Alchymist (5 page)

'Looks
as though it's seen a fight or two,' she said.

'And
won them. It would be handy if Fyn-Mah turned up about now,' he said dryly.

The
lyrinx kept coming. With its size and reach, there was no need for subtlety or
fancy footwork.

'What's
the plan?' Irisis hissed.

'Fight
for our bloody lives!'

The
lyrinx moved to within striking distance, lunged and slashed with one arm.
Irisis barely saw it move, nor the flash of Flangers's sword, but blood spurted
from the palm of its hand. It jerked away. The cut was deep, though not
incapacitating. They had an instant's respite before the mighty thighs bunched
and it hurled itself at him, arms going like scythes.

Flangers
threw himself to his right; Irisis went the other way. It ignored her and
pursued the soldier, the claws of its bloody hand raking him from shoulder to
elbow. Another blow tore the seat out of his pants and four gouges across his
buttocks.

Flangers
fell to his knees and the sword clanged on the floor. He dived for it. The
lyrinx went after him, leaving bloody footprints. Flangers could not reach the
sword in time; the lyrinx was going to slaughter him.

Irisis
went up on tiptoes, crossed the distance with two strides and thrust at the
lyrinx's exposed side. The sword went between two plates, slid between the ribs
and jammed. She heaved but could not pull it out. The lyrinx bellowed, spun
around and sprang at her, the sword quivering with every movement.

She
dived over a small cage, lifted it and in one movement hurled it at the
lyrinx's face. It batted it aside like a ball, then tore the sword out and
flung it at her. She ducked and scampered up between the rows, not knowing what
she was doing, only that she was defenceless. As she approached the rear door,
a second lyrinx burst through it. And after it, a third.

Xervish
Flydd knuckled puffy eyes as he prepared to face his tormentors. The Council of
Scrutators occupied four sides of the makeshift table in the command tent. He
was seated at one corner, which meant that he could not see the whole group at
one time. It was a particular disadvantage at an inquisition. And, not having
slept for two nights, he was in no condition to match wits with Ghorr.

All
eleven members of the Council were present. Their late intervention had only
saved the disaster from becoming a catastrophe and it would be a sorry remnant
of the army that left here, abandoning thousands of precious, useless clankers.
To protect themselves, the Council had to have a scalp. The scrutators looked
as though they relished the duty.

Jal-Nish,
being only an acting scrutator, was not permitted to sit at the table; though,
having an interest in the proceedings, he had been allowed to attend as an
observer. His chair was placed directly behind Flydd's, who could not see him
without turning his head. He dared not. To look away from the inquisition would
be a sign of weakness, Flydd could feel that single, malevolent eye boring into
his back.

'Scrutator
Flydd,1 began Ghorr, without doing Flydd the courtesy of standing or even
looking in his direction. It was another bad sign. 'You stand accused of
dereliction of duty, fraudulent misrepresentation of your abilities, gross
incompetence occasioning a military disaster, exceeding your authority in
negotiating with an alien race, corruptly making concessions to that race,
contempt of the Council, harbouring a fugitive, wilful assault on the person of
an acting scrutator while suspended from the Council, knowingly causing the
death of a mancer in the legitimate pursuit of her duties, failure to
adequately protect a mine and manufactory under your command . . .'

Flydd's
mind wandered. He knew it was a deadly thing to do, but the list of charges
made it dear there was no way out. When the Council genuinely wanted to
discipline a scrutator, the charges were brief and specific. When they wanted
to destroy one, they put down everything they could come up with.

He
felt so very tired. He could have laid his head on the table and slept. Was
there any point in defending himself? Might it not be better to remain silent,
even though that would be taken as an admission of guilt? They might just
execute him.

The
errant thought made him grimace. The Council would not allow him the luxury of
death until they'd wrung such torment from him that sensitives would be having
nightmares for fifty leagues around. He knew how they operated. After all, he'd
been one of them for decades, and suffered at their hands before.

Besides,
he would not be the only one to fall. Ghorr would destroy everyone associated
with him — dear Irisis, little Ullii and her unborn child, Eiryn Muss, Fyn-Mah,
and all his soldiers, advisers, friends and relatives. When the scrutators made
an example of their own it was worthy of a whole page in the Histories.

What
could he do to save them, or himself? What defence was there when the Council
had covered every eventuality? Xervish Flydd could think of none.

Scrutator
Ghorr finished his iteration of the charges, shuffled the papers and turned to
his left. 'Scrutator Fusshte?'

Fusshte,
acting as recorder, was a meagre, ill-made man. Pallid baldness made a
cruciform shape through oily black hair. His eyes were reptilian, while the
jutting teeth gave him a feral look. He made a mark on a document, nodded and
passed it to Ghorr.

Ghorr
cleared his throat and finally met the eyes of the man he was trying. 'How do
you plead, Scrutator Flydd? Be swift! Humanity stands in very peril of its
survival.'

'In
that case,' snapped Flydd, whose only defence was to attack, 'why are you
wasting time on farcical blame-shifting? The Council knows I followed my orders
to the letter. Your instructions were faulty. You should be on trial, not I.'
'The tiredest ploy in the world,' yawned Fusshte. Flydd rotated in his chair
and locked gazes with the secretary. The game of intimidating an opponent was
one every scrutator knew, but Flydd was more skilled at it than most. He'd
always detested Fusshte, and had voted against his elevation to scrutator.
Moreover, Fusshte had a dirty little secret and Flydd knew it. Its revelation
would not be enough to destroy the secretary, but it would taint him in the
eyes of his fellows.

Neither
could draw on the field here, of course, but scrutators had at hand older,
subtler powers, ways of weakening an enemy's will. Flydd used them all.
Fusshte's snake eyes defied him. It won't do you any good, Flydd thought. I
despise you too much to ever give in to you.

He
smiled, grimly at first, but as he saw the first flicker of uncertainty in the
eyes of his opponent, Flydd gave a savage grin. The man was weakening. Flydd
snorted in disdain and suddenly the secretary broke. Choking back a gasp,
Fusshte looked down at his papers and the battle was over.

Such
a little thing, but the atmosphere of the room changed subtly. Flydd was not
defeated yet. He turned back to the chief scrutator.

'I
have a countercharge against Ghorr!' Flydd said flatly.

'We'll
hear it after your trial is done,' said Chief Scrutator Ghorr.

'I'll
not fall for that one. Once you convict me, as you plan to, I'll have no right
to put a countercharge.'

'You
were charged first,' said Ghorr. 'The procedure can't be changed.'

'My
entire case depends on my countercharge.'

'How
unfortunate.'

'I
appeal to the Council to set aside your decision.'

'On
what grounds?' asked a diminutive dark woman whose cheeks were painted with red
wax: Scrutator Halie.

Flydd
was pleased to discover that she was the appointed appeals scrutator. Halie had
been an ally of his previously in difficult times; he could rely on her to be
impartial. 'On the ground that a failure on the part of one or more members of
the Council led to the destruction of the node.'

'How
so?' said Halie in a dangerous voice.

'My
first countercharge is that Chief Scrutator Ghorr provided me with a defective
device to destroy the lyrinx node-drainer, and that device failed in use. My
second countercharge is this: in commissioning that device, Chief Scrutator
Ghorr negligently failed to appreciate that it was likely to cause the
destruction of the node itself.'

'These
are serious charges, Scrutator Flydd,' said Halie.

'And
I intend to prove them.' He held her gaze as rigidly as if she had been his
most bitter enemy, then broke it before it became a contest.

'I
shall set aside Chief Scrutator Ghorr's ruling for the moment. The Council will
hear your charges first. Present them with dispatch, Flydd.'

'Thank
you,' said Flydd. He stood up and met their eyes, one by one. 'You have heard
my first two countercharges, which relate solely to the destruction of the
node. Ghorr's other charges are frivolous and motivated by mischief. He's happy
to waste the Council's time, even at this desperate hour, so long as he can
bring me down.' He turned eyes like lighthouse beams on the chief scrutator.
'That is my third countercharge.'

'I
did not formulate the charges,' growled Ghorr, glancing at the secretary.

'But
you gave them your authority.'

'Make
your case, Flydd, if you have one.'

'Putting
it simply, the device you gave me was defective.'

'On
what evidence?'

'It
failed when I used it, and led to the destruction of the node.'

'That
proves only that you used it incompetently,' said Ghorr.

'Also
an assertion that must be proved,' Flydd retorted. 'It's up to the accused to
prove his innocence.' 'And I'm accusing you.' Flydd flung out his arm. The
chief scrutator smiled thinly. 'Very theatrical! You were charged first. Your
claims are countercharges.'

'Ah,'
said Flydd, making a desperate gamble without knowing what the answer was. 'But
my countercharges are being heard first, and therefore you must prove your
innocence. Is that not so, Appeals Scrutator?'

Halie
looked dubious, but reached below the table, brought up a bound volume and
began flicking through the pages. After some minutes she put it down again and
went into a huddle with three other scrutators. When it broke up, all the
scrutators, apart from Flydd and Ghorr, went to the other end of the tent,
speaking in low tones with much glancing back at their chief. Ghorr grew purple
in the face. Finally they returned to the table.

'Though
this question is unprecedented,' said Halie, 'we have reached agreement.
Confirm that you have, members of the Council.'

Each
of the scrutators affirmed that they agreed. Halie continued. 'We have voted, by
a margin of six votes to three, that the countercharges must be defended
first.'

'Be
damned!' roared the chief scrutator.

'Due
process —’ began Halie.

Ghorr
stood up, and he was a huge, dominating man. 'We've lost a third of our finest
army. We may yet lose the war because of it. Flydd led them to disaster and now
you call on the evil of democracy to let him off!' He spat the word out as if
it were heresy, which it was.

'That
is the prescribed process, Chief Scrutator!' said Halie. 'Would you care to
retire for a few minutes to prepare your case?'

'With
the greatest pleasure,' said Ghorr, back in control. He strode out, robes
flapping.

The
other scrutators gathered at the corner of the tent, talking in low voices.
Jal-Nish remained where he was. Flydd moved his chair so he could see the
acting scrutator. 'Nice day for it,' he said conversationally.

Jal-Nish
shifted in his seat, as venomous and deadly as a nylatl. 'I'll be dancing on
your flayed corpse by sundown.'

Flydd
felt the touch of fear and was careful not to look into Jal-Nish's eye — it was
the one contest he could not win. The man was determined to destroy him, whatever
the cost. He could not afford to show his disquiet — not the least trace.
Summoning all his strength, Flydd yawned in Jal-Nish's face. 'And you want to
replace me, of course.'

'I'll
have your place on the Council and crush the lyrinx too.'

'Really?'
said Flydd, without bothering to correct him. 'What next? Abolish famine,
pestilence, death?'

'You
won't be sneering when the torturers have their disembowelling hooks in you.'
Jal-Nish stormed out.

I've
got to him, Flydd thought. Impossible to resist, but was it wise?

After
half an hour, Ghorr came through the flap of the tent, accompanied by Jal-Nish
and three people in robes. The first was a thin-faced, sallow fellow, the
second a grey-haired woman wearing shoulder pads that squared off her stout
figure; the last was a sawn-off, good-looking man with regular features,
brilliant blue eyes and a leonine head of brown hair, swept back in waves. He
had the rolling gait of a sailor and was only half a span tall. Flydd knew him
— Klarm, the dwarf scrutator, an honest man, as scrutators went, but as
ruthless as any.

Klarm
nodded cheerfully to Flydd, who waved back. The other two newcomers, mancers
both, did not acknowledge him. Jal-Nish resumed his seat.