by Ian Irvine
‘I’ve been on the run since the war, Yulla. My resources are meagre.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of coin. I’ll accept the God-Emperor’s air-sled.’
‘That piece of junk!’ cried Nish.
‘There’s no flying craft like it in the empire. And with such a vehicle …’
‘I gave you a thapter once,’ mused Flydd. He looked at her sideways. ‘It was a mighty gift.’
‘And I repaid you twice over in aid. Besides, I only had it for a few months, for it failed when the nodes were destroyed.’
‘As did every thapter and construct; my gift was made in good faith, and given in good order.’
Yulla frowned, turned her crystals over and studied them from the other side, holding them as if they were the most precious of nature’s blooms. ‘I will accept the air-sled as your down-payment. An adviser tells me that it has … potential.’
‘Oh?’ said Flydd sharply, but she did not elaborate, and he added, ‘Very well. But if you can get it going again, I may need to call upon it to prosecute the war.’
‘I agree that you may ask for it. Where did you hide it?’
‘It’s lying at the bottom of Cockle Cove, near the abandoned watch-tower. I should warn you, it was failing in flight, a problem with the mechanism …’
She’ll reject the offer, Nish thought gloomily, and we’ll have to start again.
‘Nothing that my adviser can’t fix, I’m sure.’ Yulla raised her voice a little. ‘Mel, would you come here for a minute?’
The old man laid down his paper and rose from the chair, only it wasn’t a man. It was a short, plump woman of nearly sixty years, with thin grey hair and a small bald patch. She was dressed in patched, shabby and rather grubby shirt and trousers, but as soon as she turned those keen eyes on him, Nish knew her, though he had not seen her for thirteen years. And so did Flydd.
‘Mechanician M’lainte,’ they exclaimed together.
‘Just M’lainte,’ she said, smiling broadly as she shook Flydd’s hand, then Nish’s. ‘The old titles were thrown out with the rubbish of the war, and good riddance.’
M’lainte had been a genius with any kind of mechanical device, especially those powered by the Art, and she had designed and built the first air-floater from a rude sketch Nish had given to Flydd. Nish had subsequently flown it, and drifted in it, halfway across Lauralin, but M’lainte had remained in the south and he had never seen her again.
‘You can talk about old times later,’ said Yulla. ‘M’lainte, can you repair the air-sled’s mechanism? Since it’s the only craft of its kind in existence, it is beyond price.’
‘I imagine so,’ said M’lainte. ‘I believe I understand how it works, and even if some of the parts are broken, they can be replaced. If you can make available a suitable vessel I’ll raise it tomorrow night – assuming the seas are calm.’
Yulla nodded and turned back to Flydd. ‘Then I’ll accept it as down-payment. Are we agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ said Flydd.
Nish echoed him, feeling as though he’d been railroaded, though he could not see what else he could have done.
‘Persia?’ said Yulla. ‘Would you come over so we can seal the agreement?’
Persia carried the tray across and poured a lime-coloured liquor into three glasses until they were full to the brim. ‘Each of you will drink one third of your liquor and pass your glass to your right. When the glasses have returned to their original holders, empty, the agreement is sealed – and cannot be broken without the consent of all parties.’
She handed drinks to Yulla, Flydd and Nish.
They raised their glasses and sipped. The liquor was thick and sweet, with the aromatic flavour of lime zest, and very strong. After taking a third, Nish passed it to the right, to Yulla, accepted Flydd’s glass in turn, and shortly the agreement had been sealed.
‘It’s done,’ he said, feeling the burden that had weighed him down lifting just a little. There was a long way to go, and they would probably fail, but at least they had a plan.
THIRTY
Afterwards Persia led them downstairs into a reception room at the rear of the mansion overlooking the sea. ‘If you would wait here,’ she said, ‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements.’
‘What arrangements?’ Nish said, but she had already gone.
They sat down. The windows had many small panes and through them he could see all the way to the horizon. The sky was clear and the crescent moon touched the crests of the waves with red and silver. It was a beautiful sight, yet he could not enjoy it. How could he take on the empire with two thousand men?
Nish was not looking forward to the long voyage south, either. The sea was not his element and, on the one time he had sailed, the ship had been wrecked in a storm and most of the people aboard had drowned. He and Flydd had been marooned on a miserably cold island for weeks, living on worms and grubs, and, though it had been many years ago, he could still remember the taste of them, going down and coming up.
‘I gather you’re not entirely happy with this strategy,’ said Flydd.
‘I feel as though it’s been forced on me, and that you’ve negotiated all my choices away.’
‘If you had a better plan, you should have mentioned it earlier.’
‘Everything is moving too fast. I like to think things through.’
‘There isn’t time. No matter how careful we were on the way from Taranta, the air-sled could have been seen, and if the seneschal of Roros should guess we’re here, he’ll bring in so many wisp-watchers and scriers that not even Yulla will be able to hide us.’
Nish shivered, his hopes dwindling. ‘Did you have to agree to all her outrageous demands? Reparation and restitution? She’s robbing us blind.’
‘Of course she is, but I don’t have time to look for a better ally, and if I did, I doubt I could find one. Yulla has many qualities and we can’t do without her.’
‘But a seat on the council! Why concede that?’
‘She would not have agreed without it. Wealth can be lost far more quickly than it was gained, and it’s hard to hold onto it without power. A position on the advisory council guarantees Yulla that power. Besides, she was an excellent governor of Crandor and she will be invaluable on any such council.’
‘You might have asked me first.’ It sounded petulant, though Nish had not intended it that way.
‘Is that what this is all about?’ snapped Flydd. ‘You don’t even know her, Nish. As scrutator I negotiated with Yulla, and dozens like her, for more than a decade. I can read her; I know what she’ll accept and what she won’t. I gave her nothing we could not afford, and no more than the minimum she would accept to help us.’
‘Even so,’ said Nish, ‘you could have told me this on the way.’
‘I didn’t know she was alive until I got here.’
‘But you had this plan in mind, or one like it. You’re manipulating me, Flydd, the way Vivimord did, and my father. You don’t feel like my old friend any more, and you haven’t since taking renewal. You’re acting like an arrogant scrutator, moving around lifeless pieces on a game board.’
Flydd opened his mouth to speak, evidently thought better of it and stalked to the furthest window, his chest rising and falling.
Nish watched his rigid back for a while, then sighed and leaned back in his seat. Flydd was using him, of course he was, but did he have any choice? Nish’s irritation began to fade as he realised that Flydd was right and that this plan was the only one with any hope of success.
Even so, he missed their comradeship of old, which had largely vanished on renewal, and perhaps that was what this was all about. Nish felt alone now, so desperately alone and helpless.
He closed his eyes. He was always tired these days, and he ached all over. You’re not a young man any more, he told himself. You’re approaching middle age, you’ve done too much and you can’t keep it up. But he had to; there was still so far to go.
Persia came in. ‘Nish, if you wou
ld come this way, I’ll show you to your room.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Flydd, swinging around.
‘Nish will be staying here until we’re ready to sail. Since he was a hero of the war and is the God-Emperor’s son, everyone knows his face, and Yulla can’t allow him to be recognised.’
‘But my gear,’ said Nish, ‘the militia –’
‘M’lainte’s crew will collect your gear, and the militia, when she raises the air-sled tomorrow night. If you need anything else, it will be provided.’
‘What if I have to go outside?’
‘If it’s absolutely necessary I will accompany you, and you will be disguised. From now on I will be your bodyguard –’
‘You!’ Nish exclaimed, for she was neither tall nor muscular but, indeed, exceedingly feminine.
She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. ‘I have been Yulla’s bodyguard for almost seven years, and I assure you I’m very good at it.’
‘As was Tallia bel Soon,’ said Flydd thoughtfully. ‘According to the Great Tale, she was a master of armed and unarmed combat.’
‘It’s in the family,’ said Persia.
‘Then I’ll leave Nish in your safe hands. I’ll just have a word with my former mechanician before I go, if I may. It’s late and there’s much to be done tomorrow.’
‘I’ll show you to M’lainte’s quarters. Nish, I won’t be a minute.’ Persia led Flydd away.
Nish sat down and stared moodily out the window, feeling less in control than ever. He was practically a prisoner here, and what if Yulla turned out to be a traitor? Flydd had said that she kept her promises, but a lot could change in ten years. Klarm had also been a reliable man who kept his word …
Technically Klarm had not broken his word, Nish conceded, since he did not change sides until long after the war had been won and the world lost to the God-Emperor. And if Yulla was a secret ally of the empire’s –
‘You seem troubled, Nish,’ said Persia from behind.
She was also a master of moving silently. ‘I hadn’t expected to be kept here,’ he said coolly.
‘Yulla is sorry about that.’
I’ll bet! Persia might be sorry but Nish was damned sure Yulla wasn’t. She did not appear to be troubled by normal human emotions, save greed.
‘Why does she have all those rocks and crystals upstairs?’ said Nish. ‘Is she a geomancer?’
‘Not at all,’ said Persia. ‘She collects beautiful things, wherever she can, and perfect minerals satisfy her most of all. She also appreciates their solidity and permanence … in a world that is transient and unreliable.’ She gave him a measuring glance, as if assessing his own reliability. ‘But you must be hungry by now.’
‘I’m starving.’
‘Come with me. You will want to bathe. I’ll bring a tray to your room afterwards.’
He rubbed his hair, which was stiff with salt. ‘That would be splendid. I itch all over.’
The bathing chamber had both hot and cold running water, an unheard of luxury, and Nish lay in the huge tub until the warm water had eased the worst of his aches and bruises. He donned the robe laid out for him and found her waiting outside the door with his tray.
His room was on the other side of the house and had a view up the rugged coast, which made a series of jagged outlines against the palely silvered sea. Nish noticed that the windows, unlike those in the upstairs room, did not open.
‘Am I a prisoner, Persia?’ he said, careful to pronounce her name correctly.
‘No, you’re being held here for your protection.’
If anyone else had said that he would have called them a liar, but Persia’s face seemed incapable of concealing deception or falsehood. He wasn’t blinded by her beauty – Nish had known many beautiful liars – but over the years he had learned to read faces, and he seldom misjudged people.
She turned down the bed and Nish sat in a chair by the window, picking at the food on the tray. He was starving but his stomach was so knotted and his throat so tight that he had to force each morsel down.
‘Is there anything you would like to ask me before bed?’ she said, delicately concealing a yawn behind her hand. ‘It’s nearly two in the morning.’
He shook his head and stood up, yawning as well. She was turning away when his robe slid off one shoulder, revealing his battered and bruised chest and side. Her eyes widened.
‘You look as though someone tried to batter you to death.’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ said Nish.
‘What happened?’
‘Surely you’ve heard our tale by now?’
‘Just an outline. I’ve been away and only returned this evening.’
‘You’re tired. It can wait until the morning.’
‘Not if you’re carrying injuries that could affect the campaign. Take your robe off and lie on the bed.’
In other circumstances Nish might have lusted after Persia, and he didn’t want to reveal himself to her in his present condition. ‘I’ll visit a healer in the morning.’
‘Now!’ she said mildly. ‘I’m stronger than I look, Nish.’
He certainly wasn’t going to suffer the indignity of her stripping the robe from him, so he did as she asked.
Though her gaze was entirely cool and professional, Nish felt self-conscious and embarrassed. She rolled him over, exclaiming at the fading bruises and sword-edge scars on his buttocks, and touching the ancient crisscross scars on his back.
‘There’s hardly an unmarked spot on you,’ she said. ‘I would not have thought any man could have suffered such punishment and lived.’ She didn’t look so professional now; there was a soft look in her eyes, as if she felt for him.
‘You should have seen Flydd’s body before he took renewal. Compared to him I’ve got skin like a baby.’
‘Stop trying to change the subject,’ she said with a lilting laugh. ‘How did these scars on your back come about?’
He had long since lost his embarrassment about that punishment. ‘I was flogged at the manufactory where I worked as a prentice clanker artificer. But don’t feel sorry for me; I was a callow, obnoxious fool, out for what I could get, and deserved every stroke.’
‘I’m sure you were quite a rogue,’ she said, smiling as though she did not believe a word of it, and her hand lingered on his shoulder.
Persia was thorough, he had to grant her that. She questioned him about every scar and every bruise, and felt his bones and skull all over, after he told her about being flung about inside the falling air-sled.
She peered into his eyes, and frowned. Her breath smelled like tangerines. ‘Were you knocked unconscious at any stage?’
‘No. If I had been, I probably would have drowned.’
‘Have you ever been unconscious?’
‘Quite a few times. I can’t remember all the battles I’ve fought in. Is something the matter?’
‘I’ll tell you if there is.’ She studied his scarred left hand. ‘What happened here?’
‘An encounter with Reaper.’ He told her about it.
‘It’s a wonder you’re not dead a dozen times. We’ll have to take better care of you if you’re to fulfil your destiny.’
‘And restore Yulla’s fortune,’ he said without thinking.
Persia went still, all the warmth went out of her eyes, then she said stiffly, ‘You came begging her favour and asking her to collaborate in a sedition that could cost everyone here, and our families, their lives. She did not approach you.’
She went out and pulled the door closed.
Nish got into bed, his cheeks flaming. Why hadn’t he thought before he’d opened his mouth? Had he damaged the campaign? Surely not. The agreement had been made and could not be broken. But even so, he needed Yulla’s regard, and he wanted Persia’s even more. For a moment there she’d seemed to care about him.
Putting her out of mind, he lay in the dark, listening to the waves breaking on the shore below and going over the day’s events, trying t
o think of another way to attack the empire, but he could not come up with one.
What of the campaign Yulla had proposed? Suppose she did raise an army of two thousand, and they took the long sea voyage down to Fadd, a perilous journey of some four hundred leagues along a coast notorious for its sudden storms, uncharted reefs and treacherous currents.
It would take a week if the weather was fair and the winds favourable, two or three times that if not, and should the weather turn bad they would have to wait it out in the nearest port, running a grave risk of being discovered. How could the departure of a fleet of ships be kept secret anyhow?
Even supposing they reached Fadd, its garrison held at least five thousand troops and if he did slip past them, and march his little army up into the mountains without being attacked, the army guarding Morrelune and the grim prison of Mazurhize must be even larger. How could he evade the first army, and beat the second? Nish had no idea, and little hope.
A frustrating week had gone by, which Nish had mostly spent staring out the window or pacing back and forth. Though his room was large, beautifully decorated and had a glorious view, he felt as though he was in gaol, and that raised hideous memories of the ten years he had spent in Mazurhize.
M’lainte had successfully raised the air-sled and taken the militia on board the salvage vessel, but it had sailed to a secret location and he had not set eyes on them. He only saw Persia when she brought his meals, and Yulla not at all. As far as he knew, no progress had been made on finding enough ships, or assembling his army.
Without either company or news, Nish grew more anxious every day. Was the empire’s net drawing ever tighter around them? Even if the air-sled had not been seen heading to Roros, it was one of the most likely places to begin a rebellion, and its Imperial seneschal would have his scriers on high alert.
‘I’ve got to go outside,’ he said when Flydd finally appeared.
‘What for?’ grunted Flydd, who seemed more preoccupied than usual.
‘I feel like a prisoner.’ Nish paced the track he’d worn in the carpet.
‘Here?’ Flydd exclaimed.
‘I nearly went mad in Mazurhize,’ Nish said quietly. ‘I’m a trifle sensitive about gaol.’