Jodry summoned all his authority, jowls quivering, but then he subsided. ‘Well, perhaps you’re right at that. Eight, though? You’ve some names in mind?’
The War Master nodded. ‘Enough.’
There was a pause, then: ‘Look, if it’s worrying you, why don’t you stay home and I’ll go for once.’
That brought a faint smile to Stenwold. ‘No. Tynan and I . . . when we spoke at the end of the last war, we understood each other. If anyone can get through to him, it’s me.’
It’s just that . . .
Stenwold had been at war with the Wasps for almost two decades more than anyone else in Collegium, but these last years spent facing the Empire’s actual
assaults, its repeated attempts to devour the Lowlands entire, which could be repulsed but seemingly never ended . . . And here they were, full circle, as the blind determination of the Second
Army, the Gears, came grinding towards their gates yet again.
I just want it over with.
More and more, in those few moments of private time that life allowed him, he was thinking of the
sea – of Paladrya and the sea.
To escape from all this. To be free . . .
The votes been had passed without difficulty, motion after motion, so that Jodry had seemed less a statesman and more a ringmaster, trotting out each proposal to do its trick and then pass on.
Still, there had been a surprising number of abstentions, and Stenwold could see his own tiredness in those faces – not of people who objected or opposed, but those for whom simply getting
here had removed their last drachm of public spirit; who had been hammered by war and loss until they could not bring themselves to fight any further, not for any cause.
A hasty exchange of Fly messengers hammered out a location that resulted in one solitary soldier of the Light Airborne planting a flag out there amongst the earthworks, on a patch of cleared
ground that would be in plain sight to both sides.
Stenwold flew out by orthopter, so as not to give the Second any assistance in navigating Collegium’s end of the earthworks. Crouching in the belly of a cargo flier that nonetheless looked
fleet enough for a quick getaway, he fought off the tides of weariness that were already threatening to sap his concentration. Around him, his picked team were restless and tense – and armed,
of course. Wasps never went unarmed, so bringing snapbows and swords had been non-negotiable.
The last time he had left Collegium to parlay with General Tynan had been in markedly different circumstances, and he had then done his best to divest himself of the honour guard that had
attached itself to him. That time, as now, Elder Padstock had refused to be shaken off, and it was only fitting that she follow him into this particular piece of folly as well.
He had a second chief officer with him, which was probably not in the city’s interests, but Stenwold had wanted Eujen Leadswell of the Student Company along, because the man was
intelligent and was almost certainly going to end up a player in the Assembly soon enough. He should be here, if only to hear what was said.
And perhaps also because of his ongoing and dogged refusal to accept that Stenwold was
right
about everything. There used to be plenty of other people like that. It had been the
majority view in the Assembly for years. Now even Helmess Broiler kept his mouth shut, and everyone else just nodded, every time the War Master opened his mouth.
War Master
?
I almost
feel that the War Master is my real enemy: the man who stands between me and what I want. And is that how Leadswell sees things?
Stenwold knew he was unlikely ever to win Eujen over, but
something in him kept trying, and until then it was good to have someone who would protest, if the War Master went too far.
Choices beyond that had proved harder. He had Laszlo – a strong and resourceful flier, if getting swift word back to Collegium became vital. Not Jodry. Not Kymene, for the same reasons.
Not Balkus, either, because the man had not so much as spoken to Stenwold since their last argument. The remaining three places were two soldiers of the Maker’s Own, and the Coldstone officer
known as the Antspider, included at Leadswell’s request. Eujen had wanted to bring along that gangling Woodlouse friend of his, but the man lacked half a hand and, although by all accounts
this had only spurred on his artificing, he could not shoot straight. Stenwold, conversely, had wanted to bring Eujen’s Wasp friend Averic, as an object lesson, but the man had been so
manifestly unwilling that he had relented.
‘They’re coming by automotive,’ the pilot announced, and Stenwold hung halfway out of the hatch to look. True enough, the Imperial delegation was taking this opportunity to
test out the ground, as their eight-legged machine slowly navigated the uneven terrain. General Tynan was clearly going to wring every drop of advantage out of this meeting.
And on that subject . . .
Holding on with one hand, Stenwold thrust the other towards Padstock, who snapped out a telescope and passed it to him. As steadily as he could, Stenwold
trained it on the approaching machine, which was obligingly open-topped.
He counted eight passengers plus a driver: six Wasps and two Spiders. He could still his view enough to see the bald crown of General Tynan himself, which he recognized well enough. He knew the
woman beside the general, too: Mycella of the Aldanrael – whom he had last seen on the deck of her flagship, watching her fleet start to sink.
Troubles are like feckless children
, went the saying.
Send them into the world, they’ll be back at your door soon enough – and they’ll bring friends.
The Collegiates had settled down by the time the Imperial automotive finally found its way, with their orthopter close enough to take cover inside it, and angled so as not to block any line of
sight from the city walls. Its wings were folded vertically upwards, and it would need only the throw of a single lever to engage the gear train, and have the machine thundering upwards.
But, despite all that and despite planning against one, Stenwold did not expect a trap. He remembered General Tynan, and had a good idea of the Empire’s position, and he knew that killing
the Collegiate War Master would not take Collegium, any more than killing Tynan would change the Second Army’s orders. And he’d thought of it, of course, because this was war, after
all, but it seemed plain to him that having a living Tynan he could talk to was better than a dead Tynan, and some newly vengeful colonel sitting across the table. That was the problem with the
Imperial chain of command. You couldn’t kill it with a beheading.
The enemy formed up opposite him, their positioning and deployment as careful as any strategist’s. The general took the centre, and there was a colonel to his right – intelligence
officer probably – and a captain, with some red badge Stenwold didn’t recognize on his left. Mycella demurely took the general’s far left flank, backed by a solidly built man in
immaculately shining mail, and there were three heavy infantry on the right – not the sort of men to cut and run, but to hold the enemy while more important lives than theirs were saved.
Tynan mopped his brow briefly – the sun was past its zenith but there was no cover out there, and Stenwold was hoping that the general was thinking about
that
discomfort as well.
‘General.’
‘War Master. I’m glad it’s you speaking for your city. I wasn’t sure who I’d get.’ Tynan was sizing him up, even as he himself was sized up in turn.
‘You’ve not brought your Spider girl?’
For a moment Stenwold thought that was deliberate, like a bully’s kick, but there was no suggestion of such in Tynan’s face. ‘She’s dead,’ he answered bluntly.
‘I’m sorry.’ And the Wasp was, just in that moment, but in the next it was all wiped away. ‘Business, then.’
‘You asked to talk. So talk,’ Stenwold invited.
‘My orders are to take your city, War Master,’ Tynan told him. ‘No surprise for you, I’m sure, but non-negotiable. However . . .’ He took a deep breath.
‘Nobody in the Empire would ever have thought that Collegium could fight as it has done, Maker. After all, look how we took Tark, look how Helleron practically begged us to take the city
over. The Exalsee is in awe of us, and we’ve whipped the Mynans and their friends back into the fold. And Sarn will fall, and we both know it. And we expect a tough fight, when it’s
with Ants – after all, we’ve been winning wars against Ants for generations. But you people . . . There are a lot of gambling officers in Capitas who’ve lost their fortunes on
Collegium. Who could have thought that Beetle-kinden had it in them to fight so!’ He shook his head wonderingly. ‘My people respect that, War Master. We respect a valiant adversary,
even if their cause is hopeless in the long run. Collegium will fly the Black and Gold sooner or later.’
Stenwold was about to make some bravado comment then, some ‘Then let it be later,’ or, ‘Not while I live’, but Tynan forestalled him.
‘I will offer terms for Collegium’s surrender, War Master, and they are terms that will see me brought before the throne to explain myself, but I am a general, and my word will
hold.’ At this mention of the throne, the captain with the red badge twitched, staring pointedly at Tynan, who ignored him. Stenwold read that exchange easily enough:
Rekef or something
like it, whatever that badge means.
‘Maker,’ Tynan went on, ‘let Collegium lay down its arms with no further bloodshed and I will grant an amnesty to all its citizens, its fighting men, its pilots – all
those who have opposed us. I will give orders that my soldiers must not harm its populace – no nights of rape and plunder – and believe me I will have to promise them gold from my own
coffers, for they will want their reward, after what you’ve put them through, every step and every mile. When the new governor arrives, he will rule with the advice of your Assembly, just as
our man in Helleron does with the Council there. Your merchants will have their chance to join the Consortium and profit thereby. Collegium shall become the new jewel of the Empire, valued and made
to shine.’
From the expressions of Tynan’s Wasp subordinates – however they fought to hide them – Stenwold could see that these terms were beyond reason as far as they were concerned,
which convinced him of the general’s intentions. There was something unsaid, though, and he could divine well enough what it was.
‘And Collegium’s leaders?’ he asked.
‘Taken to Capitas in chains,’ Tynan confirmed. ‘But who knows who your city’s leaders are, War Master? You govern in such an upside-down way that it could be anyone.
Except that one name is of course known even in the Imperial court.’
Stenwold nodded.
No need to ask whose.
‘I expected that.’
‘You’ll put this to your Assembly?’
‘No need.’ Stenwold managed a tight smile. ‘We covered this possibility when we met earlier today. Even on the generous terms you propose, General, we will not yield our
freedom to the Empire.’
Tynan had not expected his request to have been rejected even before it was made, and into that gap Stenwold pressed determinedly on.
‘Instead I have an offer for you, General Tynan, and I will ground it in facts, show my reasoning just as you did. You say you are surprised at our success in resisting the Empire? We are,
after all, a city of thinkers and builders, not warriors such as yourself. You say you respect our new-found martial prowess? Well, then, know this: we do not respect you as an enemy.’ He
watched a ripple of anger pass through the Wasps gathered there, though Tynan himself remained unmoved. ‘We do not respect our enemies; we despair of them. Your struggle, your fierce will to
prevail in spite of all, we do not admire this. We see only a terrible, senseless waste of life – both ours and yours. We see murdered potential, young men and women who might have become
anything becoming only corpses through one woman’s dreams of conquering a city she has not even
seen
. Because we will not be owned or dictated to. Because we will not be slaves and
bare our backs to the lash. And all because your Empress cannot bear there to be some empty name on a map somewhere that is not
hers
. She must be insane.’
That
certainly struck fire in the Wasp faces there, the red-badge man especially, and still Tynan remained calm.
‘All emperors and empresses must be insane,’ Stenwold explained to them. ‘Anyone who looks out towards the horizons and says, ‘All this must be mine – and more,
until there is no more.’ What sort of overweening arrogance is it, to have thousands and tens of thousands of her own people march and die, to destroy the cities and cultures and ways of life
of dozens of other kinden, to trample and to pillage, sack and rape, butcher and enslave all within reach, just to indulge some inner weakness that fears whatever it cannot control? Look at what
has brought us to this!’ These words were not the ones that Stenwold had planned. He was off his script, now, and travelling through the wilds of his own mind. ‘Look at what your own
people have endured and inflicted, Tynan! From the deaths at Helleron, when they tried to take the
Pride
, the losses at Tark, the Fourth Army obliterated by the Felyen, all the dead at the
Battle of the Rails, Malkan’s Seventh smashed by the Sarnesh – and now you’re back, and the Eighth is probably locked in a death struggle with Sarn even now, and we have destroyed
your Air Corps and bludgeoned you and bombed you and strewn your path with thorns all the way from the Felyal to here. And here we are. Chief Officer Leadswell, forward, please.’
Eujen started in surprise, then took a small step forward.
‘This man has suggested that we might have made some lasting peace with the Empire, after the last war – that we might have found enough common ground to prevent this new conflict
coming to pass. I admit I was too busy preparing for this day to even consider it, but he’s right. A lasting and honest peace between our people could accomplish great things, and the world
would be so much the richer. Leadswell has overlooked one thing, however. He believes that your people are men as deserving as any to enjoy life and happiness, but he forgets that your own leaders
do not share that belief. If they did, none of this could come about. To your Empress and her court, you and all your soldiers are nothing more than a sword to strike out at the world with, and
keep striking until either the world or the sword breaks. Until your Empire is ruled with some acceptance that human life has a
value
– irrespective of whether that life is Imperial
or Collegiate or your poor bloody Auxillians – then all this man’s good intentions will go to naught, and we will continue to resist you. We cannot be slaves, and under Imperial rule,
everyone is a slave, bar one.’