She screamed, recoiling, and something unfurled in her mind, striking at that withered thing from an ambush swift and fierce as any scorpion’s sting or mantis’s reach.
Argastos was abruptly standing, dragging his facade of a living man about him, but reeling, hurt, furious, and yet he barely saw her. Even then, he hardly noticed her presence at all, save as he might notice a gnat singing past his ear.
He lashed out. It was a reflexive gesture as much as anything. Even as he destroyed her, Helma Bartrer was wretchedly aware that this was not personal.
And as she fell into darkness, as his ancient mind extinguished hers, she realized that they were no longer alone. The girl, that despised girl, was there with them, having appeared from nowhere, and the Wasp bitch was with her. And, even as the two of them attacked him, Helma’s last thought was that Argastos still valued them more than he had ever valued her.
‘This place was once the hub of my new trading cartel,’ the bearded Fly-kinden announced grandly. ‘I took the good stuff out when we set sail. The rest, the Wasps got.’
Those words caught the notice of his audience, a couple of hundred pairs of eyes lifting towards him, if they had not been on him already.
‘Which means,’ he went on, ‘that they won’t be back soon to search it, I’m wagering. Eventually, yes, but not soon.’
He was standing halfway up the steps that led to the upper level, in order to be better seen. The ground floor was not quite full, not quite standing room only, but it was close. When Tomasso had acquired the lease on this warehouse, he had reckoned that it included more space than his family would require in this generation. He had not planned on storing Spiderlands mercenaries, who took up more room than expected.
Their leader was a pale, lean Spider in dark mail that Tomasso could tell was good quality, despite the battering it had taken. His name was Morkaris.
Up top, on the roof, Despard was keeping watch, hidden as best she could and relying on her good night vision in the encroaching darkness to warn of approaching Wasp patrols. The fighting itself was not close, now. Morkaris and his people had broken away from the main Spiderlands contingent early, and moved from cover to cover until Tomasso had spotted them and brought them here.
They looked at him with naked distrust, which was understandable in the recently betrayed. They were beaten and bloodied — Morkaris himself had a bandage about his forehead which was dark with drying blood. Many of his followers looked worse off.
Hard men, though. Tomasso knew the type, for he had done business along the Spiderlands coast for years and, with a Fly-kinden crew, he had hired muscle often enough.
‘You want thanks, or you want paying?’ the Spider leader asked him. The ragged pause before he said it showed just how tired he was. ‘Or you want to see how much you can get for us from the Wasps?’
‘I have a modest proposal.’ Tomasso put his hands on his hips, surveying the mercenaries proprietorially. ‘It’s not much, I warn you, but in this market a handful of beans makes a wealthy man, as they say. You’re for hire, or you were. And you signed on with the Aldanrael to come and sack Collegium.’
‘Not Collegium, specifically,’ Morkaris answered, mangling the name slightly. ‘But, yes, what of it?’
‘And because you’re for hire, rather than sworn to the Aldanrael, when everything turned inexplicably to turds you got right out and left your paymaster mistress to it.’
The Spider shrugged, while his men remained silent, listening to every word and watching their chief for a lead.
‘And you’re in Collegium still, but they’re rounding up all the Spider-kinden they can get their hands on — not just your lot either, I saw men and women who’ve lived here all their lives getting grabbed on sight. So you’re well and truly pissed on, and no mistake.’
‘Is this going anywhere?’ Morkaris demanded sharply.
‘Yes, it’s going as far as this: I can’t help you. The Wasps are going to get you sooner or later.’ Tomasso shrugged. He registered the impact of his words on many faces. ‘I think your men are loyal to you, Morkaris. They’re still by your side, rather than just each man for himself. Are you as loyal to them, I wonder?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Tomasso clasped his hands together which, in much of the Spiderlands, was the archetypical gesture of a merchant putting forward a deal. ‘I said I can’t help you, Morkaris. Them, I can help. Maybe, I hope.’ His gesture took in the far end of the warehouse, where certain groups of the mercenaries had set themselves up. Tomasso was used to quick counts, and he reckoned he had two hundred and sixteen Spider-kinden here, with thirty-nine Scorpions and a score of other assorted miscellany. ‘No Spider within these walls is safe, but what about the rest? I’ve spoken with a merchant of the city whom I deal with. He runs big overland caravans — good stuff, lots of guards — and it’s a dangerous time. No surprise he’d have a lot of guards on his payroll. Naturally, the Wasps won’t want a large private militia of sellswords in the city, so our man will agree to get shot of them, kick them out of the city quick as you like. Of course, we’ll get you out of that Spiderlands kit and into something a bit more local. We can sort that.’
Morkaris’s expression was eloquent on the subject of how uncertain this plan sounded.
‘I know, I know,’ Tomasso admitted. ‘But it’s that or — what? Maybe you tell me your own plan, and we can compare notes?’
He sensed the mood, having been a leader for a long time. The non-Spiders had suddenly been given the gift of hope where they had none before. The rest. .
Looking at those faces, pale, bruised, lean, yet drawn in every line with the elegance that Spiders took for granted: men and women in equal number, and all of them hearing that death sentence confirmed, it was an effort of will for Tomasso to face them with equanimity.
And Morkaris asked, ‘What do you want, Fly? What do you want from the rest of us?’
Tomasso smiled slightly. ‘Nothing but what you make a living at. I need you to fight — fight the Wasps specifically. Does that sweeten the deal?’
Morkaris glanced back over the disparate mercenaries, his followers. No doubt his mind was working hard, trying to prise more options out of their situation, but in truth Tomasso wasn’t sure there were any.
‘You want us to die for you,’ the Spider leader said bitterly.
‘Wouldn’t you rather die for something?’ Tomasso asked him.
Over the years, Ant tacticians had devoted much time to the unfolding of an army, the perfect elegance of thousands of soldiers moving as one, representing the highest expression of Ant-kinden culture.
So it was that the Sarnesh came in sight of the Imperial Eighth Army towards evening, and began ordering themselves by pitching a cursory camp from which they could mobilize within moments, assembling their artillery, arranging themselves in a widespread formation in case the Empire decided to bring its greatshotters to bear. It was a sight to make an Ant poet weep.
Tactician Milus was unmoved. The purest expression of the Ant way of life meant nothing to him unless he won.
It was entirely possible that the Wasps would have a go at any moment with their superior artillery — the Sarnesh were well within range. A lot depended on whether the Wasps wanted to fight now at twilight, when nobody was at their best but when the Ant-kinden’s superior discipline and linked minds would add up to a significant advantage, or whether they would wait until morning. It was a decision Milus was not happy leaving in the hands of the enemy, but he himself did not want to try an immediate attack. Therefore it would be the decision of General Roder instead.