TWENTY

The tingling in the prime master's arm was growing progressively worse. There were techniques at his disposal that could dull the feeling if not tackle the actual cause. He used them without hesitation. Not because he was afraid, although he very much was, nor because he was attempting to deny the truth or avoid the inevitable, but because the sensation could be a distraction. If, as he presumed, there was only a very limited time left to him, then he intended to maximise that time. There were things he needed to do, arrangements to be made and events to set in motion while he still could.

The prime master didn't tell anyone about the tingling. What would be the point? He was in constant touch with Jeanette and knew that she was still a long way from finding a cure, so what could anyone else do? Nothing, except look worried while they pitied him, make a fuss and tell him to take things easy, and generally get in the way and slow him down; all things he could do without. So he determined to keep quiet until the last possible moment.

A ridiculous number of documents crossed his desk each day – far more than any one person could be expected to consider in detail, though he tried to look at as many as possible, if only briefly. Most were reports of things done and action taken, things which protocol insisted he be notified of though they didn't really merit his attention, but not all. Among all this mass of triviality and routine, one caught his attention. Perhaps it was pure luck or the machinations of some predestined fate that brought this particular sheet of paper to his attention, though the prime master liked to think that after all these years he had a knack for such things. One name caught his eye, that of a man he had seen a lot of in the past few days: the Kite Guard, Tylus.

During the recent unrest in the under-City, one of the sun globes had come down, visiting death and devastation on the people and buildings below. To the best of the prime master's knowledge, this was an event unprecedented in Thaiburley's history, though it was difficult to be certain since the damage inflicted on the core during the war. In a commendable display of initiative, the local Watch officer had evidently prevailed upon Tylus to investigate the incident. The Kite Guard had discovered a small partially crushed mechanism which he couldn't explain and had sent it for analysis.

Doubtless Tylus himself had since forgotten all about this, but as a result of his keen eye for detail, a document had eventually been produced, to find its ways – one of so many – onto the prime master's desk. The significance of the report was enough to momentarily eclipse even his concerns about bone flu. The prime master read it again, to make certain he'd not misinterpreted the conclusions. But no, there they were, recorded in a box with such apparent innocence.

How could somebody have written this without immediately flagging it for more senior attention? Without shouting the findings from the rooftops for Thaiss's sake!

This seemingly mundane piece of paper contained news that threatened the security of all Thaiburley. For, according to this, the war, which everyone thought had ended generations ago, was still continuing. The report threw a whole new light on the recent unrest in the City Below, on the schemes of the Dog Master and the subversion of the street-nicks. The prime master had sensed at the time that there was a hidden hand behind those events, and now, at last, he felt sure he'd unmasked the true villain.

According to this report, the mechanism Tylus had sent for analysis was part of an Insint – an Instability and Intelligence Unit – one of the enemy's most successful weapons during the war. It would seem that somewhere – presumably in the Stain or it would surely have been discovered long before now – one of these lethal organicmechanical hybrids still operated, patiently plotting the city's downfall.

If the prime master had time to do just one thing before his body calcified and his heart was stilled forever by a fist of encroaching bone, then let it be this. He refused to die before Thaiburley was safe from this insidious machine stubbornly fighting a war that the rest of the world had been trying to forget for generations. And he believed he'd hit upon a means of doing exactly that.

Ky was waiting for them the next morning as promised. Tom trusted this brother of Gold Tooth's about as far as he could see with both his eyes closed, but he and Mildra had discussed matters the previous night, after they had been left alone, and both accepted that the huntsman wasn't just their best chance of finding the Thair's true source, he was probably their only chance.

At least he seemed to be taking the expedition seriously, insisting they were kitted out with appropriate clothes and providing both of them with stout staffs. The clothing included gloves, which Tom had never worn in his life and instantly hated. They made his hands feel trapped and far too hot. The knuckles on his right hand had stiffened up in the night and were badly bruised from where Jed's stick had caught them during the previous day's fight, so he transferred the staff to his left. On reflection, he should probably have asked Mildra to do something about the bruising before now, but he was reluctant to keep running to her with every minor gripe.

Tom couldn't argue about it being cold. Breath formed plumes of vapour as they spoke, and every inhalation brought a chill to his mouth and throat. They walked through the town, drawing the odd curious glance from the locals, and then past the temple at the northern tip of habitation. The golden doors were firmly shut and the place looked altogether less impressive in the absence of priests and worshippers.

"In another month or so you won't be able to walk through here like this," Ky told them. "The place will be packed with people even at this hour, all patiently queuing, waiting for their chance to pray to the goddess and leave their tributes at the temple."

This was said with a hint of disdain which Tom found curious in a man who made his home here, even though a large part of Tom felt much the same way, but Mildra stepped in, saying, "Yes, I often feel humbled by the dedication of the faithful," which struck Tom as the perfect rejoinder.

Ky led them between two imposing boulders, following a narrow track which barely merited the name. Without him their progress would have been far slower, assuming they could even have found the way forward. He moved with calm assurance, leading them ever higher, until they were able to look back at the brightly coloured roofs of Pilgrimage End – a scattering of children's sweets cast upon the landscape, red, yellow and blue.

As they walked it started to snow; not heavily, just large flakes drifting on the breeze, but this was yet another first for Tom, and he watched fascinated as a fat fleck of whiteness landed on his gloved hand, melting slowly because of the insulation locking in his body's heat. He'd seen snow on the peaks of the mountains for the past few days, but this was the first time he'd seen it close up and felt the icy kiss of flakes striking his cheeks.

Their way was constantly intersected by streams and trickles feeding into the river, and twice they saw spectacular waterfalls on the opposite side hurling torrents down into the Thair, but they'd yet to see a fracturing of the main river's course as Gold Tooth had predicted.

Their first real hurdle came not long after the roofs of Pilgrimage End had disappeared from sight. A wider stream, which over the years had carved out its own small canyon. At the bottom of the treacherous looking crack water frothed, tumbling over and around rocks and boulders in a broiling surge of white spume, all the while hissing like a room full of over-excited serpents. Ky didn't pause, nonchalantly leaping across without even bothering to warn his two companions to be careful, as if challenging them to cope as readily as he had.

It wasn't that wide, the dramatic setting being the only thing that made this seem even remotely daunting. Tom knew he could make the jump comfortably but wasn't so sure about Mildra. However, she gave him a confident smile, gathered herself, then ran a few short steps and sailed across the narrow gap with arms outstretched like a dancer. Tom was reminded of the rooftop dash he and Kat had made, and how her elegance had made him feel awkward and clumsy. He decided to stop worrying quite so much about the Thaistess and concentrate on getting across safely himself.

As morning wore on the snow stopped falling, but they now travelled across a patchwork landscape of brown and white, and the ground underfoot became increasingly treacherous. Still the Thair sang its warbling song beside them.

They came to a point where the river divided, and each branch was itself fed by a number of tumbling, melt-swollen streams. Perhaps Gold Tooth hadn't been entirely wrong after all. Ky continued along the righthand fork without hesitation.

Tom came to stand beside the hunter; only then did he understand why. The view was spectacular. The rocks here were of a deep, dark brown, starkly prominent against the blanket of pure white snow which might once have covered them completely but now did so imperfectly, as bold rock thrust through the whiteness, tearing gaping wounds in the virginal mantle. Dramatic enough in its own right, this scene was relegated to a supporting role – that of mere backdrop – by what stood in the immediate foreground.

An abandoned temple; stonework weathered and brown, seemingly ancient. The stones the buildings had been hewn from were a perfect match for the rocky slopes around them, as if the temple were an extension of the very mountain, sharing the slow strength and majestic wisdom of ages. Columns had been built of great flat stones piled one on top of another, each an individual shelf – those at the bottom marginally broader than those above so that they formed squat, tapering towers without ever actually reaching a point. From one such solemn buttress the image of a great beast snarled at them – a stylised lion, Tom decided, though it wasn't easy to be certain. The whole place seemed old in a way that Thaiburley never managed to.

None of the buildings were overgrown – there were no tangles of vine or shoots reaching into nooks and crannies to strangle the stonework and pull apart the structures – though here and there water dripped from the corner of a roof, as if the rock was wringing itself fully dry.

"Why?" Mildra wanted to know. Tom agreed; there was some rubble, yes, a few fallen pillars, but on the whole the place seemed in remarkably good condition.

"Because for much of the year this temple is buried under snow and ice. Only for the few months of summer's thaw does it emerge." Which perhaps explained the absence of invading plants. "Generations ago the priests would come and go with the thaw and the snows, but not anymore; easier to remain at the temple in Pilgrimage End than to constantly migrate with the seasons."

A large black crow alighted on the lion's head to stare at Tom inquisitively. It opened its maw as if preparing to screech either welcome or warning, though no sound emerged. Then the bird launched itself into the air, to be joined by a mate. The pair spread splayed black wings and soared away out of sight.

Following the bird's flight, Tom's gaze came to rest on Mildra. Only then did he stop to wonder at her reaction to this place. In the passage of days they'd spent together he had all but forgotten that she was a Thaistess, a fact brought starkly back into focus at Pilgrimage End. Certainly it wasn't a Thaistess he was thinking of when he recalled in such vivid detail their encounter in the flower meadow. Whatever did or didn't lie between them, now or in the future, faith was one facet of this girl who had come to mean so much to him which he would never be able to share.

He wondered what was going through her head now as they stood on the threshold of this lost place of ancient worship. It was a far cry from the commercial temple they'd visited the previous day; this place had a presence, a sense of inherent importance that even Tom could sense. It made him want to creep around on tiptoe out of sheer respect.

As he watched, Mildra stepped forward between the first two pillars. Her eyes seemed focused only on the temple, as if she'd forgotten about her companions entirely; but then she surprised him by looking to him and smiling. "This," she said, "is a lot more like it."

Tom went to react; he tried to shout out, to rush to Mildra's aid, to move… to do anything, but he couldn't. To his horror, he was frozen to the spot, paralysed. He was still breathing, but other than that only his eyeballs would respond; he couldn't even blink.

Mildra seemed to fumble with something, her knife; but Ky wrenched it from her hand. "Now, now," he told her. "Behave and this will all go a lot easier on you. And don't expect any help from the boy. He won't be able to lift a finger." The man laughed, presumably at his own attempt at humour. "A nerve poison, distilled from a local plant found around the temple, as it happens. By the time you and I've finished having our fun, he'll be dead. Don't worry, though, he'll live long enough to see most of it."

Mildra tried to struggle, a desperate lashing out of legs and fists, but Ky struck her again, slapping her in the face. The Thaistess sagged back, either stunned or unconscious.

"Pretty girl like you is wasted on a kid like him in any case. It's not right. What you need is a real man." As he spoke, the hunter was tugging at his belt, pulling his trousers down.

Tom could only look on. He tried desperately to move a hand, even a finger, but failed. Nor could he feel anything anymore, as if the nerve endings had fled from his skin. In his head, he screamed, but no one heard it except himself.

Ky had obviously been planning this all along. Tom and Mildra were pilgrims, who was going to miss them? And in the unlikely event someone did, how could anyone be blamed? After all, they'd insisted against all advice on striking out into the icy wilderness beyond the town. Whatever happened to them after that was obviously their own fault.

Gold Tooth. Was he in on this, feeding his brother likely victims to drag off into the back of beyond to rape, rob, and quietly murder? Tom could picture the pair of them huddled together late that night, smirking as they split their gains. They were no better than the thugs who had attacked him and Mildra with sticks and knives as they returned from the temple, merely more sophisticated.

Tom remembered how he'd broken Magnus's command to halt and kept running when fleeing from the wall. If he could defy the power of a senior arkademic, surely he could fight this. He focused on the little finger of his left hand, willing it to move, if only a fraction, but nothing happened.

Everyone kept insisting he was special, powerful; he'd saved the whole city for Thaiss's sake, and yet here he was, helpless to save someone he cared about, not to mention himself. What good his much vaunted abilities now? They worked only against mechanisms… Or did they? Mildra had told him he could be a healer with the proper training, and his original talent, that of hiding in plain sight, had been used on people from the very start…

He needed to concentrate but couldn't close his eyes, so instead he stared intently at Ky, drawing on that part of himself he'd tapped into when striking down the Rust Warrior, that coil of something deep inside which he'd always accepted as a part of his self without ever questioning its import. Tom stared at the hunter, refusing to be distracted by what the man was doing – now kneeling between Mildra's knees as he forced her legs apart – and instead willed his senses to reach beyond the man's clothing and skin, into the body itself. At the same time he sought to project thoughts of savagery, of rending and tearing and destruction, without any sense that this was necessarily the right thing to do, just the hope born of desperation that it might be.

Ky stopped in mid-motion, as if afflicted with the same drug he had administered to Tom. His eyes widened and he suddenly threw back his head and screamed, like some primordial beast baring its soul to the stars. He rolled or, more accurately, threw himself to one side, Mildra hastily drawing her feet out of the way. The hunter was on his back, thrashing legs and arms, body convulsing in violent spasms.

Even as he wrestled with feelings of thrilled excitement mingled with disbelief, a hooded figure arose from the rubble behind Mildra. Swathed in thick clothing which looked to be a patchwork of rags, the figure seemed a part of the wilderness itself. Tom had no idea where this apparition had come from; all he registered was that this man towered over Mildra with a drawn knife in hand. He didn't hesitate, but lashed out with the same power that had just felled Ky. The newcomer froze, convulsed, and collapsed, the knife tumbling from his hand.

Mildra was screaming. Not simply in terror, there were words. She was trying to tell him something. "Tom, stop it! You have to stop whatever you're doing. That's Dewar, Tom, it's Dewar!"

Finally the words' meaning penetrated. He stopped instantly, horrified. Dewar? It couldn't be. The figure he'd seen, the figure he'd struck out at, had been menacing Mildra with a knife. He was sure of it. Why would Dewar do that?

Mildra had scrambled over to the newcomer, who was convulsing as if in the throes of a fit, his limbs thrashing the ground. Nearby, Ky lay supine and still, eyes open and staring at the heavens. The Thaistess pushed back Dewar's hood and placed her hands either side of his head. Tom could see it was Dewar now; unshaven, with several days' growth peppering upper lip and chin, but obviously Dewar. Why hadn't he been able to see that before?

Part of Tom wanted to take offence that Mildra had gone to Dewar first. After all, he was the one who had been poisoned and was slowly dying here. But the larger and less selfish part of him recognised that Dewar's need was the more immediate, and that the man wouldn't be in this state at all if not for him, so perhaps he didn't deserve the Thaistess's help at all.

Dewar stopped moving. Tom wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one. Mildra withdrew her hands, rocked back on her haunches and took a deep breath. Her shoulders sagged as if from weariness. Then she gathered herself, stood, and came towards Tom. Her face! Only now did he get a proper look at the split lip and angry welt where Ky had hit her. He wanted to reach out, to hold her and comfort her, and wondered whether any of that showed in his eyes as she met his gaze, smiled a little crookedly, and said, "Thank you, for saving me."

Her hands reached out to either side of his face, as they had with Dewar, and he thought he could feel them, faintly, though that might have been pure imagination. Slowly, feeling did begin to return and with it, control. He could blink, could feel the warmth from Mildra's touch, then he could move his mouth and take his first deep lungful of cold mountain air in what seemed an age. Mildra didn't stop to acknowledge this success. Her eyes were closed, brow furrowed in concentration. With agonising slowness the sense of warmth spread throughout his body and, with it, the ability to move began to return.

His hands were among the last to regain feeling, his feet the very final part. As he felt his toes obey the command to wriggle, he was prepared to accept that he might live after all. Not that he doubted Mildra's abilities, but he'd never seen her have to work this hard before. Mildra's hands slid away from his face, and, with a snort of expelled air, she wilted.

Tom grabbed some food from his pack – a moist, sugary cake favoured by travellers because it was said to boost energy levels. The Thaistess thanked him and ate mechanically. Several mouthfuls disappeared before she said, "Enough." Her eyes flickered shut almost immediately and she fell into exhausted sleep.

In contrast, Tom felt buzzing with nervous energy and didn't want to sit down, afraid that the paralysis might return. He'd seen corpses aplenty in the City Below, many of them a good deal closer than he'd cared to, but none as unsettling as Ky's. Though lying on its back, the body seemed twisted, compressed, while the limbs were arranged at odd angles, like a marionette whose strings had been severed in midstride. But it was the face Tom found hardest to look at, contorted as it was into a frozen scream, with eyes wide open, mouth snarling, drying spittle on the chin. What made it especially difficult was the knowledge that he was responsible, that he had done this.

He was also responsible for what had been done to Dewar, but at least their former companion was still alive and, following Mildra's ministrations, sleeping peacefully as far as Tom could tell. He covered Dewar with a blanket, rolled Ky's body over so that the eyes didn't seem to follow his every move, and made Mildra as comfortable as he could; then he hunkered down to wait, knowing that he wouldn't be going anywhere until the Thaistess and hopefully Dewar woke up again.