by Ian Irvine
‘About a thousand paces.’
‘Signal it to come.’
‘There’s a heck of a breeze out here in the middle of the valley. It’ll be difficult for it to put down on the aqueduct.’
‘It would be worth it, if it cuts down the time the clankers have to get into position.’
‘You’re right! I’ll call it over.’
He began to wave. Irisis could feel it through his hand. He shook her hand free.
‘What are you doing?’ she cried, feeling abandoned. They could all run away and she would never know.
‘I may have to work my magic again. The soldiers are coming on.’
‘Can you do it again so soon?’
‘Probably not, though they don’t know that. At least, I hope they don’t.’ He did not sound at all certain.
‘Where are the clankers now?’ Her panic was rising again. Irisis felt utterly helpless, not a feeling she was accustomed to.
Flydd did not respond, though after an interval Jym said, ‘Almost down to the stream, marm. It runs directly below us but they’re further downstream.’
‘Call me Irisis,’ she said. ‘Has the air-floater lifted off yet?’
‘No, mar – Irisis. They’re just unfastening the tethers.’
‘They’re slow,’ she muttered.
No one answered. The seconds ticked by with awful slowness.
‘Aaah!’ Flydd cried.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Irisis.
‘Jal-Nish has sent up some kind of mancer.’
‘With the clankers?’
‘No, she’s on the aqueduct. She’s strong. I’m not sure I can best her in my condition.’
‘What’s she doing?’
Now she could hear his teeth chattering. ‘A-A-A! Mfgg! Gahh!’
‘Are you all right, scrutator?’ she cried. Using his name did not seem to be right, in front of the others.
‘I don’t think he can speak, Irisis,’ said Jym. ‘He’s being pushed backwards, ell by ell.’
‘Maybe we should try and hold him,’ said Yorme.
‘No!’ she snapped. ‘Don’t touch him. You’ll just make things worse.’
Irisis began to see images in her inner eye, like parts of the field. Someone was drawing on it and it wasn’t Flydd. It didn’t look like the clankers, either. It had to be the mancer and she must be a mighty opponent to disable a scrutator so quickly. Jal-Nish must have brought her specially for the purpose.
Irisis fingered her pliance and the field appeared, swirling like a rotor spinning through brown sugar-streaked porridge.
‘The soldiers are coming,’ muttered Jym.
The field was clearer than she had ever seen it. Was that because she had lost her sight, or was it something to do with the scrutator’s magic? She concentrated. Though Irisis could not draw power from the field, she had always been able to change it in subtle ways, nudging its billows and eddies into more suitable shapes. She did that now, folding one loop over on itself, again and again, until the resulting packet contained countless layers of its strange material, or rather, immaterial.
Flydd made no more sound, apart from the breath hissing through his clenched teeth, and that became ever softer. She felt like a mouse in a shoebox, unable to get out and knowing that the cat was coming closer. If Flydd was disabled, it was up to her to save them. The soldiers were useless against a mancer.
‘What are the clankers doing now?’ she said softly.
‘They’ve stopped in the centre of the valley. The nearest are trying to aim their javelards at the air-floater.’ It was Jym speaking.
‘Has it lifted?’
‘Yes. It’s coming towards us.’
‘Do you think they’ll hit it?’
‘Could do, though they’re at extreme range.’
‘And the soldiers in the aqueduct?’ asked Irisis.
‘Still creeping forward.’
‘I suppose they’ll be within range soon.’
‘A couple of minutes. At the most.’
‘Send a few bolts at them, not that it’ll make any difference.’
She heard the twang of the crossbows, followed by the sound of the cranks as they were wound back. ‘And the scrutator?’
Yorme answered this time. ‘He’s still on his feet but he seems to be having some kind of a fit. His eyes are bulging out of his head.’
With a fluttering sound, something passed in front of the sun. ‘Is that the air-floater?’
‘It’s above us, high up.’
‘Are the clankers firing?’ Her greatest fear was of the air-floater being hit and exploding directly above them.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Jym laughed. ‘Because the javelards aren’t designed to shoot up at such an angle.’
Relief washed over her. ‘Then they can’t do anything?’
After a pause, he said, ‘The shooters are pulling the pins out of the mechanisms. Looks like they’re going to point them by hand.’
‘That can’t be very accurate,’ said Irisis.
‘It’s a big target,’ said Jym.
‘See if you can shoot them.’
The weapon twanged. ‘Not even close. It’s too far for a crossbow.’
‘So they can’t shoot the balloon with their bows?’
‘Not unless they come closer.’
‘Soldiers are nearly within range,’ Yorme called.
‘Have another shot at them.’
The weapons fired and Irisis made out a scream. ‘That wasn’t the mancer, I suppose?’
‘She’s well back.’
‘I’ve got to help the scrutator, any way I can,’ Irisis said.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Jym.
‘I have no idea.’
She sensed out the field again and, searching through it, picked out two distortions, one so close that it had to be Flydd, the other a little further away.
She pushed that folded-over package of the field in Flydd’s direction but he did not seem to be able to use it. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. ‘Xervish?’
‘I don’t think he can hear anything, Irisis.’
The enemy mancer was using another part of the field. Irisis searched frantically for a way to attack her, but it had to be a hidden way. She could not withstand a mancer’s attack for a single minute. What if she changed the field so as to starve the mancer of the power she needed? The woman was drawing fiendish quantities as she hurled everything into her attack on Flydd.
Irisis created a map of the local field in her mind, coloured in the shades of the spectrum, the higher energies being associated with indigo and violet. Now to identify exactly where the other mancer was drawing power from. Ah, there: a little hidden sump that glowed deep violet, tending towards black.
Another mancer, or even an artisan, might have drawn on that source so as to deprive her enemy of power. Irisis lacked that ability but she had become skilled at shaping the field in order that others could better use it.
She subtly thinned the field around the sump, but the mancer simply changed the way she was drawing from it and took more power, endeavouring to immobilise the scrutator. Hopeless to think that Irisis, a mere crafter, could outwit a mancer whose whole life had been spent in mastering the Secret Art.
What if she were to nudge that folded package of energy towards the sump? From outside it just appeared as a dark blob. Inside, the lines of force were so concentrated that a normal mind might not be able to withstand it. Of course, mancers did not have ordinary minds. And that could do the scrutator more harm than it did the mancer, Flydd being so weak.
‘What’s happening now?’ she cried.
‘The soldiers have stopped,’ came Jym’s steady voice. ‘The air-floater is trying to settle down but the wind keeps pushing it up the valley. Two clankers are getting ready to fire. Yorme, I can see the perquisitor! Jal-Nish is standing up on the shooter’s platform.’
‘He wants to see us taken. Or dead.’ She had
to act now. If it killed the scrutator that would be a merciful release, compared to what Jal-Nish had waiting.
Irisis found her little folded packet, disguised it in a billow of the field and nudged that toward the violet sump, which was now pulsing black and white as the mancer sucked more and more power from it.
Irisis was nearly there when the sump glowed a violent purple. Had she been discovered? No, there it went again, black, white, black. She gave her packet one last nudge. It drifted over the edge, hung on the lip and then slid into the sump. Irisis wrenched herself out of the field, just in case.
Nothing happened, though Irisis could feel the tension. The scrutator began to moan in his throat, a hideous shrill wailing that was like barbs being thrust through her tongue. Irisis moaned too – her trick must have backfired on Flydd. His sounds rose in pitch until they were like spines through her eardrums. Something awful was going to happen. She reached out for him.
Thud-splat! Flydd screamed and fell on his back, thrashing. She could hear his boots scraping against the stone. Then there was silence but for the whistling of the wind and the whirr of the air-floater’s rotor.
‘What’s happened?’ she shouted. ‘Jym?’
‘Something seems to have burst down among the soldiers. They’re all running around. It’s all red, and red stuff is flying all through the air. It’s … Oh, that’s –’ Irisis could hear him retching.
‘A horrible way to die,’ groaned the scrutator. ‘But better her than me.’ He took Irisis’s hand. ‘I’ll thank you properly one day.’
‘One night would be better,’ she said automatically, not understanding what she’d done.
‘Floater’s down!’ shouted Yorme. ‘Jym, grab the tethers. Get up the ladder, surr, quick as you can.’
‘You first, Irisis,’ said the scrutator. ‘We’re safe for a minute. They can only see the top of the floater here, in the viaduct.’
‘But when we take off –’
‘Yes, that’s the dangerous bit. Come on.’
She went up, hand over hand, which in her blindness Irisis found decidedly unpleasant. The rope ladder swayed alarmingly and her weight pushed the section she was standing on under the keel of the air-floater, so she felt she was trying to climb around a corner. Irisis had no idea where she was in relation to anything. What if she was hanging over the ravine? Her sweaty hands slipped on the ropes. She gasped.
‘Get a move on!’ shouted the scrutator. ‘It’s not a party.’
Strong hands caught her under the arms and lifted her over the side. ‘Over there,’ said a deep male voice.
‘I can’t see!’
Someone took her hand and led her out of the way, sitting her on a canvas seat. Someone else thumped beside her. ‘That’s the lot,’ the deep voice shouted. ‘Take it up.’
‘No!’ yelled the scrutator. ‘Get it moving inside the aqueduct, then up as fast as you can possibly go. That’ll give them less time to aim.’
‘The soldiers are still alive,’ said the deep voice. ‘They’re almost within range.’
‘All right! Just go!’
‘All hands to the ballast, then hang on. Bowmen, ready your crossbows. Pilot Hila, don’t let them get a second shot at us.’
The air-floater lurched. ‘Ready? Ballast overboard.’
It lurched again, then shot up. Irisis clutched onto the arm next to her in naked terror. The scrutator’s hand held hers until the sensation died away. The crossbows twanged. The rotor spun up to a whine.
‘Firing, surr. They’re going to go close. Turn it!’
The machine turned, too slowly for her liking.
‘Look out!’ the deep voice cried.
Wood smashed and splinters went everywhere; some landed in her hair. ‘What’s happened?’ she screamed. ‘We’re crashing, aren’t we?’
‘That was close,’ said the scrutator calmly. ‘Fortunately the javelard hit one of the timbers of the cabin, not the balloon. It went in one side and out the other. No harm done. No one hurt.’
‘Firing again,’ said the deep voice. ‘Too low. We’ve done, it, surr. They’ll not touch us now.’
‘Very good,’ said Flydd. ‘Steer a course north, if you please, but take it slowly. I don’t dare arrive in daylight.’
THIRTY-SEVEN
Irisis could smell herself, and the scrutator. They both reeked of blood, sweat and fear. ‘I wouldn’t mind a drink,’ she said hoarsely, and discovered that she was trembling.
‘I’ll get us one.’ The chair creaked. Presently he returned, pressing a mug into her hands.
She sniffed. It was ale, of a sort, but all that mattered was that it be wet. Irisis downed it at a single swallow. ‘My eyes hurt.’ She saw not a glimmer.
The scrutator inspected them closely, his fingers holding her eyelids open, put pads over each and bound them on with a thick strip of cloth.
‘I’m so tired,’ she said. ‘I could sleep standing up.’
‘Let’s talk first,’ said Flydd.
‘Are we heading for Minnien, Xervish?’
‘Yes. To do the job I’ve been talking about for a month. To find out what’s happened to the node.’
‘I’ll need help.’
‘You’ll have the guards, another two artisans and a mancer.’
That reminded her of the mancer who had died on the ladder after Jal-Nish’s mysterious horn blast. ‘Who was the fellow Jal-Nish killed?’
‘Mancer Thards. Poor old Thards,’ said the scrutator. ‘He was always an unlucky man.’
‘So now I need another mancer,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘I’ve already organised a replacement.’
‘When do I get to meet him, or her?’
‘You already have.’
‘You!’ She stared sightlessly in his direction.
‘Is that so bad?’
‘No, of course not. It’s just, well, you’re the scrutator!’
‘Not for much longer. Jal-Nish will be writing his report right now and there’s no one to contradict him. In a few days it will be in the hands of the Council. They’ll convene an emergency meeting where my supporters will have no choice but to vote against me. I’ll be struck off the list, broken to a non-citizen, and there will be a reward for my head, whether or not it’s attached to my body. You’d be well advised to stay clear of me, lest you be tainted the same way.’
‘I imagine I already am. It’s too late to do anything about that.’
‘I suggest you think again.’
‘The advice of a non-citizen is as worthless as he is,’ she said loftily. ‘In any case, that is not the way I do things.’
‘So I’m beginning to discover. Just what did you do back there.’
‘What makes you think I did anything?’
‘I may have fallen low but I’m still a mancer, and one of rare subtlety, if I do say so myself.’
‘Not one of rare modesty at any rate.’ She laid her head on his knobby shoulder.
‘Well?’
She told him. Flydd whistled. ‘Now there’s something I don’t think has ever been done before; probably never thought of. The Council may even readmit me, just for telling them how you did it.’
‘Really?’
‘Probably not, but they’ll certainly be interested to find out.’
‘Where are my artisans?’
‘Up the other end, somewhere. There’s Zoyl Aarp and Oon-Mie.’
Zoyl Aarp was a lad of sixteen, big and muscular, but with the face of a ten-year-old, for which he had been ragged unmercifully in the manufactory. He behaved like a ten-year-old most of the time, being prone to temper tantrums and fits of ‘poor me’. He was a brilliant, intuitive artisan, though his craftsmanship was rudimentary. He had no patience for fine work and Irisis usually finished his controllers off, but he was right for this job.
Oon-Mie was the opposite, small with a sturdy frame, a broad face marred by a flat nose, and eyebrows plucked to pencil marks. No one would have called her pretty but sh
e had an impish grin that curled up the left corner of her mouth. Oon-Mie had three children in the creche, each by a different father. She had a one-track mind, chiefly concerning intimate relations between men and women, but it was always good-humoured. Everyone liked her and Irisis felt better just knowing she was here.
She could relax at last. She rested her head on her arm and fell asleep.
The air-floater drifted serenely across the skies, heading northeast toward the coast. Nothing disturbed its stately progress. Once, a lyrinx wheeling in the air above a burning town noted it pass by, but before the creature could react, the air-floater vanished into thick cloud. As the sun set, it emerged long enough for Navigator Nivulee to study the land below through her spyglass, and compare it with her map. Like all air-floater crew, Nivulee was small – a bony girl with waves of dark hair cascading down her back. Her uniform was too big for her and her nails bitten to the quick.
‘That way.’ She pointed a little more east, with a bleeding finger.
Twice in the night the navigator checked their bearings, using the lights of coastal cities, and a little after midnight told the pilot to go down. They went back and forth for an hour while the pilot muttered and an increasingly worried Nivulee checked her charts over and again; then finally she looked out the port side, nodded and indicated a massif that reared up to a double horn.
The pilot went around it three times in the light of a sliver of moon before the scrutator said, ‘Over there. Can’t you go any faster?’
‘We’re running on the Gornies field and it’s a long way away.’
‘Of course,’ said Flydd. ‘The Minnien field has failed. That’s why we’re here.’
The air-floater set down as lightly as thistledown. The passengers descended the rope ladder. The scrutator gave instructions to the pilot, who nodded and raised her hand in salute. The air-floater lifted off and soon was just a shadow whirring into the night sky.
‘This way,’ said the scrutator. ‘Let’s get under cover before it’s light. Then we’ll go over the plan again.’
Irisis had slept the whole trip and woke to find herself in darkness. Then she remembered. She was blind.
Someone, not Flydd, helped her down the ladder. Her feet landed on uneven ground that slipped underfoot. It felt and sounded like shale. The air smelt different: a faint salty tang mixed with the sharp odour of a crushed herb whose name she did not know. It was considerably warmer than the manufactory.