SEVENTY - EIGHT

Nish looked over the side, dreading the coming confrontation. He couldn’t be as sanguine as Irisis, nor as philosophical. Even if Flydd accepted that theirs had been the best solution, his opponents would not forgive it. And Flydd’s opponents now greatly outnumbered his friends, assuming he’d survived at all. Gilhaelith, Irisis, Tiaan and he, Nish, could well be executed for treason, though Malien would undoubtedly be spared.

Ashmode, from above, was a beautiful, spacious town built entirely of the local blue-white marble. Its streets were broad and lined with palms or enormous twisting fig trees whose canopies shaded the width of the street. Its fields, orchards and vineyards, grown on the fertile, moist slopes below the cliffs, made a ribbon of green from the air, marking the boundary between the brown drylands of Carendor and the glittering whiteness of the Dry Sea. Soon they would disappear under the rising sea.

It was a lovely sunny day as they passed across the town square looking for a place to set down. It was warm, with just the gentlest breeze. A perfect autumn day to be tried for treason.

‘There seem to be an awful lot of people down there,’ said Tiaan.

‘The war’s over, remember?’ said Irisis. ‘The celebrations will go on until the drink runs out.’

‘I hope it hasn’t run out yet,’ said Nish.

‘They won’t be giving it to condemned prisoners,’ said Irisis. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered as Nish blanched. ‘At times like this, I find it helps to joke.’

‘I don’t.’

The crowd moved back to form a staring circle as the thapter came in.

‘There’s Flydd,’ said Tiaan. ‘He’s alive, at least. And Troist. And they don’t look happy,’ she added in a low voice.

Scrutator Flydd was standing at the front, with Troist. Nish didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. The knot in his stomach tightened. Yggur and a pale-faced Klarm stood some distance away. Both had their arms folded against their chests.

Tiaan climbed down onto the paving stones. The others followed, standing on either side of her. There was an awkward silence.

‘You bloody fools!’ the scrutator said furiously. ‘What gives you the right to overturn decisions voted on by the mighty after days of considered debate? You ought to be fried in your own tallow, and had it been up to General Orgestre you would have been. It’s lucky he’s not here or I wouldn’t be able to restrain him.’

‘Where is Orgestre?’ said Nish in a small voice.

Flydd’s eyes fixed on him and Nish squirmed. ‘He had an apoplexy when he heard that you’d freed the lyrinx. It burst the vessels in his brain. He’ll never walk or talk again.’

‘A medal-winning performance at last,’ said Irisis, almost inaudibly.

Nish wanted to laugh but he couldn’t.

‘Troist has taken Orgestre’s position, for the moment,’ Flydd went on. ‘Troist?’

Nish met Troist’s eyes, remembering that the general was, nominally at least, still his commanding officer.

‘I’m bitterly disappointed in you, Nish,’ said Troist. ‘I thought I knew you. Do you realise that I could have you whipped and executed for treason?’

‘Yes, surr,’ said Nish.

‘You’ll have to stand in line to flog the little sod,’ said Flydd. ‘He was my man before he was yours. What the blazes were you thinking, Nish?’

‘We did what we thought was right,’ said Tiaan softly.

Flydd’s head whipped around. ‘Oh, did you? Since when are you running the world?’

‘Since the scrutators failed at it,’ said Gilhaelith over her shoulder.

‘I thought you were dying?’ Flydd said sourly.

‘I’m taking it slowly, just to annoy you.’

‘You’ve succeeded. I –’

‘If you’re going to execute them,’ Klarm interjected, ‘can you bloody well get on with it. The war’s over and I need a drink.’

‘I’m with you, Klarm,’ said Yggur. ‘We’ve got what we wanted. Let’s go and burst a barrel or two.’

Klarm could scarcely contain his astonishment. ‘You’re agreeing with me?’

‘Don’t let it go to your head. I’m not planning to make a habit of it.’ Yggur grinned and extended his hand.

Klarm let out a great roar that made heads turn curiously on the other side of the square, and he jerked Yggur’s hand up and down in both of his. ‘It’ll be a pleasure drinking with you, surr.’

Flydd couldn’t maintain his furious face any longer. He chuckled. ‘Damn the pair of you – you’ve cut my feet out from under me. Well, my friends, I can’t condone the way you went about it, but it was the best solution in the end. We’ve got our world back, the lyrinx have their own, and our future Histories aren’t stained by genocide. Let’s celebrate.’

Nish fell in beside Flydd as they walked. ‘What did you mean, surr, when you said that General Troist was commander “for the moment”?’

‘You might have expected that the governors would be grateful for what we’ve done.’

‘Of course they’re grateful –’

‘There’s a whole world up for the taking, Nish, and they’ve already got both feet in the trough. Why do you think they came here so hastily?’

‘But you saved humanity, surr!’

‘We saved the world, Nish, but we couldn’t hold it, and they didn’t take kindly to Tiaan’s … er, creative solution. They accused Yggur and me of being behind it. I’ve been forced to give up every office I hold. If I hadn’t, my head would have been on the block.’

How could this be? Flydd had worked his whole life for humanity. ‘I’m sorry, surr,’ whispered Nish.

‘Ah well, it’s done,’ said Flydd. ‘I’m an old man. Too old for this, so not another word of regret, eh? Anyway, the future of the world, and who’s going to be running it, is being decided right now on the other side of town. And it won’t be any of us.’

Tiaan moved the thapter to a little park not far from the square and left it in the shade of an ancient and gnarled fig, so it would be cool inside when they returned.

Despite the attitude of the governors, the common folk knew who’d saved them, and everyone wanted to shake their hands. It took Tiaan more than an hour to get back to her friends in the square, where they too were surrounded by laughing, cheering and crying well-wishers. It almost made up for the past two years.

Troist gave his last order as a general, that everyone was to be fed from the army’s stores, and the town brought out long-hoarded delicacies from its larders. Tables and trestles were set up, and when the meal was ready the entire town took their seats in the square. It was no feast, but the fare was better than most people had tasted in long years. The mayor fetched barrels from his cellar and ladled wine into jugs.

After the speeches were over, and congratulations and gifts had been accepted from the notables of Ashmode, the companions sat down together for the last time before they went their separate ways. They were twelve now: Yggur opposite Irisis, Flydd opposite Nish, Gilhaelith opposite Tiaan, Merryl opposite Troist, Malien opposite Flangers – who’d walked for a week to rejoin the army after Gilhaelith abandoned him in Tacnah – and Fyn-Mah facing Klarm. Flydd set Golias’s globe on the table in front of them, covered with a cloth. Perhaps he was afraid of losing it as well.

The jugs of wine were distributed. Yggur and Klarm splashed it into the mugs and Yggur rose, raising his drink high. ‘To peace,’ he said.

They stood up and everyone in the square did the same. ‘To peace!’ they roared.

‘To a future without the lyrinx,’ said Yggur. Another roar.

‘Or scrutators!’

The roar dwarfed the others, though Flydd only pretended to drink this time. In the end, he was only a man, and after giving his all for the world, the world had cut him down.

When the toasts were done, Flydd downed half his mug and gagged. ‘Ah, that’s like chewing on an anteater’s tail. I knew I should have sat at the mayor’s table, rather than down here with the rabble.’ He shrugged, sank the rest and poured himself another. He looked along the table. ‘You’ve been a great company, and I’ll cherish our comradeship to the end of my days. But it seems to be drawing to a close. What are your plans, my friends? Irisis?’

Tiaan saw that Nish was gazing at Irisis with a hungry look in his eye, but Irisis was looking anywhere but at him.

‘I never thought I’d survive the war – in fact I was sure I wouldn’t. But now it’s over, I’m going to be a jeweller, of course. It’s what I’ve dreamed about since I was a little girl …’ She looked up at the sky, around the table and down again.

‘And …?’ said Flydd, grinning broadly. The whole table was smiling, apart from Nish, who had an anguished look on his face.

He has no idea, Tiaan thought. Irisis was right; Nish really is the thickest man on Santhenar. Please put him out of his misery.

‘I never dared to love openly, but now I can. Nish is going to be my man, of course.’ Irisis pulled him to her and kissed him on the mouth in front of everyone, and Nish could not restrain his tears this time.

‘What about you, surr?’ Irisis said after a decent interval of congratulations, and more toasts with the truly awful wine.

‘I’ll write the Histories of the war. I want to make sure my version is recorded … you know how it is.’ Flydd glanced at Fyn-Mah and smiled. ‘And then, I think, an honourable retirement. Perhaps a cottage and a garden full of flowers.’

Nish had recovered sufficiently to choke into his wine cup. ‘Retirement and flowers? You?’

Flydd scowled down his battered nose. ‘And why not?’ he snapped, before turning to Tiaan. ‘What will you do now, Artisan?’

‘I’m going home to Tiksi,’ she said. ‘To find my mother.’

‘And then?’

‘I don’t know.’ Tiaan looked slantwise across the table at Nish, who was staring into Irisis’s eyes again. She looked away. ‘I’ll find work somewhere. I don’t suppose the manufactory will need artisans any more, but someone will.’

‘What then?’ Flydd persisted.

She hesitated. ‘I’d like to find a mate, and have children. I never had a proper family, but in spite of Marnie I –’

‘Marnie?’ said Merryl, staring at her. He half-rose from his seat. ‘Marnie who?’

‘Marnie Liise-Mar,’ said Tiaan. She pushed back her chair, and her scalp felt as if it had been rubbed with a chunk of ice.

‘Tiaan?’ he whispered, as if he had never heard the name before. ‘Your name is Liise-Mar?’

‘Yes. Marnie is my mother.’

‘Why did I not know?’ Merryl cried. ‘My daughter – my precious, precious daughter.’

As she stared at his familiar yet entirely new face, a single tear ran down her cheek. ‘Father?’

He walked around the table towards her. She ran and threw herself into his arms, sobbing for sheer joy.

‘All my life I’ve been searching for you, Merryl, Father. I’ve never forgiven Marnie for sending you off to the front-lines to die.’

‘I forgave her many years ago. It was a man’s duty to serve and I didn’t go unwillingly. I often think of her …’

‘But you can’t go back to her after what she did to you?’ she cried.

‘I don’t expect anything of her, after all this time,’ he said. ‘Marnie was young and foolish, and so was I, but I do want to see her again. She was so slim, so beautiful. Rather like you, Tiaan.’

‘She’s fat!’ said Tiaan. ‘Fat but still beautiful.’

‘And I’m aged beyond my years and lack a hand. And my only skill is to speak a language that no one on Santhenar uses. Tell me about her.’

‘I’m the oldest of fifteen children, all with different fathers. All my brothers and sisters are living, the last I heard. All clever and hardworking, too.’

‘Marnie was a very clever woman,’ he said. ‘She just chose not to use it the way other people wanted her to.’

‘Father,’ said Tiaan, and the word sounded strange in her ears. ‘What is your name? I tried to find you in the Tiksi bloodline register but I couldn’t read the writing.’

‘I’m Amante Merrelyn, though I’ve not used my name in twenty years.’

‘Merrelyn,’ said Xervish Flydd. ‘I thought you looked familiar.’

‘Amante,’ she said, rolling the name around on her tongue. ‘Amante.’

‘It’s too grand for the man I am now. Merryl fits me much better.’

‘How come you didn’t know my name?’ said Tiaan.

‘You hadn’t been named when I was sent to the war. I thought about my daughter all the time, and it was hard, without a name.’

‘I never liked using her name. For twenty years I’ve just been Tiaan.’

‘I knew your parents, Merryl,’ said Flydd.

‘They both had a gift for languages,’ said Merryl. ‘More than a gift – a talent bolstered by the Art. They travelled the world with kings and governors, and even scrutators.’

‘They were among the greatest translators of the age,’ said Flydd. ‘A tragedy that they were lost so young.’

‘It was, but at least they passed their talent to me.’

‘Perhaps that’s why you’re the only person ever to master the lyrinx tongue.’

‘It’s not much use to me now,’ said Merryl.

‘You never know,’ said Flydd. ‘By the time you’ve written down all you know about the lyrinx and the war, for the Histories, you’ll be an old man …’ He looked up at the sky. ‘What’s that? Irisis, you’ve got the best eyes here.’

She stood up, shading her eyes with her left hand. ‘It looks like an air-dreadnought, though with three airbags instead of five. A big flat one, and two smaller ones underneath.’

A cloud passed in front of the sun and the breeze bit into Tiaan’s bare arms, reminding her that winter, even this far north, was not far away.

‘I wonder who it could be?’ said Nish.

‘More governors coming to carve up the world, now we’ve won it for them,’ said Flydd, again with that hint of bitterness. ‘The news went out by farspeaker as soon as the lyrinx began to go through the gate. They’ll be going to the conclave on the other side of town.’ He filled his mug again and they took up their cutlery.

But Flydd was wrong. The air-dreadnought came up slowly and began to circle the square. Tiaan laid down her fork. The craft was huge, nearly twice the size of the air-dreadnoughts that had attacked Fiz Gorgo. Its airbags came to triple points at the front and were painted vermilion with threatening jags of black. The suspended vessel had triple rotors at its broad, rectangular stern, each more than two spans across.

‘What a racket,’ said Nish, putting his hands over his ears as it turned ponderously into the wind. The rotors made a squealing clatter that grated on the nerves.

‘There’s no badge or insignia,’ said Flydd, putting down his mug. ‘But it came from the north-east.’

Soldiers lined the sides, dressed in the same red with black jags. It was not a uniform that anyone recognised. Red helms covered their heads, the nosepieces extending down to their upper lips.

The air-dreadnought settled in an empty space on the far side of the square, its triple keels crunching on the gravel. The rotors squealed into silence. A board was lowered, like the gangplank of a ship. Everyone was staring now.

A file of soldiers marched down and stood to one side. Each was armed with a crossbow of extravagant design, and a long sword. Another file took their position on the other side.

Tiaan rose to her feet, trying to see. The plank was empty. No, someone now appeared at the top. A man, though not a tall one. He too was masked and clad in red, with a red cape. A golden chain was suspended from the back of his neck, the ends passing over his shoulders. On either end, at breast height, dangled a bag of black silk or velvet.

The man paused at the base of the plank, nodded to the guards and turned across the square. They fell in behind him.

Xervish Flydd dropped his knife. Irisis had gone white. Nish’s hair was standing on end. He looked as if he had just seen the dead rise. He ran out into the open.

‘Father?’

The man turned towards him and the sun flashed off the platinum mask that covered two-thirds of his face. He had only one arm.

‘I thought you were dead, Father,’ Nish said. ‘And eaten.’

‘I dare say you hoped I was,’ said Jal-Nish Hlar.

Xervish Flydd lurched around the left-hand end of the table, trying to look self-possessed but not quite pulling it off. ‘Quite a plan, Jal-Nish. Even I was fooled.’

Jal-Nish stopped twenty paces away. ‘Not the most difficult of tasks, Xervish.’

‘Only my friends call me Xervish.’

‘You’ve told me that before.’

‘And I dare say those are the tears of the node that exploded at Snizort. The lyrinx didn’t have them at all.’

Jal-Nish touched the black bags, which were giving off a humming sound, and it rose in pitch. ‘Do you hear the song of the tears? I don’t bother with the paltry fields – I carry the power of a node with me wherever I go.’

‘It was you who brought down Vithis’s watch-tower,’ said Nish.

‘I needed to test the power of the tears,’ said his father, as if no other explanation was necessary. But then he added, the visible part of his jaw tightening, ‘The Aachim had no right to come here.’

‘And you who flooded the Dry Sea.’

‘To drown the enemy. Would that I had made up for your negligence sooner, Flydd. You trapped the enemy and failed to crush them.’

‘And you directed the Well at us,’ said Nish.

Jal-Nish waved a careless hand, as if none of these staggering achievements were of significance to a man who had mastered the tears.

‘How did you get away?’ said Nish. ‘I saw your boot at Gumby Marth, with just a gnawed shinbone sticking out of it.’

‘One shin looks much like another after the lyrinx have been at it,’ Jal-Nish said. ‘You always were slapdash, Cryl-Nish. I didn’t think you’d look too closely.’

‘And then you ran like a cur from the battlefield,’ said Nish, ‘leaving your brave men to their doom.’

Jal-Nish’s head jerked up, but he recovered almost at once. ‘When the battle is lost, a prudent man withdraws. And it was lost because of you.’

‘Me?’ cried Nish, balling up his fists.

‘I knew the lyrinx were stone-formed into the pinnacles,’ said Jal-Nish. ‘I was waiting for them, but your clumsy flight woke them before I was ready.’

‘You – you dare blame me –’ Nish was so incoherent with rage that he couldn’t get the words out.

‘What a practised liar you are, Jal-Nish,’ said Flydd. ‘Had I realised it when you were a lowly perquisitor, I would have made sure you rose no higher.’

Jal-Nish didn’t bother to argue, though his eye shone like a viper’s.

‘Still, I’m glad you’ve come,’ Flydd went on. ‘The tears will come in handy in the reconstruction.’

‘Oh, indeed. I’ve already begun to make plans for that.’

Another chill prickled the top of Tiaan’s head.

‘You won’t be involved in it, Jal-Nish,’ said Flydd. ‘The old Council is no more.’

‘I thoroughly approve. It outlived its purpose long ago.’

‘And the governors are even now meeting to carve the world up between them.’

‘The world doesn’t need governors either.’

‘If you would hand over the tears, Jal-Nish,’ said Flydd.

Jal-Nish pulled one black bag away and a gasp rippled around the square. On the end of the chain was a roiling, silvery black ball, like boiling quicksilver. He plunged his hand into it.

Flydd choked, clutched at his throat and fell down. His heels drummed on the ground for a minute, then Jal-Nish withdrew his hand. It came out slowly, as if the tears were reluctant to let go their hold, and wisps of silvery vapour clung to it. His skin was white and flaky, the nails as vermilion as his cape.

Jal-Nish smiled. ‘It would be so easy, Xervish, but I don’t plan to make it easy for any of you. You betrayed me, though I can forgive that – I’m a most forgiving man. But you also betrayed our world and that I can never forgive.’

‘We saved it,’ said Yggur, pushing back his chair and coming forward, ‘and that’s something the scrutators never looked like doing. It was the enemy, after all, who kept them in power.’

‘Yggur,’ said Jal-Nish, turning in his direction. ‘A failure from the past presumes to lecture the future.’

‘You might find me a more difficult failure to deal with,’ said Yggur with a glance at Flydd, who still lay on the gravel.

‘I doubt that.’ Jal-Nish plunged his hand into the ball again and within a minute Yggur was stretched on the ground beside Flydd.

Jal-Nish looked around, his eye met Tiaan’s, and she felt a sick numbness creep over her. ‘Artisan Tiaan – I’ll deal with you later. I’ve a special torment reserved for you.’ His eyes flicked to Irisis and his stare became so cold that ice formed in Tiaan’s belly. ‘And as for you, Irisis Stirm,’ he hissed, ‘you’re the one I came all this way for. In my two years of agony, yours is the one face that has kept me going. Guards – secure them.’

Tiaan could hardly stand up. It was the end of the world. Her stomach felt as if it was going to drop out of her belly. She looked around for help but everyone seemed as stunned as she was, and Jal-Nish’s troops were already moving in. No one had brought weapons to the luncheon anyway.

She could see everyone but Klarm, who’d been at the end of the table. But even if he’d run for the army, they wouldn’t get here in time. The camp was half a league out of town.

Yggur or Flydd, she could not tell which, began to moan, and then a curious thing happened. A fracas broke out across the square and the moment Jal-Nish turned that way the crowd, which had been hanging back, flowed around the table like a multicoloured tide.

A hand caught her by the shoulder – Nish. ‘This way, Tiaan.’

She eased further into the crowd with him, trying not to be noticed. Gilhaelith was just ahead, bent low. Merryl and Irisis were by him, Malien too.

‘Malien thinks you might be able to do something in the thapter, Tiaan,’ said Nish. ‘You’ve still got the amplimet, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, putting her hand to her chest. ‘But Flydd …’

‘Jal-Nish is too strong,’ said Malien. ‘There’s nothing we can do here.’

She began to slide through the crowd and they followed in her wake. They hadn’t gone far when Jal-Nish let out a cry of fury, which was followed by a low-pitched humming, like the song of the tears only more intense.

The sound beamed into the crowd like a sonic finger and everyone in its path fell down, moaning and holding their hands over their ears. Another hum; collapsing townsfolk cut a second long embayment in the crowd, leaving Nish exposed at the very end. He was still on his feet but didn’t seem able to move.

‘Run!’ he mouthed as Jal-Nish’s soldiers pounded towards him.

Irisis, ten paces away, turned to run back but Gilhaelith jerked her away.

‘He’s caught and you can’t do anything for him. You can’t fight the tears.’

Irisis was in agony, her eyes staring from a stark white face, but she allowed Gilhaelith to take her arm. Tiaan looked back through a gap in the crowd. The soldiers held Nish and as soon as they hauled him out of the way Jal-Nish would be free to use his sound beam again.

‘Where’s the thapter, Tiaan?’ said Gilhaelith in a low voice.

‘Down there in the little park.’

‘Come on.’ He ran and Malien did too.

Irisis was just standing there, staring at Nish, who was being dragged off. Another sonic blast roared through the crowd, dying out not far to Tiaan’s right.

Irisis took a deep breath and turned Tiaan’s way, her eyes bright with anguish. ‘Farewell, Tiaan.’ She held out her arms.

‘You’re not coming?’

‘I can’t leave him.’

‘But Jal-Nish will crucify you!’

‘I’ll find a way round him,’ Irisis said lightly. ‘You know what I’m like with men.’

Not this one! Black icicles formed in Tiaan’s chest. ‘I’ll never see you again. I know it.’

‘Of course you will. We’ll be drinking together in Tiksi before the new year.’ Irisis hugged Tiaan, then quickly stepped back. ‘Farewell, Tiaan. It … knowing you has been the great privilege of my life.’ She wiped her eye, then pretended that it was just a speck of dust. ‘Go quickly, and do what you can for us.’

Tiaan went, Merryl at her side, slipping through the crowd, which opened before her and closed up tightly behind. She could not look back.

Before they reached the street corner and turned towards the little park, an officer shouted, ‘There they are!’

She darted a glance over her shoulder. Red-coated soldiers were forcing their way after them. Merryl took her wrist and ran. Malien and Gilhaelith were almost out of sight.

Tiaan was not used to running. She’d spent most of her time in the thapter, these past two years. There was a burning pain in her side, and the soldiers were less than a hundred paces behind. One had gone to his knees, pointing his crossbow. Merryl jerked Tiaan around the corner as he fired.

In the park, Gilhaelith was climbing into the thapter. Malien must have been inside, for it began to move. Tiaan was fading badly now. She could hardly run and her backbone was a mass of pain where it had been broken long ago. The thapter raced towards them as a soldier turned the corner, levelling his crossbow.

As he fired, Malien whipped the thapter between them and the soldier, so that the bolt slammed into the side. They scrambled in and the machine was up and away, climbing fast.

Then not so fast. Then, not fast at all.

‘What is it?’ whispered Tiaan.

‘I don’t know,’ said Malien. ‘It’s as if the air has turned to porridge and the thapter can scarcely force its way through it. Or …’

‘Or as if he’s holding us back with the tears. I’m doing everything I can but it’s not working. He’s too strong.’

Tiaan closed her eyes. Clutching the amplimet, she tried to sense the ebb and flow of the field, to see if there was anything linking them to Jal-Nish, but she sensed nothing.

‘What if I put the amplimet in its socket,’ Tiaan said suddenly, ‘together with your crystal? And we try to fly the thapter together?’

‘It’s a big gamble,’ said Malien. ‘It could make things worse.’

‘It’s only a gamble when you’ve got something to lose.’

As she was inserting the amplimet, the thapter lurched and stopped in mid-air, then began to creep backwards as if Jal-Nish were reeling them in. Tiaan put her hand on the controller and Malien her longer one over it, and both tried to draw power simultaneously.

The mechanism screamed as though trying to thrash itself to pieces. The thapter lurched backwards.

‘Stop!’ gasped Malien. ‘We’re pulling in opposite directions. Take your hand off. Let me control the thapter, Tiaan. Just try to deliver the extra force I need.’

Tiaan took her hand off and the strain eased, but the thapter gave another backwards jerk, and another, and the further it went the tighter the grip of the tears became.

‘Follow the way I use power,’ Malien added, ‘rather than trying to do it your own way. Ready?’

‘Yes. I think so.’ Tiaan drew power as gently as she could. A grinding sound issued from downstairs.

‘Gently,’ said Malien. ‘Close your eyes and just sense the flow, and go with it rather than trying to drive everything before you.’

This time, after some effort, Tiaan was able to follow the way Malien worked, though it was already giving her a headache.

‘More,’ said Malien. ‘But just a little more.’

Tiaan gave her more. The thapter stopped its fitful backwards jerking, floated at the point of balance for a moment, then slowly began to climb.

‘A trifle more,’ said Malien. ‘He’ll double the effort when he realises what we’re doing.’

The pull on them increased. Tiaan drew more power. The pull increased again. ‘This isn’t going to work,’ she said. ‘We’re giving him time to match us.’

‘I can’t do any more. I’m at my limit.’

‘Just keep doing what you’re doing. Leave the rest to me.’

Malien gave her a doubtful glance.

‘Trust me,’ said Tiaan. ‘We’ve got nothing to lose.’

She tuned her mind to the stored power in the crystal, which had been there since their trip through the gate to Tallallame, and took as much as her mind could bear.

The mechanism screamed, she felt a tearing sensation like glued paper being ripped apart and the thapter shot up into the sky, faster than it had ever gone. She kept the power flowing until, with a wrench that she felt inside her skull, the pull of the tears ceased completely.

Gilhaelith cried out and crushed his knotted fists to his temples. Tiaan had forgotten he was there.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Malien.

‘The recurrence of an old pain I can do nothing about,’ said Gilhaelith. ‘I’ll have to lie down. Could you give me a hand, Merryl?’

Merryl helped him down the ladder.

‘You had a plan?’ said Tiaan, removing the amplimet so Malien could take over again. She could use it, but preferred not to unless she had no choice.

‘I wondered if it might be possible to draw so much power from the node at Ashmode that it failed. It would send out a sensory reverberation that might –’

‘I don’t think there’s any way to draw such power without killing ourselves in the process,’ said Tiaan. ‘I’ve already thought about it. And there’s no saying it would work anyway.’

‘Then there’s nothing we can do for Flydd or Yggur, or any of them,’ Malien said heavily.