He stomped wearily down the steps of the Amphiophos, hearing a ragged cheer as some late celebrants recognized him.

‘This won’t go away, will it?’ he said gloomily.

‘My kinden scheme all their lives for such recognition,’ Arianna said.

His sharp glance left her instantly contrite. ‘I’m sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear.’

‘It’s what I am, though, isn’t it,’ said Stenwold. ‘I’m as much of a web-spinner as Teornis. The difference is that the people who get caught in my webs are my own. My own friends, my kin.’

The frightened expression appearing on her face had his hand to his sword instantly, turning and drawing. He froze, then, hearing two or three people cry out in shock at the bared steel.

‘So they’re still calling you War Master,’ said that oh-so-familiar voice, that twenty-years-familiar voice, and Stenwold sheathed his sword numbly, noting that neither father nor daughter had so much as flinched at the threat of it.

He put out his hand, noticing it tremble slightly, and clasped arm to arm with Tisamon, feeling the man’s spines flex. ‘You’ve no idea how good it is to see you,’ he said. I’ve missed having a mad killer by my side. The thought made him laugh out loud, and he went to embrace Tynisa like a true father. But she took a step back, and then he noticed the sword and circle brooch she bore – saw in her haggard features the cost of that honour.

‘Tynisa…’

‘I live,’ she told him flatly.

‘The Mantis-kinden?’

‘I live,’ she said again.

Stenwold felt Arianna flinch at the thought. A nation of Tisamons, how could that ever work?

‘And Collegium is still standing,’ Tisamon observed. ‘You Beetles will always surprise me.’

‘I am told,’ Stenwold said, ‘that you are not entirely free of guilt in that.’

That dragged a smile from Tynisa. ‘We didn’t know if Teornis would get here. We didn’t know if he would even try.’

‘I am surprised,’ Tisamon admitted. ‘And at what cost is the city saved?’

Stenwold nodded. ‘At least we are here to pay it. The Spider Aristos has saved Collegium, as much as anyone has, and we cannot deny him that.’

‘The world,’ Tisamon declared, ‘has turned upside down.’ His gaze sought out Arianna, recognizing her for the first time beyond the College student’s robe. The claw was on his arm, as simple as that.

Stenwold put a hand on his shoulder as though he had not seen it, facing the man’s hostility head-on. ‘She has stood by me,’ he said. ‘She has saved my life and fought for my city, and she could have betrayed or killed me at any time. She is’ – Mine, she is mine - ‘loyal,’ he finished, at last. ‘And she did warn us of the Vekken, and we put that time to good use.’

‘Trust comes slowly,’ Tisamon agreed as Arianna regarded him cautiously.

‘I see you didn’t trust them enough to sail here with them,’ Stenwold observed.

‘As to that…’ Tisamon looked sidelong at Tynisa, ‘we had other engagements.’

‘A little job to do,’ Tynisa confirmed. ‘We’ll know, soon enough, if it has worked.’

Haldred was a Wasp of good family, a captain in the imperial army and a man whose preferred career path would have placed him securely in the imperial city of Capitas all his life. For a rising star in General Maxin’s retinue, however, there came some tasks that could not be avoided. A great deal hung on this, he had been told, and success in achieving it would be remembered. His name would be commented on to the Emperor himself.

He had passed the camp of the Fourth Army with a brief word to General Alder, and now he was flying with his escort of soldiers over the scrubby terrain, looking for the camp of the Spider-kinden. He had a mouth full of fine words for them, and a pouch full of documents for alliance and mutual benefit. The Empire and the Spiderlands were two giants only just met, and still testing each other’s strengths. This was one of only two places where they could now see directly eye to eye. Given a choice, Haldred would have preferred the city of Solarno, with all the decadence of the Spiderlands ranged beside a vast and beautiful lake stretching beyond the horizon, but instead he had been sent out here into the wilderness, and he had to make do with what orders came his way.

Dusk was closing on him, though, and he had yet to find the Spiders. It seemed impossible, in this barren country, for two hundred men to hide so effectively, but he had been searching for some time without success.

One of his men suddenly called out something, pointing, and Haldred saw what could be a group of men sheltering within a copse of trees. This must be them, he decided, and began to descend.

He and his men landed before the trees, and approached it cautiously. There was no fire alight, no obvious splendour of tents. He stepped within the shadow of the branches, still seeing nobody and nothing there.

‘I speak for the Wasp Empire,’ he called out. ‘I have an embassy to the Spiderlands.’

‘Do you indeed?’ said a voice softly, almost in his ear. He jumped back – looking up into a pale, fierce face.

They were not Spider-kinden, after all. He was in a different net altogether.

In his tent, General Alder looked over the most recent numbers reported from his quartermasters by lanternlight. The supply situation was growing desperate. The Scorpion-kinden were slow in bringing supplies across the desert, and those caravans the Wasp-kinden themselves sent out were plagued by bandits, who were most likely the selfsame Scorpions. Wretched barbarians, Alder sneered inwardly. Give me the order and I’d have the lot of them in shackles. That order would not come in his lifetime, though, because the Dryclaw desert offered nothing the Empire wanted save a right of way, and even that meant just a quicker step than skirting it.

This interminable waiting was death to a fighting man: each long day not knowing whether the next day would see them finally march. His men had made their temporary night camp when the cursed Spiders had first been sighted. They had been here ever since, sending back to Tark for supplies over and over again. The soldiers were restive, fighting amongst themselves, grown complacent. It was very bad for discipline, but Alder was an army man to the core and he needed his precise orders.

Now at last the imperial emissary had arrived, that preening little puppet Haldred, and surely tomorrow they would take the Merro road. His men meanwhile were out of all order, growing fat and idle.

Major Maan had stepped into the tent, saluting. ‘You sent for me, sir?’

‘Any sign of that diplomat, Major?’

‘He must be staying with the Spiders, sir,’ Maan reported, in a tone of voice that suggested envy. The splendour of Teornis’s tent and servants, the womenfolk especially, had impressed him.

The Spider had moved around a lot, like any travelling noble, pitching his tent on hilltops and in hollows, now within sight of the sea, now virtually overlooking the Wasp camp. Alder did not trust him for a moment. ‘Where is he camped tonight, Major? What have your scouts reported?’

‘I’ve had no word, sir.’

Alder had sighed. ‘Well find me word, Major.’

Rather than ceding him the privacy of his own tent, Maan simply sent a soldier off for a lieutenant of the watch, and then sat down obtrusively while they waited. When the lieutenant arrived it was a blessed relief.

‘Your scouts, Lieutenant, have they reported on the Spider lord’s current dwelling?’ Maan asked him.

‘They’ve not returned yet, sir.’

Alder narrowed his eyes. ‘What, none of them?’

‘My squad has not returned, sir,’ the lieutenant repeated implacably.

‘It’s no great matter, Major, but when I ask a question I’d like an answer.’

Maan saluted and left the tent, with the lieutenant in tow. A short while later he was back.