Ian Irvine - Alchymist

She tore her hand free with a look of profound disgust, but he did not notice. Fate had just offered Ghorr the world and nothing was going to stand in his way. Calling Fusshte and his lieutenants together, he rapped out orders, then turned to his men.

Ghorr said, in a low but carrying voice, 'Soldiers and crew, below us lies the greatest prize in all of Lauralin, one I never dared to hope for — a prize that can win us the war. It is Artisan Tiaan Liise-Mar, her precious amplimet, and the unique, marvellous flying construct. At all costs we must secure them, even if, in so doing, our enemies escape. But we will not let them escape, for they don't know we're here.'

He paused while signallers semaphored his words, with luminous coloured flags, to the soldiers assembled on the decks of the other air-dreadnoughts.

'They've got no army to protect them,' Ghorr continued 'just a few guards. When I give the word, you will begin the attack. Watch all the escape routes. Let not a soul get away. For every person captured alive, there will be a reward beyond your dreams. We will make an example of these renegades that will be sung for a thousand years, and the whole of Santhenar must know of it.

'The evil traitor Xervish Flydd is worth ten thousand gold tells if captured alive and fit to stand trial, but only one hundred dead. There are two other mancers here as well. I don't know who they are, but clearly they are scoundrels and renegades. For each of them, the prize shall be two thousand gold tell if captured alive, but a mere forty dead. And for the lesser villains: a thousand gold tells if alive, or twenty dead, for Cryl-Nish Hlar or Irisis Stirm; five hundred alive or ten dead for Perquisitor Fyn-Mah; and fifty tells alive or one dead for each of the ordinary folk. Do not fail me. Any man who does will go to a scrutators' quisitory, and I need not tell you—'

The sharp intake of breath was all he needed. Every man, woman and child in Lauralin knew what a scrutators'

quisitory signified.

'But there is more,' said Ghorr. 'I'm advised that a great Aachim mancer is also here. He must be taken alive and unharmed, and treated with courtesy. He maybe subdued if he struggles and, once taken, must be restrained hand and foot and his mouth stopped. Such a mancer may use his Art simply by the power of his voice. But once that's been done, take good care of him. The Aachim are not our enemies and we cannot survive if they declare war on us. He may not be harmed, on pain of death.

'My personal guard, you are charged with securing the construct. Those doing so will each receive two hundred gold. But should you lose it, each of you will be dismissed and sent to serve in the front-lines. So do not fail me.

'Finally, and most importantly of all. Artisan Tiaan Liise-Mur must be taken alive. She is a hero. I repeat, Tiaan is no renegade, but a hero worthy of the highest honour, and vital to the war. She must be taken alive and unharmed, though she too must be restrained until after the trials. Those who assist in taking her will share in twenty thousand gold tells. Twenty thousand gold tells,' he repeated. Ghorr looked around at his troops and his mancers, engaging with each of them in turn. His signallers stood behind him, relaying his words to each of the other air-dreadnoughts. 'But,' Ghorr went on, 'no matter how hard she struggles, any man who harms Artisan Tiaan, deliberately or accidentally, will be flayed alive. So have particular care. Master Artist, show everyone the sketches you have made. There must be no doubt of Tiaan's identity.'

A wizened little man covered in liver spots and flaking psoriasis hobbled down the line displaying his sketches. They bore a passable likeness to Tiaan. Her description was also relayed to the other craft.

Ghorr held up his hand. Everyone went still. He stared towards the east, tapping one foot. The arc of the sun crept above the horizon. Its first light fell on the powered mirrors and the operators did their work. Incandescent beams struck the three towers holding Yggur's defences. The towers erupted, their stone running like honey down the side of a jug The defences were silent.

As the sun illuminated the mighty flying machines, Ghorr said 'Go.’

The signalmen hoisted their flags, the great mirrors swung onto their targets, and the beams tore holes through the walls and towers. When all was chaos, the soldiers went down on ropes and stormed Fiz Gorgo.

Ghorr sat back in his chair, the other scrutators surrounding him. 'It's been a long wait, but today will make up for everything. We'll have the lot of them within the hour.’

'And the flying construct.' Fusshte rubbed his scaly hands together. 'This will make all the difference, Ghorr.'

Ghorr gave him an ambiguous glance. 'Indeed it will, Scrutator. All the difference in the world.'

Exploding stone and seething, boiling metal shocked Irisis awake. She shot up in bed, thinking she was back in the manufactory, under attack by the lyrinx. 'Nish?' she cried, 'Where are you?'

He was gone and the nightmare was back, but this time Irisis knew it was real. That crash was a battering-ram on the front doors. Those shrieks — the death screams of the servants who had foolishly run to see what was going on. This was it. Her long-anticipated doom had come at last.

She pulled on her clothes, tied her boots, grabbed the sword and peered out the door, expecting to see lyrinx everywhere. Soldiers were advancing methodically along the corridor, checking every door. For a fleeting second she relaxed, until it penetrated her fuzzy mind that they were human soldiers, wearing the black and scarlet uniform of the chief scrutator's personal guard, the most elite troops of all. It was worse than lyrinx, far worse. Ghorr had found them. She could see at least a hundred soldiers and, from the racket in the other halls, many more were there. Doubtless there were mancers, too.

Against them, Yggur had merely twenty troops and Irisis was prepared to bet that the majority of them, stationed in the barracks outside, were dead. The battle was already lost, the only option to try to escape into the labyrinth of tunnels that honeycombed the rock underneath Fiz Gorgo. Unfortunately, though Irisis knew how to get into the labyrinth, she had never been down there. That was the problem with labyrinths, she thought wryly. They were so damned hard to get out of.

Ducking out the door, she ran towards the rear of the building. At the first corner, she stopped. Flydd's room was just to the left, Nish's a long way down the corridor to the right. There wasn't time to rouse both. After a second's hesitation, she turned left. Nish was a poor sleeper and was probably up already. If not, he'd be captured within seconds. It took a lot to rouse Flydd, so there was no choice. Ah, Nish love, I'm sorry.

Fleeting down the corridor in the dark, she pounded on Flydd's door. There was no answer so she kicked it open. Flydd was sitting up in bed, naked.

'What is it?' he said, only half-awake.

She dragged him out of bed. 'The scrutators are here, inside Fiz Gorgo, with hundreds of soldiers.'

He didn't move. "Then we're done for. Run to the labyrinth. Hide. It's me they want.'

She found his boots, a knife, his clothes. 'I don't leave my friends behind. Get these on. Besides, they've come for the lot of us and they won't leave until they've torn this place apart, stone by stone. There's no point hiding unless you know a way out.'

'I expect I can find one.' He threw on his boots, buckled a belt around his waist, into which he thrust the knife, and tossed his satchel over his shoulder.

Irisis stood at the door, peering out into the dark corridor. The soldiers weren't yet in sight. There might just be time to run down to Nish's room. No, she could hear them coming from his direction. They'd have him already.