Tetrarch (Well of Echoes)

by Ian Irvine

  ‘Why should I help you? You are the enemy of all humanity.’

  ‘You traded with us before,’ said the Matriarch, watching him with eyes that reflected the light in twin points. ‘What is different now? We will pay you well, in whatever currency you demand.’ Her eyes held a question.

  ‘I’ll consider my price.’ It was hard to see how he could get away, weaponless and surrounded by alert guards, but that was not his most pressing concern. He would soon have had to abandon Nyriandiol anyway, but the amplimet was back there, unguarded. He had to have it – he had gone too far along that path to retreat now. He must convince them to take him back.

  He was also bothered about Tiaan. Gilhaelith prayed that she had survived the fall. Or would it be better if she had died? No! He missed her. Astonishing. In all his years at Nyriandiol he had never cared about anyone. He had to know what had happened to her. ‘You must take me home first.’

  ‘Why?’ Yellow and black patterns moved on her skin – suspicion.

  ‘I haven’t read the very ancient Histories in a hundred years, and I can’t remember them. I must consult my library. Then I will tell you my price.’

  They waited for Munnand, the lyrinx who had gone back for Tiaan, but he did not come. The following afternoon they were back in the air, six fliers this time. The Matriarch was one of them, though she took no part in carrying Gilhaelith. Flying into strong headwinds, it took them two days to reach the Burning Mountain. Six days had passed since his abduction. They landed at the point where Tiaan had fallen. There was no sign of her, or her walker, and the rubble showed no tracks. Nyriandiol was unnaturally quiet.

  ‘We will go to your house,’ Gyrull said.

  They found three bodies on the terrace – Gurteys, Fley and a tall man too clawed to identify. The lyrinx lay on the steps, dead. The chalcedony door had been smashed to pieces and more bodies were sprawled further down the hall. The Matriarch bowed her head over Munnand while Gilhaelith checked the bodies of his retainers. All had died of lyrinx wounds.

  ‘This changes matters,’ he said coldly. Going to the front door he shouted, ‘Tiaan?’ His cry echoed down the hall, but there was no reply.

  ‘Where’s Tiaan?’ Gilhaelith cried. ‘What have you done with her?’

  ‘Munnand lies dead,’ said Matriarch Gyrull. The other lyrinx were carrying the body away. ‘He was alone. But there are other signs, if you care to look.’

  The door had been broken with hammers. There were metal marks on the stone and the lyrinx would not have done that. Inside, muddy bootprints tracked down the hall. They were unusually long. The Aachim had been here.

  ‘Tiaan!’ He raced down the swooping outside platform to the lowest level, at dire risk of going over the edge. The lower door had been smashed. The window was a jagged hole. The room was empty, the thapter gone.

  ‘Vithis has the thapter, and Tiaan!’ He clenched his fists, struggling to moderate his emotions so as to give nothing else away. The thapter did not matter but the amplimet was everything now.

  The Matriarch walked around the room. ‘She fought bravely. See these scars in the wall. She must have used some kind of weapon …’

  ‘My crystal rod,’ said Gilhaelith. ‘She survived the fall, at least.’

  ‘A pity. We could have used her again. To your library, tetrarch.’

  He considered refusing and trying to escape but with six lyrinx watching there was no chance. Better to cooperate than be forced. He had to have a safe place to work and, hopefully, scry out where the amplimet had been taken. He was determined to have it back. Moreover, the scrutators would arrive here within days and the evidence of his treachery was everywhere. Why not let Gyrull take him back to Snizort? They could carry the devices he needed, and once there he could use the power of the node to track down the amplimet. And what a strange node it was – that could only add to his knowledge.

  He was beginning to see that nodes held part of the secret to the great game, and the more of them he could study, the closer he would be to his goal. Especially such potent nodes as the one at Snizort.

  Gilhaelith’s library was well organised and it did not take long to collect all the ancient records dealing with the Taltid region of Lauralin. There were not many and all were second-hand, since few original documents had survived for that period. Gyrull sat beside him while he worked, the truth-reader on his other side.

  ‘What, specifically, are you looking for?’ Gilhaelith asked.

  ‘Firstly,’ said Gyrull, ‘all documents from the period ten thousand to seven thousand years before the present day, which deal with Snizort, the tar pits or the people who dwelt in its vicinity. Secondly, reports of wonder-working or the Secret Art from that period. Third – no, that is enough.’

  ‘Here’s something,’ said Gilhaelith several hours later. He was turning the pages of a chronicle detailing the earliest Histories of the Gospett area. ‘It’s from nine thousand, three hundred years ago. It mentions the tar seeps, and ghost lights burning at night out in the middle.’

  ‘Ghost lights?’ said the Matriarch.

  ‘Like will-o’-the-wisps.’

  ‘Explain, if you please.’

  ‘Ghost lights are gases that catch fire by themselves.’

  ‘Ah, bog vapours.’

  The same locality was mentioned several times in the Histories of the next thousand years, but all references related to the tar pits or to products obtained from them. None were of any interest to the Matriarch.

  ‘What does this say?’ She pointed to a paragraph on the page opposite the one he had been reading from.

  ‘It talks about yellow crystals – brimstones – found in cavities near some of the smaller seeps.’

  ‘Continue.’

  He caught a gleam in her eye and made a mental note to be careful. It would appear Gyrull could read the ancient texts almost as well as he could. What a formidable intellect she must have.

  He went through the chronicles, volume by volume. It took all day. Finally, in the year 7327 before the present one, he found something that made the Matriarch sit up.

  ‘The people of the village of Ric Rints, near the tar pits of Snizort, were ordered by the regent to cease their foul sorcery or be put to the sword.’

  Gilhaelith explained, ‘At this time, mancing was tribal magic and forbidden under the Encial Edict of 7366.’

  ‘What kind of sorcery?’ asked the Matriarch.

  ‘A form of shape-changing magic, I’d say. It’s not clear what, although almost everyone in the village seems to have had a natural talent, which they focussed using woken brimstones. So close to such a powerful node, they might not have needed anything else. They would require a ready supply of brimstones, though, for such crystals are fragile.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The villagers promised to do no more shape-changing, but later built a floating causeway out to the middle of the lake of tar, where they constructed a village on a cloverleaf platform. Rumours began of sorcerous experiments, right over the Great Seep. One magical working caused the sky to change colour. Another time, a column of yellow light blasted straight up, brighter than the beam of a lighthouse. Another time, they caused the Great Seep to seethe until hot tar rained down on distant villages. Yet another time the sky opened and closed again, like an eye, and watchers saw stars in the daytime.’

  The Matriarch was impassive, save for those gleaming eyes. ‘What do you think they were doing?’

  ‘Geomancy,’ said Gilhaelith. ‘Primitive but no less powerful. This was long before the Forbidding sealed the Way between the Worlds. It sounds as if they discovered how to open the Way. Perhaps they were the very first to do so.’ He bent his head to the parchment.

  ‘The regent, furious that they so flagrantly flouted his edict, placed a proscription on the village and began building floating paths out to it. Before he could attack, another great column of yellow light blasted upwards. The sky opened and many of the villagers vanished through it. Under the downb
last, the platform broke apart. The village and its remaining inhabitants, more than three hundred children, women and men, were sucked under the tar and never seen again.’

  The Matriarch looked to the truth-reader, letting out a great sigh. The truth-reader nodded.

  ‘That is what you are looking for?’ said Gilhaelith. ‘A village lost seven thousand years ago? Surely their brimstones, and their knowledge, will have been lost with them? It would be easier to –’

  ‘Can you find it?’ she said harshly.

  ‘It will not be easy. The tar moves slowly but seven thousand years is a long time.’

  ‘You will try,’ she said. ‘It must be found.’

  He did not ask why. She was not going to tell him. ‘I will require a number of scrying and sensing devices,’ he said, praying that she would not call his bluff. It was not really a bluff, for all could be used for that purpose, though not all were necessary for it. There would be plenty to do in Snizort, and when all was done, his devices would permit him to break out again, if he could just keep charge of them.

  Gyrull weighed him for a moment. ‘Of course. Indicate what you require and we will carry it.’

  He marked a number of items, including his great globe. She frowned at that but did not refuse. The items were packed, the boxed globe secured in rope netting, and they prepared to go.

  It was a wrench abandoning everything else, especially the carillon of bells and the great organ, but nothing could be done about it. Those secrets would be in the hands of Scrutator Klarm within days. Gilhaelith wondered what he would make of them.

  He considered his options on the long trip back to Snizort. The Matriarch knew more than she was saying. Those villagers must have been better at their Art than anyone imagined. To discover what had been lost that day was going to be a prodigious labour, and it must be a powerful secret. Should he give them what they wanted?

  On the other hand, something strange had happened out in the Great Seep that day, more than seven thousand years ago, and it had to do with geomancy. It may have been the very foundation of his Art. Gilhaelith’s curiosity had been aroused and he had to have it satisfied.

  PART FIVE

  NODE-DRAINER

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Tiaan lay in the crashed walker, watching the lyrinx carry Gilhaelith away. Their wings churned the fog, it enveloped them and he was gone. Why had they taken him? And what had he been about to tell her about her back? She dared not hope for a cure, yet hope could not be restrained.

  The walker had not fallen far, fortunately, or she would not have survived. It had slid down a few spans until the rubble stopped it. Tiaan was bruised but nothing seemed to be broken.

  She felt for the controller hedron, which had fallen out of its socket. Pressing it into place, she attempted to move one mechanical leg without sending the walker further down the slope. Nothing happened. She tried the other legs, one at a time. They did not work either.

  ‘Help!’ The fog suffocated her cry.

  ‘Help, help!’ It sounded weak and lost. Gilhaelith’s servants were inside. They would not hear her, and if they did, who would care? She had to save herself. Tiaan took up the controller again.

  Taking it apart, mindful that if she dropped any piece she would never recover it, Tiaan checked everything. The hedron was undamaged but one of the connecting stubs had bent out of place. She straightened it with her teeth. When she reassembled the device the lower leg moved suddenly, rotating the walker on the rubble. She caught her breath but it did not fall. Could she possibly get it upright on this slope? Or move it if she did? The walker was designed for level ground.

  Visualising the field, Tiaan selected a whorl that held just a tiny amount of power, trickled it into the controller and spread the legs as far as they would go. That was easy, but to get it upright would not be. The leg beneath her was the key. She extended it a little, starting a miniature rockslide. A little more and the walker rolled sideways. Now the leg had nothing to push against. She would have to work both lower legs at once.

  Flexing them at the middle joints so as to reduce their length, she pushed gently. The walker tilted up, one knobbed foot slipped and the machine fell back, starting another slide.

  Tiaan tried again and this time got the walker two-thirds upright, though her weight was near to toppling it. If she tried to go further the walker might fall all the way to the bottom of the crater. It would not survive that, and neither would she.

  Extending the upslope legs until they were nearly parallel to the slope, she straightened the other pair. The walker edged towards the vertical. The rubble moved beneath one foot. Now the really difficult part. Ever so carefully she pushed with the downslope legs. The walker moved up a little, then stuck. It was like an animal trying to walk on its back legs. How was she to get up the slope? Straight up looked impossibly steep but, if she angled across, Tiaan thought she might just be able to do it.

  She pushed off. The walker teetered and Tiaan was sure it was going to go over. She found a little more extension in the upslope legs. It was just enough. Creeping across the slope like a four-legged crab, she made it to the edge, though she had to go back and forth three times to get up the last bit.

  On the rim, bigger challenges awaited her. She did not hold any false hope for Gilhaelith. Few people ever got out of the hands of the lyrinx. She was on her own. Had the thapter been finished she would have fled at once. Since it was not, she must pray for time to complete it.

  Tiaan skidded across the terrace and in through the front door. ‘Nixx!’ she shouted. ‘Nixx, quickly.’

  The seneschal appeared, quill in one hand, tally sheet in the other. ‘What is it? I’m very busy.’

  ‘Gilhaelith has been taken!’

  ‘What?’ he cried. ‘How?’

  ‘Four lyrinx flew down out of the fog and carried him away. They were so quick he had no chance.’

  He dropped the quill. Black ink spattered the tiles. ‘When was this?’

  ‘An hour ago.’

  ‘An hour?’

  She became aware of her wild hair and dirty face. ‘My walker went over the edge a long way from here. I called out but no one heard me. They rose straight up into the fog.’

  ‘Show me the place,’ he said grimly.

  Tiaan led him to the spot and he examined it while she stood by. Reaction had set in and she was trembling.

  ‘Big lyrinx?’ Nixx said doubtfully.

  ‘As big as any I’ve seen.’

  ‘I don’t see any tracks. You say you fell?’ He sounded doubtful. Surely he did not think she had killed Gilhaelith?

  ‘Down there?’ She pointed.

  Nixx studied her skid marks just as carefully. He did suspect her. Tiaan was insulted.

  He roused out the household to search the rim in a line that extended down each side for about a hundred paces. Every mark and dislodged pebble was noted. It took most of the morning. They recovered Gilhaelith’s crystal rod, which did not seem to be damaged. Finally they came back to where Tiaan sat under the vines on the terrace.

  ‘It is as you say,’ Nixx said. ‘We found unmistakable footmarks. The lyrinx have taken him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Nixx sat at the table, staring at his tally sheet. His broad fingers were stained with ink. He seemed not to know what to do. The other servants stood by the door, equally bewildered and fearful. Tiaan could read their faces. Without Gilhaelith, they

  had nothing. He had always been here – some families had served him for five generations. Now he was gone and Nyriandiol was unprotected.

  The crystal rod lay on the table. It was an elongated prism, translucent and heavy, capped at one end with shiny steel, a basket of which enclosed the striated sides. An ironstone rosette was fixed on the open end. Gilhaelith’s teaching had barely touched on such devices, though she knew it could be a weapon in the right hands.

  She slipped it into her pocket. ‘What are you going to do, Ni
xx?’

  ‘I can’t do anything!’ he wailed, still wringing his fleshy hands. ‘Four lyrinx might have carried him halfway across the continent.’

  Tiaan was back on the terrace, numbly watching the fog wreathe through the vines, when she heard raised voices at the front door.

  ‘The master is lost,’ said someone she did not know. ‘We will never see him again. Let us take what we can carry and go.’

  ‘He may come back.’ Nixx’s voice rose above the others. ‘We must maintain Nyriandiol for his return –’

  ‘You old fool!’ spat Gurteys. ‘It’s finished. This place will be plundered within days. We’ve lost everything.’

  ‘We cannot betray our master.’

  ‘We can’t hold the place against lyrinx or anyone else. Come on!’ she yelled.

  ‘Don’t,’ he quavered. ‘Let me go. Aaah!’

  Tiaan knew what was going to happen. Snatching her water bottle, she crabbed sideways toward the path, watching the front door. Shadows moved inside. She sought for a strong part of the field; as powerful as she could bear.

  ‘There she is.’ The squat woman, Alie, wielded a kitchen cleaver over her head.

  ‘Don’t kill her,’ shouted Gurteys. ‘She’s worth ten thousand gold ones. Knock the metal crab down and break it.’

  She ran around the outside of the terrace and stood waiting for Tiaan, holding a wicked two-headed axe. Tiaan stopped. A host of servants were coming up behind, and Fley was running across to join his wife. There was no way past.

  But Fley caught Gurteys by the arm, swinging her around. Run! he mimed, and as Gurteys swung the flat of the axe at his head, Tiaan slipped through. Fley went down and was trampled as a dozen women stampeded by, brandishing makeshift weapons.