Tetrarch

'What will I say to them?'

'I'm sure you'll work it out. Be polite but firm. Observe all the protocols.'

'I don't know what they are,' Nish cried.

'Then invent some and then follow them rigidly afterwards!' snapped Vithis. 'Make no concessions, for you have no power to do so. Keep our interests in mind at all times.'

'How do I know what they are?'

'Imagine you are at the bottom of a deep pit, with hungry beasts on the one side and brutal slave-owners on the other. You want to get out of there alive, but you don't want to be eaten, or become a slave. Those are our interests.'

'And we could do a hundred things that might advance ourselves, or ruin us.'

'Indeed. You must use your own judgment about that. But when in doubt, say you must consult your masters. I'll have the tailors make an appropriate uniform for you. You'll leave in the morning.'

'Not alone, I hope.'

'You'll have a small guard and such assistants as protocol requires.'

There was no way to get out of it, though the fear of failure had never been stronger. This mission was bound to be a disaster. He left at the instant of dawn, dressed in a smart blue and maroon uniform that two tailors had spent the whole night on. A spare was carefully folded in his pack. His guard consisted of just two soldiers, and one was a raw youth considerably younger than Nish's meagre twenty years.

'Your escort awaits you,' said Troist. 'Though I cannot spare the horses, you must be mounted. No embassy could go forth on such a vital mission on foot. Here is your charter. My scribe worked most of the night on it.' He handed Nish a rolled piece of parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon.

The document, written in the most florid hand, full of whorls, loops and curlicues, declared Marshal Cryl-Nish Hlar, son of Scrutator Jal-Nish Hlar, to be the officially appointed legate to General Troist, Commander-in-Chief of the armies of Almadin and presently Military Governor of the Central Almadin Region.

'Marshal?' said Nish.

'It would be the grossest of insults to send anyone more junior,' said Troist.

'But…'

'As commander I am entitled to confer such a rank,' said Troist, 'if that's what's worrying you.'

'I… I don't know what to say.'

'This may be the biggest gamble of my life. If you fail me, you'll be broken to a common soldier as quickly as you have risen, Marshal Cryl-Nish.'

'And if I succeed?'

'You may very well keep the rank. Look sharp now, it's coming dawn.'

His head whirling, Nish shook hands with Troist and hurried outside. His escort stood waiting by their horses, as well as a woman of middle age with coarse skin and silver hair turning to white. She presented him with another parchment, unsmiling.

'I am Envoy Ranii Shyrr,' she said. 'Here is my commission. I will advise you on Aachim protocol.'

'My mother's name is Ranii,' he said, scanning the parchment. 'I'm glad to have you. Where have you come from, Ranii? Are you a kind of charlatan, like me, thrown into the water without knowing how to swim?' He realised his mistake immediately. 'I mean no insult. It's just -'

'That you don't know how to put it?' she said stiffly. 'A considerable failing in an ambassador, to my mind. Fortunately I have spent my adult life in one embassy or another, and the last five years as legate at the city of Stassor, which is -'

'The principal city of the Aachim of Santhenar,' Nish said, wondering if Ranii felt herself hard done by. She had been passed over for the position he held and doubtless resented it. 'I know of Stassor, though I've never been there.'

'Well, that's a start,' she said. 'Though I can't believe -'

'I have, however, ventured into the great Aachim city of Tirthrax, inside the mountain of the same name, and spoken with none other than Malien, Matah of the city, who is mentioned in the Tale of the Mirror.' And twice she humiliated me, Nish thought.

Ranii took a step backwards. 'We must speak more of this on the way.'

Nish mounted his horse, trying to look expert, though he'd not much experience with riding.

'I am Marshal Cryl-Nish Hlar,' said Nish to the soldiers, more self-importantly than was wise. 'I go by the name of Nish, except when doing my official duties.'

The soldiers touched their caps, rather more casually than Nish would have liked.

'Sergeant Mounce,' said the one on the left, a short, stout man with arms like knotted tree roots and leathery skin much the same colour.

Nish glared at him and after some time Mounce grudgingly added, 'Surr.'

'Tchlrrr, surr,' said the youth, a handsome fellow with skin as black as the pitch they burned in the manufactory furnaces. Frizzy hair stood out around his head like a halo. His nose was a long beak, hooked at the tip, yet it only added to his striking good looks.

'You know where we are going, Mounce?'

'Yeah,' said the sergeant.

'Then ride! Time is precious.'

Taking him at his word, Mounce and Tchlrrr set off at a gallop that soon had Nish grimly hanging on, terrified he was going to fall and forever lose face in their eyes. He managed to stay on until they splashed through the creek, where the soldiers slowed to a more appropriate pace. Nish caught up to Ranii, who sat her horse as if she had been born to it.

'How is your seat?' She smiled behind her hand, enjoying his discomfort.

'A little battered. How long will it take to reach the Aachim camp?'

'We should be there by tomorrow afternoon, unless they've moved since our scouts last reported.' They rode hard all day, by which time Nish's backside was so sore, and his thighs so chafed, that he could scarcely stop from crying out as he rode. In other respects it was a monotonous day. The dry plains of Almadin, and then Rencid, looked the same in every direction. The long grass was brown from the winter, though the first green shoots were now sprouting. The land was treeless except where watercourses, mostly dry, wound their way across the landscape. These were marked by ribbons of tall, white-trunked trees with grey or blue-grey leaves. Where there were no pools, water could be found by digging through the sand.

They were approaching one such watercourse at sunset. 'Are we camping here?' Nish asked hopefully.

'We will do as you order, Marshal Cryl-Nish Hlar,' Mounce replied.

'Please call me Nish,' said Nish. 'What do you think?'

'I am a soldier, Marshal Cryl-Nish Hlar. I don't think.'

Nish's heart sank. No doubt they knew that his dizzying promotion was just a confidence trick.

'If we stop here, will we reach the Aachim camp by mid-afternoon tomorrow?'

'Unlikely, surr.'

'Then we'll press on!'

They raced off. At once the ground seemed rougher, his mount's gait more jouncing, and Nish felt every jolt. Riding even harder, they reached another watercourse just as the light was fading. The sergeant continued through the water and kept going.

'A leader must lead,' said Ranii, at his elbow.

'We camp here!' Nish roared. Attempting to dismount, he fell off his horse as the soldiers wheeled around and came cantering back.

Nish picked himself up, rubbed his throbbing backside and began to unsaddle the horse.

'I'll do that, surr,' said Tchlrrr.

'Help Mounce with the camp,' said Nish. 'I'll take care of my own horse. It's the least I can do since I've been sitting on the poor creature all day.'

'He's a warhorse,' said Mounce. 'He's used to carrying a proper soldier and all his gear. A pipsqueak like you won't trouble him.'

The insult was deliberate and Nish could not pretend he had not heard it. What was he to do?

T HIRTY-THREE

Nish stopped dead and slowly turned around. It had to be done right away. 'Sergeant Mounce, you are broken to the ranks for insolence. Hand me your badge and baton, if you please.'

Mounce looked as if he had run into a tree. His leathery skin went red, then purple. His mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to breathe out of water.