She felt like weeping too. What must the child be thinking? That disaster was about to strike again? Not if she could stop it! Tiaan climbed onto the column.

The three constructs floated up the hall. More appeared from the gate, one after another. They were practically touching as they came out. Within minutes there were hundreds of them. All had the same overall shape but there were many variations in detail, and in size, from constructs that might hold fifty people to others that could scarcely have contained a family. Some had people running beside them, or clinging onto the outside.

The machines crept towards her, spreading out behind the first three until they formed a rank twenty wide in the vast hall, and a hundred deep. And still they came pouring from the gate. Two thousand already. If each held only a dozen, that was twenty-four thousand people. Minis had said a few thousand. Still, they were just a drop in the lake compared to the millions of humans. These Aachim with their amazing constructs would be a great help in the war.

Tiaan stood in the middle of the hall, completely alone. They came to within fifty paces, then stopped, every one, in the same instant. It was incredible. Eerie!

The central construct cracked open at the top, the dome tilting back to reveal a platform on which seven people stood. Most were dark-faced and near a head taller than their human equivalents. Not all, though. One, a woman with pale skin and red hair, was no taller than Tiaan. All were armed with bows, swords or other recognisable weapons. At the rear a man sat in a turret, behind a spring-fired weapon resembling the javelard of a clanker.

The construct to the left of the first came open, followed by the one on the right. Six Aachim stood on each platform. Tiaan scanned the faces for Minis but did not see him. They looked exhausted – bruised, battered and soot-stained – yet they had about them a lofty dignity. Despite their travails they were dressed richly. Tiaan glanced at her own finery and quailed. She was covered in dust, the hole in her knee gaped and she knew her hair was a mess.

A tall man pushed to the front of the platform of the central clanker. She recognised Vithis, though he looked haggard. His eyes were staring and he seemed to be having trouble mastering himself.

‘Who are you,’ he boomed in the common speech, ‘who stand before the might of the Aachim?’ His voice was richly resonant; a voice used to command. The accent was strange, the language stilted, and like Minis he pronounced every letter separately, giving his speech a sense of deliberation.

‘I am Tiaan,’ she shouted back. Her own voice sounded shrill, and timid. ‘I made the device that brought you here to safety.’

‘Awry!’ he roared.

Tiaan took an involuntary step backwards.

‘You made the zyxibule awry. You changed left for right. Everything is the mirror of its true order. Because of your stupidity, many of our number are lost in the void.’ He choked back a sob. ‘You utter fool. My clan has been wiped out.’

Horror shivered through her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, recalling the cries, the wails, the agony numbered ten thousand times. ‘I’m dreadfully sorry. I made it exactly as was shown me!’

‘You insult the memory of our dead. Dare not to make excuses for your incompetence!’

Tiaan caught her breath. ‘I followed your instructions exactly. If left hand and right hand are different on your world, why did you not tell me?’

‘You should have checked!’ He was as bitter as venom.

She felt like a prentice before an angry master, but here there were twenty-four thousand of them. ‘I called, as I was instructed. You did not answer, as you promised. Besides, you knew how the gate was before you left Aachan. I heard you say so. You snatched it out of my control to benefit your own clan. You made it go wrong.’

‘How dare you challenge me! I am Vithis of Clan Inthis, First Clan of Aachan! Bow down when you speak to me. Do humans lack all respect for their betters?’

She bit back her angry words. The man was out of his mind with grief. She hoped the other Aachim were not all like him. She was not going to bow, though.

‘Where is Minis, my lover?’

‘Lover?’ he said incredulously. ‘Move out of my way.’

‘I have saved your people,’ she said, ‘at no little cost to myself and my own kind. Many of us died that you might live, and you show no gratitude. Is this the kind of people you are? I would speak to Minis.’

Another man, shorter and older, eased the first out of the way. ‘We are indeed grateful, Tiaan,’ said Luxor.

Tirior stood beside him. Luxor’s hair was iron-grey. Tirior’s was as black as Tiaan’s, but curly, and her face was darker.

‘I am Luxor,’ said the man, ‘of Clan Izmak.’

‘And I, Tirior of Clan Nataz,’ the woman said. ‘We are clan leaders of the Aachim, on this excursion second only to Vithis. Do not take his bitter words to heart, Tiaan. He has just seen his clan extinguished – every child, every woman, every man. Please allow for his anguish.’

Tiaan bowed her head.

‘Ask what reward you will,’ said Luxor, ‘and we will gladly pay it.’

‘I ask for no reward,’ Tiaan said. ‘I did not aid you in hope of gain.’ Apart from Minis.

‘Nobly spoken,’ said Tirior. ‘You have done the Aachim a service that we will never forget. May we see the amplimet, Tiaan? Such a thing none of us have ever set eyes on.’

Did they plan to take it from her? They were armed for war and she could not stop them. Besides, she wanted to build bridges, not raise barriers.

‘It’s back there, in the room with the hole in the wall.’ She pointed.

‘Leave it!’ growled Vithis. ‘It is corrupted now and no use to anyone.’

‘But …’ said Tirior.

‘Remember the accursed Mirror of Aachan!’ he raged. ‘This crystal will prove just as treacherous if ever we touch it.’

‘I did so want to see it,’ Tirior said wistfully. ‘I have made a study of such things.’

‘We must move swiftly!’ Vithis rapped out. ‘While we have the advantage.’

‘But this is Tirthrax!’ cried Tirior. ‘It is the greatest city we ever made. My clan ancestors built this place.’

‘They were enemies of First Clan!’ snapped Vithis.

‘That is a long time ago,’ said Tirior. ‘Most of our people are now dying on Aachan. Others have been lost in the void. We are all that remain of our kind and we cannot afford division. I have to see the city and learn why it has been abandoned.’

‘There is no time! The mancers of this world must be shuddering at the power liberated here. Already they will be mobilising their forces. What if they are looking for us now? As leader of the Eleven Clans,’ he choked back a cry of anguish, ‘I say we go at once.’

‘Very well,’ said Tirior, ‘but we will deal honourably with Tiaan first. Minis, come up.’

A young man climbed onto the platform of the central construct, the others drawing back to give him room. Tiaan feasted her eyes on him. Minis was tall, but not too tall; well built, though not extravagantly so. His dark hair fell in waves about his ears. His cheeks were thinner than she remembered, but his brow just as noble, his lips as ripe.

‘Minis!’ Tiaan called. ‘I came as I promised. I have travelled halfway across the world to bring you here.’ She threw out her arms to him.

He stared at her unmoving, as if he had no idea who she was. Tiaan went cold inside. But perhaps he was too reserved to show it before so many people.

‘Minis. You said that you cared for me.’ She dared not use the word ‘love’, not now. ‘I have a gift for you.’ Feeling in her scrip she drew the ring out. Running forward until she was just a few spans from the construct, she held it up. ‘Minis, I made this ring with my own hands.’

She fell silent. It was a beautiful thing, but greater beauty lay all around, in the constructs and in Tirthrax. Everything the Aachim made was beautiful. She felt her own artisan’s skills were meagre, her ring a rustic token that would embarrass him.