by Ian Irvine
'Aren't you worried about being spotted?' said Tiaan.
'I've just put a concealment on the thapter,' Malien said cryptically. 'It's quite effective from this distance, though I don't know how long I can keep it up.'
They floated above the treetops for hours, Talis and Forgre staring at their maps and conversing in whispers, before Talis said, 'Go down onto that bare spur, just to the left.'
Malien settled the thapter expertly on a shelf of some pale-coloured stone, shaped like the bowl of a spoon. A tree with a split trunk, black against the white bark, leaned out to overhang the end of the ridge.
'This is as close as we dare go,' said Forgre, rubbing his i beardless cheek. 'We're but two leagues from Alcifer and Oellyll, the lyrinx city beneath it. Tens of thousands of lyrinx dwell there, and they hunt in these mountains.'
Are we close to those terraces we saw yesterday?' said Tiaan. She could smell brimstone.
'They're that way,' said Talis, pointing towards the sea. They run east for leagues, then north high above the coast.'
'If you listen closely,' said Malien, 'you can hear the geysers going.'
No one spoke for a while, and in the distance Tiaan heard a rushing sound that built up to a muted roar before fading away.
'It seems a little risky, going down to Alcifer on foot,' she ventured.
'You mean insane and incomprehensible,' Malien observed dryly. 'I daren't take the thapter any closer. No concealment is perfect.'
'How are you going to find Gilhaelith in such a vast place?'
'We have certain information about his whereabouts.'
'How can you be sure it's reliable?'
'That's Forgre's job,' said Malien. 'He's our most gifted spy. Apparently the lyrinx shun Alcifer itself, so if Gilhaelith is there, using power, he won't be hard to find. Once Forgre discovers where he is, we'll fly down and snatch him.'
'Just like that?' said Tiaan.
'I hope so.'
'If Gilhaelith's in Alcifer, he must be trusted by the enemy.'
'He may be assisting them,' Forgre said, 'but I doubt they trust him.'
'From what I hear of Gilhaelith, he's always out for himself' said Malien. 'I'd say they have some hold over him.'
Tiaan walked to the edge of the rock and stood looking down. The deep valley was like a pool of ink with a few pinpoints of light floating on it, starlight touching the tips of the tallest trees. She was so afraid, her knees would barely hold her up. Tiaan had sworn, after her captivity in Kalissin, that she would never go near the lyrinx again. But she had, and they'd put her into the patterners in Snizort. It was a horror she thought about every day.
Malien moved the thapter into deeper shelter and strengthened the concealment. 'That should be enough. It's a balance between doing enough to conceal the machine but not so much as to alert the enemy.'
'What if a lyrinx chances to walk past?'
'Any ordinary lyrinx could walk right into the thapter and just think it was rock. It hurts me to maintain it, though, so I hope it's not necessary for long.'
Malien turned into the forest. They followed silently, after an hour coming onto a narrow ridge that terminated in a cliff.
Malien peered over with her spyglass. 'Alcifer, look!' The hairs stood up on her nape.
Domes and spires rose out of woolly fog that hung in the hollows of the abandoned city like a bathtub full of kapok. How could a place abandoned so long ago still seem to hold such menace?
Forgre had been out several times. Tiaan had wondered how he could pass through the lyrinx guards into Alcifer, until she saw him in action. A master of the spying Art, he could blend into the background as well as any lyrinx, and when he moved it baffled the eye. It took a lot out of him, though; Forgre was always exhausted when he came back.
On their third day of watching, an air-floater appeared through a gap in the clouds and circled above Alcifer several times, before disappearing into the clouds again.
'What's that doing here?' hissed Malien.
'Oellyll is the greatest enemy city,' said Forgre. 'The scrutators often spy on it, now that they can fly above lyrinx height.'
'I can't imagine they'd see much from such an altitude.'
'It must be good for old-human morale.'
'Unfortunately for us, it'll make the lyrinx more watchful than ever,' said Malien.
'It may draw them away from us, at least.'
Their fliers will be looking down as well as up.'
Then we'll just have to be even more careful,' Forgre said arily.
'Ah, I'm done in,' he said on his return from another mission. It was around midday on their fifth day of watching, and they were still camped by the lookout. The weather was cold and gloomy, with driven rain-showers, a chilly wind and occa-signal breaks of a watery sun that silvered the metal domes of Alcifer, far below.
Tiaan took up the spyglass and, as she had done a hundred times in the past days, swept it around and over the city. When the scudding showers passed, she could see slaves toiling in the lower gardens.
'Did you find him?' said Malien.
'No, though I know he's there.' Forgre looked down at his wiry hands, which were shaking. 'I'll have to rest awhile — my aftersickness is bad here.'
Tiaan looked through the spyglass again. 'He's there.' 'Forgre just said that,' Malien reminded her. There! Look!' Tiaan rose to her feet, pointing to a ridge east of theirs, which was rather lower. Its point, bare of trees, was momentarily exposed through the drifting mist.
Malien snatched the glass. 'I see six slaves, no, eight. They appear to be making readings of the field, at the direction of a very tall man. There could be more slaves in the shade of the trees.'
'It's Gilhaelith!' Tiaan whispered. 'Are you sure?' 'Positive.'
'How long have they been there?' 'I don't know. The mist has only just cleared.' 'They'll probably be taking readings for a while,' said Malien. 'This is the best chance we'll ever get. But how to do it?'
'Why not just fly there and grab him?' said Tiaan.
'The guards will hear the thapter long before we get there.
I can't conceal that. Once they do, the illusion will break and they'll vanish into the forest with him. We'll have to get to Gilhaelith on foot. Tiaan, slip back to the thapter and take it across, but hang further up the ridge, in the mist. My concealment will hold as long as you don't get too close.'
'What are you going to do?'
'We'll go across, also under concealment, and hide near the wall of the lowest terrace. I'll know when you're coming and take Gilhaelith. The instant I signal, race down and pick us up.'
'Are you sure you can do it?'
'Yes. You'd better get going.'
It all seemed suspiciously easy, but it would be presumptuous of her to challenge Malien's plan. As the Aachim disappeared beneath her concealment it occurred to Tiaan that Forgre's aftersickness had seemed really bad. She hoped he was up to it, because he certainly didn't look it.
Fifty-five
Tiaan headed up along the ridge and, with every step, the blockage in her chest seemed to grow. What if the lyrinx called down their fliers? What if the enemy had already found the thapter?
By the time she reached its hiding place, the clot had grown to half the size of her chest and fire was radiating from the point where she had broken her back. She clung to a tree, panting. She could not see the thapter anywhere.
She tried to remain calm. It was under a concealment, even from her. Malien had forgotten this, in the excitement at discovering Gilhaelith. It wasn't like her, and Tiaan's uneasiness grew. What if she couldn't find it?
She moved back towards the cliff, sweeping her head from side to side. Near the edge, from the very corner of her eye, a blocky shape appeared and disappeared between the trees, where there had been no shape previously. It was there.
She patted it with outstretched hands. It even felt like rock but, as Tiaan concentrated, the gritty surface smoothed out under her fingers. She went up the side
in a rush, inserted the crystal in its socket and closed the hatch. Only then did she feel safe.
Bringing the thapter up to just below the tops of the trees, she wove her way between them, heading upslope of the exposed point where Gilhaelith had been, towards the terraces. It took a lot of concentration, and it was hard to be sure she was in the right place.
Tiaan circled for half an hour, feeling increasingly anxious about the mist, which might prevent Malien from seeing her;
the delay, and how well the concealment was holding. If Malien was signalling, how could she tell?
As the thapter eased up the terrace again, the screen began to fog over and Tiaan had to flip the hatch open to see. Strands of drifting mist swirled about her. She went higher but that made it worse. Holding her spyglass in one hand, she curved downhill again.
Edging the thapter over an outcrop of black rock furred with brilliantly green moss, she spotted a group of raggedly dressed people in the clearing, waving madly. The concealment must have parted. She turned away, hoping distance would renew it. There were violent movements in the undergrowth, then one of the slaves staggered out onto the rocks, bleeding from the belly. The attack had started, but where was the signal?
Tiaan made a tight circle, wondering what to do. Mist swept up the ridge, concealing everything, and when it broke some minutes later she saw Malien confronting a huge dark lyrinx. Neither looked up; the concealment had re-formed. Tiaan took the thapter sideways. Several bodies lay on the other side of the clearing, red and broken. She could not tell if they were Aachim, slaves or Gilhaelith. She went lower, turning in mid-air but not knowing what to do. She dared not land until she saw him.
And there he was, staggering across the rocks with two human slaves clinging to his arms. That didn't make sense either, though it was clear Malien's attack had failed. If she didn't do something, both Malien and Gilhaelith would be lost.
Tiaan sideslipped towards the point. The great lyrinx looked around, hearing the noise but unable to hold Malien and break the concealment at the same time. As Tiaan touched down, the lyrinx hurled Malien into the rocks, spun on the sole of one foot, its crest shimmering iridescently in the misty gloom, and raised its fist.
The thapter sang like a bundle of taut wires. Everyone on the ridge spun around, staring as it materialised in mid-air.
The creature raised its right arm and lyrinx burst out of the rocks, not stone-formed but camouflaged so perfectly there had been no trace of them. Tiaan's intuition had been right -it was a trap and it had already closed on Forgre. She recognised his broken body near the edge of the cliff.
She couldn't see Talis but Malien was on her feet, swaying as she worked her fingers in the air. The two slaves fell down. Gilhaelith tore the cords from around his wrists and raced for the trees.
'Gilhaelith!' Tiaan screamed. 'This way!'
His head whipped around. 'Tiaan?'
He took one step towards her, puzzled but not looking pleased. She was wondering why when a flying lyrinx swooped out of the mist, clamped its claws into his ribs and lifted him bodily.
Gilhaelith thrashed and it almost fell out of the air. Darting its open jaws at him, it gripped him around the top of the head until its teeth broke the skin. Tiaan was so close she could see the spots of blood. He went still and it pulled him in under the trees, out of sight, labouring under his weight.
Malien's attacker now rushed Tiaan, its spread wings darkening the sky. Its armour was as black as coal, its mighty crest a luminous gold. Many other lyrinx followed. They'd been after her, and the thapter, all along. The intelligence that Gilhaelith was at Alcifer must have been planted to lure her here, but it had been Malien who had taken the bait.
Tiaan slammed the hatch, twisting the lock as the first creature thudded onto the roof. Its claws tore at the metal but could find no grip, the seams were too perfect. Another lyrinx leapt onto the thapter, then half a dozen more, until the roof creaked under their weight. Between them she saw the black mancer-lyrinx, carrying a great bar with which to prise the hatch open. They could not use their Art, for the thapter was proof against it, but nothing could protect her from sheer physical force.
A glittering, luminous bubble burst against the black lyrinx's back but he shrugged it off. He did not turn to attack Malien, whose magic it was, nor even to defend himself. It was an expression of contempt: you can't harm me. Icy sweat oozed down Tiaan's back. The trap was closing fast. Forgre was dead, probably Talis as well. Gilhaelith had been removed. Now Malien fought alone against dozens of opponents, and surely could not last.
Running away was not a temptation — Tiaan wasn't going down that road again. The thumping against the shell of the thapter was deafening, and now it went dark inside as they covered the screen. She pulled up on the yoke, thinking to turn upside down and shake them off. The thapter vibrated so hard that her bones rattled, but did not lift; the weight of dozens of lyrinx was too much for it.
Tiaan tried to spin it on the spot but that didn't work either — the lyrinx must have linked arms with those on the ground, who dug in their claws and held it. She could not break their grip.
Cutting off the field, she sat back, panting. There had to be a way. The darkness broke as a small triangle of screen was cleared. A face appeared — the mancer-lyrinx. His anthracite skin glittered as if it had been sprinkled with diamond dust; the golden crest pulsed dark and bright. Power shimmered all around him like heat haze rising from a saltpan.
He thrust his toothy head towards the screen, seeking her out. Tiaan kept away from the light, for he smouldered enough to burn her, and if his gaze locked on hers he might be able to command her to his will.
Tiaan could feel the command building. Come into the light, where I can see you. Come. Come'.
Her hand shook. She wanted to go to him, to look into his eyes. It felt like the right thing to do. He wasn't her enemy. He would make it right for her.
What was she thinking? Tiaan moved back smartly, whacking her head on the back of the compartment. There had to be a way — she was a geomancer after all — and a brilliant one, according to Gilhaelith.
She'd not done any geomancy in ages. Since gaining the thapter, Tiaan had used its speed, its strength, and simply run away from her troubles. The great talents she'd begun to nurture had been neglected.
The golden-crested lyrinx jammed his bar into the join between the hatch and the shell of the thapter, and heaved, Metal screamed. If she was to save Malien, there was no time to lose.
Tiaan popped out the amplimet. Gripping it hard, she scanned the earth below the ridge, though not seeking power. She kept well away from the throbbing Alcifer node-within-a-node, which was far beyond her comprehension. She was looking for a way to use her fledgling geomancy; an attack they would never suspect.
She sensed many things — the aeons-slow creep of rocks under strain, the imperceptible rise of magma pools far below, the crackling of ancient lava fields surrounding the dormant volcano to the north. None were useful to her, nor the tension on a great faultline that curved beneath Alcifer. That held power beyond anyone's capacity to bear.
Metal squealed above her, as if the hatch were coming off. Ah, there was something! Seeping heat from the quiescent volcano had created the fuming, seething terraces above her, with their lines of hot springs and mud pools. She traced the paths of superheated fluid through the rocks nearby, seeking a weakness she could exploit to blast steam at the lyrinx, or create a minor landslide that might cause them to draw back panic. She didn't need much.
The bar ground at the join of the hatch again and again, the shrill squeal tearing at her nerves. The black lyrinx's teeth were bared as it strained. There were so many paths of heat flowing through cracks and fissures; so many places where the superheated ground water was held tight. If she could find a weakness, and assist the rocks to give way there, the water must burst forth.
She found one but it was too far away. Another lay just above the ridge — too close and too powerful
to take the risk.
A third pool had a fissure above it, sealed tight by crystallised salt, and it looked just right.
Tiaan explored its aura and field, seeking to know it, as she must. The fissure had been open many times in the past, making a spectacular geyser for weeks or months before the vent become blocked again.
Just a little extra pressure and the crystallised salt would crack like toffee. Tiaan put her fingers in her ears to block out the rasp of metal against metal as she hunted for a way that was within her capacity. She did not have the power to make the earth move. She had to use what was there, and fortunately the system was so delicately balanced that a small change could upset it.
She changed the field to direct a surge of heat into that lower chamber. The superheated water roiled, burst through a flimsy barrier and forced its way up. The lines of force changed colour; the salt plug cracked and was blasted away as the water forced its way up into a terrace filled with mud.
As the pressure was relieved, the water turned instantly to steam, boiling the mud and blasting a brown geyser upwards with a shriek that had the great lyrinx clapping his hands over his ears. He fell backwards, allowing Tiaan to see what she had done.
A circular wave of mud roared out from around the geyser, overtopping the banks that made a dam of the terrace, then tearing channels through them. A deluge of boiling mud began to pour over the slope above them like jam from the lip of a cooking pot.
The lyrinx hurled themselves out of the way, diving off the edges of the ridge and over the cliffs. Only the mancer-lyrinx held to his purpose, slamming his bar into the angle of the hatch yet again. He darted a glance over his shoulder, gave another prise that made metal squeal, then gave up the fight and lifted straight up in the air. The steam burst caught him, whirling him about then over the edge and out of sight.