calf. The big man roared in pain, his grip loosening for just a second, and Thalric put a hand under Scadran’s chin and unleashed his sting.
Scadran’s head simply exploded. There was nothing more to it than that. The body that fell colossally back to the floor was virtually decapitated. Arianna felt her insides lurch in fear and horror but she had her Art-made weapons out now, the narrow claws jutting from her knuckles, and she struck Thalric across the face, gashing his cheek. She had hoped to snap his head round but he took the blow without flinching, and then backhanded her solidly, spinning her to the floor.
He walked past her, and she tried to stand, her head spinning. He had not killed her, which could only mean he wanted to question her or to prolong her death. The Rekef showed no forgiveness for treachery.
She saw Hofi, red with Graf’s blood, rise from behind the desk and see Thalric. The Fly-kinden did not hesitate. She had never guessed that the unassuming barber was such a fierce fighter but he hurled himself on Thalric instantly, his wings flinging him across the room. Arianna was on her feet now, swaying, seeing Thalric’s sword clear its scabbard and cut across Hofi even as the Fly charged him. The impact spun the blade from Thalric’s hand, but trailing crimson as it flew, and Hofi had fallen from the air, striking the ground hard with his hands pressed to the red stain growing over his tunic.
She looked at the sword. It lay beyond Thalric, but a concerted rush might capture it.
Thalric stared down at the writhing Fly for a moment and then raised his arm and finished him with a single sizzling bolt of energy.
Arianna ran. She flung the door open and was out of the room, then out of the building, unarmed and spattered with Scadran’s blood.
Thalric sighed heavily. He should have seen this coming, but a lot of things had been demanding his attention recently. He had not thought to look more carefully into the faces of his own people.
Thalric reclaimed his sword, and one hand found the puncture that Arianna had made in the leather of his coat. Beneath it gleamed the links of his copperweave shirt. Though not what it once was, having been pieced back together with steel after Tynisa had sheared it open down the front, it had saved his life again.
Then he stepped out of the room, following Arianna’s path, for he had unfinished business.
Fifteen
‘Explain to me why these machines are such a threat,’ demanded one of the Tarkesh tacticians, sounding irritable. He might even have been the king, for Totho found it difficult to distinguish Tark’s ruler, to whom he had been briefly introduced, from the other men on his staff. There were about a dozen of them, men and women, and they all had the same Tarkesh features that made them look like siblings. The king wore no special garments or insignia, just the same plate and chain armour as the others, even here in his war-room, and like them looked as though he was short on sleep. Totho supposed that, mentally, he kept saying, ‘I’m the king, I’m the king,’ but for outsiders it was impossible to tell.
‘It’s all to do with flight: Art flight and mechanical flight,’ he said, looking from face to face just to be sure. ‘I’m afraid I don’t fly any more than you, so can I ask my friend here to explain about Art flight?’
One of them nodded, one of the women, and Salma stepped forwards. Totho glanced around to see Parops standing to attention behind them, having persuaded the court to see them at all.
‘Your Majesty,’ Salma said tactfully, bowing to the correct Ant, ‘may I present myself as Prince Minor Salme Dien of the Dragonfly Commonweal, arrived here in common cause with your city-state at the behest of Master Stenwold Maker of the Great College.’
It sounded impressive, but he prompted no awed reaction from the assembled tacticians. Instead they just eyed him suspiciously.
‘The Wasps are not strong fliers,’ Salma continued. ‘With only the wings their Art can summon up, they cannot fly for long distances. They can just about get from their camp across your walls, but they could not simply circle over your city for hours, or even many minutes. Moreover, they could not gain enough height to get out of range of your crossbows without wholly exhausting themselves. You’ve seen that for yourselves, I’m sure.’
There were nods and a few hard smiles around the war table, and Salma thought,
‘I’m sure the Wasps have some who are better than that, probably scout squads of their best fliers, but not enough to make a difference. They also have their insect cavalry, and their machines. I forget what Totho called them.’
‘Heliopters,’ Totho supplied. ‘The problem is that they don’t fly very high either, and they’re very exposed to your artillery, because they’re big and slow and not as heavily armoured as you might think, because then they couldn’t get off the ground at all.’
‘We have seen such,’ one of the tacticians confirmed.
‘But their airships can fly much higher,’ Totho explained. ‘So high, in fact, that the only thing able to threaten them would be something else capable of flying that high. I don’t even know if your orthopters could do it but the Wasps obviously thought they could, which is why they mounted the night attack that saw most of them destroyed. At a great cost to the Wasps themselves, true, but now they can safely attack your city from the air. They can drop explosives on you, or even just rocks or leadshot. They can deploy their soldiers, as well, over any part of the city that they choose. Even though they can’t fly up high of their own accord they can glide down without much effort. I am afraid that the Wasps have brought a new kind of war to you.’
Though the tacticians did not exchange glances or confer, Totho sensed the flurry of thoughts passing between them. At last one of them spoke.
‘We must destroy them, then, on the ground.’
‘That would seem to be your best chance,’ Totho agreed.
‘An attempt at sallying out with any affordable force would meet with defeat almost immediately,’ another tactician warned. ‘A sally with sufficient force would merely leave the city wide open, and the potential casualties amongst our troops would be unacceptable.’
‘A covert attack would be the only solution,’ a third concluded, fixing Totho and Salma with a fierce stare. This, Totho realized, must be the King of Tark.
‘We will trust your analysis of the situation,’ the man continued. ‘You have information and perspective that we lack in this. We distrust new wars, and we see this distrust has brought us to this point. We must mount a swift strike tonight to destroy the airships. Then we must destroy the Wasps in the field before they can construct or import more of them.’
‘Your Majesty,’ said Salma, ‘I would go with your men, if I may?’ The tacticians studied him, narrow-eyed, and he shrugged. ‘For one, I can fly. I can see better in the darkness than your people. And I am a sworn enemy of the Wasps.’
‘We have favourable reports of your fighting in the recent attack.’ The King nodded. ‘You indeed have talents we lack. Very well. And your comrade?’
‘No-’ Salma started, but, ‘Yes,’ said Totho.
Salma goggled at him, wrong-footed for once, and Totho felt obscurely proud of that. ‘I may not be the fighter that Salma here is,’ he said, ‘but I am an artificer of the College, and destroying the airships is an artificer’s work.’
‘You must stay always with our people,’ the King warned him. ‘They will know each other’s minds, but not yours. You must not stray from them.’
‘I will do what is asked of me,’ Totho confirmed, and realized Salma was still staring at him, shaking his head slightly. ‘I have one other request for Your Majesty, though.’
‘What request is this?’ The King and his staff were all suspicion again.
‘There was a halfbreed scout captured with us, when your soldiers took us in,’ Totho explained. ‘Her name is
