Nish climbed down and had a struggle to stay upright. He was shaking uncontrollably; his ankle would scarcely bear his weight and his wrenched knee throbbed. He bore twenty or thirty wounds and was purple and black with the dried blood of the enemy.

Xabbier by his side, each supporting the other, they made their way to the party that had come down from the first clanker. He recognised Troist, the scrutator, Tchlrrr and Lieutenant Prandie.

They stopped, several steps apart. Nish opened his mouth but nothing came out. The sound of chanting was deafening. If only Irisis were here to see it.

'I'm sorry to have come so late,' said Troist. 'When the field faded, it slowed us tremendously. Once the cloaker failed, we came under attack from the forest. We beat the enemy off, though it cost us dear. And then we came upon a stream too deep to cross and had to ford the river, which is why we're on the wrong side. I hope—' He scanned the battered remnant of the once great army, and a terrible sadness showed on his face. Is this all?'

'The damage was done in the night, surr' said Xabbier. 'Before you could have hoped to reach us.'

'Even so,' said Troist, 'it's a bitter day. But not as bitter as it could have been. We must recognise that.' The general raised his sword high. The chanting ceased.

Xabbier pulled his hat off. 'Lieutenants Xabbier Frou and Cryl-Nish Hlar, at your service, surr.' His other hand deftly whipped off Nish's battered cap. 'Lieutenant Hlar will give the report.' He thumped Nish on the back.

Nish swallowed. He could not think of anything to say, and his mouth was too dry for speech. Tchlrrr passed him a skin of water and Nish took a mouthful, which tasted of leather.

'I — I got through in time, surr' Nish said to Troist. 'Though I was lucky to make it. The enemy were already coming out of the stone as I entered the labyrinth. The army had a few minutes' warning — not enough, for there were near thirty thousand lyrinx. They went straight for the command tents and everyone there was killed.'

Everyone?' said Flydd, meaningfully. 'Scrutator Jal-Nish Hlar lured the enemy's strongest to them. He attacked with the .. , with a special aspect of the Art, surr, if you take my meaning. The enemy was too strong.' Nish described the initial success of Jal-Nish's Art and, and, after it was countered by the great mancer-lyrinx, its disastrous failure.

'We'll talk privately about that later,' Flydd said in a low voice.

'Subsequently, everyone in the command area was slain, including my father. They . . , ate him.' In the past day there had not been time to think about that, nor was there now.

'We fought them all night and all morning,' Nish went on. 'We did the best we could; better than you might expect with such numbers against us. We've slain twenty-five thousand lyrinx, surr, but the cost has been terrible — nearly thirty thousand of us. Nine or ten thousand survived to cross the river, but only six hundred clankers. There are survivors on this side too. I don't know how many. That's all, surr.'

'That's not all, General Troist, surr,' said Xabbier. 'Lieutenant Hlar rallied the troops a dozen times; he killed at least ten of the enemy with sword and bow, and no one knows how many with the javelard. While I was unconscious, and no other officer remained alive, he led our forces on a frontal attack against a superior force of lyrinx, and broke them, and that's not been done in the history of the war. Had it not been for Cryl-Nish Hlar, not a man of Jal-Nish's army would have survived.'

There was a long silence, then General Troist stepped forward. 'Well met, Cryl-Nish. I heard part of the tale from the vanguard of your army, before we came over the hill. You can give me your report later, after we've made a secure camp and attended to the needy. But for the moment, I wish to recognise what you've done today.'

He signalled behind him and an aide came forward, bearing a black sword with a silver hilt and a single white jewel in the pommel. Troist took the sword, balanced it on his palms and in the same movement went to one knee, holding it out before him.

'Cryl-Nish Hlar, take this sword in recognition of your valour, and as a token of your commission as a lieutenant in my army.'

Nish just stood there, staring dumbly at the beautiful weapon. 'I don't understand …'

'He's confirming your field commission, you bloody fool,' said the scrutator, standing one step behind the general. 'Take the damn thing. Wave it in the air or something.'

Nish went to one knee and took the sword, which was unusually heavy for its size. 'I don't know what words I'm supposed to say,' he said in a hoarse voice. 'Thank you for arriving in time. And for the honour, surr. I hope I prove worthy of it.'

The honour is mine,' said Troist. 'Were there more like you. Cryl-Nish, we would have won the war long ago. Rise up. Lieutenant Hlar. Salute your men.'

Nish stood, saluted the general in the correct manner, with sword in hand, then raised it high in the air and carved a salute, north and south, east and west, to the soldiers he'd fought beside all day. And to the ones who had not survived.

Letting out a roar that hurt his ears, they began to chant, 'Cryl-Nish Hlar! Cryl-Nish Hlar!' and beat their weapons on their shields, and did not stop until they had roared themselves hoarse.

It would have been the greatest day of Nish's life, had it not been for the thought of all their dead. And his.

Thirty-five

Later that afternoon, Flydd drew Nish aside, questioning him about the fate of his father, and how Jal-Nish had used the tears. When Nish had finished, the scrutator said, 'We'd better ride up there.’

Nish had been expecting that. Flydd would have to see for himself, and try to find the tears, or discover what had happened to them.

'Now?' Nish said.

'Later. There are still too many lyrinx about. Get some sleep. We'll go in the night.'

Flydd woke him at midnight. It was cloudy and drizzling as they mounted and headed out, without a solitary guard. Flydd said it was better that way. They crossed the ford and he led them carefully up the valley, with lengthy stops where he sat his horse, sniffing the air and listening to the night.

'I believe they've gone,' Flydd said. 'The enemy don't linger around battlefields filled with their dead, and this one has cost them dear. Come on.'

It was not far off dawn when they reached the cliff-bound upper end of Gumby Marth, where the command area had been. They hunched under an overhang of limestone, out of the wind, to await the light. It was cool enough for the breeze to carry little taint. Nish hoped they would be well gone before the heat of the day ripened the dead.

'You must be feeling rather grim,' Flydd said.

'In truth, I don't know what to feel. I'm glad Father's out of his misery, and I suppose it's better this way, for everyone. He was an evil man, and becoming more wicked everyday. Had he lived …And yet, despite all he did to me, he was still my father and now I have none.'

'Its a loss for any man. I still remember the day I heard the news about mine …' Flydd sighed, rummaged in his saddlebags and brought out a large silver flask, which he offered to Nish.

Nish took a healthy swig and promptly choked. 'That's strong!' His eyes began to water.

A stiffener!' Flydd leaned back against the stone. 'It'll set your belly right for the job.'

He raised the flask to his lips but, despite his words, did not drink. It was just growing light. The grey cliffs separated from the grey sky, the lower valley from the horizon, the rocks from the dry grass. The brown earth from the humps and mounds made by the dead.

Wisps of fog hung in hollows and along the course of the streams. The scene was grey, dank and utterly, utterly dismal. Nish wanted to weep. 'So many dead, and all for the folly of one man, one scrutator. My father!'