he saw hope and fear, doubt and admiration, all mixed
in. Seeing him stop, many of them approached him, calling out questions.
‘Master Maker, where
will the Empire go when Tark throws them back?’
‘Master Maker, how do
they fight? Do they use auto-motives?’
‘What happens if they
smash down the walls of Tark?’
This last question
silenced them. It was something most of them had never considered, for a dozen
Ant-kinden expeditions had been turned back by that city’s defences. The
political balance of the Lowlands had been stagnant for generations. Change, on
such a scale, was unthinkable.
‘If they take the city
of Tark,’ Stenwold said, speaking quietly enough, but the silence hanging over
the students was eerie, ‘they will come west.’ He knew that his words would be
taken as truth by them, simply because he spoke them, but he knew that they
were indeed true and so did not care. The girl who had asked the question
pushed forward from her fellows.
‘But they can’t, surely?
What do they want?’
He tried to place her.
She had attended some of his history classes earlier that year. ‘Power.
Control. Their Empire is like a spinning top that must keep moving lest it
falls.’
‘But can’t we do
anything?’ she asked. She was a young Spider-kinden, pretty without the cutting
beauty that some of them possessed.
Achaeos’s words recurred
to him. ‘What can be done, will be done,’ he said, and in that moment he placed
her – placed her name, Arianna. A promising student, one with a lot of
potential.
Four
The main difference
between Wasp hospitality and Ant hospitality, Salma decided, was that Wasps
could fly. When he had been locked up by the Wasps in Myna they had wrenched
his arms behind his back and tied his elbows together with Fly-manacles so that
he could not have manifested his Art-wings even if he had somewhere to go.
By contrast the Ants had
now bound his hands before him and then slung him into a windowless, pitch-dark
cell, and left him for what seemed like a day and a half.
The cell itself was too
small to lie down straight in, also too low to stand up. He ended up hunched in
one corner, trying to listen for any movement from without, but the cell was
dug into the earth, with stone walls and a solid wooden door. Not an echo got
through to enlighten him.
They gave him some
water, stale-tasting, in a bowl he nearly upset trying to find it with his
fingers. No food, though, which did not bode well. It suggested they were going
to keep him around for a little while, but not for long.
He had protested, of
course. The three prisoners had done their best to explain that they were not
spies and that the Wasps were their enemies. The soldiers who had captured them
had simply not been interested. They had a specific role and it did not include
talking to prisoners. Nothing Salma or the others could say would make a dent
in that.
He hoped that Totho and
Skrill were doing better than he was, although it seemed unlikely.
Then he heard the hatch
slide in the door, and he froze, wondering if there might be some opportunity
here, but even if they opened the cell for him and he could somehow, with hands
tied, overpower his jailers, then he would still be underground somewhere, and
likely to be killed on sight after that.
Light beyond, dim
lantern-light that seemed as bright as the sun to him, spilled across the
cramped little space to climb the far wall.
There was the clank of a
key in the lock and the heavy door was hauled open. Even as Salma got to his
feet the world exploded, searing into his brain. He found that he had fallen
onto his side, his hands up to shield his eyes. They had suddenly turned on
some kind of lamp, some artificer’s thing, just as he had been looking straight
at it. After so long in complete darkness his eyes burned and he felt tears
course down his cheeks as two men lifted him to his feet and hauled him out of
the cell.
By the time they found
another place for
in. Seeing him stop, many of them approached him, calling out questions.
‘Master Maker, where
will the Empire go when Tark throws them back?’
‘Master Maker, how do
they fight? Do they use auto-motives?’
‘What happens if they
smash down the walls of Tark?’
This last question
silenced them. It was something most of them had never considered, for a dozen
Ant-kinden expeditions had been turned back by that city’s defences. The
political balance of the Lowlands had been stagnant for generations. Change, on
such a scale, was unthinkable.
‘If they take the city
of Tark,’ Stenwold said, speaking quietly enough, but the silence hanging over
the students was eerie, ‘they will come west.’ He knew that his words would be
taken as truth by them, simply because he spoke them, but he knew that they
were indeed true and so did not care. The girl who had asked the question
pushed forward from her fellows.
‘But they can’t, surely?
What do they want?’
He tried to place her.
She had attended some of his history classes earlier that year. ‘Power.
Control. Their Empire is like a spinning top that must keep moving lest it
falls.’
‘But can’t we do
anything?’ she asked. She was a young Spider-kinden, pretty without the cutting
beauty that some of them possessed.
Achaeos’s words recurred
to him. ‘What can be done, will be done,’ he said, and in that moment he placed
her – placed her name, Arianna. A promising student, one with a lot of
potential.
Four
The main difference
between Wasp hospitality and Ant hospitality, Salma decided, was that Wasps
could fly. When he had been locked up by the Wasps in Myna they had wrenched
his arms behind his back and tied his elbows together with Fly-manacles so that
he could not have manifested his Art-wings even if he had somewhere to go.
By contrast the Ants had
now bound his hands before him and then slung him into a windowless, pitch-dark
cell, and left him for what seemed like a day and a half.
The cell itself was too
small to lie down straight in, also too low to stand up. He ended up hunched in
one corner, trying to listen for any movement from without, but the cell was
dug into the earth, with stone walls and a solid wooden door. Not an echo got
through to enlighten him.
They gave him some
water, stale-tasting, in a bowl he nearly upset trying to find it with his
fingers. No food, though, which did not bode well. It suggested they were going
to keep him around for a little while, but not for long.
He had protested, of
course. The three prisoners had done their best to explain that they were not
spies and that the Wasps were their enemies. The soldiers who had captured them
had simply not been interested. They had a specific role and it did not include
talking to prisoners. Nothing Salma or the others could say would make a dent
in that.
He hoped that Totho and
Skrill were doing better than he was, although it seemed unlikely.
Then he heard the hatch
slide in the door, and he froze, wondering if there might be some opportunity
here, but even if they opened the cell for him and he could somehow, with hands
tied, overpower his jailers, then he would still be underground somewhere, and
likely to be killed on sight after that.
Light beyond, dim
lantern-light that seemed as bright as the sun to him, spilled across the
cramped little space to climb the far wall.
There was the clank of a
key in the lock and the heavy door was hauled open. Even as Salma got to his
feet the world exploded, searing into his brain. He found that he had fallen
onto his side, his hands up to shield his eyes. They had suddenly turned on
some kind of lamp, some artificer’s thing, just as he had been looking straight
at it. After so long in complete darkness his eyes burned and he felt tears
course down his cheeks as two men lifted him to his feet and hauled him out of
the cell.
By the time they found
another place for
Similar Books
