Tetrarch (Well of Echoes) (36 page)

N
ish tried to push him off but the man pinned his shoulders with his knees. Then he tried to knee the ruffian in the groin but was in the wrong position. He kicked and squirmed. It was no good. The huge thumbs dug into his windpipe.

Tossing his head from side to side, he managed to gasp, ‘Please, don’t!’

The man spat in his face. As Nish began to black out, he gave one last, despairing heave. It failed.

There came a nauseating pulpy thud and the man collapsed on top of him, his eyes wide open. Nish choked; the fingers had locked around his neck. He tried to push the fellow off but he was far too heavy. Nish managed to get his fingers under the man’s thumbs and prise them away. Liliwen was on her knees, heaving on one arm. Together they rolled him to one side.

Nish could not stand up. He wiped his face and gasped, ‘Thank you. Are you all right?’

She nodded stiffly, avoiding his eyes.

‘What happened?’

‘I whacked him in the back of the head with your mallet,’ whispered Liliwen. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.’

‘You did well,’ said Nish, clasping her hands in his. ‘You saved my life. No one could have done better, Liliwen.’

Meriwen was sitting up, looking at the other man, who had stopped kicking. Judging by the angle of his head, his neck was broken.

‘They did not harm you?’ Nish asked Meriwen.

‘No,’ she said in the faintest whisper. ‘We’re both all right.’

‘We’d better go,’ said Nish, ‘before they recover.’

‘Yes.’ Liliwen was still staring at her victim.

He was not going to recover either. Liliwen’s blow had crushed his skull and killed him instantly. Nish suspected she knew that. A difficult thing for a twelve-year-old to cope with. Difficult enough for him, for that matter. Nish checked the other ruffian. His neck
was
broken. He, Nish, had killed a man.

‘Come on!’ he said. ‘There may be more of them.’

Nish wiped the bloodstained mallet on the ground when he thought Liliwen was not looking, and led the way back to the road. The girls collected their packs and they kept going all day without stopping. Liliwen did not complain about her blisters. The girls said virtually nothing. As did Nish, though his leg was in agony, his throat was so swollen that every breath hurt, and he was seeing double. He was too caught up with what had happened. He had killed. The fellow had been a villain, certainly, but hadn’t desperation driven him to it? Could he, Nish, end up like that one day?

‘Is it far to Kundizand?’ Nish asked when the day was near its end. He did not want to spend the night out here.

‘Not far,’ said Meriwen.

They turned a corner at dusk and the lights of the town were twinkling ahead of them. They had not seen a lyrinx all day but he could not allow himself to relax until, finally, they reached the gates.

They were passed through without question. The normal checks had been suspended; just to be human was a passport. The town was bursting with people. As well as its normal population of eight thousand, there were at least thirty thousand worn out, desperate refugees. Every bed had been taken long ago. Every street was jammed; people were bedding down in the alleys and everywhere else that was out of the way of direct traffic.

They fought their way through the throngs, Nish keeping close by the twins. It would be easy to lose them and impossible to find them if he did.

‘Where were you to meet your parents?’ he asked.

‘In the town square, by the wind clock.’

The square was an explosion of people – it took a good fifteen minutes to struggle from one side to the other. Eventually they reached the clock, which was striking the hour of seven. Its screw-shaped scarlet sails twirled merrily in the breeze, though down in the square the air was still and stifling. Nish and the girls worked back and forth for an hour without finding anyone the twins recognised.

Liliwen burst into tears. ‘They’re dead, I know it.’

‘Father said he’d be here,’ Meriwen said soothingly. ‘He never breaks his promises, Liliwen. We have to keep looking.’

Nish thought he saw Colm’s sisters, Ketila and Fransi, across the square. He shouted their names but the sound was swallowed up in the din, the crowd closed again and he could not find them.

By the time the clock struck nine, Nish could barely move. ‘We’d better find a place to sleep –’ he began, when a tall woman screamed, pushed through the crowd and threw herself at the girls.

‘Meriwen, Liliwen! Where have you been? We thought we’d lost you.’

Meriwen burst into tears. ‘We went home, Mummy, but you were gone. We were so afraid –’

‘But you did as you were told. Good girls!’ The woman embraced Meriwen, and then Liliwen.

‘Where’s Father?’ Liliwen asked anxiously. ‘Is –’

‘He’s just over there,’ said the woman. ‘Troist!’ she yelled. ‘They’re here!’ Shortly a stocky, handsome man in a lieutenant’s uniform shouldered through the crowd, beaming from ear to ear.

He embraced his daughters, gathered the family up and was shepherding them away when Meriwen said, ‘Wait, Father. I must thank this man –’

Troist spun on his heel, inspecting Nish and evidently not much liking what he saw. ‘Who the blazes are you, fellow?’ he demanded, his lip curling.

‘My name is Cryl-Nish Hlar, surr, and I –’

‘If you have rendered my daughters a service, I thank you for it.’ He reached into his coin pocket.

‘Father,’ said Liliwen, ‘he saved our lives! Two horrible men grabbed us and took us into the forest –’

‘What?’ cried Troist. He spun around to his daughters. ‘Are you all right, girls? They did not harm you? By heavens –’

‘We are untouched,’ said Meriwen calmly. ‘But only because Nish attacked them with his mallet.’

‘Give me their descriptions, man,’ cried Troist. ‘I’ll see they hang for this.’

‘They’re dead,’ Nish said softly. ‘I broke the neck of one of them, and the other your daughter struck down with this mallet when he had his hands around my throat.’ Nish pulled down his collar, revealing the bruised and blackened flesh.

‘The devil!’ cried Troist. ‘I owe you an eternal debt, man. Name it and you shall have it.’

‘I want no payment,’ said Nish, ‘but … I see you are an officer in the army. You may be able to advise me.’

‘Oh?’ Troist said warily.

Nish lowered his voice. ‘It is a matter of the utmost secrecy. I must speak to a senior officer, the master of the city, or a representative of the Council of Scrutators.’

Troist took another look at him. ‘You are not from these parts.’

‘I have come all the way from Einunar.’ Nish said no more. He did not know whom he could trust and the news he carried was a great burden to him.

‘The master of Kundizand is not here,’ said Troist. ‘Neither is any representative of the Council. Perquisitor Unibas was in Nilkerrand when it was attacked and has not been heard of since. We are quite as lost as you are, I’m afraid.’ He shook his head wearily.

‘And the army?’ said Nish.

‘Slain, or scattered to the four posts of the compass. The enemy’s favourite trick is to attack the command tents first with flying lyrinx. I fear that all my senior officers were killed, else there would not be this chaos now. Had I not been on leave I would be dead too.’

Nish turned away in despair. He had no money, no papers, no friends. If he did not get treatment for his leg, he was likely to lose it. He had to trust someone and this fellow had an honest look about him. And you could tell a lot about people from their children. Meriwen and Liliwen were bright, resourceful and well brought up. He turned back to Troist.

‘Then I must trust you, surr. I am in the service of Scrutator Xervish Flydd and carry vital intelligence about the war.’

‘I wondered about your accent. You’d better come with us, Cryl-Nish. We cannot talk of such matters here.’

He introduced Nish to his wife, Yara, who was an advocate. She was a half-head taller than Troist, with a lean, horsy face, big teeth and flared nostrils, though she had an elegant manner. Her dark hair hung in a single plait all the way down her back.

Troist was short and muscular, with a small head capped in sandy curls, a blunt nose and a square jaw. His eyes were blue, his shoulders broad, his fingers thick and blunt. He exuded capability.

It took an hour to force their way through the crowds to their inn, though it was only a few blocks away. Cramped and musty, their room was considerably better than the hovel Nish had last slept in. He lay on the floor with his head in his hands and could scarcely believe that he had survived.

There was no possibility of a bath, for the overcrowding had exacerbated a water shortage, but Yara announced that dinner was on its way. Shortly a skinny lad staggered in under a laden tray. The smell made Nish drool. He had not had a proper meal since leaving the manufactory a month ago, and this smelt better than anything he had eaten there.

The girls told their story over dinner, then Nish his, leaving out only such details about the amplimet and the Aachim invasion as might be considered strategic information. These he would reveal after the children were asleep.

‘So, your father is Perquisitor Jal-Nish Hlar?’ said Troist.

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

‘No, but I’ve heard much about him. Hmn.’

What did that mean? Nish’s father had a lot of enemies.

Troist questioned Nish in detail about his father. No one could be too careful, for the enemy had been surprisingly successful at recruiting spies and impostors. Finally he seemed satisfied, whereupon Yara began, for she had travelled to Tiksi a good few years ago. Nish must have answered to her satisfaction, for she made a sign to her husband, to which Troist nodded. He glanced across to where the twins were curled up together on the small bed asleep.

‘Well, Cryl-Nish,’ said Troist, ‘your tale astounds me, and that doesn’t happen often. It was a happy day when you ran into our daughters on the road, and I will never forget your service.’

‘Thank you, surr. If I may, I will tell you the rest of it, for I’m deathly tired and my head still throbs from the blows I took.’

‘Does it?’ said Yara, coming up close with her candle. She checked his skull with long cool fingers, turned his head from side to side and looked into his eyes. ‘I don’t think there’s any damage, apart from a minor concussion. I’ll mix a potion for you.’

While she was busy, Nish told Troist about the amplimet, what he knew of Tiaan’s geomantic abilities, and all she had done at Tirthrax.

‘There has been rumour of an enormous fleet of craft, that resemble clankers, coming over the mountains from the west,’ said Troist. ‘No doubt our leaders have the scrutator’s despatches, though no news has come down to me. But of course I am only a junior officer.’

‘Though a brilliant one,’ said Yara, handing Nish a mug. ‘Drink this.’

Troist bowed in her direction. ‘Yara is the genius of the family,’ he said. ‘She will be Advocate-General one day. I am merely diligent and hard-working.’

‘Pfft!’ said Yara, attending Nish’s leg. ‘You will be commander of all our forces before the children are grown.’

‘I would like to be,’ said Troist. ‘I make no secret of that. But neither hard work nor good connections are enough. One must also have the good fortune to be where it matters, and the ability to seize the opportunity when it comes.’

‘And win it!’ said Yara.

‘Perhaps we can help each other,’ said Nish.

‘Perhaps,’ Troist said in a non-committal way. ‘What is it you want, Cryl-Nish?’

‘Since I lack the means to go home, I must do my best for the war, and for myself, here. As you know, I am an artificer by trade and have seen combat with the enemy. And with my knowledge of the Aachim constructs, I may be able to help plan to defeat them, should it come to war.’ That was a faint hope, since he had seen them only at a distance, but it was the one advantage he had.

‘Indeed,’ said Troist, who seemed to be thinking fast. ‘And what can I do for you?’

‘Take me on as your adjutant.’

‘Only the commander has an adjutant,’ said Troist, looking to Yara as if seeking her advice. She was a cool, reserved woman except with her family. It would be hard to fool her. But Yara nodded, almost imperceptibly.

‘Tactical assistant, then. Call it what you will. I would like to make my career in the army, by your side. Can this be done?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Troist. ‘You are well spoken, well connected, and you have valuable experience. I will see about it as soon as we rejoin my unit. That, unfortunately, could be more difficult than you might think.’

‘Why is that, surr?’ asked Nish.

‘The defeated army has been scattered. I hope enough have survived to make a small fighting force, but first I must find them. I am leaving in the morning. You may come with me.’

They slipped out of town the following morning, heading east. Nish had expected it would just be himself and Troist, but the family accompanied him, along with five soldiers discovered among the refugees. They were all mounted. Nish had no idea where the horses came from but it spoke considerably of Troist that he had been able to obtain them in such chaos.

Troist was busy all day, despatching his troops one way or another, conferring with new soldiers who appeared out of the dust, some mounted, armed and ready for war, others footsore, worn out and weaponless. Nish tried to keep up but it was a long time since he had sat on a horse and his head still throbbed. Finally, catching him deathly pale and swaying in the saddle, Troist said curtly, ‘Your place is back at the camp. I’ll see you tonight.’

It was not a reprimand, though it felt like one. Nonetheless, Nish was glad to return. The camp was hidden in a scrubby gully scarcely visible from a distance. Three soldiers stood guard. Yara was working in an infirmary tent which already had half a dozen casualties in it, and more coming in all the time. Meriwen and Liliwen cleaned wounds and applied bandages. Clearly it was not the first time they had done it. Everything looked efficient and well-organised, though there was much worried talk about their lack of supplies and weapons. Nish lay in a corner, closed his eyes and fell asleep.