Ahead, a force had gathered to oppose her. There were Tarkesh there, and the copper men, and many, many diverse men and women of Collegium, Beetles and all other kinden. They outnumbered her surviving force by more than three to one.

They were not Ant-kinden in the main, though, so they could not stand together and fight together as Ant-kinden could. What were such odds, therefore, compared to the iron discipline of Vek?

Shields to the fore and stand fast, she ordered, for the enemy were charging now, coming for her people at a run, hoping to break them. Obedient to her will, her soldiers closed ranks, crouched behind their shields, and waited to weather the assault. Crossbows. Volley fire.

She saw the first sheet of crossbow bolts strike them, saw some parts of the attacking force crumble back, others press on. The Tarkesh held, and so did the copper men, while the exhausted locals were knocked back, thrown into confusion. Many of them had not even possessed shields.

Hold firm. Throw them back.

She sensed the realization go through the enemy Ant-kinden that their assault had failed before contact was made. Almost immediately they were making their withdrawal, the enemy force falling back piecemeal to its starting point and leaving its dead behind. She herself had suffered barely a dozen casualties.

Artillery! came the warning in her mind. The repeating ballistae had now been brought up from the beach, and the copper-skinned artificers were setting them up with grim efficiency. The Vekken force was well within their range.

Shields, she ordered. Advance. Drive them into the sea.

The mass of Vekken infantry, her prize soldiers, the finest in the world, locked shield to shield, before them and overhead, and marched forward in double time towards the enemy line. Let them use their ballistae when it has become sword against sword, she thought.

The artillery was now launching, the bolts peppering her lines, punching through shields, knocking holes in her formation that were quickly filled. There was still confusion as her enemies tried to arrange their line. She saw, to her surprise, that they were going to charge again, to try to halt her by the sheer force of their momentum, to wrap around and take her force in the flanks.

An Ant-kinden army has no flanks. The men at the sides would simply turn to face their aggressors like pieces in the machine. Collegium could still be hers.

They were in crossbow range now, both sides loosing a torrent of bolts to thud into shield or stab into armoured flesh. Then she saw her enemies gather what courage they had left and charge her.

Hold, she instructed, and then, Cut them to pieces-

Something loomed just then over the enemy force, something dark in the great span of sea and sky behind them. It was rushing towards her army, coursing with and around and between her enemies: a great barbed shadow cast by nothing at all, but thorned and spined and shifting like the shadows between great trees, and Akalia screamed, in her mind and out loud, as it descended upon them.

It was a trick of the light, or a moment’s hallucination, but every man and woman of her army saw it just as she did, and they shifted and started, and their shields slipped, and then the enemy struck them.

*

It was a long time ago. It seemed a hundred years ago. It seemed like yesterday.

They were already rebuilding, Stenwold knew with satisfaction. They were planning the regeneration of Collegium, from the wounds it had inflicted on itself, and the wounds the Vekken had dealt it.

And I would rather be out there with them, but that was not true. I would rather be at home. He did not want to be here in the Amphiophos in his formal robes.

‘Master Maker, can I introduce the Lord-Martial Teornis of the Aldanrael?’ asked Lineo Thadspar, stepping into his view.

Stenwold managed a weary bow to the immaculate Spider-kinden Aristos. This was the one who had commanded the fleet, he realized: the man who had saved Collegium.

The Amphiophos was full of new faces today, but most keenly he felt the lack of so many of the old ones. The Assembly, like the city it governed, was peppered with holes. Where now was Waybright, who had fallen to a crossbow bolt on the east wall? Where was Doctor Nicrephos, and where was the stern old visage of Kymon of Kes?

‘Lord-Martial, I have no words to thank you,’ he said, all too truthfully. ‘I had not thought the Spiderlands would be such a supporter of our city.’

‘The Spiderlands holds no single opinion as one entity, nor takes any single action, War Master,’ replied Teornis drily. ‘However, I myself see sufficient advantage in trade and political futures to go so far on behalf of your city. You must thank another, though, for the invitation.’

Stenwold could see, from Thadspar’s face, that this was something new, and he made a politely enquiring sound.

‘You are acquainted with a most enchanting member of my kind named Tynisa, are you not?’

‘You’ve seen Tynisa?’ gasped Stenwold. ‘Where?’ The world was making no sense to him now. Is it because I am so tired, or it is really all nonsense?

‘The full story I shall tell you when we can find more leisure,’ Teornis promised. ‘It is unfinished as yet, for she and her companion had some small matters to attend to before their own return, or else I would have offered them space on my flagship.’

Stenwold nodded, mind still reeling, and thanked him again before looking for a place to sit down. It was five days since the Vekken army had been defeated and Collegium saved, but people still moved about their city as though there was a war going on. There were a great many foreigners here, and the locals regarded them nervously. If Teornis had wanted Collegium for himself he could have made a serious attempt on her, Stenwold knew, and in their negotiations the day after the battle the Spider had pointedly not quite said as much. Stenwold knew a little of the trade concessions that the Aldanrael family would reap from this, the loans and the technology and the student places at the College, even two Master’s seats that were also seats on the Assembly.

‘Commander Parops,’ Thadspar said, drifting past. The Tarkesh officer was still in his armour, and he shook Sten-wold’s hand heartily. ‘You’re Stenwold Maker!’ he said.

‘I am indeed,’ Stenwold admitted. He still felt that he should sit down, but just now he was supposed to be a diplomat. It was a wrenching change from being a soldier, and after an hour of this he was not sure which he preferred.

‘You know a Fly-kinden, name of Nero,’ Parops informed him.

It was obviously a day for name-dropping. ‘Yes, I do,’ Stenwold said, ‘although it has been a long time since I’ve seen him.’

‘Then I have a lot I can tell you,’ said Parops. Then, seeing Thadspar anxious to introduce him to others, he grimaced and added, ‘Later, though.’

I can see I’ll not have many evenings free for a while. Stenwold allowed himself to lean back against a convenient wall, before he saw another Assembler approaching him, leading a copper-hued man of rangy build.

‘This is Artificer-Commander…’ the Assembler started, and the name had obviously evaded him.

‘Dariaxes,’ said the copper-coloured, copper-clad man whose eyes were a startling red.

‘Commander Dariaxes is Fire Ant-kinden from Porphyris,’ the Assembler announced excitedly. ‘This is the first-ever formal contact between our cities. Isn’t that remarkable, Master Maker?’

Stenwold tiredly conceded that it was. ‘I am only pleased our first meeting is under such amicable terms, Commander,’ he said. ‘Your men are… mercenaries for the Spiders?’