Alchymist

He leaned out as far as he dared, caught another brief glimpse of that moving form, then lost it. It seemed too big to be a man, and the wrong shape. It had to be the enemy, and his duty was horribly clear – he must climb down the cliff, if he could without killing himself, and take the warning to his father.

At that thought, Nish's heart began to pound like a threshing machine. Was there any other way? Even if he screamed out a warning at the top of his voice, it would not carry as far as the camp. No; he had to go down.

The escarpment consisted of a series of cliffs broken by rock outcrops only marginally less steep. After some searching along the edge, he discovered what appeared to be a goat track heading down, though in the moonlight he would be easily spotted against the pale rock.

Taking off the black cloak, he tied it around his waist and set off, hanging on with hands, feet and knees. It was a long, difficult climb, dangerous, too, for the moonlight played Kicks. Once he was about to step on what seemed solid rock, only to realise that there was nothing underneath his foot but empty air.

After a good interval of heart-in-the-mouth scrambling, Nish was creeping down a precipitous defile, anxiously watching a small cloud that had covered the moon, and hoping he could get to the bottom before it shone out again. As he reached the base of a knob of white rock shaped like a brain impaled on a stick, a guard stepped out in front of him and levelled his spear. The man was huge: as high and wide as a door, with a cape that stretched out behind him in the updraught.

Nish was not armed. Not intending to leave the camp, he'd left his weapon in the clanker. The soldier jerked his spear and Nish thought it was going right through his belly.

'I'm not a spy!' he gasped.

'Hands in the air!'

Nish complied and the moon shone full on his face. There was a long pause, then an astonished cry: 'Well, blow me if it isn't Cryl-Nish Hlar, and hardly changed! What the blazes are you doing here?'

The soldier's face was in shadow. Nish had no idea who he was, though the nasal tones were vaguely familiar, and the man had an Einunar accent.

'Should I know you?' he said hesitantly.

'You certainly should.' The soldier emitted a booming bellow of a laugh. 'We used to play together when we were little, Cry-Nish.'

The soldier came out of the shadow. He had a big square head, dark curly hair and a grin that crinkled one corner of his mouth. Nish stared at him. Memory stirred. 'Xabbier? Xabbier Frou?'

'At your service.' He put out a hand the size of a lobster.

Nish clasped it in both of his, remembering Xabbier fondly: a big, rough but kindly boy, always breaking things and being punished for it, which he'd shrugged off with that endearing grin. He'd more than once rescued Nish from schoolyard bullies who'd picked on him because of his father's reputation. 'How did you get here? I haven't seen you since I was.., nine or ten, I suppose. It's good to see you, Xabbier.'

'And you Cryl-Nish. I worked with my father for a while, lawyering, and hated every moment of it. One day I walked out and joined the army. It's a bloody life, but better than being a poxy notary. I ended up in a unit that your father took to the manufactory near Tiksi, and after that I came west on one of the air-floaters.'

And now you're a guard for my father.' Try as he might to repress it, there was the faintest hint of scorn, that Xabbier should have ended up a common soldier.

Xabbier was not easily slighted. He gave Nish a cheerful clap on the back that almost drove shards of backbone into his lungs. 'I'm a lieutenant now, and will be made captain if we survive the coming battle.' He frowned at that thought, then grinned. 'Which of course we must. I like to take my turn at sentry duty. Prefer the air out here to the fug in the command tents.'

Not to mention the company of my father, Nish thought.

Xabbier scanned the slope, up and down. Nish stood beside him, thinking about his childhood. They had been friends until Xabbier's mother had died in childbirth and his father moved to another town.

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.