Chimaera (62 page)

‘And frightening too, I dare say.’

‘Aye.’ Klarm took another pull at the tankard. ‘It was that. In truth, I had little expectation that I’d come out alive. There’s bad air in places, and fast streams, and it wasn’t unguarded either. That was the hardest part of all. I couldn’t kill the guards, nor harm them in any way, or they would have known someone was spying on them. All I could use was my natural cunning and the odd small illusion.

‘But illusions work better underground, and the enemy were more frightened than I was, despite their elixir. They had to cross many subterranean streams and their terror gave me heart. But, terrified or not, they’d gone on, and so must I. That’s why I was so late back. I followed them the whole winding way, at least a hundred and twenty leagues underground, through one system of caverns after another. Many a marvel I saw that no man has seen before, and in the end I found them, hibernating in groups of thousands, unguarded apart from sentries at entrance and exit.

‘There were more lyrinx than I could count – thirty thousand at the very least, and there could be other groups I didn’t find. They’re hiding three hundred spans underground not far from the abandoned town of Strebbit. They’ll be coming out of hibernation any time now. They’re less than a night’s march from Worm Wood, the perfect cloak for their movements, and they’ll be ready to attack within weeks. Once they reach the forest they can go anywhere, unseen.’

Flydd swore. ‘I’d assumed they would come from the coast, and that we’d hear of their march a good week in advance.’

‘What do we do now?’ said Yggur.

‘We must attack them the moment they come out,’ said Klarm.

‘How do we know where they’re going to come out?’ said Flydd. ‘If my memory serves me, those caves have dozens of outlets.’

‘But the cavern they’re hibernating in has only one dry exit,’ said Klarm. ‘All the connecting caverns are partly flooded. Their elixir allowed them to endure the terror of the water, but I’m betting they’ll avoid it on the way out. All elixirs take their toll and they won’t want to be suffering from it on their way to war.’

Klarm’s voice went hoarse. He drained his beer, licked the foam from the rim of the tankard, and filled it again.

‘The dry passage opens out into a natural bowl.’ He shaped it in the air with his hands. ‘If we can get our forces into position in time, we can ambush them as they come out, still sluggish from hibernation.’

‘And if they retreat?’ said Flydd, smiling as if he already knew the answer.

‘We drive them into the underground streams and cut them down in their panic.’

‘Have you been in contact with General Troist?’ asked Yggur.

‘I have, and he gave me heart. His troops are well armed, well trained, and he has supplies stockpiled. Moreover, he has a keen eye for the weaknesses of the enemy and how best to attack them.’

Yggur looked questioningly at Flydd. Flydd nodded.

‘If they take Borgistry,’ said Yggur, ‘western Lauralin must fall and then sooner or later the whole continent will be lost. But while Borgistry survives, the enemy can’t control the west. We’ll do it.’

‘How soon can we be ready to strike?’ said Flydd. He went over to study the map that covered half of one wall. Yggur joined him, measuring distances with a length of string. ‘Troist could be there in nine days.’

‘Two weeks for us,’ said Nish. ‘All the thapters need work, and three of the air-floaters. They can’t go to war the way they are.’

‘Two weeks!’ Flydd cried. ‘What if the enemy come out sooner? Why do they hibernate anyway? Merryl?’

‘In order to survive in the void,’ said Merryl, ‘they flesh-formed their unborn to the limit. They made themselves the most formidable fighters ever seen, but it came at a cost. They have to hibernate for at least a month every year to repair the damage the past year has caused.’

‘So it’s a necessity, not just a custom,’ mused Flydd. ‘Good – all the less likely that they’ll cut it short. Even so, we’ve got to be ready sooner.’

‘Well, Nish?’ said Yggur.

‘If all our work goes perfectly,’ Nish said, ‘and we get just the right weather when we’re flying, we
might
be ready to attack in ten or eleven days. But things never go perfectly, so I can’t possibly promise less than twelve.’

‘Perfect!’ Flydd conferred with Klarm and Yggur. ‘A strike in ten days will catch them still lethargic from hibernation.’

‘But I just said –’ Nish began desperately. Allowing three days for the slow air-floaters to fly there, it meant he only had seven days rather than the nine or ten he needed.

‘The attack is set for ten days. Be ready!’

The first thapter flight left eight days later, and Yggur wasn’t pleased at the delay. It carried Klarm, an advance guard and a number of devices that had been made in the eastern manufactories. The destination was an isolated valley north-east of Strebbit, where everyone would rendezvous with Troist’s army, then march down to encircle the bowl-shaped depression in which the cave mouth lay.

Now it was the following day, and Nish hadn’t slept for two nights. One of the thapters was still being repaired after crashing into a small tree in darkness, and the floater-gas generator on Gorm’s air-floater had failed and had to be completely taken apart, though even then no one could work out what was wrong with it. Yggur came down to Nish’s shed every hour, demanding to know when they would be ready, which only made matters worse.

‘I knew this would happen,’ Nish raged when Yggur turned up for the fifth time that morning. ‘I told you it couldn’t be done.’

‘I don’t like excuses,’ said Yggur frostily.

There were plenty when your work wasn’t done on time! Nish thought, though he was wise enough not to say it. ‘It’s not an excuse. It’s reality. Things go wrong and you have to allow time for it. I’m not a magician –’

‘When will the last machines be ready?’ Yggur snapped.

‘Tomorrow morning, at the earliest.’

Yggur scowled. ‘That’s not good enough.’

Nish had had enough. He threw his tools on the ground. ‘If you can do better, you’re welcome to try.’

To his surprise, Yggur merely said, ‘Get it done,’ and disappeared again. Then he ducked his head around the door. ‘Where’s Tiaan?’

‘She’s still not back from her node survey with Malien.’

‘But they knew we needed Malien’s thapter for the offensive. We’ve been planning it for months.’

‘It wasn’t supposed to be for a couple of weeks yet.’

‘Does she have a farspeaker with her?’

‘Yes. Flydd tried to call her again last night. He couldn’t make contact.’

‘Better try again.’

As if Nish didn’t have enough to do. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair. He hadn’t eaten since this time yesterday, nor bathed in a week. Slamming the door of his shed, he headed across the yard. Piles of supplies were stacked wherever space could be found. Dozens of lean-to sheds had been constructed against the walls. Two more thapters were being loaded. Three air-floaters, being much slower, were long gone. People were running everywhere.

Weaving through the yard, Nish was stopped a dozen times by people who needed to be told what to do. He finally climbed the steps with a sigh of relief, but as he went through the doors someone called his name from the other end of the hall. Not recognising the fellow, Nish turned left into a cross-passage that was mercifully empty, then left again to the circular stair that ran up to one of the repaired horned towers.

He was panting by the time he reached the top, a round chamber of naked stone with arrow slits, through which the drizzle-laden wind whistled. Nish pulled his coat around him. The spring weather was the same as winter’s, only wetter.

He peered through a slit that was out of the direct path of the wind. The rain came in waves. Nish shook his head, which felt as though it was full of spiderweb. The farspeaker operator’s bench was between two embrasures, fenced off with flapping walls of canvas that broke the worst of the wind. Merryl was sitting there.

‘Oh,’ said Nish. ‘I was looking for … whatever his name was.’

‘I’ve taken over for the day. Do you want to send a message?’

‘I didn’t know you had the talent.’

‘Neither did I,’ said Merryl cheerfully, ‘though farspeaking doesn’t take much. You could probably do it yourself.’

‘I doubt it. Anyhow, I don’t have time to learn.’

‘My father was a bit of a sensitive, so Yggur had me tested and found I could use the globe, and here I am. The only tricky part is changing the settings.’

‘I was trying to contact Tiaan,’ said Nish. ‘She’s supposed to have been back days ago. We need her thapter; and her field maps.’

‘I tried earlier, but no luck. I’ll change to her settings and have another go.’

Merryl consulted a sheet covered in cryptic symbols. He selected one, took Golias’s globe in his hand, steadied it against the table with his stump, pressed and twisted. The inner globes spun, the light flashing off them in dozens of colours. Merryl squeezed and the layers locked.

He held the globe up, inspecting it minutely. ‘No, that’s not right. Sorry, Nish. It’s a bit tricky.’

‘Take your time,’ said Nish, sitting down in the other chair. ‘I’m glad of the break. I can’t remember when I last had a full night’s sleep.’ He leaned back against the cold wall and closed his eyes, listening to the globes spinning, again and again.

‘That’s better,’ said Merryl. ‘Hello, Tiaan, this is Merryl, calling for Nish. Are you there?’

He repeated his call over and over, until Nish, lulled by the softness of his voice, drifted into sleep.

‘Hoy, Merryl?’ It was Yggur, calling from the stairs. ‘You haven’t seen Nish, have you?’

Nish’s feet struck the floor. ‘He’s here with me,’ Merryl called back after a decent pause. ‘We’re trying to contact Tiaan.’

Yggur entered the room. ‘I assume you’ve had no luck. Nish, half the yard is looking for you and it seems none of them can wait.’

Nish levered himself up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

‘No luck at all with Tiaan,’ said Merryl. ‘Nor anyone else.’

‘I spoke to Klarm earlier, in Strebbit,’ said Yggur.

‘But Klarm has a master farspeaker,’ said Merryl. ‘Tiaan only carries a slave. Master to master goes a lot further.’

‘Keep trying; we need her thapter. And give Klarm another call; find out if he’s rendezvoused with Troist yet.’ Yggur went down the stairs again.

Nish was halfway down too when Merryl called him back. ‘It’s Klarm,’ he said in a dead voice when Nish entered the chamber.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Lyrinx were seen moving north last night, in large numbers, so Klarm rotored straight down to the ambush site.’ Merryl stopped for a deep breath.

Nish knew what he was going to say. ‘The enemy aren’t there any more.’

‘There were plenty of signs of them in the hibernation cavern,’ said Merryl, ‘but it was empty apart from bones. They’ve gone and he doesn’t know where.’

Bootsteps came back up. It was Yggur, with Flydd. ‘From the way Merryl called you back, Nish, I figured it was important,’ said Yggur. ‘Did I hear you say the enemy have fled, Merryl?’

‘Not fled,’ said Merryl. ‘Marched to war. They’ve outflanked Troist’s army and Klarm reckons they’ll be attacking Borgistry within a week. He’s trying to get a better estimate of their numbers.’

‘So what do we do?’ Nish was so tired that he couldn’t think straight.

‘We’ll have to go to Lybing and put our backs to the wall with everyone else,’ said Flydd. ‘Borgistry can’t be allowed to fall. And that’s my big worry.’

‘Why?’ said Nish.

‘It’s too rich, complacent and soft. Borgistry hasn’t been threatened before. It has a big army but not many of its troops have seen combat, and its generals are fat and complacent. We’re going to have to take over.’

‘How will the governor of Borgistry react when you do?’ Nish wondered. ‘I heard the Council was unpopular there.’

‘The old Council was,’ said Flydd, ‘but we’re held in high regard, and we have Klarm to thank for that. He was like a will-o’-the-wisp, fleeting back and forth across Borgistry in the first month of winter, spreading his propaganda about the old Council and bolstering ours. There’s not a soul in Borgistry who hasn’t heard about Fusshte’s dirty little secrets.’

‘I haven’t heard anything about them,’ said Nish.

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘I don’t suppose I do.’

‘But do you know the single thing that has legitimised our Council?’ said Flydd, smiling grimly.

‘Thapters,’ said Nish. ‘Or farspeakers.’

‘It was that grisly relic Klarm picked up in the swamp.’

‘What relic?’ said Yggur.

‘Remember how Ghorr was blown out of his skin in the airbag explosion, and we found it hanging in a tree? Klarm had Ghorr’s skin tanned and inflated to make a full-sized balloon of the former chief scrutator.’

‘How revolting,’ said Yggur. ‘Is there no depth to which the little man won’t sink?’

‘Klarm knows how to move the common people,’ said Flydd. ‘He carried Ghorr’s blow-up under his arm to every gathering, setting it up beside him like a saggy, disgusting naked puppet. When the people saw what kind of a man Ghorr had been, or rather how
little
a man he was, they rallied to us because we’d brought the brute down. There’s nothing quite like ridicule.’

‘I’m prepared to admit that I was wrong about Klarm,’ said Yggur, ‘though he wenches and drinks far more than is proper.’

‘If the tales of this war are ever written, which seems increasingly unlikely, there’ll be a Great Tale in Klarm’s exploits and escapades over the past three months. He’s the bravest man I’ve ever met.’

‘That he is,’ said Yggur. ‘But a libertine nonetheless.’