Tetrarch

F ORTY-SEVEN

Gilhaelith heard Tiaan's cry as the walker went over the edge, and the crash and rattle of sliding rock, then the four lyrinx took him up so quickly that the noise of their wings drowned out all other sound. He struggled uselessly against his bonds, imagining Tiaan lying bloody and helpless halfway down the crater. With the hood over his head, he could see nothing.

They flew in cloud for a long time – he felt it billowing about them. It was cold. Gilhaelith's clothes hung dankly on him and moisture dripped from the hood down the back of his neck. The great wings went whoop, whoop. One lyrinx called to another in their strange tongue. A second snapped back. There seemed to be an argument, at the end of which the lyrinx began to spiral down. They broke out of cloud, the wind lifted his hood and Gilhaelith spied a circular mesa of black rock rising from forest. The lyrinx glided down towards it, resting on the thermals, then landed hard near the edge.

One held Gilhaelith's rope while the other three went into a huddle. Shortly a female put her hands around his wrists and looked into his eyes. 'You called a name as we lifted, "Tia -". Was it Tiaan, the artisan from Tiksi, who fled Tirthrax in a flying construct? Speak truly. I am a truth-reader.'

He hesitated a fraction too long before saying, 'No, it was Tyune, my crippled daughter.'

Orange speckles appeared on her arms. 'He lies,' she called to the others. 'It was the artisan we seek. Munnand, go back for her.'

The largest of the four, a male with a brilliant red crest, used the updraught to lift himself in the air and headed north. The truth-reader pulled Gilhaelith's hood down and bound it on. They flew in fog and cloud for many hours more. Gilhaelith could feel the cool, clinging vapour on his skin and the chilly drips down his back.

The lyrinx had surely abducted him in order to use his Art. He felt a stirring of interest. Why did they want him? And if they got what they wanted, what then? Perhaps they would eat him. They'd have to outwit him first! It was the ultimate challenge and Gilhaelith was a master game-player. But this was different. It was personal.

They kept going after dark, but around midnight settled on a crag in the mountains. He was fed, his bonds were checked and he was allowed to lie on the ledge. He barely slept. Gilhaelith realised, to his bemusement, that he was worried about Tiaan, and it was not just for what she could do for him. Nor was it the concern he might feel for an old and faithful servant. It was much more. It was deeper. He actually cared about her!

He explored the strange sensation all the hours of darkness, but when the lyrinx stirred at dawn Gilhaelith was as confused as when he'd begun. They took to the air again, flying all day. He dozed, waking to find that it was dark. Gilhaelith caught an acrid whiff of tar and had a sense of strong forces all around. The air felt close – he was in a cave, or below ground.

Why were they looking for Tiaan? It might have to do with flesh-forming, or with the thapter. If she had not died in the fall, she would now be lying helpless on the slope, waiting to die of thirst. Better that the lyrinx bring her here, whatever they had in store for her.

Gilhaelith was weaponless, since mathemancy could not be used for attack. His geomancy could, though not with his bare hands. He needed particular crystals or artefacts for that.

There were crystals in the rock walls around him, but none suited to geomancy. There was one way, however. Gilhaelith suffered from gallstones, among other ailments. They were hardly crystals but they did have some use in the Secret Art, and nothing could be more attuned to him than a stone from his own body. He sensed out the largest and forced it to wake. It was ill-suited for the purpose, no power in it at all, but he did manage to enhance his awareness with it.

Ghostly images grew behind his closed eyes, swirling currents like a great red fountain, and the shape of a pit. There was a node here, a strong and unstable one, but bound as he was there was no more he could learn about it. It had to be the tar pits of Snizort, a place he knew of, though he had never been here.

He was conveyed down numberless steps, along tunnels that stank of tar, and finally through a series of heavy doors that progressively reduced the smell. His bonds were released, the hood taken off. He blinked at the light of a lantern.

'What do you want of me?' he asked politely. Gilhaelith was always polite when he did not know what he was dealing with.

An elderly lyrinx, a female, said, 'I am Gyrull, Matriarch of Snizort.'

She had a soft voice for a lyrinx, and spoke the language better than most, though her speech was flat, as if she were reciting.

'Matriarch! Are you the supreme ruler of the lyrinx?'

'We do not have a supreme ruler, tetrarch. We work collectively to achieve our aims.'

'How do you know what I am?' he cried.

'It was written.'

'Why do you dwell in such a foul place?'

'It occupies a vital part of our life-cycle, or Histories as you call them.'

That made no sense. How could Snizort play any part in the lyrinx Histories, except in the most recent times?

'You understand the earth and the forces that power it, tetrarch,' she went on. 'We seek to know more about this place.'

'What has that to do with me?'

She glanced over his head. Four lyrinx stood behind him, claws extended, alert for any sign of attack.

'Something was lost in the Great Seep. We would very much like to recover it.'

'The Great Seep?'

'The source of the tar at Snizort.'

'What was lost?'

'I cannot say.'

'Big or small?'

'Big enough.'

Gilhaelith rubbed his blocky jaw, wondering what was really going on. 'What are the dimensions of the seep?'

Matriarch Gyrull spoke among the other lyrinx. A small female stepped forward. 'The Great Seep is shaped like this.' She drew an irregular oval on the floor, with a smaller oval budding off one end. 'It is one-and-a-quarter of your leagues long, and seven-eighths of a league wide.'

'And how deep?'

'We do not know. Perhaps a league; perhaps more.'

'What was lost, and where?'

The small lyrinx opened her mouth, then closed it again. The Matriarch pulled her back. 'We cannot tell you that.'

'No matter,' said Gilhaelith. 'Where it was lost is all that matters; and when.'

'It was lost near the centre, as far as I am able to determine.' Gyrull indicated a point with one brittle yellow claw. 'Around here.'

'How big was it? If it was small, the chances of ever finding it are remote.'

'Bigger than a village hut.'

'How long ago?'

Now even the Matriarch looked uneasy. What is it? he thought. They must want it desperately, to have involved an outsider in the search. Gilhaelith was intrigued.

'We cannot be sure,' she said at length. 'Perhaps you can help us. You have the best library in the south-west, we are told.'

Even more puzzling. The lyrinx had come to Santhenar at the time the Way between the Worlds was open, two hundred and seven years ago. The war began in earnest about sixty years later, but the lyrinx had been restricted to Meldorin Island for the first hundred years after their arrival.

'I don't understand,' said Gilhaelith. 'The Histories in my library are mainly of ancient times. How -'

'It might have been lost as recently as seven thousand years ago, or as long ago as ten thousand. We do not have the Histories of that time. I can tell you no more. We brought you here to find out.'

If what she'd said was true, the lyrinx must have visited Santhenar before. He could scarcely believe it. Some creatures of the void had ended up on Santhenar in the distant past, before the time of the Forbidding. The Histories told that such arrivals had been accidental, the intruders slain. Had the lyrinx previously come to Santhenar thousands of years ago, then gone again? It raised many questions. But why would she lie?

'Why should I help you? You are the enemy of all humanity.'

'You traded with us before,' said the Matriarch, watching him with eyes that reflected the light in twin points. 'What is different now? We will pay you well, in whatever currency you demand.' Her eyes held a question.

'I'll consider my price.' It was hard to see how he could get away, weaponless and surrounded by alert guards, but that was not his most pressing concern. He would soon have had to abandon Nyriandiol anyway, but the amplimet was back there, unguarded. He had to have it – he had gone too far along that path to retreat now. He must convince them to take him back.

He was also bothered about Tiaan. Gilhaelith prayed that she had survived the fall. Or would it be better if she had died? No! He missed her. Astonishing. In all his years at Nyriandiol he had never cared about anyone. He had to know what had happened to her. 'You must take me home first.'

'Why?' Yellow and black patterns moved on her skin – suspicion.

'I haven't read the very ancient Histories in a hundred years, and I can't remember them. I must consult my library. Then I will tell you my price.' They waited for Munnand, the lyrinx who had gone back for Tiaan, but he did not come. The following afternoon they were back in the air, six fliers this time. The Matriarch was one of them, though she took no part in carrying Gilhaelith. Flying into strong headwinds, it took them two days to reach the Burning Mountain. Six days had passed since his abduction. They landed at the point where Tiaan had fallen. There was no sign of her, or her walker, and the rubble showed no tracks. Nyriandiol was unnaturally quiet.

'We will go to your house,' Gyrull said.

They found three bodies on the terrace – Gurteys, Fley and a tall man too clawed to identify. The lyrinx lay on the steps, dead. The chalcedony door had been smashed to pieces and more bodies were sprawled further down the hall. The Matriarch bowed her head over Munnand while Gilhaelith checked the bodies of his retainers. All had died of lyrinx wounds.

'This changes matters,' he said coldly. Going to the front door he shouted, 'Tiaan?' His cry echoed down the hall, but there was no reply.

'Where's Tiaan?' Gilhaelith cried. 'What have you done with her?'

'Munnand lies dead,' said Matriarch Gyrull. The other lyrinx were carrying the body away. 'He was alone. But there are other signs, if you care to look.'

The door had been broken with hammers. There were metal marks on the stone and the lyrinx would not have done that. Inside, muddy bootprints tracked down the hall. They were unusually long. The Aachim had been here.

'Tiaan!' He raced down the swooping outside platform to the lowest level, at dire risk of going over the edge. The lower door had been smashed. The window was a jagged hole. The room was empty, the thapter gone.

'Vithis has the thapter, and Tiaan!' He clenched his fists, struggling to moderate his emotions so as to give nothing else away. The thapter did not matter but the amplimet was everything now.

The Matriarch walked around the room. 'She fought bravely. See these scars in the wall. She must have used some kind of weapon…'

'My crystal rod,' said Gilhaelith. 'She survived the fall, at least.'

'A pity. We could have used her again. To your library, tetrarch.'

He considered refusing and trying to escape but with six lyrinx watching there was no chance. Better to cooperate than be forced. He had to have a safe place to work and, hopefully, scry out where the amplimet had been taken. He was determined to have it back. Moreover, the scrutators would arrive here within days and the evidence of his treachery was everywhere. Why not let Gyrull take him back to Snizort? They could carry the devices he needed, and once there he could use the power of the node to track down the amplimet. And what a strange node it was – that could only add to his knowledge.

He was beginning to see that nodes held part of the secret to the great game, and the more of them he could study, the closer he would be to his goal. Especially such potent nodes as the one at Snizort. Gilhaelith's library was well organised and it did not take long to collect all the ancient records dealing with the Taltid region of Lauralin. There were not many and all were second-hand, since few original documents had survived for that period. Gyrull sat beside him while he worked, the truth-reader on his other side.

'What, specifically, are you looking for?' Gilhaelith asked.

'Firstly,' said Gyrull, 'all documents from the period ten thousand to seven thousand years before the present day, which deal with Snizort, the tar pits or the people who dwelt in its vicinity. Secondly, reports of wonder-working or the Secret Art from that period. Third – no, that is enough.'

'Here's something,' said Gilhaelith several hours later. He was turning the pages of a chronicle detailing the earliest Histories of the Gospett area. 'It's from nine thousand, three hundred years ago. It mentions the tar seeps, and ghost lights burning at night out in the middle.'

'Ghost lights?' said the Matriarch.

'Like will-o'-the-wisps.'

'Explain, if you please.'

'Ghost lights are gases that catch fire by themselves.'

'Ah, bog vapours.'

The same locality was mentioned several times in the Histories of the next thousand years, but all references related to the tar pits or to products obtained from them. None were of any interest to the Matriarch.

'What does this say?' She pointed to a paragraph on the page opposite the one he had been reading from.

'It talks about yellow crystals – brimstones – found in cavities near some of the smaller seeps.'

'Continue.'

He caught a gleam in her eye and made a mental note to be careful. It would appear Gyrull could read the ancient texts almost as well as he could. What a formidable intellect she must have.

He went through the chronicles, volume by volume. It took all day. Finally, in the year 7327 before the present one, he found something that made the Matriarch sit up.

'The people of the village of Ric Rints, near the tar pits of Snizort, were ordered by the regent to cease their foul sorcery or be put to the sword.'

Gilhaelith explained, 'At this time, mancing was tribal magic and forbidden under the Encial Edict of 7366.'

'What kind of sorcery?' asked the Matriarch.

'A form of shape-changing magic, I'd say. It's not clear what, although almost everyone in the village seems to have had a natural talent, which they focussed using woken brimstones. So close to such a powerful node, they might not have needed anything else. They would require a ready supply of brimstones, though, for such crystals are fragile.'

'Go on.'

' The villagers promised to do no more shape-changing, but later built a floating causeway out to the middle of the lake of tar, where they constructed a village on a cloverleaf platform. Rumours began of sorcerous experiments, right over the Great Seep. One magical working caused the sky to change colour. Another time, a column of yellow light blasted straight up, brighter than the beam of a lighthouse. Another time, they caused the Great Seep to seethe until hot tar rained down on distant villages. Yet another time the sky opened and closed again, like an eye, and watchers saw stars in the daytime.'

The Matriarch was impassive, save for those gleaming eyes. 'What do you think they were doing?'

'Geomancy,' said Gilhaelith. 'Primitive but no less powerful. This was long before the Forbidding sealed the Way between the Worlds. It sounds as if they discovered how to open the Way. Perhaps they were the very first to do so.' He bent his head to the parchment.

'The regent, furious that they so flagrantly flouted his edict, placed a proscription on the village and began building floating paths out to it. Before he could attack, another great column of yellow light blasted upwards. The sky opened and many of the villagers vanished through it. Under the downblast, the platform broke apart. The village and its remaining inhabitants, more than three hundred children, women and men, were sucked under the tar and never seen again.'

The Matriarch looked to the truth-reader, letting out a great sigh. The truth-reader nodded.

'That is what you are looking for?' said Gilhaelith. 'A village lost seven thousand years ago? Surely their brimstones, and their knowledge, will have been lost with them? It would be easier to -'

'Can you find it?' she said harshly.

'It will not be easy. The tar moves slowly but seven thousand years is a long time.'

'You will try,' she said. 'It must be found.'

He did not ask why. She was not going to tell him. 'I will require a number of scrying and sensing devices,' he said, praying that she would not call his bluff. It was not really a bluff, for all could be used for that purpose, though not all were necessary for it. There would be plenty to do in Snizort, and when all was done, his devices would permit him to break out again, if he could just keep charge of them.

Gyrull weighed him for a moment. 'Of course. Indicate what you require and we will carry it.'

He marked a number of items, including his great globe. She frowned at that but did not refuse. The items were packed, the boxed globe secured in rope netting, and they prepared to go.

It was a wrench abandoning everything else, especially the carillon of bells and the great organ, but nothing could be done about it. Those secrets would be in the hands of Scrutator Klarm within days. Gilhaelith wondered what he would make of them.

He considered his options on the long trip back to Snizort. The Matriarch knew more than she was saying. Those villagers must have been better at their Art than anyone imagined. To discover what had been lost that day was going to be a prodigious labour, and it must be a powerful secret. Should he give them what they wanted?

On the other hand, something strange had happened out in the Great Seep that day, more than seven thousand years ago, and it had to do with geomancy. It may have been the very foundation of his Art. Gilhaelith's curiosity had been aroused and he had to have it satisfied.