Alchymist

'What do you require in return?'

'I require nothing,' he said, surprising her.

'Nothing?' He'd certainly changed from the single-minded Yggur of old, who had measured his debts to the last copper grint, and expected those who owed him to be equally exacting.

'You know what I want – the use of your thapter – but given freely. I would not make things worse by coming between you and your own kind..' 'We are already sundered,' said Malien, quaffing her wine.

'Vithis has declared clan-vengeance against Tiaan, for injuries done to his son during her escape. Since I helped her get away from Stassor, it applies equally to me.' In response to his quizzical glance, she told that tale.

'Astounding,' said Yggur at the end of it. 'And Tiaan is just a slip of a woman. Who would have thought she could do such marvels?'

'Other slips have,' Malien said dryly, 'going all the way back to my distant ancestor, Elienor. Not all heroes are big, sword-waving louts. Or tall, dark, wand-waving mancers, for that matter.'

'I forget the very Histories I've lived through.' He stared into the fire, remembering ancient days, but some thought must have caused him pain for he put his hands over his face, breathing heavily.

'Since I am exiled,' said Malien, 'no act of mine can further reflect on the Aachim. Therefore I offer my thapter to you, freely and unencumbered. Better yet, I will come with you to Nennifer. There may be a need for my talents.'

He did not react at once. Yggur rocked on his chair, then shook off his malaise and stood up. Malien did too.

'Thank you,' he said, bowing from the waist. 'You give me new hope. Shall we go back and plan the attack?'

'Walls have ears, even those as solid as your own. Let's keep the details to those who need to know, at least until we've lifted away from here.'

'Very wise,' he said. 'Just you, me and Xervish Flydd, then. We'll be on our way with the utmost speed. Who knows but Gilhaelith may find a way to reveal our secret, in time.'

'It feels as though we've gone back to last year,' Nish said to Irisis the following evening. 'Tiaan turns up and suddenly we're not trusted any more.'

Yesterday's meeting had been cancelled and they had been set to packing supplies and weapons and stowing them in the thapter, along with ropes, climbing irons, armour, tents and alpine sleeping pouches, and the myriad other things on Flydd's lists that they would need for an assault on the most closely guarded fortress in the known world.

'You're just feeling guilty for the way you treated her before,' said Irisis.

'I own it. I behaved shabbily to her. And so did you.'

Irisis shrugged. 'I've never denied it, but guilt isn't one of my afflictions.' That wasn't entirely true, but she didn't suffer from it the way Nish did. He was still having trouble coming to terms with Tiaan being here and, not knowing what to say, avoided her whenever possible. 'I can see why they'd want to keep it secret.'

Despite her words, she felt aggrieved at being left out. She'd helped to carry the crated and sealed items from Yggur's storeroom. They had to do with the Art, and with controllers too, and therefore came within her province, but she could discover nothing about what was inside, or what they were to be used for.

The attack would consist of Yggur, Flydd, Malien, Fyn-Mah, Inouye, Flangers, Nish, Irisis and Tiaan, plus three of Yggur's most experienced soldiers. They were leaving tomorrow afternoon, but had been told nothing more.

'It'll have to be one hell of a clever plan,' Nish persisted. 'The twelve of us against two thousand soldiers, hundreds of mancers, and everyone else in Nennifer.'

'Or a suicidal one,' said Irisis. 'If we fail, as seems likely, it'll be the end of any effective resistance in Lauralin.'

'That'll no longer be our worry.'

'Or our friends' or relatives',' she reminded him. 'The scrutators will destroy them all, down to the fourth cousins.'

He contemplated that in silence. 'And if we win, we'll have the Numinator after us.'

'I wish you hadn't mentioned that.'

'I wish I hadn't thought of it.'

'I dare say they'll tell us the plan on the way,' said Irisis. 'It'll take quite a few days to fly to Nennifer, so there'll be plenty of time for detailed planning. Better get a good night's sleep. It'll be your last in a proper bed for a while.'

Sixty

The months had gone by slowly in the bastion of Nennifer, set in a highland where summer was short and cold, winter long and bitter and, in the shadow of towering mountains on all sides, it had not rained in twenty years. The ground was a barren grit less than the depth of Ullii's thumb, covered in black stones so smooth and shiny they appeared to have been melted in a furnace. Nothing grew there, save in the valleys where moisture from summer snowmelt supported the pastures, gardens and fish ponds that supplied Nennifer. Even the tallest mountains bore little snow, for higher ranges lay in every direction. The utter, uncompromising aridity suited the bleak souls of the scrutators.

Ullii hated Nennifer with all her angry little heart. There was nothing of beauty in the whole vast building, and little kindness either. The people who laboured there, whether mancers, artisans, artificers or common servants, were all of a type – cold, mechanical and closed off from their fellows. In all her time in the scrutators' citadel, Ullii saw no love, little passion save for their grim work, and precious little generosity or selflessness, just a desperate efficiency driven by terror. Everyone lived in fear of their superiors, and they of theirs, all the way up to the scrutators. And even the Council members, those who had not remained in Lybing to direct the war, kept one eye out for their dark and deadly chieftain.

Of all the people in Nennifer, Ullii was the only one who had any kind of freedom. Ghorr had tried to study and school her lattice-twisting talent, to understand how she had done such marvels in her previous escape with Irisis. Despite much labour and cunningly conceived punishments, it had proved an abject failure. Ullii could neither explain nor duplicate what she had previously done in extremis. Finally Ghorr passed the problem to his cleverest mancers and let her be. He had another use for Ullii and could not afford to damage her. Not yet.

He barely spoke to her for months afterwards, for she was too far beneath him to be worthy of his time. Ghorr was busy forging a mighty battle fleet, not to attack the enemy but to hunt Flydd to his refuge, whether in Meldorin or elsewhere, and to expunge him from the earth.

Though she was allowed outside, Ullii seldom went into the barrens. She loved nature in a romantic, idealised way, but there was no nature here, just cold desert. And as the seasons turned towards winter the land grew ever colder, windier and bleaker.

Once, Ullii's life of the mind had been all she'd needed, but the events of the past year had broken that mould. Other realities kept butting in, and other memories. Of Nish making love to her that day in the balloon basket, after she had driven off the nylatl. Of the nylatl attacking him again, after Scrutator Flydd had appeared in the air-floater. And her terror as Nish had blown the creature to bits with the flask of tar spirits, then been carried out of her life on what had been left of the balloon.

Something had died in her then – she'd seen it as an abandonment. For months Ullii had been sure that Nish was dead. When she finally found him again, at Snizort, he seemed to have forgotten her.

No matter how much she dwelt upon his previous kindnesses, Ullii kept coming back to that, and to the deaths of Mylii and Yllii. She blamed Nish for both and it constantly recharged her rage. She might be little and weak, but there was one thing she could do – take just retribution for her lost brother and son. It was all that kept her going.

Finally, in late autumn, the great battle fleet was ready. Ullii knew Ghorr was building one, but had no idea what form it would take. She had seen, in her lattice, the slow creation of all sorts of unpleasant machines and devices of war, but the testing had taken place in a vast walled yard. Only those who had business there were admitted through its guarded gates. Everything had been planned to perfection. An army of clerks had checked the lists and made sure nothing that could possibly be required was left behind. Another small group of mancers and officers had been appointed to take every plan apart, to look at all the ways it could fail, and develop contingency plans for when it did.