The last time he had left Collegium to parlay with General Tynan had been in markedly different circumstances, and he had then done his best to divest himself of the honour guard that had attached itself to him. That time, as now, Elder Padstock had refused to be shaken off, and it was only fitting that she follow him into this particular piece of folly as well.
He had a second chief officer with him, which was probably not in the city’s interests, but Stenwold had wanted Eujen Leadswell of the Student Company along, because the man was intelligent and was almost certainly going to end up a player in the Assembly soon enough. He should be here, if only to hear what was said.
And perhaps also because of his ongoing and dogged refusal to accept that Stenwold was right about everything. There used to be plenty of other people like that. It had been the majority view in the Assembly for years. Now even Helmess Broiler kept his mouth shut, and everyone else just nodded, every time the War Master opened his mouth. War Master? I almost feel that the War Master is my real enemy: the man who stands between me and what I want. And is that how Leadswell sees things? Stenwold knew he was unlikely ever to win Eujen over, but something in him kept trying, and until then it was good to have someone who would protest, if the War Master went too far.
Choices beyond that had proved harder. He had Laszlo — a strong and resourceful flier, if getting swift word back to Collegium became vital. Not Jodry. Not Kymene, for the same reasons. Not Balkus, either, because the man had not so much as spoken to Stenwold since their last argument. The remaining three places were two soldiers of the Maker’s Own, and the Coldstone officer known as the Antspider, included at Leadswell’s request. Eujen had wanted to bring along that gangling Woodlouse friend of his, but the man lacked half a hand and, although by all accounts this had only spurred on his artificing, he could not shoot straight. Stenwold, conversely, had wanted to bring Eujen’s Wasp friend Averic, as an object lesson, but the man had been so manifestly unwilling that he had relented.
‘They’re coming by automotive,’ the pilot announced, and Stenwold hung halfway out of the hatch to look. True enough, the Imperial delegation was taking this opportunity to test out the ground, as their eight-legged machine slowly navigated the uneven terrain. General Tynan was clearly going to wring every drop of advantage out of this meeting.
And on that subject. . Holding on with one hand, Stenwold thrust the other towards Padstock, who snapped out a telescope and passed it to him. As steadily as he could, Stenwold trained it on the approaching machine, which was obligingly open-topped.
He counted eight passengers plus a driver: six Wasps and two Spiders. He could still his view enough to see the bald crown of General Tynan himself, which he recognized well enough. He knew the woman beside the general, too: Mycella of the Aldanrael — whom he had last seen on the deck of her flagship, watching her fleet start to sink.
Troubles are like feckless children, went the saying. Send them into the world, they’ll be back at your door soon enough — and they’ll bring friends.
The Collegiates had settled down by the time the Imperial automotive finally found its way, with their orthopter close enough to take cover inside it, and angled so as not to block any line of sight from the city walls. Its wings were folded vertically upwards, and it would need only the throw of a single lever to engage the gear train, and have the machine thundering upwards.
But, despite all that and despite planning against one, Stenwold did not expect a trap. He remembered General Tynan, and had a good idea of the Empire’s position, and he knew that killing the Collegiate War Master would not take Collegium, any more than killing Tynan would change the Second Army’s orders. And he’d thought of it, of course, because this was war, after all, but it seemed plain to him that having a living Tynan he could talk to was better than a dead Tynan, and some newly vengeful colonel sitting across the table. That was the problem with the Imperial chain of command. You couldn’t kill it with a beheading.
The enemy formed up opposite him, their positioning and deployment as careful as any strategist’s. The general took the centre, and there was a colonel to his right — intelligence officer probably — and a captain, with some red badge Stenwold didn’t recognize on his left. Mycella demurely took the general’s far left flank, backed by a solidly built man in immaculately shining mail, and there were three heavy infantry on the right — not the sort of men to cut and run, but to hold the enemy while more important lives than theirs were saved. Tynan mopped his brow briefly — the sun was past its zenith but there was no cover out there, and Stenwold was hoping that the general was thinking about that discomfort as well.
‘General.’
‘War Master. I’m glad it’s you speaking for your city. I wasn’t sure who I’d get.’ Tynan was sizing him up, even as he himself was sized up in turn. ‘You’ve not brought your Spider girl?’
For a moment Stenwold thought that was deliberate, like a bully’s kick, but there was no suggestion of such in Tynan’s face. ‘She’s dead,’ he answered bluntly.
‘I’m sorry.’ And the Wasp was, just in that moment, but in the next it was all wiped away. ‘Business, then.’
‘You asked to talk. So talk,’ Stenwold invited.
‘My orders are to take your city, War Master,’ Tynan told him. ‘No surprise for you, I’m sure, but non-negotiable. However. .’ He took a deep breath. ‘Nobody in the Empire would ever have thought that Collegium could fight as it has done, Maker. After all, look how we took Tark, look how Helleron practically begged us to take the city over. The Exalsee is in awe of us, and we’ve whipped the Mynans and their friends back into the fold. And Sarn will fall, and we both know it. And we expect a tough fight, when it’s with Ants — after all, we’ve been winning wars against Ants for generations. But you people. . There are a lot of gambling officers in Capitas who’ve lost their fortunes on Collegium. Who could have thought that Beetle-kinden had it in them to fight so!’ He shook his head wonderingly. ‘My people respect that, War Master. We respect a valiant adversary, even if their cause is hopeless in the long run. Collegium will fly the Black and Gold sooner or later.’
Stenwold was about to make some bravado comment then, some ‘Then let it be later,’ or, ‘Not while I live’, but Tynan forestalled him.
‘I will offer terms for Collegium’s surrender, War Master, and they are terms that will see me brought before the throne to explain myself, but I am a general, and my word will hold.’ At this mention of the throne, the captain with the red badge twitched, staring pointedly at Tynan, who ignored him. Stenwold read that exchange easily enough: Rekef or something like it, whatever that badge means.
‘Maker,’ Tynan went on, ‘let Collegium lay down its arms with no further bloodshed and I will grant an amnesty to all its citizens, its fighting men, its pilots — all those who have opposed us. I will give orders that my soldiers must not harm its populace — no nights of rape and plunder — and believe me I will have to promise them gold from my own coffers, for they will want their reward, after what you’ve put them through, every step and every mile. When the new governor arrives, he will rule with the advice of your Assembly, just as our man in Helleron does with the Council there. Your merchants will have their chance to join the Consortium and profit thereby. Collegium shall become the new jewel of the Empire, valued and made to shine.’
From the expressions of Tynan’s Wasp subordinates — however they fought to hide them — Stenwold could see that these terms were beyond reason as far as they were concerned, which convinced him of the general’s intentions. There was something unsaid, though, and he could divine well enough what it was.