Sixty-three

They stood in the cold for hours, though it was some time before they realised just how extravagant the spectacle was going to be. Artificers and rope-crafters began by installing mounting rings atop the outside walls of Fiz Gorgo. Heavy cables were lowered from the moored air-dreadnoughts and fastened to the rings. Halfway up, thinner cables were stretched horizontally and knotted together to form a taut network rather like a horizontal spider's web.

Onto that frame they pulled vast rolls of canvas, extending them to create a platform, more than a hundred and fifty spans across, in the shape of a fourteen-sided figure. The platform was a good fifty spans above the ground but had neither walls nor rails. The canvas was lashed to the network of ropes and stretched to drum tightness. A small hole remained in the centre, of a size for a body to be dropped through. The canvas was so taut that a man standing on it made no depression.

'It's an aerial colosseum,' said Flydd, sounding genuinely admiring. 'What a clever idea! The audience, or witnesses, will stand around the outside, while we prisoners, along with our judges and executioners, will take our positions in the middle.'

The platform came together so quickly that the operation must have been practised many times, back in Nennifer. Well before noon it was complete. The prisoners were then hauled up in ropework baskets, arms and legs dangling through the mesh. The guards and scrutators were lifted, dignity intact, in canvas chairs. Within half an hour all the prisoners had been assembled in the centre of the platform. The soldiers prevented them from running to the rim, or the central hole, and leaping to their deaths. The majority of the air-dreadnought crews and soldiers were lowered to the platform, to stand in arcs surrounding the prisoners. They were to be the witnesses. The pilots remained at their stations, however, and many guards at theirs, ever vigilant for signs of the enemy.

Soldiers were also placed at the bow and stern of each air-dreadnought with great axes, ready to cut the ropes should an emergency occur. The witnesses would have bare minutes to run to the walls of Fiz Gorgo before the platform collapsed. Anyone still on it when that happened would plummet fifty spans to the paved yard.

Rope chairs hung above each of the scrutators, of course, so they could be hauled up to safety. Irisis prayed that the enemy would attack. It would be worth anything to see Scrutator Ghorr swinging in terror on the end of a rope while a lyrinx slashed and clawed at him. Had there been any way of summoning the enemy, she would have done it without hesitation.

Anything, even the belly of a lyrinx, was better than the disgraceful death being planned for them. A host of chroniclers and tellers stood by to record the shameful scene. Beside them, at the front, were half a dozen artists at their easels. It was their job to portray every moment of the trial, and to capture the agony on the faces of the criminals as they were executed. For as long as they endured, the Histories of Santhenar, and the personal Histories of every family involved, would tell of their disgrace and ignominious end.

A horn blared. The master of the executions made the sign of a blade being drawn across a throat. Absolute silence fell. Chief Scrutator Ghorr came forward.

'Recorders and witnesses,' Ghorr said in that low, carrying voice, 'for these vile traitors there can be no formal inquisition. We are deep in enemy territory and cannot afford such niceties for those who would give comfort to the enemy.

Nevertheless, the process laid down for this situation will be followed to the letter.

'I must be brief, for even now the enemy could be on their way. The Council of Scrutators has appointed me to summarise the evidence. In each case, I assert that the prisoners are guilty of treason, and other capital crimes too numerous to list. The penalty for such wickedness is flaying, selective disembowelling while maintaining life, and, finally, dismemberment. Ultimately, the body parts shall be distributed to feed the lowest of carrion eaters.'

He paused to scowl at the prisoners, and then at the assembled witnesses, though to Irisis he seemed to be striking a pose for the tale-tellers and the artists. How she despised the man.

'However,' Ghorr went on, 'the formalities of trial must be preserved. Let it not be said that the scrutators are above the law.'

You stinking hypocrite, Irisis thought. A hundred thousand times, when it suited you, the scrutators have acted as judge, jury and executioner, so don't pretend otherwise for the sake of your own place in the Histories. She was drawing breath to scream it at the world when Flydd elbowed her in the ribs.

'Don't!' he hissed. 'It won't do you any good at all.'

'It'll give me the satisfaction!'

'The scrutators have unique forms of excruciation, should you prove recalcitrant. To make an example they may take you back east, tormenting you all the way—'

'It'd be worth it.'

'Oh, Irisis, you have no idea! Nothing is worth what they can do to you. Just shut your mouth and pray for the quickest possible death. I'm looking forward to mine,' he added in a low voice.

'Surr!' she whispered, shocked.

'I mean it. I've fought the long fight and been defeated. The present is a bitter failure, a reminder of a futile life. All my hopes, and all my work, have come to nothing. There's not a thing I can do now and I no longer have to carry the burden of the world. I can let it go at last and go to my death with dignity. I'll embrace it.'

Embrace it?'

Since the scrutators tortured me as a young man, I've not had a day without pain. Not even poppy syrup can cure it now. Death is the end of all pain and I long for its release.'

Irisis shivered and said no more.

'. . , therefore,' Ghorr was going on, 'before I pronounce sentence, I call upon the assembled witnesses to confirm the guilt of the prisoners. Witnesses, should any one of you disagree with the verdict, you must come down and state your case for the prisoner, after which the other witnesses shall vote on the merits of the case. The scrutators will, of course, abstain from the vote. Should the vote be for the prisoner, that prisoner will be freed. If the vote goes against the prisoner, guilt is confirmed and the sentence will be carried out as soon as the remaining trials are finished.'

Ghorr motioned to the master of the executions who, with a flourish, presented him with a scroll and bowed low.

'No, man, that's your job!' Ghorr's low voice carried as far as Irisis. 'Get on with it! We've a war to win.'

The master of the executions dropped the scroll and scrabbled on the canvas for it, looking uncomfortable. He held the scroll out in front of him. 'Pilot Inouye,' he said in a nervous whine, 'the Council of Scrutators, in formal assembly, has found you guilty of treason. Does any witness disagree with the verdict?'

'I beg leave—' Flydd began.

'Denied,' said Ghorr.

No one else spoke. After a lengthy pause, during which the master of the executions scanned the rows of witnesses, he turned to Ghorr and said, 'Since no witness has come forward to oppose the verdict, the sentence is confirmed.'

'Say it to the witnesses,' hissed Ghorr, 'not to me, you damn fool! The scrutators must appear impartial.'

Turning to the witnesses in front of him, the master of the executions said, rather more loudly than was necessary, 'Pilot Inouye has been found guilty of treason. Take her to the place of execution to await her fate.'

The little pilot was dragged away to a pen surrounded by barbed ropes, plus at least twenty guards, weapons at the ready.

'Sergeant Flangers,' said the master of the executions. 'The Council of Scrutators, in formal assembly, has found you guilty of treason. Does any witness disagree with the verdict?'

After another lengthy pause there was a stir in the crowd and someone shouted, 'Sergeant Flangers is a war hero, awarded the Star of Valour for heroism beyond the call of duty during the Siege of Plimes. I contest the verdict.'

Ghorr scowled. 'Come down, witness. State your case for the defence.'

A soldier moved down through the ranks, wearing the uniform of a high officer. 'My name is General Galliman, and I was the commanding officer of the garrison at Plimes during the onslaught by the enemy two years ago. Sergeant Flangers was instrumental in saving the city. Ten times he fought off an attacking force of lyrinx, slaying nine of them and fighting alone for more than two hours when the remainder of his squad was dead. Though sorely wounded, he held the breach against the enemy for most of the day, and remained at his post until reinforcements broke through the enemy lines to relieve him. His Star of Valour was confirmed by the full Council, and it is not the only instance of his heroism, which should be an example to us all.'

The master of the executions turned to Ghorr for the rebuttal.

Ghorr smiled thinly. 'I am well aware of the case, for I personally awarded Sergeant Flangers the Star of Valour. But not even the greatest hero can be exempt from the justice of the scrutators. Sergeant Flangers has since turned on his own kind, conspiring in the escapes of Irisis Stirm and Fyn-Mah, and later, Xervish Flydd and the detestable Cryl-Nish Hlar. He fired on a Council air-floater and destroyed it, causing the deaths of many men and grievous injuries to Scrutator Klarm.

here.' Ghorr indicated a big-headed dwarf of a man sitting to his left, one little leg supported by metal calipers. 'Scrutator Klarm only escaped death by a miracle. And Flangers committed this treasonous act even after his air-floater had been ordered to surrender.'

'As I understand it, surr' said General Galliman, 'Sergeant Flangers was obeying a legitimate order from his superior, Perquisitor Fyn-Mah.'

And as I understand it, General Galliman, Sergeant Flangers was aware that Perquisitor Fyn-Mah had been ordered to surrender her air-floater by a representative of her lawful superior, Acting Scrutator Jal-Nish Hlar, and that she had wilfully and treasonously disobeyed that order. Master of the Executions, put the judgment to the witnesses.' 'I beg leave to defend Sergeant Flangers,' said Flydd. 'Denied!' snapped Ghorr.

'I appeal to the witnesses,' said Flydd, turning to face them. 'Sergeant Flangers is a soldier with a perfect record. The Siege of Plimes was not the only battle where he displayed courage far beyond the call of duty. I can name a dozen other struggles, not least the fall of Thurkad, and the first battle for Nilkerrand, where he was equally bold, equally heroic. What say you, witnesses, may I speak for my man? Yea or nay?' After a brief hesitation, there came a great roar of 'Yea!' Ghorr was furious, but there was little he could do. He signalled to the master of the executions.

'You may speak,' said the master of the executions, 'but you have only one minute. Make it to the point.'

'One minute.' Flydd licked dry lips; he'd prepared a case but there was not the time to put it. 'My argument is simply this: Sergeant Flangers obeyed a direct order from Perquisitor Fyn-Mah, who was following written orders I had given her while scrutator and commander-in-chief of the army at Snizort. These orders took precedence over any orders from Acting Scrutator Jal-Nish, or Scrutator Klarm, whom I outranked. Equally, Flangers had no option but to follow her legitimate orders, for he is a man who loves his country and always does his duty, no matter the cost to himself. His action in shooting down the air-floater was correct in military law and therefore he is innocent.'

Indeed it was not,' said Ghorr. 'You had been stripped of your rights and privileges the previous day, and therefore every order you had made was void.'

'Perquisitor Fyn-Mah cannot have known that,' Flydd said, and so my orders still held.'

'The law has been changed,' Ghorr said hastily. 'Ignorance is no longer an excuse—'

'When was the law changed?' Flydd thundered. 'Show us the chapter, the page, the line.'

'How dare you, a non-citizen, question me! It is as I have said. Besides, Fyn-Mah had been told of your fall and still disobeyed the representative of Jal-Nish, and subsequently Scrutator Klarm, who was in command of the air-floater she ordered to be shot down. Was that not so, Perquisitor Fyn-Mah?'

After a hesitation, she said, 'It was so.'

'I cannot—' Flydd began.

Ghorr cut him off. 'You've had your say, more than you were entitled to. Be silent or I'll have you silenced.'

Flydd met Flangers's eyes. Flangers gave a single shake of the head. Flydd bowed his own. He could do no more.

Ghorr motioned to the master of the executions to get on with it.

'Witnesses,' yelled the master of the executions, 'you have heard arguments for the defence by General Galliman, and the chief scrutator's telling rebuttal. You have heard Flydd's appeal dismissed. Raise your right hand if you disagree with the chief scrutator, and therefore deny the verdict:

A considerable number of hands rose. 'The clerk of the executions will tally those who disagree,' said the master of the executions. Out of the corner of his mouth he added, 'Clerk, get their names.'

Once the clerk had done, the master said, 'Witnesses, raise your right hand if you agree with the chief scrutator and therefore confirm the verdict.'

A forest of hands rose. The clerk tallied them and handed his slate to the master of the executions.

He scanned the list, then said, 'The verdict is confirmed.

three hundred and eighty-one votes to two hundred and forty-four. Sergeant Flangers has been found guilty of treason. Take him to the place of execution to await his fate.'

An impassive Flangers bowed to the master of the executions, to the recorders and the witnesses, and finally to Flydd, before being led away by a group of soldiers who strode beside him like an honour guard.

In short order the remaining twenty-eight prisoners, including Yggur's guards and servants, an expressionless Fyn-Mah, a furiously struggling Gilhaelith and a coldly remote Yggur, were condemned and sent to the execution pen. Some wept, some cursed, some pleaded for their lives or invoked the names of beloved wives, aged mothers or little children. The witnesses were unmoved. Flydd attempted to speak for each of his people, but was denied every time, on the grounds that a prisoner could not be advocate for his fellows. No one spoke in their defence.

The only prisoners not on trial were Malien and Tiaan, but both were tightly bound, and Malien had been gagged as well, lest she use the undoubted power of her voice to attempt an escape.

Finally it was Irisis's turn for trial. For some reason, she clung to the fantasy that her sentence would be set aside.

It was not to be. Not a single witness came forward to defend her.

'I beg leave to defend Crafter Irisis Stirm,' said Flydd.

'Denied,' Ghorr replied. 'For the reasons already stated.'

The master of the executions raised his voice. 'Since no witness has spoken up to oppose the verdict, the sentence is confirmed. Crafter Irisis Stirm has been found guilty of treason. Take her to the place of execution to await her fate.'

The guards dragged her away. To her left a burly executioner was honing the blades of his flensing tools, so sharp and fine that they could, in the hands of a master such as he, remove the skin of a living human without nicking the flesh. Beside him, the master disemboweller polished the edges of his scalpels, gougers, slitters, reamers, renders, crushers, grinders and pluckers.

Last in the line, the master dismemberer rubbed at a speck of rust on one of his bone saws and frowned. Irisis was so struck by the sight — the men and the tools that would undo flesh and organs and part her sinews from their bones — that she did not even hear the sentence confirmed on Flydd.

Fyn-Mah cried out in anguish. Flydd looked up at her and the light finally dawned. He gave her a look of infinite ten-derness, then made a sign to her with his left hand. Irisis could not read it but Fyn-Mah forced a smile. The scrutator bore an ethereal expression as they dragged him across to join the others. Xervish Flydd had come to terms with his fate.

'Master Flenser,' he said, nodding to the first of the executioners, I trust you've a keen blade on those knives of yours. I'm a sensitive man and my skin is particularly thin, after the work your father did on me some decades back.'

'Never fear, old fellow,' said the master flenser. 'I'm an artist of rare skill, if I say so myself. I'll have the hide off you so quick you'll never know it's gone.'

'Oh, I'll know all right,' chuckled Flydd. 'Just don't let them make a handbag out of my backside. My dignity couldn't stand the strain.'

'Don't worry, surr,' said the master flenser. 'I'll treat you with the respect you deserve.' Irisis thought he was being ironic, until he added quietly, 'I'm sorry, surr. I'd rather peel anyone in the world than you, but your conviction is a legitimate one.' He spread his hairy hands as if to say, what's an honourable man to do?

'Of course you must do your duty, Master Flenser,' said Flydd. 'I would not ask anything else of you.'

Flydd was having similar jocular words with the master dis-emboweller and the master dismemberer when the master of the executions shouted, 'Quiet, if you please. The executions will now begin.' He consulted his list, saying, 'We will take them in order of the trial. The first will be Pilot Inouye.'

Two soldiers lifted Inouye under the arms. She was such a frail little figure that either of them could have carried her in one hand. They propelled her forwards, her feet skipping across the canvas. It appeared that she was going willingly to her death, though had they stood her up she would have fallen down again.

The master flenser was selecting his initiating knife when the master of the executions spun around, looking confused. Fusshte was shouting and waving at him. The master of the executions ran across, conferring with the scrutator, then called out to the soldiers, 'No, bring her back, lads.' 1b the witnesses he said, 'The scrutators bid me to execute the greatest criminal and traitor first, in case the enemy should attack. 'Ex-Scrutator Xervish Flydd,' he went on, politely, 'if you would be so kind as to step into theflensing trough.'

For a fleeting moment Flydd looked shocked, as though not expecting his end to come quite so soon. He nodded, raised his right hand in salute to the other prisoners, and then to Irisis, and stepped over the side. The flensing trough was like a long metal bathtub with a broad platform on either side. A pipe ran from below the plughole down through the hole in the centre of the canvas platform.

'Would you care to disrobe and take your place on the right-hand platform?' said the master flenser. 'On your back, if you please, with your legs spread. Take your time. Make yourself comfortable.'

Again that muffled wail from Fyn-Mah. Flydd's hand was shaking and his knees would scarcely hold him. He dropped the sheet, settled his scrawny backside on the platform and swung his legs up. Looking around, he caught Irisis's eye. Flydd attempted a smile, but not even he could pull it off at this moment.

Irisis's heart went out to the man, though her own end would come soon enough. 'Take heart, Xervish,' she said. 'It'll be over more quickly than you think.'

He gave a stifled, mirthless laugh. 'Somehow, that's not nearly as comforting as when I said it to you.'

'Begin, Master Flenser!' roared Ghorr, striking a pose for the artists and the chroniclers. 'I'll double your fee if you can take this scoundrel's skin off in one piece — I've a special use for it.'

The master flenser looked hurt. 'I don't need a bribe to do my best, surr' He took up his knife, eyeing Flydd's prone figure as if choosing the best spot to begin, though both knew that the procedure was prescribed in the manuals of his art. Flensing began in the centre, at the most sensitive place, and worked out in all directions.

'Hold just a moment,' cried Fusshte. 'There's something wrong.'

'I've done everything exactly as set down in the rituals!' the master of the executions exclaimed.

'I'm not talking to you!' Fusshte snarled. He looked around wildly, then ran to Chief Scrutator Ghorr. 'One of the greatest villains of all is missing. Where the devil is the arch-traitor, Artificer Cryl-Nish Hlar?'

THE END

OF VOLUME THREE

Glossary VOLUME FOUR

CHIMAERA

concludes The Well of Echoes Quartet