‘I must come,’ Minis cried. ‘You cannot leave me behind.’
Tirior smoothed her scroll again, and for an instant a secret smile played on her full lips. Nish noted it, and wondered. Tirior, it seemed, would not be displeased to see the end of First Clan. But was there more to it? He could almost see her manipulating Minis. What else had she done? Could she have made the gate go wrong? Did the clans hate each other that much?
‘If you insist, I cannot prevent it. But you must state, in front of two witnesses not of my clan, that you have rejected my advice. And what your intention is.’
Witnesses were called. Tirior formally told Minis that she would not take him into Snizort. Minis just as formally insisted that he was going, and that because of his rank she could not refuse him. The witnesses recorded the statements and took them away, and again there came that satisfied smile.
‘We will take my construct,’ said Tirior. ‘It is … more suited to the task.’
‘Why is that?’ Nish asked, ever curious.
‘It’s … well, you will see.’
The construct, barely half the size of Minis’s, made hardly any noise. Even inside, Nish could scarcely hear it. As Tirior touched the controller, a panel in front of them, that Nish had thought was solid metal, became transparent. Outside he could see the lights of battle, a blaze off to their left and others to the right.
Tirior turned a coin-sized dial. The front of the machine, visible see through the transparent panel, faded from sight. Even the reflections of the flames disappeared. Nish gaped.
‘I use it on … covert missions,’ she said.
‘So you’re a spy! Just like I was, once.’
‘If you like.’ Her distaste for the word was evident.
‘Are you planning to drive through the front gate?’
‘The concealment is not that perfect. It serves on a dark night, as long as the lyrinx don’t come too close, but it can still be seen in bright light.’
‘What are you going to do?’ said Nish.
‘Take your cue from Minis, who just listens,’ she snapped. ‘I have spent much time circling Snizort, watching what the enemy do. I know their secret places.’
They slid through the dark, between patches of stunted trees and clusters of boulders, for more than an hour. They seemed to be heading away from Snizort. Finally Tirior drew up some distance from a boulder-topped hill.
‘The lyrinx have a number of secret tunnels out of Snizort and we have surely not found them all. This exit is more than a league from the walls.’ She stopped, looking out. ‘Keep watch on the hilltop.’ Tirior put a spiralling metal cap on her head and stared at the shifting patterns on the green glass.
Nish could see nothing but a group of pale boulders, some considerably larger than the construct, between which grew twisted trees. Beside him, Minis was as tense as wire. The scene did not change in the next hour, though the noise of battle, a dull roar in the background, grew louder.
‘That’ll be our assault on the far side,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t –’
‘Shh!’ She punched him on the shoulder.
A lyrinx appeared between the boulders as if it had materialised from the air. Another one followed, carrying something between it and a third. They slipped across the open space into the trees.
‘Minis?’ Tirior said.
Minis had his ear to a funnel-shaped implement. ‘They’re heading away to the south-west. There were only those three.’
‘Can you hear them with that?’ Nish asked.
‘I can feel their footsteps.’
They waited. Tirior was watching the movement of lines upon the glass.
‘What is it?’ said Nish.
‘They have sentinels – of a sort I’m not sure how to deal with.’
‘Sentinels?’
‘Patterned devices that sense the aura of the Art and set off an alarm. They never sleep; never fail. Nothing of the Art can get past them.’
Nish asked no more questions.
‘Minis?’ said Tirior, ‘would you go below and bring up the packet on the bench?’
He did so. She handed it to Nish. ‘A chance to prove yourself. See that smaller rock, the seventh in from the left-hand side, low down?’
‘Er … The round one that’s narrower underneath?’
‘Yes. It’s a sentinel. Go up onto the hill and approach it from above, quietly. Unwrap the package before you get there. It contains a net lined with gold foil. Be careful you don’t tear it. Slip the net over the sentinel from above and pull it all the way to the ground, leaving no gaps. Then crush this with your fingers and push it under.’ She pressed something like a small egg into his hand. ‘When I signal, bring back the net and the foil. We may need to use it again.’
‘Why me?’
‘You bear no trace of the Art.’
‘What if there are lyrinx sentries?’
‘They’ll eat you and I’ll have to find another way, which will vex me. Get moving.’
The unpleasant part was, he felt sure she was telling the truth. Nish crept across the dry grass, which crackled alarmingly. His passage was even noisier as he moved up the hill, for the ground was littered with crunchy bark and dry sticks. The piled boulders above would make a perfect place for an ambush.
As he reached the lowest boulder a whiff of something came to him – something strongly, muskily animal. Lyrinx. He froze against the rock, head cocked to one side. A breeze stirred the treetops; just a whisper. There was no other sound. The creature, or creatures, could be anywhere. They could probably smell him. And he was unarmed.
But Minis had said they were all gone. He must just be smelling the scent left behind, or from the hole they’d come out of. He waited another minute but heard and smelt nothing more.
Tirior would be getting impatient. Nish had one foot in the air when something thumped onto one of the higher boulders further around the hill. It was definitely a lyrinx – he heard the squeal of its claws against the rock.
Another joined it, followed by three more thumps. Nish did not dare to breathe. Even the most cursory search must find him. There was a mutter in the lyrinx tongue and the unmistakable flap of leather wings unfolding. Thup-thup, thup-thup. A lyrinx passed across the sky, and another beside it. They were carrying something between them, suspended in a net. It looked like a long box.
They disappeared into the dark. After a moment’s silence the others moved out, one by one. All wore bulky packs. They looked around, then headed down the hill, going west.
Nish counted to five hundred, and even then felt anxious. He had no way to tell if more were coming but the risk had to be taken. He went up among the boulders, unfolded the net carefully and crept toward the sentinel. It looked very rock-like. He studied it closely. It was a rock – he was looking at the wrong one.
He found the sentinel. Holding out the net, he tiptoed towards it, whipped the net over and pressed it down. The sentinel did not move, of course. It was not alive, strictly speaking.
Taking the other object from his pocket, he crushed it in his fingers. A nauseating stench wisped out, like the rottenest of rotten eggs, and something slimy clung to his fingers. Nish thrust the mess under the net and held it down. He wiped his fingers repeatedly but could not get rid of the smell.
What now? Tirior was supposed to signal. He climbed onto a rock, looking in the direction of the hidden construct. Nothing. He got down again. The sentinel seemed to be collapsing. Nish was watching it, wondering what to do, when he was seized by the arm. He struggled desperately to get free.
‘It’s me, Minis,’ Minis hissed. ‘Why are you waiting here? Come on.’
‘I thought you said they were all gone,’ Nish grumbled as they went back to the construct.
‘I thought they were. Hurry up.’