Alchymist

'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 alclass="underline" 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."'

Flydd took a step backwards, regarding him uncertainly. then he just let you go?'

'No – he was behind me, casting some kind of spell. His tabble contained all sorts of alchymical apparatus – stills, retorts-'

'I should have thought of that,' muttered Flydd. 'What is it, surr?'

His particular Art is alchymical in nature, and what better By to enhance it than through the tears, which represent nature's purification and distillation of the essence of a node.

They would fit his Art like a glove. It's worse than I thought.

The tears could make him too powerful. What did he do then?'

'He cast his spell, to corrupt me and make me his servant, but it didn't take.'

'Not even with the power of the tears?' said Flydd, aston-ished. 'Why ever not?'

'I've no idea, but he seemed disconcerted. He had to do it three times.'

He's not not yet mastered the tears, evidently. And then?' 'He forced an aichymical potion down my throat… What is it, su rr?' Flydd was looking at him suspiciously.

And then?'

'Father ordered Xabbier to take me to the brig and hold me in solitary confinement until the morning, so the spell would have time to set. But Xabbier had heard all he'd said and done to me. He forced me to vomit up the potion right away.'

'He did?' Flydd said gladly. 'I'd like to meet this friend of yours.'

'I hope he's still alive. When Jal-Nish finds out…' Nish related how Xabbier had helped him to escape.

'I see. Is that all?' Flydd seemed to be regarding him ambiguously.

'Not quite.'

'I can't imagine anything worse.'

'I was coming back, through a great field of limestone pinnacles,' Nish began, 'which lie near the edge of the escarpment. The tears must have changed me, somehow, for I realised that I could see right into the stone. But it was not stone inside.'

Flydd was staring at Nish as though seeing him in a new light. 'What did you see, Nish?'

'I saw the skeletons of lyrinx, and their beating hearts. Uncounted thousands of them lie hidden within stone pinnacles above the southern escarpment, near the army camp and,, for all I know, as many on the eastern and northern sides. The beasts must have been stone-formed, surr. It's an ambush and, if we don't warn him, Jal-Nish's army will be annihilated to the last man.'

Flydd threw his arms around Nish, hugging him to his scarred and scrawny chest. As abruptly he let go. 'Would that I had a son, and you were he.'

Nish's hands fell by his sides; he was astounded, and so proud that his eyes flooded with tears. He wasn't a complete failure after all.

Before he could say anything Flydd ran to the hatch, bellowing, 'Troist, quickly!'

The general threw himself in. What is it, surr?' The enemy are between us and Jal-Nishs army. They've stone-formed themselves into limestone pinnacles above the main camp. It's a trap. Break camp; we must leave immediately and march through the night to Gumby Marth.' 'How many were there?' said Troist.

'I couldn't be sure,' said Nish. 'Tens of thousands, like as not.'

'Why this way?' said Troist. 'Why not fly in an army at night, from across the sea?'

'Most lyrinx aren't fliers,' said Flydd. 'They wouldn't have enough of them to attack an army this size. And even a short flight would weaken them. This way they can appear out of nowhere, without warning. And remember the fliers we saw near the exploded node, Nish? They may have guessed Jal-Nish has the, er.., secret weapon, and know they have to ambush the army to succeed. I'd better check the cloaker.

The original spell wasn't designed for this big a force, or an enemy so near, and it would take a dozen mancers working together to make it so.'

'It was still holding the last time I spoke to Nutrid,' said Troist.

'It could feather around the edges without him knowing.

Besides, the enemy's stone-forming must take much from the field. If it's drawn down too far, the cloaker won't conceal us.'

'We'll march at once.' Troist threw up the rear hatch, snapped orders to a messenger waiting outside and turned to the chart on the table. 'What if we head west, this way, and cross into Gumby Marth below the neck? When the enemy attack, they'll hold it, so as to trap Jal-Nish's forces inside. If you keep the escapeway open, the army will have a chance.'

How far is it?'

Troist was busy with his dividers. 'It's four leagues before we can get into the valley, then another two back to the neck. A brutal forced march and the clankers will be slower than the men.'

'Can we do it by mid-morning?' said Flydd.

'We have to find a way through rugged country in the dark. I don't know how long it'll take.'

'Try very hard, General. If we're too late, there won't be any point.'