spying on their superiors, but were also usually bad at the job they were pretending to do. Tynan had worked with short, amiable Cherten before, and felt that the man could be at least cautiously relied on.
The Fly-kinden slave — one of the previous owner’s fixtures that Tynan had kept on — backed into the room, bowing low. In his wake stalked the woman that Tynan had shaken hands and sealed treaties with earlier that day. She had done away with her armour and her martial persona, and stood before him now in a surprisingly plain white robe, save that a faint shimmer, as she moved, betrayed the myriad of gold threads shot through it, to complement the metal of her girdle and the torc about her neck. Her silver hair was held back by a comb of turquoise in the shape of intertwining centipedes: Beware, for I am venomous. She saw him notice it and smiled a little.
She should have filled the room with her presence, bringing awe and humility in her wake, but he felt that she was not trying to, but instead withholding her hand and her Art from their minds. Moreover, he had stood before the Empress Seda not so very long ago. There were no great prizes for being the second most powerful woman that Tynan had ever met and, for all that Mycella of the Aldanrael was beautiful and dangerous and cunning, the Empress had seemed something more than merely human.
The slave was bringing the wine in early, and yet the moment was right for it, and Tynan made a mental note to take the little man with him on campaign. Efficiency was something he prized, in servants and armies both.
‘Is the correct address “My lady”?’ he enquired. He was aware that Mittoc and Cherten were somewhat more struck by her, while his own cool civility in the face of the Arista was no doubt adding to his military legend.
‘In that case I must call you “General”, I suppose. How dull.’ The smile was an invitation at collusion. ‘These are your officers?’
Tynan introduced the two men, bringing them back to themselves by speaking their names, just like in the old stories of magic and charms. ‘It’s a change in structure from the old field and camp colonels, but the engineers are shouldering more of the war, these days, and Cherten will be overseeing our side of the march. Who’ve you got?’ He was keeping his tone businesslike, and did not intend to sprinkle his words with too many ‘My ladys’ either. From their formal meeting, he had gained no sense of the real Mycella behind the gilded front, and he had anticipated a woman gravid with her own self-importance. Instead, she matched him, practicality for practicality, adjusting to his manner effortlessly.
‘Jadis of the Melisandyr,’ she named the man to her left, broad-shouldered, fair-haired and square-jawed, a hero in waiting. ‘Think of him as my colonel of the camp. He captains my bodyguard, which means he also oversees the Satrapy forces and orders our march. He will need to speak with your Major Cherten, I imagine. I suggest we let them get on with it. I have no great love for counting biscuits, myself. This,’ and she indicated the cadaverous man on the other side of her, ‘is Morkaris, adjutant of our mercenaries.’ Some reaction must have shown on Tynan’s face, despite himself, for she flashed some teeth. ‘We have a great many mercenary troops, General, and someone must be given overall responsibility for them or they’ll run riot. Morkaris is here to keep them in line, and to answer to me if he fails. Believe me, I envy you your soldiers’ unity of purpose, but things are done differently in the Spiderlands.’ A moment later she was gliding past him towards the couches. ‘Shall we sit, and let our henchmen argue about rope and tents and pairs of boots, or whatever it is that makes an army go?’
‘I think that your understanding of such matters is greater than you pretend,’ Tynan rumbled. He gestured for Mittoc and Cherten to take up the arrangements with Mycella’s underlings, and cautiously followed after her, feeling as though he should be ready for the touch of silk, the sudden triggering of a trap.
For a moment he thought that she would recline on her side, as Spider Aristoi supposedly did, languorous and impossible to speak to in a civilized manner. Instead she simply sat, like any army officer might, leaning a little against the couch’s low back. ‘We’re doing something new, General, and therefore we set the rules. Let us do so in a way that will not have us at each other’s throats before we reach Tark.’
‘Fine,’ Tynan said shortly. Dropping down onto the other couch, he was aware that he was still studying her blatantly, but then he was a Wasp man, and women were set to be wives and mothers of soldiers, in his culture. Having travelled more than most — admittedly with an army at his back most of the time — he was aware that this belief was not shared by the rest of the world, but then the superiority of the Empire over the rest of the world was a subject beloved of Imperial philosophers. Here, before him, was the product of the exact opposite belief.
‘Colonel Cherten told me you’d be a man,’ Tynan observed. ‘He said men lead Spider armies because the women consider it beneath them.’
‘Then perhaps we are honouring you, for I know Wasps know of no higher office,’ she replied drily.
‘Was the last clash between you and Collegium so personal that you had to see the business ended yourself?’ he pressed.
She glanced from her wine over to their subordinates. Colonel Mittoc was explaining something to the others in his rough voice, some detail of how to transport his new artillery toys, no doubt, and the two Spiders were listening with some interest.
‘General, you were closer to the mark before,’ Mycella said softly.
Tynan raised an eyebrow, not committing himself, and she went on, ‘To lead an army is no honour in our culture. Yes, the duty would normally devolve on some son or nephew.’ When he made no comment she let her expression fragment a little, so that he could see behind it. ‘There was a trade dispute, nothing greater than that. Collegium killed a niece of mine, and then a son. I led an armada against it, more ships than have sailed from the Spiderlands in generations, the grandest venture of the modern age. We turned back. Can you imagine? We were not even defeated. The defences of the Beetles were such that we had no option but to turn back or lose everything. Even now, we will be marching the long coast with you, rather than taking to the waves. What does this suggest to you?’
‘That you were not well received when you returned home,’ Tynan suggested. ‘But you are the head of your family, are you not? Who could discipline you?’
‘I am the Lady of the Aldanrael,’ she confirmed, ‘but I am sure that your people are no more tolerant of public weakness and failure than are mine. So it is that my house is laid low, our holdings stolen, our name a jest on every lip. So it is that, to preserve my family’s very existence, I have chosen this path: the path of the Lady Martial. No great triumph amongst my kinden, no great standing, and yet honour enough, and that you will understand. There is honour in taking the sword by the blade when it is presented.’ At last she smiled, and he almost felt he had been holding his breath for it. ‘Beware me, General, for I am a desperate woman. I have so very little left to lose.’
Seventeen
The fixed-wing Sweet Fire had stopped for fuel on a Helleren airfield, and Stenwold had taken the chance to sample the mood of the city, while other Mynan stragglers arrived and joined up with Kymene.
He found little to surprise him, and much to disappoint. Nobody cared about the fall of the Three-city Alliance. Indeed, many of the merchants were already rubbing their hands over simpler access to Imperial markets. There were plenty of Wasps on the streets, mostly Consortium men. The road for the Empire’s return had been well and truly paved.
He returned to find Kymene taking reports. Some dozen or so pilots had dropped down onto the Helleren airfield now, with more expected, their scatter of ungainly and damaged craft drawing derisive comments from the locals.
‘It sounds as though those of our soldiers who got out have headed for Maynes,’ she told him.
‘You’ll join them?’ Stenwold asked.
‘I’ve sent word to them to get clear of Alliance lands altogether if they can. If we can’t stand, Maynes won’t. They were prouder than us about buying in outside weapons and machines. They have almost nothing to put in the air.’
‘Come to Collegium,’ he suggested.
She looked at him levelly, a half-circle of airmen watching this exchange silently. ‘Will your people fight again, Maker?’
‘If they will not, then I’ll go with you to Sarn, or wherever else we must, until we find someone who will.’
‘Satisfactory,’ she agreed.
Another orthopter skimmed overhead, making the Mynan airmen jump and twitch for the safety of their
