of the Trihorn. Irisis felt her stomach being left behind. She put down the dried quince, no longer hungry, and concentrated on not spilling her chard. Up, up and up they soared, flying faster and faster. Malien’s jaw was set and she was staring fixedly ahead.
They rocketed towards the peaks and, as they reached the left-hand gap through which the falls had once flowed, Malien flattened out with a jerk of her hand, curving between the two peaks.
Irisis gagged as her stomach and intestines seemed to be pushing up into her throat. Her feet lifted off the floor and she caught desperately at the side rail.
‘Sorry,’ said Malien. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry –’
Below the thapter a trench, cut hundreds of spans deep and wide through solid rock, ran ahead as far as they could see.
‘Was that the Hornrace?’ said Irisis. It contained just a few elongated pools.
‘It was.’
The thapter climbed higher. In the distance a massive, rectangular building, constructed upon a colossal arch of stone, spanned the Foshorn. Smaller cubes made a kind of pyramid at the centre of the arch.
‘Where’s the watch-tower?’ said Tiaan.
‘It’s fallen,’ Malien replied grimly. ‘See. And not of its own accord. History repeats itself.’
Tiaan shot her a glance. Malien shook her head as if saying, later.
The tower’s suspended arches appeared to have broken and it had speared right through the pyramidal building. The pyramid and the Span still stood, though rubble from the tower had dammed the Hornrace. The flagpole that had stood on top stuck up at an angle from the dam, still proudly flying the pennant of Inthis First Clan.
Malien circled over the arch. A ragged hole had been torn right through the vast building. Thousands of constructs were drawn up in ranks outside, not too close in case the rest collapsed. Aachim stood in groups everywhere, staring at the ruins.
Malien hovered for a while, silently taking in the scene. ‘Best we go down and find Vithis,’ she said at last.
‘How are we going to guard the thapter?’ Tiaan said in a dry croak.
‘I am Matah of all my people,’ said Malien with the unconscious arrogance that characterised her kind. ‘And I’m bringing Vithis the most tragic news of all.’
She landed between the constructs, close by the main doors, and a small group of Aachim came to meet them. They were still covered in dust and their eyes had a faraway look.
‘I am Malien,’ she said. ‘Matah of the Aachim of Santhenar. I must see Vithis on a matter of the utmost importance.’
‘I’m sorry, Matah,’ said the robed woman at their head, and they all bowed their heads respectfully. ‘In the circumstances, Vithis will not see even you. I’m sure you appreciate …’
‘It concerns the fate of his clan,’ Malien said.
The Aachim stiffened and cast a glance at her fellows. ‘I will take you to him at once.’ She gave orders to a slender boy, who set off at a run.
They followed in more stately fashion. The Aachim said no more and Malien asked no questions of her. Inside they climbed many flights of dust-covered, gritty stairs. Irisis lost count after a while. The building was different to other Aachim structures Irisis had read about in the Histories, being extremely plain and undecorated.
The lad appeared and led them across a large open floor scattered with rubble, to a slumped figure in the centre. Vithis was sitting on the edge of the ragged hole, legs dangling down through it, staring blindly at the still waters of the Hornrace. Tiaan hung back; then, with a visible wrench, she forced herself to come to the edge beside him.
‘Matah Malien,’ Vithis said dully. ‘You have news of Inthis?’
He looked up at Tiaan and Irisis caught her breath, knowing the enmity between them, but Vithis’s expression did not change.
Malien dusted off the floor and sat beside him, though she kept her legs clear of the hole. ‘I do, but not good news. We found the wreckage of many constructs out in the Dry Sea. They were made of the blue metal which only Inthis knows the secret of working. A few of the bodies wore First Clan colours. They had survived for some time.’
‘But they are all dead now?’
‘Alas, all that we could find. I’m sorry.’
‘They called this tower another First Clan folly.’ His voice was as harsh and dry as grit grinding underfoot. ‘A monument to my hubris. Not even my wretched foster-son had faith in our clan’s tenacity and will to live. But