‘This is insane . . . you’re talking about . . .’ Finally he was starting to assimilate what he was reading. ‘An Assembly, like in Collegium.’
‘And everyone is entitled to their say,’ Ernain confirmed. ‘Army generals, Consortium, Engineers, and also city governors. City governors who will not be Wasps – or need not be. Who knows? There are certainly some out there who have gone native enough. More of them than you’d think. And everyone to be citizens of the Empire, regardless of kinden.’
‘This?’ Tynan demanded, the paper crumpling in his hand. ‘This is your price for the battle tomorrow? You think I can bring this about?’
‘I think that a few minutes with a pen and some paper would give us the signatures of you and your fellow commanders, and there could be copies of this document with your name on it speeding across the Empire. To save time, I’ve brought the copies.’
‘You think you can hold me to ransom – hold us all to ransom – over this, Ernain? You think that change can come by holding a knife to our throats?’
Ernain smiled slightly. ‘What I think, General, is this. I think that of all the commanders I have served under, you are the best. Not in the sense of the best military mind, but the best man. I think you will read this, and you will think on it, and you will start to see something other than greedy Auxillians exploiting you in your hour of need.’
‘What will I see?’ Tynan asked him, trying to muster a dismissive tone, but not quite managing it.
‘You will see that we are right. If I am correct in what I see in you, you won’t need me to tell you that things can’t continue as they have been. Look where that’s brought us, after all.’
He turned to go, and Tynan threw in, ‘You forget one thing, Ernain.’
‘I forget nothing, General,’ Ernain replied over his shoulder. ‘Because of course, someone must tell the Empress that it is no longer her Empire.’
For the Lowlanders, progress eastwards was faster than an army should be able to travel, with so many of the slogging infantry packed onto automotive carriages and hauled down the line. It was still something of a stop-start business, though, as the rail-laying automotives ahead had to slow to negotiate more difficult terrain, or as Imperial saboteurs and local forces fought desperate rearguard actions to give their main force at Capitas more time to assemble.
Out there, tearing up the dry ground, was a veritable armada of automotives – everything that Milus had been able to requisition from Helleron and Sonn. They were driven by the Sarnesh, manoeuvring together with their faultless coordination and forming a broad wing on either side of the rail line, ready to intercept any attack. Their aviator siblings were performing the same service overhead.
Straessa was passing along the Collegiate carriages, checking on her followers. Nobody was particularly happy: being cooped up in a rail automotive for days on end, barely a chance to stretch your legs, was nobody’s idea of what a good time was about. It wouldn’t have been the Antspider’s first choice for what soldiering was about either, but apparently war had moved on in a number of efficient but uncomfortable ways.
Some of her lot were trying to sleep, despite the light cutting in through the shutters and the constant jolt and sway that plagued them day and night; the rails were just bad enough to ensure there was no smooth rhythm to it. In one carriage, a dignified old Beetle woman she recognized from the Faculty of Logic appeared to be giving a lecture to whoever might be interested. In another someone had a cheap printing of some of lost Metyssa’s great Collegiate cycle – that lurid, exaggeratedly dramatic account of the occupation that some there had lived through, and that others only heard about second hand – and was reading it aloud for the benefit of his fellows. They were all doing their best to stave off the tedium of the journey.
And just as she was starting to think that it was this waiting that was the worst part of the whole experience, someone gazing through a window called out, as she passed, ‘Are those ours?’
Straessa hunched down, peering out. Her blood went cold.
She could see the Sarnesh automotives scattering, splitting off in faultless harmony, manoeuvring at top speed to react to the newcomers. But she could already see it would not be enough. She had endured at least one nightmare about these mechanical monsters.
The Empire had finally sent its Sentinels against the rail convoy.
There were five of them, that familiar and feared design of overlapping plates, like tall woodlice save that they moved at a gallop towards the great, helpless flank of the train, curving in the course of their charge so as to keep up with the automotives’ speed. Even as Straessa watched, she saw the flash and smoke of their leadshotter eyes. A Sarnesh war-automotive was abruptly lying on its side, frustrated steam venting from between its armour-plating. Another shot struck close to the rail, raising a gout of dust and earth. Some of her soldiers had snapbows already to the windows, but there was absolutely nothing they could accomplish. Straessa opened her mouth to give an order, but realized that nothing in her experience or any military theory had prepared her for this. There was absolutely nothing she could do. Their only defence was the rail automotive’s speed, and the train of carriages was so long that they were the grandest target in the world.
She saw an explosion burst and bloom about one of the Sentinels, a Stormreader pulling into a tight turn to come back for another pass. The Wasp machine had not slowed.
She was so busy watching that, that she missed the shot that actually impacted.
It struck the far end of the carriage behind hers, and sent a whiplash of destruction all along the train. The carriage taking the brunt was flayed open, punched off the tracks and sent end over end, spilling soldiers and supplies. Straessa’s own carriage was yanked off the track itself, slewing on its side over the uneven ground, occupants slamming against the walls. Two other cars, in either direction, were derailed whilst the automotive itself continued driving up the track, even with the brakes applied as hard as could be. The carriages behind rammed their siblings that still lay partway across the track, shunting them to a grinding halt.
And the Sentinels came on, shouldering aside the nearest Sarnesh automotives contemptuously.
Straessa found herself sprawled on her back against the shutters of a window that would now only open on to bare ground. Every part of her ached but nothing seemed broken. For a second, feeling that the carriage had at least come to a stop, she stared with her single eye at the sunlight coming in through what was now the ceiling.
Then she was shouting. ‘Out! Get out and get ready to fight. Grenades if you’ve got them! Get out or we’re all dead in here!’
She curled herself into a ball to avoid being trampled to death by people following her orders. Those who could were evacuating sharply, piling out at either twisted end of the carriage or hauling themselves up out of the skyward-facing windows. Most seemed to have a snapbow at least. Which is better than me. Straessa had not even been carrying hers as she checked on the troops.
With luck, by now the Sarnesh are doing something useful. She levered herself up, wincing at the all the bruises she was going to have. Come on, get moving, woman! Blearily she stumbled from the carriage into the abrasively bright daylight after her soldiers, dragging her rapier from its scabbard.