‘Mantis pride,’ said Stenwold. ‘Anyone else… anyone else, given that chance, would have held on to their luck and not asked any questions. Anyone else would have been happy. Anyone but a Mantis, of course. So he’s been putting himself on the rack about what he’ll see as a betrayal. A final betrayal. He betrayed his own kind, and then he betrayed her, after Myna, and now… Mantids pair for life, I know. They never do what he has done – or so they tell each other. And Tisamon believed it, too. Poor Tisamon.’

‘And Felise is abandoned by him now,’ Destrachis said. ‘And who wouldn’t, in her place, take the blame on themselves, or at least part of it? I know she has.’

‘How is she?’ Stenwold asked him.

‘After I left you, I went and sat with her until dawn.’ From the Spider’s haggard looks Stenwold could well believe it. ‘She will kill herself.’

Stenwold and Tynisa stared at him, while his face took on an expression of excruciating patience.

‘She lost all her family, you’ll recall. She lost everything to the Wasps. To survive that loss she tracked the man, Thalric, across the whole of the Lowlands. That kept her going. Then she met Tisamon, who gave her another purpose, gave her – curse the man! – even a normal chance at life. And now he has gone, and she has nothing.’

‘And so you want her put into my plans, somehow. You think I can find her a purpose. You have a scheme?’ Stenwold said. ‘Destrachis, I do not mean to insult you…’

The doctor watched him with a faint smile, waiting.

Stenwold sighed, and continued. ‘My people say that Spiders always look in at least two directions at once. I confess I have been an intelligencer for twenty years, but I cannot read you. We Beetles are infants at these games compared to you. So what precisely do you want?’

Destrachis waited a long time before answering, still with that slight smile. ‘Ah Master Maker,’ he said at last. ‘I would tell you that I am a man of medicine and have a duty to my patient. Or insist that even Spiders know some little of honour and duty. I would tell you that I genuinely care that Felise Mienn, having suffered so much, should be happy, and does not destroy herself. I would tell you all of this, and you’d not believe a word of it, so therefore what can I tell you?’

‘Tell me your plan.’

‘I am no tactician,’ the Spider said, ‘however I understand this: the Wasps have more soldiers than you have – than you and the Sarnesh and all the little cities put together. The Empire is very large, the Wasps and their warriors are very many.’

‘We have the Spiderlands,’ Stenwold pointed out.

‘You do not trust me, and yet you suggest relying on the Spiderlands,’ Destrachis said disdainfully.

Stenwold nodded, conceding the point. ‘Then you are essentially correct, yes.’

‘So you make enemies for the Wasps – as with Solarno, for I have heard about this from your niece. Now the Wasps have another city to keep under control, another battle to fight.’

‘The Wasps took Solarno of their own will,’ Stenwold argued.

Destrachis shrugged. ‘Still, there are a few thousand Wasps there now who won’t be at the gates of Sarn. Well, then, the Wasps have other enemies.’

Stenwold opened his mouth, then shut it again. Des-trachis waited for the moment of comprehension, for the moment when Stenwold said, ‘You mean Felise’s own people? You’re talking about the Commonweal.’

Destrachis nodded evenly.

‘But there’s been no contact, no diplomatic relations at all – and besides, they must know-’

‘What do they know?’ Destrachis interrupted him. ‘What do most of your people know about the Twelve-Year War? The Commonweal is very old, and it has been collapsing in stages since long before the Empire ever arose from the dust. To the Dragonfly-kinden, everyone living outside their borders is a barbarian. There are only a few who have any interest in the Lowlands – such as your man who now fights with Sarn.’

Destrachis has been busy listening, I see. In fact Stenwold could hardly blame him.

‘If the Empire is attacking the Lowlands,’ the Spider continued, ‘then the land lost by the Dragonflies in the Twelve-Year War is open to being reclaimed, but the Commonweal must be made to understand that. They must be invited to join us, for they are a formal people. Felise can be your safe passage. Whatever she has done, she is still one of them.’

‘And you would come along as well?’ Stenwold asked him.

‘I would, but if this plan is to be of any assistance we must leave now, and by air. Otherwise your cities will have fallen by the time we even make our request.’

‘And if the Dragonflies should attack the Empire… well, the Wasps have a lot of soldiers but they cannot be everywhere at once. Especially if Teornis can persuade the Spiderlands to rise up also…’

‘For you and for Felise, Master Maker,’ Destrachis said. ‘I do not ask this for any profit to myself.’

Stenwold stared at his hands once more. ‘It could work. And you’re right, we must attempt it. We cannot ignore any source of aid, or means of dividing the Empire’s attention.’ He nodded, his decision made. ‘I myself shall go. Collegium should not need me now, not until Sarn is decided one way or the other. So I shall go and… Tynisa, will you?’ You also need something to occupy your mind.

But Tynisa replied, ‘No.’

‘Tynisa, surely…?’

‘Because there is something else I must do.’

‘Ah, no.’ Stenwold held up a hand, as though he could forbid her.

‘Yes, I must follow Tisamon and bring him back.’

‘He will not thank you for it.’

‘I do not want his thanks. I want merely to tell him that I do not care what he has done – and that he should not either. I want to speak to him for myself, and my mother. I want to pull his guilt out of him, before the wound festers.’

The train rattled and jolted its way along the rails, each carriage packed with soldiers sleeping fitfully, or awake and sharing quiet words, games of chance, perhaps a communal bottle. The Collegium relief force was on its way to Sarn.

Balkus passed down the train from carriage to carriage, stepping over carelessly stowed kitbags and the outstretched legs of sleepers, checking on the welfare of his men. Enough of the waking had a nod or a smile for him that he felt this inspection was doing some good. They belonged to all walks of life, he knew, and many were men for whom Collegium had never found much use before. Those were strong-armers, dock-brawlers, bruisers and wastrels, but the Vekken siege had overwritten their many years of bad living with the lesson that even they could be heroes, even they could become the admired talk of their city. Others had signed up simply for the money, to escape creditors or enemies. More were simply those who wanted to do their bit as good citizens: he had here his share of shopkeepers, tradesmen, runaway apprentices and College graduates. There had probably never been an army in history with so many men and women who could strip down an engine or discourse on grammar. He even had a couple of College Masters, whom he had promoted to officers.

What a rabble, though. Most had fought the Vekken Ant-kinden, but the frantic defence of a walled city against one’s neighbours was not a field battle against a mighty Empire. He was amazed that there were so many ordinary citizens signed up, and still signing. The people of Collegium were not like Ant-kinden to be so slavishly selfless, nor were they fools either. They were stepping straight into the fires with their eyes open, in full knowledge of what they would face.

The very thought brought a lump into his throat. It brought back moments of the fight against the Vekken, especially after they had breached the walls. He was no Collegiate man himself, but he felt a stubborn knot of pride in the way these shopkeepers and artisans had proved they would fight. Their military skills were suspect, their equipment untested, but their hearts were the hearts of heroes, one and all.