‘I see, sir,’ Hofi said. ‘Lower their morale, you mean. Take away their hope.’

‘Indeed. As for you, Scadran, you must look to the port defences. The attack will surely include a naval action, or the Vekken are greater fools than I take them for. Look to see what can be sabotaged at the relevant moment.’

Scadran nodded sullenly.

‘Well, I take it we all now understand our tasks, and I wish you good luck with them. Now, I have an appointment with our people in Vek.’

He rose, and just then Hofi slammed his open palm on the desk, their signal.

Arianna had her dagger already clear of its sheath as Hofi drove his own into Lieutenant Graf. The Fly-kinden had been trying to sink the blade over the man’s collarbone, but Graf jerked back even as he struck, and Hofi ended up driving it up to the hilt into his shoulder, the Fly’s wings powering the blow. Graf roared with pain and reached for his sword.

Scadran was already rushing for Thalric. He had a heavy-bladed sword out, but swung it so wildly that Arianna could not get close to help him. Thalric swayed back, his face set and hard, and as the blade came down again he tried to catch Scadran’s wrist. The force of the blow knocked Thalric back into a corner of the room, Scadran’s weight and strength pushing him almost to his knees. The big man’s off-hand fumbled at Thalric’s collar, trying for a hold around his throat.

There was the familiar crackling sound of a Wasp sting from behind her, and Arianna turned to look. Hofi was hanging in the air amidst the glitter of his own wings, and Graf had blown a charred circle into the far wall. Then the Fly slashed savagely with his blade and Graf was reeling back, clutching at his face and screaming. There was blood spitting from between his fingers and Arianna realized that Hofi had gashed the man’s one good eye.

She turned back to Thalric. The Wasp was stronger than he looked, every muscle straining to keep Scadran off him, but his halfbreed assailant had the advantage. Thalric’s teeth were bared and his eyes bulged, not from Scadran’s throttling grip but from his own sheer fury. They swayed back and forth, but with Scadran always forcing him into the wall again at last. Arianna saw her moment. She darted in and rammed her dagger into Thalric’s side.

Or that had been the idea. Instead, although the stroke was true, she struck something hard beneath his coat and the blade of her knife snapped at the hilt.

Thalric made a hissing sound that might have been triumph, and kicked Scadran solidly across his bandaged calf. The big man roared in pain, his grip loosening for just a second, and Thalric put a hand under Scadran’s chin and unleashed his sting.

Scadran’s head simply exploded. There was nothing more to it than that. The body that fell colossally back to the floor was virtually decapitated. Arianna felt her insides lurch in fear and horror but she had her Art-made weapons out now, the narrow claws jutting from her knuckles, and she struck Thalric across the face, gashing his cheek. She had hoped to snap his head round but he took the blow without flinching, and then backhanded her solidly, spinning her to the floor.

He walked past her, and she tried to stand, her head spinning. He had not killed her, which could only mean he wanted to question her or to prolong her death. The Rekef showed no forgiveness for treachery.

She saw Hofi, red with Graf’s blood, rise from behind the desk and see Thalric. The Fly-kinden did not hesitate. She had never guessed that the unassuming barber was such a fierce fighter but he hurled himself on Thalric instantly, his wings flinging him across the room. Arianna was on her feet now, swaying, seeing Thalric’s sword clear its scabbard and cut across Hofi even as the Fly charged him. The impact spun the blade from Thalric’s hand, but trailing crimson as it flew, and Hofi had fallen from the air, striking the ground hard with his hands pressed to the red stain growing over his tunic.

She looked at the sword. It lay beyond Thalric, but a concerted rush might capture it.

Thalric stared down at the writhing Fly for a moment and then raised his arm and finished him with a single sizzling bolt of energy.

Arianna ran. She flung the door open and was out of the room, then out of the building, unarmed and spattered with Scadran’s blood.

Thalric sighed heavily. He should have seen this coming, but a lot of things had been demanding his attention recently. He had not thought to look more carefully into the faces of his own people.

That will teach me to trust any inferior race, but in the Rekef Outlander there was frequently little choice. He went to check Graf, in faint hope, but just the sight of the man’s butchered body was enough. No help there. Graf had been a good agent, a loyal subject of the Empire. He deserved a better end than this.

Thalric reclaimed his sword, and one hand found the puncture that Arianna had made in the leather of his coat. Beneath it gleamed the links of his copperweave shirt. Though not what it once was, having been pieced back together with steel after Tynisa had sheared it open down the front, it had saved his life again.

Then he stepped out of the room, following Arianna’s path, for he had unfinished business.

‘Explain to me why these machines are such a threat,’ demanded one of the Tarkesh tacticians, sounding irritable. He might even have been the king, for Totho found it difficult to distinguish Tark’s ruler, to whom he had been briefly introduced, from the other men on his staff. There were about a dozen of them, men and women, and they all had the same Tarkesh features that made them look like siblings. The king wore no special garments or insignia, just the same plate and chain armour as the others, even here in his war-room, and like them looked as though he was short on sleep. Totho supposed that, mentally, he kept saying, ‘I’m the king, I’m the king,’ but for outsiders it was impossible to tell.

‘It’s all to do with flight: Art flight and mechanical flight,’ he said, looking from face to face just to be sure. ‘I’m afraid I don’t fly any more than you, so can I ask my friend here to explain about Art flight?’

One of them nodded, one of the women, and Salma stepped forwards. Totho glanced around to see Parops standing to attention behind them, having persuaded the court to see them at all.

‘Your Majesty,’ Salma said tactfully, bowing to the correct Ant, ‘may I present myself as Prince Minor Salme Dien of the Dragonfly Commonweal, arrived here in common cause with your city-state at the behest of Master Stenwold Maker of the Great College.’

It sounded impressive, but he prompted no awed reaction from the assembled tacticians. Instead they just eyed him suspiciously.

‘The Wasps are not strong fliers,’ Salma continued. ‘With only the wings their Art can summon up, they cannot fly for long distances. They can just about get from their camp across your walls, but they could not simply circle over your city for hours, or even many minutes. Moreover, they could not gain enough height to get out of range of your crossbows without wholly exhausting themselves. You’ve seen that for yourselves, I’m sure.’

There were nods and a few hard smiles around the war table, and Salma thought, They actually think they’re winning!

‘I’m sure the Wasps have some who are better than that, probably scout squads of their best fliers, but not enough to make a difference. They also have their insect cavalry, and their machines… I forget what Totho called them.’

‘Heliopters,’ Totho supplied. ‘The problem is that they don’t fly very high either, and they’re very exposed to your artillery, because they’re big and slow and not as heavily armoured as you might think, because then they couldn’t get off the ground at all.’