Ian Irvine - Alchymist

Seeing nothing, the soldier turned back to Nish. 'What are you doing here, Cryl-Nish, creeping about like a spy? You're not a spy, are you?' Xabbier gave Nish a troubled look. 'I know what your father did to you, and there's not a man in this army agrees with him. I won't speak a word against him, out of respect for you, but my men obey him out of sheer terror.' He shook his head.

'I was at the top of the cliff, looking over, and I saw a moving shadow halfway down. I thought it was the enemy, spying on the army …" It occurred to Nish that a man as large as Xabbier, with a cape blowing out behind him like a wing, might easily have been mistaken for a lyrinx in this light.

'Where?' said Xabbier. 'And when was that?'

That way.' Nish pointed to the right. 'Nearly an hour ago.'

Xabbier relaxed. 'It was probably me, but I'll take a look, just in case. He fingered a coiled horn hanging from his belt, but let it be.

They did not find anything. 'It must have been me you saw,' said Xabbier. He glanced at Nish. 'I was glad to hear you'd escaped with the scrutator. He's a good man, but…But Nish, why are you here?'

Nish chose his words carefully. Though Troist's army had come to aid this one, he did not have leave to reveal that secret. 'I can see what you're thinking, Xabbier. I'm held to be a traitor and now I've been found spying …' Though Xabbier's manner was friendly, Nish knew the soldier would not shirk his duty, if it came to it. 'Ever since my father took command, I've been afraid he was leading the army into a trap. I had to find out.' Though that was the truth as far as it went, to Nish's ears it sounded unconvincing.

Two meaty hands took him by the shoulders, and Xabbier turned Nish so that the moon lit his face again. 'I'm troubled, Cryl-Nish. I should turn you in — my life is forfeit if I don't. Yet I still feel I know you, and I don't believe you'd lie to me. And the people's scrutator, Xervish Flydd, is said to hold you in high regard. Even the slaves on the hauling teams spoke about it. In our army, no man is held in greater respect than Xervish Flydd.'

'Even though he's an outlaw and a non-citizen, cast down from the Council of Scrutators and condemned?'

'Even so,' said Xabbier. 'Should Scrutator Flydd appear at our head tomorrow, every man in this army would follow him. And you're his man, Cryl-Nish, so I'll risk my life on you and let you go. Don't let me down.'

'Thank you, Xabbier/ Nish said. 'If I can do anything for you—'

'You can tell me your story, one day. And when the war's over, I'll tell it to my children. I've often heard tales about you, these past six months, and wondered how you were getting on. I was heartbroken when we left all those years ago. After my mother died, losing my best friend was more~than I could bear.'

'I'm sorry,' said Nish. He'd made new friends quickly, as children did at that age. 'It's funny how things turn out, Xabbier. I've done even-thing possible to keep out of the army. I was sure I'd be sent to the front-lines and be eaten in the first hour. Yet in the last six months I've lived a more dangerous life than most soldiers would.1

'You'd better go, Cryl-Nish.'

Just then the shrubbery rustled a few spans away and another sentry appeared. 'It's been a long watch, Xabbier. I'll be glad — who the blazes is this?'

Xabbier swore under his breath and his grip tightened on Nish's arm. Nish cursed too. There was no way Xabbier could let him go now.

'Look who I found,' said Xabbier. 'Cryl-Nish Hlar, no less.'

'Jal-Nish will be pleased,' the other soldier purred. 'Let's hope he shows his appreciation. I'll take him down if you like.'

No! Nish thought, for the soldier was motivated either by greed or malice.

'I'll do it; Xabbier said curtly. 'My watch is over and you've got an hour to go. Come with me, Cryl-Nish.'

He led Nish down the steep track, shortly encountering a sentry coming up to relieve him. They spoke for a minute or two and Xabbier continued.

Nish wasn't ready to meet his father, and could never be. What can I say to him? he thought despairingly. And what would Jal-Nish do to him this time?

'You're troubled, Cryl-Nish,' said Xabbier as they reached the bottom and turned towards the camp.

'You know what my father is like. Imagine—'

'I can't imagine.' Xabbier put an arm across Nish's shoul-ders. 'But my thoughts, my hopes, go with you. I'm sorry, Cryl-Nish. If I could have prevented this I would have, but oncee you were seen there was no choice.' 'I understand duty,' Nish said hollowly. 'I'll take you up to his tent.'

As the lieutenant led him up the slope of Gumby Marth, through row after row of tents, Nish fought a desperate urge to run. That would be the act of a coward. Besides, he'd never get away from Xabbier.

Xabbier ushered him through a dozen guards surrounding a tent the size of a cottage, lifted the flap and stepped through into an anteroom. Light shone from an open flap ahead. Jal-Sish was alone, his back to them, bent over a table covered in retorts, alembics and a variety of other types of alchymical apparatus. Nish's mouth went dry. He had never been able to stand up to his father.

Xabbier cleared his throat. Jal-Nish turned and his head jerked up as he saw his son standing before him. The loose mask shifted on his face, revealing part of the scarred and writhen flesh beneath. Jal-Nish tossed his head and the shining platinum face-cover settled back in place.

'Well, Lieutenant?' he said to Xabbier.

'I found him on my watch, surr, halfway down the escarpment. He thought he saw—'

'He can tell me himself. Leave us, Lieutenant. Wait outside for my orders. Don't allow anyone in!'

Once Xabbier had gone, Jal-Nish drew the tent flaps closed with his one hand. Returning to Nish, he stood chest to chest. 'I heard you escaped with Flydd. He's behind this, I suppose?' . Nish had been expecting that question. 'Flydd's dead,' he lied.

'Dead? How?'

'An injury he took in the escape turned bad and he got blood poisoning. There was nothing I could do to save him.'

'A pity,' Jal-Nish said indifferently. 'I wanted to see him suffer, first. And you, Cryl-Nish — what do you want?'

Panicky and unable to think clearly, Nish said the first thing that came into his head. 'I want to be free of you, Father. Forever!'

'What?' Jal-Nish looked disconcerted.

'You've ruined my life. Since I was three years old I've slaved to please you, but not once did you praise me or show you cared in any way. Not once did you comfort me, when I was little and had those awful nightmares …'

Jal-Nish opened his mouth, beneath the mask. 'I—' 'I haven't finished!' Nish said desperately, and, to his surprise, Jal-Nish allowed him to go on.

'Say it, whatever it is; he said, smiling malevolently.

'I know I've done stupid things, but I've suffered tor them. I've also done brave deeds, and clever ones, and not had a word of acknowledgment from you. That used to hurt me more than you can ever know, but it no longer matters. Do you know why? Because I no longer care! You mean nothing to me. I used to pity Tiaan because she had no father. Now I envy her, because no father at all would be better than one like you.'

Oddly, considering his heartless denunciation of his son, this rejection seemed to strike Jal-Nish to the core, but Nish ploughed on.

'I don't know what you wanted from life, or whether you're happy now, but I know one thing. As a father, you were a miserable failure and I'm happy to go to my death if it means I'll never see you again.'

Jal-Nish lurched backwards into the table and overbalanced. As he fell, the back of his head caught on the edge of the table, flipping the platinum helm off.

Jal-Nish looked up and Nish almost vomited. He well remembered the ruin of his father's face after the lyrinx attack, but that was nothing to what he saw now. The claws had torn three jagged gouges from ear to mouth, under which the flesh had grown back in ugly lumps and depressions. The scars were purple and blistered with pus-filled boils that even after three-quarters of a year had not healed. His left eye was a purple socket filled with bulging veins the size of earthworms, his once proud nose a crusted hole that could have accommodated a lemon. The mouth, a twisted ruin that would no longer close, leaked stringy green saliva with every breath.