'Of course not,' Daklan said quickly. 'We are merely . . . unused to such a great display of artillery. Our wars work in different ways.' She saw Thalric's face twitch at that sentiment, but she could not read his reaction.

'You are dismissed,' she told them suddenly. It was late, anyway, and she would need a rested night, to command on the morrow. She must consider what to do with these Wasp-kinden, too. Perhaps it might be best if they became casualties of war. She watched them walk away, a tension between them, men who would be arguing as soon as they were out of her sight. Another divided and chaotic kinden, then. When the time came they would be no match for the perfect order of Vek.

Akalia went straight to her tent and had a slave unbuckle her armour. Then she fell asleep in antic.i.p.ation of the morning's work.

She was awakened instantly by the first crash and sat bolt-upright, feeling the ground shake beneath her. Her entire camp was awake, but for a terrifying moment n.o.body knew what was going on.

Sentries report! Her mind snapped out, but there was no answer amongst the babble of replies. Her sentries knew of no attack, and yet the camps were under attack. Men were dying, snuffed out instantly, but very few of them. Instead she was hearing a waxing tide of alarm from her engineers, from her artificers. Her mind snapped out, but there was no answer amongst the babble of replies. Her sentries knew of no attack, and yet the camps were under attack. Men were dying, snuffed out instantly, but very few of them. Instead she was hearing a waxing tide of alarm from her engineers, from her artificers.

What is going on? she demanded of them, sensing them rush about in the darkness, that clouded, moonless pitch-darkness. Fires were being lit, men were rushing into formations with still no idea of what was going on. One unit of a hundred men was abruptly half its number down, a great rock having found them in the night, crushing the heart from their battle order. she demanded of them, sensing them rush about in the darkness, that clouded, moonless pitch-darkness. Fires were being lit, men were rushing into formations with still no idea of what was going on. One unit of a hundred men was abruptly half its number down, a great rock having found them in the night, crushing the heart from their battle order.

Report! she demanded once more. she demanded once more. I will have executions for this. It is intolerable. I will have executions for this. It is intolerable.

Then the word came rushing through the army like wildfire. Their artillery was being destroyed.

How? she demanded. she demanded. How are they attacking us? How are they attacking us? It must be men, some stealthy team sent out, but even as she thought that, the ground shook once again. It must be men, some stealthy team sent out, but even as she thought that, the ground shook once again.

And the impossible answer came back, They are shooting from the walls They are shooting from the walls.

For a moment she could not think. She had no answers, and none of her officers had any answers, and so the entire army was paralysed by indecision. The ground shook again, and once more, and the artificers' minds pa.s.sed on to her the sound of smashed wood and crushed metal.

At last the only remaining course came to her. Move the artillery back. Disa.s.semble it if it cannot be moved! Move the artillery back. Disa.s.semble it if it cannot be moved!

On the walls of Collegium the artillery had either been winched back up or uncovered, and now the artificers of the most learned city in the Lowlands practised their art. All day they had taken their measurements and worked out their angles. Men used to the cla.s.sroom and the lectern had crouched behind battlements and scribbled their calculations. Some of them had died, crushed by shot, raked by stone splinters. Now the fruits of those labours were borne on the air by the engines of Collegium. The night was almost moonless, and small specks of fire were all that was revealed to them of the Vekken encampment, but the engineers and artificers of Collegium held lamps by their sheets of calculations and adjusted their angle and elevation by minute degrees.

And the catapults and ballistae, leadshotters and trebuchets of the Collegium walls spoke together, flinging hundredweights of stone and metal at the invaders.

Some of them missed, of course, either by chance or bad calculation, but all around the city the Vekken army was awoken by the sound of its own siege emplacements being destroyed: trebuchets splintering under blindly targeted rocks, and leadshotters ripped apart by explosive-headed ballista bolts. The thinking men and mathematicians of Collegium, carefully and without pa.s.sion, set about undoing any gains that the Vekken army had made during the previous day.

When dawn came, it was clear that more than three-quarters of the artillery the Vekken had so carefully placed the previous day had been smashed beyond hope of repair, and although the invading army had more to bring forward, it seemed any chance of simply knocking down Collegium's walls had been dealt a fatal blow.

Twenty-Seven.

In his dream Achaeos was deep within the Darakyon: not on the outskirts, where he had taken Che to show her the darkness of the old world, but in the heart of it, where he had been just that once before. He was there, in the crawling, twisted heart of the shadow-forest, whose inhabitants he had impudently demanded aid from whose inhabitants had arisen to his call, but not at his command. The cold of their touch as they had then rifled through his mind was still burned on his memory like a brand. And in return for showing him the way to where Cheerwell was imprisoned, they had exacted a price.

He owed owed them, and such debts were always honoured, and seldom repaid happily. them, and such debts were always honoured, and seldom repaid happily.

In his dream, Achaeos stood surrounded by the knotted and gnarled trunks of the Darakyon's tortured trees, and he had seen, with the night-piercing eyes of his kinden, the things that dwelt under their shadow. Never had he more wanted to experience the blindness, the darkness, that other kinden complained of. These denizens had been Mantis-kinden once, he knew. Something of that remained, but it was overwritten in a heavy hand by crawling thorns, by pieces of darkly gleaming carapace, by the spines of killing arms, by rough bark and tangling vines and glittering compound eyes.

They were legion, the things of the Darakyon, and they stared at him mutely. Their whisper-voice pieced together from all the cold, dry sounds of the forest was silent. There was a message, though, in their wordless scrutiny of him. He sensed reproach. He had disappointed them.

In his dream he cried out to them, demanding to know what it was he had done, or had not done, and still they stared, and their meaning decayed from mere dissatisfaction to despair. No words yet, but he heard them clearly still, from the very way they stood: Why have you forsaken us? Why have you failed us? Why have you forsaken us? Why have you failed us?

'What must I do?' he demanded of them. 'Tell me what has gone wrong.'

Overhead, in the gaps between the twining branches, the sky flashed with lightning, back and forth: the night riven over and over with golden fire, yet never a rumble of thunder to be heard.

They pointed, each and every one of them, fingers and claws and crooked twigs dragging his attention towards one tree, that seemed the same as all the rest, and he strained his eyes to see their meaning.

Something bloomed on the shrivelled bark of that trunk, and at first he thought it was a flower, a dark flower that shone wetly as the lightning danced. Then it quivered and ran, thick and flowing, down the tree's length, and he saw that it was blood. Of all the horrors of the Darakyon he recalled, this was new this was unique to his dreaming.

Achaeos opened his mouth to question, but he saw now that all all the trees, every tree in the forest's dark heart, and then all the trees beyond, were bleeding, the stuff welling up from invisible wounds and coating the trunks, pooling and oozing on the forest floor. Overhead the bright lightning lashed back and forth, gold on black, gold on black. the trees, every tree in the forest's dark heart, and then all the trees beyond, were bleeding, the stuff welling up from invisible wounds and coating the trunks, pooling and oozing on the forest floor. Overhead the bright lightning lashed back and forth, gold on black, gold on black.

He stepped back as that encroaching red tide reached him, but it was rolling forth on all sides, and the things of the Darakyon were melting into it, still regarding him with an air of betrayal.

'What?' he called out to them, and it seemed that his Art-made wings opened without him willing them, so that he was lifted high into the stormy sky, seeing the Lowlands spread beneath him: the Lowlands and then the Empire and the Commonweal and beyond. The stain spread out from the Darakyon, the tide of blood heedless of boundaries and city walls: h.e.l.leron and Tharn were gone, Asta and Myna. Now, across the map that was so impossibly presented to him, fresh wounds appeared in the face of the world Capitas, Collegium, Shon Fhor, Seldis cities drowned in blood that arose in fountainheads from the depths of the earth, and in those wounds there were crawling things like maggots, long twining many-legged things that should never have been allowed back into the light.

The next morning Achaeos looked more pale and drawn than Che had ever seen him.

'Still not sleeping?' she asked.

He shook his head. 'Sleeping, but dreaming.' He sat down heavily beside her. 'The Darakyon. Something troubles it. It . . . wants something of me, but I cannot make it out. The voices are confused.'

Che regarded him, worried. 'And if you could, would you do so?'

He stared dully about the taverna's common room, which was now mostly empty. 'I must, for I owe a debt and the things of the Darakyon are creditors I cannot ignore. But I cannot hear them clearly, and so I cannot act.'

Scuto and Sperra were already breakfasting. Neither of them looked much better than Achaeos did. I should feel as bad I should feel as bad, Che knew. It had not sunk in, though, what might be happening to her own home. She wondered if the Vekken had reached the walls. That seemed very likely.

Be safe, Uncle Sten, she willed silently, for he would always forget that he was no soldier. She had visions of him striding along the walls of Collegium and waving a defiant blade at the Ant horde.

There had been Sarnesh soldiers a.s.sembling for two days now, forming up their expedition, their automotives, their artillery and supply train. They would go by rail about half of the way, but closer to the siege the Vekken were likely to have undermined the tracks, and the army would proceed on foot. n.o.body could march like the Ant-kinden, though. They were tireless on campaign and they would send the Vekken back home stinging.

An officer came into the taverna that very moment and marched over to them, his chainmail clinking. He looked about the table and said, 'Which one of you is named Sperra?' An unnecessary question, because it was a Fly-kinden name, and she was the only Fly there.

She raised her hand timidly, and the Ant looked at the rest of them. 'You must come with me. Your a.s.sociates also. If any of these here claim not to be your a.s.sociates, then they will be taken into custody pending investigation.'

'Now wait a minute,' Scuto started, rising.

'We are all her a.s.sociates,' Che said. 'What is going on, officer?'

The Ant had been staring at Scuto, more in horrified curiosity than anything else. 'You are summoned to the Royal Court immediately. You must come with me.'

'Why?' Scuto demanded.

'You do not question the commands of the Queen,' the Ant snapped. 'I don't know what kinden you are, creature, but I will have your spikes filed blunt if you speak out of turn again.'

Scuto bared his snaggled yellow teeth at him, but said nothing. The officer stepped back, and one by one they filed past him. There was a squad of a dozen soldiers waiting just outside to escort them.

'What on earth is going on?' Che demanded in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

'Nothing good,' Achaeos said, before the officer again shouted for silence.

The Queen herself met them without any of her tacticians or staff. The belligerent officer had virtually pushed Scuto and the rest into her presence: just a single Ant-kinden woman standing at the end of a long table. Until Sperra whispered it, they took her for just another Ant in armour.

There was only one other there, a Fly-kinden man of middle years, wearing on his arm the badge of his guild, a figure-of-eight endlessly looping within a circle, which signified: Anywhere within the world. Anywhere within the world.

The Queen of Sarn regarded them coolly, her gaze dwelling long enough on Scuto that he began to shuffle.

Eventually he spoke up: 'Listen, Your Highness-'

'Your Majesty,' Sperra hissed.

'Your Majesty,' he corrected himself. 'What it is, I'm a Thorn Bug. No, you don't normally get my kinden around these parts. Yes, there are others. No, it doesn't hurt. Is that about it, Your Majesty, with all respect?'

The others held their breaths, but what would have seen Scuto dead by now if spoken to a Spider lady or Wasp officer pa.s.sed without reproach here, for the Ant-kinden knew little of standing on ceremony.

'Save the matter of how you fell in with a Beetle named Stenwold Maker,' she said.

Scuto shrugged. 'He got me set up in h.e.l.leron when there was no one else to turn to. He picked me out as being good for something, Your Majesty, and since then we've done a lot for each other. Is there news of him, if I might ask?'

'Some of the last reports to come in from Collegium give his name as one of their . . .' there followed a pause, in which some unseen aide was obviously briefing her, '. . . War Masters, we believe the term is.'

'Do you know if the fighting has started yet, Your Majesty?' Che burst out.

'It seems certain. You four are his agents, then, in my city. You are the delegation sent to win us over to join your fight against the Wasps?'

'We are, Your Majesty,' Che confirmed.

'Then consider us won, but in no way that you will appreciate,' the Queen declared with heavy irony. 'You have heard that the Empire is already in possession of h.e.l.leron. We believe they are coming here next.'

'Here, Your Majesty?' Scuto goggled. 'To Sarn?'

'At the moment,' she said, 'there is a running conflict between my artificers and those of the Empire. Mine are destroying the tracks of the Iron Road while theirs are replacing them. There will inevitably be a battle. Our agents inform us the Empire's armies are mustering for a march on my city even now.'

They stared at her. The whole room seemed unutterably still.

'You must understand what this means,' she continued.

But they did not. They could not understand. Too much was happening too fast.

'I cannot therefore send my soldiers to Collegium,' she said, almost gently. 'I must defend my own city, my own people.'

Che gasped. 'But Collegium cannot stand against the Vekken. Our citizens aren't proper warriors. Your Majesty, please-'

'It pains me to make this decision,' the Queen interrupted, in a voice that brooked no argument. 'Collegium has been our ally, and it is an alliance we have profited by. If I could be sure that I could hold the Wasps with half my soldiers, I would send the other half to your city without delay. I would maintain that my forces are the best equipped and best trained in all the Lowlands, but now the Lowlands have changed. It is not just that Vek is at the gates of Collegium, or that h.e.l.leron is in the hands of the Empire. News comes from Tark, at last, and all word states that the city has fallen. An Ant-kinden city. A city-state like mine. I cannot afford to wait for the Empire to come right up to my walls, lest my city suffer the same fate as Tark. My soldiers are trained for open battle, battle on the field. We shall meet them in the open, and then see if we are still the soldiers to put the world in awe.'

'But what about Collegium?' Che cried. 'What about Stenwold?'

'Do you know what a Lorn detachment is?' the Queen asked them. Surprisingly, it was Sperra who had the answer.

'It's a suicide detail, Your Majesty.'

The Queen's lips twitched. 'That is not exactly how my people would describe it but a desperate a.s.signment, certainly. I will send a Lorn detachment to Collegium. Solidarity should demand more, but no more can I afford to give. Three battle automotives with crew, though I can ill spare them.' She turned to the Fly messenger. 'Master Frezzo?'

He stood forward. 'Your Majesty?' He looked pale, and when he risked a glance at Che she saw her own distress mirrored in his face.

'It was you brought me the news of the Vekken army from Collegium,' the Queen told him. 'Now you must take this reply back, though one that I am loath to make. The Vekken will almost certainly be at the walls by the time you arrive.'

'It will present no difficulty, Your Majesty,' Frezzo said firmly. Che knew that he had the honour of his guild to uphold.

'Then go,' the Queen ordered him, and he saluted her and ran from the room. The ruler of Sarn turned back to Che and her companions. 'You may stay here or you may leave,' she told them. 'Save that there is no safe pa.s.sage guaranteed to Collegium any more.'

'Someone should go with the Lorn automotives,' Scuto said.

'It is your choice.'

'Then it should be me,' Che decided. 'Stenwold is my uncle.'

'You and Achaeos need to continue your work here,' Scuto advised her. 'It's looking more important all the time. Stenwold's going to need me me, though. A War Master indeed? You know how he is, always forgetting himself and playing soldier.'

'Scuto, no-' started Sperra.

'Yes,' he said. 'Your Majesty, I'll go. I'm an artificer and I never knew an automotive that couldn't use another decent pair of hands.'

'Scuto!' Che reached for his arm but stopped just short of the spines.

'Che, listen to me,' Scuto insisted. 'Stenwold is going to need to know what's going on here, and I don't just mean what that messenger can tell him. What's going on with your work stuff I wouldn't trust to paper. I'm our best bet. I'll be a good hand on the automotives, and I'm tough as a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Remember the Pride Pride, when it went up? Think you'd be standing here if my hide weren't between you and that mess? And yet here I am, healthy as anything.'

'You had better b.l.o.o.d.y be right about that,' Sperra hissed. 'n.o.body as ugly as you was meant to be a hero.'

Salma opened his eyes to sunlight, and for a brief moment he thought it was her her.

Then he recalled. The Broken Sword. Himself being smuggled out of the Wasp camp. He was about to sit up hurriedly, but remembered his wounds and eased himself up with care. The injuries tugged less than before, and he felt stronger. Looking around he saw Nero sitting close.

The Fly nodded to him. 'You're looking better than you have for a while.'

'Where are we now?' Propping himself up with one arm was about all he could manage, however improved he might look. Salma looked around, seeing a scrubby hollow and a dozen or so other people. There were a few feeble fires going, and an earth mound that smelled like bread, and that he realized must therefore be a scratch-built oven. 'What's going on, Nero? Who are these people?'

'They're on the run, like us,' Nero said. He pointed out a mismatched trio in Ant-style tunics: a Spider, a Fly and a Kessen Ant. 'They're slaves who got out from the city before it surrendered-'

'Tark surrendered?'

Nero grimaced. 'I suppose you never heard. You never saw, either. The Wasps . . . they just took the city apart from the air, like your friend said they would do, until the Ants knew there was nothing for it but to give up, or to see Tark rubbed from the map. That's how they deal with Ant-kinden, apparently. Anyway, those three were lucky enough to make a run for it, and now they've got nothing just like the rest of us. As for them-' He indicated the woman tending the oven, who had three small children holding close to her skirt. 'They used to farm at a waterhole on the Dryclaw edge. Now Tark's gone, though, the Scorpions are raiding unchecked, and there are dozens of little farmsteads, and whole villages, that are getting attacked and left burnt out. She thinks her husband might be alive, but he's a slave of the Scorpions if he is, and being dead might be better.'

There were half a dozen young Fly-kinden sitting close together at the lip of the hollow, staring suspiciously at all the others. 'They were slaves of the Wasps,' Scuto identified them. 'I get the impression they were a gang of some kind, probably from Seldis. They sell off their criminals down Seldis way. Anyway, they're completely lost. They know the Wasps are going to take Merro and Egel, and they don't want to go back to the Spiderlands in a hurry, and so they're pretending they're not part of our troupe here, but they're sticking around all the same. And the gentleman and ladies behind you . . .'

Salma made the laborious effort of turning himself over to look. There was a covered cart there, he now saw, and a bearded man seated on the footboard was carving something in wood. A girl of around twelve was stretched out across the back of their draft-animal, which was a big, low-bodied beetle with fierce-looking jaws. Another girl of nearly Salma's age was nearby, picking over the halfhearted bushes for berries. They were all white-haired and tan-skinned, and they wore loose clothes of earth-tones and greens. The older girl sensed Salma's attention and glanced his way. She had a heart-shaped face and bright eyes, and she smiled timidly at him.

'Roach-kinden,' Salma identified them. 'I didn't think you had them in the Lowlands, but they roam all over the Commonweal.'

'And the Empire too, although the Wasps really hate them,' Nero agreed. 'Oh they're not seen much, but I hear they come south past Dorax from the Commonweal into Etheryon, and even down the h.e.l.leronTark road and west towards Felyal. The Mantis-kinden seem to tolerate them, or so I understand. These poor fools were found by the Wasp army as they were travelling, and a pack of scouts decided to do a little free-range looting. They don't know what happened to the rest of their family.'