Spoils of War (Tales of the Apt Book 1) by Adrian Tchaikovsky (best young adult book series .txt) 📕

Sporadic arrow-shot met us as we stormed the gates, but the Beetles had come with big shields, and the airborne put enough stingfire into the walls to dissuade any sharpshooters. One of the Auxillian company artificers set a simple petard against the gates and then they made their hasty retreat. No doubt the Commonwealers thought they’d driven us off and were celebrating, because precious few shafts were sent after the Beetles. Shortly after that there was a muted boom, the metal pot of the petard flew off into the trees, and, when the smoke cleared, the gates were punched in as though some giant foot had stamped on them.

In went the airborne, and there was a brief, vicious skirmish: a half-dozen Mantis-kinden dead for nine of ours. Any enemy left had retreated to an inner bailey, another slanted wooden box with arrowslits. At this point I was considering just burning them out, but Sergeant Wanton pointed out that there were no arrows coming at us.

“Maybe there are no archers inside?” I wondered, and then, “Maybe they want to surrender.” Certainly the list of possible outcomes that saw any of the defenders remaining alive was growing slim. “You’re sure nobody escaped by air after we got here?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Sir!” one of the other airborne shouted. The gates were opening.

The Dragonfly nobles had indeed fled into their fort, at the end, I later discovered, although they had left their Mantis-kinden followers outside to die. However, even as they closed the door on our troops, they had not known that they were already infiltrated.

Standing in the gateway was a familiar figure, all over spikes and stripped of her usual cloak of leaves. In the crook of one arm she held her crossbow, and the other hand was lifting a head high. I could not know for sure, but I was willing to lay odds that the twisted features were those of the Dragonfly noble who had made the Sel’yon such a miniscule thorn in the Empire’s side.

We cheered her then, first the Auxillians and the soldiers of my original command, but soon enough the newer arrivals too.

What impact any of this had on the war as a whole I can’t say. I don’t imagine that Commonwealer princes were running up and down the halls of their palaces, decrying the loss of the Sel’yon. Old Mercy, though, was very pleased indeed. After my detailed report I received, by return, a terse note informing me that he would be taking the unprecedented step of actually coming over to inspect the troops and congratulate them. He wanted them ready for the parade ground within two days, which was not going to endear him to them, and he particularly wanted to see the Pioneer Corps, of whom I had spoken so highly.

I had them ready for his inspection. He came with a sizeable escort of his own: medium infantry and a few sentinels, as though he was expecting a Commonweal resurgence at any point. As I say, his usual style was to demand people came to him, not actually go visit them. Possibly he’d forgotten what the outside world looked like.

I’d got my men into some semblance of order. The Beetles polished up nicely, although the airborne are never easy to keep in line. I had Sergeant Wanton stalking between the ranks with a stick, ready to belabour anyone joking with their neighbour, but even so there was a fair amount of shifting and shuffling going on. Major Tancrev, Old Mercy, had billetted his own men, and now he made his appearance, dressed in enamelled mail with a cloak gusting behind him. I met him, and followed him down the ranks, just a step behind him, answering his occasional question about the troops. Despite his promise of congratulations, his praise was sparse, but at least he didn’t actually have anyone mutilated for having dirty boots, so I was counting the whole exercise as a success.

Then we got to the pioneers, those that were left. They were not parade ground material, but they stared straight ahead as the major inspected them: the Wasp-kinden, the Flies, then Cari.

“Well, Thorn Bug, eh?” he said, with that higher officer’s infallible knack of stating the obvious. I had praised her in my report, because I’ve got at least that much decency, but Old Mercy did not personally commend lesser kinden, and so we passed on. Just as we were about to look at the Auxillians, though, he remarked to me, “I had a Thorn Bug once...” with a curl of his lip. I knew then. From his tone it could just have meant that he’d had one serving under his command, but I knew.

I could have done something. The whole business was in my hands and at my discretion. As a lieutenant in the imperial army I had a duty.

That night, after everyone had turned in, I got drunk enough that I didn’t have to think about what the morning would bring, what I knew it would inevitably bring, barring any action from me.

She was gone before dawn, of course, and I never heard tell of her since, but who keeps track of Thorn Bugs, honestly? Old Mercy’s people turned the camp upside down looking for him, but I didn’t help. I played the ignorant card and bumbled about getting in their way. Only towards noon did one of them realise that the number of Cari’s grisly trophies was up by one on the day before, a new post added to her collection. The rest of him we never found.

Thorn Bug-kinden feature a few times in the novels, primarily in the form of Scuto, Stenwold’s Helleron agent. Cari has little common ground with Scuto, though. In ‘Camouflage’ we see more of the Wasp-Dragonfly war, this time just a little backwater part of it. Cari has no repeat appearance (though she really deserves one) but the Pioneers themselves have a part to play in War Master’s Gate and their ramshackle training and diversity come straight out of