Empire in Black and Gold sota-1 Read online

  ‘So they’re here now,’ Che said. ‘Not just a merchant or a single diplomat or a soldier of fortune, but a whole pack of them. Or a swarm of them, whatever.’

  ‘And you’re surprised?’ Tynisa snorted. ‘Stenwold kept saying they’d make their move sooner or later.’

  ‘I suppose I just thought it would be later,’ Che murmured. Totho was looking at her, or perhaps at the two of them. She avoided his gaze.

  ‘How dangerous can they really be, if it’s taken them this long to get here?’ the Spider-kinden said airily.

  Salma had meanwhile been playing some obscure game with the fist-sized moths that came to batter at the lanterns, catching them and letting them go, over and over. Now he gave a short laugh. When he turned, there was a decidedly superior look on his face.

  ‘You Lowlanders amaze me.’

  ‘It’s easily done, O foreign flytrap. Why so this time?’ Tynisa said.

  ‘You’d barely even know that the Dragonfly Commonweal existed, if I hadn’t made this trip.’ He held his hands cupped together, the insect’s wings fluttering within. ‘There are people just beyond your own borders shouting at you, and you just turn away and close the shutters because it’s rude to shout, and because you’d rather not hear. It’s not as if the Wasp-kinden were hiding all these years. It’s not as though they haven’t been making good use of what the Lowlands will offer.’

  ‘You’ve always known about the Wasp-kinden, haven’t you?’ Che said. ‘I mean, before you came here and met Uncle Sten.’

  ‘And your uncle knows I know.’ He spread his hands suddenly and the bewildered moth bustled off back to the lamps. For a moment he had been something hard-edged, the enigmatic foreigner, filled with secrets. Then he was just Salma again with his customary smile, leaning back with his elbows on the garden wall. He would not be drawn further by their questions.

  Stenwold’s best robe, brought out of storage and newly re-tailored to accommodate a larger waist, felt crisp and sharp on him. Keeping him on edge, he reckoned, and perhaps that was for the best. It was his formal Academy Master’s gown, with all the folds and creases that implied. He normally slung on any old garment but this time he felt he was here in a more formal capacity, and he knew everyone else would rather he stayed away.

  Back to the Amphiophos then, that he had so recently walked out of: the circular chamber that the Assembly of the Learned met in, that had been used for the city governance before the revolution. The wall tapestries had been renewed since then, and the central stone of the ceiling had been replaced, with great artifice, with a geometric stained-glass window that cast red and gold and blue shards of light across the circular tiered seating which radiated out from the speaker’s dais. Stenwold had found himself a seat at the back and was moodily watching the doors to the antechamber. About half the Assembly were present, too: Masters of the College and magnates of the town.

  I knew there would come a day. . But not this way. He had expected the sword first, in truth. He had expected the black and gold to show its true colours. Not through an embassy, not with this subtle cunning.

  Seventeen years ago they would have come straight to the gates of Tark or Helleron with an army. Seventeen years of war and conquest for them, and they have still found time to learn cleverness. I wonder who their agents have been, here, that I have not detected.

  The murmur of conversation waned and the Assembly waited as footsteps approached from the anteroom outside the hall. Two sentinels strode in, faceless in their helms, their heavy armour giving them a rolling gait. And there, behind them, were the Wasps.

  Oh they had clearly learned a lot. Stenwold had seen the delegation sent to Myna, all armed threat and demands. Here, however, they wooed the Assembly with a show of imitation, for what else would best feed Collegium’s ego? Their leader, square-jawed and fair, wore a decent approximation of the College’s own ceremonial robes, with an intricate design of black and yellow interlocking along the folds. He even carried the hem of it partly slung over one arm, as a native would. There were three behind him, and one was obviously a guard: no sword at his belt, but there were barbed spurs of bone jutting forward from the backs of his hands. He held himself in a casual, relaxed pose that Stenwold recognized from watching alert military the world over. Unlike his master he wore a plain white tunic, almost the garb of a simple servant or slave. The man next to him wore the same garment, but held himself quite differently. Stenwold was a better observer than most, for he had been taught by a Spider-kinden long ago, and realized that this other man, for all his standing in the shadow of his fellows, was the one in charge. Stenwold saw it at once, from the way he watched his fellows closely, and the way they did not dare look at him.

  The fourth ambassador was their master stroke. He wore a pale yellow tunic with a black sash, and he was a Beetle, a man of middle years and benign expression who could have made a home in Collegium without anyone turning a sidelong glance at him. This was no local, though: he was clearly an Imperial. We are like you, the Empire was saying, and only Stenwold knew how untrue it was.

  Old Lineo Thadspar came forward with his hands clasped before him, a gesture of welcome that the lead Wasp copied smoothly.

  ‘Noble visitors from distant lands,’ he began, ‘may we show you as much honour in our welcome as you have shown us in attending our Great Games.’

  ‘What more honour could any wish than to be permitted to show our mettle against the best of this city and its neighbours?’ The lead Wasp smiled about him at the curious onlookers. ‘May I humbly present myself as God-ran, ambassador designate from our lands to your august Assembly. Thalric here is my chief aide, and able to speak my heart as well as I myself.’ He indicated the man whom Stenwold had already picked as the true commander. Of course he can, the historian thought. Better, even.

  ‘However, I suspect you may be more inclined to speak to my friend Honory Bellowern,’ continued the smoothly smiling Godran, as the Beetle-kinden stepped forward. Stenwold, watching for it, saw the glance the Beetle gave to Thalric as he did so. ‘My friend’, is it? Master Bellowern had best be word perfect, he judged, or his diplomatic career shall be a short one.

  ‘Noble councillors of Collegium,’ said Honory Bellowern in a rich, pleasant voice, ‘I bring you greetings from the Consortium of the Honest, of which I am a factor. Already we have profited greatly from such dealings as we have had with Collegium, and I hope your brothers in Helleron have had no cause for complaint either. While men of more athletic stature shall take to the games, I hope there shall be those amongst you who will spare me the time to talk of such matters as trade agreements, diplomatic ties, terms and treaties and the like. Now that we find ourselves reaching out into the world, we are keen to formalize the bonds of friendship and prosperity between your Lowlands and the Empire.’

  And Stenwold noticed a twitch in Thalric then, and realized that word, ‘Empire’, had not been spoken before, just ‘our lands’ and similar terms. A mis-step for Master Bellowern, then, but not a fatal one, for the mere mention of trade had the townsmen Assemblers’ mouths watering. Ambassador Godran then put a comradely hand on Bellowern’s shoulder and the two of them shared a rehearsed smile.

  Stenwold watched as other members of the Assembly came up to make their names and businesses known. Not all, it was true: some sat back because they did not deign to meddle in the affairs of outlanders, while others, Stenwold thought, were reticent because they were not overly quick to give their trust. Indeed there was the look in some faces, of men who had over-eaten on a dish they now found slightly bitter. Heads turned in his direction and he sensed a tremor of anxiety there, as all of Stenwold’s dusty warnings began turning over in their minds. Even the greediest of merchants would have seen enough, and heard enough, to know that Stenwold was no mere fantasist when he spoke warningly of the Empire, and now the Empire was here, standing in the Amphiophos itself, smiling and talking. But their eyes were very cold.

  ‘Pray!’ old Thadspar call
ed out, to attract the general attention, and then, ‘Pray, shall we not have. . refreshment?’ He mugged at his fellows and, at the word, a thing of glittering brass and steel came in from the antechamber. It was formed in the image of a robed Beetle man bearing a tray in its hands, and it resounded hollowly with the sound of gears and levers. Its course took it straight towards the ambassadors and Stenwold was pleased to see them start away from it in alarm. Something your own artificers haven’t done yet, then? He saw Thalric’s hand twitch, not moving to an absent sword, but the fingers flexing, clearing the palm. The Assemblers were laughing a little at the foreigners’ confusion as the construct paused in the centre of the hall with its drinks ready for plucking, and after a moment the visitors awkwardly joined in. Old Thadspar was attempting to take the Wasp Godran gently to one side, now that the first rush of well-wishers had abated, and Stenwold shouldered through the crowd to hear.

  ‘. . remarkable indeed, Master Godran,’ Thadspar was murmuring as Stenwold drew closer. ‘Your empire’s achievements have been instructive for us all, that you have done so much from such small beginnings, and grown so very prosperous.’ His eyes sought out Stenwold, unexpectedly, just a sideways flicker over Godran’s shoulder. ‘We understand that war can be the fire that forges a great state. . but war, of course. .’ The old man smiled apologetically. ‘We value philosophers, here in Collegium. You know how they must always think about everything.’

  Godran’s smile was quick and easy. ‘Oh, Master Thadspar, we have only just torn ourselves free of the Commonweal’s ruinous war. We have a great deal to rebuild and repair. Simply feeding and clothing the Empire is a monumental task. We are like the man who fights all night with his wife, and in the morning does not feel like going off to work.’

  There was a ripple of laughter at that, and Stenwold thought, He even knows Collegiate jokes. Stenwold would have spoken then, perhaps, but one of the College’s other historians was heading towards him, a hand held up to catch his attention. The historian stepped aside to meet him, drawing back out of the Wasps’ earshot.

  ‘Master Maker.’

  ‘Master Linewright.’

  The younger man raised his hands. ‘Master Maker, the Assembly has asked me to relay a request.’

  Stenwold smiled a little. ‘Pray relay, Master Linewright.’

  ‘It is no secret what you think of our new guests,’ said Linewright testily.

  ‘I have done my best to tell it at every opportunity,’ Stenwold said flatly.

  ‘There was talk of banning you from here today, but that we could find no precedent. Maker, this is perhaps the most important embassage to come to Collegium in a generation.’

  ‘No argument from me,’ Stenwold said reasonably.

  ‘The Assembly does not accept your view of these people,’ Linewright snapped. ‘How could we believe in civilization if such a monster as you foretell was even possible? And. .’

  ‘And?’

  Linewright glanced over his shoulder at the Wasps. ‘And just say you were right — I don’t believe it, of course, nobody does — but just suppose you were right. .’

  He’s terrified, Stenwold realized. Hammer and tongs, he knows I’m right and he’s scared to death.

  ‘Just suppose you’re right,’ Linewright said, his voice suddenly hoarse. ‘What could we do? Don’t you think it’s still better to befriend them than provoke them?’

  ‘You’re worried I’m going to denounce them openly as monsters and murderers. Believe me, I have no intention of provoking these people, or even speaking with them. Go back and join the festivities,’ Stenwold added with heavy irony. ‘Enjoy yourself.’ Past the man’s shoulder he could see the controversial visitors. Whilst Godran and his Beetle-kinden henchman were clasping hands and speaking homilies, Thalric was staring directly at Stenwold. He felt a shock as their eyes met. Had he seen this man before, as one soldier amongst many? Thalric seemed almost too young to have fought at Myna. The Wasp nodded, though, a private and personal nod for Stenwold alone.

  I know you. That nod spoke volumes. Don’t think that I, that we, don’t know all about you.

  Past midnight, and the windows of Collegium were darkening one by one, leaving the streets picked out in a web of gas lamps. Tynisa and Che were heading for home, bidding Totho good night where he turned away for the Charity Hall where he kept a room. He had spent the entire evening wanting to speak with Che, and she knew it. Now he had on him such a mournful expression that she wished she had not avoided him, but too late for that.

  Salma was not with them, of course. Salma, to Tynisa’s annoyance and derision, had left the party arm in arm with that Mantis-woman athlete from Nethyon. ‘I hope she eats him,’ Tynisa had said dismissively, but she was surprised to find how it rankled. When Salma took his pick of the local girls, adoring Beetle-kinden maids that she knew he felt nothing for, then she did not mind. It was not as though she had not romanced her share of industrialists’ heirs, or young Ant officers away from home for the first time. Some she bedded and some she did not, but all of them gave her gifts and did as she wished. She was a Spider by birth, if not by upbringing. She cultivated her webs as a warrior would practise his swordplay, because it might be needed in earnest, come the time. This Mantis-kinden, though — Salma had bowed low before her, some elaborate ritual from his people, and she, who had seemed bored and alone only a moment before, had bowed back and taken his hand. And Mantis-kinden were not rumoured to be casual about their partner or anything else.

  When they got back inside, Stenwold was waiting for them. They could smell his pipe on the air, so they peered through his study doorway. He was sitting in his favourite chair, ornate Mantis-carved work, and staring into the fire.

  ‘Uncle?’ Che said. ‘I. . we didn’t think that you would still be up at this time.’

  ‘Come in, both of you,’ Stenwold said, not taking his eyes from the fire. ‘Are the rest of the Majestic with you? No, I see not. Well I’ll speak to you two now, and to them in the morning.’

  ‘This is about the Wasp-kinden, isn’t it?’ Che guessed.

  ‘It is. Tynisa, could you be prepared to leave for Helleron with me tomorrow?’

  ‘And miss the Games?’ Tynisa replied instantly, and then: ‘Well, yes, I could. .’

  ‘Get together what you need. Travel light and travel armed.’ There was a great purpose in Stenwold’s voice. ‘Years, I’ve waited — and now it’s on me faster than I thought. Some “Dancer” I am.’

  Tynisa understood that, although she didn’t like the sound of it. Dancing was the Spider word for the politics beneath a city’s skin. She had then wanted to ask more, prise more from him, but that one word made it all real and immediate for her. She left for her room upstairs.

  ‘Don’t say it,’ Stenwold cautioned after she had gone, so Che clenched her fists and held her peace.

  ‘You won’t be idle here. You’ll have things to do that I can’t do if I’m away. You won’t feel much better hearing this, but I need you here. And I don’t want you to come to harm, Cheerwell. I want you to believe this.’

  And the others? What about them? But Che knew that the others, even Totho, would have a chance to save themselves from the sword, from the bolt. Stenwold had judged her, and found her wanting. He wanted to keep her safe but still it hurt.

  No more arguments now, not if he’s leaving tomorrow. That was a strangely calming thought. She would now play the dutiful niece for him, and in that way he would have less to worry about, and perhaps that would keep him safe. Two could play at this game.

  ‘If you’re travelling tomorrow, you should retire to bed now, Uncle,’ was all she said, to which he grunted an affirmative, levering himself up from the chair.

  ‘Come on,’ he offered, starting up the stairs. ‘We’ll have enough to say to each other in the morning.’

  There was a window on the landing which looked out onto the Siplan Way and the sea, and though Stenwold stomped on past it, Che paused, for it was open. />
  ‘Uncle-’ she began, in warning, and then Stenwold roared in outrage.

  In the passage right in front of him there was a man, wrapped in dark cloth. A shortsword glinted. He must have been sitting in the shadows of the landing, waiting silent and patient, but he was all movement now.

  Six

  Stenwold went reeling backwards as the intruder’s blade passed before his chest and then the Beetle’s heavy hand lashed out and slapped him across the head, sending the assassin reeling into the wall. Stenwold went for him barehanded but the man was quicker, lunging with the blade and slicing a gash across Stenwold’s arm. The Beetle fell away with a hiss of pain and hit the door of his own bedroom, slamming it open and tumbling backwards inside.

  Che did not hesitate. Even as the dark figure turned she was on him, having instantly drawn the knife she carried everywhere for protection. It was a tiny thing, barely four inches of blade, but she raked it savagely across his back. At the same time someone else could be heard on the stairs, and that surely did not bode well. Stenwold’s attacker had swiftly rounded on her. For the moment he held her off at his sword’s length because in the dark he had not realized that she was just a teenage girl with a tiny knife. But heading up the stairs was a man wrapped in black, slender, grasping a long blade in one hand and a short one in the other. Before he could use either against Che, suddenly Tynisa was there too.

  She had been doing as instructed, packing for a dangerous journey, so in her hand was her own rapier, a slim blade to match the new assassin’s own. She started back as he ran at her, but her guard was up when he lunged, and she deflected both blades aside. He was quick, light on his feet and striking at her from all angles. She could fend him off satisfactorily but he had his offhand blade always ready for an opening, so bind and parry as she might she could not press the attack.

  Meanwhile, in the very stance of the man she was facing, Che recognized his realization of the meagre opposition he faced. Determinedly she went straight for him even as he made up his mind. His blade was just drawing back as she lunged and slammed into him low down, shoulder to his chest, even as his blade passed inches over her head. The collision knocked the breath from her and she bounced off him and would have fallen had she not grasped the folds of his tunic. She had cut him again, a shallow line across one side. Gripping his belt she clumsily grappled for his sword, hanging on tight as he tried to cast her away. She was so close she could smell the sour taint of beer on his breath, even the blacking that he had used to dull the glint of his blade. He kept trying to throw her out to arm’s length to get a chance at impaling her but she clung on stubbornly, trying to get her knife to him in turn.