Tetrarch

T WENTY-THREE

Gilhaelith had gone to see Tiaan several times but she always pretended to be asleep. She was hiding something. He had left off questioning her for the moment, for he had much to think about. War now raged in northern Almadin, and that was not far away. The lyrinx had defeated an army and razed a city. Neither the vastness of Worm Wood nor the slopes of the mountain could deter a determined attack. And the amplimet was preying on his mind. He had spent hours each day, watching it and wondering how it had formed. He had not touched it yet – each time he read the numbers they told him to wait.

On the fourth day after the crash, there came a tap on the door and Nyrd the messenger hurried in, his satchel bulging and a leather envelope in one hand. With his pointed nose and chin, elongated ears and skin so thick and wrinkled it could have been a leather suit, Nyrd looked like an oversized gnome.

'What is it?' asked Gilhaelith.

'The war!' said Nyrd with a quizzical glance. His eyes were as small and black as cherries. 'Better take a look at this one first.' He passed over the leather envelope. 'It just came in by skeet.'

Gilhaelith untied the red cords, withdrawing the wax-sealed packet inside. Noting the origin of the seal, he stiffened. 'Thank you, Nyrd. I won't need you until after lunch.'

After Nyrd closed the door on the way out, Gilhaelith broke the seal. The letter was from his factor in Saludith and contained no identifying marks, though it bore the previous day's date.

Surr, I have the most alarming news. A horde of battle constructs, modelled on Rulke's that was destroyed in Aachan two centuries ago, have come over the mountains from Mirrilladell. Their number is 6118, and presently they are camped beyond the southern boundary of Borgistry, near Clew's Top. They are said to have come from Aachan. Though I do not see how that could be true, they speak in a most barbarous accent and are armed as for war. Other fleets are believed to have gone south to Oolo, Candalume and K'Klistoh, as well as west toward the Karama Malama. I am awaiting reports on those movements.

The main force is led by Vithis, an arrogant and unlikeable man, very bitter and uncompromising, according to those who have had dealings with him. Vithis has made no declaration though surely his plans are predatory. The enclosed papers contain more detailed information, maps and sketches of these constructs.

Finally, and most urgent of all, I have heard reports of another construct, a flying one. It flew over the main force three days ago, attacked the camp recklessly and knocked down Vithis, injuring his leg. It then disappeared in the direction of Parnggi and the Peaks of Borg. Vithis is said to be out of his mind with rage. He has, for the present time, turned aside from his military objectives and is exerting all his strength to finding this renegade machine and its operator.

I will send more the instant I have it. Chiarri

Chiarri, not her real name, was one of his most reliable factors. Crushing the letter in his fist, Gilhaelith called for a jug of stout and went to sit on the terrace, a favourite thinking place. He stared down into the crater.

Aachan! That meant a gate, and its opening had something to do with that reverberation of the ethyr he had felt weeks ago. Was this the first strike of a war of the worlds? Why, why had Tiaan brought the flying construct here? But of course, when the pipes had sounded days ago, he'd done his best to draw her here. Whether her coming was due to his efforts, or to sheer chance, here she was and he must deal with her and all her baggage.

How had she stolen the flying construct, and why had she attacked the Aachim so recklessly? The situation was out of control and for the first time in a century Gilhaelith felt afraid. The prize might not be worth the risk. He ran the numbers but this time the pattern was ambiguous, the worst result of all.

The best option would be to take Tiaan back to the site of the crash, put her next to the construct and leave her to die. She was so intimately mixed up with the gate, amplimet and construct that whoever found the construct must come looking for her.

He resolved, reluctantly, to do just that. Gilhaelith was not going to risk his life's work for a thief and cripple, no matter how haunting the look in her eyes. He'd seen that look before; nothing good ever came out of it.

The amplimet was another matter. The Art and Science of the earth were his life's work and this crystal could take him to the core that had always eluded him. He would not give it up unless he stood to lose everything. And so he might, if he did not quickly discover why Tiaan had stolen the flying construct. And there lay the problem. Any competent mancer could read the aura given off by the amplimet, inside and outside the construct. If he left the construct where it was but kept the crystal, the first place they would look was here.

It was all or nothing, and whatever his decision, he had better make it quickly. Was the amplimet worth it? If not, the choice was made for him. He went down to the organ to see what he could make of the crystal.

Gilhaelith worked the lever that uncovered the skylight far above, allowing the thin rays of the crescent moon to shine vertically on the bench, the frosty globe of the world and the amplimet which lay on a piece of crumpled black velvet. The crystal glowed strongly but the central spark sometimes fluctuated in intensity. Strange and intriguing.

He reached out with gloved hand, then drew back as one of the larger organ pipes soughed, just on the lower edge of hearing. It was like the murmuring of bees in the far distance – a warning. He'd had that whenever he tried to investigate the amplimet.

It was frustrating. The crystal was powerful and sensitive. What wonders might he uncover if he could learn how to use it properly? The little thief could not have employed a fraction of its potential.

Making a sudden decision, he wrapped the amplimet in its velvet and carried it beyond the keyboard to a spot where arrays of organ pipes – some vertical, some slanted and the remainder horizontal – formed a series of fans converging on a single point. At that spot stood a hollow star with eighty-one points, each a matched crystal. Gilhaelith eased the amplimet into the hollow, settled it in place and removed the velvet.

Reaching for a stop on his organ console, he carefully, carefully pulled it out, withdrawing a golden mask from the centre of the star. He held his breath. A nerve throbbed painfully in his stomach. Anything might happen. Or worse, nothing.

The glow from the crystal died down. The spark vanished. At the same time a cloud must have passed in front of the moon, for the silvery beams coming through the skylight disappeared. Frost seemed to settle on everything. When he moved his foot, the floor crackled.

As he eased the lever the last fraction, the frost deepened. Then, with a shrieking, roaring rumble, every pipe of the organ sounded at once, a noise so violent that it tore at his skull. He clapped his hands over his ears but that made no difference. The sounds were inside too. A wooden pipe burst, embedding a dark splinter fingernail-deep in the back of his hand.

Gilhaelith kicked the stop in and the cacophony cut off, though not before more pipes exploded and a metal array sagged as if made of putty. Wrapping his hand in the piece of black velvet, he reached into the star. Gilhaelith would not have been surprised had smoke risen from his fingertips. The crystal was unchanged except, perhaps, a little colder than before. Its glow was subdued.

He did not know what had happened and shuddered to think what other mancers would make of that disturbance to the ethyr. He prayed that no one could tell its origin. The crystal was more potent than he had thought, and more dangerous. Something had transformed it but he could not tell what. He had to have it, though Gilhaelith did not plan to risk his life testing it. That seemed to leave him with only one alternative.

Let's see what the little thief knew about it. But first, one thing must be done urgently. He called his foreman.

'Guss, put together a detail, only your most reliable people. Go down to the forest and bring the machine back. Leave no trace of it and keep it covered as it is brought up. Can that be done today?'

The foreman considered, rubbing his shiny forehead. 'I'll take twenty men. That should be ample. Not far from the site there's an ancient lava tube, if you recall, which we've previously used as a covered road. We'll bring it up that way, and the last distance under cover of night. It'll be in your deepest cellar by midnight.'

'Swear the men to secrecy, even from their partners.'

'It's a little late for that, master. No one has spoken about anything else for days.'

Gilhaelith frowned. People were so ill-disciplined. 'I'll speak to them myself. No more talking. The others need not know it's here. Better still, I'll send them around the rim. The glanberries are starting to fruit already, are they not?'

'The winter flowering ones are, on the warmer northern slopes.'

'Good. I have a fancy for glanberry pie tonight. Oh, and one other thing.'

'Yes, Gilhaelith?'

'It might be an idea if you and your men were not around to be questioned for a while.'

'There's plenty to do below,' said the foreman. 'We'll work there until you give the word.'

'Very good. Tell the men to stay clear of my best stout.'

The foreman laughed. 'Every man has his weakness, and I imagine you're referring to me rather than them. I'll keep it in mind, though it'll be a thirsty duty, master.'

His loyalty deserved a reward, though Gilhaelith offered it with a tinge of regret. 'When you come up, you shall have a barrel of the stuff.' Gilhaelith spring-stepped to Tiaan's room. Hitherto she had dodged all his questions. Now he had to know.

Her head rotated as he entered. Her eyes were dull; she did not seem to be interested in anything. Pulling up a chair, he sat down. She resumed staring at the ceiling.

He leaned forward, unfolded the letter from his factor and began to read it. She ignored him until he mentioned Vithis, whereupon her hands fluttered under the covers. She bit down on a gasp. He kept reading. At the end, her eyes turned to him and he saw naked terror there. Just as quickly she hid it.

'You must tell me everything,' he said sternly.

'There's no point. Just take me down the mountain and leave me by my thapter.'

'Thapter?'

'The flying construct.'

'I am thinking of doing just that.' He inspected her as dispassionately as he would have done the least of his servants. There was no room for sentiment, not for a thief. 'Why did you steal the thapter?'

'I didn't. It's mine.'

The claim was nonsensical. 'Tiaan, Vithis is searching for the thapter, and you, and won't rest until he has interrogated every witness in the land. I cannot resist him, even if I wanted to. You are a thief who wantonly attacked his camp and tried to kill him. I must give you up.'

'Please, no!'

'Then talk to me.'

'He is a liar who callously betrayed me, and attacked me first. I am not a thief.'

He did not believe her. 'Go on.'

'I did not steal the thapter,' she blurted. 'It's mine.'

'Come, Tiaan, patently it was made by the Aachim.'

'Malien gave it to me in Tirthrax.'

He drew in a breath. 'Malien is still alive?'

'She is old, but in health.'

'How very interesting. Were the other constructs made at Tirthrax?'

'They were built on Aachan. I created the gate that brought them to our world, for their own is dying in volcanic fire.'

He got a tale out of her, with much probing, and many pauses on her part that made him sure there was little truth in it. It was well into the evening by then. A shiver went up his spine as he understood, at last, the source of that ethyric convulsion weeks ago. Someone had made a gate but it could not have been Tiaan. She was not old enough to have mastered the basics of geomancy, far less the greatest of all magic. Gilhaelith was so unsettled that he shouted for a cup of mustard-water.

'But, master,' said Mihail, 'you never drink mustard-water in the evening. Shall I fetch you -'

'At once, dammit. And tea for Tiaan.'

Gilhaelith sat back in his chair. She could not have made a gate, so who had? Malien, most likely. The situation was more dire than he had thought: for the world, for himself, and of course for Tiaan. Her attack, even if it had been self-defence, would have been the ultimate humiliation for the proud Aachim. And the thapter was worth a continent. Who had made it fly, as Rulke's original had, two centuries ago? Tiaan had not revealed that. Vithis would do everything possible to recover it. With mastery of the air his forces would be unstoppable; humanity's clankers would be no more useful than hay wagons.

And then there was the amplimet. Even if Vithis dared not use it himself, it was required for the thapter to fly. Vithis might be capable of scrying out the path flown by the thapter, given time. It would be a difficult task, but not impossible for someone with unlimited resources. Sooner or later he would end up here. I haven't thought things through, Gilhaelith thought. Should I call Guss back? Perhaps I should tell Vithis where the construct is, and earn the reward.

'Tell me about the amplimet, Tiaan.'

'I've already talked about it.'

'There's much you haven't told me. It's a deadly crystal and I can't see how you survived using it, even briefly.'

Tiaan flushed and looked down at the bed. Mistaking her reaction for guilt, he reared up over her and said sternly, 'I have been testing the amplimet and I know you're keeping much from me. My patience has run out. Tell me, or it will go badly for you.'

'The c-crystal is alive,' she stammered.

She was less intelligent than he'd thought, but he'd humoured her. 'How can you tell?'

'It was drawing power from the field all by itself, without ever being woken.' She told him about finding it. 'And in Tirthrax, since the gate opened, it was talking to the node.'

'Talking to the node? Preposterous!'

She explained about that, and how it had taken over the thapter's controls. He did not speak after she had finished, but paced the bedchamber, analysing what she had said and calculating probabilities. He could not believe her.

'What are you going to do?' she said. She seemed to be going through some kind of internal struggle.

'I don't know.'

'Vithis must not get the thapter. You've got to give it to the scrutators. It will make all the difference to the war.'

'You're a fine one to talk about duty, after running away from your manufactory.'

'I was on my way to Lybing to give the thapter to the scrutator, but the amplimet brought me here instead. It cut off the field to make sure I couldn't fight it.'

One absurd lie after another. Did she take him for a fool? But still, there was something about her, and her story, that made him pause.

'Please,' she said in tones that would have wrenched at the heart of any normal man. 'Vithis is a monster. He plans to take our world.'

Gilhaelith was not a normal man, but he could not think with her tragic eyes on him. He rose abruptly, sending the chair skidding back. Her head whipped around and he saw terror in her eyes.

He stalked around the rim of the crater, stumbling over the rubble in his agitation. He was not defenceless. Gilhaelith had been born with a talent for the Secret Art, one he had worked hard to master. Nonetheless, the Aachim force must contain many adepts greater than he, and if they discovered what he had done they would destroy him. He could not play that kind of game. Better be seen to be helpful, while hiding his true design.

Or should he give the thapter to the scrutators? A good decision if it helped them to win the war, but a foolish one if, as he suspected, they were going to lose. Gilhaelith took the omens but the numbers were ambiguous. He took them again – different numbers, yet the uncertainty was the same. The choice went three ways and his decision could alter the future of the world. One option was right, the others likely to be disastrously wrong, but for all his auguries and all his logic he could not separate them. The future was scrambled. Randomness, the greatest curse of all, looked like being crucial. In the early hours of the following morning, Gilhaelith sat in his chair in the basement, a jug of stout at his elbow, staring moodily at the thapter. He could not bring himself to believe Tiaan's outlandish story about making the gate. A student of geomancy for a century and a half, he knew just how long it took to master the Art. The notion that the amplimet had some will of its own was even more absurd. And yet… there had been that strange reaction when he had tested it with his organ.

Gilhaelith had not got to where he was by having a closed mind. If it did have some kind of mineral awareness, he would discover it. But what could a piece of crystal want?

He spent a day and a half cunningly investigating it with the subtlest of his instruments. It shone steadily all the while unusual, but not unprecedented. It did not blink once. It was not communicating at all – that was just another of Tiaan's fantasies. Once he had gone, the amplimet's glow faded to the dullest of glimmers, but the central spark began to blink rapidly and, after some hours, the field of the Booreah Ngurle double node started to pulse in unison. Several minutes passed. The spark died and the field went back to normal.