by Ian Irvine
It did not. Nish was searching the underlying branches, cursing himself for not having spent more time practising his swordsmanship when he had the chance, trying to stop his heart from bursting out through the wall of his chest – when he felt eyes on the back of his neck. The nylatl was staring at him from the branches of the neighbouring tree. It had crept up the far side of the trunk without making a sound.
The creature was about three spans away. It was a heavy beast. Could it leap that distance? It certainly seemed to think so. The muscles tensed in its back legs. Bracing himself against the trunk, Nish thrust out the sword, making a hissing whistle that came out ear-piercingly shrill.
The nylatl squealed and reared up on its hind legs, as if the sound had hurt it. Nish did it again. The creature’s mouth gaped and a rolled blue tongue extended, but it was not, as he thought, another distress signal. The tongue squirted something at his eyes.
Nish went backwards but not quickly enough; the spittle struck him on mouth and chin. The putrefying smell went up his nose and he threw up so violently that vomit projected out of his mouth and nostrils.
‘Aaargh!’ he gasped as the venom began to burn and blister. As he scrubbed at the venom with a sleeve, the skin peeled off. Nish could feel his lips swelling, bleeding.
The pain was excruciating. It felt as if his lips were splitting apart. He steadied himself, held out the sword and eyed the nylatl. It crouched, its back legs tensing and relaxing.
‘Haaahh!’ he screamed, waving his weapon.
The nylatl swayed backwards. It was just a slight movement but it gave Nish hope. The creature was uncertain how dangerous he was. Once it launched itself at him, it could do little to evade the point of his sword. It scrabbled up the trunk, watching him over its shoulder.
Sheathing the weapon, Nish climbed too. He could not allow the nylatl the advantage of height.
Once or twice it stopped, crouching and staring at him with those cunning eyes, but Nish waved his weapon, whistled or shrieked and did his best to look intimidating, and the nylatl kept on. In this way Nish reached the bottom of the balloon basket, where he realised his vulnerability. He would have to move out on the branch toward the creature, then climb the rope ladder with his back to it.
The nylatl went up another branch and stood watching him. Nish prayed that it would stay where it was. If it leapt into the basket, it could dine on Ullii at its leisure and attack him as he tried to climb over the rim.
Nish tapped on the bottom of the basket with his sword. ‘Ullii,’ he hissed.
She did not answer. He hoped she just had her earmuffs on, for if she had gone into one of her states he would never get her out of it.
‘Ullii!’
Still no answer. The nylatl raked its claws along the branch, tearing the hard bark into curling shreds. Its back legs tensed.
‘Ullii!’ he screamed, loud and shrill. He wasn’t pretending. ‘Help. It’s going to eat me.’
Again the nylatl reared back as if in pain. Above him, the lid of the basket creaked open. He could hear the seeker’s teeth chattering. Poor Ullii.
‘Nish?’ she whispered. ‘Where are you?’
‘Under the basket.’
‘I’m very frightened, Nish.’
‘I’m frightened too.’ Somehow he had to force her to act. A threat to her might not be enough, since her normal defence was to retreat into herself. Then he had it.
‘Ullii, look over the side.’ No answer. ‘It’s hurt me, Ullii, and now it’s going to eat me.’
She peered over, caught sight of his bloody, grotesquely swollen lips and let out a wail. ‘Nish, poor Nish!’
‘Ullii, can you see S’lound’s sword?’ S’lound, their guard from the balloon trip, had died in the landing at Tirthrax.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It’s under his pack.’
‘Hold it out in front of you.’
He heard a rasp as the sword came from its scabbard.
‘That’s good. Now watch the beast while I climb up to you. Can you do that?’
‘I’m scared, Nish.’
‘It’s going to eat me, Ullii.’
Nish went out on the branch towards the dangling rope ladder. The nylatl rolled its tongue. He whistled and lunged forward, slashing with his sword. The creature went backwards, but not very far. Something flickered in its eyes. It wasn’t fear. It had worked him out.
Not daring to put the sword through his belt, Nish caught the ladder with one hand and tried to pull himself up. He slipped but managed to hook his arm through the rung. His back was to the nylatl now. Nish could feel the eyes on him. He was so terrified, he could almost see into the mind of the creature, feel its bliss as the talons raked down his back and the jaws went for his throat.
Heaving himself onto the next rung, he felt the sweat dripping from his armpits. Another rung. Only three to go. Two.
‘No!’ Ullii screamed. ‘Nish. Nish!’
The nylatl sprang. He saw it out of the corner of his eye. As Nish tried to swing around, one sweaty hand slipped on the rope. He snatched at the rung with his other hand and, horror of horrors, the sword slipped from his grasp. He tried to catch it with the toe of his boot but missed.
As he swung off the rope, the nylatl thumped into the side of the basket above his head. Its backside was right above him. Had he not lost his sword, he could have skewered it in one of the few places where it was vulnerable. He could not go up and dared not go down. Nish did the only thing left. He caught hold of one back paw, below the spines, and tried to tear the nylatl off the basket.
Futile hope. Nothing could relax those mighty claws. It kicked backwards, luckily at an awkward angle, or the claws would have torn his arm off at the elbow. As it was, they opened him up from wrist to the inside of his upper arm. Nish cried out; he could not help himself.
‘Nish!’ Ullii wailed. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No,’ he groaned, grasping the paw again. A spine pricked into his wrist but he dared not let go. All the nylatl had to do was spin around on the basket, lunge and bite his face off. There was nowhere for him to go.
Then, a sight that brought tears to his eyes, little Ullii was up on the edge of the basket in her bare feet, balancing like a tightrope walker. She had the long sword in both hands. She looked down, saw the gore all over him and let out a bloodthirsty cry of rage.
The nylatl lunged but Nish was holding it back and Ullii was lightning quick. The sword flashed and danced. One blow opened up a cut across a crusted nostril, a second below the eye. The nylatl retreated and its backside struck Nish’s head. A spine slanted into his scalp; the poison burned. Thinking that the creature was going to come down on top of him, he let out a shriek.
Ullii wailed and hacked at the beast with all her strength. The sword clove three of its toes off and went a handspan through the wall of the basket. Blood poured from the damaged limb, all over Nish’s face.
Wrenching out the sword, Ullii thrust the tip at the creature’s eye, but it had had enough. It sprang off the side of the basket and landed on a lower branch, scrabbling at it with its injured limb. Jumping for the trunk, it went head-first down the tree.
Nish lost sight of it as the beast’s blood trickled into his eyes. He hung dazedly on the ladder until Ullii took his hands and dragged him into the basket.
She said nothing until she had wiped the blood away and discovered that he was not badly injured, whereupon she lay on him and wept until her tears washed his face clean. ‘I was so afraid,’ she sniffled, putting her soft mouth on his lower lip, which was swollen like a sausage.
He kissed her. ‘You are the bravest woman in the world, Ullii.’ Nish meant every word.
The tree creaked in the wind and he jerked upright, terrified. She pushed him down. ‘I will know, Nish,’ she whispered. ‘If it ever comes back, I will know.’
She poured water onto a rag and began to clean him, as gently as if he had been her baby. Afterwards they lay quietly on the floor of the basket, ho
lding each other, until Nish realised, from the rising warmth, that his clothes stank of the nylatl’s blood. Pulling off his shirt, he tossed it away and felt in his pack for a clean one.
‘My clothes smell too,’ Ullii said, staring at his chest.
Nish was reaching for her pack when he realised what she was saying. She lifted her arms while he peeled the bloodstained coat off, and her trousers, which were not stained at all, followed by the neck-to-ankle underwear of woven spider-silk that protected her overly sensitive skin. Ullii, standing naked above him, was sweet and lovely and so very desirable.
They slept afterwards, until the cold woke them. A breeze moved the treetops as they dressed, giving each other sideways glances, still wondering about what had happened. Every so often Ullii would look up at him from beneath her colourless lashes, smile to herself, then glance away. Her eyes were watering but she did not put on her mask, and that was odd.
Nish was gnawing at a stale slab of flatbread, baked in the ashes days ago, when he remembered that strange vessel drifting across the sky. Standing up on the side of the basket, he peered through the treetops but of course could see nothing. Nish climbed to the level of the brazier, staring into the east. The sun reflected off the side of the mountain. There was no sign of the air-floater.
He yawned, stretched, and looked the other way, across the flatlands of Mirrilladell, dotted with a hundred thousand lakes now thawing in the spring. As he did, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. The air-floater was coming directly for them and its intentions did not look peaceful.
TWELVE
‘What are we going to do?’ Tiaan yelled as more lyrinx flapped down into the entrance. She could see at least thirty already.
‘I’ll seal this level off,’ said Malien. ‘Run up and hide.’
‘They’ll slaughter you.’
‘This isn’t your battle. Anyway, Tirthrax has defences and so do I.’
‘I’m not going to leave you to fight alone.’
‘All right. Stay in the construct. I’ll set the sentinels.’ Malien hurried away.
Tiaan took hold of the controller knob but had to let it go for her arm was shaking. The construct was too precious to risk. She had no idea how to defend herself anyway, apart from driving straight at them, which could do no more than knock one or two down. She could not rely on its strangeness. The enemy were used to clankers. And to destroying them.
Two big females were flying towards her, accompanied by a smaller but more heavily muscled male. Above them soared a slight, unpigmented lyrinx – Liett again. The other lyrinx fanned out across the floor. There were too many of them. She couldn’t do it. But you fought the nylatl, Tiaan told herself. You’re not completely helpless. It was not convincing.
She concentrated on her breathing – deep, slow breaths. Her heart stopped thumping; her arm steadied. She hovered the construct. Tiaan dared not try to fly it. She moved the controller, ever so gently, and the construct went around a quarter-turn. She did it again, until she was facing the enemy. She felt a mad urge to race straight at them, out through the entrance and away.
Where was Malien? Tiaan felt desperately alone. She directed the construct toward the stairway with many a lurch and hop, for yesterday’s control had deserted her. The opening to the higher levels was closed. Malien appeared, wrestling with a black sentinel.
Tiaan drifted the construct that way. Malien looked up, flashed Tiaan a tight smile and said, ‘It wasn’t working properly. I had to renew it.’
‘Is it all right now?’
‘I believe it will do.’ She climbed in.
‘What are they doing?’ said Tiaan. The fliers were circling halfway down the hall, directly above a wedge of lyrinx on the floor. ‘Do you think they’re afraid of us?’
‘No, but they are wary. There’s a great civilisation here that they knew nothing about. For all they know, Tirthrax might have another thousand constructs ready for battle.’
‘And we could be luring them into a trap.’
Malien laughed. ‘If only. And of course, they must know of the great construct fleet by now. They may even have encountered it.’
‘How long can your sentinels keep them out of the upper levels?’
‘Days, at best. They’re watchers, not weapons, and not designed to defend an empty city.’
‘Then if Tirthrax is not to fall –’
‘Why would they want it?’ said Malien.
‘Because you have it. And because a mighty node lies here, which might be of benefit to them in their flesh-forming.’
Malien pursed her lips. ‘There are nodes aplenty in Santhenar, but if they want this one I will give them a show they will long remember. Though I fear …’
‘What?’
‘They’ll most remember that we are alone.’ She climbed up over the back.
‘What are you doing?’
Malien lifted the rear hatch and settled herself into the turret. One just like it had fired Haani’s fatal missile. Whirring gently, a spear-throwing device resembling a large crossbow rose from a concealed cavity. Malien swivelled the weapon back and forth, slid in a rod with a stone fist on the end, and wound the crank until the wires creaked.
‘I imagine I can do some damage with this. Go towards them, slowly. Try not to show any fear.’
One or two javelard missiles would make no difference. Tiaan prayed Malien had a stronger defence. With much concentration, she managed to keep the machine straight and steady, though it must have been clear that it was driven by an amateur. Did it have any other weapons? She should have explored that question long ago.
Tiaan moved to within fifty paces of the point of the wedge, then stopped. The fliers were all down now, except Liett. It required a considerable exertion of the Secret Art to stay in the air and they would not want to waste their strength. Liett, one of the best fliers of all, was just for show.
‘Why do you trespass in the city of the Aachim?’ came a cold voice from behind Tiaan. ‘I am Malien, Matah of Tirthrax. State your business, lyrinx!’
The largest female stepped forward. ‘I am Wise Mother Cordione,’ she boomed. ‘Until now, we have had no quarrel with the Aachim. You have kept to your cities and taken no part in the war.’
‘That is so,’ said Malien, ‘but you have not answered my question.’
‘Our business is eleven thousand machines of war like this one! Built in secret and now pushing across the world on half a dozen fronts. To what purpose, Matah?’
Malien did not answer straight away. ‘You know them better than I do, Tiaan,’ she whispered. ‘Is it better to say we built the machines here, or that we brought them from another world?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tiaan whispered back. ‘Either way confirms the value of this place.’
‘They know that already.’ Malien raised her voice. ‘These constructs were not built here, Wise Mother, though they could have been. They came across the void from Aachan, through a gate. Their passengers are refugees from a dying world.’
‘Then they do their own business and you cannot negotiate for them.’
‘They are still my people,’ said Malien. ‘My own Clan Elienor is numbered among them.’
‘Come they in war or in peace?’
‘They came, like your own kind, for survival. Should they be accommodated by Santhenar, they will have no need to fight.’
‘War, then,’ said the Wise Mother. ‘I thought as much.’
Tiaan held her breath. The lyrinx now showed violent red and black skin colours. Were they going to attack?
‘We are an honourable species,’ said Malien. ‘There will be no war without a declaration.’
The skin colours flashed brighter than before. Even Malien seemed alarmed. The moment stretched out, then the colours faded.
‘It best not be long in coming, for the march of your constructs is an act of aggression. Be sure we are ready to match it.’
The Wise Mother, yellow waves shimmering over her green c
rest, bowed low. Malien did the same. Cordione spread her glorious wings and climbed into the air. The others followed.
Malien’s javelard followed them to the entrance. Only then did she release the tension.
‘That was close. They’re not fooled, Tiaan. Nothing has changed here in weeks. If Tirthrax had any strength at all, we would have cleared away the rubble and sealed off the opening.’
‘What will they do?’ What am I to do, Tiaan thought desperately. I can’t destroy the amplimet, and I can’t leave with hungry lyrinx outside.
‘They will watch and wait. Once a declaration comes, they will return in force.’
‘And you?’
‘Tirthrax has stores enough to feed an army, and hiding places they will never find. You need not fret for me.’ She got down.
Tiaan followed her. ‘Malien, I –’
‘You’d better go.’
‘But they’ll eat me.’
‘If you’re flying the construct they’ll never catch you.’
Her heart lurched. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I’m not going anywhere. I don’t dare, with the Well in this state.’
Tiaan did not know what to say. ‘But the construct isn’t mine.’ How she wanted it!
‘It was abandoned in my city. I give it to you, freely and unencumbered.’
It was the greatest gift in the world. Too great a gift, undeserved. Why did Malien offer it? ‘Thank you,’ said Tiaan uneasily, ‘but … why not keep it for yourself?’
Malien walked across the great hall, head down, hands tucked in her loose sleeves. Tiaan watched her go, and return.
‘You’ve got to take the amplimet away, far and quickly. How else can you do that? The construct won’t fly without the amplimet, so it’s no use to me here.’
‘You could hide the amplimet outside until the Well has stabilised.’
‘It would still be too close. The amplimet must be taken a hundred leagues, at least. Since I cannot take it, you must. And also, Tiaan, in my heart I know that old humans and Aachim are both forms of humanity. Perhaps Minis was drawn to you for a reason. Maybe he can see the future and you are vital to it. There is something about you.’