Thirty-five

Later that afternoon, Flydd drew Nish aside, questioning him about the fate of his father, and how Jal-Nish had used the tears. When Nish had finished, the scrutator said, 'We'd better ride up there.’

Nish had been expecting that. Flydd would have to see for himself, and try to find the tears, or discover what had happened to them.

'Now?' Nish said.

'Later. There are still too many lyrinx about. Get some sleep. We'll go in the night.'

Flydd woke him at midnight. It was cloudy and drizzling as they mounted and headed out, without a solitary guard. Flydd said it was better that way. They crossed the ford and he led them carefully up the valley, with lengthy stops where he sat his horse, sniffing the air and listening to the night.

'I believe they've gone,' Flydd said. 'The enemy don't linger around battlefields filled with their dead, and this one has cost them dear. Come on.'

It was not far off dawn when they reached the cliff-bound upper end of Gumby Marth, where the command area had been. They hunched under an overhang of limestone, out of the wind, to await the light. It was cool enough for the breeze to carry little taint. Nish hoped they would be well gone before the heat of the day ripened the dead.

'You must be feeling rather grim,' Flydd said.

'In truth, I don't know what to feel. I'm glad Father's out of his misery, and I suppose it's better this way, for everyone. He was an evil man, and becoming more wicked everyday. Had he lived . . . And yet, despite all he did to me, he was still my father and now I have none.'

'Its a loss for any man. I still remember the day I heard the news about mine . . .' Flydd sighed, rummaged in his saddlebags and brought out a large silver flask, which he offered to Nish.

Nish took a healthy swig and promptly choked. 'That's strong!' His eyes began to water.

A stiffener!' Flydd leaned back against the stone. 'It'll set your belly right for the job.'

He raised the flask to his lips but, despite his words, did not drink. It was just growing light. The grey cliffs separated from the grey sky, the lower valley from the horizon, the rocks from the dry grass. The brown earth from the humps and mounds made by the dead.

Wisps of fog hung in hollows and along the course of the streams. The scene was grey, dank and utterly, utterly dismal. Nish wanted to weep. 'So many dead, and all for the folly of one man, one scrutator. My father!'

It took more than one man's folly to create this disaster,' Flydd. 'You might as well ask how the Council came to have such power, yet lack the ability to use it wisely? Or how they delegated it to such a flawed man?' 'Or gave it to one so corrupt as Ghorr in the first place?' said Nish.

'He was a good man once,' Flydd reflected, 'but too ambitious. When his time was up, Ghorr couldn't let go, and perhaps it suited the power behind the Council—'

When I mentioned that the other day, you put your fist in my mouth.'

Clankers have ears, Nish. As I was saying, Ghorr refused to step down. He had the statutes of the Council changed to allow permanent tenure and that, I believe, was the first step on his path to corruption. The Council became unaccountable, even to itself. Others followed Ghorr's path and, once they grew old, many took the path of renewal, or rejuvenation — making their bodies young again. It's an evil I've sworn never to undertake.

'Not all survived it, but those who did soon had such power, such knowledge and experience that no one could better them. Instead of working for the security of the realm and the good of all, they became obsessed with maintaining control over everything. Power became more important than winning the war — indeed, the scrutators needed the war. It was their excuse to tighten the screws ever more, and in our terror of the enemy we allowed them to do so. Once that happened, Santhenar was on the road to ruin.

'It was only recently that I realised where we'd gone wrong, but by then it was much too late. The lyrinx had entrenched themselves and were outbreeding us. The war was no longer winnable.'

'What?' Nish leapt to his feet. 'You're joking.'

'I wish I were. Short of some brilliant breakthrough, it's already been lost. That's a secret that must never be revealed, Nish — the effect on morale would be disastrous; yet another reason to keep everyone in the dark. But the more you clamp down, the more people look for ways around it. Take your friend Mira, for example.'

'You know Mira?'

'I know she communicates, by skeet, with a network of like-minded people all over Lauralin.'

'Does the Council see them as enemies?'

'No, or they would have been eliminated by now, for all that they include many important and powerful people. But they are watched, very carefully, and if they make one wrong move it will be the end of them.'

'Not Mira, surely,' said Nish. 'She's already lost a husband and all three sons to the war.'

'She's safe for the moment. The Council have finally realised that, in seeking to control everything, they lost control of the war. Unfortunately, they're not capable of doing anything about it.'

'Are you saying that we're doomed? That we might as well give up?'

'there are always things that can be done, if you have the wit and will for it, and the arrival of the Aachim has changed the balance. We've a better chance than we had before they came, but there's greater danger, and more uncertainty. I

know only this: if we are to have any chance at all, this millstone of stinking corruption, the Council of Scrutators, must be eradicated. Ah, here comes the sun. Let's go.'

Hundreds of scavenging beasts had come out of the hills, and they did not look up from their grisly business as Nish and Flydd went by. Thus far they'd made little impact on the dead; there were simply too many.

Nish led Flydd to the former command area. He hardly needed to explain — the evidence of Jal-Nish's folly was clear enough, in the cleanly truncated bodies of the officers, the amputated limbs, the tents and even clankers shorn neatly in two by that bladed disc of white light. Many of the bodies had been fed on by the lyrinx, and since then by the scavengers that slunk around Nish and Flydd in circles, not daring to take them on, but not planning to be driven from their feast either.

'Here's General Tham,' said Flydd. 'And Grism beside him. Both good men we'll find impossible to replace.' The scrutator shook his head in incomprehension. 'Such unbelievable stupidity. He destroyed the entire command structure of the army, wiped them out in a second. Why did he assemble them all in one place? What can he have hoped to achieve?'

'I suppose he wanted to make a display of his cleverness,' said Nish, answering the first question. 'Father was ever like that.’

Flydd squatted by the war chests and began to pick up the coins. 'We'd better take this back. Disaster or no, armies on the march burn gold and silver. Do you recall where Jal-Nish's tent was?'

Nish pointed up the hill and told Flydd what to look for.

There's not much to be seen. I'll leave it to you, if you don't mind.' He did not want to go near. Nish especially did not want to see that booted foot again. He busied himself collecting the coins.

Flydd walked around and around, holding his hands out parallel to the ground. Stopping at the shredded tent, he pressed his palms against the surface of the broken table, then squatted by the splinters of the box that had held the tears. Picking up a splinter he ran his gnarled fingers up and down it, sniffed, closed his eyes, spun around and tossed the splinter whirling into the air. It fluttered to the ground. He picked it up, sighted each way along it, then grunted.

'The tears are gone,' he said over his shoulder.

They were the last thing on Nish's mind, for he was quite preoccupied with his memories. He poured a double handful of gold into the chest. 'Where?'

'I can't tell, nor who took them, though my guess would be that lyrinx with the golden crest. If so, they're safely across the sea by now, where even the scrutators can't get them. Hello — what's this?'

He picked up the bloodstained platinum mask. 'I'll take this with me.' He looked around. 'You mentioned your father's boot and foot.'

Nish felt ill just thinking about it. 'It was just over there, beyond the tent poles. I should bury it.'

'It's not here now. The scavengers—' Flydd looked around. 'Hoy!'

A hyena-like creature had the booted foot in its mouth and was slinking up the hill, ears lowered. Flydd bent, picked up a stone and threw it, awkwardly but accurately, at the creeping beast, striking it in the ribs. The hyena let out a howl and dropped the foot. Flydd ran after it but before he got there the hyena took it up by the shank. It tossed its head and the boot went flying off.

Flydd reached for another stone but the scavenger was off, creeping into the bushes below the escarpment, and they saw no more of it. The scrutator retrieved the boot, inspected it carefully and let it drop.

'It's his, all right. The man is dead, the tears gone beyond our reach, and perhaps it's better that way. It's hard to imagine the lyrinx doing any greater harm with them than the scrutators would have.'

'They matter, then?'

'Oh, they matter. Why don't you sit down in the shade you look exhausted. I just want to check again, to make sure.'

Flydd collected a handful of splinters from the tears' box and began to pace up and down, tossing them in the air one by one. 'Hello?' he said sharply.

Nish looked up, too tired to be curious. 'What's the matter?'

'Eiryn Muss has been here.'

'Does that matter?'

The other day I sent him posthaste to Gnulp, and this isn't on the way. Why did he come here?'

Nish didn't have the energy. He found a tree that fitted the shape of his back, leaned against it and closed his eyes . ..

Flydd said little on the way back, and Nish kept his silence, there was too much to think about, not least his own future. The moment when Jal-Nish had forced Nish's hands down into the tears had been a life-changing experience. Until then he had been a prisoner of events, and preoccupied with himself. But on touching the tears he'd had an insight into what the world would be like under Jal-Nish, and it was not pretty. Now. Nish realised, he must begin to shape events to his own ends, ends that were against everything the scrutators represented. In that he stood alongside Flydd.

How was he to do it? For all his heroism on the battlefield, Nish could not see himself as a soldier. Even were he to rise high, he would spend his life prosecuting the war. But this war he knew already, would not be won on the field of battle. Xervish?' he said tentatively. 'What?' Flydd replied absently. 'What is it, Nish?' Nish looked down at his boots, not knowing how to put it. 'I know I've been a damn fool more often than not. I've done enough stupid things to condemn me for a lifetime, and made some disastrous blunders . . ?

Indeed you have,' said Flydd. There was a gleam in his eye and a hint of a smile on his whiskery lips. 'I can't think when I last met such a callow, feckless fool as you. I'm sure I never have.'

'But . . , even so, I think I've displayed a few positive qualities as well—'

'I dare say,' the scrutator said carelessly, 'though it doesn't do to dwell overmuch on such things, lest you be thought big-headed.'

'What I meant was—'

'If you want something, lad, then spit it out. Name the reward you require and it shall be yours. Is it coin, or high honour, or a brace of comely—?'

'I want to serve you, surr,' Nish burst out.

'I don't need a manservant. I may be decrepit but I'm still capable of wiping—'

'You know what I mean, Xervish.'

'I have no idea what you're on about. Speak plainly, Nish, or not at all.'

Nish's mouth snapped closed. Was Flydd just being perverse, or was he trying to tell Nish something? To have confidence in himself? He pulled his horse away, cantered around in a circle and pulled up beside him again. Taking a deep breath, he said, 'I want to help you, surr. To bring down the Council of Scrutators and create a new order that truly serves the people of Santhenar. And then, to defeat the enemy.'

Flydd pulled up his nag. The sun shone on his cheek, outlining every gouge and scar, every hump and hollow from the scrutators' torment. 'Anything else you want to achieve this afternoon?'

'That's all, surr.'

Flydd considered him for a long time. 'You realise that what you have just uttered is treason of the direst complexion. Should the Council take you, and surely they will, they'll make you suffer far longer, and more horribly, than ever they made me.'

Nish knew it, and dreaded it. And, to be realistic, they probably would take him. They had the resources of a world to fight their enemies. All Nish had was his wits. 'If we lack the courage to oppose tyranny, surr, we don't deserve freedom.'

The scrutator regarded him, head to one side. 'Well spoken, lad. Had you made this offer at any time before your deeds of yesterday, I would have refused you. Willingness is not enough. But you've gone through the furnace and come out again, reforged. We'll oppose these vicious tyrants and overthrow them or, more likely, die in the attempt.'

He held out his hand. Nish took it. Flydd groped for the silver flask in his saddlebags and tossed it to Nish. Popping the cap, Nish raised the flask high. 'To victory!' he said, over-dramatically. He took a healthy swig and almost fell off his horse.

Flydd snatched the flask, which was spilling its precious contents everywhere. 'And to the scrutators' chief torturer -may we spend little time in her company.' Draining the flask, he kicked his horse into a gallop.

That was not the end of the fighting, though it was not on the same scale as before. The lyrinx attacked every night, shooting from a distance with captured javelards and catapults. The troops became used to building defensive camps, with their clankers on the outside and rows of bonfires all around. It kept them alive, but they took losses, and every day their supplies dwindled.

'We can't last much longer' said Troist, on the third night after the battle. Travel had been painfully slow, for the field was still depleted and they had not reached a better one. They were camped just half a day's march from Gnulp Landing, once a rich fishing and trading city, but these days an outpost brutally exposed to enemy raids.

'How many are we now?' asked Nish. More soldiers had joined them on the way, survivors from the other side of the river, who had lost everything.

Twelve thousand of my army,' said Troist, 'plus another eleven thousand of Jal-Nish's, though many are injured. I dare say more stragglers will come in. Were we able to go back we might find most of them. And we have the best part of two thousand clankers, though some are in poor condition. A sizeable force, though considering . . .' He looked away into the night.

Considering Jal-Nish started with forty thousand soldiers, Nish thought. And only weeks before that, when the battle for Snizort began, sixty thousand. A disaster indeed, no matter how much damage had been done to the enemy.

'But we've only a week's supplies,' said the scrutator, 'and even that will require a good bit of eking.'

'What are your orders, surr?' said Troist. 'If you require us to stand and fight, we'll do it, though in the end we must all die.'

'The loss of one army is going to be disastrous for morale' said Flydd. "To lose two would be catastrophic. We must survive to fight again, and show our people that we can still win.'

'We did far better than expected against so many,' said Nish. 'These lyrinx were not much more formidable than men. Previously, one lyrinx was the equal of two or three of our troops. Why the difference? Is it because they were stone-formed.’

'I don't know,' said Flydd.

And your orders, surr?' Troist persisted.

'I see no choice but to head for Gnulp and beg them to take us in,' said the scrutator.

'My thought too,' Troist replied, 'but even if they do, it only postpones the problem.'

'Why wouldn't they?' asked Nish. 'Where would they be without the army to protect them?'

'The master of the city might ask what good an army is if it can't even protect itself? He might say it's bringing trouble that they didn't have before.'

'Either we die outside the gates,' said Troist, 'or within.'

'I'll go to Gnulp,' said Flydd, 'and meet with the master in the morning. Be sure you're camped by the gates at dawn, General. It'll make it harder to refuse us. Nish,, come with me.'

They rode for several hours on a road illuminated by the moon, stopping just around the corner from the city gates. They could smell the salt sea and hear waves bursting over the breakwaters.

I hope you've got some kind of plan,' said Nish.

'For once, I haven't. Let's climb the hill and get an idea of the layout.'

Don't you know this place?' Nish was surprised. 'I thought you'd been everywhere in the world.'

I've been many places, but Gnulp Landing isn't one of them.'

They rode up a winding path to the crest of a steep hill armoured with flat, slanting black outcrops like the serrations down the spine of a chacalot, the water-dwelling reptile that even the lyrinx feared. At the top stood a ruined watch-tower, its black stones coated with lichen that shone like silver mancing glyphs in the moonlight.

Don't they keep the watch here?' said Nish. Look up,' said the scrutator.

In the light and shadow of the moon, the city was bleakly menacing. A double wall ran around it, thick and high, inside which stood three guard towers, tall enough to defend the wall but not close enough to be attacked readily from it. The defences were massive and designed with lyrinx in mind. Every flat surface was covered in long metal spikes, protection against attack from the air. The harbour was formed by two breakwaters curving into the racing waters of the Sea of Thurkad. Inside that oval, wharves and jetties had been built out from the shore, and all were occupied. Nish counted a hundred and fifty ships at anchor.

How have they survived so long, so close to the enemy?' he wondered.

By exploiting the lyrinx's fear of water. The city is easily defended from the shore, and the air, and the lyrinx are not going to attack from the water side. Perhaps they've decided that there are easier targets. Wait here — I think I'll go in alone, after all.'

The master of the city took them in grudgingly. Twenty-three thousand men would be a tremendous strain on his stores but he dared not incur the wrath of the scrutators, much less a man leading such a powerful army.

Despite the overcrowded barracks and indifferent food, Nish enjoyed the first few days in Gnulp Landing. It was a relief not to have the grinding squeal of the clankers in his ears; not to wear armour and weapons day and night. He even managed to put Ullii and Mylii, and all the dead, out of his mind for a while. He'd used his initiative, pushed himself to the very limit of his abilities, and had succeeded. He felt good about himself for once.

The lyrinx attacked on the second night and the following nights, and every day the master of the city grew colder.

'I curse the day I opened the gates to you, Scrutator Flydd,'1 he said on the fifth morning. 'Your soldiers are eating their heads off and my precious stores are dwindling. Were I not an honourable man, I would put you out tomorrow.'

His dark eyes had the lustre of a toad's; Nish imagined him spitting poison at them.

'But of course, you are an honourable man,' Flydd said smoothly, 'and the Council of Scrutators appreciates that. Be certain of their generosity to those who demonstrate their loyalty.' His eyes flicked sideways at Nish. Never trust a man who makes a point of his honour, he seemed to be saying.

Nish did not trust the master an ell. A man who counted the cost of everything and valued nothing that he could not price, Nish had met many like him in his days as a merchant's scribe. The master couldn't work out how Flydd fitted into the scheme of things. He must have heard about his fall, yet here he was at the head of an army, which obeyed him as if he were its rightful commander. But should the Council confirm Flydd's dismissal, as in time they must, the master would put them out of the gates in an instant.

'The scrutators begrudge every copper grint' said the master. 'I'm feeding your troops out of my own pocket, Scrutator, and it's not bottomless. Another week will bank-rupt me, and we have a hard winter ahead of us. After today, you'll get nothing until I see your gold.'

'You'll get your due,' said Flydd with another significant glance at Nish. He rose. And now I must attend to another pressing problem. We'll talk further on this matter.'

'We will indeed,' hissed the master.

'Bloody old hypocrite,' Flydd said when the door had closed behind them. 'It's not his food we're eating, nor is he paying for it though he's already doubled the price of meat and grain from his storehouses. He's gouging every grint out of the people and blaming us.'

'What are you going to do?' 'Go down to the waterfront. I've an idea.'

Nish waited outside while Flydd spoke to one sea captain, then another. After the second visit the scrutator emerged, smiling. 'I think it may work after all.'

'What?'

I'm going to hire an armada to get us out of here.' There's twenty thousand of us! More.' I'm sending the clankers back east to Lybing, packed with soldiers and the injured. If we can put a hundred on each boat, the hundred and fifty boats in port will be enough to carry the remainder.' 'Some are only fishing boats.' 'And others are traders that can sail all the way to Crandor and the North Seas. It's the only way, Nish.' 'Where do you plan to go?'

'Into the Karama Malama, then south-east to Hardlar. The lyrinx seldom strike that far south. From there we'll march north to Borgistry.' 'The Karama Malama is a dangerous sea, isn't it?'

'It can be, in the stormy season.'

'Isn't that right now?'

'Er, yes. But it's not as dangerous as staying here.'

'I dare say the master will be pleased.'

'He'll be furious, which will please me.'

'Furious? Why?'

'He wants our gold more than he wants rid of us, and nothing could give me more pleasure than to deprive him of it. The sea captains think the same. They've all been robbed by him, at one time or another.'

'So they'll be happy to take us?'

'Delighted, though they'll charge the best part of Jal-Nish's war chest to do so. They know desperate men when they see them.'

'When are we going?'

'We load in the morning, as soon as it's light. It'll take two days. Better get ready. You're in charge.'

'Me?'

'Yes, you.'