And still an impasse, but Seda already knew what she could do about that. Right here, within that mound, there was as much power as she could ever want, ready for her to overwhelm the Beetle girl entirely, destroy her, destroy her followers, destroy Thalric if she so chose.
She reached out and began gathering that power, dipping into that well beneath them, drawing it out to herself as though she was hauling up an endless bolt of cloth. As Tisamon turned and readied himself, as Thalric and the Spider girl spread out, slowly stalking in, Seda stood quite still and drew it all to herself, pulling and pulling and. .
And she met resistance, and in a fury she dragged harder and harder at it, aware only that at any moment the Beetle girl would realize what she was about and step in to stop her, and so she hauled and hauled, with all the might the Khanaphir had endowed her with, and then, abruptly, there was no more resistance and, had it been a physical struggle, she would have fallen backwards like a fool. As it was, she found herself reeling, unsure what had happened, until she realized there was someone new amongst them, someone who demanded the attention of everyone. A dark figure with pale eyes and a thin smile like a razor blade.
Argastos.
And all the power she had thought she was gathering to herself was still attached to him and under his firm command, far stronger than she had thought. This was no treasure to be pillaged, but a weapon in hands that still knew how to use it, no matter how many centuries had gone by since they had possessed life.
And Argastos laughed, and the world fell away.
Twenty-Nine
The wall top was still firmly in Collegiate hands when Laszlo arrived, lurching through the air as he towed a heavy sack behind him. The Airborne kept striking, fighting to keep the attention of the defenders off the infantry below, but the Coldstone Company and the Mynans were holding them at bay. A scattering of surviving hornets was visible in the sky, but the blood-lust that had motivated them seemed to be waning, and more and more were simply departing, or swinging off over the city. Outside, the Sentinels continued their inexorable ramming, four of them taking it in turns, and loosing leadshot whenever they had a clear shot. That the gate had stood firm even this long was a tribute to Collegiate engineering.
Laszlo dropped down and started asking where Stenwold Maker was, but nobody seemed to know, so he worked his way along the wall, ducking away from any skirmishes, putting a knife into any Wasp that he managed a clear stab at, and occasionally loosing his cut-down snapbow or his shortbow at targets of opportunity, depending on range and inclination. The world of the wall top was an alien one to him. Not that he was a stranger to a fight: he had killed men from a ship’s rigging during a storm, and still this random, brutal chaos of a battle was enough to make him wish himself elsewhere. And where the pits has Maker got himself to?
He made a quick hop over to the next maniple of Collegiates, nearly getting himself impaled for his pains.
‘Easy! Easy! I’m just looking for Mar’Maker!’ he shouted.
‘What?’ The Spider halfbreed woman with the quick sword frowned.
Laszlo was about to clarify, when a particularly savage crashing from below stopped his words in mid-flow. He scrambled to the crenellations, looking down to see those gleaming, segmented bulks as they took rapid turn at the gate. When he looked up, something had drained from his face. ‘Oh, piss,’ he said. ‘That looks ugly.’
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ the swordswoman demanded. They were unengaged for the moment, and half of her maniple was standing at the wall’s edge, shooting down futilely at the plated machines, whilst the rest watched the skies.
‘Name’s Laszlo, M- Stenwold Maker’s friend.’
‘Antspider, officer,’ the woman introduced herself. ‘Maker went below.’ She was pointing down at the arch of the gateway. Laszlo had seen a real festering fight going on there, and Wasp soldiers were still darting down to join the fray, risking the raking shot of the Collegiates up on the rooftops. So, of course that’s where he is. Laszlo crouched for a moment: he had not imagined it would be like this. When Tomasso had sent him to find Maker with that pointless, idiotic offer, he had envisaged soldiers in neat rows and the Wasps still on the far side of the wall; a nice, orderly defence befitting Collegium sensibilities.
‘What do you want?’ the Antspider demanded of him.
‘That’s another leadshotter crew down,’ one of her people said expressionlessly.
‘Anyone got spare bolts?’ from another.
‘I came. .’ I came because Tomasso’s about to cast off and there’s a berth for Stenwold Maker if he wants it, but what a stupid thing that would be to say right now. I told the skipper Sten Maker’s no runner, but he wouldn’t listen, oh no. . ‘I’ve got something for the defence, from ship’s stores. I thought. .’ and it had seemed a grand idea, a present for the gallant defenders. Now, though. . He tugged open the sack, revealing the grenades he had taken from the Tidenfree, dated weapons from Spiderlands artificers that the ship’s crew had used when boarding actions went bad, inferior to Beetle make in all ways save that they were made for Fly-kinden hands. ‘I thought. .’ he managed, looking the Antspider in the eye and unable to articulate just what he might have thought. With desperate courage, Laszlo grabbed one and threw the little munition over the wall, aiming for the jostling Sentinels. His aim was perfect, taking it just where one plate slid over another, and at the sharp impact the weapon detonated instantly, a bright flash of fire leaving not even a fresh mark on that scarred carapace.
‘No more useless than our snapbows,’ the Antspider told him, and from below there came a catastrophic cracking sound, enough to shiver the stones beneath their feet. Then a storm of Wasp Airborne were all about them — but these had come up from below, where they had ceased disputing the ground inside the gate. Snapbow bolts darted through their number, picking some off, but they were keeping low to the wall — close enough for the Antspider to have stabbed one if she had been quick enough — denying the Student Company snapbowmen across the street an easy target.
Laszlo and most of the others risked a glimpse over the parapet, despite the sporadic snapbow shot sleeting up towards them. The Sentinels were still in motion, the barrels of those single eyes flashing fire as they cast leadshot at the gate, whilst one was now stepping backwards, almost dainty despite its size, lining itself up for what looked like a final charge.
Laszlo stared at them, watching ballista bolts and shot rock the heavy machines without harming them, seeing those leadshotter eyes blaze. His career had been a varied one, with all the resourcefulness of a pirate who has to make do with whatever’s to hand. He had seen a great many tricks tried, during his young life, and heard of many more. Most of all, he had never given up. Even as a prisoner at the bottom of the sea, surrounded by the killing ocean on all sides, he had not lost heart. It would take more than the Wasp Empire to break him.
‘Antspider, you’ve got archers? Real bowmen?’
Stenwold was out of bolts, but there were handfuls for the taking wherever he looked, in the quivers of the fallen, or just spilled onto the ground. He dropped down beside a dead Wasp soldier and, as his hands worked to strip the man of his ammunition, he considered the convenience of Collegium having inherited this weapon from the Empire in the first place. The standard for snapbow ammunition was more universal than the Helleren mint.