Alchymist (36 page)

'Is
there no secret you haven't blabbed, boy?' cried Flydd.

Nish
made allowances. The scrutator was in pain and not himself.

'I
believe the lad felt he was doing his duty/ Troist put in. 'If you please,
surr.' He indicated the seat up the back. 'Cryl-Nish, would you go on?'

Flydd
sank onto the bench, wincing. He delivered the healer such a black look that
she shrank into the corner.

Nish
collected his thoughts. The constructs were being hauled north-west to a node.
About here, I'd guess' He pointed The lyrinx fled this way He traced a line on
the map with his fingertip, south-west towards the narrowest section of the Sea
of Thurkad. "But that was weeks ago. They could be anywhere by now.'

'Only
the boldest of men would engage the enemy so close to the sea,' said Troist.
'Reinforcements could fly from Meldorin in less than an hour.’

'Jal-Nish
thinks his forces will have the advantage of a demoralised and weakened enemy'
said Flydd. 'He doesn't know the lyrihx as I do. They abandoned Snizort because
they'd got what they wanted, and they'll be waiting for him.'

'I
don't know that country well' said Troist, 'but something nags at me,
Scrutator. Why has the Council given Jal-Nish command? He's junior to them
all.'

'The
scrutators are afraid to lead' said Flydd, 'for none are battle tacticians and
they value their own skins too highly. Yet they can't bear to give up control
to the generals, so Jal-Nish is the only choice. He's a dangerous man, General
Troist, for he truly believes he's better than them all.'

'What
does he want?'

'Not
gold. Nor knowledge, nor the company of beautiful women. Jal-Nish Hlar desires
only one thing — to take over the Council and impose his twisted will on the
entire world. He's a driven man.'

Someone
rapped on the rear hatch. The healer threw it up and a young aide whispered
something in Flydd's ear. Flydd nodded and made to climb out, but a man
concealed by cloak and hood pushed forward. He and Flydd spoke in low voices
for several minutes, and Nish caught only one phrase. At the node?' the man hissed
in surprise, before turning away.

'General
Troist?' said Flydd.

'Yes?'
Troist was puzzled by the interaction.

'That
was my personal prober, Eiryn Muss, who's just had urgent news by skeet.'

Nish
gaped, for even under his cape the man had not resembled the fat halfwit from
the manufactory. 'How did he know you were here?'

Muss's
talent for spying, and finding, verges on the miraculous—' said Flydd. He
gnawed at a fingernail before going on. Sometimes, beyond the miraculous. His
news: Jal-Nish's army left the node some days back, heading for Gumby Marth, a
valley east of the coastal town of Gnulp Landing, here. It's preparing to do
battle in a few days with a small force of lyrinx, maybe seven thousand. It's a
trap, of course.' 'How can you be sure?' said Troist.

'Muss
could find no evidence that the rest of the lyrinx have withdrawn across the
sea, apart from a small number of fliers, so they must be hidden, to draw
Jal-Nish in. And they would number an additional twelve thousand, or more.'
'And Jal-Nish's army?' 'Forty thousand men.'

A man
so bold, so forceful and aggressive, might even beat such a force of lyrinx,'
said Troist thoughtfully.

'Not
on a battlefield of their choosing. If he fights, we'll lose the entire army
and a month later the enemy will be dining on the fat burghers of Lybing.' 'How
can you be sure?'

'I
was there when Jal-Nish addressed the Council, and I know him better than he
knows himself. His tactics rest on the enemy being a demoralised rabble, but
the lyrinx are leading them into a trap. More than twenty thousand of them got
away from Snizort, and that many alone would be the equal of his army. To be
sure, Jal-Nish has five thousand clankers, but the country near Gnulp is rugged
and rocky, with great swamps to either side. Our machines will be little use
there. But that's not my main worry.' 'What is?' said Troist.

As
you said, the lyrinx can swiftly bring in reinforcements from Meldorin, by
flying and by boat. Whatever position we occupied, they could surround us. The
army would be annihilated; humanity could not recover from such a loss.'

Troist
walked six paces to the empty operator's seat, head bowed beneath the low roof.
He turned back. What do you have in mind? My force might make the difference if
I could get there in time.’

'Or
it might be lost as well. Flydd said I'd prefer to avoid battle, if that's
possible.

'What's
your plan, surr?'

"To
wrest control of the army from Jal-Nish and retreat back east to safety.'

And
then take on the scrutators, Nish guessed.

'How
are you going to do that?'

'I
won't know until I get there.'

'If
you're planning a mancers' duel. ..' Troist frowned. 'How can you be sure
you'll win? He has a reputation for cunning.'

As do
I, General.'

'Of
course' Troist said hastily. And yet—'

'If
you don't think I'm up to it, say so!' snapped Flydd.

'Certainly
I do ... Er, when you're in health . . .'

'Then
I'll just have to get better in a hurry, won't I?'

'What
if the enemy attacks before you're ready? If the main army of the west is lost
at Gumby Marth, mine cannot long survive' said Troist. 'Scrutator Flydd,
there's no time to wait. We must risk all to save all. We must march to the
rescue straight away.'

Troist
glanced at Flydd, who was rubbing the bandage on his left thigh. A dark
bloodstain, spiralling like a coiled snake, showed through it.

'I
suppose we must,' said Flydd.

'Is
that an order from the scrutator?'

'It is.'

'Then
I will obey it, since I have no official reason to suppose you are scrutator no
longer.'

Troist's
army had grown both in men and in efficiency since Nish had left it, long
months ago. It now numbered thirteen thousand men and more than nine hundred
clankers. A powerful force, and seasoned in a number of battles, though seven
thousand of the enemy would be its match.

That
night after a dinner that sat uncomfortably in Nish's shrunken belly, they
stood around the chart table to make plans. Yellow globes glowed to either
side.

The
general was measuring distances on his map with a pair of silver dividers.
'Presently we're here, around twenty leagues north-west of Snizort, and only a
few leagues from the sea. Gumby Marth is some forty leagues south. In good
conditions, my clankers can manage ten leagues in daylight, so it'll take us
four or five days to get there.'

"Too
long.' Flydd lay back in his chair. He was too weak to sit upright for any
time, but would not go to his bed. 'What if we travelled through the night?' He
already knew the answer, but wanted to hear the general say it, or make
excuses.

'We
have to sleep sometime, surr, and that's as good as impossible in moving
clankers. Travelling part of the night, we might do another league or two,
where the country permits us, of course.'

'Of
course,' Flydd said sardonically. 'And it does, most of the way from here to
the Landing, I believe. It's open plains and gentle hills, easy going for men
and clankers alike. The last five or ten leagues are rugged, forested too, but
that could be to our advantage.'

'Unfortunately
. . .' Troist hesitated.

Flydd
smiled, as if he had been expecting it. 'Yes?'

'We
don't have enough clankers to transport thirteen thousand men.'

'Do
the numbers.'

'What?'
said Troist. 'Oh! We have roughly nine hundred clankers. If each carried ten
soldiers, which is their limit, that's only two-thirds of my force.'

'How
many are mounted?'

'Another
eight hundred and fifty, more or less.'

'The
riders should be able to keep up with the clankers.'

'If
their mounts don't go lame.'

'Any
that go lame, we'll eat,' said Flydd. 'The horses, that is. So all we have to
do is cram another soldier inside, and two up on top with the shooter, and we
can do it.'

'In
theory.' said Troist, though it'll put a big strain on the mechanisms and the
operators, not to mention the soldiers.’

'Not
as big a strain as facing the lyrinx all by yourself soldier, after they've
annihilated Jal Nish's army.'

'If
they come upon us instead of Jal-Nish s army, they'll destroy us.'

'I
may be able to prevent them finding us,' said Flydd, 'with help from your
military mancer I propose to attempt a form of cloaking.'

'Cloakers
haven't been a great success with clankers, surr, with all due respect.'

'This
spell is greatly improved' said Flydd. 'I learned of it in Nennifer just a few
months ago. I think it'll prove satisfactory, for a short time at least.'

'If
you say so, surr,' said Troist, 'then I suppose it could be done.' He looked
dubious.

Troist
was an ambitious man, but an honourable one. He did not want to drive his men
or his machines beyond their breaking point, as a headlong march was likely to
do. And perhaps he lacked confidence in his ability to fight a full-scale
battle. Troist had been a junior officer when the bulk of his army was
destroyed by the lyrinx attack on Nilkerrand, and all the senior officers
killed. He had built this army from the surviving rabble, scattered across a
hundred leagues of country. Troist had done a brilliant job and his soldiers
would have followed him anywhere, but he surely worried about his limitations.
His skirmishes with the enemy had involved no more than a few hundred soldiers;
here he must manage thirteen thousand. If he achieved the impossible, it would
make him. Should he fail, he and his army, and Flydd and Nish, would end up in
the bellies of the enemy.

Flydd
seemed to be weighing the general up. Finally he nodded to himself, 'Then let
it be done.'

The
fretting healer, who had been sitting in the shadows behind Flydd since dinner,
said, 'Surr, such a journey is likely to kill you.'

Flydd
swung around in the metal seat. 'What business is that of yours?'

The
healer was shocked. 'Surr—'

'What
are you doing here anyway, Spying on my secret councils?'

'I'

'I
told her to sit there, Scrutator!' Troist said coldly. 'And I'll thank you not
to harass my healers, or anyone else under my command.'

'How
dare you tell me what I may or may not do!' cried Flydd. 'I could break you to
a common soldier for such insolence.'

Troist
stood up. Though a compact man, he had to bend his head under the low roof.
'Then break me you must, Scrutator Flydd, for I will defend my healer, as I
would any soldier in my army, to the last breath.'

Flydd
hauled himself out of the seat, glowering at the general; Troist stood his
ground. Nish trembled for what might happen.

Suddenly
Flydd let out a great, booming laugh. 'I like you, General Troist. You're my
kind of man.' He put out his twisted hand.

After
a momentary hesitation, Troist took it, though it was some time before the wary
look left his eyes. 'I'll see to the orders,' he said. 'We move in thirty
minutes.'

Nish
wasn't sure whether to be glad or sorry. He hoped he'd done the right thing
this time, but what if it all went wrong and the lyrinx attacked Troist's army
instead of Jal-Nish's much larger one? That worry was soon dwarfed by another
that had been growing ever since the possibility had first been raised. What
would happen when he met his father again? Just the thought made his heart race
and his palms sweat.

Someone
was screaming, a long, drawn-out wail of anguish that rasped at Ullii's nerves.
Having lost her earmuffs and earplugs long ago, she could do no more than push
a finger in each ear. It made no difference — the dreadful wailing penetrated
her entire body. It came out of the ground up her legs; down from the sky
through her skull; it was everywhere. She ran into the night and the sound followed
her.

Ullii
burst through thickets, heedless of the brambles tearing through her clothes
and scoring her baby-soft skin. She crashed over crumbling embankments, through
sandpaper shrubbery and into a boggy wallow where buffalo came down to a creek
to drink. She splattered through the muck but the ghastly sound went with her,
as if a ghost had thrust its head inside hers and was screaming into her brain.

Ullii
slipped in the mud, fell into cool water and, as she went under, the sound cut
off. The relief was so miraculous that she lay on the bottom, thinking that she
might stay there forever. She felt no urge to breathe; there was no reason to
live. Her beloved Mylii was gone, snatched away the instant she'd found him.
Killed, murdered by Nish, her lover. He'd done it deliberately, to hurt her. He
must have, or he would have come after her and told her how sorry he was. But
he wasn't sorry. He didn't care about Mylii, or the baby, or her.