Alchymist (75 page)

'We'll
be next. We abandoned the clans before the Clysm, and we're the better for it.
Vithis will bring back rivalry and revenge. He wants to make us tribes again,
with himself as the chief. He's a barbarian dressed up as a civilised man.'

'I
agree,' said an aged man who hitherto had done nothing but sip from a greatly
elongated mug. 'Vithis is like Tensor reincarnated, only without the nobility.
These Aachim are almost as primitive as old humans. We should be leading them.'
'Thus, the nub of our problem.' The new speaker was a man who seemed little
older than Tiaan herself, a dark, handsome fellow with a square jaw and a nose
like the prow of a ship. 'We cannot agree on anything. We'll still be arguing
when the last old human is eaten. Only when it is too late will we understand
what we have lost. Old humans have made this world safe for us, and we owe them
our support.'

'Thank
you, Bilfis. What would you do, Sulleye?' said Malien to the smallest of the
women beside her.

'Old
humans have wrought havoc on this world. To build their clankers, and the other
powered devices they rely on utterly, they've razed mountains and fed whole
forests into their reeking furnaces. These constructs reduce us to their level.
They're an abomination we will long regret. We must abandon all such devices,
including the nodes, and go back to the ways of the past.'

'How
would we maintain Stassor, or any of our cities, without the Art?' said Harjax.

'By
intelligence and hard work,' she snapped.

'The
lyrinx would overrun this world all the sooner.'

'They
rely on the Art more than you think,' said Bilfis. 'Without it they cannot fly,
in which case their wings are a hindrance rather than an advantage.'

'Nor
could they flesh-form,' said Tiaan.

Every
Aachim stared at her, as if a servant had just spoken up in a king's council.

'Just
so,' said Malien, smiling at their discomfiture. 'Neither could they use their
spying devices. All they would have is their strength and native wit, which is
less advantage than you might suppose, without a civilisation to support it.'

Harjax
jerked his head at an aide, who took Tiaan by the elbow. 'Would you come with
me, please?'

Tiaan
shot up in her chair, thinking they meant to do her mischief, but Malien laid a
hand on hers. 'Don't be afraid, Tiaan. My people only wish to discuss matters
privately. You won't be harmed.'

Tiaan
went with the aide, uneasily. Though she trusted Malien, she'd also heard such
assurances before.

Nish
was standing by the air-floater early the following morning, when Yggur
appeared at the front doors. 'Come with me, Cryl-Nish.' He strode across the
yard.

Nish
had to trot to catch up to him, which he found undignified. He followed the
mancer up a set of stone stairs onto the outer wall, which was gravelled and as
wide as a road, and down to a corner with a stone guard post, not presently
manned, though Nish had seen guards there yesterday.

Yggur
turned to face him. 'Tell me about these tears your father found.'

That
endless night, and the hideous scene in Jal-Nish's tent, came crashing back as
vividly as if Nish were there still.

 It
unreeled from beginning to end and he could not stop it: Jal-Nish without the
mask, the rage against the world. His father thrusting Nish's hands into the
box, inside the tears, and that extra dimension it had temporarily brought to
his sight, his other senses, even his emotions. And finally, Jal-Nish's
alchymical compulsion. Nish opened his mouth but found himself too short of
breath to speak. He swayed on his feet, even now feeling the urge to go to his
father. The compulsion was painfully strong.

Yggur
reached out and steadied him. 'What secret are you hiding for your master?'

The
compulsion faded. 'I have no master,' Nish said shakily.

'Another
one!' Yggur gave a grim smile. 'It's no wonder the world falls into ruin.'

'I'm
not hiding anything, surr. I—' Nish's knees buckled and he slipped through the
mancer's fingers, to lie sprawled on the floor.

Yggur
crouched beside him. 'What is it, lad? I touched a spell of sorts just then,
didn't I?'

'My
father put it on me.'

'Why,
Artificer? Here, let me help you up. Calm yourself -take your time.'

The
memories, or the spell, faded. Nish explained about his part, and Irisis's, in
condemning his father to life in a ruined body, and all the rest of it.
'Jal-Nish has hated Irisis ever since, and despised me, and I can't blame him.
No man should have had to suffer what he's suffered. I should have let him
die.'

'Sometimes
there are no right choices,' said Yggur. 'What was it like, when he put your
hands into the tears?'

'It's
. . , impossible to describe. They were hot yet cold, hard yet yielding, metal
yet liquid. They were far more than that, but I can't find the words for it.
And then—'

'Yes?'

'Briefly,
the touch of the tears heightened my senses. I think it was the tears, rather
than the potion he forced me to drink. The moon became dazzlingly bright, and I
could see through things that were solid. I saw the lyrinx twisted up and
cramped into the rock pinnacles, stone-formed to ambush my father's army.'

'Briefly,
you say?'

'By
the following day it had faded, although the tears did change me.'

'In
what way?'

'I—'
Nish gave a shamefaced grimace. 'I used to be obsessed with myself; with
achievement, success and being recognised for it. But after touching the tears,
I saw things so much more clearly. I saw what the world would be like under
tyrants like my father. What it will be like if the scrutator-remain in power.’

'The
tears did not change you in that way, lad,' Yggur said softly. 'You simply grew
up.'

'I
have to fight this tyranny, whatever it costs me, but I'm terribiy, terribly
afraid. I'm not a brave man, Lord Yggur.' 'Your companions tell a different
story. About this spell — I wonder why it did not take?' 'Perhaps he'd not yet
mastered the tears.' 'Let me see.' Yggur put his hands to Nish's temples and closed
his eyes. 'Ah, I see it. It's made with a strange, alchymical kind of Art that
I don't know much about.' It's still there?' cried Nish. 'Inside me?'

'Just
a trace, fortunately. Had you not brought up the bulk of the potion, you'd have
become his slave.'

Thanks
to Xabbier's quick thinking. Nish wondered where he was now. 'Not for long. I'd
have been killed with him.'

But
you weren't. And unless the spell is removed, a trace will remain there until
you die.'

'But—'
said Nish. 'What if someone else compels me?' They could not, unless they had
the tears.' That wasn't comforting. 'Can't you remove it?' 'Not without the
tears.'

Day
after day, Yggur sat at the big table in his workshop, reading or writing in
his journals as though nothing had happened. Nish could see how frustrated the
scrutator was. After five days of inaction, Flydd went to see Yggur, taking
Irisis and Nish with him.

A map
of the known world was spread out on the huge tabIe and Yggur was measuring
distances on it with a pair of black calipers. He did not look up.

We've
got to get moving,' Flydd said abruptly. 'The lyrinx mature quickly. If we
don't strike them now, by spring they'll have another army and they'll be
unstoppable.'

I
have no grievance with the lyrinx,' said Yggur, making a notee in his journal. 'But
you agreed to help us,' Flydd spluttered.

'I
agreed to give you a refuge for a few days, Scrutator. That doesn't make us
bedfellows.' 'But I thought—'

'You
aroused my curiosity about the Numinator and the tears, but what I'm doing
about that is my own affair. I'm not going to fight your wars for you.'

'You're
up to something!' Flydd said furiously. To have power, as Yggur undoubtedly
did, and not want to use it, was incomprehensible.

Yggur
simply raised his hands in the air. 'Then leave. I didn't ask you to come here,
consuming my supplies and disturbing my peace.'

'You
don't care about the fate of your own kind.'

'If I
were threatened by the lyrinx, would you have come to my aid?'

'That's
different,' said Flydd.

'I
see. Why don't you go to the Aachim?'

'Our
alliance was not a fruitful one,' Flydd said uncomfortably.

'Meaning
you've made enemies of your friends and now look to me to fix it for you.'

'Vithis
is an unreasonable man, even by your standards,' snapped Flydd. 'Besides, he's
withdrawn to the Foshorn, near the southern corner of the Dry Sea—'

'I
know where the Foshorn is,' said Yggur. 'I've been there.'

'The
Aachim have driven out the people that dwelt there and closed the borders.
Vithis isn't going to help us.'

'Then
you'll have to abandon Lauralin. Go north across the tropic ocean. You may find
a haven in that hemisphere.'

'The
lyrinx breed like maggots,' said Flydd. 'In a few generations they'd overrun
Lauralin and come after us. Win or lose, the battle must be fought now.'

'You
will lose,' said Yggur with such studied indifference that Nish wondered if he
was testing their resolve before committing himself.

'When
you're the last human left alive, you'll regret that you did nothing for your fellows.'

'I'm
immune to emotional blackmail.' Nodding stiffly, Yggur went around the table
and out.

'Arrogant
swine!' said Flydd as they were walking back to their rooms. 'To have such
power, yet refuse to use it.' 'How do you know he still has power?' Nish
wondered. 'I don't suppose I do,' Flydd said slowly. I just assumed . . .
Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps he hides here because his power is failing.'

'But
he does live in harmony with the lyrinx,' said Irisis. 'Why should he turn on
them on our say-so? It's up to us,' she sighed. 'I suppose it always was.'

'But
what can we do?' cried Nish. 'We're exiles cowering in our hidey-hole a hundred
leagues from Lauralin. We've got no army, no coin, just a handful of weapons
and a decrepit air-floater. We've no friends, no influence, and face instant
death if we return to Lauralin. How can we hope to overthrow the scrutators?
How can we do anything at all?'

No
one spoke. They seemed shocked by the outburst, though Nish had only put into
words what they'd all been thinking: they were deluding themselves.

'I
expected Yggur to take over' said Flydd. 'I was steeling myself for a fight to
maintain our objectives. The last thing I expected was a complete lack of
interest.'

'Then
we'll have to find a way to gain his support,' said Irisis.

Flydd
went out, head bowed, looking very careworn.

For a
long time after that, the scrutator did nothing but sit by the fire, reading
Yggur's volumes of the Histories or, more often, just staring into the flames.
The pain of his ancient torments troubled him more than usual, and Irisis often
noted him sipping from a flask of poppy syrup, though not even that could bring
him the oblivion he so desperately sought.

'It's
been my life's work to protect the people and the civilisations of our world,'
he said one bitter night. 'To stop — if not to reverse — the long decline
that's been going on ever since the Forbidding. In that time we've had failure
upon failure, defeat upon defeat, and I'm forced to the realisation that I
simply can't do it. No one can reverse the damage caused by the reign of the
scrutators. It's too late.'

'It's
not like you to despair, Xervish,' said Irisis.

'It's
the only thing left to do. Ah, but it's a tragedy. The loss of Thurkad, the
destruction of the College of the Histories. A hundred cities are gone; whole
nations and cultures have disappeared. The past was a glorious place, Irisis,
where men and women were free. The scrutators have turned the present into a
slave pen. What can the future hold but a slaughterhouse for us all, until
humanity is no more?'

He
began to weep, silently and terribly, and Irisis could not bear to see it.

Another
week went by, more painful than the previous one. In Yggur's absence, for he
kept to his rooms, they debated the problem over and again. Whatever scheme was
proposed, and there were many, the group always reached the same conclusion:
there was no way a handful of people, in hiding so far from Lauralin, could
affect the war.

Irisis
came back from a walk to Old Hripton, a fishing town a few leagues away along
the bay, to find Flydd sitting on his bed, head in hands. She ducked out again
before he could see her and went looking for Nish. Flydd had always been so
strong, and had always known what to do. It hurt to see him laid so low.

'Where
the masters fail,' Irisis said to Nish, 'the peasants must take charge. It's up
to you and me, Nish.'