Two It was all over before they arrived, the charred wood and ash gone cold, and just the smoke still drifting into a cloudless sky. The sail-mill, the warehouse, the miller's home, everything had been systematically razed. By the time word was rushed to Collegium by the neighbouring hamlet, it would already have been too late to stop it.

Stenwold stared at the ruins, his hands hooked in the belt of his artificer's leathers. The miller and his family and staff would all be dead. This was the third attack to occur hereabouts and the pattern was dismaying in its precision. Around him the guardsmen from Collegium were fanning outwards from the automotive, some with their shields held high and others with snapbows at the ready.

'You think we did this.'

He looked around to see one of the Vekken ambassadors staring at him. The Ant-kinden's expression was one of barely controlled dislike. The man's hand rested on his sword-hilt as though he was waiting for a reason to slice Stenwold open. Stenwold was wearing a breastplate over his leathers and he was glad of it.

'I don't think anything as yet,' he replied patiently. A lot of effort had been involved in there even being a Vekken here to talk to, and most of it was his work.

'Yet you have brought me here for a reason,' the man said. He was smaller than Stenwold, shorter, stockily athletic where the Beetle was broad. He would be stronger than Stenwold too. His skin was dark, not the tan of the Sarnesh or the deep brown of Stenwold's own people, but a slightly shiny obsidian black.

'You insisted on coming with us,' Stenwold reminded him, 'so we brought you.' He bit back anything else. 'Touchy' was an understatement, with the Vekken. Stenwold's men were moving cautiously further out. There was still enough cover left, in fallen masonry and half-standing walls, to conceal some bandits or…