'It's all just words, Minis,' she said, not looking at him. She dared not, for despite all her vows, all her fury, he still moved her. 'Life has taught me that words can mean nothing, or anything' I put my faith in actions, and by yours are you revealed, as are all the Aachim.1 'Please believe me, Tiaan. Don't judge me by the deceits of others. I never lied to you.'

'Prove it!' she hissed, but before Minis could respond she heard Vithis roaring his name. Minis went through the flap without another word.

Tiaan pulled on her clothes and readied herself for her last day. Thyzzea would accompany her, as usual, but there had been no let-up in the Aachim's vigilance. The construct behind her always carried two guards armed with crossbows, as well as a mancer monitoring everything she did with the field, and they never took their eyes off her.

The day went badly, ror Tiaan could not stop thinking about what must happen tomorrow. Halfway though the first trip she lost the fields and the construct thumped into the ground so hard that it jarred her teeth. Behind her, all the others did the same.

'What'ss the matter?' Thyzzea asked anxiously.

'I can't see it,' Tiaan gasped. 'My brain feels like porridge.'

'What's porridge?'

'Never mind.'

Vithis came running from one of the towed constructs and sprang onto the side of her machine. So he was still watching her. 'Is there a problem?'

'I've lost the fields.'

'Minis is behind this, isn't he?'

She did not answer.

'I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again!' Vithis sprang down.

The delay was only a short one, but twice more she lost the fields, and on the second trip three constructs crashed into each other and were damaged so badly that they had to be left behind. Vithis was livid, and with all the delays they did not complete the return journey until sunrise the following day. There were still more than two hundred constructs to move.

Tiaan was so exhausted that she kept sagging against her restraints. Thyzzea carried her back to their tent, where Tiaan lay on her mattress, unable to sleep. Weird images kept flashing through her mind, objects she knew belonged in higher-dimensional space, though she was incapable of comprehending them. Finally, as dinner was being served outside, she drifted into sleep.

She woke to find Vithis sitting by her side. Tiaan started and moved away under the covers.

'Don't be afraid,' he said. 'I'm not that kind of man.'

'I know what kind of man you are. What do you want?'

'Have you remembered anything else about my lost people?'

She thought before answering. Her memories were clear now, though she was not sure what they meant. 'I heard cries. Some seemed to be death cries'She looked him in the eyes. I'm sorry," she said, and was. Her weakness was that she empathised with his grief, despite the way he'd used her. There were cries of agony, as if people were being turned inside out.' He flinched. She went on slowly. 'And people wailing that they were lost. Others calling to one another, as if they were trying to collect together.'

'Lost in the void,' he said, 'but not dead. I'm not sure if that's better or worse.'

'I don't know anything about the void.'

'It's a different kind of reality to ours. Nothing is stable; everything is in flux. Things are possible in the void that cannot be done in the material worlds. The lyrinx flew everywhere there, preying on other creatures and being preyed upon in turn.'

'No wonder they wanted to escape.'

'The void is filled with vicious creatures, and the struggle for existence is more violent than anywhere. No beast can relax for an instant. They must adapt constantly or go to extinction.'

'Your people are clever/ said Tiaan, 'and they have their constructs. They might do well there.'

'It's true that we of Clan lnthis are not easily bowed by adversity. And the void is filled with raw energies, like the fields surrounding nodes on this world, and my own. The constructs might draw on those fields, providing my people with protection and shelter, at least for a while. But even so, I fear they're all gone now, and the hopes of First Clan with them. How could they adapt to the savagery of the void in time?'

The interrogation resumed that night Vithis was there, as well as Tirior, Urien and Luxor. They went over her story repeatedly, trying to learn more about the voices Tiaan heard after she used the amplimet, and the secret of flight that still eluded them.

The night was almost as exhausting as the previous day. It took all her effort to maintain that air of being slightly mad and rather stupid, while having a natural genius for reading the field and working with crystals. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back by the time they finally withdrew to a far corner of the tent.

'I'm not sure I believe her' said Tirior, still speaking in the common tongue - they must want her to know what they were saying about her, and be afraid.

'We'll soon know the truth,' Urien replied. 'About flight, at any rate.'

'What are you up to?' asked Tirior.

'The day she came here, three weeks ago, I dispatched three constructs to Tirthrax. I instructed them to ask Malien how the flying construct came to be built.'

'I knew nothing of this,' Vithis said darkly.

'I sent word to my own people, near Gospett,' said Urien, 'with a captured messenger skeet. If all went well, their constructs could have reached Tirthrax ten days ago. I asked them to send word back the instant they came within flying distance. I hope to hear the truth any day.'

The old woman looked across and caught Tiaan's eye. Urien wanted her to know that she had little time left.

Twenty-eight.

Outside, the moon now seemed dazzlingly bright. Nish stumbled past the guards, barely able to see, for his throbbing eyes were dripping. Just what had the tears and the potion done to him? And why all that talk about him serving Jal-Nish? Had his father meant to corrupt him, to make Nish more like himself? Had he? No, Father - whatever you've done to me, I'll fight it with all the will I have. I'll never become like you.

Someone took him by the arm. 'What's the matter?' Xabbier hissed.

Nish swayed on his feet. 'My father-' Better not say anything about the tears. Nish shook his head, but that only made things worse. Coloured auras streamed up from among the soldiers, and in the background he could still hear the faint whine of the tears. 'He's poured a potion down my throat and bespelled me. I don't feel well, Xabbier.'

'Come this way.' Xabbier led him through the rows of tents to one whose flap was folded back, but did not enter. 'Open your mouth.'

'What?'

Xabbier thrust two fingers down Nish's throat and Nish brought up the contents of his stomach. When he'd done heaving, which took quite a while, the soldier wiped Nish's face and led him inside.

Xabbier lit a lantern. 'That's got rid of the bulk of it, though surely not all. I don't know much about the Art, Cryl-Nish, but this I do know. You must fight the spell with all the strength you have. Don't give in or it'll take you.'

Nish shielded his eyes from the light. He tried to speak but could only manage a dry rasp. Xabbier held a pannikin of water to his lips, then fed him a slab of bread torn into pieces.

After wolfing it down, Nish felt better. His vision inverted again but came back to normal. His belly throbbed. He rubbed it and a bubbling belch rumbled up. The sick feeling faded but did not entirely disappear.

He sat up suddenly, seized by an urge so powerful that it burned him. 'Father's calling. I must go to him.'

Nish scrambled to his feet but Xabbier stood in his way, as solid as a tree trunk. The mighty arms went around Nish, binding him immovably. He struggled, for the urge to run to his father's side was overwhelming. Nish knew what Jal-Nish was; he saw the evil more clearly than ever, but he had to go to him. The compulsion was impossible to resist.

He struggled until he was worn out, and once broke free, slipping by the big man like a ferret. Xabbier threw out a foot and sent Nish sprawling, then sat on him. Nish kicked and beat his fists on the ground, clawed at the earth floor, snarled and tried to bite his friend. Xabbier held his nose until, finally, the compulsion snapped. He felt a desperate grief for his father, but the urge to go to him had passed.

Xabbier let Nish up, watching him warily as he wiped dribble off his chin with his sleeve. 'I suppose .. . You'd better take me to the cells, before he punishes you, too . ..'

Xabbier turned away; crouching down with bent head, as though thinking, but he held on to Nish's wrist just in case. He reached a decision. There was a knot in his jaw, a furious light in his eye. 'I heard everything he said to you, Cryl-Nish, and what he did. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it. I can't let him have you.'

'What?' said Nish dazedly. Nothing made sense any more.

'I'm taking you away from here.'

'But he'll destroy you. He'll flay you alive.'

'We might all die tomorrow or the next day. I can't go to my doom knowing I've betrayed a friend. I've closed my eyes to too much of his evil already.'

But Xabbier-'

'My mind's made up. Come on.'

Nish said no more. Xabbier led him through the camp and the sentries by the darkest ways, back to the escarpment and finally up a different track from before. Halfway to the rim, Xabbier stopped.

'Wait here and don't make a sound. I'll find the guard for this section and distract him while you slip past. Go that way.' He pointed to Nish's right.

They embraced. 'Thank you, Xabbier. I'll never forget this,' said Nish. 'Good luck.'

'And you,' said the lieutenant, 'wherever your path takes you.I hope we meet again in happier circumstances. And remember, he'll try again, Nish, and again. You'll have to fight him every time. You must not give in, no matter how easy it seems.'

He turned away. Nish watched Xabbier until he disappeared, then began to labour up the faint path, agonising about his friend. When Jal-Nish found out, he would crucify Xabbier.

After many rest stops, for his muscles were like putty, Nish made it to the top and headed into the maze of limestone pinnacles. Once more he felt that prickling feeling of being watched, or followed, though he saw no one. Nish continued, stumbling now. The touch of the tears had drained him to the marrow of his bones, but the interview with his father, had left him an emotional pincushion.

At the thought, he felt another burning spasm and a return of the compulsion. Nish's skin tingled. It was hard to fight it on his own, and when he had, he had to rest for a moment.

Flat on his back on a broken shelf of limestone, Nish rubbed his eyes. They were still watering; the moon still seemed unusually bright. It was midnight. He covered his eyes, which felt better until that unnerving feeling of being watched recurred. Nish peered through his fingers. Though the pinnacle in front of him lay in shadow, he could see every surface detail. More than that, he could see inside it. And it seemed to have bones.

Nish blinked but the bone shapes were still there. They weren't human bones, nor the skeleton of any wild animal he knew they were too massive, and the wrong shape. Rising into the upper arch of the pinnacle he could just make out robust, hollow wing bones, yet the cranium was colossal, with hundreds of large teeth, and the jaw gaped open.

I'm hallucinating, Nish thought as he slid off the shelf. It must be the touch of the tears. He shook his head and kept moving, looking steadfastly ahead. As he edged around a corner into another corridor, his eye fell on the limestone face to his left, where he saw the same kind of bones. There could be no doubt - it was the skeleton of a lyrinx.

Could this place be an ancient lyrinx graveyard, all limed over? But how could it have turned to rock so quickly? Then, and the realisation felt like a fist inside his chest, Nish saw a grey shadow within the skeleton contract and expand, contract and expand. It was the great heart of the beast. No skeleton this - there was a live creature inside!

Tearing his gaze away, Nish began to walk faster. Now he saw bones everywhere, twisted up in strange positions inside the pinnacles, and there could be only one explanation - the enemy had stone-formed themselves. There were thousands of them, probably tens of thousands, if even a quarter of the pinnacles contained the beasts, and they could be across the valley on the far escarpment as well.

Could it be another vision arising from the touch of the tears? He did not think so, for everything else was diamond clear. He inspected the pinnacle on his right. The claws of its stone-formed occupant were extended towards him, and they seemed to twitch.

He wanted to scream and run. Closing his eyes, Nish concentrated on showing no reaction. Could it know he'd seen it And if it did, how quickly could it react? The lyrinx might take hours to break out of its lithic state. Alternatively, it might come out in an instant.

No terror Nish had previously felt was the equal of this. He was alone in the midst of a mighty enemy force, an ambush and his arrogant father had walked right into it. If so many lyrinx fell on Jal-Nish s army in the night without warning, as surely they planned to, they would annihilate it.

What colossal magic it must have taken to stone-form tens of thousands of lyrinx so effectively. Nish could not imagine such power. His gaze wandered to the top of the spire of stone. It wore, where the grey rock was outlined against the sky, a faint yellow nimbus. The other pinnacles looked the same.

Nish hurried on. His mouth was dry; his fingers, hanging at his sides, were locked into claws. He dared not look back, for fear that some great beast would shatter its stone refuge and come lunging out of the darkness. He could practically feel its breath on the nape of his neck.

Should he go on to Flydd and Troist, or carry the warning back to Xabbier? Never had he held such responsibility. If he chose wrongly, thousands would die.

Somewhere behind him, a piece of rock snapped. Nish let out a muffled cry, thinking they were coming after him. He closed his eyes and hastened into the next tunnel of darkness, which was worse. Even with his eyes closed, he could see lyrinx skeletons everywhere. They had the faintest luminosity and were blurred, as if shivering.

Or were they preparing to break out, en masse, and attack his father's army in darkness? The box valley would become a slaughterhouse whose streams would carry more blood than water.

Jal-Nish's army was alert, the watch-fires bright, so the enemy could not take them by complete surprise. But there were too many lyrinx for the army to fight alone. They would have no chance unless he warned Troist, and he had to do it light away. Troist's army would have to do a forced march through the night, cloaked, to reach the neck of the valley in time. He could only hope that the enemy would take ages to break free from their stone-formed state and assemble into battle formation. It took all Nish's courage to keep walking and look neither right nor left. The cracking sound was not repeated. It might have been the stone contracting in the cool of night. He con-centrated on taking one step after another, doing nothing suspicious. How good were lyrinx senses in this stone frozen state? Could they sense what was going on outside, or were their brains as petrified as their bodies?

Ahead, the open ground was brilliantly lit by the moon. He could not move across unseen if there were winged sentries on high, and dared not take the time to go around. Should he run, or creep like a spy?

The lyrinx had poorer eyesight than humans in daylight, but better at night. Nish walked out into the brightness, trudging like a lookout at the end of a long patrol, and his weariness was not feigned. Above, he thought he heard the whisper of air across leathery wings. He stopped, mid-stride, looked around and kept going. That was hard. A diving lyrinx would kill him before he realised it was there.

Again that whisper. He kept going, gaining the shelter of the next pinnacle without further incident. This one was just rock; no inner bones. Stepping into the shadow, he looked up. Was that something in the tree; a shadow of wings? No, just a shape made by the branches. The sound must have been an owl.

There was nothing to be seen, no matter how carefully he looked, but something was different. Though Nish had no talent for the Art, he could feel a subtle strain and a distortion of the darkness, which he imagined was a drain in the ethyr.

There was still quite a way to go. Ahead lay the open area, sparsely studded with rock pinnacles. Beyond that was a strip of forest, the cleared expanse with the first set of pinnacles, and, further on, the other wood beyond which Troist's army lay hidden under its cloaking spell. He prayed that it still held.

Each step seemed to take an hour, but he made it across into the forest, and through it to the next pinnacle field. As he stepped into the rustling grass on the other side, something sharp jabbed him in the back.

'Don't move, spy, or you're dead.'

Nish went very still. 'I'm not a spy.' he said in a low voice. 'I'm Cryl-Nish Hlar and I've been on a secret mission for the scrutator.'

The spear point went through his clothes, breaking the skin above his right buttock. 'Is that so?' the soldier hissed. 'Then explain why Scrutator Flydd has got the whole camp looking for you.'

'I.., don't know.' For once Nish could not think of a single excuse. I think you'd better take me to him, soldier.'

'I'm going to. If you try to escape, my friend, you'll get this right up your liver.'

By the time they found Flydd, who was with General Troist, Nish had half a dozen throbbing gouges in his back, low down, and one in each buttock. He made a mental note to return the favour, if he ever got the opportunity.

'Where the bloody hell did you get to?' the scrutator said furiously as Nish was prodded into the clanker.

'I found him sneaking through the forest, surr,' said the soldier, giving Nish another jab in the bum for good measure. 'He's been spying-'

'I have vital news, surr,' Nish interrupted. 'It can't wait for anything.'

'Thank you, soldier,' Flydd interrupted. 'That will be all.'

Nish waited until the man had gone, then moved gingerly into the centre of the clanker.

'Well?' snapped Flydd.

'I've just escaped from my father.'