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leader might have seen that the mission to the node-drainer was
fatally flawed. Another leader might have done a hundred things to avert this
disaster. Having done none of them, he could only feel culpable. If duty
required him to pay, he would do so.
    Nonetheless,
his heart lurched when he saw who was getting out of the air-floater that had
crash-landed. A tall, deep chested man, apparenthr in hale middle age, he was
broad shouldered, dark haired, full bearded and of noble good looks, except
when his smile revealed those vulpine teeth. It was Ghorr, the chief scrutator,
and his temper looked fouler than usual. Behind him were ranked the ten other
members of the Council of Scrutators, four women and six men. All were bruised,
dishevelled and furiously angry.
    Though
Flydd was still a scrutator, he was no longer on the Council. He ran down to
help Ghorr over the side, but the big man smacked his hand away. Blood droplets
clustered on his left eyebrow from a gash at his hairline.
    'I'm
glad you've come,' said Flydd, putting out his hand. 'Your mirror is a fine
innovation, though it'll only work once. The next time we meet the enemy
they'll have a tactic to neutralise it.'
    The
chief scrutator ignored the gesture. 'I should never have allowed you back!'
    'You
should have led by example,' said Flydd, 'and done the job yourself. But that
was never your way, was it, Ghorr?'
    Ghorr
brushed General Tham's hand aside, too, and panted to the top of the hill,
where he paused to survey the battlefield. It was a pose, of course — he'd had
hours to study the scene from the air-floater.
    The
other scrutators followed, and not even Flydd's former friend, Halie, the dark
little scrutator, had a sympathetic glance for her former colleague. Flydd had
expected no less. Though few knew it, the scrutators answered to a higher power
— the shadowy Numinator. Someone must take the blame and he was the man
responsible.
    Ghorr
was about to speak when the last of the air-floaters edged up over the hill, to
settle directly in front of the command tent. A small man climbed over the
side, rather awkwardly, for he had only one arm. Flydd gave an involuntary
gasp. If there was one person he had not expected to see, it was this man.
    As
the air-floater lifted off and headed down the slope, the man turned and the
sun caught a gleaming platinum mask that covered the left side of his face.
Twin metal bands encircled his head like a helmet, and the hole in the cheek
plate of the mask had been repaired. The single eye had the glare of a deranged
man.
    'You
won't get away with it this time, Scrutator Flydd,' said Acting Scrutator
Jal-Nish Hlar.
    Irisis
was catching a moment's rest in the shade behind a tent when Perquisitor
Fyn-Mah shook her awake. Fyn-Mah was petite, black of hair and eye, with a
stern, frozen beauty that deterred rather than attracted. The perquisitor
normally exuded dignity, but now she was flushed as if she had run a long race.
    'Get
your artisan's pliance and your sword, and follow me, Crafter.'
    'I
have them,' said Irisis tersely. They did not like each other; moreover,
Irisis's sharp tongue had once done Fyn-Mah a wrong and she did not know how to
repair it.
    'Now!'
rapped the perquisitor. 'Scrutator's orders, Crafter.'
    Irisis
knew better than to question her. A perquisitor, the rank below scrutator,
could give orders to the master of a city and expect them to be obeyed without
question. Besides, Irisis knew why Flydd wanted her out of the way. Ghorr would
not have forgotten her escape from Nennifer, and he still wanted to know how
she'd killed Jal-Nish's mancer up on the aqueduct at the manufactory. It was a
secret that threatened all mancers.
    Fyn-Mah
reappeared carrying a small pack and they slipped through the guards and over
the edge of the hill into a shrubby gully which ran away from the battlefield.
Flangers was standing in the shadows halfway down. He nodded to Fyn-Mah, then
fell in beside Irisis.
    'What's
going on?' she said in