FORTY-NINE

Tiaan had spent weeks in the thapter, alone but for Malien, who flew it while Tiaan monitored the fields and refined her maps. She had now surveyed the whole of western Lauralin save for the northern sector of the Great Chain of Lakes, which roughly marked the boundary between the lyrinx-occupied lands to the west, Borgistry in the centre and impoverished Tacnah to the north.

Tiaan was now completing her lakes survey, after which they were to go to Borgistry to help with the coming war. They’d heard from Yggur the previous day, though perturbations in the ethyr had prevented them from replying with their slave farspeaker.

The Great Chain of Lakes lay in rugged, rifted and sunken lands bounded by great fault escarpments on either side, dotted with fuming volcanoes and boggy geyser country. Complex lines of nodes ran along the rift valley and the area had proven troublesome to map, but now, almost a week later than Tiaan had expected, the first rough chart was finished.

Malien was flying across Warde Yallock, the longest and deepest of all the lakes, and the cradle of civilisation on Santhenar. ‘Let’s set down there, by the water. I’m so weary of flying.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Tiaan. ‘You’ve been doing it for months with hardly a break.’

Malien headed towards an open area on the western side of the lake, landing at the top of a long green slope that ran to the water’s edge. Patches of forest spread over the hills behind them like dark green eiderdowns. Beyond the lake, twinned volcanoes smoked. They strolled out to the edge and Tiaan bathed while Malien kept watch. The water was surprisingly warm for the season. Afterwards Tiaan dried her hair in the sun and Malien swam out until she was just a dot in the distance.

They had lunch in mid-afternoon, in the shade of the thapter. They could see all the way across the lake, where the setting sun illuminated tall cliffs of red stone.

‘It’s peaceful here,’ said Tiaan. ‘I’m so sick of the war.’

‘You’ve never known anything else.’

‘It must seem like the blink of an eye to you.’

Malien laughed aloud. ‘Not even in my advanced years could I consider one hundred and fifty years to be the blink of an eye. But it has been a bad time, the worst I can remember, though my people have scarcely been involved in the war. We leave the lyrinx alone and they don’t trouble us.’

‘What was it like, in olden times? Was it as good as the tales say?’

‘No, nor as bad, in my lifetime, anyway. There was peace, of a sort, before the Forbidding was broken and everything changed. Oh, there were always little wars going on somewhere, but few people were affected by them. Most lived their lives without ever seeing an army, save during a ceremonial march. But the big difference was the freedom.’

‘How do you mean?’ Tiaan had never known freedom before leaving the manufactory, and could not imagine it. The Council organised every aspect of people’s brief lives from the moment they were born until their untimely deaths.

‘Well, people were free to move to another place or another country, if they wished to. They might not have been welcomed, but there was no law to stop them. They could do whatever kind of work they could make a living at. There were no examinations and no Council of Scrutators telling everyone what to do.’

‘And no breeding factories,’ said Tiaan.

‘Certainly not! Women could choose to have children, or not. It wasn’t a crime to prevent conception then.’

That reminded Tiaan of a puzzle she’d often thought about. ‘When I was held in the breeding factory, I saw something that I’ve wondered about ever since.’

‘What was it?’ Malien lay on the grass and closed her eyes. ‘Can you keep an eye out, in case I doze off?’

Tiaan climbed onto the shooter’s platform and scanned the country. There was no living creature in sight. She sat beside Malien again.

‘I don’t know who my father is and Marnie wouldn’t tell me. But one time in the Matron’s office I happened to see a book – the bloodline register for the breeding factory at Tiksi.’

‘Bloodline register?’

‘Yes. It was like a human stud book.’

‘You old humans are obsessed about your family Histories. The breeding factory would have to have records of the parents.’

‘But it was what was in the records,’ said Tiaan. ‘The talents of the parents …’

Malien yawned. ‘You should ask Flydd about that. I’ve never understood why old humans do the things they do. I suppose we’d better find a place to hide for the night. I’m too tired to fly all the way to Borgistry.’

In the morning they flew due south over the unending expanse of northern Worm Wood, and in the early afternoon Tiaan saw a cluster of volcanoes in the distance.

‘There’s a place I’ve not properly surveyed,’ she said. ‘Booreah Ngurle, the Burning Mountain.’ It stood at least a thousand spans higher than the other volcanoes in the cluster and was belching dark grey clouds of ash.

‘We might as well have a quick look at it on the way to Lybing.’

Before they reached the lowest of the peaks, as they were flying across dense forest, Tiaan looked up from her map. ‘That’s funny!’

‘What?’

‘There’s a strong node here but the field is really tenuous.’ She peered over the side but saw only the same untracked forest they had been crossing for hours. It was getting dark.

‘Fields fluctuate,’ said Malien.

‘Not as much as this.’

‘We can go back and forth if you want to take a closer look.’

‘No.’ Tiaan felt uneasy without knowing why. ‘We’re supposed to be heading for Borgistry.’

‘There’s time. Yggur said they wouldn’t be fighting for a few days yet.’

‘In that case, go on to Booreah Ngurle. It has a double node that I’m interested in.’

Malien flew around the peak, then back and forth across it, to either side of the ash clouds.

‘All finished, Tiaan?’

‘Um, can we go back to that weak field now? I want to take another look.’

They flew north on the same track as they had taken south. Two small chains of hills ran to their left. The area that interested Tiaan lay a little to the east of them. ‘Now turn around and go back.’

‘Again?’ said Malien when they had returned to their starting point.

‘No! Just keep going. I’ve got to think.’

‘Perhaps if you were to think aloud …’

‘Sorry, Malien. The fields down there are all wrong. The nodes are strong ones but their fields are just points.’

‘Meaning that something has almost drained them dry?’

‘Exactly,’ said Tiaan. ‘But why would the enemy put node-drainers in the middle of trackless forest. We’d never fight in such a place. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘How many fields have shrunk?’

‘All of them, over an area of forest ten leagues square.’

‘All of them?’ Malien stared at her. ‘It would take an army of lyrinx flying over the forest to drain that much from the field.’

‘And there aren’t any fliers in sight.’

‘An army moving through the forest then?’

‘They don’t use the field when they’re marching. Unless …’

‘Unless they’re travelling under a vast concealment,’ said Malien, ‘even greater than the one that stone-formed thirty thousand of them into the pinnacles above Gumby Marth. And it would have to be much greater to conceal an army on the march. We’d better get back. Whatever Flydd’s expecting, I’m sure it’s not an attack from the north, between Booreah Ngurle and the Peaks of Borg.’

‘They must have done a forced march all the way from Strebbit, to have got here so quickly.’ Tiaan measured distances on the map. ‘They’re only twenty-five leagues from Borgistry and lyrinx march faster than soldiers. They could do it in a couple of days, even through the forest.’

‘Try the farspeaker again.’

Tiaan did so, but heard nothing except a shrill whistling. ‘What are we going to do?’

Malien jerked the thapter around in mid-air. ‘We’re going to Lybing.’

They arrived over the city at the darkest hour of the night. ‘Do you know where to go?’ said Tiaan as they approached.

‘I haven’t been to Lybing in a couple of hundred years.’

‘I’ve never been here.’

‘There’s the Great North Road,’ said Malien. ‘I’ll set down at the northern gate.’

The terrified guards did not know whether to fire their crossbows or run screaming as the thapter whined into the pool of light outside the gates.

‘Hoy!’ roared Malien. ‘The enemy is nigh. Where can we find the governor?’

The guards each pointed in a different direction.

‘General Troist?’ said Malien. ‘Scrutator Xervish Flydd? Lord Yggur?’

‘The White Palace,’ gasped the guard. ‘Where the three waters join. If you run that way –’

‘Run,’ said Malien. ‘At my age?’

The thapter screamed and shot off, directly over the gates. They landed hard on the manicured lawn outside the front door of the White Palace, skidding on the dewy surface and carving out a streak of crumpled turf three or four spans long. Tiaan gathered her maps and threw herself over the side, Malien following just a little less hastily.

Tiaan pounded on the bronze-studded doors with her free hand. A sleepy guard opened the left-hand one.

‘Where is Scrutator Flydd? Or Lord Yggur?’ Malien rapped out.

‘Inside,’ said the guard, ‘but they’ll be sleeping now.’

‘I am Malien!’ she said briskly. ‘Matah of the Aachim. My name is written in the Great Tales.’

He took a step backwards, calling out to his fellows.

‘The enemy is almost upon us,’ said Malien. ‘Let us in at once.’

No one else could have done it, but such was her authority that the guard did allow them through. ‘Take the stairs straight ahead. Turn left down the corridor. The scrutator’s door is at the end.’

‘Thank you,’ said Malien.

Tiaan ran. Her back was troubling her and her legs felt weak, but she soon outdistanced Malien. After scooting up the stairs, she turned left and ran along the hall. Which room? She couldn’t remember what the guard had said. At the end, or near the end?

She pounded on the first door she came to, and then on several others. ‘Scrutator, Scrutator! Wake, wake! The enemy is nigh.’

There were cries of panic, shouting and an occasional scream, as if people thought the lyrinx were inside the palace. Shortly Xervish Flydd appeared at the end door, pulling a robe around his gristly frame.

‘Scrutator, surr?’ said Tiaan.

‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ he snapped.

‘Delayed,’ she lied. ‘We know where the enemy are, surr. They’re coming under a concealment of surpassing power, down through the forest on the north-eastern side of Booreah Ngurle.’ She partly unrolled her main map. ‘Here, surr. Their fliers could attack as early as tomorrow, and the whole army could enter northern Borgistry within two days.’

‘Attacking from the north,’ he breathed. ‘I never would have expected that. How can you be sure?’

Malien came hobbling up. ‘There’s so many of them that they’ve drained all the fields in a huge area, about ten leagues square, down to pinpricks.’

‘How do you know they haven’t put in node-drainers, to fool us?’ said Flydd.

‘Why would we check the fields in such a remote place?’

‘Come down to the war room. We’ll take a look at the big maps. I hope you’re right, Tiaan. If I direct our forces north, and they strike somewhere else …’

Two days after leaving Lybing, Nish was working in the command tent at Clew’s Top when Troist’s farspeaker gave forth a hollow tapping, like the flicking of a fingernail against a blown egg. He looked up. Troist was not there.

Nish did not know how to use a farspeaker, or even if he was capable of doing so. Putting his head through the flaps of the tent he bawled, ‘General Troist?’

A soldier standing a few paces away grinned and said, ‘He’s gone to the privy. He’ll be a while. The general suffers from a flux –’

‘Thank you, soldier!’

Nish ran to the farspeaker, which was still tapping, though more loudly. If it was already set, maybe all he had to do was talk. He tapped back. The farspeaker gave out a squelching noise, then a voice rumbled forth. It did not come from the farspeaker, rather from the air above it, and had an echoing, unearthly quality that made it hard to identify.

‘Troist? Is that you?’

‘Scrutator? It’s Nish. Troist is out at the bogs.’

‘Run and get him. We’ve found the enemy and they’re only days away.’

A spasm twisted Nish’s entrails. The moment had finally come. ‘Where?’ he cried.

‘From the north, east of Booreah Ngurle, if Tiaan is right.’

‘I’ll get Troist right away, surr.’

Nish ran down to the privies and yelled through the wall. ‘General Troist. Flydd is on the farspeaker. It’s urgent.’ He didn’t want to say more, since there could be a dozen men in the privies at any time and morale could easily be damaged.

‘I’m coming.’ Troist appeared after a short delay, holding his stomach.

Over the farspeaker, Flydd repeated what he had told Nish.

‘What are your orders, surr?’ said Troist. ‘What if Tiaan is wrong?’

‘Then we’re in as much trouble as if she’s right and we do nothing. Bring your army north to Ossury. How soon can you be there?’

‘My main force has only just got here from Strebbit, in their clankers,’ said Troist without consulting the map. ‘I’ll bring them north without delay, leaving the rest here. I can’t leave this place undefended. On good roads, going night and day, we should be able to reach Ossury in two and a half days, as long as we don’t have too many breakdowns. And as long as the fields last. There have been a few failures around here lately. How about there?’

‘The same,’ said Flydd. ‘We haven’t lost a node yet but the fields grow more unreliable by the day. Take the usual precautions and spread your clankers out. We can’t afford another loss like Hannigor. Goodbye.’

‘No surr,’ said Troist. ‘We cannot.’

‘What was Hannigor?’ said Nish.

‘It’s a village down south, between Saludith and Thuxgate. Fifty-four clankers were travelling close together at full speed, coming to the aid of a smaller force that had been ambushed by the enemy last autumn. They must have taken more from the field than could be borne. A sphere of light formed around them, collapsed, and they vanished. Even the ground they were travelling over was gone, annihilated down to bare rock.’

‘I heard a similar tale back at the manufactory. Do you think we’re in danger now, just travelling in a convoy of clankers?’

‘I don’t know, lad,’ said Troist. ‘Fields have never been perfectly reliable, but lately it’s become worse. Some mancers think we’re drawing on them beyond their capacity, but what can we do? Without the Art we would already have lost the war.’

‘And yet, each time we make a new advance, they counter it with one of their own that also uses power. What will it be next?’

‘I don’t dare think.’

Within two hours camp had been broken and they were heading north up the Great North Road as fast as the clankers would go. Every machine was packed with food and supplies, and most towed sleds or carts, piled high. More soldiers sat on the shooter’s platforms or clung to the sides. Troist had left behind two thousand soldiers and a token force of eighty clankers to help protect them. The goodbyes were sombre. Whether the enemy appeared in the north or the south, everyone knew that they were unlikely to see their friends again.

They were plagued by breakdowns and field failures on the way north, and by the end of the second day of travel were half a day behind schedule. They bypassed Lybing on the west and continued. Troist was in and out of the jolting clanker, either urging his operators and artificers on, or darting behind a bush or hedge to relieve himself. He drank flagons of a thick green liquid with an offensive odour, trying to quell his troublesome innards, but to little effect. The race had taken three and a half days, and morning had broken, before they came in sight of the towers of Ossury, the northernmost town in Borgistry.

‘I don’t see any sign of fighting,’ said Nish to Troist as they climbed out the rear hatch of the clanker and stretched their cramped muscles.

‘I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.’

An air-floater hung in the sky above the town. As they turned off the road towards a river, to make camp, a thapter screamed overhead. Judging by the exuberant swoops and rolls, Chissmoul was at the controller. Nish smiled, imagining the joy of his shy protégée.

‘How far away were the enemy when Tiaan sighted them?’ Nish asked.

‘The scrutator didn’t say.’

‘We’ll soon know. That looks like him now.’

A small man came cantering through the gates on a tall white horse. It seemed incongruous, after months of travel by air. They went to meet him.

‘Good day, Scrutator Flydd,’ said Troist. ‘What can you tell us?’

‘We believe they’re quite near,’ said Flydd, without so much as a greeting or a glance at Nish. ‘The depressed fields were no more than a day’s march away last night.’

‘What about now?’ said Troist.

‘I don’t know. I’m keeping Tiaan away, in case we alert them and they attack somewhere else.’

‘So we don’t know if they’re coming this way or not?’

‘Sadly no.’

‘Any news from the pig sentries?’ Nish said. ‘Not a sausage, I suppose.’

‘Very funny!’ Flydd said coldly. ‘We’ll just have to pray that Tiaan is right.’

‘If she’s not …’ Troist began.

‘We’ve been through that already,’ Flydd snapped.

They spent a long and anxious night, during which a hundred messengers must have come in and out of the command tent. No one knew what was going on. Nish retired at midnight but his tent was next to the command tent and he couldn’t sleep. Every minute he expected to hear the cry, ‘To battle!’

When a call finally came, it was something of an anticlimax. Nish stamped his feet into his boots and ran next door. ‘What is it? Are we under attack?’

Troist looked like death and Flydd was not much better. ‘Unfortunately not,’ said Flydd. ‘The enemy has attacked from the east, fifteen leagues south of here, and are driving directly for Lybing.’

‘The east?’ said Nish. ‘How did they get there?’

Flydd just shrugged.

‘How many of them?’

‘We won’t know until dawn. Hopefully it’s just a feint by an isolated band of fliers.’

The farspeaker belched like a cow and a deep voice exploded from it. ‘We’re under attack, surr!’

Flydd rapped on the globe. ‘Identify yourself, you fool. How the bloody hell am I supposed to know who you are?’

‘Sorry, surr,’ came back after a considerable pause. ‘It’s Captain Maks, of Troist’s detachment at Clew’s Top.’

‘The south as well!’ Troist knuckled his bristly cheeks. ‘I knew it was the wrong –’

‘You forget yourself, General,’ hissed Flydd, turning away from the farspeaker. ‘Morale, dammit.’

Turning back, he tapped the globe. ‘Captain Maks, this is Scrutator Xervish Flydd here. How many of the enemy are there?’

Again that over-long pause. ‘Ethyr must be very slow tonight,’ Flydd muttered.

‘Or the fields overly drained,’ fretted Nish.

The farspeaker belched again. ‘Maks, surr. Can’t tell their numbers. Seems like a good few.’

‘What the hell does that mean? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands?’

‘Hundreds at least, surr.’

Flydd conferred with Troist, who tapped on the globe. ‘It’s Troist, Maks. Don’t engage the enemy. Take to the constructs, all that can fit inside, and retreat slowly north towards Lybing, protecting the infantry.’

‘Don’t engage … retreat … Lybing,’ Maks repeated, and faded out.

‘Troist, call for a general report,’ said Flydd.

Troist contacted the detachments of Borgistry’s other forces, one by one. Another squad, this one on the western side, also reported being under attack. ‘What are the enemy up to? Are they going to attack along a hundred and fifty leagues of border, or is this just a distraction until the main force is in position?’

‘It’s going to be a long time till dawn,’ said Flydd.

‘Why don’t you see if you can contact Tiaan, Scrutator?’ said Nish.

‘Good idea.’ Flydd ordered her to fly north, keeping so high that the sound of the thapter could not be heard. ‘And don’t fly over them. As soon as you detect them, turn back.’

An anxious half-hour went by, during which a stream of couriers ran in and out. Flydd was constantly interrupted by representatives of the villages surrounding Ossury, terrified that the enemy was about to fall on them. Finally he ordered the guard to keep them away. Troist pored over his maps, his back bent.

Tiaan eventually reported back. ‘The depression in the fields is still moving south, in the direction of Ossury.’ Her voice was clear, though there was a bell-like ringing of the ethyr in the background.

‘If it’s a feint, it’s a magnificently coordinated one,’ said Flydd. ‘How can they do that over such distances?’ No one answered. ‘We’d better get the other thapters armed and in the air,’ he went on.

‘Everything’s ready,’ said Troist. ‘We just don’t know where to send them.’

By mid-morning it had begun to rain, and it became heavier as the day wore on. They still had no idea what was happening. The attacking lyrinx could have numbered hundreds, or thousands. More conflicts broke out until the borders of Borgistry were ringed by skirmishes.

Finally, around the middle of the day, came the news they had been dreading.

‘General!’ Even through the rumble of the farspeaker they could hear the terror. ‘It’s Captain Maks. We’re still well south of Lybing. There are enemy everywhere.’

‘Are you using the light blasters?’

‘Yes, but we don’t have enough to make a difference. There’s thousands of the enemy, surr! They’re coming –’

The farspeaker cut off and they could not raise him again.

‘Doesn’t mean they’re lost,’ said Troist eventually, but there was a blank look in his eye that Nish had not seen since they’d first met, just after the ruinous defeat at Nilkerrand.

Flydd seized the globe. ‘Thapters, report! Who’s the nearest to Clew’s Top?’

A full minute passed before a youthful voice said, ‘It’s Chissmoul, surr.’

‘Who’s Chissmoul, Nish?’ Flydd said out of the corner of his mouth.

‘Chissmoul is the one who doesn’t have Yggur’s eyes. The rather … exuberant flier.’

‘Oh, that one. Downright reckless, I would have said. What’s she doing down there?’

‘Patrolling.’

Flydd turned back to the globe. ‘Chissmoul, go down carefully to where the soldiers are. Tell me what you see.’

They heard nothing for a good half-hour, then Chissmoul called back. She wasn’t exuberant now. Her voice quavered. ‘I’ve found them, surr. I have them with me.’

‘What the blazes are you talking about, Pilot?’ said Flydd.

‘The survivors. I have both of them.’

‘Both? There were two thousand soldiers and eighty clankers.’

There was a long silence.

‘Chissmoul?’

‘None of the clankers are moving, surr. All the soldiers are dead and the enemy has gone.’

Troist turned to Flydd, but Flydd couldn’t meet his eyes.

‘Gone where?’ said Nish, leaning towards the farspeaker globe.

‘They’re heading north, towards Lybing,’ said Chissmoul.

‘How many?’

‘More than two thousand. Surr.’

‘Follow them, but keep out of catapult range,’ said Troist, tapping the farspeaker to indicate that he’d finished. ‘What do we do now?’ he cried. ‘Do we let them slaughter our scattered forces, man by man, then fall on defenceless Lybing while we sit here watching for phantoms?’

‘Lybing is a walled city defended by an army of ten thousand,’ Flydd said.

‘If the enemy send just half of their fifty-seven thousand against Lybing, they’ll take it before we can get there.’

‘Tiaan?’ called the scrutator after changing the setting of the farspeaker. ‘It’s Flydd. What’s happening?’

‘The depression in the field is still moving towards Ossury.’

Flydd paced back and forth, his lips moving. He cast a glance at the general, who was staring at the wall. Flydd sat down with head in hands. Nish was glad the decision wasn’t his to make.

‘My men are dying, Scrutator,’ said Troist. ‘If you’re wrong, the three rivers of Lybing will flow red for a week. You’re gambling everything on Tiaan and, to be frank, her history doesn’t inspire confidence. Wasn’t she out of her mind in Nennifer?’

He pressed his knuckles into his stomach, his face grey with pain. Nish passed over the flask containing Troist’s latest remedy, a noxious yellow potion. Troist swigged half a flask, though it seemed no more efficacious than the green sludge he’d resorted to previously.

Flydd bit his lip. ‘Tiaan has never let me down. Besides, Malien is with her. We hold firm for another hour.’

The farspeaker emitted a farting burp. ‘Xervish Flydd,’ said a deadly voice whose tones came through quite unchanged. ‘Grand Commander Orgestre here. This is madness. Will you twiddle your thumbs until the enemy have destroyed us all?’

‘It’s a feint,’ said Flydd desperately. ‘As soon as we turn south they’ll be onto us.’

‘You’ve lost your mind. You are dismissed from command of our forces.’

‘I don’t hold command, and if the governor and the generals no longer have confidence in me they can say so.’

‘General Troist,’ said Orgestre, shrilly. ‘I order you to take Flydd into custody and render him up to me. You are to come south at once and defend Lybing.’

‘You don’t have the power to give orders to me, Orgestre,’ said Troist, who had gone the colour of his elixir. ‘My army is not from Borgistry.’

‘Then who do you obey, surr?’ Orgestre ground out. ‘Think carefully before you answer. You know the penalty for treason.’

Troist took a long time to answer. ‘I do know the penalty, surr, and I take my orders from Xervish Flydd, the head of the Council of Scrutators. He has asked me to wait another hour, and wait I will.’

‘You will regret this, General Troist.’

‘We may all regret it, surr, though not for very long.’

‘I hope I can repay your trust,’ said Flydd after Orgestre had gone.

Troist sank the rest of the potion and continued to knuckle his rebellious belly. The hour passed with agonising slowness. More reports came in, of isolated squads slaughtered to the last man.

Nish turned the hourglass, setting it down with a clatter.

Flydd’s eyes flicked to the glass. ‘I’ll contact Tiaan again.’

‘And if there is no concrete news?’ said Troist.

‘I fear we must turn back to Lybing. Tiaan?’ he called.

‘Still the same,’ Tiaan’s voice came clearly over the whine of the thapter.

‘Can I speak to Malien?’

‘Yes, Xervish?’ said Malien.

‘The enemy are attacking all around the borders. We’ve lost thousands of men already and if they’re really heading for Lybing …’

‘Are you asking me to back up Tiaan’s report?’

‘If she’s wrong, Lybing will be destroyed and the west will fall. I need confirmation.’

‘I’m not able to see the effect that Tiaan has reported,’ said Malien, ‘but I have no reason to doubt her.’

‘In any respect?’ A river of sweat ran down Flydd’s cheek.

‘If you’re questioning her sanity, have the goodness to speak plainly.’

‘The world is at stake here, Malien.’

‘Then you have quite a decision to make,’ she said coldly. The farspeaker cut off.

Flydd wiped his face with a rag that was already drenched with sweat. ‘What am I to do, Nish? How am I to decide?’

‘I don’t know, surr.’

‘The effect Tiaan’s seeing must be a decoy – a spread-out group of lyrinx carrying node-drainers. They’ve lured us here so they can destroy the rest of Borgistry unhindered. That has to be it. I can’t delay any longer. Order the turnabout, General.’

Troist sprang to the farspeaker and changed the setting. ‘Captains, this is General Troist. Turn back to Lybing immediately. Follow Plan Three.’

The orders had just been repeated when the farspeaker squealed.

‘This is Tiaan. I can see the enemy, surr. Surr?’

Flydd jumped out of his seat. ‘Where are they?’

‘They’re coming out of the forest in their thousands, from the point where the Great North Road meets the forest, then west for a couple of leagues. There’s thousands of them.’

After a long pause, Malien added, ‘I’d say tens of thousands.’

‘Thank you! Thank you, Tiaan and Malien. Stay on watch.’ There were tears in Flydd’s eyes. He embraced Troist and then Nish. ‘To war!’

‘To war,’ said Troist, then snatched the farspeaker globe.

‘Captains. General Troist again. Ignore the last order. The enemy are coming from the forest north of Ossury, from the Great North Road west for several leagues. This is the main attack. Put Plan Six into action.’ He broke off and ran to the door. ‘Guards, the war begins. Ready the command-centre defences.’ He came inside and buckled on his armour, made from boiled leather, and his steel helmet.

‘I think I’ll go up in one of the thapters,’ said Flydd. ‘Even in this weather we might see something useful. Will you join me?’

‘My place is here, with my men. I’ll send up my best tactician, Orbes, and he can report back.’

‘Very good.’ Flydd called down the nearest thapter. ‘Nish?’

‘I’m with Troist, at least until the battle is over,’ said Nish, shrugging his armour over his shoulders.