Heirs of the Blade (23 page)

‘Our first condition is a pardon,’ the halfbreed announced, ‘for the Colonel-Auxillian.’

Angved choked, loud enough to draw all eyes towards him.
But he’s dead!
he wanted to shout. The Colonel-Auxillian was the only man to bear a rank that they had invented specifically for him, for he was the genius halfbreed who had captured cities for the Empire in a dozen ingenious ways before falling victim to his own devices at Szar. The master artificer, Colonel-Auxillian Dariandrephos, was most certainly dead – except that his name was revived by Engineering Corps rumour-mongers almost every tenday, and recently more and more of those murmurings had also mentioned the Iron Glove. Angved would rather that creature was dead, but he sensed relief in the way that Lien stood.

So the genius outweighs the man’s tainted blood, the arrogance, the apparent desertion and betrayal?
Angved considered. Those Consortium artificers guesting with the Glove must have been extremely impressed.

Colonel Lien glanced aside, seeking guidance from the shadows. ‘Dariandrephos wishes to return to the Empire?’

‘He wants the air cleared, no more than that. We’re happy there in our workshops in Chasme, thank you,’ the halfbreed stated flatly. ‘A public pardon, retirement with honours, and no reason for any Rekef man or ambitious Slave Corps officer to get ideas about him. Unambiguous and exact, just as we artificers like it.’

‘It may not be out of the question,’ Lien hedged, before another voice took the initiative.

‘Of course, a pardon. The Empire can hardly reach agreements with those still considered deserters and criminals, after all.’ The new voice was a woman’s, and it echoed with peculiar impact between the carved walls of the Scriptora. There was the softest shuffle of footsteps and the speaker stepped into view, although later Angved was never sure quite where she had emerged from. The same went for her escort, a pair of armoured Mantis-kinden with the steel claws of their killing gauntlets very much in evidence. Everyone went absolutely still and silent, as she stepped into their midst – even Lien, who had plainly known she was watching.

It’s her!
Angved had never seen the Empress before, yet he had no doubt whatsoever that this was really the mistress of the Wasp-kinden, the last scion of her Imperial bloodline. Where her youth and beauty had once made her seem vulnerable, she seemed to be gathering some invisible strength from the stone walls and endless hieroglyphs, growing in stature without ever growing taller, each footfall resounding with a thunder just outside hearing. Here, in this ancient, torchlit hall, even the shadows seemed to throng at her beck and call, and Angved felt her physical presence almost like a blow. In that moment he would have done anything for her, obey any command, fall on a blade for love of her. The next morning, such memories of this meeting would horrify and shame him, and all the more so because the chains forged this night would bind him also in sunlight. The thought of turning against this woman would be like a knife point pricking at his eye, making him wince away at the very notion.

For now, though, her attention was focused on the halfbreed, who swallowed convulsively, staring back. She gave a small, cruel smile as she advanced toward him.

‘Yes, a pardon for the Colonel-Auxillian, but more than that surely? What about a pardon for those of his followers who went with him into exile? Surely you are not throwing yourself on my mercy, Sergeant-Auxillian Totho?’

The halfbreed jerked as she spoke his name, and then she was abruptly very close to him, taking his chin in one hand before he could pull away, and studying his face. The Iron Glove people remained tense, confused, and her Mantis bodyguards were plainly ready for any kind of casual violence at any moment – but then Mantis-kinden were always like that. The situation was suddenly unreadable.

‘I am told by my artificers that the Iron Glove has great plans for machines and devices that they lust after,’ the Empress declared. For a moment she studied Totho’s expression, and he kept as still as if she had a sword to his throat, but then she let him go. ‘I am told that my own inventors would match them, in time, but history is pressing on us. The Empire has a destiny, and we cannot wait. I am no artificer, but I know sincerity when I hear it. So we are here. You shall have your pardon, and so shall your master and such other deserters as walk in his shadow. Any other Imperial subjects that might find their way to you subsequently are to be returned, however, or purchased for full value. Remember that you are merchants, and not some band of idealists like the Broken Sword.’ She had looked away, her keen gaze sweeping across Lien, Angved, Varsec, all the other artificers dressed as soldiers.

Now her eyes pinioned Totho again. ‘You shall have your money, but I leave the tawdry details to the Consortium. We shall have your machines, and moreover, we shall even let your master come and see them put to use.’ She grinned at Totho’s start of surprise, for a brief moment seeming her true age. ‘But that was your request to make, was it not, and I have answered it too early.’ And the steel was back in her gaze. ‘Tell your master that we understand him, even if we do not understand his machines. People are transparent to us, and he is no exception. He needs us more than we need him, because what point is there to his machines if they are never used, and who would ever use them properly if not the Empire? So when the armies march again, you shall march with us, not sporting your old ranks and titles, but doing the Empire’s work nonetheless. That was all your master sent you to ask for, was it not?’

Totho stammered, then nodded, words failing him, but she had not finished yet, had not dismissed him.

‘It is not all,’ the Empress continued. ‘There is one thing we will have of you. Khanaphir and the Nem belongs to the Empire now, whatever face we put on that fact for the rest of the world. From dusk tomorrow, the Glove is forbidden – and any other foreign influence will disappear into the sands, never to be heard from again. You shall remove your people from these walls. You shall retrieve all your expeditions and agents from the Nem, all those diggers and robbers that you think we do not know of. This is non-negotiable, and no pardon shall save any of you from retribution if you disobey. We shall wipe the whole of your Chasme off the map if we must, and you know how the rest of the Exalsee shall cheer us on. Do you understand?’

Totho was silent for several foot-dragging seconds, no doubt weighing the odds in his mind: what could be gained where, and what were the percentages in trying to play both ends. The eyes of the Empress brooked no equivocation, however, fixing him like a specimen skewered on a pin until he finally nodded.

‘Of course,’ he got out. ‘It shall be as you say.’

‘It always is,’ she said sweetly. ‘And now I shall not keep you further. I will let my artificers and Consortium factors manage the details, but you may tell your master he shall have the pardons signed by my own hand. He cannot ask for any greater surety than that.’

After the Iron Glove people had departed, the Empress turned to Lien.

‘They will be gone by dusk tomorrow. The day after, you shall commence your work.’

‘If they keep their word, Majesty,’ Lien muttered darkly.

‘Do you doubt me, Colonel?’ The words were said quite pleasantly, but a deadly silence descended instantly upon the Scriptora’s echoing hall.

Lien shook his head convulsively. ‘Majesty, of course not.’

She nodded, easily satisfied, it seemed. ‘These are the men you spoke of?’ And to Angved’s alarm she was looking in his direction. He missed Lien’s confirmation, his heart hammering, as she stared at him. He found himself terrified, out of all proportion even to the temporal power she wielded, and yet at the same time a shock of attraction surged through him as their eyes met, a physical desire such as he had not felt in a decade.

‘This man is Varsec, from the Solarnese expedition,’ Lien explained distantly. ‘While in prison pending trial, he wrote the book you saw, about a new model air force, and how it might be accomplished, the adjustments, the Art . . .’

The Empress waved a hand. ‘The technical details I leave to you, Colonel. It is enough that you have confidence in it. That is, after all, your role. I understand that this Varsec’s proposals are drastic, and I approve the measures required. The Empire must move forward. We cannot cling to the past.’

‘And this is Angved, of the . . .’ Lien paused awkwardly, because of course the Empress had publicly denied any responsibility for the mission that had sent Angved to Khanaphes the last time. ‘Who was in the Nem recently,’ the colonel finished lamely. ‘You recall his reports on the Nemean rock oil and its properties.’

She nodded, it being clearly another matter she was happy to rely on her artificers for. ‘Proceed in all things as you have described to me,’ the Empress instructed. ‘The work in the desert and the adjustments back home. The Empire will make use of every tool to hand, whether it be the discoveries of these men or the inventions of the Iron Glove. We will be strong and we will break down the walls my brother balked at. We have a future to claim, Major Angved, Major Varsec.’

There was a moment of silence before the two men realized what she had just said, and after that Angved could have wept: not a prisoner now, not even an over-age lieutenant.
I’ve done it. I’m made.
He saluted, catching sight of Varsec copying the gesture from the corner of his eye.

‘There will be an expedition heading into the Nem. You have seen the machinery we have brought here. You know the operation you must begin. Before you return from the desert, matters must be well in hand,’ Colonel Lien reminded him. ‘You have seen the trust the Empress has personally placed in you and you can imagine your fate if you get this wrong, Angved.’ It was plain that Lien would rather see him rot than profit like this, but the man was an artificer, as pragmatic as that trade demanded. He would use what tools he had. ‘Varsec, you’ll accompany him while measures are put into place back home – factories converted, the recruiting sergeants briefed. You’ll be sent for when they’re ready for you. Expect to see Capitas in two months, at the latest, but until then I’ll leave you with Angved. You’ve witnessed, how his oil will solve some of your problems.’

Varsec nodded thoughtfully. ‘I have that, Colonel. I’ve a new sheaf of notes to send on to Capitas already, for the attention of the factory foremen.’

Lien turned away from them and saluted the Empress. ‘Your Majesty, you have shown a faith in the Engineering Corps that your brother, whose loss we mourn, did not. With your support, we shall build for you the future that you have envisaged. I am only glad that you understand our craft so well.’

In response to that, something about the Empress’s face struck a momentary wrong note, revealing some bitterness that Angved could not account for, but then she was smiling again. ‘I shall hold you to your promises,’ she told Lien. ‘The dreams of my grandfather and my father and my brother are relying on you,
General
Lien. It is time that the Engineers took their proper place within our Empire.’

Fourteen

As the weather grew colder and the snow began to flurry, Varmen earned his keep, guiding them safely to empty little crofter’s huts or searching out tiny hamlets, no more than three or four shabby hovels occupied by the most dismal-looking peasants Che had ever seen. These people were terrified enough at the sight of Wasps to abandon entire dwellings to give them shelter, and Che would never know if that was because of the past war or the current regime.

When there was no village or hut available, Thalric and Varmen showed her an old soldier’s trick by heading for the nearest copse of trees. There would almost always be a hollow somewhere amongst the roots, which they would curtain off with a cloak to create a little pocket of body-heat against the cold outside. Che was uncomfortably aware that she was surviving through the skills of the Imperial army, learned through bitter trial and error during the first few winters of the Twelve-year War.

Some time later, they had stopped in a town that Thalric remembered: it had been marked as Lans Stowe on the Imperial maps during the war. He had not seen its capture personally, for there had been a great deal of ground to cover for an agent of the Rekef Outlander. The defenders here had held off the Empire for a long time – long after the land on all sides had fallen under the black and gold flag. The town was large, and built into the steepest side of a high hill, topped by one of the Commonweal’s most defensible castles. It had been a low, solidly built, crown-like affair and, uniquely, the castle walls themselves had extended to encircle the entire town, sloping inwards to a height of twenty-five feet, then shelving outwards, at a sharp angle, to support roofed walkways, nests of arrowslits and a barrier of wooden spikes. Many of the buildings in the town had been similarly fortified, and Lans Stowe had boasted a great many archers and arrows. Had the place been more tactically essential at the time, it would have fallen far sooner, but a combination of its strength, the defenders’ prudence in laying down supplies, and a lack of any pressing need to do anything about it had left Lans Stowe standing, besieged and surrounded, to within two years of the war’s end.

They had brought in the artificers, Thalric recalled, and used this place as an experiment in new artillery, for the maverick halfbreed Dariandrephos had then been forging his reputation. Imperial soldiers had never needed to charge the strong walls of Lans Stowe. The Light Airborne had never risked themselves against the wings or arrows of its defenders. Instead, the artillery, far out of bowshot from the walls, had begun levelling the place systematically. The ingenious architecture, which had held off the Empire’s desultory efforts for years, was as ancient as any other stonework in the Commonweal, the product of long-dead masons who had seemingly not passed their skills on to any worthwhile apprentice.

After a tenday of ruinous bombardment that had given Drephos the opportunity to experiment with various solid, explosive and incendiary missiles, the surviving defenders had sallied forth: all the glorious chivalry of the old Dragonfly-kinden with their glittering nobility and massed spear-levy. The Wasps had been ready for that, indeed it would be safe to say that the besieging forces had been ready for several years. By all accounts there were few survivors, the Wasps working out their long-harboured frustration on the city to such a degree that the Slave Corps raised an official complaint at the meagre pickings.