'Tomorrow evening at the latest,' Daklan confirmed. 'It would not surprise me if they will be marching east in three days' time.'

Oh, it was a difficult enough time to be a Rekef lieutenant. The Fly-kinden te Berro was finding his race's gift for survival becoming strained. Rekef captains tended to have their own followers, their own networks and operations to fall back on. Sergeants and agents were considered just tools, seldom important enough to make the death-lists of those on high. Lieutenants, on the other hand, seemed to have the worst of both worlds.

He had been working in the west-Empire these last few years, even in the borderlands during the preparation for the Lowlands invasion. He had straddled the line, with his diminutive stride, something between Outlander and Inlander. He had hoped to be useful enough to all, and not too vitally useful to any. That line had since become impossible to walk.

All these years he had been General Reiner's man. It had seemed the safest bet. It had got him his lieutenant's bars, some good appointments, neither too dangerous nor too dull. Then things had started going subtly awry. An intelligent man with an inquiring mind, he soon realized that the problem lay within the Rekef itself. The secret service was honing its knives, but its eyes were turned inwards. Two cells of agents that te Berro had worked with had been wiped out by men that should have been their allies. General Reiner was now fighting a war, and that war was not against Lowlanders or Commonwealers but against elements of the Rekef itself.

Then there had been Myna, that gloriously b.l.o.o.d.y excursion undertaken by Major Thalric, another of Reiner's men. Te Berro's name had been commended in the reports. He had been very proud at the time, but not so long after he had realized that his time was up. The clock of his career in the Rekef had struck, and he was a dead man unless he slid down the pendulum soon and made his goodbyes. He was suddenly a somebody somebody, and Reiner's enemies were using his name in pointed ways. He made his researches and his plans, and determined that General Reiner was not in the best position, just now, that there were other men with more promise that a Fly-kinden agent could cling to.

Even before he had been briefing Thalric in the Cloud-farer Cloud-farer, he had made his contacts, put out tentative feelers. He had got in touch with the agents of General Maxin, Reiner's chief compet.i.tor, and offered to defect.

Te Berro was an experienced agent, a useful man, and besides, he had a lot to say about Reiner's people and their operations. He had spent almost a tenday talking to his new friends, until his narrow throat was hoa.r.s.e with it, and they had written down every word. At the end, knowing that he had nothing left to give, he had cast himself on their mercy.

'Let me serve you,' he had begged Maxin's people. 'Make use of me, for anything.' But do not cast me away. Do not make of me just one more vanished name from the Rekef books. But do not cast me away. Do not make of me just one more vanished name from the Rekef books.

Whether it was this particular mission they had in mind, or whether his breadth of experience recommended him for it, he would never know. A day later they had packed him off to h.e.l.leron with his orders, and the implicit understanding that it was his success in this venture that would determine his ultimate longevity.

He had been at pains to show how professional he was. They had told him to recruit agents and he had done so, reviving old contacts with ease to pluck four capable mercenaries from the city's stews and bring them to this private room in a good Fly-kinden taverna. His only problem was in the nature of his instructions and, seeing their hard, professional faces regarding him, he felt that they might tear him apart, or merely laugh at him. They must not laugh, at this. It had been impressed on him that, no matter how bizarre the task seemed, it was in deadly earnest. A great deal hung on his small efforts here.

'These are your orders and I make no apologies for them. They come from the capital itself, from the very palace, so make what you will of them.' Te Berro shrugged, hands spread. 'In Collegium, kept in a certain private collection, there is this item. A box, no more than six inches to a side. Unopenable, or at least you are apparently advised not to open it. A box worked with intricate carvings, vine-patterns and abstract foliage. No better description is provided, but unmistakable, or so they a.s.sure me. Given the location and the expertise required this is judged no matter for the regular army. Moreover, by the time you arrive the city may be in some considerable distress, so that your skills may well be tested simply in gaining access. So the Empire calls on you, as freelancers.'

'Mercenaries,' said Gaved. 'Let's wear no flags we're not ent.i.tled to.' He was the only Wasp-kinden amongst them and his skill in hunting fugitives had won him an uneasy separation from the Empire, so long as he would always come when they called him. The sting-burn above one eyebrow puckered his expression into a suspicious squint.

'Whatever,' te Berro conceded. 'I have bartered for swift transport to take you to Collegium. The more enterprising gangs of h.e.l.leron have realized that the Iron Road is alive and well, so you can be in Collegium in under a tenday.'

'Takes the fun out of the job, but whatever.' The speaker, Kori, had a broad face that held a smile easily. He was Fly-kinden like te Berro, but a barrel-chested, wide-shouldered specimen. He was a treasure-hunter, a raider equally of ruins and of collections such as their current target. Like Gaved and the other two he had a reputation, and no qualms about taking imperial coin.

'Phin?' te Berro asked, and the Moth-kinden woman nodded sullenly. Her name was Eriphinea and she had been part of the Rekef operation in h.e.l.leron for some time, an outcast from her own people. What her crime had been she had never disclosed, but she was an a.s.sa.s.sin by training and more than happy to kill her own kin.

'And you?' te Berro asked of the final hunter. 'It's not quite your line, I realize, but I've read of your skills and achievements. You'd be an a.s.set.'

The man he addressed was Spider-kinden, middle-aged and lean, with a deeply lined face or that was what te Berro and the others now saw. His eyes narrowed, considering the proposition.

'Master Scylis?' te Berro pressed.

'It sounds diverting,' said Scylis or Scyla, as she truly was. The name was no more genuine than the face she wore for them, but in dealing with the Empire a masculine visage gave her more of an edge. 'I have some business of my own in that direction, Lieutenant, so while I am there, I may as well help recover your trinket for you.' Scyla appeared elaborately casual but, inside, her mind was working feverishly because the description of the artefact that te Berro had given her rang bells. She now recalled stories and histories she had read decades back when she was still in training: in training as a spy, in training as a face-shifting magician.

Te Berro looked them over. Stocky, blocky Kori in his hardwearing canvas garb, a grappling hook hanging from his belt as the symbol of his trade; Gaved, scarred and lantern-jawed, leanly muscled beneath his long coat; Phin the Moth in her plain robes, grey-skinned and white-eyed, dark hair bound back; and Scylis, an ageless Spider in nondescript traveller's clothes with a rapier at his side.

'For recovery of that box, nine hundred Imperials each, or else the equivalent in h.e.l.leron Centrals.' He saw appreciation of that sum register on all their faces save Scylis's. 'I wish you luck,' he concluded. 'If it's worth that much, I suspect you're going to need it.'

'Have you ever seen a sight so splendid?' The speaker was an officer in dark plate-mail, a helmet cupped under her arm, her greying hair stark against skin that gleamed like obsidian. From atop the gatehouse in Vek's wall it was indeed a remarkable sight. Soldiers in perfect order trooped past in their hundreds, shields gleaming on their backs. They marched proudly as if they could march all day, which they could. Some small detachments of cavalry rode up and down this great column on either side, hors.e.m.e.n in light armour who would scout and run messages beyond the reach of the Ants' mind-speech.

Thalric watched critically, his keen eyes seeing strengths, but weaknesses as well. The might of an Ant-kinden army was the steel of its infantry. Taken against their peers they were undoubtedly the best soldiers in the world. That infantry comprised seven out of every ten fighting men of their army, where a Wasp force would have had no more than three of ten as heavy fighters. He watched units of scouts in leather armour pa.s.s, and he could guess the use of a scout that could report, silently, as soon as he had spotted his target. He saw also a few squads of Fly-kinden, forty or so men and women in all, but they were the only non-locals in the force.

Now the wall shook slightly as the first of the automo-tives went through. A few were war-juggernauts, heavily armoured battle machines armed with firethrowers and other anti-infantry weapons, but most were siege automotives for a.s.saulting Collegium's walls. With a harsh metal clattering a pair of orthopters rattled overhead, followed by a handful more. Other than that the air above was clear, and that was what seemed so remarkable. When an imperial army was on the march the sky was alive with men, animals and machines.

Out in the bay the Vekken navy was starting to move as well, the vessels coursing lazily out past the wall. There were big supply barges, iron-plated armourclads packed with soldiers, together with a single metal-hulled flagship twice the length of the others and armed with vast trebuchets. The docks of Collegium were hardly protected by the city's own sea-wall, and so the Vekken hoped for a quick advance by landing their marines on the wharves.

'It's magnificent, Tactician,' Thalric confirmed. Beside him, Daklan nodded appreciatively and added, 'We're looking forward to seeing the army in action.'

The old woman gave them an unfriendly look. 'It has not been decided that you will accompany the army, though Vek thanks you for your a.s.sistance and your encouragement.' Her name was Akalia, and she made no secret of the fact that she looked down on Wasps and indeed anyone else not Ant-kinden and native-born to Vek.

'But, Tactician . . .' Daklan said hastily, 'we have our own superiors to satisfy. They will want to know when Collegium has met its deserved fate.'

'Do you doubt us?' Akalia asked. 'Only the armies of Sarn have kept us from crushing that pack of scholars long ago. We have your a.s.surance that your own armies will intervene to ensure Sarn cannot freely aid its allies, so that should be enough for you.'

Daklan exchanged glances with Thalric. A few paces away, Lieutenant Haroc was waiting with his tablet poised to record anything of importance that might be said here. In Thalric's opinion Akalia was right, and there was no need for him to witness firsthand the death of Collegium. Or perhaps it was just that he did not want to see the waste of such a place in the necessary cause of fulfilling the Emperor's ambition. Daklan was keen to be present for the culmination of his work here in Vek, though. He was keen for Thalric to see it too, no doubt as a help towards his own commendation.

'Tactician,' Daklan pressed again, 'imagine yourself in our place. I have no doubt that this mighty force can level the walls of Collegium within days, but if I were to present myself to my superior officers and tell them that I had not seen the fact with my own eyes, they would punish me for failing in my duty, and rightly so.'

Akalia considered this, or rather, Thalric realized, she discussed it with other Ant officers across the city. At last she nodded briefly. 'Very well, your delegation shall accompany us, and it will do your people good to see the Ants of Vek in action.'

Thalric left them then, realizing Daklan would stay to b.u.t.ter up the tactician a little more. It was remarkable how susceptible these people were to the most shallow flattery. He guessed it was because they were used only to absolute sincerity from their own kind. Thalric found himself so easily bored by them, which was an ironic thought. Perhaps he could only feel at ease around those as deceitful as himself.

He came down the stairs within the wall, emerging into its shadow. He was feeling depressed about what must now happen, and he wished that there was some other way, for Collegium was a hard-grown flower that would not flourish again once uprooted. If the Empire could have won its surrender then the world would have been richer.

But he could see how this was needed, for the hotbed of radical ideas in Collegium was just too dangerous to allow to go unchecked.

'Major.' A hoa.r.s.e whisper. He looked about and saw Lorica lurking against the wall. The halfbreed translator beckoned him over, and he went, cautiously.

'What is it?' he asked her.

'You've a reputation for being good to your subordinates, Major?'

'Only if they do as they're supposed to,' Thalric told her. 'Why? What do you want?'

Lorica smiled. 'I want to give you a warning, Major.'

Thalric felt a familiar feeling rise within him. What does this remind me of? What does this remind me of? His mind returned to Myna, with Rekef orders setting him at the throat of his own people. He felt faintly sick even at the thought. 'Warn me about what?' he asked her. His mind returned to Myna, with Rekef orders setting him at the throat of his own people. He felt faintly sick even at the thought. 'Warn me about what?' he asked her.

'Lieutenant Haroc, Major.'

'Haroc? What is there to say about Haroc?'

Almost theatrically, Lorica glanced about her and back up the stairs, making sure they were not observed. 'You should know, sir . . . it means nothing, I'm sure, but you should know: he has been with Major Daklan a very long time, and he's no scribe. His writing is poor, he has others transcribe it instead. He comes from a different branch of the service.'

'What branch is that?' Thalric asked.

'Your guess, Major, but I wouldn't trust him.' She was looking earnestly into his face. 'I'm no fool, Major, and I know that, when the Vekken campaign's done, there'll be no use for me here. Daklan will soon cast me off. He might even throw me to the soldiers here. They'd love to have a halfbreed woman to abuse. You can change that, Major.'

'Yes, I can,' he agreed. He looked at her, trying to see beyond the bloodline. She should not be unattractive, he supposed, but the mixture of her heritage was stamped on every feature, nothing quite as it should be. Still, it did not diminish her usefulness nor, he now supposed, her loyalty.

'I always have uses for good agents, Lorica,' he told her. 'Stay true to me and you'll be rewarded.'

Twenty.

Totho was well enough to walk about the next day, but the Wasps kept a close eye on him. He gathered that Drephos was busy with his Colonel-Auxillian duties, whatever they were. The halfbreed artificer seemed to have carved out a strange niche for himself within the imperial army. Totho could see in their faces that the Wasps looked down on him, and yet they deferred to him, and it was not just patronizing. They clearly feared him. Totho did not know yet whether that was fear of the man's own vengeance or what he could call down on them from the higher ranks.

Totho's only real contact had been with Drephos's female a.s.sistant. Her name was Kaszaat, and she came from the city of Szar, far to the north, near where the border of the Commonweal had stretched before the Twelve-Year War redrew all the maps in the Empire's favour. She was Bee-kinden, he discovered.

'Are you . . . Drephos's slave?' he asked her, in truth having a.s.sumed it.

She gave him a cold look. She was perhaps five years his senior and had not made up her mind about him, whether he was a man or a boy, or to be spoken freely to. 'I am not a slave,' she said sharply. 'I am an artificer.'

'I have not seen many women here . . . I didn't mean . . .' He had seen precisely two other women and, from the way they had been treated, realized they were being kept as slaves and for one purpose only. 'Does that mean you're . . . part of their army?'

'There is no other way,' she confirmed. 'Drephos is colonel of the Auxillians and I am a sergeant. So I can tell the common soldiers what to do.'

'Does that work?' he asked, wide-eyed.

She was about to snap at him again, but in the end she smiled a little, understanding his point. 'Sometimes, but they do not like it. I am a woman, after all. And inferior of race they claim. They would have the same problem with you, for you are mixed-blooded. But you, too, shall have rank, and so they must obey you, in the last.'

'I . . .' He hung his head. 'I cannot join up with Drephos. The Wasps are conquerors, tyrants . . . They're evil.'

'No such thing,' she said briskly. 'There is no good, no evil, only men who do this thing or that thing. And the Wasps, yes, they do terrible things, things more terrible than you will have ever witnessed. And they do this because they can. And yet anyone else who could, they would do these same things. And so the Wasps are not special, not evil. They are just the strongest. There will come a day when it is no longer so, and then terrible things shall be done back to them, perhaps by those they have conquered.'

'Like your people?' he asked, and her eyes narrowed, all of a sudden.

'Foolish words!' she told him, but her eyes warned: dangerous words dangerous words.

He occupied a sectioned-off area of a tent, with a straw mattress and a lamp. There were soldiers beyond, always watching him. Totho might just possibly have crept out, but then he would be right in the middle of a camp full of Wasps. If he tried to escape they would kill him.

Salma would have tried, of course, taking to the air the instant he was outside. He could have seen his way in the dark and outpaced any Wasp airborne sent after him. And of course, Salma was dead.

There was a hollow sinking in Totho's chest, each time he remembered that. He had let Salma die. It had been his own idea to come out here, that idea the Ants had so navely taken up. It was almost as though he had killed Salma with his own hands.

'I cannot ever join with the Empire,' he replied at last, not emphatically but hopelessly. 'I have lost too much to them.'

Her hand moved so fast he jerked back, expecting to be slapped, but instead she caught his left ear in a pincer grip and dragged his head down to face her. He twisted with pain and surprise, goggling at her foolishly.

'You know nothing,' Kaszaat hissed. 'So your people, who are not even truly your people, may fall to the Wasps. But they are no warriors. Most likely they will surrender, and be spared. My people fought fought the Wasps, year to year, for three years, through all our farms and forts and villages and to the gates of our city of Szar. We are loyal. We would die for our Queen. My father, my mother, uncles, aunts, all gave their lives. Flying into battle. Running into battle. Crossbow, pike and axe. Fight and then fight again. Over and over the Wasps stormed our walls. They must take Szar. It is the gateway to the Commonweal. They did many things. They stood up our fallen on stakes and spears. They poisoned our water. They butchered whole villages to make us surrender. Then they won. Our Queen was stolen away. She is made to be a slave-wife, a concubine to their Emperor. So we became them, and must take their orders and be their soldiers. They rule Szar now, and kill anyone who even speaks against them. They take our men for their armies, and spend our lives like water p.i.s.sed on dry sand. They cripple us with their taxes. They take everything we have, everything we make or grow. We work in their factories. We make their weapons and armour. We mend their machines. We fight and die for them in places like this Tark, which we did not even know exists, and so many of us, so many of us shall never see our families and the walls of our beloved city again.' She was staring into his eyes, from just inches away. He looked for tears but saw not one. the Wasps, year to year, for three years, through all our farms and forts and villages and to the gates of our city of Szar. We are loyal. We would die for our Queen. My father, my mother, uncles, aunts, all gave their lives. Flying into battle. Running into battle. Crossbow, pike and axe. Fight and then fight again. Over and over the Wasps stormed our walls. They must take Szar. It is the gateway to the Commonweal. They did many things. They stood up our fallen on stakes and spears. They poisoned our water. They butchered whole villages to make us surrender. Then they won. Our Queen was stolen away. She is made to be a slave-wife, a concubine to their Emperor. So we became them, and must take their orders and be their soldiers. They rule Szar now, and kill anyone who even speaks against them. They take our men for their armies, and spend our lives like water p.i.s.sed on dry sand. They cripple us with their taxes. They take everything we have, everything we make or grow. We work in their factories. We make their weapons and armour. We mend their machines. We fight and die for them in places like this Tark, which we did not even know exists, and so many of us, so many of us shall never see our families and the walls of our beloved city again.' She was staring into his eyes, from just inches away. He looked for tears but saw not one.

'And I work for Drephos, because it is better than not. Because of all the masters in the Empire he is best, because I am an artificer and he treats me as an artificer not as a woman, not as a slave. So do not tell me how you you hurt so very badly, and cannot work for the Wasps. Because you know hurt so very badly, and cannot work for the Wasps. Because you know nothing nothing, Totho of Collegium. You have no understanding.'

And she released him and spun away, about to leave his little part.i.tioned room then pausing at the door, as if thinking better of it. She did not turn round, though, and he wondered whether she had said more than she meant. He put a hand to his aching ear.

'You're right,' he admitted. 'I suppose I've . . . Well, in Collegium even a halfbreed can train as an artificer. I can't imagine . . . however did Drephos manage it?'

'He once escaped the Empire, he told me once,' she said, turning back to him. 'To where, I do not know, but when he had learned, he came back to them, because . . .'

'Because where else could he truly ply his trade?' Totho realized.

A Fly-kinden messenger put his head about the part.i.tion just then, muttering something to Kaszaat.

'He has sent for you,' she told Totho. 'There is something he wishes you to see.'

She followed the Fly outside, and Totho felt he had no option but to follow.

He had clearly lost all track of time, for he had expected early morning and yet it was dusk already, making him wonder how long he had slept, how many hours were missing.

He already felt a traitor to himself and to his friends. They were treating him here like some honoured guest, instead of Totho the halfbreed. He should have been put in chains, as Che had been.

Or killed, as Salma had been.

The Fly led them to a roughly built gantry that made a tottering tower twenty feet, at least, in height, but close to he saw the joints were solid, the structure thrown up hurriedly but with a kind of stubborn care. He guessed then that it had been Kaszaat's people who had been put to work here. It was not the hands of untrained soldiers that had constructed this.

'Up there.' Pointing, the Fly lifted a little from the ground for emphasis, and craning back Totho could see that there was someone robed and hooded standing at the gantry's narrow apex. Drephos, of course.

Kaszaat had already begun climbing and Totho fell in behind her, letting his Art free to fix his hands as he needed, so that he had no fear of falling. When he was most of the way up there came a flash from far off, but he did not look up or remark on it, concentrating instead on the climb itself until he had reached the top.

There was little room for three of them there and he was uncomfortably aware that he was likely the only one of them who could not fly. Drephos put a steadying hand on him, the metal gauntlet heavy on his shoulder. The other bare hand was already pointing.

'I brought you here to witness some artifice in motion, Totho,' Drephos explained. 'So watch and learn.'

Totho looked up and found the Colonel-Auxillian was pointing towards the city of Tark.

It was now under attack in seemingly the most sedate, detached way possible. High above the city the slow and stately airships swam like ponderous fish. Parts of the city were burning and, as he watched, something blossomed into fiery life above the rooftops, falling like a flaming teardrop until it impacted amongst Tark's streets. He had foreseen this event himself, but never realized how accurate he had been. Like spilling burning oil onto a map, he had said, and here was the map aflame in front of his eyes. Another missile bloomed into vision in the dim air between the zeppelins and the ground, lower this time, and he heard, like the surf of a winter sea, the roar of it striking.

He shivered, clinging there to the gantry-top, because it was a whole new war that was being waged. He felt as though he was watching the years blister and shred, the world reborn in fire into some unimaginable future age. The age of the artificer.

And it was terrible, but it was beautiful. Seeing those drops of flame at such a distance, with no screams, no sight of charred bodies, it was beautiful.

'The airships are a refinement, of course,' Drephos remarked, scholarly. 'The incendiaries are an entirely new plan. I intended to improve on the taking of Maynes, which dragged out over months even after the walls had fallen. Tark will not stand a tenday.'

'Your incendiaries . . .' Totho stammered. 'How . . . ?'

'You tell me, Totho. Let this be a test of your skill. What difficulties do I face?'

'They cannot be accurate from such a height,' Totho almost protested.

'Difficulty the first,' agreed Drephos. 'And a lesser artificer might have persuaded General Alder that accuracy was not necessary.' Another brilliant drop flared and fell. 'And yet it is, and they are are accurate. So how have I done it, Totho?' accurate. So how have I done it, Totho?'

'You could . . . a.s.suming a low wind, such as today . . . you could fix the propellers into the wind, hold the ship as steady as you can . . .' Even as he spoke Totho realized that something in him had responded to the bombing in a way he did not like, something that could consider wholesale destruction as no more than a problem set by a College master.

'Go on,' Drephos murmured and, despite himself, Totho did.

'Then you could attach a telescope I have seen men use telescopes on the best crossbows, tech-bows and magnetic to allow them to strike a target at the weapon's utmost range. Something similar . . . with calibrations perhaps, linked to an altimeter?'

'Oh very good.' The metal grasp on Totho's shoulder tightened in an almost paternal squeeze. 'And close enough to how I did it. The calibration required an enormous amount of calculation to get right, what with there being no real opportunity to test it, but my airship captains inform me that they work very well indeed. So, next problem?'

Totho glanced at Kaszaat. She was not looking at Tark, just staring at the rail she held on to. Another flash of fire caught his gaze, and he felt suddenly ill imagining those people he had seen, spoken to, trying to find shelter from such a barrage. The Ants built their houses in stone but still there seemed a great deal on fire down there.