Alchymist (44 page)

'Lost
in the void,' he said, 'but not dead. I'm not sure if that's better or worse.'

'I
don't know anything about the void.'

'It's
a different kind of reality to ours. Nothing is stable; everything is in flux.
Things are possible in the void that cannot be done in the material worlds. The
lyrinx flew everywhere there, preying on other creatures and being preyed upon
in turn.'

'No
wonder they wanted to escape.'

'The
void is filled with vicious creatures, and the struggle for existence is more
violent than anywhere. No beast can relax for an instant. They must adapt
constantly or go to extinction.'

'Your
people are clever/ said Tiaan, 'and they have their constructs. They might do
well there.'

'It's
true that we of Clan lnthis are not easily bowed by adversity. And the void is
filled with raw energies, like the fields surrounding nodes on this world, and
my own. The constructs might draw on those fields, providing my people with
protection and shelter, at least for a while. But even so, I fear they're all
gone now, and the hopes of First Clan with them. How could they adapt to the
savagery of the void in time?'

The
interrogation resumed that night Vithis was there, as well as Tirior, Urien and
Luxor. They went over her story repeatedly, trying to learn more about the
voices Tiaan heard after she used the amplimet, and the secret of flight that
still eluded them.

The
night was almost as exhausting as the previous day. It took all her effort to
maintain that air of being slightly mad and rather stupid, while having a
natural genius for reading the field and working with crystals. She could feel
the sweat trickling down her back by the time they finally withdrew to a far
corner of the tent.

'I'm
not sure I believe her' said Tirior, still speaking in the common tongue — they
must want her to know what they were saying about her, and be afraid.

'We'll
soon know the truth,' Urien replied. 'About flight, at any rate.'

'What
are you up to?' asked Tirior.

'The
day she came here, three weeks ago, I dispatched three constructs to Tirthrax.
I instructed them to ask Malien how the flying construct came to be built.'

'I
knew nothing of this,' Vithis said darkly.

'I
sent word to my own people, near Gospett,' said Urien, 'with a captured
messenger skeet. If all went well, their constructs could have reached Tirthrax
ten days ago. I asked them to send word back the instant they came within
flying distance. I hope to hear the truth any day.'

The
old woman looked across and caught Tiaan's eye. Urien wanted her to know that
she had little time left.

Outside,
the moon now seemed dazzlingly bright. Nish stumbled past the guards, barely
able to see, for his throbbing eyes were dripping. Just what had the tears and
the potion done to him? And why all that talk about him serving Jal-Nish? Had
his father meant to corrupt him, to make Nish more like himself? Had he? No,
Father — whatever you've done to me, I'll fight it with all the will I have.
I'll never become like you.

Someone
took him by the arm. 'What's the matter?' Xabbier hissed.

Nish
swayed on his feet. 'My father—' Better not say anything about the tears. Nish
shook his head, but that only made things worse. Coloured auras streamed up
from among the soldiers, and in the background he could still hear the faint
whine of the tears. 'He's poured a potion down my throat and bespelled me. I
don't feel well, Xabbier.'

'Come
this way.' Xabbier led him through the rows of tents to one whose flap was
folded back, but did not enter. 'Open your mouth.'

'What?'

Xabbier
thrust two fingers down Nish's throat and Nish brought up the contents of his
stomach. When he'd done heaving, which took quite a while, the soldier wiped
Nish's face and led him inside.

Xabbier
lit a lantern. 'That's got rid of the bulk of it, though surely not all. I
don't know much about the Art, Cryl-Nish, but this I do know. You must fight
the spell with all the strength you have. Don't give in or it'll take you.'

Nish
shielded his eyes from the light. He tried to speak but could only manage a dry
rasp. Xabbier held a pannikin of water to his lips, then fed him a slab of
bread torn into pieces.

After
wolfing it down, Nish felt better. His vision inverted again but came back to
normal. His belly throbbed. He rubbed it and a bubbling belch rumbled up. The
sick feeling faded but did not entirely disappear.

He
sat up suddenly, seized by an urge so powerful that it burned him. 'Father's
calling. I must go to him.'

Nish
scrambled to his feet but Xabbier stood in his way, as solid as a tree trunk.
The mighty arms went around Nish, binding him immovably. He struggled, for the
urge to run to his father's side was overwhelming. Nish knew what Jal-Nish was;
he saw the evil more clearly than ever, but he had to go to him. The compulsion
was impossible to resist.

He
struggled until he was worn out, and once broke free, slipping by the big man
like a ferret. Xabbier threw out a foot and sent Nish sprawling, then sat on
him. Nish kicked and beat his fists on the ground, clawed at the earth floor,
snarled and tried to bite his friend. Xabbier held his nose until, finally, the
compulsion snapped. He felt a desperate grief for his father, but the urge to
go to him had passed.

Xabbier
let Nish up, watching him warily as he wiped dribble off his chin with his
sleeve. 'I suppose .. . You'd better take me to the cells, before he punishes
you, too . ..'

Xabbier
turned away; crouching down with bent head, as though thinking, but he held on
to Nish's wrist just in case. He reached a decision. There was a knot in his
jaw, a furious light in his eye. 'I heard everything he said to you, Cryl-Nish,
and what he did. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it. I can't let
him have you.'

'What?'
said Nish dazedly. Nothing made sense any more.

'I'm
taking you away from here.'

'But
he'll destroy you. He'll flay you alive.'

'We
might all die tomorrow or the next day. I can't go to my doom knowing I've
betrayed a friend. I've closed my eyes to too much of his evil already.'

But
Xabbier—'

'My
mind's made up. Come on.'

Nish
said no more. Xabbier led him through the camp and the sentries by the darkest
ways, back to the escarpment and finally up a different track from before.
Halfway to the rim, Xabbier stopped.

'Wait
here and don't make a sound. I'll find the guard for this section and distract
him while you slip past. Go that way.' He pointed to Nish's right.

They
embraced. 'Thank you, Xabbier. I'll never forget this,' said Nish. 'Good luck.'

'And
you,' said the lieutenant, 'wherever your path takes you.I hope we meet again
in happier circumstances. And remember, he'll try again, Nish, and again.
You'll have to fight him every time. You must not give in, no matter how easy
it seems.'

He
turned away. Nish watched Xabbier until he disappeared, then began to labour up
the faint path, agonising about his friend. When Jal-Nish found out, he would
crucify Xabbier.

After
many rest stops, for his muscles were like putty, Nish made it to the top and
headed into the maze of limestone pinnacles. Once more he felt that prickling
feeling of being watched, or followed, though he saw no one. Nish continued,
stumbling now. The touch of the tears had drained him to the marrow of his
bones, but the interview with his father, had left him an emotional pincushion.

 At
the thought, he felt another burning spasm and a return of the compulsion.
Nish's skin tingled. It was hard to fight it on his own, and when he had, he
had to rest for a moment.

Flat
on his back on a broken shelf of limestone, Nish rubbed his eyes. They were
still watering; the moon still seemed unusually bright. It was midnight. He
covered his eyes, which felt better until that unnerving feeling of being watched
recurred. Nish peered through his fingers. Though the pinnacle in front of him
lay in shadow, he could see every surface detail. More than that, he could see
inside it. And it seemed to have bones.

Nish
blinked but the bone shapes were still there. They weren't human bones, nor the
skeleton of any wild animal he knew they were too massive, and the wrong shape.
Rising into the upper arch of the pinnacle he could just make out robust,
hollow wing bones, yet the cranium was colossal, with hundreds of large teeth,
and the jaw gaped open.

I'm
hallucinating, Nish thought as he slid off the shelf. It must be the touch of
the tears. He shook his head and kept moving, looking steadfastly ahead. As he
edged around a corner into another corridor, his eye fell on the limestone face
to his left, where he saw the same kind of bones. There could be no doubt — it
was the skeleton of a lyrinx.

Could
this place be an ancient lyrinx graveyard, all limed over? But how could it
have turned to rock so quickly? Then, and the realisation felt like a fist
inside his chest, Nish saw a grey shadow within the skeleton contract and
expand, contract and expand. It was the great heart of the beast. No skeleton
this — there was a live creature inside!

Tearing
his gaze away, Nish began to walk faster. Now he saw bones everywhere, twisted
up in strange positions inside the pinnacles, and there could be only one
explanation — the enemy had stone-formed themselves. There were thousands of
them, probably tens of thousands, if even a quarter of the pinnacles contained
the beasts, and they could be across the valley on the far escarpment as well.

Could
it be another vision arising from the touch of the tears? He did not think so,
for everything else was diamond clear. He inspected the pinnacle on his right.
The claws of its stone-formed occupant were extended towards him, and they
seemed to twitch.

He
wanted to scream and run. Closing his eyes, Nish concentrated on showing no
reaction. Could it know he'd seen it And if it did, how quickly could it react?
The lyrinx might take hours to break out of its lithic state. Alternatively, it
might come out in an instant.

No
terror Nish had previously felt was the equal of this. He was alone in the
midst of a mighty enemy force, an ambush and his arrogant father had walked
right into it. If so many lyrinx fell on Jal-Nish s army in the night without
warning, as surely they planned to, they would annihilate it.

What
colossal magic it must have taken to stone-form tens of thousands of lyrinx so
effectively. Nish could not imagine such power. His gaze wandered to the top of
the spire of stone. It wore, where the grey rock was outlined against the sky,
a faint yellow nimbus. The other pinnacles looked the same.

Nish
hurried on. His mouth was dry; his fingers, hanging at his sides, were locked
into claws. He dared not look back, for fear that some great beast would
shatter its stone refuge and come lunging out of the darkness. He could
practically feel its breath on the nape of his neck.

Should
he go on to Flydd and Troist, or carry the warning back to Xabbier? Never had
he held such responsibility. If he chose wrongly, thousands would die.

Somewhere
behind him, a piece of rock snapped. Nish let out a muffled cry, thinking they
were coming after him. He closed his eyes and hastened into the next tunnel of
darkness, which was worse. Even with his eyes closed, he could see lyrinx
skeletons everywhere. They had the faintest luminosity and were blurred, as if
shivering.

Or
were they preparing to break out, en masse, and attack his father's army in
darkness? The box valley would become a slaughterhouse whose streams would
carry more blood than water.

Jal-Nish's
army was alert, the watch-fires bright, so the enemy could not take them by
complete surprise. But there were too many lyrinx for the army to fight alone.
They would have no chance unless he warned Troist, and he had to do it light
away. Troist's army would have to do a forced march through the night, cloaked,
to reach the neck of the valley in time. He could only hope that the enemy
would take ages to break free from their stone-formed state and assemble into battle
formation. It took all Nish's courage to keep walking and look neither right
nor left. The cracking sound was not repeated. It might have been the stone
contracting in the cool of night. He con-centrated on taking one step after
another, doing nothing suspicious. How good were lyrinx senses in this stone
frozen state? Could they sense what was going on outside, or were their brains
as petrified as their bodies?

Ahead,
the open ground was brilliantly lit by the moon. He could not move across
unseen if there were winged sentries on high, and dared not take the time to go
around. Should he run, or creep like a spy?

The
lyrinx had poorer eyesight than humans in daylight, but better at night. Nish
walked out into the brightness, trudging like a lookout at the end of a long
patrol, and his weariness was not feigned. Above, he thought he heard the
whisper of air across leathery wings. He stopped, mid-stride, looked around and
kept going. That was hard. A diving lyrinx would kill him before he realised it
was there.