory.

  He had thought about going to Doctor Nicrephos at that point. The old man had been very agitated, talking about some artefact that must be given over to his own protection. He knew it was somewhere in the city, and he believed he could even divine its location. He had obviously been very serious, but to Stenwold it had made very little sense.

  But then a messenger had come for him from the north wall, saying that he was needed there urgently. There was never any time.

  His journey across the city had been nightmarish. Over the last day the Vekken had begun using special trebuchets, far out of range of any armaments on the Collegium walls. They were incredibly spindly contraptions, his telescope had told him, and they flung handfuls of grenades arcing from their slings. These exploded over the city, showering it with fire and shrapnel, or else burst in flames on the roofs of buildings. It was a random barrage, doing little damage, but it meant that nobody in the city was ever entirely safe. Those few who braved the streets had to keep one eye on the sky, and Stenwold, passing through the streets of his home city, felt the doom of the place keenly, like a cloud hovering above him.

  ‘I’m starting to wonder about how this is going to go,’ he had told Balkus, and the big Ant only nodded.

  In the hour before dawn a messenger had got through to the city. His name was Frezzo and he had been expected days before, but an Ant crossbowman had shot him down, and he had been resting within sight of the city walls, building up the strength to fly again. However he had insisted, with the honour of his guild at stake, on giving his news before they treated his wound. The news itself was just one more burden for the defenders. It appeared Sarn was not coming to their aid. They all knew that Helleron had gone to the Wasps, but not even Kymon had made the logical step that a westward-moving imperial army would occupy Sarn’s attention and thus prevent any chance of rescue from the north.

  Kymon and his soldiers were down off the west wall today, but only because there was no immediate assault. Instead, what artillery the Ants had left was pelting the wall mercilessly with rock and lead shot. The artillery on the tower emplacements was returning the favour in daylight now, and most of it was second- or third-generation, as more and more engines were smashed by increasingly accurate incoming missiles. Stenwold had seen some machines being fixed in, during the pre-dawn, that were just the previous engines reassembled with desperate haste, and therefore sure to fly apart after a few shots.

  The north wall was bearing the brunt of it today, with tower engines and rams and legions of Vekken infantry. Stenwold came at a run, expecting disaster, but then he found himself cornered by an enraged academic.

  ‘Master Maker! Or I suppose I have to call you War Master now.’

  ‘Call me what you want, Master.?’

  The Beetle-kinden was squat and balding and enraged. ‘I am Master Hornwhill, and I demand that you discipline these military fellows! It’s an outrage!’

  ‘What’s an outrage?’ Stenwold asked, trying for calm. Hornwhill was so incensed by whatever had outraged him that it took Balkus looming menacingly at his shoulder to calm him down.

  ‘Master Maker, my discipline is in the mercantile area. I design barrels, and they are not meant for military use!’ the man protested. Stenwold goggled at him.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘This!’ Hornwhill stomped over towards a row of catapults that the north wall commander had set up, and which even now were launching their shot in a high arc, right over the wall and onto the men and machines arrayed on the far side. Hornwhill grabbed one of the missiles from the engineers and brandished it fiercely. ‘This is my double-hulled safe-passage barrel intended for breakable goods!’ the excited artificer exclaimed. ‘Five hundred of them have been seized from my warehouse and
I demand restitution.’

  ‘Who’s in charge here?’ Stenwold called out, and a dirty-faced engineer popped his head up above the winding winch of a catapult.

  ‘Here, War Master!’

  How is it that everyone knows me? ‘Why are you throwing barrels at them?’ Stenwold asked him.

  ‘Got precious little else to throw,’ the engineer said cheerily. ‘Besides, these beauties are just what we need. They crack open when they hit, but they don’t damage their cargoes, just release them all cosy like. They’re lovely.’

  ‘Cargoes? What cargoes?’ Stenwold said, trying to block out Hornwhill’s jabbering complaints.

  The engineer grinned at him, still winding back the catapult. ‘Well, I figure we might as well use every dirty trick in the book, War Master. Last night me and my lad raided every menagerie, animal workshop and alchemist’s store in the city. I got the lot in these barrels. I got scorpions, poisonous spiders, stinging flies, glasses of acid, explosive reagents. I got the Vekken doing a real guessing game with what’s going to land on ’em next.’

  ‘Balkus,’ Stenwold said.

  ‘Here.’

  ‘If Master Hornwhill doesn’t shut up and go home, throw him in the river.’

  Nothing was going quite as it should. Akalia was becoming increasingly aware that, in the estimates of the Royal Court of Vek, Collegium should have fallen by now.

  It seemed impossible that a city-state of tinkerers and philosophers could hold off the elite of Vek, the most disciplined soldiers in the world. Still the walls stood, though, the defenders rushing to throw back every incursion. The Beetle-kinden and their slaves seemed indefatigable, never-ceasing. Every time it seemed the walls would be taken, the Beetles dragged out some new scheme, and thus held her off for yet another day.

  She shook her head. It had been a run of disturbed nights for her, and for her men as well. Her ill dreams had communicated themselves to her army, or else she had been infected with theirs. She feared. In waking moments she would not even have acknowledged it, but she feared. She feared the derision of her peers, that no Ant-kinden could escape. She did not fear that Collegium would never fall, but she feared that she would not take it fast enough, that, had the King chosen differently, a more skilled tactician would be within the walls by now.

  And those Wasps had run mad and killed one another. It should be expected from a weaker race, but still it shook her. She could see no logic to it, no sense at all. Without warning they had left the camp and butchered each other to the last man. The report of her sentries had been easily brushed off at first, but the event had returned to prey on her mind. Was this some ploy, some new weapon, some contagious insanity? Will it happen to us? Her artificers had assured her that it was impossible, but she found herself losing faith in them. Clearly the Collegium scholars know things that we do not. In her mind, in the hearts of all Apt people, there was a tiny worm so deeply buried that it would never normally see the light. It was a worm born many centuries before, in the Days of Lore before the revolution — those days when her kind and the Beetles had both been slaves. It was fear of the unknown, of the old mysteries. In now facing the scholars of Collegium, Akalia was rediscovering her fear of the unknown.

  Tactician, word arrived from her engineers.

  Report, demanded Akalia. In her mind’s eye she saw the west wall of Collegium as her scouts could now see it through their glasses. The patient voice of one of her artificers guided her through the stress fractures, cracks and damage that her engines had done to it over the last few days.

  The wall is holding out better than we had anticipated, the artificer explained. The Beetle-kinden mortar remains semi-solid indefinitely, and so there is a great deal of flexibility in the wall. However, damage to the stones themselves is now quite widespread. There is considerable cracking and, even with the artillery left to us, we have been able to accurately expand the stress areas that you see here.

  Just tell me when, Akalia snapped at him.

  There was a moment’s pause in which the artificer conferred with his colleagues.

  We think today — late today or early tomorrow. We were considering holding until tomorrow in any event, to give us more time for the assault, and-

  No! she ordered. Today! If we can possibly be within Collegium’s walls today, then we must make all efforts. The artificers of Vek have so far proved themselves inferior to these Beetle peasants on every level. You know what you must do to change that.

  The artificer capitulated hurriedly. She had the sense of him hurrying off to order an increased barrage from the siege engines.

  This had gone on too long already. The greater Wasp city-state must have already done its job, because her scouts would have spotted Sarn’s approach by now, but she still felt that the scholars and merchants of Collegium were laughing at her behind their walls.

  Not for long, though. The King of Vek had given her free rein on how to punish the resistance of the city, after she had taken it, and that thought was her only consolation as she waited for the walls to fall.

  ‘Master Kymon!’ the man was shouting. ‘They’re coming!’

  He panted to a halt and Kymon just had to stare at him and wait for his wind to return. If this had been an Ant-kinden defence he would know already what it was the man had seen, not only in words but by the very image. His halfbreed Kessen watcher was dead, though, and he had to rely on word of mouth. This was unbearably frustrating.

  At last he snapped, ‘What did you see? Troops? Engines?’ Above them the Ant artillery was still pelting away at the wall. Each shot made the stones shift and shudder so that Kymon had pulled his cowering soldiers back from them in case they suddenly fell, even though Collegium’s architects had assured him that they were far from cracking.

  ‘Engines, Master Kymon, with soldiers behind. Ramming engines, I think.’

  Under cover of the bombardment, Kymon knew. The Vekken had already tried rams against all the gates on and off, and the metal-sheathed shutters had dented but never given in. They would be disappointed again.

  He was suspicious, though, for even the Vekken had some sense of strategy. ‘What about towers?’ he demanded.

  ‘Back with the men,’ his lookout reported. ‘The rams are in front.’

  ‘And these rams? Like the ones we’ve seen before?’

  ‘I’m not an artificer, but-’

  ‘Just tell me!’ Kymon barked. He would never have had to shout at Ant-kinden either, but sometimes, with these slow city people, it seemed the only way.

  ‘Not quite, Master Kymon. Bigger, with a different end to it.’

  Kymon cursed the man silently for not being able to just show him. Even so, his military instincts were telling him bad things.

  ‘Pull back from the wall!’ he shouted.

  ‘We’re already-’

  ‘Further, you cretins! Or I will personally flog every last one of you!’

  His men began to shamble away, talking amongst themselves and lagging. Kymon bared his teeth and fought down his temper.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  He rounded on the speaker and almost shouted down his throat before he saw it was Stenwold.

  ‘The Vekken are trying something new,’ he explained shortly. ‘How long before they reach the wall, boy?’

  The lookout spread his hands helplessly.

  ‘Well, how fast were they moving?’ Kymon asked him, thinking that-

  He picked himself off the hard flags of the street, head ringing, and saw all around him that his men, even Stenwold, were strewn about, similarly jolted off their feet.

  ‘Get up!’ he bellowed at them, hearing his own voice as strangely distant. They looked dazed, stunned. Stenwold’s eyes were wide.

  ‘They sent a petard against the wall!’ Kymon informed him, knowing that he was speaking too loud. Even as he said it, another explosion rocked them from a hundred yards south, and a third followed on its heels. The Vekken were using engine-mounted explosives driven di
rectly into the stones so as to crack the city open. He turned fearfully, looking for the wall.

  The Beetles of Collegium had done well, for it still stood, but it was obvious that it would not stand for very much longer. He watched how the latest explosion rippled the stones like canvas in a breeze.

  The Vekken artillery kept on launching, and he saw great chunks of stones still bound with mortar falling out to crash onto the streets right in front of his men.

  ‘On your feet, all of you!’ he screamed at them, and there was something in his voice at last that reached them. They were clustered together too close, they were shaken, terrified, even. As more stones fell from the wall he strode out before them, shield on one arm, drawn sword in his right hand.

  ‘Listen to me!’ he shouted at them. ‘The wall will fall and it was always going to. You, boy!’ He pointed at the ashen lookout. ‘Go to the other walls, get men with the right materials to repair a breach. Go now!’ As the lad ran off Kymon glared at the rest of them. ‘You, though, you’re staying here with me, and those Vekken bastards are going to be inside your city in minutes, you understand? They’re going to punch a breach in that wall with their engines and then come flooding through, soldiers in better armour than yours, with better training than yours, and you know what you’re going to do? You’re going to hold them at the wall. You’re bloody well going to stop them getting into your city. You understand me? Not my city. I’m a Kessen and I wouldn’t have a city like this to defend for all the wasting world, but your city, and the only people in this whole city who can keep it yours are you! You men and women standing before me now!’ He was conscious of a greater shattering behind him which was echoed in the stir of the soldiers before him — and that Stenwold Maker now had a repeating crossbow in his hands and had cranked back the string.

  ‘When they come through,’ he bellowed at them, ‘they will loose their crossbows first, to try and clear the way. I want shieldmen at the front, everyone with a decent-sized shield. Behind them, crossbowmen, Master Maker here will take his shot when he sees the best time, and you all shoot when you see him do it. There will be a lot of rubble. They will have to move forward over it. You will just have to stand still, so make that count for you.’