Army: no more than a testing of the waters. Now the Imperial general had determined a suitable response to what was no doubt a slightly novel variation on some textbook tactical problem.
‘In fact,’ even Gerethwy’s careful voice had a quaver in it now, ‘I’d say that in three… two… ah, yes.’ And abruptly the milling crowd of Light Airborne redoubled in size, soldiers kicking themselves into the sky with their Art in a great unordered mass, whilst below them the ground forces began their advance, the loose screen of skirmishers rushing ahead of the slower blocks of Imperial infantry and shielding them from the snapbow shot that was sleeting down on them.
‘Pick your marks. Fire at will,’ Straessa ordered, because the oncoming Spiders and their allies were so spread that volley fire would be like punching at mist. The Empire had given up a fair extent of ground when its soldiers fell back, but the skirmish line was coming on fast, rushing to close with the Collegiates and silence their snapbows as swiftly as possible. Around Straessa, the pikemen stirred and braced themselves, watching that oncoming tide.
‘Rear ranks, shoot at the Airborne.’ And any moment there’ll be an order, and everything will change. Advance, probably, given the record so far. The Spider-kinden were nearer now and, to the right, a closer-knit band of copper-skinned Ants were loosing their own short-barrelled weapons as they approached, more to spoil their enemies’ aim than a serious attempt at killing. Any moment now.
She heard the whistles one after each other. Retreat! Stand and fire!
‘Oh, bollocks,’ she said softly, looking about her to see how the other maniples had taken it. As she might have expected, some were already pulling back, either into clear space or pressing against the troops behind them, Others were standing firm, often with both neighbours abruptly stripped from them, and Straessa saw her own leftmost neighbour stand, the wide eyes of its sub-officer show white as the man looked wildly around him. To her right the block was already pulling back.
‘Sub, getting real close,’ Gerethwy said. Around her, her soldiers were shooting and reloading, shooting and reloading, smooth as a drill because they trusted her ability to make decisions.
And if she stood and fought, she would be supporting her fellows. The pride of Collegium did not enter into it. There were other maniples now depending on her, as they had been relying on their fellows who were already falling back.
And if she retreated, then some of her people might live.
Piss on you, Marteus. Why aren’t you here to make the call?
She put her whistle to her lips and blew the signal: Retreat! Retreat! She could only hope her neighbours took the hint.
Moving backwards in square formation was not something that could be done at speed, but they were setting new records right then, their order fraying slightly with every step. She saw, to her lasting horror, that the maniple that had been on her left was not pulling back along with them, but standing firm, shooting and reloading.
Her people were saving their shot for the Airborne already coursing overhead, and the leading edge of the skirmishers would reach them soon anyway. All around her the Collegiate army was losing its cohesion. She saw the first few soldiers simply start to run, drawing the Airborne after them.
‘Hold firm and keep together!’ she yelled, but she was still watching that other maniple, its commander either too stupid or too much of a hero to pull back. She saw the skirmishers break over it for a moment like foam on the sea, and then it was overwhelmed, surrounded, the soldiers fighting with shortsword and pike and the weapons of their Art, and fewer and fewer, the opposing numbers and skill at arms eating into their formation and gutting it.
‘Steady!’ Gerethwy almost snapped. He had the Foundry snapbow levelled again at the onrushing skirmishers, awkwardly feeding the tape himself whilst another soldier steadied the barrel, even as they fell back with increasingly swift and ragged steps. And: ‘Now.’
The mechanized weapon hammered out its ugly tune, and this time he just let the mouth swing wildly, ripping across the swiftly approaching skirmishers, cutting down a dozen nimble Spider-kinden, before raking into the band of Ants beyond them. Straessa looked about her, noticing that they were amongst more Collegiates now — the rear maniples that had been held in reserve, unsure of what was happening but now hastily readying themselves for battle.
‘Hold now!’ she ordered her soldiers. ‘Hold and-’ and then the skirmishers were just a dozen feet from them and something slapped across her scalp hard enough to send her reeling, and her left ear was ringing with shock. Staggering, she looked about to see that Gerethwy was down, his breastplate and coat dabbled with blood. Shot? The truth came to her in the next instant, even as she was hauling her sword from its scabbard. Jagged pieces of the Foundry snapbow lay all about him, the barrel twisted where it had met the mechanism. Jammed, and then some.
‘Stretcher!’ she yelled, her voice shrill above the sounds of battle. The Woodlouse-kinden was curled about his hand, or what the exploding weapon had left of it. We’re going to stand and fight and die now, because we can’t pull back fast enough to get clear. But maybe you can get out, Gerethwy. Maybe I can accomplish that much.
Then the first of the Spider-kinden were upon them, leading with rapiers and short spears, and by old habit she found her swiftly drawn sword falling into a perfect duellist’s line, fending aside an oncoming blade and then, even as the attacker tried to pull back, playing her old Prowess Forum trick of flexing her game shoulder forwards for those few critical inches of extra reach, only this time it put the point of her weapon through her surprised opponent’s eye.
This experience seemed real in a way that the snapbows had not, but she had no chance to reflect on it just then. Her instincts clamoured at her, Survive! Just survive! And the only chance for that was her sword, the slender barrier between her and death.
The Esca Magni skipped through the air, zigzagging desperately as Taki felt the little impacts that were the outliers of a stream of piercer bolts trying to close in on her. There were at least two Farsphex behind her now, each taking a turn in following her twists and gyres while the other tried to come at her from below or above. The aerial battlefield wheeled before her, sometimes populated, sometimes not. When it was busy, she saw mostly the enemy, and the friends she did see were engaged in the same fierce flight as she was.
What the blazes is Maker playing at? But it was looking as though she would never find out. Chance and skill and mechanical superiority were eroding around her, moment to moment. The Wasps only needed to get lucky the once.
Abruptly another Stormreader shot across her nose, engaged in furious evasive flight — one of the Mynans from the colours. Something snapped in Taki then, the Exalsee warrior-pilot in her suddenly shouldering aside the cautious air-tactician she had become.
Curse the lot of them, she swore, and wrenched the Esca sideways after the Farsphex that was on the Mynan’s tail.
She knew she had no time and that she was laying herself open, that the orthopter in her sights would have been warned — was already taking evasive action and drawing her into a line that would see her cut up by her pursuers’ shot. Stupid. Hopeless. And she dragged all the power she could out of the Esca ’s springs and leapt forwards, her twinned rotaries blazing bolts, and the cockpit of the Farsphex exploded in broken glass and wood fragments, and the vessel dived purposefully for the earth with the pilot’s dead weight against the controls.
There’s one for Corog. Then she was flinging herself madly through the air, higher and higher, because the pursuing Wasps were on her, and fighting mad now, their comrade dying in their very minds. Oh, I went and poked your nest, did I? Well, see how you like it!
She darted higher, the city spread out like a model beneath her, smouldering where the bombs had struck. She had a brief impression of the battle about her: dozens of circling Farsphex, but so few of Collegium’s own. Had the Empire devastated the Collegiate numbers so thoroughly while she was not paying attention?
She tried to dive back down, and for a handful of seconds was engaged in a mad spiralling battle for control with one of the chasing Farsphex. Levelling out for a moment, she saw a couple of Stormreaders, not fighting but dropping — plunging recklessly down into the streets, heedless of the enemy or the bombs or…
What’s that noise?
It had been sounding for some time, she realized. It was familiar, though she had not heard it from quite this perspective, competing with the rush and clatter of an aerial fight while she was over the city itself. It was the Great Ear.
For a moment she could not think why anyone would be sounding the Ear now, when the enemy had so very
