by Ian Irvine
She turned away to cast along the shore for a boat. Tiaan felt sure there must be boats, for the diet in Kalissin normally consisted of fish, frequently fresh. She had to find a boat; the island was too small to hide on. She hurried along the edge of the forest, next to the strand. Even a log would do.
The sun emitted a gloomy, umbrous light that made the lake seem blood-brown. It was, Tiaan thought, the kind of light the afternoon sun would make setting through the reek and fume of a burnt city.
Her calves were aching. She’d lost fitness in Kalissin. Perhaps the lyrinx used lines, or nets, or even, unlikely as it seemed, scooped fish up from the air as a pelican did. She smiled. They would surely not waste the Secret Art that way.
Standing on the shore, she contemplated the sullen waters. Tiaan could swim, though she had not since childhood. She put one finger in the water. It was cold, but not freezing. She figured she could swim as far as she could see – about a hundred spans.
Walking on, she came to a path. Tiaan followed it up through the forest, peering into the dim undergrowth on either side. No boat. She crept along the upper edge of the forest and down the next path to the water again. No boat. What was she going to do?
As she continued along the shore, something small and dark emerged from an open porthole at the very top of the spire and crept into the shadow. The nylatl had been hurt badly by Tiaan’s blast and the impact with the wall. Muscles had been torn, armour broken. Its skin was weeping, the spines burnt to dribbling stumps and one rear limb dragged. The nylatl had an overpowering urge to find a dark space and hibernate for a month, while its body repaired itself.
It could not hide here. Even if it burrowed into the warm earth its enemies would find it. Besides, it had to feed first. It had to find the creature that had so damaged it, and the terrible crystal. It sniffed the air and caught a scent. The nylatl began the painful climb down.
Hungry!
FORTY-SIX
Tiaan started on a piece of dried fish left over from the previous day, that being the only food she had. It softened in her mouth into flakes with a salty, heavily smoked flavour.
Something whooped in the trees on her right – she hoped it was a bird. Wavelets lapped on the shore; dull, oily surges. There was a smell of rotting vegetation. The overcast seemed to have grown more dense and banners of fog now drifted on the lake.
The strong flavour was not pleasant. Tiaan packed away the fish, drank a few mouthfuls of lake water and kept going. Not far along she saw a lyrinx print in damp sand. Whoever made it had been coming from the forest. Following the marks back, she found a faint path.
Tiaan traced it up through the forest, which was unnaturally luxuriant and hard to see in. After many false turns she crossed over a gully and found, at the top of a gentle slope, a beaten track that led toward the spire. From the track they had taken various ways down to the water.
She followed each way one by one, searching in the undergrowth on either side, but without success. About to head down another trail, Tiaan realised that she had been looking in the wrong place. They would keep the boat, or boats, up where the path first branched. Of course they would not leave it on the shore, where a gale might damage it.
The round shape to her right was not a boulder – there were no round boulders here. It turned out to be a circular boat made of leather, if boat it could be called at all. It was exactly like a high-sided bowl, the leather stretched drum-tight over a wooden frame. Something hung down inside, like a soft leather curtain with a drawstring. The craft had a floor of woven cane.
It turned out to be manageably light. A paddle stood against a tree, along with a rolled net. Tiaan tossed both into the boat and began to drag it down the path. It caught on a snag. Afraid of tearing it, she took everything out, lifted the boat above her head and staggered to the water.
By the time she got there Tiaan could not go another step. She put the boat at the edge, dropped her pack in and squatted down, panting. Somewhere above came a snap, like a door closing. Tiaan sprinted back for the paddle. The boat was useless without it.
‘Snggrylkk!’ The cry came from the forest.
A similar cry answered to her left. The lyrinx were out! Grabbing the paddle and the net, she ran. As she reached the beach Tiaan saw a lyrinx pounding around the shore. Another was thudding down the path.
No time to think, no chance of defending herself. Hurling in paddle and net, she ran into the water pushing the boat. It was so light that it skated across the surface. In thigh-deep water she tried to jump inside but bounced off, pushing the boat further out. Tiaan tried again, this time going in head first and striking her cheek on the circular blade of the paddle. The boat tilted right over. She yelped, thinking it was going to capsize, but it righted itself and rolled nearly as far the other way.
Tiaan had never been in a boat before and was not impressed by this one. As she stood up it tried to roll over. Throwing her weight the other way, she managed to keep it upright and, balancing precariously, looked back. Three lyrinx stood at the shore.
They seemed reluctant, then two pushed forward a third, a tall female. They were afraid of the water and poor swimmers, Ryll had said. She hoped they were not fliers. Tiaan reached down with the paddle. The water was about chest-deep on her; only waist-deep for them. Not deep enough.
Digging the paddle into the water, she gave a mighty heave. The boat simply revolved in place. She tried paddling the other way; it merely changed the direction of rotation. Wretched craft!
The lyrinx was getting closer. Probing for the lake bed, Tiaan thrust hard and the boat moved away. The lyrinx pushed forward gingerly, letting out a mewling cry as the water came over her hips. She looked back at her fellows, who urged her on with shouts and hand gestures. Tiaan recognised her now. It was Wyrkoe, who had been appointed to defend Ryll that first day in the spire.
Wyrkoe was only a few spans away, within springing distance had she been on land. She seemed to be finding courage. Her chest inflated, the crest stood up and her skin changed to an iridescent red. Tiaan watched, paddle upraised. The boat slowly drifted.
The lyrinx sprang but fell short and the water went over her head. She came up again, making an awful grating squeal. Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape.
The boat had stopped moving. Wyrkoe was little more than a paddle length away. Two steps and she could tear the boat open. She rubbed water out of her eyes and took a deep breath. Tiaan dropped the paddle and, as Wyrkoe leapt, threw the net over her.
The lyrinx slipped, thrashed her arms and became tangled in the net. Again she went under and took a long time to come up. She rose just above the water, striking helplessly at the meshes, only to slip below.
The look of terror on Wyrkoe’s face was awful. If Tiaan could have taken back that cast of the net she would have. Knowing that she had just killed someone almost as human as herself, she poled away.
The other lyrinx splashed out. Tiaan managed to maintain a wavering line into deeper water, where a breeze caught the boat and drifted it south. Safe for the moment, she watched the pair retrieve Wyrkoe and drag her back to shore, where they disentangled her from the net. Wyrkoe did not move. She must have drowned. Tiaan could not come to terms with it.
Shivering in the breeze, she stared at the dark shapes on the shore, allowing the wind to drift her where it would.
An hour later she was squatting loosely with the drawstring fastened about her neck, not exactly warm but protected from the worst of the elements. The boat drifted in and out of banks of mist. The spire of Kalissin had long since disappeared. The snowy shores of the other side of the lake were equally invisible and unknown. For all she knew, Tiaan could have been drifting back toward the island.
She was gnawing on another piece of her dried fish when something cast a fleeting shadow and a lyrinx came plummeting out of the sun. All she could see was its outline against the blinding light. Tiaan scrabbled with the drawstring, which knotted up, trapping her inside. The lyrinx flattene
d out into a swooping glide, the claws of its hind legs extended to snatch her from the water. Unable to get the knot undone, all Tiaan could do was watch.
At the last instant she threw her weight to one side. The boat rolled, she felt the wind as the creature went by, then Tiaan’s head hit the water and the boat kept rolling until it was upside down. Her weight pulled down the leather collar, hanging her head-down at the bottom of a cone. Water began to trickle in around the drawstring, which had drawn tight about her neck.
Tiaan gasped and a mouthful of water was forced up her throat. She heaved sideways. The boat rolled, though not enough – her weight, hanging low, gave the craft the centre of gravity it had previously lacked.
Though Tiaan jerked again and again, it was no use. No matter what she did she could not right the vessel. She simply was not heavy or strong enough. If she did not choke she was going to drown.
As her lungs began to heave and the water pushed up through her sinuses, Tiaan was lifted, boat and all, into the air. The lake rushed past; her head fizzed. The lyrinx was using the Secret Art as it had never used it before, to lift the boat and her on its inadequate wings.
Tearing at the strings, Tiaan gave a last convulsive spasm, like a fish trying to hurl itself off the hook. The boat slipped free, revolved in the air and struck the water hard. She caught another breath as it rolled, but this time Tiaan used her weight to keep it rolling. It came upright, she managed to balance it the other way and her fingers, which had found the blade in her pack, hacked the cord from around her neck.
Tiaan clung to the side of the boat. The lyrinx was wobbling through the air not far away. Clearly it had nothing like the strength of Besant. Its wings hammered, slowly climbing as it came around for another attempt. She recognised this lyrinx too – a small, slight thing that had stood guard outside her door in the early days. It had treated her kindly enough. She did not recall its name.
Putting the knife in her belt, Tiaan took up the paddle and prepared to fend her opponent off. It took a long time for the lyrinx to beat its weight to altitude. It took no time at all to hurtle down, in a steep dive with its wings folded back. The lyrinx flattened out, screaming low across the water at her.
She lifted the paddle over her shoulder then swung it hard as the creature approached. It dipped its wings left and right, the blow missed and the claws went through her hair. Screeching something she did not understand, it turned and, without climbing, headed straight back.
This time Tiaan held the paddle in front, blade outstretched. The lyrinx thrashed its wings, struggling to maintain height. It was going slowly now and must be tiring. It came at her, mouth open, claws extended. At the last instant she thrust out the length of the paddle. She went right through its guard, striking it on the chin. The paddle was torn from her hand. The lyrinx tumbled, flapped furiously, and, as the boat tipped, wheeled through the air. One wing struck the water and it was going too slowly to recover.
It went head first into the lake, making a mighty splash. Tiaan struggled to stop the craft from capsizing. As she hung on the rim, the boat rocking wildly, the lyrinx’s head broke the surface. It tried to get on top of the water but was too heavy. Its terrified eyes rolled, the limbs churned helplessly, then its weight pulled it under again. Bubbles marked its disappearance.
Tiaan looked around for the paddle, which was floating a few spans away. It might as well have been on the dark face of the moon, for there was no way of retrieving it. She dared not reach down as far as the water. If she went in, Tiaan knew she would no more come out than the lyrinx.
No wonder they were afraid of the water. The massive bones and muscles, the armoured skin that made them such a terror on land, the great wings, all were deadly encumbrances in the water. The creatures were simply too dense. If they could swim at all, it would only be feebly. A fatal weakness in this land, half lake and the rest river and bog. All the more marvel that Ryll had got her out from under the ice that day.
She pulled her hat down over her eyes, her eyes closed and Tiaan slept the sleep of exhaustion. The wind carried her south, rocking like a cradle on the water.
Near sunset another lyrinx, with practically transparent wings, began to circle high above. It stayed well up. The water meant certain death this far from land, even for such a lightly built, unarmoured lyrinx as Liett.
But Liett was strong in the Secret Art, one of the best fliers of all. She would watch, wait and report back. When Tiaan found land in a day or two, she would be easily followed. The snow blanketing Tarralladell would make it difficult for her to move, and impossible to travel without leaving tracks. The hunt had been called off. The lyrinx had learned what they could from her. They now wanted to find out where she was taking her marvellous crystal. They suspected a secret city in the mountains, a place it would be worth almost any sacrifice to learn about.
PART FIVE
GEOMANCER
FORTY-SEVEN
The journey back to the manufactory was a nightmare Nish thought was never going to end. There was no way to bury the bodies in the frozen ground, and no fuel to burn them. All they could do was lay them out side by side, pile ice blocks over the top, bow their heads and think that if they’d done this or that it might have turned out differently.
After loading the injured into the clanker, they took the controllers from the remaining two and set out for the far side of the plateau where the lifting frames were hidden. The other operators being dead, there was no way to bring their clankers back. At the cliff they unloaded the injured, preparing to send them down on stretchers to whatever shelter could be found below. There was none up here – the gale was unceasing.
Nish had never worked so hard, erecting the frames and arrays of pulleys, roping the clanker, tying on a boulder at the base of the cliff to serve as a counterbalance. The only able-bodied people were himself, Simmo and his shooter Rahnd, Tuniz and Fyn-Mah. Irisis, with her broken leg, could not help though she had remained up top. Rustina could use only one hand. Ky-Ara, though overcome by inconsolable grief at the loss of his clanker, could at least hold a rope. Nish’s father was delirious and had to be sedated with nigah extract. Ullii was useless.
It was not enough. There were simply too few people to do all the work, for a minimum of six were required to swing the clanker out over the cliff, and another four on the rope that would brake its descent. They had to make do with four and two, and add extra pulleys so they could lift the weight at all.
‘Ready?’ called Tuniz.
‘Yes!’ Nish held the braking rope taut. Ky-Ara stood behind him, hanging on listlessly.
‘Lift!’ Her team hauled on their rope.
Nish thought the heavily laden clanker was not going to move at all. The rope went taut and the four strained until their joints cracked. Finally it lifted, ever so slowly.
‘Hold!’ yelled Tuniz. Tying the end of the rope around a rock, she ran to swing the arm out. It did not budge. She threw her weight against it, the arm freed suddenly and the artificer almost went over. The clanker dropped, pulling the team off their feet. The rock tore out of the ground and the machine fell sharply, for Ky-Ara had let go of the braking rope. Nish could not hold the weight. The rope scorched through his hands and he had to let go.
The clanker hit the cliff, rotated and crashed on its other side, buckling the armour plates. Simmo gave a cry of anguish. Nish thought the machine was going to fall all the way, but after a few jerks the counterweight held it.
‘Useless clown!’ Nish roared at Ky-Ara. ‘Why did you let go?’
Ky-Ara just stared vacantly at him.
Now they encountered another problem – the counterweight was heavier than the clanker. That had not mattered on the way up, but they would have to add weight to the machine for it to descend.
‘Perhaps if one of us were to go on the shooter’s seat,’ said Fyn-Mah.
‘No!’ Tuniz said sharply. ‘If it falls we’ve lost another person and we’ll never get it down.’
; They manoeuvred a small boulder onto the seat. Nish felt the tug immediately and began to pay the rope out. The clanker went down, swinging in the violent updraft and crashing repeatedly into the cliff. Every blow, every impact that tore free another leaf of its armour, caused Simmo to wail in torment.
‘Slow it down!’ he screamed, in tears.
Nish tried his best but the rope hissed through his fingers, burning welts across his palm. ‘Ky-Ara!’ he screamed. ‘Hold the damn thing! Ky-Ara?’
Ky-Ara had dropped his end and wandered off. Again Nish was forced to let go. The wildly swinging clanker crashed into the ascending boulder. Both stopped, revolving around each other, and a section of armour fell off.
‘I can’t hold the brake rope by myself!’ Nish said furiously. ‘It needs at least three. What’s the matter with you, Ky-Ara?’
The operator gave him a bland stare. Fyn-Mah and Tuniz came running and hauled on the clanker’s rope. Nothing happened. The cables were twisted around the bent struts and protruding leaves of armour. No matter how hard they pulled they could not free them.
‘Someone will have to go down,’ said Rustina.
‘Be a harder job than it looks!’ Tuniz stared at the mess, rubbing a white spot on her nose. ‘Especially in this wind. Any volunteers?’
‘I’ll go,’ said Nish, ‘if no one else can.’ He did not want to, in fact doubted that he could do anything useful, but volunteering was better than being ordered. He had to redeem himself, if that was possible after the last disastrous week.
‘Well, you can’t go, Tuniz,’ said Rustina. ‘You’re the senior artificer. But I suppose we can afford to lose him.’
‘I’ll go,’ said Simmo, pushing past Nish. ‘It’s my clanker and my right.’ His eyes were fever bright.
