Nish's mouth snapped closed. Was Flydd just being perverse, or was he trying to tell Nish something? To have confidence in himself? He pulled his horse away, cantered around in a circle and pulled up beside him again. Taking a deep breath, he said, 'I want to help you, surr. To bring down the Council of Scrutators and create a new order that truly serves the people of Santhenar. And then, to defeat the enemy.'

Flydd pulled up his nag. The sun shone on his cheek, outlining every gouge and scar, every hump and hollow from the scrutators' torment. 'Anything else you want to achieve this afternoon?'

'That's all, surr.'

Flydd considered him for a long time. 'You realise that what you have just uttered is treason of the direst complexion. Should the Council take you, and surely they will, they'll make you suffer far longer, and more horribly, than ever they made me.'

Nish knew it, and dreaded it. And, to be realistic, they probably would take him. They had the resources of a world to fight their enemies. All Nish had was his wits. 'If we lack the courage to oppose tyranny, surr, we don't deserve freedom.'

The scrutator regarded him, head to one side. 'Well spoken, lad. Had you made this offer at any time before your deeds of yesterday, I would have refused you. Willingness is not enough. But you've gone through the furnace and come out again, reforged. We'll oppose these vicious tyrants and overthrow them or, more likely, die in the attempt.'

He held out his hand. Nish took it. Flydd groped for the silver flask in his saddlebags and tossed it to Nish. Popping the cap, Nish raised the flask high. 'To victory!' he said, over-dramatically. He took a healthy swig and almost fell off his horse.

Flydd snatched the flask, which was spilling its precious contents everywhere. 'And to the scrutators' chief torturer -may we spend little time in her company.' Draining the flask, he kicked his horse into a gallop.

That was not the end of the fighting, though it was not on the same scale as before. The lyrinx attacked every night, shooting from a distance with captured javelards and catapults. The troops became used to building defensive camps, with their clankers on the outside and rows of bonfires all around. It kept them alive, but they took losses, and every day their supplies dwindled.

'We can't last much longer' said Troist, on the third night after the battle. Travel had been painfully slow, for the field was still depleted and they had not reached a better one. They were camped just half a day's march from Gnulp Landing, once a rich fishing and trading city, but these days an outpost brutally exposed to enemy raids.

'How many are we now?' asked Nish. More soldiers had joined them on the way, survivors from the other side of the river, who had lost everything.

Twelve thousand of my army,' said Troist, 'plus another eleven thousand of Jal-Nish's, though many are injured. I dare say more stragglers will come in. Were we able to go back we might find most of them. And we have the best part of two thousand clankers, though some are in poor condition. A sizeable force, though considering . . .' He looked away into the night.

Considering Jal-Nish started with forty thousand soldiers, Nish thought. And only weeks before that, when the battle for Snizort began, sixty thousand. A disaster indeed, no matter how much damage had been done to the enemy.

'But we've only a week's supplies,' said the scrutator, 'and even that will require a good bit of eking.'

'What are your orders, surr?' said Troist. 'If you require us to stand and fight, we'll do it, though in the end we must all die.'

'The loss of one army is going to be disastrous for morale' said Flydd. "To lose two would be catastrophic. We must survive to fight again, and show our people that we can still win.'

'We did far better than expected against so many,' said Nish. 'These lyrinx were not much more formidable than men. Previously, one lyrinx was the equal of two or three of our troops. Why the difference? Is it because they were stone-formed.'

'I don't know,' said Flydd.

And your orders, surr?' Troist persisted.

'I see no choice but to head for Gnulp and beg them to take us in,' said the scrutator.

'My thought too,' Troist replied, 'but even if they do, it only postpones the problem.'

'Why wouldn't they?' asked Nish. 'Where would they be without the army to protect them?'

'The master of the city might ask what good an army is if it can't even protect itself? He might say it's bringing trouble that they didn't have before.'

'Either we die outside the gates,' said Troist, 'or within.'

'I'll go to Gnulp,' said Flydd, 'and meet with the master in the morning. Be sure you're camped by the gates at dawn, General. It'll make it harder to refuse us. Nish,, come with me.'

They rode for several hours on a road illuminated by the moon, stopping just around the corner from the city gates. They could smell the salt sea and hear waves bursting over the breakwaters.

I hope you've got some kind of plan,' said Nish.

'For once, I haven't. Let's climb the hill and get an idea of the layout.'

Don't you know this place?' Nish was surprised. 'I thought you'd been everywhere in the world.'

I've been many places, but Gnulp Landing isn't one of them.'

They rode up a winding path to the crest of a steep hill armoured with flat, slanting black outcrops like the serrations down the spine of a chacalot, the water-dwelling reptile that even the lyrinx feared. At the top stood a ruined watch-tower, its black stones coated with lichen that shone like silver mancing glyphs in the moonlight.

Don't they keep the watch here?' said Nish. Look up,' said the scrutator.

In the light and shadow of the moon, the city was bleakly menacing. A double wall ran around it, thick and high, inside which stood three guard towers, tall enough to defend the wall but not close enough to be attacked readily from it. The defences were massive and designed with lyrinx in mind. Every flat surface was covered in long metal spikes, protection against attack from the air. The harbour was formed by two breakwaters curving into the racing waters of the Sea of Thurkad. Inside that oval, wharves and jetties had been built out from the shore, and all were occupied. Nish counted a hundred and fifty ships at anchor.

How have they survived so long, so close to the enemy?' he wondered.

By exploiting the lyrinx's fear of water. The city is easily defended from the shore, and the air, and the lyrinx are not going to attack from the water side. Perhaps they've decided that there are easier targets. Wait here - I think I'll go in alone, after all.'

The master of the city took them in grudgingly. Twenty-three thousand men would be a tremendous strain on his stores but he dared not incur the wrath of the scrutators, much less a man leading such a powerful army.

Despite the overcrowded barracks and indifferent food, Nish enjoyed the first few days in Gnulp Landing. It was a relief not to have the grinding squeal of the clankers in his ears; not to wear armour and weapons day and night. He even managed to put Ullii and Mylii, and all the dead, out of his mind for a while. He'd used his initiative, pushed himself to the very limit of his abilities, and had succeeded. He felt good about himself for once.

The lyrinx attacked on the second night and the following nights, and every day the master of the city grew colder.

'I curse the day I opened the gates to you, Scrutator Flydd,'1 he said on the fifth morning. 'Your soldiers are eating their heads off and my precious stores are dwindling. Were I not an honourable man, I would put you out tomorrow.'

His dark eyes had the lustre of a toad's; Nish imagined him spitting poison at them.

'But of course, you are an honourable man,' Flydd said smoothly, 'and the Council of Scrutators appreciates that. Be certain of their generosity to those who demonstrate their loyalty.' His eyes flicked sideways at Nish. Never trust a man who makes a point of his honour, he seemed to be saying.

Nish did not trust the master an ell. A man who counted the cost of everything and valued nothing that he could not price, Nish had met many like him in his days as a merchant's scribe. The master couldn't work out how Flydd fitted into the scheme of things. He must have heard about his fall, yet here he was at the head of an army, which obeyed him as if he were its rightful commander. But should the Council confirm Flydd's dismissal, as in time they must, the master would put them out of the gates in an instant.

'The scrutators begrudge every copper grint' said the master. 'I'm feeding your troops out of my own pocket, Scrutator, and it's not bottomless. Another week will bank-rupt me, and we have a hard winter ahead of us. After today, you'll get nothing until I see your gold.'

'You'll get your due,' said Flydd with another significant glance at Nish. He rose. And now I must attend to another pressing problem. We'll talk further on this matter.'

'We will indeed,' hissed the master.

'Bloody old hypocrite,' Flydd said when the door had closed behind them. 'It's not his food we're eating, nor is he paying for it though he's already doubled the price of meat and grain from his storehouses. He's gouging every grint out of the people and blaming us.'

'What are you going to do?' 'Go down to the waterfront. I've an idea.'

Nish waited outside while Flydd spoke to one sea captain, then another. After the second visit the scrutator emerged, smiling. 'I think it may work after all.'

'What?'

I'm going to hire an armada to get us out of here.' There's twenty thousand of us! More.' I'm sending the clankers back east to Lybing, packed with soldiers and the injured. If we can put a hundred on each boat, the hundred and fifty boats in port will be enough to carry the remainder.' 'Some are only fishing boats.' 'And others are traders that can sail all the way to Crandor and the North Seas. It's the only way, Nish.' 'Where do you plan to go?'

'Into the Karama Malama, then south-east to Hardlar. The lyrinx seldom strike that far south. From there we'll march north to Borgistry.' 'The Karama Malama is a dangerous sea, isn't it?'

'It can be, in the stormy season.'

'Isn't that right now?'

'Er, yes. But it's not as dangerous as staying here.'

'I dare say the master will be pleased.'

'He'll be furious, which will please me.'

'Furious? Why?'

'He wants our gold more than he wants rid of us, and nothing could give me more pleasure than to deprive him of it. The sea captains think the same. They've all been robbed by him, at one time or another.'

'So they'll be happy to take us?'

'Delighted, though they'll charge the best part of Jal-Nish's war chest to do so. They know desperate men when they see them.'

'When are we going?'

'We load in the morning, as soon as it's light. It'll take two days. Better get ready. You're in charge.'

'Me?'

'Yes, you.'

Thirty-six.

As if they knew what was being planned, the lyrinx attacked from the air that night, dropping rocks on the storehouses and granaries near the port. The defenders were ready, driving the enemy off with a hail of arrows. The next time they attacked, half an hour later, the lyrinx kept higher, The missiles had further to fall and did greater damage, but not a single lyrinx fell.

Nish was at the docks well before dawn, with his list of squads and the vessels they were to embark upon. No one was to move before Flydd gave the word. The clankers, bearing their load of soldiers and injured men, were going to leave at dawn and head east. Twenty leagues inland they would be out of danger, now that Snizort was no more.

A windstorm had come up in the night, with spitting rain and wild gusts that would have made it difficult for the lyrinx to stay aloft. Nish hoped it would abate during the day; it would mean hard sailing for the small vessels and there was little shelter in the narrow waterway.

A messenger came running in. 'Go!' he said, and that was all.

Nish felt a vibration in his head, nearly two thousand clankers drawing on the field at once. The vaguely dizzy, sick feeling faded though it did not pass completely. He supposed it had something to do with touching the tears, all those days ago, and it reminded Nish of his father. For all that the man had become a monster, Nish grieved for his loss. Still, it was for the best. Jal-Nish's suffering was over now.

All day he spent at the waterfront with his lists and schedules, making sure the squads were loaded onto the right vessels. Not until a good half of them had embarked, around two in the afternoon, did any word come from the scrutator. It was the same messenger, and he said the same word again, 'Go!'

Eighty captains opened their sealed orders, their vessels weighed anchor and sailed into the gale, which had intensified during the day. It was blowing directly from the north. Had it been southerly they could not have gone at all, for there was no room for tacking in the narrow sea.

The remaining vessels continued loading all night in driving rain, and an hour after dawn the work was complete. The gangplanks were drawn up. Flydd should have been here hours ago but there was no sign of him.

Nish stood at the rail, hood angled to keep out the worst of the rain, though inevitably much found a way in. Water trickled down his neck. Where was Flydd?

Two hours after dawn the messenger appeared, gave the message a third time, 'Go!' and climbed aboard the neighbouring ship. Nish signalled to the remaining vessels, all save his own. One by one they weighed anchor, pulled themselves out through the breakwater, heeled over in the wind and disappeared south.

Nish watched them go, uneasy. The sea was covered with whitecaps and the air full of blown spume; the gale looked like turning into a full-blown storm. He'd travelled by ship on several occasions and had been seasick each time, but never had he sailed in conditions like this. Next to suffocation in a lightless pit, drowning was the death he feared most.

Fingering his black sword in its sheath, he wondered what to do. Should he try to find out what had happened to the scrutator? He paced another hour; two; three. Flydd did not come. Nish was tempted to go looking for him, though Flydd had given strict orders to remain here. Surely Flydd had gone to see the master, and perhaps the master had not been pleased about the loss of all that coin.

Succumbing to a mad impulse, Nish said to the captain, 'Don't go without me. There's double the gold in it for you,' and raced down the gangplank.

It was a good fifteen minutes' run to the master's mansion and his knee and ankle were troubling him long before he got there. The great brass doors were closed and the door warden would hardly open them for a junior officer in an army that had been eating its head off at the master's expense. On the other hand, the fellow on morning duty now might not have seen him before, so if he could pull it off. . . Nish was not sure he dared. How could one man beat the master of a city and all his guards? But he had cast his lot with the scrutator; he could not fail now.

Drawing his sword, Nish rapped three times on the door with the silver hilt. Wrapping the cloak around his uniform, he pulled his hood over his face. The door was opened a crack.

'Perquisitor Mun-Mun Hlar to see the master, without delay!' he snapped, taking the name of his oldest brother.

The master is still in his bed,' said the door warden. 'Come back in the afternoon.'

Nish caught him by his frilly shirt-front and jerked him forwards. 'I'm Perquistor Hlar,' he snarled. 'I've come all the way from the Council of Scrutators with an urgent message for the master. I demand admittance, at once.' He put the blade of his sword against the lackey's neck.

The man collapsed like a punctured bladder. 'At once,' he said, bobbing and puffing. 'Follow me, Perquisitor, surr.'

Nish accompanied him up the steps, prodding the door warden every so often to remind him that perquisitors were ruthless fellows. For everyone's sake, he must not falter now. Flydd had a plan but Nish did not know what it was. If this lout got in the way, too bad for him.

Outside the master's doors, inlaid with rosewood and gilt, the door warden hesitated, then raised his hand to knock.

Nish whacked him over the buttocks with the flat of the sword. 'Just open it. I'll announce myself.'

Giving him a terrified glance, the door warden lifted the latch and went in. Nish followed, treading on his heels. Easing the door shut with his foot, he bolted it. He could not risk anyone coming to investigate.

Raising his fist, he struck the door warden on the back of the head in the way he'd been taught in his defence training, long ago. The man crumpled to the floor. Nish went around a couple of corners into a bedchamber the size of a small mansion, with tables, chairs and divans enough to furnish a house. At the further end, by a crackling fire, stood an eight-post bed the size of a clanker.

The master was sitting up in bed, facing the other way, reading a set of dispatches. A red wallet lay on the covers. Even from halfway down the room Nish recognised it as a Council of Scrutators message wallet. Flydd's secret had been exposed.

Scampering to the wall, he fleeted along until he was behind the head of the bed and drew his sword. Nish took a deep breath, slid around the bedpost and put his sword to the master's throat. 'Where is the scrutator?' he hissed.

The master looked up calmly. 'I'm not going to tell you, Cryl-Nish Hlar. Your father is dead and you are an outcast condemned by the scrutators. Put down your sword.'

Nish had expected the master to be a blustering coward who would do anything to save his own neck. For a second, the defiance threw him. Well, damn him; the fate of the world might rest on Nish getting the scrutator out alive. The master was a villain; let him take his chances.

He flicked the sword at the master's face. The man threw up his arms and Nish slashed the tip of the sword across his wrist, severing an artery. Blood spurted right across the bed. The master gasped then caught the wrist in his other hand and pressed hard with his thumb. The flow dropped to a trickle, and stopped.

The violence sickened Nish but there was no alternative. He pressed his blade to the man's throat. 'You may survive that, but not the jugular. Well?'

The master was a quick thinker and a pragmatic man. He's downstairs, in my cells. I have the keys here.' With his elbow he indicated a hook on the wall. 'I'll take you.' 'At once,' said Nish, snatching the keys. 'And remember, I'm a condemned criminal with nothing to lose. I don't care if you live or die. Nor, I suspect, do the scrutators, since your profits come at the expense of theirs.'

They went down the master's personal staircase and along to the cells, a row of small rooms with solid wooden doors. 'Take the keys,' said Nish. 'Open the door.'