Sixty-one

Gilhaelith had spent the previous day lying on his damp palliasse, brooding. It was an outrage that he should be controlled by such a collection of fools. He could not suffer it. The attack on Nennifer would certainly fail and the scrutators would come to Fiz Gorgo in force, to seize whatever Yggur had left behind. Finding Gilhaelith here, they would slay him out of hand.

It was clear that humanity was going to lose the war, so the safest place for him was Alcifer. He was going back, even if he had to slog all the way through the swamp forests of Orist. Nothing could stand in his way. Tiaan's remark about the nodes being linked had opened up a whole avenue of possibilities. The key to his project was not the nodes, as he'd always thought, but the way they were linked and force transferred between them. He was just a whisker away from his goal, but he needed the geomantic globe to prove it. And then, true mastery would be his. And real power too, if he wanted it — enough to heal himself; enough to ensure that he was never at the mercy of others again; enough to control the power available to other mancers, if he cared to; enough, just possibly, to protect the world he'd gone to such lengths to understand, from all mancers.

How to get away? He'd been stripped and searched carefully before they put him in this cell. The guards had taken his clothes and given him fresh ones, in case he'd had some device secreted about his person, as he had. He got up and began picking moodily at ice that had formed below a seeping crack in the wall. It was a dirty yellow colour, like urine. His breath steamed; it was miserably cold and he wasn't used to it.

Someone rapped at the door — a guard with his dinner. He rapped back, then moved to the rear of the cell. If he didn't the brute would simply take it away. Two armed guards watched the whole time the door was open. The third guard placed the tray on the floor inside the door and went out.

Gilhaelith cast an eye over the meal. Clear soup, invariably lukewarm, a piece of overcooked fish, boiled vegetables and dry bread. Misery! He'd requested freshly salted live slugs, pickled pigs' ovaries and other delicacies he'd been used to in Nyriandiol, but the guard had given him a disgusted look and banged the door.

'Excuse me, Guard?' Gilhaelith said firmly. 'I'd like some salt, if you please.'

The guard checked with his fellows, who shrugged. He disappeared, shortly returning with a chunk of rock salt as big as a lemon, which he tossed to Gilhaelith. It was almost as hard as stone. The door clicked and was bolted on the outside.

Gilhaelith took up the bowl, slurping noisily at the soup, which wasn't lukewarm. It was cold, had a grey scum around the rim and was utterly tasteless. Prising off a piece of salt, Gilhaelith held it in his mouth and sucked the soup past it.

Something occurred to him. Spitting the rest of the soup back into the bowl, he took out the piece of salt and examined it in the dim light. It had crystal faces.

Salt was of little use in geomancy unless the crystals were perfectly formed, and even then it could take little power. But it was all he had. Using a tine of his fork, he picked away at the chunk of rock salt, trying to separate it into one or more crystals he could use. Gilhaelith was exquisitely careful, for the tiniest scratch on a crystal face would ruin it for mancery. He quite lost himself in his work, taking an hour to remove a flawed crystal as small as a grain of wheat.

The night passed, and the following morning. Gilhaelith laboured on, now holding the remaining crystals in a rag torn from his shirt, for even the moisture from his fingers would damage them. By the middle of the afternoon the last dross cleaved away and he had a single, perfect cube of salt, transparent and with a faint yellow tinge. He might be able to work some minor magic with it — slip the lock, douse the lights in the corridor, possibly even put the nearby guards to sleep, but that would be its limit.

Wiping a patch of floor, he set his forgotten dinner on it and carefully placed the crystal in the centre of the tray. A pair of guards passed down the corridor, talking quietly. Gilhaelith dropped his rag over the crystal and lay back on the palliasse, clenching his fists against the tension. The guards were watchful and intelligent. Anything might arouse their suspicion.

They looked in, saw nothing amiss and went by. He began at once. If the crystal did work, he would have to get it right first time, for Yggur would allow no second chances. It might be better to wait until he'd gone to Nennifer. No, Yggur could have special plans for Gilhaelith in his absence. Do it now.

Gilhaelith ever so gently drew power into the crystal — not enough to reveal himself, but enough for him to sense any auras elsewhere in Fiz Gorgo. They could be due to mancers or other sources of the Art best avoided. He picked up several: Yggur and Malien close together, Flydd elsewhere, and various devices presumably in Yggur's quarters. He wasn't worried about them, but something larger and more tenuous, further out, did bother him.

It was like a filmy cloud surrounding Fiz Gorgo, and he could detect nothing beyond it. It must be a protection of some sort, to keep the outside world from spying or even noticing that there were mancers here, or to keep people in.

Gilhaelith withdrew, considering. Invisible to sight and touch the protection might be, nonetheless it could prevent him from escaping. He probed it tentatively, to discover how it had been made, and its strength. To his surprise it did not resist him — it was set to protect from the outside, not from within.

He took a little more power but the phantom fragments stung his brain like sparklers. He lost control for a second and his probe went right through the protection, burning a small opening like an eye. He withdrew hastily and it closed over again. Too hastily! A final surge of power zipped through the cubic crystal, cleaving it down the middle. He cursed, crushed it underfoot and threw himself on the bed in disgust.

He'd have to find another way.

Three times now, Ullii had thought she'd found them. Three times she'd rebuilt the lattice to try to uncover what had been hidden, but without success. Something was out there, a long way south, but she could neither pinpoint nor identify it. It pleased her that her failure was frustrating Ghorr and Fusshte, though she dreaded being punished for it.

'I don't like it,' said Ghorr. 'Is it deliberate, do you think?'

Ullii could not answer that. She simply saw what was in her lattice. She had no idea what was behind it.

In the mid-afternoon the fleet had set down on the plain south of Flumen, by a main road now partly reclaimed by grass and scrub, while he called the other scrutators into a conference. They spent an hour at it, all the while consulting instruments of their own, as Ullii squatted in the shadows waiting on their pleasure.

'They're hiding, but I don't think it's from as,' Ghorr concluded. 'Nothing suggests that they know we're coming, and we must strive to keep it that way. It's just a general cloaking, to conceal them from the lyrinx. We'll continue, more carefully.'

He turned to the seeker. 'Ullii, we are getting closer, are we not?'

'I can't tell.' Fear grew in her: fear that the lattice was failing, for it was harder to see each time; and fear of Ghorr and the scrutators, and what they would do once they'd captured their quarry and had no further need of her. She had to protect herself, which meant finding someone to look after her. But no one on these air-dreadnoughts cared if she lived or died, or how much she suffered.

She idly scanned her lattice, started, and again Ghorr noticed her flinch.

'Yes, Seeker?'

She didn't want to answer, but she had to. 'J — just then, for a second, I saw an opening like an eye.'

An opening? In what?'

'I can't tell.'

'What else did you see? What was in the opening?'

'A strange knot.'

'Tell us more, Seeker' said Fusshte.

'The knot shone out like someone peering from a hole cut in a cloud, then disappeared.'

'Did it now? Whose knot was it?'

'I don't know. It was strange but very strong. A mancer's knot.'

'Really?' he said. 'The cloud must be some kind of protection. That gives me an idea, Seeker.’

She waited numbly for his orders.

'Do you remember how you got Irisis out of her prison cell in Nennifer, Ullii?'

Of course she did. It was only the second brave thing she had done in her life. 'Yes,' she whispered.

'You held the magicked lock's knot in place and rotated the rest of your lattice around it, and that opened the door without breaking my magic.’

'Yes.' She felt faint just talking to him.

'What if you were to do that now? Hold that knot, what you remember of it, in place and redraw your lattice from the other side.'

'I'll try,' she said softly, 'though I don't see what—'

'Just do it,' he said. 'I won't punish you if you fail — only if you don't try hard enough.'

Ullii was so afraid that, at first, she could not see her lattice at all. When it finally appeared, more pale and ghostly than she had ever seen it, she recognised nothing but the bright knots made by Ghorr's scrutators and mancers, and the controllers that powered the air-dreadnoughts. Ghorr had to calm her, as unpleasant an operation as she could imagine, before she recovered the knot.

You have it!' said Ghorr, dark eyes gleaming. 'Now, make your lattice anew, looking the other way.'

Ullii closed her eyes and put her hands over the goggles for good measure. Holding the image of that strange knot, she dissolved the rest of the lattice, turned the knot around in her mind and began to redraw the lattice from the other per-spective. It became sprinkled with blotches, smudges and knots, near and far. The blotches were objects that used some form of the Art like controllers. The smudges were fields gen-erated by nodes, while the knots indicated people who had some talent for the Art. A dim smudge was the cloud of protection but she could see through it now. Inside, she recognised several knots. Irisis was in the centre. Close by, Ullii saw Fyn-Mah, and Flydd, and other knots too, some very strong.

'I've found them.' She took her hands away from the goggles.

Ghorr's head swung around and his eyes glowed like broken glass melting from underneath. 'Where?' he hissed.

Her finger traced a line along the map until it encountered a dot with two small words beside it: Fiz Gorgo. 'There.' Ghorr purred and called the scrutators. 'To the air! We can be there by three in the morning. Plan number seven.'

Nish went to bed early but tossed, turned and woke half a dozen times, uneasy, though he had no idea why. Deciding that he was never going to get back to sleep, he went down to the privy, relieved himself and headed back through the frigid corridors. Worms of ice, frozen seepage, oozed through the dark walls. Fiz Gorgo always seemed cold, even if it didn't have quite the perpetual dank frigidity of the manufactory, and Nish didn't mind it. He had grown up in such climes and Fiz Gorgo was more to his liking than the hot, parched plains of western Lauralin, where he had spent much of the past year.

Still wide awake, he turned up the narrow stone stairs to Yggur's lookout. As he stepped out onto the crumbling stone balcony, he realised someone was standing there, leaning on the rail. Nish smelt an aroma like liquorice. Yggur!

'Worried about tomorrow, Nish?' said Yggur, not looking around.

'I've been through too much to bother about the future,' Nish said untruthfully. 'I can't sleep. My mind keeps going round and round, fretting in case I've forgotten something.'

'Mine too,' said Yggur. 'And no doubt you feel left out, and worried that we've planned this mission in haste and unjustifiable optimism.'

'We-e-e-ll. .'.' said Nish.

'You can admit it. I'm not an ogre.'

'Is such secrecy really necessary, surr?'

'Probably not, but I'd rather not chance it. What do you think of the night?'

What a strange question. 'It's very still.'

'Aye, it can be at this time of the year. That's one of the things I like best about Fiz Gorgo. When the wind's not blowing, and the forest creatures are curled up in their holes, there's a stillness here that I've not felt anywhere else. It's why I've always come back. I like it when nothing is happening.'

'So do I,' said Nish. 'I'll leave you to it, then.'

'Stay a moment,' said Yggur. 'I... I feel. . . No, tell me what you feel.'

'Is something wrong, surr?'

'I feel uneasy tonight, though I can't say why. What about you?'

'An awful lot rests on this attack on Nennifer,' said Nish.

'Yes. And so, despite the risk, there really isn't any choice.'

'I suppose not.' Nish came to the rail, staring out. The darkness was complete, save for occasional lights winking on and off in the invisible forest. 'What's that?' he hissed.

Yggur chuckled. 'Not lyrinx, you can be sure. It's just fireflies in the swamp.'

They leaned on the rail for some time, not speaking. Yggur offered Nish a piece of liquorice root. Nish chewed on it, reflectively. The night seemed to be brooding, even ominous, though the dark always encouraged such feelings in him.

Yggur spat over the rail. The aroma of liquorice filled the balcony. 'It was nothing. I'm a morbid fellow at the best of times, and sometimes my dark thoughts just go round and round. I'll bid you good night.'

'Goodnight,' said Nish. 'I'll stay a while. I can't sleep, anyway.'

Yggur's boots went down the steps. A cold breeze curled around the side of the wall and Nish pulled his coat tighter about his neck. The night lent itself to introspection. What would become of them? He wasn't just thinking of this suicidal mission. Every year of his life the losses of the war had been greater, until the lyrinx had seemed like a disease creeping across the world. The climax was rapidly approaching.

Even if they won at Nennifer, and replaced the Council, there was too little time to be ready. Once spring came, every-thing he knew and loved looked set to be swept away in a few weeks of violence. It was not a thought conducive to further sleep, but he had to be rested for the morrow, so Nish headed back to bed.

As he reached the lowest flight, feeling his way in pitch darkness, a great five-lobed shadow blotted out the stars to the north of Fiz Gorgo. Another moved in beside it, and a third, drifting down the wind, its rotors silent. More crept into posi-tion to the sides of Fiz Gorgo, and yet more. The night became so still that even the wind seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the moment when all sixteen air-dreadnoughts were in place. Waiting for the order to attack.

Irisis rolled over in bed, trying to scrape the cobwebs from her brain. Something had disturbed her. Her heart was thudding as if she'd just run all the way to the top of Yggur's watch-tower. Her throat was dry, her hands sweaty. What was the matter?

She was reaching for the short sword that she kept on the chair beside her bed when she heard someone coming along the corridor. Irisis sat up, panic prickling the backs of her hands. Something was wrong. She slid her feet onto the frigid flagstones. Ah, it was so cold.

The footsteps came closer. She swung the sword back and forth, preparing to spring. The dark figure cleared its throat, she realised who it was and the panic seemed ridiculous.

'Nish!' she hissed, weak with relief. 'What the bloody hell are you doing? I was about to skewer you.'

Trisis? What's the matter?'

She sensed him peering this way and that, trying to pick her out of the dark. 'Come in here.' She pulled him through the doorway of her room. 'What are you doing?'

'I couldn't sleep so I went for a pee. Is something wrong?'

Her knees went weak and she had to sit down on the bed, which annoyed her. 'Sorry, Nish. I thought you were an intruder, coming to slice open our gullets while we're asleep.'

'In Fiz Gorgo?' said Nish. 'This has to be the safest place in Santhenar. Even the lyrinx stay clear of it. What's the matter with you tonight?'

'I had a feeling of doom. I suppose it was a bad dream.'

'You're always having feelings of doom, Irisis.'

'Which surely means it's on it's way.'

'I was just up on the balcony with Yggur and I didn't see-'

'What was he doing up there?'

'I suppose he likes the solitude.'

'Well, I don't,' she muttered.

He sat on the bed beside her. 'I've never seen you so jumpy. At least, not since we were back at the manufactory, when—'

'I don't want to talk about that,' Irisis cut in more sharply than she intended. 'I've been having bad dreams lately.'

'What kind of dreams?'

'The kind where I come to a nasty end. I'm scared, Nish. We're not going to survive Nennifer.'

'You're being ridiculous. I can see you as a great-grandmother, with fifty grandchildren and great-grandchildren around you.'

'I can't, Nish. Not even one child, though I do so long for it.' He put his arms around her. 'Hush. It's late, and dark, and you're just twitchy because things haven't been going well. It'll all be better tomorrow I'm going back to bed.' 'Stay with me, Nish. Just for a little while.' She was warm and his bed was cold. And she was his dearest friend. 'Just a few minutes. I've got a lot to do in the morning.'

Nish lay on the bed, holding her but fretting. Eventually realising that Irisis was asleep, he eased himself out from her embrace, folded the covers over her and headed to his own cold bed. He still could not sleep.

The attack began not long before dawn, when the night was at its blackest. The sixteen air-dreadnoughts had manoeuvred themselves perfectly into position beforehand, fifteen surrounding the walls of Fiz Gorgo, the sixteenth on station high above, keeping watch for flying lyrinx. They did not expect to see any, and Ullii had spotted none in her lattice, but Chief Scrutator Ghorr was not a man to take chances where his own life was concerned.

Crossbow snipers checked the walls with hedron-enhanced night glasses, another new development from the workshops of Nennifer. There were only four guards on duty in Fiz Gorgo, for Yggur's walls protected him against anything short of an army. No land force could come at him through the swamp forests of Orist, even had they been able to evade thelyrinx further east. The guards were identified before it was light enough for them to see the air-dreadnoughts, the snipers picking all four off in the same instant. Fiz Gorgo now lay unprotected save for certain defences Yggur had installed in the towers, but these were useless at such a distance. Besides, they were unmanned, for the protection had been broken without giving any warning.

In Ghorr's air-dreadnought, a quarter of a league away at the northern point of the compass, Ullii pinpointed each of Yggur's three defences.

'Very good,' said Ghorr, once the locations had been relayed to his troops. 'Ullii, I have here an ancient map of Fiz Gorgo. Mark out for me the positions of Xervish Flydd, Irisis Stirm and Perquisitor Fyn-Mah.'

Ullii studied the map. In the dim light she did not need to wear her goggles. She took hold of the paper. 'I don't understand it.'

Ghorr patiently turned the map around. It was beginning to get light. 'There's the tower on the left. See it? And this line is the outer wall.'

'I see it,' said Ullii.

'Where are they?'

Ullii shuddered. 'I — I-'

'Don't let me down now, Seeker.'

She said nothing. Ullii was in torment.

'You do know,' said Ghorr, 'how I treat those who fail me?'

'Yes!' she gasped.

'And remember, those who made you suffer so cruelly are traitors all. Remember what they did to your brother. They hate you, Ullii.'

She closed her eyes, as if that could hide her, then opened them again. 'Irisis is here.' She pointed to the map. 'Flydd along here. And Fyn-Mah,' she hesitated. Ullii had no quarrel with the perquisitor. 'She is here.'

'You're absolutely sure?'

'Yes,' she whispered.

'Very good. You may go.' She began to scuttle away. 'No, wait a moment.'

Ullii came creeping back. This was the moment she had been dreading.

'What else can you tell me about this place, Seeker? Can you see anything else in your lattice?'

'Yes,' she said faintly.

'What is it? You can see magical artefacts, can't you?'

Hundreds!' she rushed out, greatly relieved, 'Hundreds?' Ghorr frowned. 'But of course, it must be the ancient trove of the great mancer Yggur, who dwelt here for centuries. You'll come with us, Seeker, to show us where the hoard is.'

He turned away, but something about her manner must have bothered him, for he swung back. 'Is there anything else I should know, Ullii?'

'O-other mancers, surr,' she stammered.

Giving Ullii an unpleasant smile, Ghorr lifted her onto the tips of her toes. 'What other mancers, Seeker?'

'I don't know who they are, but there are three, and each is very great. Greater — as great as you, surr,' she amended hastily.

'Really?' he whispered. 'What can you tell me about them?'

'Nothing, surr, but for one, an Aachim.'

'Aachim!' he ejaculated. 'What's an Aachim mancer doing here? This changes things,' Ghorr said to Fusshte. 'We don't want to upset the Aachim. Is that all, Seeker?'

Ullii stood there, frozen to the spot.

'You've been very helpful, Ullii,' Ghorr cajoled, 'and when we return home you shall have your reward — whatever you care to name. Just tell me what else you saw in your wonderful lattice, that no one else in the world can see.'

'Tiaan, surr,' she whispered. 'I can see Tiaan, and her amplimet, and a flying construct.'

Ghorr almost fell down in astonishment. He went to his knees, kissed the canvas deck then sprang up with a silent cry of exultation. Seizing Ullii's hand he kissed it as well.

She tore her hand free with a look of profound disgust, but he did not notice. Fate had just offered Ghorr the world and nothing was going to stand in his way. Calling Fusshte and his lieutenants together, he rapped out orders, then turned to his men.

Ghorr said, in a low but carrying voice, 'Soldiers and crew, below us lies the greatest prize in all of Lauralin, one I never dared to hope for — a prize that can win us the war. It is Artisan Tiaan Liise-Mar, her precious amplimet, and the unique, marvellous flying construct. At all costs we must secure them, even if, in so doing, our enemies escape. But we will not let them escape, for they don't know we're here.'

He paused while signallers semaphored his words, with luminous coloured flags, to the soldiers assembled on the decks of the other air-dreadnoughts.

'They've got no army to protect them,' Ghorr continued 'just a few guards. When I give the word, you will begin the attack. Watch all the escape routes. Let not a soul get away. For every person captured alive, there will be a reward beyond your dreams. We will make an example of these renegades that will be sung for a thousand years, and the whole of Santhenar must know of it.

'The evil traitor Xervish Flydd is worth ten thousand gold tells if captured alive and fit to stand trial, but only one hundred dead. There are two other mancers here as well. I don't know who they are, but clearly they are scoundrels and renegades. For each of them, the prize shall be two thousand gold tell if captured alive, but a mere forty dead. And for the lesser villains: a thousand gold tells if alive, or twenty dead, for Cryl-Nish Hlar or Irisis Stirm; five hundred alive or ten dead for Perquisitor Fyn-Mah; and fifty tells alive or one dead for each of the ordinary folk. Do not fail me. Any man who does will go to a scrutators' quisitory, and I need not tell you—'

The sharp intake of breath was all he needed. Every man, woman and child in Lauralin knew what a scrutators'

quisitory signified.

'But there is more,' said Ghorr. 'I'm advised that a great Aachim mancer is also here. He must be taken alive and unharmed, and treated with courtesy. He maybe subdued if he struggles and, once taken, must be restrained hand and foot and his mouth stopped. Such a mancer may use his Art simply by the power of his voice. But once that's been done, take good care of him. The Aachim are not our enemies and we cannot survive if they declare war on us. He may not be harmed, on pain of death.

'My personal guard, you are charged with securing the construct. Those doing so will each receive two hundred gold. But should you lose it, each of you will be dismissed and sent to serve in the front-lines. So do not fail me.

'Finally, and most importantly of all. Artisan Tiaan Liise-Mur must be taken alive. She is a hero. I repeat, Tiaan is no renegade, but a hero worthy of the highest honour, and vital to the war. She must be taken alive and unharmed, though she too must be restrained until after the trials. Those who assist in taking her will share in twenty thousand gold tells. Twenty thousand gold tells,' he repeated. Ghorr looked around at his troops and his mancers, engaging with each of them in turn. His signallers stood behind him, relaying his words to each of the other air-dreadnoughts. 'But,' Ghorr went on, 'no matter how hard she struggles, any man who harms Artisan Tiaan, deliberately or accidentally, will be flayed alive. So have particular care. Master Artist, show everyone the sketches you have made. There must be no doubt of Tiaan's identity.'

A wizened little man covered in liver spots and flaking psoriasis hobbled down the line displaying his sketches. They bore a passable likeness to Tiaan. Her description was also relayed to the other craft.

Ghorr held up his hand. Everyone went still. He stared towards the east, tapping one foot. The arc of the sun crept above the horizon. Its first light fell on the powered mirrors and the operators did their work. Incandescent beams struck the three towers holding Yggur's defences. The towers erupted, their stone running like honey down the side of a jug The defences were silent.

As the sun illuminated the mighty flying machines, Ghorr said 'Go.’

The signalmen hoisted their flags, the great mirrors swung onto their targets, and the beams tore holes through the walls and towers. When all was chaos, the soldiers went down on ropes and stormed Fiz Gorgo.

Ghorr sat back in his chair, the other scrutators surrounding him. 'It's been a long wait, but today will make up for everything. We'll have the lot of them within the hour.’

'And the flying construct.' Fusshte rubbed his scaly hands together. 'This will make all the difference, Ghorr.'

Ghorr gave him an ambiguous glance. 'Indeed it will, Scrutator. All the difference in the world.'