Part 37 (1/2)

'Well, that's a start,' she said. 'Though I can't believe '

'I have, however, ventured into the great Aachim city of Tirthrax, inside the mountain of the same name, and spoken with none other than Malien, Matah of the city, who is mentioned in the Tale of the Mirror Tale of the Mirror.' And twice she humiliated me, Nish thought.

Ranii took a step backwards. 'We must speak more of this on the way.'

Nish mounted his horse, trying to look expert, though he'd not much experience with riding.

'I am Marshal Cryl-Nish Hlar,' said Nish to the soldiers, more self-importantly than was wise. 'I go by the name of Nish, except when doing my official duties.'

The soldiers touched their caps, rather more casually than Nish would have liked.

'Sergeant Mounce,' said the one on the left, a short, stout man with arms like knotted tree roots and leathery skin much the same colour.

Nish glared at him and after some time Mounce grudgingly added, 'Surr.'

'Tchlrrr, surr,' said the youth, a handsome fellow with skin as black as the pitch they burned in the manufactory furnaces. Frizzy hair stood out around his head like a halo. His nose was a long beak, hooked at the tip, yet it only added to his striking good looks.

'You know where we are going, Mounce?'

'Yeah,' said the sergeant.

'Then ride! Time is precious.'

Taking him at his word, Mounce and Tchlrrr set off at a gallop that soon had Nish grimly hanging on, terrified he was going to fall and forever lose face in their eyes. He managed to stay on until they splashed through the creek, where the soldiers slowed to a more appropriate pace. Nish caught up to Ranii, who sat her horse as if she had been born to it.

'How is your seat?' She smiled behind her hand, enjoying his discomfort.

'A little battered. How long will it take to reach the Aachim camp?'

'We should be there by tomorrow afternoon, unless they've moved since our scouts last reported.'

They rode hard all day, by which time Nish's backside was so sore, and his thighs so chafed, that he could scarcely stop from crying out as he rode. In other respects it was a monotonous day. The dry plains of Almadin, and then Rencid, looked the same in every direction. The long gra.s.s was brown from the winter, though the first green shoots were now sprouting. The land was treeless except where watercourses, mostly dry, wound their way across the landscape. These were marked by ribbons of tall, white-trunked trees with grey or blue-grey leaves. Where there were no pools, water could be found by digging through the sand.

They were approaching one such watercourse at sunset. 'Are we camping here?' Nish asked hopefully.

'We will do as you order, Marshal Cryl-Nish Hlar,' Mounce replied.

'Please call me Nish,' said Nish. 'What do you think?'

'I am a soldier, Marshal Cryl-Nish Hlar. I don't think.'

Nish's heart sank. No doubt they knew that his dizzying promotion was just a confidence trick.

'If we stop here, will we reach the Aachim camp by mid-afternoon tomorrow?'

'Unlikely, surr.'

'Then we'll press on!'

They raced off. At once the ground seemed rougher, his mount's gait more jouncing, and Nish felt every jolt. Riding even harder, they reached another watercourse just as the light was fading. The sergeant continued through the water and kept going.

'A leader must lead,' said Ranii, at his elbow.

'We camp here!' Nish roared. Attempting to dismount, he fell off his horse as the soldiers wheeled around and came cantering back.

Nish picked himself up, rubbed his throbbing backside and began to unsaddle the horse.

'I'll do that, surr,' said Tchlrrr.

'Help Mounce with the camp,' said Nish. 'I'll take care of my own horse. It's the least I can do since I've been sitting on the poor creature all day.'

'He's a warhorse,' said Mounce. 'He's used to carrying a proper soldier and all his gear. A pipsqueak like you won't trouble him.'

The insult was deliberate and Nish could not pretend he had not heard it. What was he to do?

THIRTY-THREE.

Nish stopped dead and slowly turned around. It had to be done right away. 'Sergeant Mounce, you are broken to the ranks for insolence. Hand me your badge and baton, if you please.'

Mounce looked as if he had run into a tree. His leathery skin went red, then purple. His mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to breathe out of water.

'You you can't do that, surr,' he choked.

'As marshal, I believe I can.' Nish held out his hand. It took an effort to stop it from shaking, for he was taking a monumental risk. If the soldier refused, Nish might as well go home, for he would never recover.

It was a contest of wills, one Nish had often fought with his father, who invariably won it. On the other hand, the trials of the past months had grown a few fibres in Nish's soul. He had faced opponents more formidable than this one. The man was just a soldier, used to obeying orders no matter how stupid they might seem. The advantage was on Nish's side.

Taking a step forward, Nish looked the man in the eye. This was a game he had learned from the scrutator, and one of the easiest paths to dominance, if you had the will for it. Nish screwed his down hard. Nothing is going to beat me. Nothing! Nothing! As Troist has seized his chance, I will take mine. I've waited long enough for it. As Troist has seized his chance, I will take mine. I've waited long enough for it.

He put that fire and fury into his eyes. The soldier held him for a minute, then his eyes slid away and Nish knew he had won. The man put out his hand. Nish took the badge and baton.

The former sergeant bowed his head. 'You have broken me, surr. When I go back I will be finished. No soldier will ever respect me again.'

Nish was about to point out that it was on Mounce's own head, until a sudden, rare feeling of empathy came over him. He had been just as low, more than once, and but for the generosity of the overseer one time, and Scrutator Flydd another, might now be a soldier in the front-lines. Or in the belly of a lyrinx.

'You will have the chance to earn back your baton on this journey. Whether you do so is, of course, up to you.'

The soldier did not grovel, for which Nish was grateful, but he did bow. 'Thank you, Marshal Cryl Thank you, Nish.'

Nish bowed, the man turned away and they all went about their business.

After dinner Nish sat up talking to Ranii, who now tried to conceal her hostility. She briefed him on the character, the manners, the protocols and the Histories of the Aachim.

'You must appreciate,' she concluded, 'that everything I have told you relates to the Aachim of Santhenar, who have dwelt here for four thousand years. A culture and a people can change immeasurably in that time, even one so self-contained as theirs. The Aachim of this world are, no doubt, more like us than these newcomers. You must be cautious; who knows what what proprieties an innocent remark or gesture might infringe. And yet you must be bold, for they do not respect timidity. Above all else we must avoid the impression of weakness.' proprieties an innocent remark or gesture might infringe. And yet you must be bold, for they do not respect timidity. Above all else we must avoid the impression of weakness.'

'Which is the true impression.'