How was he to do it? For all his heroism on the battlefield, Nish could not see himself as a soldier. Even were he to rise high, he would spend his life prosecuting the war. But this war he knew already, would not be won on the field of battle. Xervish?' he said tentatively. 'What?' Flydd replied absently. 'What is it, Nish?' Nish looked down at his boots, not knowing how to put it. 'I know I've been a damn fool more often than not. I've done enough stupid things to condemn me for a lifetime, and made some disastrous blunders . . ?

Indeed you have,' said Flydd. There was a gleam in his eye and a hint of a smile on his whiskery lips. 'I can't think when I last met such a callow, feckless fool as you. I'm sure I never have.'

'But . . , even so, I think I've displayed a few positive qualities as well—'

'I dare say,' the scrutator said carelessly, 'though it doesn't do to dwell overmuch on such things, lest you be thought big-headed.'

'What I meant was—'

'If you want something, lad, then spit it out. Name the reward you require and it shall be yours. Is it coin, or high honour, or a brace of comely—?'

'I want to serve you, surr,' Nish burst out.

'I don't need a manservant. I may be decrepit but I'm still capable of wiping—'

'You know what I mean, Xervish.'

'I have no idea what you're on about. Speak plainly, Nish, or not at all.'

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.'