by Ian Irvine
‘This war stopped being about survival long ago,’ said Ryll. ‘It’s become existence, and it’s not enough. I want our culture back, Matriarch. I feel hollow inside, as if I’ve lost my soul. And I’m not the only one.’
‘Many of us have begun to feel that way,’ she said. ‘And we matriarchs are doing what we can to shape our people for the future, ill-fitted as we are for the task.’
‘Don’t say that, Matriarch,’ said Ryll. ‘You are the best of us; our guiding force.’
‘We were, in the void, and even in the early days here. But the world is changing too quickly, Ryll, and we’re too fixed in the old ways. We can’t guide you much longer. We must make way for a new generation, and I’m afraid …’
‘You, Matriarch?’ he said uncomprehendingly.
‘The war may soon be over but the peace will be even more dangerous for us, for our warrior caste is not fitted for it. Many of our people can conceive of nothing but war and don’t want to give up its glories, even for peace.’
‘We must find a way to change their minds,’ said Ryll.
‘They know nothing but war and if we take it away without giving them something else, they’ll be broken; people without a purpose. It’ll tear us apart. We matriarchs of the six cities have had much mindspeech on the topic this past year. We’re starting to try to shape the thinking of the progressives, like you …’
‘What about the warriors?’
‘The warriors too, as best we can,’ she said, ‘though with limited success. But they are disciplined and obedient to our edicts – in the void, anything else meant extinction. If all else fails, we will have to issue a Matriarchal Edict. It’s not been done since we made the decision to come out of the void, but I think they’ll obey. I think they’ll lay down their arms, but what happens after that I cannot say.’
‘We must replace our warrior culture with a sounder one, fitted for peace.’
‘With what we had before? How can we, Ryll?’
‘We can’t return to the past, Matriarch. All we can do is discover what we once were, and use the best of that heritage to shape our future here on Santhenar, after the war.’
Gyrull was smiling, and now she put an arm across his shoulders. ‘Your forethought constantly surprises me, Ryll. Come, let’s take a walk and you can tell me more.’
NINETEEN
‘How is he?’ said Nish from the doorway.
Four healers were gathered around the shrouded figure of Xervish Flydd, blocking Nish’s view, and he was reluctant to go closer for fear of the horrors he might see, to say nothing of the righteous wrath of the healers. Cryl-Nish Hlar, artificer, who had faced down the mighty, who had defied the greatest figures on Santhenar including the late and unlamented Ghorr, was afraid of these diminutive healers. He had no place here and no right, and he knew it.
The chief healer turned, regarding him with hard black eyes that saw all men as brutes. Her dark hair was pulled back so tightly that her brow and cheeks were shiny taut. Evee was younger than he, and only chin-high to Nish, who was a small man, but she had such presence that he stepped backwards.
‘I’m sorry. I – I was worried, you see. He – he’s an old friend and …’
‘Had you any part in this?’ she said, snapping back the sheet.
Nish didn’t look but still the red registered. Flydd was a ruddy brown colour between the lower belly, where the flaying had begun, and mid-thigh.
‘I – I wasn’t there,’ he stammered. ‘I couldn’t sleep, you see, and I went for a walk. I was in the tower when the air-dreadnoughts descended on us …’ Nish realised that he was babbling.
‘Boys’ games,’ she said scornfully, drawing herself up to her insignificant height. Evee, who was little, plain, stringy and completely covered in freckles, dominated him in every respect. ‘Men destroy and women are left to put it all together again.’
It isn’t like that, he wanted to shout, our whole world is at stake here, but there was no point in saying it; his pride didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that Xervish Flydd should survive and be made whole again so that he could lead them against Nennifer. No one else would do.
‘I’m sure you’ll do everything you can for him,’ he said quietly, and went outside.
On their return, Yggur had assembled the soldiers, artisans and crew left behind when the scrutators had fled. There were nearly three hundred of them: about a hundred and fifty soldiers and almost as many artificers, artisans, prentices, deck hands, junior cooks and other workers both skilled and unskilled. He had offered each a choice: to enter his service at Fiz Gorgo, or money and free passage aboard the next trading vessels going to Lauralin. Most had opted to return to their homelands and families, though some fifty soldiers and forty workers had accepted his offer of service. Yggur questioned each of them, rejecting several, who were also given passage east, then took the oaths of the remainder. They, plus carpenters and masons hired from Old Hripton, were immediately put to work repairing Fiz Gorgo and strengthening its defences.
Nish had a more important obligation to attend to. It had taken him a day to find a place to bury Ullii, on a little rise covered in trees overlooking the bay, and another day to dig a deep enough grave through the heavy clayey soil. It was painful work with his gashed arm but he wouldn’t allow anyone to help. He had to set Ullii to rest by himself. He’d spent most of the third day gathering stones for a cairn and hauling them to the gravesite, for there were none nearby, then sitting by the mound afterwards in silent contemplation of what they’d had and all they had lost.
At the end of that day, Yggur called the company together after dinner. Malien was talking as Nish entered, late. Instead of eating he’d walked to Old Hripton and back to clear his head for the urgent work to come. It hadn’t worked – he couldn’t concentrate – he just kept reliving that desperate day in the tower and up on the amphitheatre, and the way it had ended.
Ullii was dead and he couldn’t come to terms with it. He kept seeing her as she’d been the first time they’d met, crouched in the corner of that dark room in the manufactory, rocking on her bare feet. And all the times afterwards: hiding in her basket in the balloon as they’d set off to try and track Tiaan down; climbing the slopes of Mount Tirthrax; making love in the balloon after they’d fought off the nylatl. Escaping Snizort with Flydd, many months later, when she’d been so angry with him about the baby and Nish hadn’t even known she was pregnant. And then the ultimate horror: Myllii with his arms around Ullii as if trying to carry her away, and Nish trying to stop him, and the knife sliding into Myllii’s back. The moment that had changed both their lives and surely had led inevitably to her death.
He’d talked to Irisis about that, and Malien. Ullii had been glad to go, they’d said. There had been nothing left for her in this world, and she’d wanted to atone for betraying them to Ghorr. Nish knew that as well as they did, but it didn’t help. He missed Ullii, with all her frailties and all her strengths, more than he could ever have imagined. Even though they’d had no future together, there had never been anyone like her. She’d been the mother of his dead son and, now she was gone, he had nothing left of Yllii either. Every time he thought about them, tears welled up under his eyelids. If he’d only done things differently they would both be alive.
Yggur cleared his throat and Nish realised that he’d stopped in the doorway, lost in his thoughts. Malien was beckoning him – he was late.
‘We have to decide today, now,’ she said in a low voice, once Nish was seated and the door sealed, ‘whether to go through with the attack on Nennifer. If we are to go, it must be now or not at all. Gilhaelith knew of our plan, and while I don’t think he would betray it deliberately, we can’t rely on it remaining a secret.’ She inclined her head towards Klarm.
The dwarf scrutator was sitting on the edge of the table with his legs dangling, toying with an enormous goblet of Yggur’s finest purple wine, for which he had a capacity entirely out of keeping with his small stature. He to
ok a hearty swig, rubbed a trickle of wine off his chin, leaving a mark like a purple bruise, and nodded. ‘Aye. Now or never.’
‘What news of Flydd?’ said Yggur, scowling at the dwarf. Hospitality demanded that he offer wine with meals but, being a man of modest and constrained appetites himself, Klarm’s indulgence and sheer gusto aroused his ire. ‘It was his plan and I don’t see how we can succeed without him.’
‘The healers have wielded their Arts as only they can,’ said Klarm, setting down his goblet with a sigh of contentment. He took pleasure in provoking stern, conservative Yggur and in another frame of mind Nish would have been amused by it. ‘The damage to his body will heal after a fashion …’ Klarm trailed off, as reluctant as everyone else to talk about the true nature of Flydd’s injuries. The matter was too private and personal – as if, by talking about what had been done to his body, they were taking the flaying blades to his soul.
‘But the scars carved into his psyche may not?’ said Malien.
‘He won’t be the man he once was,’ said Klarm, not meeting her eye.
What did he mean by that? Nish thought. That Flydd would no longer be a man at all? Just what had the torturers done to him? No one would say.
Yggur rose and paced the length of the room, limping badly today. The blisters on his face and arms had disappeared but he was covered with dead, flaking skin. He rubbed at an arm and flakes rose on a current of warm air from the fire. ‘Can we do it without him?’
‘I’m not sure we can,’ said Malien. ‘The plan relied on Flydd’s knowledge of Nennifer, gained from working there for many years.’
‘I dwelt there for a good while,’ said Klarm, ‘and had charge of its security. I know Nennifer as well as any man, so if his plan relied on a flaw in the defences –’
‘We don’t know if it did or not,’ said Yggur. ‘We planned to talk about that on the way, to ensure that there was no chance of the secret being revealed. But Flydd was sure he could get us in.’
‘Fusshte will soon be as strong as Ghorr was,’ said Irisis, ‘and he’s even more cunning and treacherous, but he can’t win the war either. We have no choice, Yggur. The Council must be brought down without delay. If Flydd’s incapable, we’ll have to work out a plan with Klarm.’
‘I can’t say I’d be confident of the outcome without Flydd,’ said Yggur, ‘but I agree we have to try.’
‘When?’ said Klarm.
‘Our equipment and supplies haven’t been touched,’ said Malien. ‘It will only take hours to load them into the thapter and make ready for departure. We could go tomorrow afternoon if you wanted to.’
‘Let’s give Flydd a few days,’ said Yggur. ‘I’ll talk to the healers again. If fortune is on our side, he’ll be on the road to recovery by then.’
‘Fortune is a chancy beast,’ said Klarm. ‘I can’t say I’ve seen many of her smiles this past year.’
In the event, Flydd had emerged from the healers’ coma the day after the meeting and insisted on coming. He stated that he would be ready to go in two days’ time, curtly overrode the healers when they’d protested, and had not spoken a word since. He’d turned away all visitors, even Yggur. There was much speculation about his state of mind and health, though not even Irisis, normally so adept at ferreting out secrets, could glean anything from the healers.
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this trip,’ Nish said to Irisis the night before they were due to depart. They were checking the supplies yet again. ‘How can he be in any state to go?’
‘He’s a tough old coot,’ said Irisis, who had been unusually quiet lately.
She’d hardly spoken to him since he’d come back from burying Ullii, though Nish often caught her giving him cool, assessing glances. She was much more reserved than previously and he couldn’t fathom why. He’d expected that, after all he’d done to save her and everyone else, she would have been more grateful, and he felt a little hurt.
‘From what I saw on the first day –’ Nish began.
‘I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind,’ snapped Irisis. ‘If Flydd doesn’t want us to know, we should respect his wishes and mind our own business.’ She went out, keeping her back to him the whole time.
Nish stared after her, uncomprehending. Surely, on such a desperate mission, Flydd’s health, mental and physical, was their business?
The chief healer, Evee, insisted on accompanying Flydd and no one could dissuade her, which meant that the thapter no longer had room enough to carry everyone. On a long journey it could accommodate fourteen in considerable discomfort but with Flangers and six soldiers, and Klarm and Evee, they were now sixteen. And Evee’s supplies took up a lot of space.
The problem was solved by leaving Fyn-Mah behind to take charge of Fiz Gorgo, and by throwing together a dirigible sled to carry their gear and supplies. It was a small, semi-rigid air-floater with a cabin on the underside, which they planned to tow behind the thapter. It would greatly reduce the thapter’s manoeuvrability as well as slowing it, and was bound to make it cumbersome to take off and land, but they could see no other solution. And because it used the controller from Inouye’s air-floater, she would have no trouble coping.
And all the preparations had to be done in the utmost secrecy. Yggur had taken the precaution of caging up his skeets and sending them on a sea voyage, to be sure that no one could send a message to Nennifer after they’d gone. The name had never been mentioned in front of the soldiers and servants; in fact, the attack itself had never been discussed. As far as everyone in Fiz Gorgo knew, they were simply going on a long trip. Nonetheless, it was impossible to be too careful.
A week after Ghorr’s attack on Fiz Gorgo, on a windy, miserable autumn morning with sleet spitting at them from the west, all was ready. They assembled in the yard, waiting for Xervish Flydd.
They stood there for more than an hour, stamping their feet in a vain attempt to keep them warm, and blowing into their gloves. Finally even Yggur, who had been a model of patience ever since Flydd’s injury had been revealed, was driven to say, ‘Where the devil is the fellow?’
Shortly Flydd appeared, supporting himself on the shoulders of Evee and Fyn-Mah, and walking in a wretched grimacing shuffle. His skin was completely bloodless and with each halting step every muscle in his face shivered as he tried to prevent himself from crying out in agony.
Nish couldn’t bear to see the scrutator, who had once seemed to carry the whole of Santhenar on his scrawny shoulders, reduced to such emotional penury. ‘Surr!’ he cried, and ran across the yard to offer his arm.
As he approached, the scrutator wrenched back some control over himself and with a supreme effort shook off the pain, or at least drew it into himself. He stood up straight as Nish, realising belatedly what a blunder he’d made, stumbled to a halt in front of him. But he and Flydd had been through much together; they’d been comrades in the desperate times after the fall of Snizort, and surely Flydd would understand. Nish tried to make the best of it.
‘Surr,’ he said quietly. ‘May I assist you into the thapter?’
Flydd looked right through him. ‘Did I ask for help, Artificer?’ he ground out. Shaking off Evee’s arm, and then Fyn-Mah’s, he lurched unaided across the black paving stones in an appalling travesty of a careless stride. Every movement of every muscle showed the pain he was enduring, though his face was like stone.
Fyn-Mah cried, ‘Xervish –’ but broke off and put her hands over her face.
Evee let out an almost inaudible cry and ran after him, but he slashed at her with one hand and she fell back, biting her knuckles. She directed a furious glance at Nish. ‘Are you the biggest fool that ever was?’
Nish was beginning to think he was. Flydd had now reached the thapter but he didn’t stop there; he forced himself up the rungs of the ladder. The pride of the man was awesome, though Nish had to avert his eyes as Flydd struggled all the way up. It took him three attempts to get his leg over the side into the hatch, and heaving the second leg in
wrenched a cry of anguish out of him, swiftly cut off. Nish thought he saw blood running down Flydd’s ankle, then he disappeared inside as if he’d fallen through the lower hatch.
After a brief hesitation Evee ran after him. The others followed, except for Fyn-Mah. Normally so cool and reserved, she was grinding her knuckles into her eyes. She turned away and walked back inside Fiz Gorgo, closing the door like a silent accusation.
‘That went well,’ observed Irisis as Nish came up to the side of the thapter.
Nish wanted to weep. ‘I was trying to help him.’
She relented and put her arm around his shoulders. ‘You know what a proud man he is, Nish. And you saw what Ghorr did to him. How do you think Flydd must feel, knowing that his friends are talking about his deepest torment and shame?’
‘If it were me, I’d want the support of my friends.’
‘Not if you’d been a scrutator. It’s a solitary profession and you have to hide your feelings. And especially your weaknesses.’
He said no more. They took their places in the thapter. Pilot Inouye stood at the controller of her dirigible, cast off the ballast and the little craft rose gently in the air. Yggur hadn’t wanted anyone inside in case something went wrong, but Inouye was happier that way and it eased the cramped conditions a trifle.
Nish stood with Irisis and Malien in the upper compartment of the thapter, looking out as they lifted off into the scudding cloud. Yggur was on the shooter’s platform at the rear, legs spread, cloak flapping behind him, appearing to relish the icy wind in his face.
Nish didn’t relish anything about the coming journey, though at least the war had gone quiet and there shouldn’t be too many disasters before the spring. The lyrinx didn’t fight in winter unless they had to.