Thirty-Four
‘We’ve been seen,’ Tynisa said. The black shape in the sky had wheeled back past them and was now darting off.
‘Some time ago,’ Tisamon confirmed. ‘Fly-kinden, which tells us little because even the Empire uses them as scouts sometimes.’
They took refuge in a hollow that was carpeted with shoulder-high thorny bushes. Out here in the hill country east of Merro there was little enough cover.
‘Just a local, do you think?’
‘Any local would be keeping his head down, with an army on their doorstep,’ Tisamon remarked. Except, of course, that it wasn’t. By all reason and logic, the Wasp army that had sacked Tark should already have been all over Egel and Merro, and probably at the gates of Kes by now, but aside from those possible scouts, there was no sign of it.
Felyal had provided a boat, a little one-handed skiff that Tisamon had handled ably enough, with the air of a man for whom old skills came back easily. Mantis-kinden made swift boats, this one with such a broad sail and so little hull that Tynisa was constantly clutching at its mast for fear of the water. They had kept close to the coast, running easterly in good time, creeping past the lights of Kes one dark night and then beaching in a secluded bay, all the while looking for signs of the imperial advance.
From then on they had just been watching and waiting, but it was almost as if the Wasps had simply decided to head back north after taking Tark.
‘We couldn’t be
‘If so, we’d know it. Wasp-owned land has a feel to it. And they’d be all over here, taking stock, taking slaves. No, they’re still ahead, and I can’t understand it.’
They rose from the hollow and soon put another two hills behind them. Lying flat on the crest of the second hill, Tisamon squinted into the distance.
‘Is. that looks like a camp. A big one.’
Tynisa joined him, spotting a dark blot on the horizon. The land was more wooded around here, patches of cypress and wild olives and locust trees that sketchily followed the lines of streams, with cicadas half the size of a man screaming like torn metal at irregular intervals. It seemed to Tynisa that the darkness Tisamon was pointing to could just be more of the same green, but he seemed convinced that it was an army.
‘And camped there, in broad daylight,’ he said. ‘And it’s just a field camp, a temporary pitch-up. No fortifications, nothing. The army’s just sitting there eating up its rations. So what is going on?’
‘The scout’s back,’ Tynisa noticed.
Tisamon risked a look upwards. They were both wearing green and earth tones, camouflaged against the dusty ground. So had he detected them again? Yes. The scout circled a moment and then seemed to be coming down.
Instantly, Tisamon’s claw was in his hand, but Tynisa murmured, ‘Wait.’
The Fly landed twenty yards away, glancing about cautiously. He was dressed outrageously, they saw, and certainly no imperial soldier.
‘Is that what they’re wearing in Merro these days?’ Tisamon wondered. The little man was approaching them nonchalantly, pretending that he was just meandering and had not seen them. As he passed by he let a paper drop from the hands clasped behind his back. He was actually whistling tunelessly as he stared out with apparent satisfaction across the hillside. Then he took a deep breath, exhaled it, and was in the air again, darting off eastwards.
‘What in blazes was that all about?’ Tisamon demanded, but Tynisa had plucked up the discarded message and was reading it curiously. It was elegantly written in a florid script, and seemed so familiar from her College days that she wanted to laugh.
‘It’s an invitation,’ she said. ‘Someone wants to speak with us. It says to come down to the big grove.’ She pointed. ‘They must mean that one way down there.’
Tisamon did not seem amused. ‘It’s a trap,’ he decided.
‘A long way to go for a trap.’
He shrugged. ‘Some people think like that.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘This is Spider-kinden work — the clothes, the details, I know it.’
‘I suppose we are a bit close to the border up here,’ Tynisa allowed. ‘Are we going to go down?’
‘We are — but with weapons drawn,’ he decided. ‘I don’t trust any of this.’
Approaching the grove they saw there was a sizeable body of people within it, and making no attempt to hide themselves. There was enough armour visible for them to see that none of it was in the Empire’s black and gold. They paused at the very edge of the trees, uncertain whether their stealthy approach had been observed or not.
‘Head west as fast as you can if this goes badly,’ Tisamon decided. ‘If it goes really badly, get yourself to Merro and send a messenger to Stenwold.’
‘Assuming Stenwold is in any position to receive one,’ Tynisa said, remembering the Vekken army.
Tisamon shrugged. ‘We must make that assumption.’ Then he stood up and walked forward openly, his claw folded along his arm. Rapier held loosely in her hand, Tynisa followed.
There was an instant stir amongst the guards on the perimeter, but they obviously knew to expect visitors. The Ant-kinden there drew a little closer at the sight of Tisamon, and the Spiders lounging beneath the sideless tent smirked a little, and murmured barbed comments to one another. But when Tisamon stood proudly before them, looking down his nose at them all, not one was willing to challenge him.
‘I believe someone wanted our company.’ Tisamon pitched his voice so as to carry to all of them. Tynisa looked about them, reading their stances, their faces. They were not expecting a fight, she noted. Not an ambush, then, or not immediately. She turned to see a richly dressed Spider-kinden stand up from amongst his fellows. He was a strikingly handsome man, neatly bearded and with a very white smile. Something about him sent a shiver through her, though, not one of attraction but of warning. If it was her Mantis blood that governed her battle instincts, now her Spider blood took over. This was a man to be reckoned with, she knew. He was Aristoi, therefore political through and through.
When he smiled at her, though, she liked him despite herself.
‘Won’t you come a little closer?’ he offered. ‘It would be crass of me to conduct my business at the top of my voice, but I’m loath to scald myself beneath this wretched sun.’
‘I do not fear you,’ Tisamon informed him, and stepped on until he was just outside the little pavilion. He left enough room around him for fighting unhampered, Tynisa noticed. The legendary Mantis dislike of the other man’s entire race was rigidly evident in every line of his body.
‘My scouts shall be disciplined,’ the Spider said. ‘They told me two Mantids, but I see only one, albeit as much a Mantis as one might wish to encounter, and one remarkable woman. Pray allow me, sweet lady, to have the honour of naming myself.’
He was expecting a response, but she did not know what to offer, and so she shrugged. He took that as satisfactory, and made a remarkably fluid and elegant bow while never quite taking his eyes off her. ‘I present myself as the Lord-Martial Teornis of the Aldanrael, and I offer you the solemn bond of my hospitality.’ He saw the twitch in Tisamon’s face and his smile turned rueful. ‘Ah well, I admit that in certain circles the Aristoi’s iron word bears a trace of rust, but you would accept wine, surely, if I offered it? And some refreshment. If you will not trust my open intent, you may rely on my love of indulging my own luxuries.’
Tynisa smiled at him despite herself. ‘I am Tynisa, and this is Tisamon of Felyal. I will drink and eat with you, Master Spider, on the condition that you do not ask my companion to.’
‘A lady of compromise,’ Teornis observed. ‘Delightful.’ With a gesture he caused a cloth to be laid out on the ground, with silk cushions strewn around, and a low table bearing an assortment of dishes, most of them not immediately familiar. The other Spider-kinden had moved back a little to make space, and were now sitting or lying, watching the two newcomers slyly.
Tynisa knelt at the table, knowing that Tisamon would stand there like a hostile statue until this ritual was
