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Authors: Ian Irvine

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'I
don't know. Scrutator Klarm would not be easily fooled, but neither can I
believe that the destruction of the node, and the creation of the tears, was an
accident. But if it was planned, why didn't the perpetrator come to the node
straight away?'

'Maybe
he was delayed by the battle,' said Nish. 'Or thought that the tears would form
at the node-drainer.'

'I
hadn't considered that,' Flydd said appreciatively. 'And perhaps, until today, it
was too hot to get near, too steamy to see if the tears were there.'

'Then
why not put a guard on it?'

'That
would announce that there was something special in the crater. Whoever he is,
he wouldn't want anyone to know about the tears.'

'Not
even the other scrutators?'

'Especially
not the other scrutators . . .' Flydd toyed with a piece of gravel, deep in
thought. 'There's more here than the eye can see, Nish.'

'I
don't understand,' said Nish.

'Neither
do I, but it bothers me that someone knows far more about the Art than any of
us. Why were the tears made?'

"To
further one man's ambition.'

'Or
one woman's. Four of the scrutators are women, remember? It doesn't do to make
assumptions. But what ambition could — ?'

Breaking
off, he began to pace, glancing from Nish to a silent Ullii, who sat by
herself, arms crossed over her belly, rocking back and forth.

'What
is it, surr?'

Flydd
jerked his head. Nish rose and followed him. 'Surely you trust Ullii, surr?'

'She
doesn't need to know.'

'Do
1?'

'A
half-baked mooncalf like you?' Flydd said fiercely. 'Certainly not, but you're
all I've got. Breathe a syllable of what I'm about to tell you and you're a
dead man.'

There
wasn't a trace of levity in his tone. Nish swallowed.

'I'm
wondering,' the scrutator went on, 'if this might not be an attempt upon a
higher power:

'I
didn't know there was a higher power than the scrutators.'

Flydd
hesitated, as if having second thoughts. 'It's worth my head to speak about
this, and yours, but since we're both outlaws in peril of our lives, and I
desperately need a sounding board, I'll make an exception. It's the best kept
secret of all. The scrutators make out that they run the world, but the
Numinator pulls their strings, and has since the Council was formed.'

'Clawers,'
called Ullii. 'Coming fast!'

Her
eyes were covered again, her face was turned to the north-west. Nish couldn't
see anything, but Ullii did not make mistakes. In a few minutes three specks
appeared, flying high, directly towards the fuming node crater, which was now a
good two-thirds of a league from their hiding place.

'What
can they want?' said Nish.

They've
worked out what really happened to the node/ said Flydd, climbing the jumbled
boulders to get a better look. 'But they're too late.'

Two
lyrinx flew down the fuming hole while a third circled, on watch. Within a
minute, the two reappeared, rising high into the sky and flying in widening
circles before heading in the direction of the human army.

'They
won't find them,' said Flydd. 'The tears will be hidden by now. I wonder what
they'll do?'

The
lyrinx disappeared into the haze. 'Who is this Numinator?' said Nish.

'If
anyone knows, they're not saying. Some scrutators think it stands for "The
Numinous One", though anyone who styles himself as a divine power must be
supremely arrogant. I can only say this: more than a century ago, soon after
the war had become worldwide and the Council of Santhenar, as it then was, was
struggling to form a united front against the enemy, the power calling itself
the Numinator took command. There was a bitter struggle and many mancers died
before the Numinator defeated them. The survivors became the Council of
Scrutators. The Numinator, he or she, set down the rules by which the Council
was to run the world, but afterwards took no part in day-to-day affairs. From
time to time the scrutators have chafed under this regime, and even tried to
rebel, but were always taught a brutal lesson.'

'And
you were one of them?' asked Nish.

'That
was long before my time. My crime was simply to inquire into matters that
weren't my business. The scrutators taught me my lesson to avoid being punished
themselves. They taught me well.'

Nish
digested that. 'So you think the Council deliberately created these tears, so
as to take on the Numinator?'

'Not
the Council. One individual, who may want to control the Council, first!

'But
why now, when the war is going so badly, and division could be fatal?'

'I
don't know. It may have been decades in the planning. And there's no saying
that the person who created the tears is the one who ended up with them.'

'Are
we going to find out?' said Nish.

'Don't
be a bloody fool, boy. Look at me!' Xervish Flydd held out his arms. 'See the
scars, the warped and twisted bones, the very flesh scraped away. 1 was a
handsome man when I was young, Nish, but not after the scrutators had finished
with me. I should have died then. They did their best to break me, but were
ordered to let me live. I was to be a lesson to the other scrutators, not to
pry into what wasn't their business. I've often wished they had killed me; I've
not had a day without pain in thirty years. But here I am, a living example.
Take heed, Nish. Some secrets are meant to be kept.'

Despite
his words, Nish could see the resolve in Flydd's eyes — he was going to find
out. And what then?

'So
why the breeding factories? Why rewrite the Histories? Why-?'

'Good
questions for which there are no answers.'

'But—'

'Come
on!' Flydd said roughly. 'As soon as the tears are hidden, he'll be after us.
He can't afford to let us live.'

Fourteen

Vithis
took charge of Tiaan's amplimet and hedron, wrapping them in sheets of beaten
platinum which he folded over carefully before putting the packet in his pocket
with a shudder. He passed Tiaan to a young cheerful man, a deep-chested giant
with blond curly hair, unusual for an Aachim.

'I'm
Ghaenis,' he said to Tiaan as the group raced back to their own lines. 'Don't
be afraid. You'll come to no harm while I'm looking after you;

For
some odd reason, she knew it was true. She had perfect confidence in Ghaenis,
and she'd not felt that with any Aachim before, apart from Malien.

Vithis
said no word to Tiaan in the half-hour it took to reach the Aachim war camp,
running all the way. As soon as they arrived, Ghaenis set Tiaan down on a metal
chair and drew Vithis aside. He began to put a case animatedly, with much
arm-waving and gesturing towards the constructs.

Vithis
listened with set face. Ghaenis's accent was difficult to follow and Tiaan
learned only that it had to do with the amplimet. At the end, Vithis shook his
head.

Ghaenis
renewed the argument even more passionately but with the same good humour. One
hand swept out in the direction of the stalled constructs. The other reached
for Vithis as if begging a favour.

'I
cannot permit it,' Vithis said tersely. 'It's too dangerous.'

Ghaenis
kept on. Vithis paced up and down, head bowed, then finally he nodded. The
young man listened carefully while Vithis gave a series of instructions, or
warnings, then handed the platinum-wrapped packet to him.

Ghaenis
gleefully shook the older man's hands, bowed low and, with a cheery wave to
Tiaan, ran to a group of constructs and climbed into the leading one.

Tiaan
went on with her exercises, surreptitiously clenching and unclenching her leg
muscles. She needed to regain her strength. She had to be able to walk, and no
one must know it. She was going to escape, somehow.

The
camp was furious with activity. A dozen people vied for Vithis's attention, all
urgently. He listened to their messages, frowned and called an attendant.
'Bring her!'

The
fellow picked Tiaan up as if she were a child and followed Vithis halfway
across the encampment to a large tent. From a good ten paces away, Vithis
shouted, 'Come out!' in the Aachim tongue. Malien had taught Tiaan a little of
the language in Tirthrax.

A
young noblewoman emerged. She was small for an Aachim and, with her reddish
hair and pale colouring, strikingly different from the other Aachim here. The
attendant set Tiaan on the dusty ground.

'This
is Tiaan Liise-Mar, the thief who stole our construct,' said Vithis in the
common speech. 'Guard her with your life, Thyssea, or Clan Elienor will answer
for it.'

The
young woman bowed but, as the grim Aachim stalked away, she made an obscene
gesture to his back, then gave Tiaan an impish grin.

Tiaan
could not help smiling. 'Hello, Thyssea.' The name sounded strange on her
tongue. 'Did I pronounce that right?'

'Well
enough, for a human. It's Thyzzea.' She spoke the common speech fluently,
though with a slight nasal intonation.

'I'm
sorry. Thyzzea. I tried to say it as Vithis did.'

'Thyssea
is an .., uncouth word. He was being deliberately insulting.'

'Why?'
said Tiaan.

'Do
you know that Clan Inthis is called First Clan?'

'Yes.'
Tiaan put her hand over her eyes. She'd been underground for many weeks and,
though it was late afternoon, the sun was painfully bright.

'Come
into the shade.'

'I
can't stand up,' said Tiaan. 'I broke my back.' She wasn't going to reveal that
the lyrinx had repaired it — once her legs were strong enough to walk, it would
give her a tiny advantage.

Though
they were the same size, Thyzzea lifted Tiaan with little apparent effort,
carried" her beneath a scrubby tree which had red-tipped thorns growing
out of the trunk, and sat her on the withered grass. 'Clan Elienor is, in the
eyes of Inthis and some other clans, Last Clan.'

'Why
is that?' Tiaan's curiosity was piqued. She was always more sympathetic to the
underdog.

'We're
different. Most Aachim are tall and dark, but our clan tends to be small and
pale skinned, and many of us have red hair. Inthis reckons our blood was
corrupted long ago, by a visitor from another world.'

'Was
it?'

'I
don't know. The elders guard our heritage closely. We're-so disliked because
we're not compliant enough. We often disagree with the decisions of the Ten
Clans; or Eleven, now that Inthis has rejoined. We are seen as disloyal but,
even worse, individualist. It's a great failing.' She smiled as she said it.

'You're
not armed, Thyzzea. That seems odd, in a guard.'

'I'm
not a guard. I am of noble blood, and my father's heir, Vithis hates my father,
so forcing me to do guard duty is an insult to him and all Clan Elienor.'

Tiaan
considered that. 'Is Elienor a small clan?'

'It
was the smallest on Aachan. But, unlike other clans, we all made the decision
to come through the gate, and most of us survived it. Of the twelve Aachim
clans, we are now ninth in numbers. There are five thousand of us.'

'In
Tirthrax I met an elderly woman called Malien,' said Tiaan, 'who had something
of your looks. Her ancestors were Clan Elienor; she said, though the Aachim of
Santhenar no longer hold to clan allegiances.'

Thyzzea
frowned. A few of my clan were shipped here as prisoners, or slaves, in ancient
times.'

 

'She's
a famous hero. Malien is in one of the Great Tales.'

'Then
I hope to travel to Tirthrax some day and meet her. We know little about how
our kind have fared on Santhenar in the thousands of years they've been exiled
here. Would you care for something to drink?'

'Yes,
please. I'm really thirsty.'

'I'll
carry you to our tent.'

Tiaan
found herself liking the young Aachim, and that would be a problem when she
tried to escape, though Thyzzea had not asked Tiaan for her parole.

The
tent was the size of a cottage, with a large living area and small rooms
opening off it. Rugs on the floor looked costly, though the space contained
nothing but some metal chests and a small table, at which a red-haired youth
stood, writing in a book.

'My
little brother, Kalle,' said Thyzzea, holding Tiaan in her arms. 'Kalle, here
is Tiaan, who opened the gate and made the construct fly.'

Tiaan
felt embarrassed at being carried like an invalid. She resolved to exercise
harder than ever.

Kalle
dropped his pen, awe-struck. 'Tiaan!' Remembering his manners, he put out his
hand. The long Aachim fingers wrapped right around Tiaan's hand. 'It is a great
honour to meet you.'

Kalle
looked to be about thirteen, though it was difficult to tell the age of the
Aachim. He was also her height, with pale, unfreckled skin, a lengthy, bladed
nose, green eyes and hair the most brilliant deep red.

BOOK: Alchymist
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