Thalric almost fell over as Che's full weight dragged against him, but he got an arm behind her knees and hoisted her off the ground. Cursed Beetle girl could stand to lose some weight Cursed Beetle girl could stand to lose some weight, came the thought, but then he had a firm grip on her and was backing out of that horrible tent. He noticed movement and turned awkwardly, seeing someone running towards them. He twisted a hand free, almost losing hold of Che again, and let his sting flash. The man, an emaciated Khanaphir, fell back in a tangle of limbs.

'Let's go go,' he grated. 'Come on, Fly-kinden.'

Trallo was already on his way, trying to wind back the string on a pistol crossbow as he went. The denizens of the Marsh Alcaia had begun to show all too much interest in a Wasp lugging a foreign Beetle girl about.

'Stupid, stupid woman,' Thalric was cursing under his breath. 'What did you think you were doing?'

'Lucky you were keeping an eye on her,' said Trallo, having finally got his crossbow c.o.c.ked. Now that he brandished it so openly, interest from the street people was fast diminishing. The Khanaphir didn't seem to possess such weapons themselves, but everyone here seemed to know what it was capable of. Loosing a crossbow bolt in a confined s.p.a.ce bounded entirely by cloth walls would be an interesting exercise, Thalric thought.

Trallo was leading the way confidently, left, left, then right. Merchants and gamblers watched narrowly as they pa.s.sed, making Thalric keenly aware of just how much Che's unconscious body was hampering his progress. If they jump me I'm dead If they jump me I'm dead, he thought, and then, and I b.l.o.o.d.y well deserve it and I b.l.o.o.d.y well deserve it. He was conscious that dressing this episode up to satisfy his Rekef colleagues would be nigh impossible. But I knew I knew she would get involved in something like this But I knew I knew she would get involved in something like this. Cheerwell Maker, as usual, blundering through a world of sharp edges with her eyes shut.

The uncomfortable truth: I have a problem, here I have a problem, here, and then Trallo shouted something, and Thalric tried to turn. Something hit him in the jaw hard enough to snap his head back. He staggered, his legs suddenly weak, and someone tried to wrestle Che from his grasp. There was a moment of fumbling that, to a disinterested observer, must have seemed hilarious, and Che was pulled out of Thalric's hands. The abductor had botched it, though, tripping and falling backwards so that the weight of her drove the breath from his lungs. Abruptly free of her, with palm open and ready, Thalric turned to receive another hammering punch that knocked him flat on his back. A dark-armoured form loomed over him just as he heard the clack of Trallo's crossbow. Impossibly the little bolt just danced off the attacker's mail and those gauntleted hands now came up with something ugly and short-barrelled: a cut-down snapbow! a cut-down snapbow!

'Flee!' Thalric shouted, as two of his attackers began hauling him to his feet. He struggled furiously, trying to turn the palms of his hands towards them. 'Trallo, flee!' he yelled again. He saw the armoured a.s.sailant sight down the wicked little snapbow, then lower it.

Telling a Fly-kinden to run, it occurred to Thalric, is surely unnecessary is surely unnecessary.

'Watch his hands!' the man warned, but they were already holding Thalric's arms out straight and back, putting pressure on his elbows to keep them that way. Their dark armour was mostly plated leathers, and only their leader wore steel mail, of a design Thalric had never seen before. It was a moment before he recognized the emblem on their tabards.

'What-?' One of them wrenched his arm and he hissed in pain. 'What do the Iron Glove want with me? I am Imperial amba.s.sador in this city!'

'Are you?' He could see himself reflected dimly in the armoured man's helm. The eye-slit gave no clues. 'And what does the Empire want with abducting Lowlander women?'

'I was ...' But he was what? What can I say that will not incriminate me? What can I say that will not incriminate me?

'Your name is Thalric, my people tell me,' said the Iron Glove man, and a chill went through him.

a.s.sa.s.sins? He had all but forgotten, given the challenge of this new city and its distractions. He had all but forgotten, given the challenge of this new city and its distractions. Are you so weary of your life that you forget such things? Are you so weary of your life that you forget such things? But he was far from the Empire, and the attack outside Tyrshaan now seemed like something long ago. But he was far from the Empire, and the attack outside Tyrshaan now seemed like something long ago.

'My name is Thalric,' he admitted.

'It has been a long time,' the armoured man replied slowly. 'I saw you only briefly, on the Sky Without Sky Without. But she told me what you did to her, in h.e.l.leron and in Myna.' There were knives in that tone which mocked the terrors of mere a.s.sa.s.sins.

'Who are you?' Thalric demanded.

'Me?' The faceless helm came closer. 'Why, I'm no Rekef officer, Master Thalric. I'm no lord of the Empire or grand amba.s.sador. I'm just a poor halfbreed boy who's had to make his own way in the world.'

A name hovered at the very edge of Thalric's memory, but he could not bring it to mind.

'But look at me now,' the man continued. 'I've not done so badly. Look at what I can do.'

Thalric saw him draw back his fist for the blow, amateurish and clumsy if only he himself had been able to dodge. Then the metal-clad fist slammed into his stomach and doubled him over, only the layer of copperweave saving his innards. He sagged against his captors, who instantly jerked him upright. The armoured man was examining his mailed fist speculatively.

'Look what I can do,' he repeated, wonderingly. When the gaze of the helm tilted towards Thalric again, it was as though they were collaborators in this new exercise of power.

'You don't understand what's going on here,' said Thalric, and because he was speaking he was not ready for the next blow, which lashed into his cheek, splitting his lip and throwing him out of the grip of his captors. He hit the ground hard, clawing at the dust, trying to extend a hand out to sting. The boot came from nowhere into his ribs and he cried out at last, curling about the pain, bracing for the next blow.

There was no next one, though, and he forced himself to look up. The snapbow was directed at him, at his face, at his eye. Well, I always knew the mail wouldn't save me every time Well, I always knew the mail wouldn't save me every time.

'This is personal, between us two,' the armoured man explained. 'The Iron Glove wouldn't thank me for killing an amba.s.sador. Be grateful that your Fly got away to tell tales. It's enough now that you know you're beaten.'

Two of them still supported Che between them, and the two others that had been holding him now had their crossbows out and ready. The company started moving away through the Marsh Alcaia, only the armoured man pausing a moment, staring down at Thalric.

'If I ever see you again,' he said, 'know that I haven't even begun to avenge what you did to her.'

Thalric tried to sit up, unkinking bruise by bruise, his breath ragged in his throat. No broken ribs, just pain all over and a bloodied lip. He had suffered much worse. The halfbreed had no idea just how much Thalric had endured, before.

There was a flurry of movement nearby, and he instinctively jabbed an arm out towards it, reaching for his sword with the other.

'It's me, it's me!' Trallo shrilled, coming to rest beside him, surveying him critically. 'They did a real job on you, didn't they?'

Thalric groaned, pulling himself fully to his feet, light-headed and breathing through waves of pain.

'I hope you can walk,' Trallo added reproachfully. 'There's no way I'm carrying you.'

'I can walk.' And I can think up some explanation for Marger and the others, as well And I can think up some explanation for Marger and the others, as well. He was still ransacking his memory for the name of the armoured halfbreed.

Twenty.

She awoke, and was in a strange place.

She was still in Khanaphes, because the city signed every brick that composed it, but this was nowhere she recognized. The ceiling was too low, the windows too small: it was certainly not the splendour of the Place of Honoured Foreigners.

Nor was it the coloured cloth of the Marsh Alcaia, and that was something to be grateful for, at least. She gathered up the pieces of her last recollections and tried to put them in order. The Fir dream came back to her with shocking suddenness: the mantis of the Darakyon, reaching out with b.l.o.o.d.y claws towards her. She sat up with a start.

'Achaeos?' she whispered the name, out of force of habit, but his ghost was not there, not even a tremor in the air to hint of it. She was in some kind of dormitory, lying on a narrow cot that was one of five. It looked like a room allotted for servants.

They were going to kill me, she recalled. The woman they called Mother had urged, Take her blood Take her blood. Was that why she was now here? Were they going to farm her blood, syphon it off in cups and quarts? Che realized she was not tied to the bed, but she was willing to bet that the door was locked, and the single window was too small to let a Fly in.

Trallo? Perhaps the Fly had escaped. Perhaps there would be a rescue, after all. Perhaps the Fly had escaped. Perhaps there would be a rescue, after all. By who, though? By who, though? She could not imagine Manny and Berjek charging in with sword and pike, but at least they could always go and seek aid from the Khanaphir. It would be a diplomatic embarra.s.sment, of course, and if the truth of her deeds should become known they might be thrown out of the city or worse. That might still be better than being bled to death by Fir-eaters over the course of a month. She could not imagine Manny and Berjek charging in with sword and pike, but at least they could always go and seek aid from the Khanaphir. It would be a diplomatic embarra.s.sment, of course, and if the truth of her deeds should become known they might be thrown out of the city or worse. That might still be better than being bled to death by Fir-eaters over the course of a month.

She recalled Trallo shouting something. Had he been shouting for help? And hadn't help arrived? And hadn't help arrived? She had an image of a bright figure with its hands on fire. The Fir-eaters had been screaming ... She had an image of a bright figure with its hands on fire. The Fir-eaters had been screaming ...

There was water and soap laid out for her at the foot of the bed, and the sight of it brought a surge of relief out of all proportion, since the Fir-eaters had not looked as though they cared much for washing. There was even a towel folded over the bed-end, Collegium style. Someone's trying to make me feel welcome Someone's trying to make me feel welcome. After washing, she drank a great deal of water from a pitcher, trying to rid her mouth of the bitter taste of the vices she had dabbled in. Perhaps this is some kind of Khanaphir hospital? Perhaps this is some kind of Khanaphir hospital?

They had laid out a robe for her too, and she eyed it suspiciously. She was still wearing what she considered as her working clothes, hardwearing and practical even though they were filthy and malodorous.

Realizing her sword was gone, she cursed quietly. Her new situation seemed subtly balanced between comfort and threat. Am I a prisoner here, or a guest? Am I a prisoner here, or a guest?

She decided not to change clothes. Instead, she tried the door, and found it opened out into a corridor. Immediately she was surrounded. There were three of them, men in dark leathers and helms, shortswords at their belts. One closed the door neatly behind her, another was off and away at a run. She swung round, reaching again for the absent sword. 'What is this?'

'If you'll come with us,' one of them said, the tone of his voice strictly neutral.

'You're wait a moment, you're Iron Glove. What's going on?' she demanded.

'Just come with us, Bella,' the man repeated. The two of them were standing on one side of her, blocking the narrow corridor. She backed off the way that the third man had gone running, and they followed smoothly.

'I'm the Collegiate amba.s.sador,' she told them, trying for authority. 'I insist you tell me where I am and what is going on.'

They gave no reply to her bravado, which was perhaps all it deserved. She was retreating and retreating, seeing only closed doors on all sides, or doorways and stairwells where other Iron Glove men stood and watched, barring any escape.

'Is Corcoran here?' she asked desperately. 'I know him. He's a friend.' An acquaintance, barely An acquaintance, barely. 'Please would you go find him. He's in charge here, isn't he?'

'Not any more,' one of the men said flatly, and her heart sank. What have I got myself into? Some schism amongst them? And how would that involve me? What have I got myself into? Some schism amongst them? And how would that involve me?

She realized that she had unthinkingly backed into a larger room, and turned, groping for her bearings. It was a dining hall, still low-ceilinged but wide, and windowed on one side beyond a row of pillars. This was a little more like the Khanaphes she knew.

The long table that dominated the room was set with fruit and some sort of fish, simple local fare. The sight of it made Che realize how hungry she was, but there were only two chairs set there, and until the other one was claimed she was not going to sit down. The two Iron Glove men had now retreated to the doorway she had entered by.

'Someone,' she insisted, 'had better tell me what is going on.'

Even as she spoke, that someone entered the room from the far door. She saw a broad-shouldered man in intricate dark mail, pulling off his gauntlets even as he approached. He went to stand by one of the chairs, which was drawn out for him by one of his men. Cautiously, Che approached the other.

He laid the gauntlets on the table, undid the chinstrap of his helm and took it off. Che stared into the solid, closed face of a stranger, a halfbreed, strong-jawed and heavy-browed, touched by that faint discontinuity that so many of mixed blood were tainted with ...

As she studied him, something shifted inside her, as though the ground beneath her feet had turned suddenly treacherous.

'h.e.l.lo, Che,' he said, and she was rushing around the table to get to him, throwing her arms around the fluted breastplate, feeling his own arms hesitantly encircle her, almost too gently to feel, as though he was desperate not to break her.

She stood back a pace, looking him up and down. That face, which a moment ago had been as full of mystery as a stranger's, had that familiar half-bewildered expression that brought back long-ago days in the Great College.

'I can't believe it,' she said. 'I can't believe it's you. Look at you!' The sight of him unleashed a whirl of memories. 'I thought they must have killed you,' she continued. 'I was sure they must have found you out. I never heard anything more ...' A cold thought came to her. 'You're not ...?'

'With the Empire? I am not,' he said firmly. He was trying to smile at her, but a lifetime of hiding his hurts and joys was making it hard for him. 'And the man who found out what I had done was no normal Imperial officer.' He made an awkward gesture at the table. 'Eat, please. Will you eat with me?'

'Of course.' She sat herself down hurriedly, hands moving rapidly to the food under urgent directions from her stomach. She glanced back towards the two men who had shepherded her into the room. 'How did you go from the Empire to these Iron Glove people anyway? Are you turned merchant now?'

As he sat opposite her, a smile broke through at last. It made his face look unfamiliar: a hard thing born from the years since they had left Collegium, not something of the boy she had known at all. 'Che, I am am the Iron Glove,' he replied. the Iron Glove,' he replied.

She frowned at him, bolted a mouthful of fish and said, 'I don't understand.'

'A year ago I fled the Empire with my ... business partner. We came to settle in Chasme, and started work. Now we're the biggest artificing house around the Exalsee, and expanding every day. The trading is secondary. It's the research, the manufacture, that's the point.'

'And you sell ... weapons?' Che recalled.

'We sell war.' From his expression, it was a reflexive answer, and perhaps one he would not have given her if he had thought it through. 'Weapons, armour, machinery, with Exalsee innovation, Lowlander craft and Imperial methods. We've built it up, Che I've I've built it up and we've only been in Chasme for a year and a bit.' His face was desperate for some validation from her. built it up and we've only been in Chasme for a year and a bit.' His face was desperate for some validation from her.

'You always did like your weapons,' she said and, although that was not it, her fond smile seemed to satisfy him. 'And that's why you're in Khanaphes now?'

'There's a market,' he said, and she heard behind the statement things left unsaid. He could not have come all this way just to meet me He could not have come all this way just to meet me. But her memory snagged on that letter, the one Achaeos had found, in which all of Totho's soul had lain sc.r.a.ped bare.

'I suppose I was lucky that you came along, in the Alcaia.' She said the words lightly, but she watched, and saw the beat, the moment's hesitation in his reaction. Or you were seeking me out, or you were watching me ...? Or you were seeking me out, or you were watching me ...? 'Hold on a moment.' She paused, the fork halfway to her lips. 'Where's Trallo?' 'Hold on a moment.' She paused, the fork halfway to her lips. 'Where's Trallo?'

'What's Trallo?'

'A Fly-kinden. He was with me in the Alcaia ...' A sudden chill struck her. Did they kill him? Had I abandoned him? Did they kill him? Had I abandoned him? She had been so concerned with her own surroundings, with this man from her past, she had not wondered what had happened to Trallo. She had been so concerned with her own surroundings, with this man from her past, she had not wondered what had happened to Trallo.

'He ...' She saw Totho frown. 'He was yours?'

The chill increased. 'What did you ...? Tell me you haven't hurt him, please.'

'No, not hurt ...' His face remained without expression. 'There was a Fly, but he fled, when we took you from the Empire. I was sure he was on their side.'

She gave that one a long pause, trying it from all angles, and finding that it would not fit, no matter how she turned or forced it. 'The Empire?' she finally said, in a small voice. 'It was natives, Totho.' She could not bring herself to mention her foray into Profanity. 'The people who attacked me were natives.'

'Then they must have been in the Empire's pay,' he insisted. 'I took you from the hands of the Empire. A Wasp and not just any Wasp ...' She had held up a hand, but he barrelled on, determined to convince her. 'It was that man who had you captive in Myna. Their Rekef man. I took you from him though. I rescued you.'

He looked for approval, but she sank her face in her hands. She was suddenly feeling ill. 'Totho,' she said quietly, 'what have you done? Have you killed him?'

'The Iron Glove trades with the Empire,' Totho replied slowly, 'and this Thalric is their amba.s.sador here. I merely took you from him ... by force. I did not kill him.'

She was surprised at the relief she felt. Thalric had been there, in the tent: Thalric had been there, in the tent: the bright figure with hands of fire. She had been rescued from her rescuer. the bright figure with hands of fire. She had been rescued from her rescuer. And how many people were following me, and keeping track of me, when I went to commit this crime against the Khanaphir? And how many people were following me, and keeping track of me, when I went to commit this crime against the Khanaphir? How could she have missed so many spies and agents following on her heels? How could she have missed so many spies and agents following on her heels?

'There's no reason for you to have known, but he worked for Stenwold during the war,' she said. 'It's ... complicated.'

'He's the same man that enslaved you, tortured you,' Totho argued stubbornly.

'It's complicated,' said Che again. 'That's all. I had better go and see just what sort of a diplomatic mess has happened in my absence whether they're searching the city for me.' She shook her head, seeing his suddenly aggrieved expression. 'Or could you at least send someone to my emba.s.sy to let them know I'm safe, and then I can finish dinner.'

He made a signal, and one of his men went running from the hall. In that same moment she felt uneasy with him. She could reconcile the face, the voice, but not the man. What has he become, after all this time? What has he become, after all this time? In all his designing and making, he had reinvented himself into this man of authority, dark-armoured, close-faced, hard-edged. In all his designing and making, he had reinvented himself into this man of authority, dark-armoured, close-faced, hard-edged.

'It's good to see you again,' she told him, but was not sure, looking at Totho, how much she was still seeing of her old friend, or what had been brought in to replace what she had once known.

'So what happened to you?' Marger asked, eyeing Thalric's bruises.

'Diplomatic incident,' Thalric replied shortly. He had stormed back into the emba.s.say only a few minutes ago, knowing that one of the Rekef would be with him as soon as they could decide who best to send.

'With the Lowlanders?'

'No, with the locals. Tell me about the Iron Glove.'

Marger took the two statements in, and made the connection without comment. 'What's to say?' Another in his long series of shrugs. 'Trading cartel from the Exalsee, weapons and armour, operating out of Chasme. They've done well for themselves over the last year.'

Thalric leant back in his chair with a disappointed sigh. 'Come on, Marger, I knew that much myself.' Talk to other Rekef men, and it feels as though I'm debriefing some enemy agent I've turned Talk to other Rekef men, and it feels as though I'm debriefing some enemy agent I've turned. It was ludicrous, considering his business, but he missed the trust and the certainty of honest spywork.

Marger's expression offered nothing but wide-eyed sincerity. 'What do you mean?'

Thalric sighed. 'You're thinking of me as a courtier, Captain Marger. You're thinking of the Regent, some fop who's never done a day's work for the service. I didn't get my Major's rank through family or favour. I earned it. I know full well that if a group like the Iron Glove was muscling in on your area of operation, you'd get briefed.'

For a long time Marger kept his usual easy smile, no more than the puzzled junior officer. Then it collapsed, and he gave a single hard-won nod. 'Well then, Major, we didn't know they were here, but it seemed likely enough for me to hear something. Nothing certain, mind, since they're tight with their information. They travel all over the Exalsee and beyond, in those helms and that black armour, and they manufacture arms that are strong, cheap, top quality. For special customers they offer more than that, new designs that have the Imperial artificers in fits. The Exalsee is already ahead of us, in some branches of artifice, and the Iron Glove is keeping ahead of them, too.'

Thalric digested this. 'And we trade with them? We should do.'