was, he was not well liked.
‘Take them to the new machines,’ Major Varsec ordered. ‘Let’s see who has the knack of it.’ He stood abruptly, looking them over as though they had become soldiers. ‘Your old work is done. They’ll manage without you. You’re in the Engineers now, and you’re mine.’
This audience chamber was much too grand just for waiting in. Abandoned there, General Tynan stood at near attention, suspecting eyes peering at him from every wall. He was deep within the palace, some part of it beyond the known haunt of soldiers, sycophants and foreign diplomats.
The walls were hung with tapestries showing interlacing Spider-kinden arabesques, gold and red and black, that did strange things to the eye. There was daylight from shafts in the ceiling and there was a flaring white glare from chemical burners on the walls, but the tapestries ate it all and smouldered sullenly, holding on to a darkness that the room should have been rid of. The rugs beneath his feet were from Vesserett, he guessed, woven bee-fur now slightly threadbare from too many marching boots. The furniture — a long table alongside one wall, and the single seat at the far end of the room — was local work but very fine, ornate black wood with gilded highlights, some slave craftsman’s masterpieces.
It put him off his stride: not a cell, but a long way from freedom. Where now for General Tynan of the inexorable Second Army?
There was the sound of bootsteps behind him, and he shifted to one side as another man was led in. They exchanged glances, reading a great deal into one another’s presence.
‘General Roder,’ Tynan noted, and the other man nodded.
Roder had been only a colonel when Tynan had last seen him, but then the Eighth had gone up against the Spider-kinden at Seldis, and a lucky assassin had attempted to throw it into disarray by killing its leader, a practice that the Imperial rank structure was there to blunt. He made a young general, did Roder, a solid, soldierly man more than ten years Tynan’s junior but showing every sign that he would be just as bald soon enough, his dark hair on the retreat from his forehead. The left side of his face was stiff and expressionless courtesy of a failed poisoning attempt.
We are two of a kind. Tynan did not need to say it. Roder had hauled the Eighth Army off the Spiders’ doorstep when the Emperor had died, just as the Second had come hotfoot from investing Collegium. They were both men who had missed out on their chance to be the great heroes, failing the Empire by serving their new Empress.
Roder gathered himself to say something, but at that point everyone else trooped in, judge and jury and all.
I could have asked for some of these faces to have fallen from favour during the infighting, Tynan considered, but there was a certain class of man who never seemed to misstep, clinging to power like a leech.
He knew General Brugan, of course, and would reluctantly admit that he was glad the Rekef had ended up in that man’s hands rather than those of either of his late rivals. Still, it was a rare army officer who had any love for the Rekef Inlander, and generals had as much — or more — to fear from a purge than common soldiers. Brugan, at least, could pass for a fighting man, still strong and fit even though he was greying. The lancing gaze of his piercing grey eyes was often all he needed to draw confessions from the fearful, and obedience from his underlings.
To his left was Colonel Vecter, who had served with Brugan in the East-Empire before the war: a deceptively scholarly looking man with neatly parted hair and spectacles, a skilled artificer who was a constant innovator of the interrogation machines. On Brugan’s right was Colonel Harvang, as though some magician had taken two whole men, swept some small quality of discipline one way to make Vecter, and then shovelled all the fat and sloth and idleness the other. In straining tunic, the gross colonel was chewing constantly at some piece of gristle, with some smug young major at his heels — to feed him sweetmeats, no doubt.
There were more: lean, bald Colonel Lien of the Engineers had stolen a general’s rank badge from somewhere, and was looking insufferably pleased about it, whilst Knowles Bellowern’s dark Beetle face held an expression of mild indifference, masking the fact that the Consortium colonel was one of the richest men in the Empire and head of a powerful and ambitious dynasty. Tynan looked on them all without love.
Well, at least we know where we are. But he was wrong about that. Despite the two former generals being faced with as imposing a clique of power-mongers as they had ever seen in one place before, everyone there was still waiting. There could be only one person able to bring these dignitaries together and force them to fidget and shuffle at her pleasure.
Tynan was ready for her when she swept into the room: the Empress Seda the First, whose throne he and Roder had saved by abandoning their respective campaigns, at her command. He had never actually met the woman before. His fall from grace had been too immediate, his army disbanded, his soldiers redeployed. He had thought it merely due to his failure, at the time. In retrospect he had realized that it was simple mistrust. A general with an army, in those turbulent days of secession and civil war, might have been just a little too tempted to try for the throne himself.
Seda was absurdly young — years younger than any of them, even than Harvang’s protege. A frail and slender girl, and as beautiful as nature’s gifts and Spider cosmetics could make her, and when she entered the room she held all their attention utterly captive. Tynan, older and wiser than most, saw from the corners of his eyes just how she affected them: Bellowern’s moistened lips, Vecter removing his spectacles to clean them, an unnameable, hungry expression nakedly apparent on General Brugan’s face. Harvang’s young follower started noticeably, flinching away the moment she entered the room.
She was slim and delicate, but her presence filled every inch of space there, forcing itself on them.
‘General Tynan,’ she acknowledged, and his name on her lips jolted something within him, despite himself. ‘General Roder.’ Her smile was painful to behold, like looking at the sun.
General Brugan cleared his throat. ‘It has so pleased Her Imperial Majesty Seda the First to summon you to her presence,’ he began, but the Empress had taken her seat by then, and now waved him to silence with a brief gesture. Tynan had heard many theories about the precise balance of power at court, and many of them claimed that Brugan, lord of the Rekef, held the reins, and that the Empress was his puppet.
Oh, not true at all, he understood now. For a moment, examining her, he found himself locking eyes with the woman. The sense of power was palpable: the entire might of the Empire balanced on her shoulders.
‘Enough formalities,’ she said softly. ‘You must have known this day would come. Since being removed from your commands you have waited faithfully for our call, and whatever fate it should summon you to. Unlike others with guiltier consciences, you have not gathered your riches and tried to flee our borders. Well, then, the Empire has called. It requires its heroes once again.’
‘Heroes?’ Roder burst out, raising angry scowls from all three Rekef men and a raised eyebrow from Bellowern of the Consortium. Even facing the Empress’s cool regard, the former general could not keep the words in, though: ‘But we failed!’
Tynan had not realized that the man had taken it so seriously, but his failure to capture Seldis was writ large on his half-paralysed face.
‘You obeyed. In the final analysis, what else is there for a soldier?’ Seda asked him, forgiving his outburst implicitly. ‘Who could blame you for following orders?’ Hanging in the air was the common knowledge that there were plenty who had been blamed for just that, at the throne’s convenience, but apparently this was not one of those cases. ‘No,’ Seda continued, ‘you are heroes, for you are the Empire’s generals who were never defeated.’
Tynan risked a sidelong glance at Roder, and caught the man looking back at him. Well, there’s a novel turn of phrase.
‘You must know that our Empire is under threat,’ Seda informed them earnestly. ‘Collegium will not raise a flag against us directly, but their agents have worked against our reunification, their weapons flood into hands of the Three-city Alliance, our closest enemies. They would have war, if only others will fight us in their stead. We see what they mean plain enough. General Tynan.’
He snapped to attention without thinking about it, for a moment just the parade-ground lieutenant he had once been.
Seda smiled to see it. ‘We are re-forming the Second Army, your beloved “Gears”, along with some elements of the Fifth. You are hereby restored to your position, and we send you south to meet up with your men. You carried the war to the gates of Collegium once before, General. Now you will fulfil your destiny and make that city ours.’
