Yggur cleared his throat and Nish realised that he’d stopped in the doorway, lost in his thoughts. Malien was beckoning him – he was late.
‘We have to decide today, now,’ she said in a low voice, once Nish was seated and the door sealed, ‘whether to go through with the attack on Nennifer. If we are to go, it must be now or not at all. Gilhaelith knew of our plan, and while I don’t think he would betray it deliberately, we can’t rely on it remaining a secret.’ She inclined her head towards Klarm.
The dwarf scrutator was sitting on the edge of the table with his legs dangling, toying with an enormous goblet of Yggur’s finest purple wine, for which he had a capacity entirely out of keeping with his small stature. He took a hearty swig, rubbed a trickle of wine off his chin, leaving a mark like a purple bruise, and nodded. ‘Aye. Now or never.’
‘What news of Flydd?’ said Yggur, scowling at the dwarf. Hospitality demanded that he offer wine with meals but, being a man of modest and constrained appetites himself, Klarm’s indulgence and sheer gusto aroused his ire. ‘It was his plan and I don’t see how we can succeed without him.’
‘The healers have wielded their Arts as only they can,’ said Klarm, setting down his goblet with a sigh of contentment. He took pleasure in provoking stern, conservative Yggur and in another frame of mind Nish would have been amused by it. ‘The damage to his body will heal after a fashion …’ Klarm trailed off, as reluctant as everyone else to talk about the true nature of Flydd’s injuries. The matter was too private and personal – as if, by talking about what had been done to his body, they were taking the flaying blades to his soul.
‘But the scars carved into his psyche may not?’ said Malien.
‘He won’t be the man he once was,’ said Klarm, not meeting her eye.
What did he mean by that? Nish thought. That Flydd would no longer be a man at all? Just what had the torturers done to him? No one would say.
Yggur rose and paced the length of the room, limping badly today. The blisters on his face and arms had disappeared but he was covered with dead, flaking skin. He rubbed at an arm and flakes rose on a current of warm air from the fire. ‘Can we do it without him?’
‘I’m not sure we can,’ said Malien. ‘The plan relied on Flydd’s knowledge of Nennifer, gained from working there for many years.’
‘I dwelt there for a good while,’ said Klarm, ‘and had charge of its security. I know Nennifer as well as any man, so if his plan relied on a flaw in the defences –’
‘We don’t know if it did or not,’ said Yggur. ‘We planned to talk about that on the way, to ensure that there was no chance of the secret being revealed. But Flydd was sure he could get us in.’
‘Fusshte will soon be as strong as Ghorr was,’ said Irisis, ‘and he’s even more cunning and treacherous, but he can’t win the war either. We have no choice, Yggur. The Council must be brought down without delay. If Flydd’s incapable, we’ll have to work out a plan with Klarm.’
‘I can’t say I’d be confident of the outcome without Flydd,’ said Yggur, ‘but I agree we have to try.’
‘When?’ said Klarm.
‘Our equipment and supplies haven’t been touched,’ said Malien. ‘It will only take hours to load them into the thapter and make ready for departure. We could go tomorrow afternoon if you wanted to.’
‘Let’s give Flydd a few days,’ said Yggur. ‘I’ll talk to the healers again. If fortune is on our side, he’ll be on the road to recovery by then.’
‘Fortune is a chancy beast,’ said Klarm. ‘I can’t say I’ve seen many of her smiles this past year.’
In the event, Flydd had emerged from the healers’ coma the day after the meeting and insisted on coming. He stated that he would be ready to go in two days’ time, curtly overrode the healers when they’d protested, and had not spoken a word since. He’d turned away all visitors, even Yggur. There was much speculation about his state of mind and health, though not even Irisis, normally so adept at ferreting out secrets, could glean anything from the healers.
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this trip,’ Nish said to Irisis the night before they were due to depart. They were checking the supplies yet again. ‘How can he be in any state to go?’
‘He’s a tough old coot,’ said Irisis, who had been unusually quiet lately.
She’d hardly spoken to him since he’d come back from burying Ullii, though Nish often caught her giving him cool, assessing glances. She was much more reserved than previously and he couldn’t fathom why. He’d expected that, after all he’d done to save her and everyone else, she would have been more grateful, and he felt a little hurt.
‘From what I saw on the first day –’ Nish began.
‘I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind,’ snapped Irisis. ‘If Flydd doesn’t want us to know, we should respect his wishes and mind our own business.’ She went out, keeping her back to him the whole time.
Nish stared after her, uncomprehending. Surely, on such a desperate mission, Flydd’s health, mental and physical, was their business?
The chief healer, Evee, insisted on accompanying Flydd and no one could dissuade her, which meant that the thapter no longer had room enough to carry everyone. On a long journey it could accommodate fourteen in considerable discomfort but with Flangers and six soldiers, and Klarm and Evee, they were now sixteen. And Evee’s supplies took up a lot of space.
The problem was solved by leaving Fyn-Mah behind to take charge of Fiz Gorgo, and by throwing together a dirigible sled to carry their gear and supplies. It was a small, semi-rigid air-floater with a cabin on the underside, which they planned to tow behind the thapter. It would greatly reduce the thapter’s manoeuvrability as well as slowing it, and was bound to make it cumbersome to take off and land, but they could see no other solution. And because it used the controller from Inouye’s air-floater, she would have no trouble coping.
And all the preparations had to be done in the utmost secrecy. Yggur had taken the precaution of caging up his skeets and sending them on a sea voyage, to be sure that no one could send a message to Nennifer after they’d gone. The name had never been mentioned in front of the soldiers and servants; in fact, the attack itself had never been discussed. As far as everyone in Fiz Gorgo knew, they were simply going on a long trip. Nonetheless, it was impossible to be too careful.
A week after Ghorr’s attack on Fiz Gorgo, on a windy, miserable autumn morning with sleet spitting at them from the west, all was ready. They assembled in the yard, waiting for Xervish Flydd.
They stood there for more than an hour, stamping their feet in a vain attempt to keep them warm, and blowing into their gloves. Finally even Yggur, who had been a model of patience ever since Flydd’s injury had been revealed, was driven to say, ‘Where the devil is the fellow?’
Shortly Flydd appeared, supporting himself on the shoulders of Evee and Fyn-Mah, and walking in a wretched grimacing shuffle. His skin was completely bloodless and with each halting step every muscle in his face shivered as he tried to prevent himself from crying out in agony.
Nish couldn’t bear to see the scrutator, who had once seemed to carry the whole of Santhenar on his scrawny shoulders, reduced to such emotional penury. ‘Surr!’ he cried, and ran across the yard to offer his arm.
As he approached, the scrutator wrenched back some control over himself and with a supreme effort shook off the pain, or at least drew it into himself. He stood up straight as Nish, realising belatedly what a blunder he’d made, stumbled to a halt in front of him. But he and Flydd had been through much together; they’d been comrades in the desperate times after the fall of Snizort, and surely Flydd would understand. Nish tried to make the best of it.