Alchymist (83 page)

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.

Tiaan,
limp-kneed and dripping perspiration, jerked up on the flight yoke. Nothing
happened, for she still held the amplimet in her hand. It took some time to
realise what the problem was. She banged it into its cavity, waited a second
till it settled and jerked again.

The
thapter shot into the air, buffeted by the steam blast as the wave of mud swept
diagonally across the ridge, carrying trees, bushes and three unfortunate
lyrinx with it, before pouring in a brown curtain over the cliff to her left.
She'd overdone it yet again.

She
hovered while it passed, looking for survivors. There was no sign of Malien and
two-thirds of the ridge was covered in waist-deep sludge. The bodies of the
fallen slaves, as well as Forgre, had been swept away. Five slaves cowered near
the untouched end of the ridge, their faces scarlet from the steam.

Had
she killed Gilhaelith? The lyrinx had taken him up the ridge into the forest,
but that patch of trees had been swept away by the mudslide. She curved around
the clifftops, just in case he'd got away. Yes, there he was. The lyrinx was
just below the top of the cliff, still carrying him. Gilhaelith wasn't
struggling. Surely he didn't want to go with it?

She
turned towards them. The lyrinx caught an updraught and began to flap off,
barely keeping Gilhaelith's weight in the air. As it passed below the point,
heading for distant Alcifer, one of the slaves let out a furious cry of
betrayal and hurled a rock, cracking it on the back of the skull. Its
wing-beats faltered and it dropped sharply. Now, Tiaan thought.

She
went round, passing close to the labouring beast to prevent it from getting
away until she could think how to wrest Gilhaelith from it safely. Tiaan's
brain fizzed from the power it was using.