‘I need to talk to Troist. Tiaan and Irisis can finish their work while we’re there. And be careful. We’re down to three thapters now.’
‘You’re down to two,’ Malien pointed out. ‘I still have mine, and I’m always careful.’
Work was the last thing on Irisis’s mind but she continued mechanically, doing whatever Tiaan told her while she tried to understand what Gilhaelith could be up to. His actions didn’t make any sense, though one thing was clear – he didn’t care about people and Nish was in deadly danger.
Malien turned east and they met the army near a small lake between the great lakes of Warde Yallock and Parnggi. The surrounding grassland was clear of enemy so they felt relatively secure, though the lyrinx could not be far away. From here, Troist planned to head east, by paths suitable for clankers, then south to meet the refugees on the other side of Parnggi.
The four remaining mindspeech listeners had recorded intense message activity the previous afternoon and all morning, but in the early afternoon it stopped abruptly. The two thapters continued with the army. It was not attacked again, not even the solitary night raids from flying lyrinx to which Troist had grown accustomed.
‘It’s so quiet,’ said Flydd the morning after that. ‘Too quiet.’
They were camped on a gentle rise, a patch of barren ground with good views over the grassland in every direction. A small fire smoked between the thapters and Irisis was grilling gangrene-coloured offal sausages over it. She wasn’t looking forward to dinner.
‘I can practically feel the enemy’s rage about their loss,’ said Tiaan, who’d spent two days in the bowels of the thapter working on the field controller with Irisis, or by herself after Irisis had gone to bed. It had come together at last and they were going to begin testing after breakfast, Tiaan working as the operator.
Golias’s globe sounded and a voice rumbled like a cow’s belly, the words low and drawn-out.
‘Who was that?’ said Troist.
‘It sounded like Governor Zaeff in Roros,’ said Flydd in amazement. ‘I’ve never spoken to her directly. The fields must be marvellously aligned today.’
‘What did she say?’
‘I couldn’t make it out.’ He turned to the farspeaker. ‘This is Scrutator Flydd, north of Borgistry. Please repeat your message, Governor Zaeff.’
It came again, after a wait of two or three minutes. ‘The enemy have abandoned the field of battle …’ The rest was lost in noises like water bubbling in blocked drains.
‘Please repeat that, Governor Zaeff. It sounded as if you said the enemy were retreating.’
‘… were preparing to … walls of Roros … within hours of overcoming us … are streaming west …’
‘Are you saying that the enemy have broken off the attack?’ Flydd said incredulously.
‘Yes,’ said Zaeff. ‘I don’t believe … miracles … else can I explain …?’
‘When did this happen?’
Another long wait. ‘Yesterday morning…. felt sure it … a decoy … kept our silence until … knew what was happening.’
Flydd tried to call the other cities in the east, but could not raise any of them. Their fields were not aligned, so he had to go through the laborious process of having his calls relayed. It took hours, but in the end proved worth it. From Taranta to Tiksi, all had the same news. The lyrinx had broken off all attacks in the east and, accounting for time differences, at the same time.
‘It’s got to be a trick,’ said Troist. ‘They’re trying to lure us out after them.’
‘Strange kind of trick,’ said Irisis.
‘In the past weeks we’ve lost everything in the east but a few walled cities,’ said Troist, ‘and we’ve no hope of recovering it. The enemy can afford to forgo some of their gains if it means we capitulate sooner. Now the end is near they may want to limit their own casualties.’
‘Abandoning sieges which will soon have to be renewed seems a strange way of doing it,’ said Flydd.
‘Governor Zaeff has a thapter at Roros. Ask her to find out what the lyrinx are doing.’
‘She already has,’ said Flydd. ‘They waited out of range of the walls of Roros for the rest of the day and night, then headed south-west. The fliers were followed as far as the Wahn Barre, the Crow Mountains, which they were flying across when the thapter turned back. The lyrinx on the ground were marching in the same direction.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Troist. ‘The enemy must have found a way to seize control of our farspeakers. These messages are lies,