‘They’ve not been dead long,’ said Tiaan.
‘No!’ Malien whispered. ‘They met their ends in the last week.’
‘They’re thin, but not starved. How did they live so long?’
‘We particularly cherish our children, Tiaan, for we Aachim, though long-lived, are not fecund like old humans. The adults would have gone without to feed the young ones, in the hope that, somehow, they might be rescued.’
‘And in the end?’
‘When the last adult was dying and all hope lost, the children would have been given a draught from which they would never wake.’
‘How horrible.’ Tiaan glanced at the faces, brushing away tears. ‘They were still alive when we began to survey the sea. If we’d come this way first, instead of leaving it until last, we could have saved them.’
‘If only we had,’ said Malien.
‘It’s a wonder they didn’t try to smooth a path to the salt. It’s only thirty or forty leagues away. Once they got a construct onto smooth salt they could have crossed the sea in a few days.’
‘But if you go the wrong way, this broken country runs for hundreds of leagues. Their explorers may have thought the whole world was like this. In any case, to smooth a hover path across this country would have taken hundreds of Aachim years. They didn’t have the people or the food. Once they crashed here they were doomed, and they must soon have realised it.’
An unpleasant duty was preying on Tiaan’s mind. ‘We should … we must take this news to Vithis,’ said Tiaan, her heart sinking at the thought of what it would do to him.
‘And Minis.’
The farspeaker, which had been silent for days, gurgled and Irisis’s voice came though, shaking with tension. ‘Tiaan, Malien, wherever you are, come to us on the salt below Ashmode. Hurry! The enemy –’
SIXTY-SIX
Several weeks earlier, not long after Kattiloe’s thapter had been dispatched to Tiksi, Flydd and Yggur were called to the farspeaker. Irisis hurried over after them, for she’d recognised the voice.
‘It’s Gilhaelith,’ said the operator, ‘and he says he has a message for you both.’
‘We’re listening,’ grated Yggur. ‘Well, Gilhaelith?’
‘You’ve heard, I assume?’ Gilhaelith’s voice was as clear as if he were in the next room.
‘That the lyrinx have broken off their sieges and are racing to Ashmode? We’re still waiting to hear if it’s an elaborate deception.’
‘It’s not,’ said Gilhaelith. ‘They’re following my orders.’
Yggur choked. ‘What?’
Flydd eased him out of the way. ‘Since we no longer trust anything we hear over a farspeaker, we’ll reserve our judgment on that. What have you done?’
‘I’ve got their sacred relics,’ Gilhaelith said simply. ‘I ordered them to come east – all of them – with the power patterner, or I’d destroy the relics.’
Irisis tried to catch Flydd’s attention. ‘Ask him about Nish,’ she hissed. He waved her to silence.
‘What do you want?’ said Yggur.
‘Revenge,’ said Gilhaelith. ‘They’ve robbed me of everything that mattered. I’m going to do the same to them.’
‘This is absurd,’ said Flydd to Yggur. To Gilhaelith he said, ‘Why would the lyrinx abandon everything they’ve fought for, these past hundred and fifty years, for a few lousy bits and pieces from the tar pits?’
‘It wasn’t Santhenar they were fighting for,’ replied Gilhaelith. ‘Or rather, Santhenar was always secondary. Their most burning desire, which was driving them long before the war, and in fact was the reason they came to Santhenar, was to find these relics. I gambled that they’d give up everything else for them and I’ve been proven right.’
‘Now I know your mind is going,’ scowled Yggur.
‘You’re clever men – look at the evidence. I’ll leave you to work it out on the way to Ashmode.’
‘What’s happening there?’ said Flydd.
‘You’ll find out in due course.’ The farspeaker cut off.
‘He’s made a deal with the lyrinx,’ said Flydd. ‘I’ll bet he’s planning to exchange the relics for the power patterner.’
‘Why does he want it?’ said Yggur.
‘I imagine we’ll find out before too long.’
Irisis was walking backwards and forwards outside the conference tent. They’d gone to Hysse to meet Governor Nisbeth and Grand Commander Orgestre, who seemed to be back in favour, though Irisis couldn’t understand why. Flydd, Yggur, Klarm and Troist had been inside the tent with Nisbeth and Orgestre for hours, discussing something of great moment. The guards would not allow Irisis to go near, which was vexing. It was one of the few councils she had not been admitted to, and she was now desperate to find out if they’d heard anything about Nish.
She was trying to think of a way to get inside when Flydd put his head out through the tent flap. ‘Guard, would you call for –. Ah, Irisis, food and drink for six, quick as you can.’
At any other time the order would have irritated her. Now she seized the opportunity, and shortly came back with a loaded tray and baskets hanging off each arm.
‘No appeasement. Ever!’ snapped General Orgestre as she entered. ‘Nisbeth and I are agreed on that.’
That surprised Irisis, who’d always thought of Nisbeth as soft and kindly, perhaps a little too kindly.
‘Thank you, Irisis.’ Flydd reached for the tray.
She sidestepped him, set down the tray and the baskets, then went around the table handing out plates, which she filled with the best available from Flydd’s private stores. Irisis slid another platter into the middle, poured drinks, bowed low and retreated to the other side of the tent. There she squatted, head bowed, like the meanest of servants.
‘That will be all,’ said Flydd.
Irisis pretended she hadn’t heard.
Yggur chuckled. ‘Nice try, Irisis, but you make a poor serving maid, for all your skill at aping one. Subservience isn’t in your nature.’
She stood up and went for the flap. Irisis hadn’t expected it to work but was disappointed nonetheless.
‘Oh, let her stay!’ Troist said irritably. ‘Irisis has proven herself. Now can we get on?’
Irisis took a seat at the far end of the table and a morsel of smoked fish from the central platter, and tried to look inconspicuous in case they changed their minds.
‘We still have disagreement on two issues,’ said Flydd. ‘What to do about Gilhaelith, and how we can possibly defend ourselves against such overwhelming numbers of the enemy.’
‘I’ve always mistrusted the scoundrel,’ said Yggur. ‘Gilhaelith may not be actively aiding the enemy at this moment, but he’s got a long history of it.’
‘His only loyalty is to himself,’ said Klarm. ‘And ever has been.’
‘It’s got to be a complex double-cross,’ said Yggur. ‘A way of putting us all into the enemy’s hands, in repayment of a deal he’s made with them.’
‘Whatever he’s up to, let’s capitalise on the opportunity he’s given us,’ said Troist. ‘Assuming our farspeakers can be believed.’
‘What do you have in mind?’ said Yggur.
No one spoke. Irisis studied the troubled faces around the table. In the past few weeks the shape of the war had changed so dramatically, and so often, that no one had come to terms with it. Not even Flydd seemed to have a plan.
‘We go to the exchange under a flag of truce,’ said Grand Commander Orgestre. ‘We use Flydd’s field controller to stop the lyrinx from flying or using the Art, then attack with our massed forces and drive them over the cliffs.’
‘Where did this sudden reckless streak come from, Grand Commander?’ said Flydd. ‘Just last spring you were preaching withdrawal.’
‘I didn’t know about all your secret weapons then. They’ve shifted the balance our way.’