Ian Irvine - Chimaera

‘Have the baskets lowered halfway, just in case,’ said Ghorr. ‘Separate out the most important witnesses to go in the first lift. Where’s my healer? My shoulder …’

‘He’s coming down now. What about the others?’ said Fusshte. ‘It’ll look bad if you sneak off and abandon them.’

‘How dare you speak that way!’ cried Ghorr. There was a heavy thump, as if he’d slumped to the canvas, and a gasp of pain. ‘If the cables burn through, the rest of the witnesses will be sacrificed. They’ll be doing their duty. I’ll allow no risk to the air-dreadnoughts.’

‘What about the prisoners?’

‘Let them fall to their doom, all but Xervish Flydd. Without him they’re nothing, and I’ll see the rest of his blood run before the day is out. Bring Irisis Stirm too.’

‘And Cryl-Nish Hlar?’

Nish reached over and lifted the naphtha flagon off Ullii’s back. It gurgled satisfyingly. He whipped out the stopper, folded over a twist of soaked rag and screwed it in so that it was tight.

‘Take him alive, if you can,’ Ghorr said. ‘And if you can’t, I want him dead with a thousand crossbow bolts in him. I’ll not be made a laughing stock by that treacherous little cur.’

‘It’s a bit late for that,’ said Fusshte softly.

‘What did you say?’ Ghorr hissed.

‘You wanted all the credit for this victory for yourself,’ said Fusshte in a low and deadly voice. ‘So you must take the blame for the scrutators’ humiliation and failure.’

‘There is no failure,’ snarled Ghorr. ‘We’ve got all we came for, and more.’

‘But you’ve lost more, and that’s what’s going to be remembered. The amphitheatre can’t last ten minutes.’

‘I’ve strengthened the cables with our Secret Art.’

‘Against fire ? When it falls, the whole world will know that the chief scrutator has had his nose pulled by a renegade traitor and a squeaking mouse. And won’t they laugh.’

‘Anyone who so much as smiles will be executed on the spot.’

‘Which will only prove that you’ve lost it. You’re finished, Ghorr.’

‘Then why aren’t you doing anything about it?’

‘I’m waiting for you to abdicate.’

‘Be damned! Lower my chair, fools,’ Ghorr roared.

‘Leave it where it is,’ Fusshte ordered.

Nish was astounded. Revolt among the scrutators was unheard of. How could he make use of it?

‘Yesterday you might have destroyed me with a snap of your fingers,’ Fusshte went on. ‘After today you won’t have the authority. The chief scrutator survives only so long as he proves worthy of the office, Ghorr, and you’ve failed in front of your fellows. Without my support you’ll suffer the same fate as Ex-Scrutator Flydd. Scrutators leave office only one way, as you should know. You made the rule, after all.’

‘Where’s my chair?’ said Ghorr. ‘Why isn’t it coming?’

‘I signalled the operator to pull it back up. The chief scrutator can’t flee like a rat from a burning hold. It wouldn’t be good for the dignity of the Council.’

‘Damn you, Fusshte,’ Ghorr ground out. ‘I’ll see you flayed alive for this.’

‘I doubt it,’ Fusshte chuckled. ‘Look! They’ve obeyed my orders, not yours. You’re finished, Ghorr.’

‘We’ll see about that.’

‘Oh, indeed we will, Chief Scrutator.’ Fusshte raised his voice. ‘Soldiers, Cryl-Nish Hlar still lurks below. Take him if you can, but if you can’t capture him before the amphitheatre collapses, kill him .’

Five soldiers were lowered over the far sides of the amphitheatre, well away from the flames. They fixed their harnesses to the horizontal ropes and began to inch their way across.

Nish slipped the crossbow onto his back and tied the prepared flagon to his belt. A fierce glee spurred him on. Whatever happened now, he and Ullii had given the Council a slap in the face and his friends a chance to die with dignity. Now what? Fall to his death, or see if he could do a bit more? Fight on, and if the soldiers looked like taking him, he’d jump.

‘Ullii!’ he whispered. ‘We can’t stay here.’

She didn’t move and her eyes had rolled into her head. She’d hardly budged since she’d killed T’Lisp. Had the horror of what she’d done driven Ullii mad? He shook her gently by the shoulder. She didn’t react. He shook her harder.

She slowly turned his way and her eyes rolled down. ‘It’s too late, Nish. The lattice is gone this time.’

‘You can worry about that later,’ he said. If you’re telling the truth . She’d said that before so he doubted her. ‘Come on. Up through the hole.’

To his surprise she acted at once, swinging herself up onto the smouldering deck and crouching there. ‘Keep a sharp lookout,’ he said.

‘There’s no one looking.’ Ullii reached down to him.

‘What are they doing?’

She turned her head each way, like a cat. ‘Running around like ants.’

Nish adjusted his hooks and managed to stretch a leg up onto the deck. Ullii caught his arm, the injured one, and pulled him through. ‘Down!’

He lay on his belly beside her, expecting to see soldiers advancing on them from all directions, but no one was looking towards the small hole burned by T’Lisp’s body. He saw only chaos. The vast amphitheatre deck, some hundred and fifty spans across, was wreathed in smoke and drifting mist that concealed swathes of the surface. Fumes trailed up from the canvas in a dozen places. People, or bodies, lay here and there, some twitching and thrashing, others still. Nish assumed that Ullii’s lattice-working had brought them down.

Squads of soldiers had gathered around two of the burning cables and were trying to smother the flames by wrapping lengths of canvas about them. It didn’t seem to be working. At the other two fires the deck had burned through, leaving nowhere safe to stand. Several soldiers were perched precariously on the ropes, beating at the cables, while the others milled around and an overseer shouted orders from a safe distance.

The rest of the witnesses, numbering some hundreds, had crowded onto a crescent at the far edge of the amphitheatre, as far as they could get from the fires. Squads of anxious-looking soldiers roamed back and forth, trying to keep them in order. The prisoners remained in the centre, in a pen walled with barbed ropes. A squad of Ghorr’s personal guard had their crossbows trained on them.

Nish had wondered why the soldiers hadn’t attacked in greater strength. Now he realised that there weren’t enough. Fusshte had sent more than a hundred down to Fiz Gorgo to hunt for him, and just as many must have been lifted up to the air-dreadnoughts after the trials finished. He could see fewer than a hundred on the deck, most of whom were occupied in trying to control the fires, the prisoners or the terrified witnesses.

One of the fires flared up, someone screamed and soon there was wholesale panic among the witnesses. A small group broke off from the mob and ran. The rest stampeded after them, making waves across the canvas. A group of soldiers tried to restrain them but were trampled. The squad behind them began firing into the crowd, which wheeled and stampeded the other way. Fusshte ran out in front of the stampede, holding up his arms. The leaders stopped dead, only to be trampled by those behind, before the mob finally came to a gasping, groaning halt.

The panic spread to the robed mancers, and then to the other scrutators, who were fruitlessly trying to reach their chairs, which had been left hanging from their air-dreadnoughts as a ready means of escape. Unfortunately the once taut deck had sagged under the weight of hundreds of people, the chairs were now beyond reach, and no one on the air-dreadnoughts seemed to be doing anything about it. Thirty spans off, Ghorr was standing on tiptoe with his back to Nish and Ullii, staring up at his chair, which had been lifted even further and now hung a good ten spans above his upstretched arm. The other arm dangled limply, drenched in blood.