Fifty-five
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.