Ian Irvine - Rebellion

The Cythonians consulted among themselves, but they had taken thousands of casualties in the hours-long battle and all were exhausted. Now, as they looked upon the destruction of the homes they had lived in for the past fifteen hundred years, Tali saw the heart go out of them.

“Our matriarchs are dead, crushed in their apartments, and Lyf has abandoned us for a higher duty,” said a tall Cythonian with zigzag face tattoos. “We cannot make this choice.”

“You must,” said Radl, “or we will deal with you the way you planned to deal with us.”

After another long consultation, the tall Cythonian said, “We will go.” They began to gather their injured, and their meagre possessions, and then they went.

“Happy now?” said Radl to Tali.

Radl was covered in blood and had suffered many small injuries, though none marred her beauty nor hindered her determination to lead her people.

“No, I’m not,” said Tali.

It was a victory she had never dreamed of achieving, from an attack that had not been planned, but she could take no joy from it. Thousands of lives had been lost on each side, and not just soldiers. Old men and women had been killed, girls and boys and infants. She put her head in her hands and wept.

“It’s not finished yet,” said Holm. “You’ve got to go on.”

“No, I’ve done enough damage.”

“There’s still a war up above, and we’re losing badly.”

“What can I do about it?”

“The chancellor needs soldiers, blooded in battle. The Pale can provide them.”

“I’m not leading anyone else to their death. I’ve too many on my conscience already.”

“You’ve got to ask them.”

“Why me? Why can’t you do it?”

“If we don’t defeat Lyf, he’ll try to take Cython back, and the blood bath will make today look like a tea party.”

He was right — she had to go on. Tobry boosted Tali up onto a heap of rubble where she could see the Pale and they could see her. Holm banged on a shield until people looked her way.

“You have won your freedom,” she shouted. “But your people in Hightspall are in the thrall of the enemy and cry out for your aid. Today I’m marching north to Nyrdly, to the aid of our country. Will you march with me?”

No one moved. No one spoke. They just stared at her with hostile eyes.

“Why won’t they answer?” she said to Radl.

“You’re not wearing your loincloth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re dressed . You’re not one of us.” Radl scrambled up onto the pile of rubble. “The battle has been won but the war continues. We have to fight Lyf, and defeat him, or he will come at the head of an army to take Cython back. Will you march under my leadership?”

Thousands of Pale raised their hands, though not nearly as many as Tali had hoped.

“Is that all?” she said.

“Hightspall sent our ancestors here as child hostages,” said a gaunt man with bloodshot, staring eyes. “Hightspall refused to ransom us, then made us out to be traitors and enemy collaborators. Why should we fight for a land that despises us, when we can have Cython for ourselves?”

“He’ll come back,” said Tali.

“And if he does, we’ll fight for our country. But we’re not fighting for yours.”

Tali climbed down, more exhausted than she had ever felt. “I want to go home.”

“You and I still remember our noble heritage,” said Radl. “We still think of ourselves as Hightspallers, and all our lives we’ve yearned to go home, but most of the Pale forgot their ancestors and lost their heritage long ago. Cython is their home, the only one they’ve ever known.”

“And even with all the destruction in this area,” said Holm, “the rest of Cython is warm, productive and safe. Why would they leave it for the bitter cold of Hightspall, and an uncertain war in a land that has long despised them?”

“Did you kill Wil?” said Errek First-King late that afternoon.

“He eluded me,” Lyf replied, wincing as a healer finished binding his cruelly burned hands. “He crept down into cracks where I could not follow.”

“But you did brake the Engine?”

Lyf looked down at his bound hands. “Thank you,” he said to the healer. “You may go.” Once she had gone, and the door was sealed, he resumed. “As best I could, though it won’t last. I stopped the balance tilting all the way to disaster, but it can only be restored with king-magery. And — ”

“Lacking the catalyz…” said Errek.

“Where can it be? Unless it’s found, the balance can’t be restored, nor the land saved.”

“I would guess,” said Errek, “that it still lies in one of Grandys’ hoards, hidden before the time of his death, its true value never recognised.”

“But Tali knows our secret now, and so do her friends.”

“And a secret known to so many people cannot be kept. Sooner or later, Grandys will hear of it.”

“He’ll know where to go for the catalyz, and once he gets it, we’re lost.”

“Unless…” said Errek. He whispered in Lyf’s ear.

“I’ll call the ancestors into the temple,” said Lyf. Clumsily, with his bandaged hands, he inserted his nose plugs and led the way.

Within, the stench was now so foul that not even his hardiest workmen could enter. It was sickening even through the nose plugs. Did it presage the doom of his people, and the land as well?

“This sacred temple has been defiled beyond redemption,” he said to his ancestors, “but is that due to my crimes when it was the murder cellar, or to Grandys’ two thousand years ago?”

The ancestors did not speak. They were gazing at him in alarm.

“It should be torn down,” he continued, though the symbolism of such an act made him shudder. “But that would be like tearing down my own realm, my people, my land.”

“With Cython fallen, our final refuge lost,” said Errek, “our people are more troubled than ever.”

The eruptions at the Vomits had picked up in the past day and the land was quaking all the time now. Though Lyf had not told his people the true reason for it, every Cythonian knew that something was badly wrong, deep down.

“It will take a great victory to turn their morale around,” said Bloody Herrie.

“That’s what I’m planning.” Lyf opened the door and called to his attendant. “Order my armies to get ready. We’re marching north to Reffering in the morning.”

Lyf came back inside and closed the door.

“Are you intending to fight the chancellor?” said Errek.

“Not unless I’m forced to it. Our real enemy is Grandys, and if two sides are there, preparing to do battle, you can be sure he’ll turn up.”

“And then?”

“Grandys doesn’t know what the key is, but he knows where he hid everything he stole from my temple. I’m going to deal with him and get the key,” said Lyf.

“You look dreadful,” said Rix from the entrance to the chancellor’s quarters. He could see the man himself, at the rear, bent over a stack of papers.

The chancellor’s head lifted and he gave a sardonic smile. “If I looked as bad as you do, I’d know I was about to die. Come in and get it over with, whatever it is you want.”

Rix limped in on Glynnie’s arm. Three days had passed since the fight with Grandys but his face was still swollen and covered in yellowing bruises, his split lip was scabbed and blue, and he ached all over. But at least he was getting better. Whatever ailed the chancellor appeared terminal and it had affected the whole army. The officers Rix had met on his way through the camp all looked defeated. They were going through the motions, waiting for the inevitable end.