War Master’s Gate by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Author:Adrian Tchaikovsky
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor

TWENTY-FIVE

That morning, Major Oski turned up before his general. He was out of uniform, wearing dark, baggy clothes and with his face blacked like a comic artificer in a play.

‘General.’ The little man saluted. ‘Apologies, I’ve not had time to change.’

A horn sounded – in the last few days it had become a familiar and miserable call. It meant the Collegiate orthopters had been sighted on their way for another bombing run, under skies still grey with dawn. The Farsphex pilots and ground artillerists would be scrabbling to ready themselves, but those repeating ballistae with which the Empire had been threatening the slower enemy bombers had themselves become the prime targets, and each time the Collegiate machines flew over once again – several times a day now – the resistance offered was that much less.

Tynan kept an eye on the sky. ‘Explain.’

‘I’ve been over to look at the walls, sir,’ Oski told him. ‘Trick I learned from the Colonel-Auxillian – he always went for a look in the dark in person. Anyway, I thought I’d take a look at the closest gate, shooting arcs and the like. I’ve got a plan of attack now, if you’ll have it.’

Tynan gestured for him to continue. The first bomb fell, released too soon and impacting out in the earthworks. There was always someone too keen or too nervous, amongst the enemy. The growl of the Farsphex engines was all around them, too: Bergild’s pilots lifting into the air to do what they could. The numbers were stacked against them, though, and if they tried too hard they would find themselves shot down. Their game of feint and threat was growing more and more difficult, and most of the time Collegium could spare a score of Stormreaders to ward them off, whilst the rest got to work on the army.

And the Second Army was still spreading itself thin, but when the order came to press the actual attack, the Wasps would have to gather their soldiers, and then the bombing would begin in earnest. At this rate it seemed touch and go whether they could get close to the walls at all, given all the Collegiate artillery out there. And when they did, how long would they have to sit under bombardment before the ramparts could be taken or the wall breached?

Too long, was the thought nobody dared voice, for Captain Vrakir and his Red Watch constantly stalked through the army with their Imperial writ, just waiting for someone to express doubts about the Empress’s plans.

‘This airship,’ Tynan spat out, over the sound of the bombs.

‘Bergild and I, we calculate it’ll be in sight by late dawn tomorrow – and believe me, the Collegiates won’t miss it. That’s the other thing: Vrakir’s ordered all our fliers made ready for it – our artificers have been busy brewing up that muck that their Captain Nistic gave them the recipe for – and it’s nothing I recognize, I can tell you. Stinks, though, sir. Nobody wants a bed near where they’re boiling it.

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