She was gnawing on another piece of her dried fish when something cast a fleeting shadow and a lyrinx came plummeting out of the sun. All she could see was its outline against the blinding light. Tiaan scrabbled with the drawstring, which knotted up, trapping her inside. The lyrinx flattened out into a swooping glide, the claws of its hind legs extended to snatch her from the water. Unable to get the knot undone, all Tiaan could do was watch.

At the last instant she threw her weight to one side. The boat rolled, she felt the wind as the creature went by, then Tiaan’s head hit the water and the boat kept rolling until it was upside down. Her weight pulled down the leather collar, hanging her head-down at the bottom of a cone. Water began to trickle in around the drawstring, which had drawn tight about her neck.

Tiaan gasped and a mouthful of water was forced up her throat. She heaved sideways. The boat rolled, though not enough – her weight, hanging low, gave the craft the centre of gravity it had previously lacked.

Though Tiaan jerked again and again, it was no use. No matter what she did she could not right the vessel. She simply was not heavy or strong enough. If she did not choke she was going to drown.

As her lungs began to heave and the water pushed up through her sinuses, Tiaan was lifted, boat and all, into the air. The lake rushed past; her head fizzed. The lyrinx was using the Secret Art as it had never used it before, to lift the boat and her on its inadequate wings.

Tearing at the strings, Tiaan gave a last convulsive spasm, like a fish trying to hurl itself off the hook. The boat slipped free, revolved in the air and struck the water hard. She caught another breath as it rolled, but this time Tiaan used her weight to keep it rolling. It came upright, she managed to balance it the other way and her fingers, which had found the blade in her pack, hacked the cord from around her neck.

Tiaan clung to the side of the boat. The lyrinx was wobbling through the air not far away. Clearly it had nothing like the strength of Besant. Its wings hammered, slowly climbing as it came around for another attempt. She recognised this lyrinx too – a small, slight thing that had stood guard outside her door in the early days. It had treated her kindly enough. She did not recall its name.

Putting the knife in her belt, Tiaan took up the paddle and prepared to fend her opponent off. It took a long time for the lyrinx to beat its weight to altitude. It took no time at all to hurtle down, in a steep dive with its wings folded back. The lyrinx flattened out, screaming low across the water at her.

She lifted the paddle over her shoulder then swung it hard as the creature approached. It dipped its wings left and right, the blow missed and the claws went through her hair. Screeching something she did not understand, it turned and, without climbing, headed straight back.

This time Tiaan held the paddle in front, blade outstretched. The lyrinx thrashed its wings, struggling to maintain height. It was going slowly now and must be tiring. It came at her, mouth open, claws extended. At the last instant she thrust out the length of the paddle. She went right through its guard, striking it on the chin. The paddle was torn from her hand. The lyrinx tumbled, flapped furiously, and, as the boat tipped, wheeled through the air. One wing struck the water and it was going too slowly to recover.

It went head first into the lake, making a mighty splash. Tiaan struggled to stop the craft from capsizing. As she hung on the rim, the boat rocking wildly, the lyrinx’s head broke the surface. It tried to get on top of the water but was too heavy. Its terrified eyes rolled, the limbs churned helplessly, then its weight pulled it under again. Bubbles marked its disappearance.

Tiaan looked around for the paddle, which was floating a few spans away. It might as well have been on the dark face of the moon, for there was no way of retrieving it. She dared not reach down as far as the water. If she went in, Tiaan knew she would no more come out than the lyrinx.

No wonder they were afraid of the water. The massive bones and muscles, the armoured skin that made them such a terror on land, the great wings, all were deadly encumbrances in the water. The creatures were simply too dense. If they could swim at all, it would only be feebly. A fatal weakness in this land, half lake and the rest river and bog. All the more marvel that Ryll had got her out from under the ice that day.

She pulled her hat down over her eyes, her eyes closed and Tiaan slept the sleep of exhaustion. The wind carried her south, rocking like a cradle on the water.

Near sunset another lyrinx, with practically transparent wings, began to circle high above. It stayed well up. The water meant certain death this far from land, even for such a lightly built, unarmoured lyrinx as Liett.

But Liett was strong in the Secret Art, one of the best fliers of all. She would watch, wait and report back. When Tiaan found land in a day or two, she would be easily followed. The snow blanketing Tarralladell would make it difficult for her to move, and impossible to travel without leaving tracks. The hunt had been called off. The lyrinx had learned what they could from her. They now wanted to find out where she was taking her marvellous crystal. They suspected a secret city in the mountains, a place it would be worth almost any sacrifice to learn about.

PART FIVE

GEOMANCER

FORTY-SEVEN

The journey back to the manufactory was a nightmare Nish thought was never going to end. There was no way to bury the bodies in the frozen ground, and no fuel to burn them. All they could do was lay them out side by side, pile ice blocks over the top, bow their heads and think that if they’d done this or that it might have turned out differently.

After loading the injured into the clanker, they took the controllers from the remaining two and set out for the far side of the plateau where the lifting frames were hidden. The other operators being dead, there was no way to bring their clankers back. At the cliff they unloaded the injured, preparing to send them down on stretchers to whatever shelter could be found below. There was none up here – the gale was unceasing.

Nish had never worked so hard, erecting the frames and arrays of pulleys, roping the clanker, tying on a boulder at the base of the cliff to serve as a counterbalance. The only able-bodied people were himself, Simmo and his shooter Rahnd, Tuniz and Fyn-Mah. Irisis, with her broken leg, could not help though she had remained up top. Rustina could use only one hand. Ky-Ara, though overcome by inconsolable grief at the loss of his clanker, could at least hold a rope. Nish’s father was delirious and had to be sedated with nigah extract. Ullii was useless.

It was not enough. There were simply too few people to do all the work, for a minimum of six were required to swing the clanker out over the cliff, and another four on the rope that would brake its descent. They had to make do with four and two, and add extra pulleys so they could lift the weight at all.

‘Ready?’ called Tuniz.

‘Yes!’ Nish held the braking rope taut. Ky-Ara stood behind him, hanging on listlessly.

‘Lift!’ Her team hauled on their rope.

Nish thought the heavily laden clanker was not going to move at all. The rope went taut and the four strained until their joints cracked. Finally it lifted, ever so slowly.

‘Hold!’ yelled Tuniz. Tying the end of the rope around a rock, she ran to swing the arm out. It did not budge. She threw her weight against it, the arm freed suddenly and the artificer almost went over. The clanker dropped, pulling the team off their feet. The rock tore out of the ground and the machine fell sharply, for Ky-Ara had let go of the braking rope. Nish could not hold the weight. The rope scorched through his hands and he had to let go.