Read Online Tetrarch (Well of Echoes) by Ian Irvine - Free Book Online

and would have to be worked free.
    Nish hurled in his bag of pencil-stone, the packs and what remained of Ullii’s load. ‘Ullii!’ he yelled. ‘There’s no time. We’ve got to go.’
    She made not a sound. He lugged her up, thrust his knife in his belt, decanted half a mug of tar spirits and scampered up the ladder. Lifting the lid off the brazier, he tossed the liquid in. It exploded in his face; Nish felt his hair frizzing. Slamming the lid, he leapt onto the nearest boulder and gave the basket a heave. It did not budge. It was jammed tight. Despair coiled around his heart. Not only was he going to lose the crystal but probably his life as well.
    Jumping down between the boulders, he put his shoulder under the basket and heaved. It moved a fraction but jammed again. He tried the other side. The edge of the basket dug painfully into his shoulder. The basket scraped along the rock, then stopped.
    The balloon was now as round as a globe and the ropes that held it to the basket were taut. It was ready to lift. Scrambling up the side, he shook the basket. It moved but did not free.
    The lyrinx were descending rapidly now. The witch-woman was just fifty paces away. She threw out her arm, pointing at him.
    Nish ducked. Golden sparkles burst in his eyes but he was otherwise unharmed. The witch-woman clutched at her chest as if in pain, then tottered forward. Nish shook the basket and felt something give. It lifted a handspan before jamming again.
    If only he had a branch; anything to use as a lever. ‘Come on,’ he screamed, shaking it. ‘Just move!’
    It did not. The witch-woman plodded around the boulders to come at him from the other side. She looked distressed. Nish wished a heart attack on the old fool.
    ‘Give up the crystal, artificer,’ she called.
    ‘Be damned!’ he snarled, ducking behind the basket for a rock.
    She put out her hand, fingers hooked as if she were holding an egg, and slowly closed them. It was as though they had closed about his throat. Nish could not breathe. His face began to swell; his tongue was forced out through his lips. He gave a grunting squeal, which was answered by a moan from inside the basket.
    Tiaan began to climb the rock. She had a length of metal in one hand. With a tremendous effort of will, he tore away from the Matah’s illusion and gasped a breath of air.
    ‘Ullii,’ he choked. ‘Save me.’
    Ullii’s head appeared over the side of the basket, bobbing up and down. ‘Don’t know what to do,’ she quavered.
    ‘Throw something at the witch-woman. Try to knock her out.’ He groped for his knife.
    Ullii hurled out her half-filled bag of pencil-stone, which flew wide, scattering black lumps everywhere.
    ‘Not the fuel!’ he screamed. ‘Haven’t you got a brain in your head?’
    The seeker moaned. Then, to Nish’s horror, her chest pack, with its infinitely precious amplimet, soared out of the basket and struck the witch-woman in the face, knocking her down.
    The pressure on his throat eased but before he could move Tiaan threw herself at him. He swiped at her but his knife was in the wrong hand and the blow missed. Tiaan thrust out the metal rod. He yelped, thinking she was going for his groin, but the rod went between his knees. She wrenched it sideways, his left knee collapsed and he toppled off the rock.
    The fall seemed to take a long time. Nish thought he was going to land on his head, then his back. As he tumbled over, he realised that the knife was pointing up and he was likely to impale himself on it. He twisted in mid-air, slammed into the ground and felt a burning pain in his side.
    He rolled over, groaning. Wetness flooded his shirt. A few steps away, the witch-woman was on her knees. Tiaan hurled herself on the pack. With a cry of triumph, she held up the amplimet.
    Ullii wept. Nish groaned. His eyes met Tiaan’s, then slid sideways to where the wings of the descending lyrinx darkened the sky.
    ‘Enjoy your triumph!’ he gritted. ‘It won’t last