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‘Should have died at Masaki, I reckon, sometimes,’ Varmen added unwillingly. ‘You know how that feels, that one blind bit of chance takes you out of the way of the axe?’ Seeing Cean nodding, he went on, ‘And at Malkan’s Stand, I nearly did. Got a snapbow bolt through me, armour and all. Should have died there, too. After that, the army had no use for me – the Sentinels were being recalled. No point in all that armour if it couldn’t stop the shot. They just cut me off, like I was an embarrassment for surviving. A freak. I kicked about in Helleron some, but I used to dream of the Commonweal, of the Sixth as it used to be, before that useless tinkerer Praeter got put in charge. I used to dream of being holed up with them scouts, and . . . there was a girl, can’t even remember her name now. One of your lot, nice voice. I ended up going one on one with her, because I had to buy time for my men. I dream of that a lot. Seemed like my life went downhill from there, really. Now doesn’t that sound stupid, eh?’

Cean regarded him solemnly. ‘To a Wasp, perhaps, but my own kinden would understand. Mantis-kinden, too. There is a time for all things, especially for people. You and I, our time was then – that year, that month, at the height of our powers. We have neither of us ever been quite who we were then, do you not think?’

Varmen regarded him bleakly, but at last he nodded tiredly. ‘Reckon you’ve got the right of it, sir.’

‘We lost our purpose, after that. No matter that the war still had a few years left to run, our great work was done, and all we had left was to preside over our decline in the face of progress. It is a terrible thing to outlive one’s destiny.’

‘I don’t believe in destiny,’ Varmen said automatically, and then, ‘but, yes.’

‘You won’t believe in guiding spirits, either,’ Lowre Cean decided, ‘but in the Commonweal it can happen that a man whose destiny has passed him by may yet find a way to make something of himself. He may find himself taking strange paths, in order to seek out that elusive sense of purpose. Such as a Wasp coming to the Commonweal, perhaps? Who knows?’

‘Is that so?’ Varmen shrugged.

‘You’re heading back to Leose, of course?’

‘No chance. Won’t let us through the doors of that place.’

Lowre Cean sighed. ‘Prince Felipe Shah, my old comrade and friend, has asked me to look after the girl, Tynisa Maker. He believes he owes her a great debt. He also believes that she is travelling into darkness: that she is being led into it. I’m no fortune-teller myself, but he seems to think that she will need friends, and even a poor old man such as myself can sense that there is a storm brewing at Leose. So I think you should gather up your fellows and return there as swiftly as possible.’

‘I owe the girl nothing,’ Varmen challenged. ‘Why should I?’

‘Her name was Felipe Daless,’ declared Lowre Cean, looking the Wasp right in the eye. ‘She was Felipe Shah’s daughter.’

Varmen could only stare at him. ‘What did you . . .? How could you even . . .?’

‘I could baffle you with talk of mind-reading and magic now, could I not, Sergeant? But it was as simple as this: I knew her, and she told me of a duel with a Wasp Sentinel – of how you held her and her people off until more soldiers came to your rescue. It must have been you, for I doubt such events happened twice during all the war. And here you are – and no doubt you’ll say you were drawn here by blind coincidence.’

Varmen’s expression had become very fixed.

‘She bore you no ill will. I even think she respected you,’ Cean continued. ‘The duel of champions is a proud Commonwealer tradition, after all, and she had not expected it in an Imperial.’

Still Varmen said nothing, but Lowre Cean waited for him to conquer his internal demons to finally ask, ‘What happened to her?’

The old man’s smile was sad. ‘She died, of course. Just one more casualty of the war.’ He did not say, your people’s war, nor did his gaze accuse. His expression suggested, instead, that they all of them were victims of the same vast and unthinking