Tetrarch

One held Gilhaelith's rope while the other three went into a huddle. Shortly a female put her hands around his wrists and looked into his eyes. 'You called a name as we lifted, "Tia -". Was it Tiaan, the artisan from Tiksi, who fled Tirthrax in a flying construct? Speak truly. I am a truth-reader.'

He hesitated a fraction too long before saying, 'No, it was Tyune, my crippled daughter.'

Orange speckles appeared on her arms. 'He lies,' she called to the others. 'It was the artisan we seek. Munnand, go back for her.'

The largest of the four, a male with a brilliant red crest, used the updraught to lift himself in the air and headed north. The truth-reader pulled Gilhaelith's hood down and bound it on. They flew in fog and cloud for many hours more. Gilhaelith could feel the cool, clinging vapour on his skin and the chilly drips down his back.

The lyrinx had surely abducted him in order to use his Art. He felt a stirring of interest. Why did they want him? And if they got what they wanted, what then? Perhaps they would eat him. They'd have to outwit him first! It was the ultimate challenge and Gilhaelith was a master game-player. But this was different. It was personal.

They kept going after dark, but around midnight settled on a crag in the mountains. He was fed, his bonds were checked and he was allowed to lie on the ledge. He barely slept. Gilhaelith realised, to his bemusement, that he was worried about Tiaan, and it was not just for what she could do for him. Nor was it the concern he might feel for an old and faithful servant. It was much more. It was deeper. He actually cared about her!

He explored the strange sensation all the hours of darkness, but when the lyrinx stirred at dawn Gilhaelith was as confused as when he'd begun. They took to the air again, flying all day. He dozed, waking to find that it was dark. Gilhaelith caught an acrid whiff of tar and had a sense of strong forces all around. The air felt close – he was in a cave, or below ground.

Why were they looking for Tiaan? It might have to do with flesh-forming, or with the thapter. If she had not died in the fall, she would now be lying helpless on the slope, waiting to die of thirst. Better that the lyrinx bring her here, whatever they had in store for her.

Gilhaelith was weaponless, since mathemancy could not be used for attack. His geomancy could, though not with his bare hands. He needed particular crystals or artefacts for that.

There were crystals in the rock walls around him, but none suited to geomancy. There was one way, however. Gilhaelith suffered from gallstones, among other ailments. They were hardly crystals but they did have some use in the Secret Art, and nothing could be more attuned to him than a stone from his own body. He sensed out the largest and forced it to wake. It was ill-suited for the purpose, no power in it at all, but he did manage to enhance his awareness with it.

Ghostly images grew behind his closed eyes, swirling currents like a great red fountain, and the shape of a pit. There was a node here, a strong and unstable one, but bound as he was there was no more he could learn about it. It had to be the tar pits of Snizort, a place he knew of, though he had never been here.

He was conveyed down numberless steps, along tunnels that stank of tar, and finally through a series of heavy doors that progressively reduced the smell. His bonds were released, the hood taken off. He blinked at the light of a lantern.

'What do you want of me?' he asked politely. Gilhaelith was always polite when he did not know what he was dealing with.

An elderly lyrinx, a female, said, 'I am Gyrull, Matriarch of Snizort.'

She had a soft voice for a lyrinx, and spoke the language better than most, though her speech was flat, as if she were reciting.

'Matriarch! Are you the supreme ruler of the lyrinx?'

'We do not have a supreme ruler, tetrarch. We work collectively to achieve our aims.'

'How do you know what I am?' he cried.

'It was written.'

'Why do you dwell in such a foul place?'

'It occupies a vital part of our life-cycle, or Histories as you call them.'

That made no sense. How could Snizort play any part in the lyrinx Histories, except in the most recent times?

'You understand the earth and the forces that power it, tetrarch,' she went on. 'We seek to know more about this place.'

'What has that to do with me?'

She glanced over his head. Four lyrinx stood behind him, claws extended, alert for any sign of attack.

'Something was lost in the Great Seep. We would very much like to recover it.'

'The Great Seep?'

'The source of the tar at Snizort.'

'What was lost?'

'I cannot say.'

'Big or small?'

'Big enough.'

Gilhaelith rubbed his blocky jaw, wondering what was really going on. 'What are the dimensions of the seep?'

Matriarch Gyrull spoke among the other lyrinx. A small female stepped forward. 'The Great Seep is shaped like this.' She drew an irregular oval on the floor, with a smaller oval budding off one end. 'It is one-and-a-quarter of your leagues long, and seven-eighths of a league wide.'

'And how deep?'

'We do not know. Perhaps a league; perhaps more.'

'What was lost, and where?'

The small lyrinx opened her mouth, then closed it again. The Matriarch pulled her back. 'We cannot tell you that.'

'No matter,' said Gilhaelith. 'Where it was lost is all that matters; and when.'

'It was lost near the centre, as far as I am able to determine.' Gyrull indicated a point with one brittle yellow claw. 'Around here.'

'How big was it? If it was small, the chances of ever finding it are remote.'

'Bigger than a village hut.'

'How long ago?'

Now even the Matriarch looked uneasy. What is it? he thought. They must want it desperately, to have involved an outsider in the search. Gilhaelith was intrigued.

'We cannot be sure,' she said at length. 'Perhaps you can help us. You have the best library in the south-west, we are told.'

Even more puzzling. The lyrinx had come to Santhenar at the time the Way between the Worlds was open, two hundred and seven years ago. The war began in earnest about sixty years later, but the lyrinx had been restricted to Meldorin Island for the first hundred years after their arrival.

'I don't understand,' said Gilhaelith. 'The Histories in my library are mainly of ancient times. How -'

'It might have been lost as recently as seven thousand years ago, or as long ago as ten thousand. We do not have the Histories of that time. I can tell you no more. We brought you here to find out.'

If what she'd said was true, the lyrinx must have visited Santhenar before. He could scarcely believe it. Some creatures of the void had ended up on Santhenar in the distant past, before the time of the Forbidding. The Histories told that such arrivals had been accidental, the intruders slain. Had the lyrinx previously come to Santhenar thousands of years ago, then gone again? It raised many questions. But why would she lie?

'Why should I help you? You are the enemy of all humanity.'

'You traded with us before,' said the Matriarch, watching him with eyes that reflected the light in twin points. 'What is different now? We will pay you well, in whatever currency you demand.' Her eyes held a question.

'I'll consider my price.' It was hard to see how he could get away, weaponless and surrounded by alert guards, but that was not his most pressing concern. He would soon have had to abandon Nyriandiol anyway, but the amplimet was back there, unguarded. He had to have it – he had gone too far along that path to retreat now. He must convince them to take him back.