"Not ran away," said Snibril. "I don't think they've run away. That doesn't sound like them. I think ... they've decided to do something else."
"They went into a huddle after the fight," said the sergeant.
"Perhaps they've got a plan-" Snibril began.
He stopped.
They had been passing through the area that had been right under Fray. Hairs were bent and twisted. And over the road was an arch. Had been an arch.
There were some dead soldiers nearby, and one dead moul.
The legion spread out in silence, watching the hairs. A squad was sent off to bury the dead.
"That could have been us, without you," said Careus. "How much warning do you get?"
"A minute or two, that's all," said Snibril. "Perhaps a bit longer if it's quiet."
"What does it feel like?"
"Like someone's treading on my head! What is this place?"
"One of the gates to the Ware lands. The city's further on."
"I've always wondered what it looked like," said Snibril.
"Me too," said the sergeant.
"You mean you've never seen it?" said Snibril.
"No. Born in a garrison town, see. Done all my soldiering around and about. Never been to Ware. Heard it's very impressive, though. A nice place to visit," said Careus. "We should be there in a few hours."
"Ware!" said Snibril.
CHAPTER 18
Ware had been built between and round five giant hairs. There were really three cities, ringed one inside the other. Inside the thick outer walls was Imperial Ware, a city of wide avenues paved with wood and salt, lined with statues, a city of impressive vistas and magnificent buildings, and at every turn monuments to old battles and glorious victories and even one or two defeats of the more glorious sort.
Few people actually lived in Imperial Ware, except a few caretakers and gardeners and dozens of sculptors. It was a city for looking at, not living in.
Outside it, separated by a wall of sharpened hair stakes, was Merchants' Ware, the city most people thought of as the real city. Normally its narrow streets were crowded with stalls, and people from all over the Carpet. They'd all be trying to cheat one another in that open-and-above-board way known as 'doing business'. All sorts of languages could be heard, often very loudly. Ware was where people came to trade.
The Dumii had built their Empire with swords, but they kept it with money. They'd invented money. Before money, people had bought things with cows and pigs, which were not very efficient for the purpose because you had to feed them and keep them safe all the time and sometimes they died. And suddenly the Dumii turned up with this money stuff, which was small and easy to keep and you could hide it in a sock under the mattress, which hardly ever worked with cows and pigs. And it could be cows or pigs. Also, it had little pictures of Emperors and things on it, which were interesting to look at. At least, more interesting than cows and pigs.
And, Pismire had once said, that was how the Dumii kept their Empire. Because once you started using Dumii money, which was so easy and convenient and didn't moo all night, you started saving up for things, and selling things in the nearest market town, and settling down, and not hitting neighbouring tribes as often as you used to. And you could buy things in the markets that you'd never seen before - coloured cloth, and different kinds of fruit, and books. Pretty soon, you were doing things the Dumii way, because it made life better. Oh, you went on about how much better life was in the old days, before there was all this money and peacefulness around, and how much more enjoyable things were when people used to get heavily-armed in the evenings and go out and make their own entertainment-but no-one was anxious actually to go back there.
"Economic imperialism!" Pismire had once said, picking up a handful of coins. "A marvellous idea. So neat and simple. Once you set it going, it works all by itself. You see, it's the Emperor who guarantees that the money will buy you things. Every time someone hands over or accepts one of these coins, it's a little soldier defending the Empire. Amazing!"
No-one understood a word of what he meant, but they could see he thought it was important.
And then, off to one side of the bustling city, was a tiny walled enclosure, about the size of a village.
This was Ware. The first Ware. The little village where the Dumii had begun. No-one really knew how, or why Destiny had picked this one little tribe and then wound them up like a big rubber band and sent them out to conquer the world. Hardly anyone went into old Ware these days. Probably it'd soon be pulled down, to make room for some more statues.
Snibril didn't see Old Ware until much later. He saw the walls of the city, stretching away on either side. He could see the glint of armour on the walls, too, as the sentries marched sedately along. Everything looked peaceful, as if something like Fray had never existed.
Careus took off his helmet and surreptitiously gave it a bit of a polish. "There could be trouble if we try to take the Deftmenes in," he whispered to Snibril.
"Not could," Snibril agreed. "Would."
"So we'll camp outside for now. You better come on in with me."
Snibril scanned the walls. "It's all so quiet and peaceful," he said. "I thought there'd be a war! Why were you called back?"
"That's what I'm here to find out," said Careus. He spat on his hand and tried to flatten his hair a bit. "Something's not right," he said. "You know how you can sense when there's going to be an attack by Fray?"
"Yes."
"I'm the same way about trouble. Which is what there's going to be. I can feel it. Come on."
Snibril rode after the sergeant through the streets. It looked normal. At least, it looked as he thought it'd probably look if things were normal. It was like Tregon Marus, only bigger. Much bigger. He tried to keep up, among the crowds that filled the streets, and tried to look as if it was all familiar.
Whenever he'd thought of Ware, when he was younger, he'd imagined a kind of glow around it. It was the way people spoke about it. He imagined Ware as all kinds of strange places, but he'd never imagined this-that it was simply a much bigger version of an ordinary town, with more people and statues.
Careus led him to a barracks just outside the Imperial city, and eventually they reached a table, out in the open air, at which a skinny little Dumii was sitting behind a pile of papers. Messengers kept picking up some from the table, but others kept on bringing new ones. He looked harassed.
"Yes?" he demanded.
"I am-" the sergeant began.
"I don't know, people barge in here, I expect you haven't even got any papers, have you? No? Of course you haven't." The little man shuffled his own papers irritably. "They expect me to keep track, how can I keep track, is this how you're supposed to run an army? Well, come on, name and rank, name and rank ... "
The sergeant raised his hand. For a moment Snibril thought he was going to hit the skinny man, but instead it turned into a salute.
"Sergeant Careus, Fifteenth Legion," he said. "We're outside the city, those of us who are left. Do you understand? I'm seeking permission to come into the barracks. We've fought-"
"Fifteenth Legion, Fifteenth Legion," said the skinny man, shuffling through the papers.
"We were summoned back," said Careus. "There was a messenger. Return at once to Ware. We had to fight most of-"
"There have been a lot of changes," said the paper shuffler.
There was a tone in his voice that affected Snibril almost as much as the approach of Fray.
"What sort of changes?" he said quickly. The man looked at him.
"Who's this?" he said suspiciously. "Looks a bit ... native to me."
"Look," said Careus patiently. "We've come all the way back because-"