Tetrarch twoe-2

by Ian Irvine

  ‘Which is the true impression.’

  ‘Yes, and no. Militarily, we are weaker than we have been. The war has taken a toll. But we have endured it, and are tougher and more resilient because we have. And even if we are weak, we can act strong. We must, just as you faced down Mounce earlier. There are all kinds of strength, Marshal Hlar.’

  ‘I’m just beginning to realise it.’

  ‘The Aachim can be bluffed. The Histories tell us that. And they are at a disadvantage. Their constructs are more than the equal of our own machines, but they have no home base, no friendly lands to provide them with supplies, no safe place to send their wounded. They must carry everything with them and there are but one hundred and fifty thousand of them.’

  ‘Rulke took Aachan from them with a hundred Charon, so the Great Tales say.’

  ‘That was the boldest stroke of all time! But Santhenar is not Aachan and we old humans are not Aachim. We are lesser, yet greater, and we would never give up our world so easily. Besides, these Aachim do not know Santhenar, and that is the greatest disadvantage of all.’

  ‘Though one readily remedied with advisers and scouts from their own kind in Stassor.’

  ‘Stassor is a long way from here and accessible only on foot. Help could be months in coming. We must capitalise on their disadvantage so as to bring them to negotiate.’

  ‘What is our objective?’

  ‘To have them as allies against the lyrinx! Surely you realise that?’ She stared at him as if he was an idiot.

  Nish flushed. ‘I asked Troist but he did not say.’

  ‘It’s so obvious I’m astounded you needed to ask.’

  ‘Well, I did.’

  ‘Whatever we do, we must avoid offending them, and from what I hear of Vithis, that will be difficult.’

  Nish considered his approach as he bounced on his black and blue backside across the hard soil of Rencid. It would be his greatest test. He was not sure he was up to it.

  As they drew near the Aachim camp, a triplet of constructs whined out to meet them. Nish drew level with Mounce and passed him the baton and badge. ‘I must have a sergeant while we are here; the toughest and most unflinching in the east. Are you up to pretending?’

  ‘Surr!’ Mounce touched his cap, spurred ahead and put up his pole. The blue truce flag cracked in the breeze of his passage. He pounded up to the clankers, wheeled around them in a circle, ignoring the spear-throwers trained on him, skidded to a stop and jammed the pole into the ground. Pulling back on the reins, he brought his horse up on its hind legs, danced all the way round the flag, then turned his back and trotted back to Nish.

  Ranii was smiling. ‘I think that sets the right tone. The Aachim are not put off by arrogance, since it is one of their defining characteristics.’

  ‘What do we do now?’ whispered Nish. ‘Should I present my credentials?’

  ‘To a group of soldiers? Of course not!’

  ‘We must state our business, surely?’

  ‘Let’s see what they do first. Since they have not come down from their machines they may be an escort. We’ll go forward, mounted, and see if they challenge us.’

  Nish gestured to Mounce, who fell in beside Tchlrrr. The pair rode forward in perfect formation. Nish followed several lengths back, Ranii at his side. When Mounce’s horse was a bare length from the leading construct, its hatch cracked open.

  A tall dark woman cried, ‘Who are you who ride so recklessly into the Aachim camp? Name yourselves!’

  As Nish opened his mouth, Ranii hissed, ‘Leave it to the sergeant, Marshal Hlar. Do not assume lackey’s duties or they will think you are one.’

  Mounce called out their names and business, whereupon the tall woman said, ‘You are expected, Marshal Cryl-Nish Hlar. Go ahead. Keep your hands away from your weapons.’

  They rode down the rank upon rank of constructs, and even Nish was hard put not to gape like a village yokel. In Tirthrax he had seen the machines only from a distance. Up close, they outclassed the clankers he had worked on as a prince’s yacht surpasses a toy floating in the bathtub.

  He forced himself to look impassive. Their marvels were no secret: the Aachim were the greatest engineers and designers in the Three Worlds. His horse was the best Troist had to offer, but it was not a construct.

  They entered a heptagon of bare ground with the rows of constructs radiating away from it. At its centre was, clearly, the command tent. Mounce and the soldier moved to either side to allow Nish to pass through.

  ‘Ride to within ten lengths of the tent, then dismount,’ said Ranii in a low voice. ‘This time try not to fall off. Bow and introduce yourself. I will come behind with your credentials.’

  She fell back and Nish walked the horse forward. He felt incredibly conspicuous. A wall of Aachim surrounded the open space. He rode the distance, stopped and swung down. His knee wobbled as he struck the ground and for a horrified instant Nish thought that he was going to fall on his face. He steadied himself and waited.

  The wait was a long one. As he was wondering why they did not come, the horse defecated noisily, splattering his left boot and lower leg. Nish tried to wipe it off with his other foot.

  Three people emerged from the tent. The first was a very tall, haggard-looking fellow dressed in blue-black robes, his cheeks etched with creases and his mouth cast down in bitterness. He was followed by two others, a dark-skinned woman with black curling hair, handsome rather than beautiful, and another man whose close-cropped hair was iron-grey.

  Nish bowed. ‘I am Marshal Cryl-Nish Hlar; son of Scrutator Jal-Nish Hlar of Einunar Province; Envoy to General Troist.’

  ‘You are not the first, Marshal Hlar,’ said the haggard fellow, ‘though you are certainly the littlest. What do you want?’

  Nish was taken aback by the affront. Having been told that the Aachim were a formal species, much taken up with ritual and protocol, he had expected the formalities to take hours. Moreover, he was paralysed by the thought that he was about to make a major blunder. He could not think of the right words to say, or how to say them.

  He opened his mouth and closed it again, but before he could make a complete fool of himself the woman with the curly black hair moved out from behind Vithis. She wore a scarlet blouse, black pantaloons and long black boots.

  ‘Good day to you, Marshal Hlar,’ she said. ‘I am Tirior of Clan Nataz. Beside me stands Luxor of Clan Izmak. We are both of the Eleven Clans. Our leader, for the moment, is Vithis of Clan Inthis. We bid you welcome.’

  ‘Clan Inthis, First Clan!’ Vithis snapped.

  There came a rebellious mutter from behind him. Others introduced themselves by their clan and given names, all being members of the Eleven Clans. At the end, a red-haired couple came forward. They were smaller of stature and paler of skin.

  ‘I am Zea,’ said the woman. ‘My partner is Yrael. We represent Clan Elienor and seek news of our Aachim brethren on Santhenar.’

  ‘Clan Elienor!’ sneered Vithis. ‘Least Clan, Last Clan. Not of the Eleven Clans nor ever will be.’ He stepped in front of them, dismissively.

  Zea moved to one side. ‘We are one with the Aachim kind,’ she said gently. ‘All Aachim, not just the Eleven Clans, whose rivalry has ever held us back.’

  Nish could see that rivalry in the body language of the leaders. Was that an advantage or a disadvantage? ‘Thank you, Tirior of Clan Nataz,’ he said faintly, perspiring in his uniform. ‘Good day to you, Vithis of Clan Inthis and Luxor of Clan Izmak.’ He bowed again. ‘Thank –’

  ‘Don’t overdo it,’ Ranii said out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Come into the shade,’ said Luxor. ‘Will you take a glass of wine with us?’

  Nish was prepared for this. Aachim wine was notoriously strong and he’d not had a drink in months. He might have begged for water on the grounds of a religious prohibition, which they must respect, but he’d made such a shaky start that Nish did not dare.

  ‘I would be glad to,’ he said.

&nbs
p; Vithis grimaced, but stood back so that Nish and Ranii could follow Luxor and Tirior into the annexe of the tent. It was an enormous affair with five apexes held up by engraved poles and taut wires.

  Tirior showed Nish to a chair and drew others up opposite. He tried to hide his stained boot and trousers, but was uncomfortably aware of the smell of manure. Refreshments were brought. Nish held his glass up to the light, as he knew the custom to be, and praised the colour for being as green as seawater. Vithis sneered. Evidently the comparison was infelicitous. They waited for him to take the first sip.

  He did so. The wine was superb. Nish said so. Vithis smiled thinly.

  Tirior chuckled. ‘It is from my own estate, held by many to be the finest on all Aachan.’

  ‘It may have been once,’ grated Vithis, ‘though Inthis would dispute that. But the vineyards of Izmak lie under a span and a half of ash and will never sprout again.’

  ‘Alas, true. And so we have come to Santhenar,’ said Tirior, ‘to make a new life, we few to have survived the calamity. I brought cuttings of the best vines and will plant them with my own hands.’

  ‘Where do you propose to do that?’ Nish asked.

  ‘Ah,’ said Luxor. ‘Wherever we are made welcome. Have you come to talk about that, Marshal Hlar.’

  ‘I have,’ said Nish, ‘or at least to open a dialogue. Those with the power to negotiate concessions will follow.’

  ‘Bah!’ said Vithis. ‘This little fellow isn’t even the watchdog, much less the master. He’s just a puppy and all he can do is piss on First Clan boots, as his horse craps on his. Go home, Marshal Hlar. If you are a marshal.’

  ‘I am duly appointed to negotiate with you,’ said Nish, signing for Ranii to pass forward his credentials. ‘These are my papers.’

  Vithis gave them a perfunctory glance, then tossed them on the floor. ‘Any forger could have done better in a night and a day.’

  Nish reached for them but Ranii shook her head. What was he supposed to do now? Pretend it had been an accident? ‘My papers,’ he said with an apologetic glance at Tirior. ‘Would you –’

  Picking them up, she handed them to Ranii, inclining her head minutely. Vithis turned his back, which Nish knew to be an even greater insult. He struggled to maintain his temper, though he must at all costs. Surely even Vithis would not attack them under the blue truce flag. Maybe this was a test. Vithis must be baiting him, to test his mettle.

  ‘Let me be honest with you,’ he said, looking to each of the three in turn.

  ‘Meaning you weren’t honest before?’ said Vithis.

  Nish took a deep breath. The man was impossible to deal with. ‘I will put our situation plainly. We have been at war with the lyrinx for seven generations. They have hurt us badly. We have lost Meldorin and some strategic cities on the east coast.’ Better not make themselves appear too weak. ‘Nonetheless, we are hardened by war and will never give up. We have made many breakthroughs lately: new weapons, and means of delivering them, that will win us the war.’

  ‘I see no sign of it,’ said Vithis, facing him again.

  ‘We will reveal our weapons in our own time,’ said Nish.

  ‘Time is what you do not have.’

  ‘We have enough. Even so, we would be glad of your aid. With Aachim help the war could be over within a year, and then …’

  ‘You ask for everything, yet offer nothing.’

  ‘You invaded our world, surr!’ Nish snapped. Realising that was undiplomatic, he added quickly, ‘I meant that you ask for the greatest prize of all, part of our world. We are listening. Be sure that we will be generous, once –’

  ‘In my experience, true generosity is unconditional.’

  ‘We are honourable people, surr,’ cried Nish, knowing that he was losing the struggle but not how he might recover. ‘I have come in good faith.’

  ‘That proves what a puppy you are,’ growled Vithis. ‘I have been reading your Histories since we came here. A more treacherous, lying and deceitful species than old humans has never existed in all the Three Worlds.’

  ‘Surr,’ said Nish, reining his temper in with the most tremendous effort, ‘I beg you, consider what I have come to say.’

  ‘I can read you like a book, Little Marshal. Old humans are weak. You are losing the war; I’d say you have already lost it. There’s no benefit for First Clan – you can never deliver on your promises. You would say anything to get the aid you need so desperately. And if we did win your war for you, you would betray us. There is no gratitude in humanity, only treachery.’

  ‘Clan Nataz have a different view,’ declared Tirior, pushing forward.

  Vithis held out his arm, barring her way. ‘Clan Nataz do not lead. First Clan has that honour.’

  ‘I hardly think that the lyrinx –’ Nish began. His blood was boiling. He wanted to smash the fellow in the face, though it would mean his doom, blue flag or not.

  ‘The lyrinx are beasts, but honourable ones for all that. They do not smile and make lying promises, like creeping, crawling, treacherous humanity. Go away, Little Marshal. You have nothing to offer us. Begone!’

  Control yourself. Don’t react to the provocation. Nish did his almighty best but suddenly his rage exploded. ‘I am young, as you point out. Inexperienced too. But if I wanted lessons in treachery,’ he said savagely, ‘I could have come to no better place and no more experienced tutor!’ Behind him Ranii sucked in her breath. His career as a diplomat was finished, but in the glorious madness of the moment, that counted for naught.

  Vithis raised a clenched fist. ‘How dare you come into my camp with such insults. I’ll –’

  Nish stepped right up to the tall man. ‘I speak nothing but the truth and you know it, noble Vithis of Inthis First Clan. The evidence of your deceit and treachery lies all around you.’ Nish pointed to the constructs extending in every direction. ‘You lied to Tiaan. You used her innocence and her naïve love.’

  A handsome young man ran forward, then stopped.

  ‘You must have been building constructs for twenty years before you contacted her,’ Nish went on. ‘How dare you accuse humanity of treachery when your own soul is as black as your machines? You are a stinking liar, surr.’

  Vithis’s face went the colour of a leech’s intestines. The young man threw himself between them. His strong hands kept clenching and unclenching. ‘Foster-father …’

  Vithis swung him out of the way. ‘No, Minis, and a thousand times no!’ He seized Nish by the front of the shirt, lifting him off the ground. ‘What do you know of Tiaan and the flying construct?’

  Nish’s legs swung in the air. He restrained the urge to kick Vithis.

  ‘To lay hands on an envoy under the blue flag is an act of aggression, surr,’ said Ranii.

  Vithis tossed Nish to the ground. ‘Well, worm?’

  ‘She met the Matah in Tirthrax,’ said Nish. ‘I don’t know anything about a flying construct.’

  ‘How do you know she met the Matah?’

  ‘I was there when the gate opened. I saw you all pass by. I pursued Tiaan and caught her but the Matah intervened. That is all I know.’

  ‘It’s all you will ever know,’ cried Vithis, pulling out a black dagger.

  Tirior sprang forward, seizing his wrist. Vithis strained but could not break her hold. Luxor stepped to Vithis’s other side.

  ‘And under a blue flag!’ Nish sneered. ‘Once more you prove your character, Vithis of Clan Inthis.’

  Vithis shook the pair off, sheathing the blade with an angry thrust. ‘Never will we ally with you, Little Marshal. The war will soon be over and you will lose it.’

  As Nish turned away, he could not resist one parting sally. ‘At least we will be able to say we fought to the bitter end, and that is more than the Aachim ever did. A hundred Charon took your world from you.’

  ‘Get out!’ raged Vithis. ‘Get out or not even the blue flag will save you.’

  Nish was drawing breath for a final insult when Ranii gripped his colla
r so hard that it hurt. ‘I am not going to give away my life so you can score debating points,’ she hissed. ‘Walk to your horse, get on it and ride away. If you say another word, I will plunge my sword right through the back of your neck.’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  By the time they slunk past the last line of constructs onto the plain, Nish’s madness had worn off. Ranii said not a word. When he looked around she was back with the soldiers. He kicked the horse into a canter, then a gallop, despite the agony it caused his bruised backside and chafed inner thighs. What a fool he had been. Seize the opportunity with both hands. Ha! Vithis had set the trap and he had fallen right into it.

  It was growing dark. The horse began to labour. The poor beast had been going hard all day and did not need a madman on its back at the end of it. A line of trees wavered across the plain in front of him. He slowed to a walk, heading toward the largest, and by the time the others caught up to him Nish had the fire going.

  Ranii did not speak to him on the return trip but he knew what she was going to say to Troist. He should never have been entrusted with the job; he had taken what should have been hers, against her advice, and stuffed it up disastrously.

  The soldiers were silently efficient. Not once did they meet Nish’s eye. He was a puppy. A failure at everything.

  Mounce sought him out as they approached Troist’s camp. ‘Surr?’ he said anxiously.

  Nish had no heart to continue the farce. He was no marshal; no command of his could have any force. ‘Yes, Sergeant Mounce?’ ‘I – Nothing, surr!’

  Nish did not hurry to his meeting with Troist. By the time he dragged himself through the flaps of the tent, Ranii was halfway through her report. He listened to the rest in silence. Yara sat on the far side of the room but did not interfere.

  Troist turned a haggard face to him. ‘Have you anything to add, Marshal Hlar?’