Troist looked like death and Flydd was not much better. ‘Unfortunately not,’ said Flydd. ‘The enemy has attacked from the east, fifteen leagues south of here, and are driving directly for Lybing.’
‘The east?’ said Nish. ‘How did they get there?’
Flydd just shrugged.
‘How many of them?’
‘We won’t know until dawn. Hopefully it’s just a feint by an isolated band of fliers.’
The farspeaker belched like a cow and a deep voice exploded from it. ‘We’re under attack, surr!’
Flydd rapped on the globe. ‘Identify yourself, you fool. How the bloody hell am I supposed to know who you are?’
‘Sorry, surr,’ came back after a considerable pause. ‘It’s Captain Maks, of Troist’s detachment at Clew’s Top.’
‘The south as well!’ Troist knuckled his bristly cheeks. ‘I knew it was the wrong –’
‘You forget yourself, General,’ hissed Flydd, turning away from the farspeaker. ‘Morale, dammit.’
Turning back, he tapped the globe. ‘Captain Maks, this is Scrutator Xervish Flydd here. How many of the enemy are there?’
Again that over-long pause. ‘Ethyr must be very slow tonight,’ Flydd muttered.
‘Or the fields overly drained,’ fretted Nish.
The farspeaker belched again. ‘Maks, surr. Can’t tell their numbers. Seems like a good few.’
‘What the hell does that mean? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands?’
‘Hundreds at least, surr.’
Flydd conferred with Troist, who tapped on the globe. ‘It’s Troist, Maks. Don’t engage the enemy. Take to the constructs, all that can fit inside, and retreat slowly north towards Lybing, protecting the infantry.’
‘Don’t engage … retreat … Lybing,’ Maks repeated, and faded out.
‘Troist, call for a general report,’ said Flydd.
Troist contacted the detachments of Borgistry’s other forces, one by one. Another squad, this one on the western side, also reported being under attack. ‘What are the enemy up to? Are they going to attack along a hundred and fifty leagues of border, or is this just a distraction until the main force is in position?’
‘It’s going to be a long time till dawn,’ said Flydd.
‘Why don’t you see if you can contact Tiaan, Scrutator?’ said Nish.
‘Good idea.’ Flydd ordered her to fly north, keeping so high that the sound of the thapter could not be heard. ‘And don’t fly over them. As soon as you detect them, turn back.’
An anxious half-hour went by, during which a stream of couriers ran in and out. Flydd was constantly interrupted by representatives of the villages surrounding Ossury, terrified that the enemy was about to fall on them. Finally he ordered the guard to keep them away. Troist pored over his maps, his back bent.
Tiaan eventually reported back. ‘The depression in the fields is still moving south, in the direction of Ossury.’ Her voice was clear, though there was a bell-like ringing of the ethyr in the background.
‘If it’s a feint, it’s a magnificently coordinated one,’ said Flydd. ‘How can they do that over such distances?’ No one answered. ‘We’d better get the other thapters armed and in the air,’ he went on.
‘Everything’s ready,’ said Troist. ‘We just don’t know where to send them.’
By mid-morning it had begun to rain, and it became heavier as the day wore on. They still had no idea what was happening. The attacking lyrinx could have numbered hundreds, or thousands. More conflicts broke out until the borders of Borgistry were ringed by skirmishes.
Finally, around the middle of the day, came the news they had been dreading.
‘General!’ Even through the rumble of the farspeaker they could hear the terror. ‘It’s Captain Maks. We’re still well south of Lybing. There are enemy everywhere.’
‘Are you using the light blasters?’
‘Yes, but we don’t have enough to make a difference. There’s thousands of the enemy, surr! They’re coming –’
The farspeaker cut off and they could not raise him again.
‘Doesn’t mean they’re lost,’ said Troist eventually, but there was a blank look in his eye that Nish had not seen since they’d first met, just after the ruinous defeat at Nilkerrand.
Flydd seized the globe. ‘Thapters, report! Who’s the nearest to Clew’s Top?’
A full minute passed before a youthful voice said, ‘It’s Chissmoul, surr.’
‘Who’s Chissmoul, Nish?’ Flydd said out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Chissmoul is the one who doesn’t have Yggur’s eyes. The rather … exuberant flier.’
‘Oh, that one. Downright reckless, I would have said. What’s she doing down there?’
‘Patrolling.’
Flydd turned back to the globe. ‘Chissmoul, go down carefully to where the soldiers are. Tell me what you see.’
They heard nothing for a good half-hour, then Chissmoul called back. She wasn’t exuberant now. Her voice quavered. ‘I’ve found them, surr. I have them with me.’
‘What the blazes are you talking about, Pilot?’ said Flydd.
‘The survivors. I have both of them.’
‘Both? There were two thousand soldiers and eighty clankers.’
There was a long silence.
‘Chissmoul?’
‘None of the clankers are moving, surr. All the soldiers are dead and the enemy has gone.’
Troist turned to Flydd, but Flydd couldn’t meet his eyes.
‘Gone where?’ said Nish, leaning towards the farspeaker globe.
‘They’re heading north, towards Lybing,’ said Chissmoul.
‘How many?’
‘More than two thousand. Surr.’
‘Follow them, but keep out of catapult range,’ said Troist, tapping the farspeaker to indicate that he’d finished. ‘What do we do now?’ he cried. ‘Do we let them slaughter our scattered forces, man by man, then fall on defenceless Lybing while we sit here watching for phantoms?’
‘Lybing is a walled city defended by an army of ten thousand,’ Flydd said.
‘If the enemy send just half of their fifty-seven thousand against Lybing, they’ll take it before we can get there.’
‘Tiaan?’ called the scrutator after changing the setting of the farspeaker. ‘It’s Flydd. What’s happening?’
‘The depression in the field is still moving towards Ossury.’
Flydd paced back and forth, his lips moving. He cast a glance at the general, who was staring at the wall. Flydd sat down with head in hands. Nish was glad the decision wasn’t his to make.
‘My men are dying, Scrutator,’ said Troist. ‘If you’re wrong, the three rivers of Lybing will flow red for a week. You’re gambling everything on Tiaan and, to be frank, her history doesn’t inspire confidence. Wasn’t she out of her mind in Nennifer?’
He pressed his knuckles into his stomach, his face grey with pain. Nish passed over the flask containing Troist’s latest remedy, a noxious yellow potion. Troist swigged half a flask, though it seemed no more efficacious than the green sludge he’d resorted to previously.
Flydd bit his lip. ‘Tiaan has never let me down. Besides, Malien is with her. We hold firm for another hour.’
The farspeaker emitted a farting burp. ‘Xervish Flydd,’ said a deadly voice whose tones came through quite unchanged. ‘Grand Commander Orgestre here. This is madness. Will you twiddle your thumbs until the enemy have destroyed us all?’
‘It’s a feint,’ said Flydd desperately. ‘As soon as we turn south they’ll be onto us.’
‘You’ve lost your mind. You are dismissed from command of our forces.’
‘I don’t hold command, and if the governor and the generals no longer have confidence in me they can say so.’
‘General Troist,’ said Orgestre, shrilly. ‘I order you to take Flydd into custody and render him up to me. You are to come south at once and defend Lybing.’
‘You don’t have the power to give orders to me, Orgestre,’ said Troist, who had gone the colour of his elixir. ‘My army is not from Borgistry.’
‘Then who do you obey, surr?’ Orgestre ground out. ‘Think carefully before you answer. You know the penalty for treason.’