him, being Scuto’s man, not Stenwold’s own. He knew him for a
mercenary and yet the man had asked for no payment. That was either a happy
turn of events or a suspicious one.
‘Tell me, Balkus, what’s
in it for you?’ he asked boldly.
‘Don’t trust me, is it?’
Without even glancing
around, still presenting his broad back to the theoretical knife, Stenwold
shrugged. ‘It’s not a trusting business.’
‘That it’s not,’ the man
agreed. ‘Look, I’m no hero, right? I plied my trade from Helleron down to
Everis, and I must have signed on with everyone from crooks to Aristoi at one
time or another. It’s a fine stretch of land thataways, so between Helleron and
the Spiders there’s always work for a man like me. Wasps will change all that.
A man like me under their shadow is either a slave waiting for the chains or he
gets slapped with rank and papers and made to do their dirty work for them. If
I’d wanted that I’d have stayed in Sarn.’
‘There are always
frontiers,’ Stenwold pointed out. The white spires of the College were visible
ahead now. ‘You could have just moved on.’
‘You’re trying to get
rid of me?’
‘I’m curious, Balkus. If
I’m going to rely on you, I need to know you. I know Scuto trusts you. So
that’s a good start.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Stenwold
heard an awkwardness in the Ant’s voice. ‘Scutes and me go way back. We used to
take turns bailing each other out. This is . . . what, almost before you knew him. And some of the lads and lasses with him,
they were fellows of mine, and a lot of them are just ash and dirt now. And you
get to wondering how it’s going to be, you know.’
‘I do,’ Stenwold agreed.
‘Well don’t think you’re not appreciated. I saw you fight before the Pride . You did good work there.’
‘So did you, and your
niece and a whole lot of them,’ Balkus agreed. ‘And some that didn’t leave that
field alive either.’
They passed by the twin
statues of Logic and Reason that adorned the east gate of the College. Stenwold
paused a moment to rest a hand on Logic, carved as a female Beetle of mature
years wielding a metal rod marked with the gradations of an artificer’s rule.
The Great College was where learning was to be had here for the youth of all
kinden and, while the rich paid their way, there were scholarships for the poor
as well. The Moths might keep their secrets in the dark of their mountain
fastnesses, but here learning was light to be spread to all corners of the
world. There was nowhere else like it, and there never had been. And now the
Wasps wanted to destroy it.
At the gates he turned
to the Ant-kinden. ‘I have work for you. An opportunity.’
‘Name it,’ Balkus told
him, and Stenwold did. From the man’s expression the duties outlined did not
suit him, and it was a test, in a way, to see whether he would accept it. In the
end he nodded, perhaps just because Ant-kinden were bred to take orders. With a
final grimace and a shake of his head Balkus set off, heading away from the
College.
Stenwold saw knots of
students point him out as he entered. He was aware that, all unsought, he had a
reputation within these grounds. He was considered a freethinker, apparently:
he dared to teach that which the orthodox Masters of the College would not
touch. He had been warning of the Wasp Empire for a decade now, and this very
year they had finally come to the Lowlands. First they had competed at the
Great Games, taking a pointedly diplomatic second place in any contest they
chanced their hand at. Now the news was seeping in of armies on the move, the
drums of war sounding from the east. Stenwold the panic-monger had become
Stenwold the prophet.
There was a far greater
murmur now as he crossed the College grounds, and all of a sudden he realized
what it must mean. Concrete report must have come to Collegium that Tark had
been attacked, that the invasion had actually started. He turned to look at all
those young faces, and
Learning to Kill: Stories