over. It really was everyone here, she realized, including the trainees, because she could spot the female Wasp recruits interspersed amongst the men. That had been an arrangement that everyone had thought would go badly wrong, and in fact there had been one incident, when an engineer — an outsider serving as ground crew — had tried to rape one of the Wasp girls. What happened next only really made sense to Pingge now with the benefit of what Gizmer had told her. The assaulted woman had not even cried out, but Aarmon and another two pilots had appeared almost immediately. They had stung the rapist to death without sparing a moment for his panicky denials.
‘Listen up,’ Aarmon stated flatly. ‘New orders. We’re to step up the attacks.’
Everyone waited, but Pingge could sense a stir amongst the Wasps, some additional information passing between them.
‘From now on, returning crews get one day of turnaround and then they’re out again. The engineers reckon the Farsphex can be repaired and refuelled in time. We’ll be rolling missions so, even before one’s back, the next shift will be in the air. Collegium’s had it too easy, they tell me.’
Collegium’s too cursed good at defending itself, Pingge added, thinking of te Pelle. One of the Wasps must have had the same idea, because Aarmon was nodding.
‘Yes, the Collegiates are good in the air, better than anyone thought. Yes, we’re going to take losses. It’s war.’ His voice was hard, flat, bleak. ‘Do you think that when the land battle starts, none of our soldiers will die? We have a duty to perform. We will look after our own as much as is humanly possible,’ and his gaze made no distinction between Wasp or Fly, man or woman, ‘but we will do our duty nonetheless. We will make the Empire proud of us.’
There was something behind his words, and Pingge knew enough to understand now: They culled the mindlinkers once and they can do it again, especially now they’re all here and out in the open. If we get it wrong, if we give them cause, then this whole experiment could end up in the Rekef cells. She shivered. And it’ll be us along with them, sure enough. I know how the Rekef think.
‘We’ve authority to increase the Chneuma dosing,’ Aarmon added. ‘Double for pilots, and a single for the bombardiers now.’ Seeing the looks on some of the Fly-kinden faces, he added, ‘It’s something the Engineering Corps alchemists cooked up. We use it to stay awake for the days of the flight. You’ll all need it too, now. Sergeant Kiin, see me after, and I’ll sort out a supply.’
None of the Flies dared ask what other effects this Chneuma might produce, but it was evident in most expressions there, and no doubt some of the Wasps were posing that silent question, but Aarmon was not being drawn.
‘There’s one other thing,’ he added, ‘a change to the operation. We’ll be bringing some more of your training into the war.’ This time he was looking straight at the Flies and, as he told them what he meant, the idea was both terrifying and strangely attractive.
Yes, Pingge found herself thinking, with a curiously detached feeling of professionalism, The Collegiates won’t know what hit them.
Laszlo darted between wagons and automotives, flicked up twenty feet for a brief look at the evolving layout of the camp around him, then dropped down again. There were plenty of flying troops in the Grand Army — as even the Imperials were calling it now — but this was still a good way to attract undue attention. The Wasps made it plain that they took full responsibility for the skies above the army, and they were inclined to ask questions.
Progress had slowed over the last few days, though not because of any active resistance. Instead, an order had come from General Tynan that each night everyone would dig in, forming the vehicles into a circle and deploying a remarkable number of ready-made barricades which the Wasps had brought with them. Laszlo understood that Tynan had employed far more complete fortifications the first time he led the Second this way, but the combined force was now simply too large and disunited to protect thoroughly. The Wasps did what they could with what they had, though, and, in addition, every night saw the raising of three skeletal towers within the camp, each with what looked to Laszlo like some enormous sort of lamp.
They had now definitely entered Mantis territory, he understood. The precautions started even as they moved off from the cliffs above Kes, but it was a bitter part of recent Imperial history that the Fourth Army had been destroyed even further out than that, the Mantis-kinden able to travel swiftly by land and water, night and day. Of course, everyone knew that the Second had driven the Mantids out last time, and whether there were any left in the forest was unknown to the Grand Army’s leadership, but it was plain that Tynan wasn’t taking chances.
Laszlo tried to remember what he knew about the local Mantis-kinden. In fact, he had few fond thoughts of them, because of the actions of one particular individual, but in general he recalled them idling all over Collegium, refugees from their forest domain after Tynan’s depredations. Surely those few who might have returned home to rebuild could not pose a threat to the army that was advancing.
He hopped up once again to locate his target, then dropped back quickly. Just now he was in the loose following of Morkaris, the Aldanrael’s mercenary adjutant. The lean Spider-kinden was a busy man, constantly meeting with the leaders of various sell-sword companies, settling disputes, disbursing coin and occasionally punching faces. For all his stringy build he seemed to possess a prodigious strength. The demands on his time meant that he could find a use for someone like Laszlo, and just now that meant fetching food from the latest shipment. The Grand Army could never have lived off the land, so there were airships — both Imperial black and gold and smaller many-coloured craft from the Spiderlands — constantly ferrying back and forth with the supplies they needed for the march. When a shipment arrived, the camp cooks descended on it to cook up or preserve everything in danger of going off, and so Laszlo descended on Morkaris with a covered bowl of spiced horsemeat and a jug of soup, which the man grabbed from him the moment he was within arm’s reach.
‘Good work.’ The Spider upended the jug, heedless of the steaming heat of it, and then wiped his mouth on the back of a gauntlet. He was plainly not the kind of mannered Aristos that his counterpart Jadis was, but then the mercenaries obviously appreciated a plain-speaking man as their liaison. The next group with a grievance was approaching him even now: a quartet of hulking Scorpions.
‘Watch and learn,’ Morkaris remarked, because Laszlo knew how to make himself likeable, and the adjutant had taken a shine to him. The next ten minutes provided a masterclass in Spider- Scorpion relations, and ended with the adjutant sinking an axe into the company leader’s skull.
The other three Scorpions had regarded this action with little emotion.
‘Fine,’ Morkaris had told them. ‘You’re mine for now, until I say otherwise. Or does someone else want to try their luck?’ Nobody had felt that lucky.
Now Laszlo skimmed back over the camp, aiming for home — meaning the wagon that he and Lissart slept in. Running errands for Morkaris had meant a long and busy day, and he would still be hard put to report to Stenwold that he had found any fatal vulnerability in the way the Spider-kinden soldiers operated. The only logical advice would be, Kill their leaders, and that would hardly be something Stenwold had not thought of.
He ducked in, and, had he not ducked out again immediately, Lissart would have stabbed him. Hanging in the air outside, his mind was full of the flash of steel, her abrupt, savage movement.
Some part of him found that he was not surprised in the least.
‘Laszlo…?’ came her quiet voice from under the cloth awning. She sounded shaken, although he felt that he deserved that particular privilege.
A moment later she peered out, and the knife was nowhere to be seen. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.’
He descended warily, keeping out of arm’s reach, but remembering that she had more weapons than the blade, anyway. She could simply blast him with that fire Art of hers, if she so wished. He reckoned she was certainly strong enough to use it by now.
‘Who were you intending to stab?’ he asked her, trying to adopt a light tone.
‘Laszlo, she’s here,’ Lissart told him flatly. ‘Get under cover, quickly.’
She was frightened, he realized, or at least feigning it, but he made a snap decision, hoping his instincts were being trustworthy, and ducked under the wagon’s cover to nestle in beside her. She pressed herself against him and he found she was trembling slightly. The rush of gratitude he felt to the world, that she did not appear to want to kill him just yet, was stronger than he had expected.
Still under her spell, he thought wryly, putting his arms around her. ‘Who’s here?’
‘Garvan,’ she said, and he allowed a pause for explanation, but none came.
‘Should I know what that means?’
