Ian Irvine - Alchymist

Should he go on to Flydd and Troist, or carry the warning back to Xabbier? Never had he held such responsibility. If he chose wrongly, thousands would die.

Somewhere behind him, a piece of rock snapped. Nish let out a muffled cry, thinking they were coming after him. He closed his eyes and hastened into the next tunnel of darkness, which was worse. Even with his eyes closed, he could see lyrinx skeletons everywhere. They had the faintest luminosity and were blurred, as if shivering.

Or were they preparing to break out, en masse, and attack his father's army in darkness? The box valley would become a slaughterhouse whose streams would carry more blood than water.

Jal-Nish's army was alert, the watch-fires bright, so the enemy could not take them by complete surprise. But there were too many lyrinx for the army to fight alone. They would have no chance unless he warned Troist, and he had to do it light away. Troist's army would have to do a forced march through the night, cloaked, to reach the neck of the valley in time. He could only hope that the enemy would take ages to break free from their stone-formed state and assemble into battle formation. It took all Nish's courage to keep walking and look neither right nor left. The cracking sound was not repeated. It might have been the stone contracting in the cool of night. He con-centrated on taking one step after another, doing nothing suspicious. How good were lyrinx senses in this stone frozen state? Could they sense what was going on outside, or were their brains as petrified as their bodies?

Ahead, the open ground was brilliantly lit by the moon. He could not move across unseen if there were winged sentries on high, and dared not take the time to go around. Should he run, or creep like a spy?

The lyrinx had poorer eyesight than humans in daylight, but better at night. Nish walked out into the brightness, trudging like a lookout at the end of a long patrol, and his weariness was not feigned. Above, he thought he heard the whisper of air across leathery wings. He stopped, mid-stride, looked around and kept going. That was hard. A diving lyrinx would kill him before he realised it was there.

Again that whisper. He kept going, gaining the shelter of the next pinnacle without further incident. This one was just rock; no inner bones. Stepping into the shadow, he looked up. Was that something in the tree; a shadow of wings? No, just a shape made by the branches. The sound must have been an owl.

There was nothing to be seen, no matter how carefully he looked, but something was different. Though Nish had no talent for the Art, he could feel a subtle strain and a distortion of the darkness, which he imagined was a drain in the ethyr.

There was still quite a way to go. Ahead lay the open area, sparsely studded with rock pinnacles. Beyond that was a strip of forest, the cleared expanse with the first set of pinnacles, and, further on, the other wood beyond which Troist's army lay hidden under its cloaking spell. He prayed that it still held.

Each step seemed to take an hour, but he made it across into the forest, and through it to the next pinnacle field. As he stepped into the rustling grass on the other side, something sharp jabbed him in the back.

'Don't move, spy, or you're dead.'

Nish went very still. 'I'm not a spy.' he said in a low voice. 'I'm Cryl-Nish Hlar and I've been on a secret mission for the scrutator.'

The spear point went through his clothes, breaking the skin above his right buttock. 'Is that so?' the soldier hissed. 'Then explain why Scrutator Flydd has got the whole camp looking for you.'

'I.., don't know.' For once Nish could not think of a single excuse. I think you'd better take me to him, soldier.'

'I'm going to. If you try to escape, my friend, you'll get this right up your liver.'

By the time they found Flydd, who was with General Troist, Nish had half a dozen throbbing gouges in his back, low down, and one in each buttock. He made a mental note to return the favour, if he ever got the opportunity.

'Where the bloody hell did you get to?' the scrutator said furiously as Nish was prodded into the clanker.

'I found him sneaking through the forest, surr,' said the soldier, giving Nish another jab in the bum for good measure. 'He's been spying—'

'I have vital news, surr,' Nish interrupted. 'It can't wait for anything.'

'Thank you, soldier,' Flydd interrupted. 'That will be all.'

Nish waited until the man had gone, then moved gingerly into the centre of the clanker.

'Well?' snapped Flydd.

'I've just escaped from my father.'

'What?' cried Flydd and Troist together.

'You bloody fool!' Flydd went on. 'This is the end, Nish. If you've given us away, I'll hang you with your own intestines—'

'I didn't mean to go anywhere. I was all knotted up inside, and couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk and—'

'This had better be good, Artificer,' growled Troist.

'It's important, surr,' cried Nish. 'The fate of an army hangs on my news.'

'And the fate of a man on my whim,' Flydd said darkly. "Spill it, Nish, and be quick about it.'

Nish explained how he'd come to leave the camp and end up near the escarpment, what he'd seen there and how he'd fallen into Jal-Nish's hands, and then, what his father had said and done to him. Flydd and Troist exchanged glances and Nish knew they believed him. 'But surr,' Nish dropped his voice, 'there's something I must speak to you privately about.'

'I'm sure it's nothing that General Troist can't hear.’

Nish hesitated. 'I.., believe it is, surr.' He looked anxiously from one man to the other. 'It has to do with a remarkable form of the Secret Art, if you take my meaning.'

'I've a hundred things to do before the morrow,' said the general. 'Not to mention getting a few minutes' sleep. I'll leave you for the moment.' He went out.

'Get on with it!' Flydd snarled. 'And don't ever do such a stupid thing again or you'll suffer more than a spear point in the bum.'

Nish moved close, speaking softly. 'My father has the tears of the node, surr. Both of them.'

'So it was Jal-Nish,' Flydd breathed. 'He killed them all: the soldiers, the dogs and the poor pilot, to make sure no one would ever know. And no one would have. As the node cooled, the walls would have collapsed and buried any remains. Tell me, what was Jal-Nish like?'

'Cold; bitter; implacable. I could make no impression on him, but one thing was clear—'

'Yes?' Flydd rapped.

'He wants to be chief scrutator, and to revenge himself on his enemies, particularly Irisis.'

And me.'

'No, surr.'

'Why not?' cried Flydd as though it was a mortal insult.

'I told him you were dead, surr. Of blood poisoning.'

'You what?'

'Dead, surr. As a maggot!' Nish took a wry pleasure in put-ting it that way.

'Why?' snapped Flydd. 'Who gave you leave to lie to a scrutator?'

It seemed like a good idea at the time, surr' Did it now?' Flydd considered. Perhaps it was. So Jal-Nish has the tears. What for, I wonder? He cannot be allowed to command the scrutators. They have more power at their disposal than anyone realises, even without these glorious, perilous tears. Tfell me everything he said.'

Nish related what had happened. 'And at the end, he thrust my hands into the tears, and I felt the most extraordinary sensations. Everything that was black became white, each colour took on the hue of its opposite. I saw right through to the bones of my father's arm and he said, "I have woken you, Cryl-Nish!".' 'Go on.'

'He said, "You'll see horrors no one has ever seen before.

You'll hear what has previously been unheard. And you'll feel — well, I leave that to you to discover. The gift of the tears is not predictable. But you'll know what it is like to suffer. You will know what it is like to be your father, as you stand beside me for the rest of your life."'