THIRTY-FOUR

Irisis was surprised at how smoothly the transition had gone. The occupants of Nennifer were so cowed by the long rule of Ghorr’s council, and Fusshte’s brief reign of terror, that they accepted the orders of the new council unquestioningly. Flydd and Klarm were well known to them as hard, uncompromising men, but fair ones.

The air-dreadnought was sent east to Fadd, the closest city to Nennifer. It carried three pilots so as to travel non-stop, and a contingent of artists and tale-tellers whose task it was to broadcast news of the fall of the old Council, and the succession of the new one, all along the rugged east coast from Einunar to tropical Taranta. Flydd sent a guard with them, and plenty of the Council’s gold to buy their passages. With fast ships and the wind behind them, the whole of the populous and wealthy east coast could be alerted in a few weeks.

Nish spent his days helping to retrieve survivors and supplies from the rubble. He wasn’t much use with a broken arm but working was better than sitting around in the cold. It was freezing, dirty and ultimately thankless work, for after the second day they uncovered only dead. He saw little of Flydd and Klarm, who had gone back into Nennifer time and again, recovering what they could of the old Council’s most precious devices and secrets, and destroying the rest. A large number of crates were loaded into the thapter and dirigible, which were guarded night and day.

Irisis was frantically busy, digging with teams of labourers into the workshops and storerooms to recover air-floater controllers, floater-gas generators and all manner of other crystals, devices and tools that would be needed for the fight-back.

About a week after Fusshte fled, they’d done all they could do. Flydd climbed onto a platform built from firewood to address the multitude in the rear yard.

‘The air-dreadnought is expected back from Fadd at any time,’ he told the four thousand survivors, who were still camped around their meagre fires. They’d recovered plenty of firewood but it would have to last for months. ‘It will begin ferrying you to Fadd, the closest place we can send you, but it’s going to take a long time. Even if we can pack one hundred into the air-dreadnought, it’ll take forty trips to carry everyone to safety, and the evacuation won’t be completed until next summer. In the meantime you must organise yourselves for survival, for we have to get on with the war.

‘There’s enough water in the cisterns, but you’ll have to dig out the storerooms to feed yourselves until supplies can be ferried back.’ Flydd looked up, searching for the source of a faint whirring. ‘That’ll be the air-dreadnought now.’

He stepped down. The refugees were already streaming out towards the broken parade ground on the other side of Nennifer. Flydd headed around the left-hand side, which was longer but would be quicker.

‘Laden with fresh fruit and vegetables, I hope,’ Nish said quietly to Irisis. They had been managing on hard tack for so long that eating dinner was like gnawing on a saddle.

‘They need it worse than we do,’ said Flydd. ‘You’ll have to wait till we get home.’

‘It’s funny to think of Fiz Gorgo as home,’ said Irisis. ‘Though I suppose it is.’

As they reached the front of Nennifer, the air-dreadnought, which had been slowly descending on its path to the parade ground, used the wind to turn sharply.

‘That was an odd manoeuvre,’ said Nish. ‘The pilot must be exhausted …’

Fire arced across the sky and disappeared over the lip of the Desolation Sink. No one reacted for a moment, then Flangers shouted, ‘That was a fire spear from a javelard. We’re being attacked!’

Three air-dreadnoughts broke out of the cloud where they’d been lurking. The one that had been landing was so close that Irisis could see the pilot’s terrified face. It turned away but half a dozen fiery spears struck its airbags and all five exploded in a stupendous conflagration. The boom echoed back and forth.

For a moment she thought the occupants might have a chance, the craft being so low, but it fell like a stone onto the fractured edge of the parade ground, broke in two and both pieces dropped into the Desolation Sink.

‘Like shooting a bird in a cage,’ gasped Klarm, who had pounded around the other side of the ruined fortress.

They stood together, wondering what was going to happen now. The three air-dreadnoughts put their noses down and raced for the rear of Nennifer. ‘It’s Fusshte!’ said Irisis. ‘He’s come for the thapter.’

‘If the refugees switch allegiance again, we’re done for,’ cried Flydd. ‘Why, why wasn’t I ready for this?’ He set off in his awkward stagger that covered the ground deceptively quickly.

‘You weren’t to know that Fusshte would come back,’ said Irisis, running beside him.

‘There was a skeet missing from its cage the other day,’ panted Klarm, who was having trouble keeping up.

‘And you didn’t think to mention it?’ cried Flydd.

‘I thought someone had eaten it.’

‘A spy must have been keeping Fusshte informed,’ said Flydd. ‘Once he realised I wasn’t going to use the amplimet he got his courage back. I should have cut him down like the vermin he is.’

He turned as he ran and Irisis saw a fury in his eyes that was close to insanity.

‘Where’s Malien?’ panted Yggur, limping up to join them.

‘I haven’t seen her all morning,’ Irisis called over her shoulder.

Flydd swore a ghastly oath. ‘We’re going to lose the thapter.’

They turned the rear corner of Nennifer and the first air-dreadnought was just a hundred spans from the ground. Its sides were lined with soldiers, all with crossbows at their shoulders. Javelard operators at front and rear were sliding spears into position.

‘Keep to the shadows,’ said Flydd. ‘They’ll be watching for us.’

‘They’ll be hard pressed to pick us out of four thousand people,’ said Nish.

‘Care to bet your life on it?’ Yggur grated. ‘Fusshte won’t take chances this time. Their orders will be to shoot us on sight.’

‘Can’t you spin an illusion around us?’ said Irisis.

‘Not on the run, out of nothing. I haven’t got the tiniest crystal on me.’

The thapter had been left about three hundred spans away, in an alley between piled rows of timber recovered from the wreckage for firewood. It was covered by a tarpaulin and, since there were canvas shelters all over the place, Irisis hoped that it wouldn’t attract the attackers’ immediate attention.

She edged through the heaps of rubble at the back of Nennifer. The air-dreadnought was hovering, its rotors roaring to keep it in place against the strong wind. A man at the bow – Fusshte himself, the stinking cur – had a speaking trumpet up to his mouth. Oh for a crossbow, Irisis thought, but hers was inside the thapter.

‘Where is the traitor Flydd and his treacherous companions?’ Fusshte shouted. ‘Where is the flying construct? Point them out and you’ll be well rewarded.’

‘We’re finished,’ said Nish.

‘Keep moving,’ hissed Flydd. ‘They don’t know where we are.’

They crept on. The low sun cast deep shadows behind the standing remnants of Nennifer and they took advantage of the cover to get closer.

‘Speak!’ roared Fusshte, ‘or I’ll shoot you down like the treasonous dogs you are.’

Evidently no one had betrayed them, for Fusshte turned to his archers, pointing down inside the walls of the air-dreadnought yard. Judging by the collective roar, they’d fired into the crowd. Fusshte’s signalmen exchanged signals with the other two air-dreadnoughts, hovering above, and they separated. One headed around the far side of Nennifer, the other over the rubble in their general direction. Someone had given away the location of the thapter.

‘See how easy it is to do your duty,’ Fusshte said.

‘Run!’ gasped Flydd.

Irisis put on a final burst, her long legs carrying her ahead. There wasn’t far to go – just down to the far corner of the rubble wall and around to the left, into the firewood alley, then along it for fifty or sixty spans.

Her breasts were thumping up and down painfully. Had she been expecting action she would have bound them. She looked back for Nish, who was labouring along, red in the face, about thirty spans behind.

Irisis didn’t wait, for the nearest air-dreadnought had suddenly altered course, the long airbags wobbling in their rigging as it tried to turn at right-angles. They had been spotted. The soldiers were lined up on the sides, crossbows at the ready. They weren’t within range but the javelards probably were.

Thud-crash. A spear buried itself in the timber just behind her. She raced on, weaving from side to side, risking a quick glance over her shoulder. Javelards weren’t accurate at that distance, but once within crossbow range the craft would turn side-on to fire a fusillade at them. They had a minute to get to safety.

Irisis turned the corner into the firewood alley and stopped in dismay. The canvas cover lay on the ground but the thapter was gone.