‘We’ve been enemies since the day you bribed Ghorr to admit you to the Council,’ Flydd said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. ‘Oh yes, I know all about that, and before I’ve finished with you the whole world will know your other dirty secrets, Fusshte. You schemed, bribed, lied and slaughtered your way to power. I might even have forgiven you that, had you used your talents to help win the war, but you were happy for the war to go on forever. It kept your kind in power and you used that power to be rid of anyone who threatened you. Especially me.’
Fusshte said not a word, nor did his eyes leave the platinum box.
‘You condemned me to be flayed alive,’ Flydd went on, ‘you and Ghorr. You laughed at my agony and sneered when the torturers cut my manhood away. But a man can still be a man without his male parts, as a man can have them and be no true man at all. I swore I’d bring you down for that alone, no matter what it cost me, to show that I was more a man than you.’
Fusshte made no reply. The ward-mancers began coming to their feet. He gestured frantically at them but one by one they folded their arms and stood there in a line.
‘Here is the amplimet you so craved, Fusshte.’ Flydd shook the platinum box. ‘I challenge you for it – man against man. None of these witnesses will interfere.’
Beside Nish, Irisis drew in a sharp breath. Nish’s heart began to pound. Fusshte’s snake eyes glittered. His bony hands tightened on the rail of the turret and he leaned over, dark tongue darting through his lips. He was surely planning some treacherous attack that Flydd wouldn’t anticipate.
Nish glanced at Flydd, a small, battered and bloody old man who was practically collapsing with weariness. Yet Flydd would not give in and he used that iron will to drive himself upright. His eyes never left his enemy’s and his stare never faltered. Nish could hardly breathe as the moment was drawn out to its snapping point.
Fusshte moved blindingly fast, bringing his concealed hand up and hurling a dagger. It caught the light as it flashed across the room and Nish was sure it was going to plunge into Flydd’s right eye.
Flydd tilted his head to the left, the dagger skimmed his ear and embedded itself in the wall. Fusshte reached down for another weapon but Flydd flipped open the platinum box and the flickering glow of the amplimet lit up the room. Holding the box in front of him, Flydd reached in, plucked the crystal out and raised his fist. It glowed blood-red.
‘Xervish!’ cried Irisis. ‘Put it back. It’ll anthracise you.’
Flydd did not hesitate. How can he dare, Nish thought. Isn’t he afraid? Surely he can’t hope to hold the amplimet back by himself?
Flydd’s fist began to pulse, pink to blood-dark. The strain showed in the muscles of his face – would he control the crystal or would it turn him to reeking char?
No one moved. Fusshte’s tongue flickered across his lips again. A minute passed. Two. Three.
Flydd’s arm trembled; his body jerked, and suddenly Fusshte had a crossbow in his hand and was drawing a bead on Flydd’s forehead. Nish looked for something to throw but couldn’t find anything save chunks of charcoal.
‘Surr!’ Nish cried. ‘Get out of the way.’
Fusshte wound the cranks and the bow creaked as it bent. His finger moved for the lock lever.
Before he could fire, Flydd roared, ‘You’re mine, Fusshte. Mine!’ He thrust his arm high and strained until the tendons in his neck stood out.
Fusshte had his finger on the lever but before he could release it the wire of the crossbow glowed red and sagged away.
The amplimet flared and faded. Steam burst from Flydd’s nostrils. He strained again, his fist rock-steady though his arm had the faintest tremor. Flydd grunted, groaned, steam or smoke burst from his mouth and for a moment it looked as if his fist was dripping blood.
‘You’re mine!’ he cried, rising up on tiptoes. ‘Mine. Back, I say – all the way back.’
The crystal flared to coruscating brilliance, Nish gasped, and then the glow went out completely.
Flydd staggered and nearly fell, but recovered and extended his hand towards Fusshte, the amplimet pointing from his fingers. The central spark wasn’t blinking at all. ‘Mine!’ he roared.
Fusshte dropped the useless crossbow as if it had grown too hot