Tetrarch (Well of Echoes) (21 page)

Her head popped out. M’lainte’s eyes were gleaming. ‘Marvellous!’ she said. ‘Just marvellous.’

‘Remember our leaky floater-gas.’

‘I’ve finished.’ She hauled herself out. ‘Well, of course I’m
not
finished. I could spend a year here.’

‘Can you make one like it?’

‘Probably not. Some of the innards are sealed and I have no idea what’s inside, and we’d not master such fine metal-working as this –’ she slapped the smoothly curving side, ‘in a hundred years. Still, I’ve learned a thing or two.’

The scrutator left it at that. M’lainte was the best mechanician in the south-east, and did not make promises she could not keep. It was better than nothing.

‘Malien’s not coming,’ Flydd said dispiritedly. ‘Come on.’

The air-floater took off as soon as they climbed in, heading east. There were no enemy in sight. It was something over two hundred leagues back to the manufactory and they would probably have to rotor all the way.

They had taken on rock ballast at Tirthrax so as to fly extra low, for at high altitudes, strong winds blew directly against them. They floated along the line of the mountains, enjoying the magnificent vista of peaks and glaciers. Below and south as far as they could see lay a flat landscape, a monotonous vista of snow-clad plains, swamps and ragged lakes, many still frozen. The forests were straggles of spindly, impoverished pines.

The trip was slow but uneventful. Night fell. They continued, and late in the morning, at a place where the Great Mountains were less high and they could see across the range to another in the distance, the air-floater dropped its ballast and turned northeast to make the crossing.

‘We should reach the manufactory within the hour,’ said M’lainte in the mid-afternoon, trying to consult her map as the air-floater lurched and bounced.

‘I’ll be glad to see it,’ the scrutator replied curtly. He had paced all night and was not in the best of humours, and the rough flight made his head spin.

‘At least the air-floater has worked well,’ she said cheerfully.

‘Don’t jinx it!’ he snapped.

M’lainte went up the other end, to stare over the rope rail. Flydd inspected his scarred and gnarled hands, trying not to think of the events that had made them that way. The knot in his stomach was painful.

‘How is the seeker?’ he called to the soldier on duty inside.

‘Still sleeping, last I checked.’

‘Check again.’

The man ducked away, then came back. ‘She’s stirring. Should I give her another dose of poppy?’

‘Of course not! Keep an eye on her. Bloody idiot,’ the scrutator said, more out of habit than annoyance. His mind was on other matters.

They floated over the last range and saw smoke everywhere. ‘What’s going on?’ cried Flydd. ‘We’ve only been gone four days.’

‘It’s early in the season for a forest fire.’ M’lainte had come up to the rail beside him.

‘Far too early. That’s Tiksi; the city is burning. Circle round,’ he roared to the man at the helm. ‘See what’s going on. Hurry!’

They veered left, sliding through smoke clouds all the way. The air-floater bucked and rolled in the updraughts. Flydd choked back on nausea uncomfortably similar to seasickness.

The air-floater broke out of the smoke. Tiksi lay dead ahead. The city wall was broken in three places, the eastern quarter ablaze. On the plain outside the main gates a battle raged, four clankers against dozens of lyrinx. Dead lay everywhere, and Flydd counted fifteen broken clankers. Behind the clankers a small force of troops stood together, shields up, spears out.

They circled, weighing the damage. Flydd’s escort stood by with their heavy crossbows, in case of an attack, though there were no lyrinx in the air. Flydd allowed half the soldiers to fire on the enemy. Several lyrinx fell. The others retreated, but not far.

‘It’s not as bad as I first thought,’ said the scrutator. ‘They would have beaten the enemy off without us. There’s no fighting inside the walls.’

‘But bad enough!’ It was his sergeant, Ruvix, a short, broad man who was a solid slab of muscle. ‘Those are storehouses burning.’

‘Still, the damage can be repaired.’

‘As long as they don’t come back in force. It’ll take a week to fix the wall breaches, and with only four clankers left …’ Ruvix muttered oaths.

‘Do you want to go lower?’ called the woman at the helm.

‘I’ve seen enough. Wait.’ The scrutator pulled out a piece of paper and began scribbling. ‘Take us over the master’s palace.’

They hovered over the magnificent building, which was unscathed apart from minor damage from catapult balls. Flydd finished writing, stamped his seal at the bottom of the paper and snapped his fingers. A soldier came running with a leather envelope.

Another shouted to the crowd gathered below. The soldier dropped the envelope, someone caught it and ran inside.

‘To the manufactory,’ said the scrutator. ‘And don’t muck about.’

The manufactory had also been attacked though it was not badly damaged. The air-floater landed on the gravelled area outside the front gates, disgorged its passengers and took off to replenish the floater-gas. Scrutator and mechanician watched it away, then went inside, where Flydd called Overseer Tuniz, all eleven foremen, Captain Gir-Dan and Crafter Irisis to a meeting.

‘Your reports, if you please,’ said the scrutator. ‘Captain?’

Captain Gir-Dan had recently arrived from one of the coast garrisons. A handsome man, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, he had set many hearts aflutter since his arrival. Scurrilous rumour, however, put a question mark over his behaviour on the battle lines, and said that he had been sent here ‘for evaluation’, as the quisitors put it.

‘One attack, surr.’ Gir-Dan was not a loquacious man. ‘Two days back, it were. Five of the beasts, with a single ’pult. We did three of them with the javelards mounted on the wall. The others fled.’

‘Very good.’ The scrutator swung around to face Tuniz, a tall, dark-skinned woman with wiry brown hair and filed teeth. A native of Crandor, a steamy land in the subtropical north, she stood out among the smaller, honey-skinned and black-haired natives of this region. ‘Overseer, what news from below?’

The captain scowled, for military matters were his province and to be passed over in this way was a deliberate slap in the face. Knowing better than to show it, Gir-Dan composed his features. The scrutator was not a forgiving man.

Tuniz smiled. Her filed teeth made the gesture threatening though she was, by nature, cheerful and friendly.

‘The enemy have come out of the ranges all along the coast, surr. As you may have seen, Tiksi has been attacked and badly damaged.’

‘We’ve been down there,’ Flydd said flatly. ‘It’s bad, but they’re holding out.’

‘Then your news is more recent than mine, surr. There have been attacks on most cities between here and Gosport. Maksmord is likely to fall; Guffeons is sorely pressed. We don’t know as much as I’d like; the enemy are targeting skeets now and some messages have not come through. I have the despatches here.’ She held out a leather wallet. ‘Some are for your eyes only.’

The scrutator took out the papers, riffled through them and sorted them into two piles. He began to read the pile at his right hand. No one spoke for the ten minutes it took him to finish.

Flydd cleared his throat. ‘It is worse than I thought. The enemy now hold most of the lands about the Dry Sea, save for Crandor. The mountains of Faranda are theirs, though not the lowlands, and some of the arid lands north of the Great Mountains. And of course Meldorin fell last year, save for the southern peninsula. Thurkad was a crippling loss. We still hold the east coast, the fount of our wealth, central Lauralin and everything south of the Great Mountains. But the east coast is in peril now, and with the Aachim flooding across Lauralin … Well, we shall see about them in due course.’

He set his jaw and eyed them one by one. All broke under his glare, save Irisis. ‘We will never give up, not even if all we have left is desolate Luuma Narta. Anything else, overseer?’

‘We will meet our target again this month, surr, or better. Three clankers, I’m pleased to say.’

‘Very good. Crafter Irisis?’

Irisis also stood out in the manufactory. She was tall, though not as tall as Tuniz, but with pale skin, bright blue eyes and hair as yellow as butter, a sight few people here had seen before her arrival. She had a breathtaking figure, which meant that, despite the shortage of males, she could take her pick. Irisis had been Nish’s lover at one stage, though by the time of his departure that had changed to an abiding friendship.

As crafter, she was in charge of the artisans who made controllers for the clankers built here. Twenty artisans now worked to her direction, and fifty prentices. Because their work was so fine, completed controllers were being shipped to other manufactories.

‘We have also exceeded our target,’ she said. ‘We’ve built eleven controllers this month …’

‘But?’ snapped Flydd. ‘What is the problem, crafter? Remember you are on probation.’

‘I could hardly forget it, surr!’ Irisis stood up to everyone, and sometimes it got her into trouble. ‘The problem is crystal. We’ve used up almost all we have and the miners can’t find more. And since Ullii went away … We need the seeker to sense it out. I’m told you brought her back, surr?’

‘I did, but I’m not sure what use she will be. She has suffered a considerable trauma and lost her talent.’

‘
Lost it?
’

‘It may come back. The healers are looking at her now.’

‘This is bad, surr. How can I find the crystal I need?’

‘I’ve no bloody idea. Discover a way.’ He turned to the first of his foremen.

‘One more thing, surr, if I may.’ Irisis was unaccountably tentative.

‘What is it?’ the scrutator snapped. ‘I’ve got a war to win, crafter.’

‘What … happened to Nish, surr?’

‘We lost the damn fool!’

‘Is he dead?’ she whispered, rod-straight and hands clenched by her sides.

‘Almost certainly. Maybe Ullii can tell us, if she gets her lattice back.’

‘She can’t.’

‘What?’

‘Ullii can only see the Secret Art, and Nish has no talent.’

‘Useless fellow. He’ll be no bloody loss. M’lainte can tell you the tale, when our important business is done.’

Irisis joined the mechanician in the refectory afterwards, and over bowls of cabbage soup M’lainte told her what had happened.

‘Scrutator was practically in tears,’ said the mechanician, slurping from her bowl, ‘and that’s a sight I’ve not seen in the thirty years I’ve known him. Nish did well, notwithstanding that he did not recover the crystal nor get Tiaan back. A boy left us a month ago. At Tirthrax I saw a man, transformed.’

‘And now he’s dead!’ Irisis said bitterly. Despite their many fights, little Nish had been good to her and he was the only man she really cared about.

‘You never know. I’ve got work to do.’ M’lainte stood up abruptly.

Irisis remained where she was. She had work to do as well, but her workshop was running smoothly and she needed to think. The loss of Nish changed everything.

Many people had died in the war. Very many men. The population was falling and it was the duty of everyone to mate and produce more children. Irisis had done that duty eagerly, with a number of partners, but so far without result. She had considered bonding permanently with Nish, but that would never happen now. There would be pressure on her to take another partner. For the first time, Irisis found the idea unappealing.

‘Done all your work, crafter?’

She jumped, for the scrutator had come up behind her without a sound. ‘Sometimes I just need a quiet place to think.’

‘I have to talk to you.’

‘I’m listening.’ She reached for her bowl of ginger and lime tea.

‘Not
here
. Come outside.’

They went through the front gate and Flydd turned right. Irisis had expected him to go left, down in the direction of the crystal mine. She walked beside him up the path, under the aqueduct and towards the tar mines, where fuel was obtained for the furnaces. They lay four hours up a steep path. Irisis hoped he was not planning to go all the way.

After labouring up a steep incline, the scrutator turned left and settled onto an upthrust boss of pale rock, a dyke that ran across the slope like a series of knobs on a backbone. ‘Sit down, crafter.’

She perched beside him. ‘If this is about my work, surr …’ Had he learned the terrible truth about her, that she had lost the most crucial talent an artisan could have – the ability to draw power from the field? That to cover it up she’d become a liar and a fraud, despite her undoubted ability to manage her team of artisans.

‘I’m happy with your work, Irisis.’

She relaxed, just a little. Some day she would be exposed, but not today. ‘What is it, surr? Something to do with the war?’

‘Everything is to do with the war, crafter!’ Flydd snapped. ‘There’s a problem that I didn’t wish to bring up, in there. People talk, despite themselves.’

‘
I
don’t!’

‘You already know something about it. Do you recall a time, some months back, when a vital node went dead, stranding fifty clankers on the plain of Minnien?’

‘It was before Tiaan’s fit of crystal fever. Just before she was sent to the breeding factory …’

His dark eyes probed her. ‘About which the least said the better. The lyrinx destroyed every one of those clankers and we have been trying to find out what happened to the node, or at least to its
field
, ever since.’

‘What have you discovered, surr?’

‘Very little, and now it has happened again.’

‘Where?’

‘A number of places. Two are Maksmord and Guffeons, way up the coast, where the enemy have had their greatest successes. It’s a great blow to us, Irisis. A terrible blow. Without clankers, we have no hope.’

‘Why are you telling me this, surr?’

‘No one else has been able to solve the problem. I’m going to give you a try.’

‘
Me?
’

‘I have confidence in you, crafter, but you won’t be going alone. You’ve worked well with the seeker in the past. I’ll send her with you, once she regains her talent.’