Alchymist (12 page)

Clearing
the door, Ullii crept out, peering fearfully through her goggles. Another blast
of light seared from sky to ground. A great wail went up and she saw the enemy
running for their lives, a horde of them heading directly for the air-floater.
In their panic, they might crash right through the flimsy structure.

Not
far away a clanker lay on its side, torn open from one end to the other. It
offered better shelter, since the beasts would have to go round it. Slipping
over the side. Ullii bent low to the ground and ran. The enemy pounded towards
her. Halfway to the clanker she encountered a dead dawer lying in a depression.
Ullii froze, staring at the great hulk, whose eyes seemed to be looking right
at her.

It
was almost her undoing. Ullii could not move, terrified that the creature would
come to life and tear her in half. It didn't and, finding courage at the last
instant, she leapt over it and scuttled the dozen steps to the side of the
clanker. Pulling herself underneath its overhanging side, she closed her eyes
and prayed.

The
mob thundered past, rocking the clanker. The metal frame creaked and groaned.
Ullii shuddered and curled into a smaller ball, knowing that the clawers could
find her by smell if they wanted to.

The
last went by, limping. She did not move. Not until the stampede faded into the
distance did she dare to open her eyes.

The
air-floaters still shone their beam one way and another. Ullii slipped inside
the clanker, looking for water and food. She did not find any, only blood on
the floor, the srhell so sickly that she almost passed out.

She
hid underneath in the small patch of shadow, following it around as the sun
rose higher then sank towards the west. By the mid-afternoon it became clear
that the enemy were abandoning Snizort, but Ullii did not know what to do.
Experience had taught her that few people could be trusted. Nor could she live
alone, in the wild. Food, clothing and shelter had always been provided for her
and, by herself, she would not survive a week. She could not kill another
animal for food, nor eat its bloody, pungent flesh if she did.

She
would have to follow the clanker column and find a way to live off it without
being caught. Though Ullii was a creature of the night, used to moving silently
and secretly, that thought filled her with terror. Stealing from the army was a
capital crime. Should she be caught, they would kill her like a beast. But she
had to eat.

Going
back for water, she found the air-floater smashed to pieces. The gasbag, a good
fifteen spans long, had disappeared. Searching in the mud she discovered a
water barrel with a few handfuls of brown water in it, and drank the lot. There
was nothing left of the food.

It
was growing dark. She circled around one of the camps, and around again, silent
as a ghost in the darkness. Many times she came on ruined clankers, but the
smell of blood and death was so strong she could not bear to crawl inside. She
was ravenous, and so desperate for a drink that, not long before dawn. Ullii
approached a dead soldier. Holding her nose with one hand, she went through his
pack.

She
found nothing to eat or drink, but the next corpse had a stoppered skin of wine
and a bag of flat honey biscuits. After wiping the mouth of the skin a dozen
times, and suppressing a shudder, she put it to her lips.

The
wine was so sour that it took her breath away, and the taste made her want to
wash her mouth out. She took another sip, then a mouthful. It had been watered
and was weak, but Ullii had not taken wine before, nor any kind of alcoholic
drink.

Moving
upwind of the corpse, she nibbled at one of the honey biscuits. It was
delicious, though intensely sweet. She ate it all and took another sip of the
wine, which now tasted even more sour.

Ullii
wandered off, alternately nibbling to break the sourness of the wine, then
drinking to rid her mouth of the excessive sweetness. In this way she
circumnavigated the camp again. To her right she heard cursing and the
distinctive sound of the whip. Groups of harnessed men were attempting to drag
clankers out of a bog. She turned the other way and shortly came upon a ruined
clanker, just as the sky was growing light. Her head felt strange. Ullii
giggled, staggered and threw up.

The
sun burst over the horizon, right into her eyes. Ullii stumbled around the
clanker, found a hole in the side and crawled in. All around her echoed the
roars of overseers and the groaning of slaves. There was only one consolation —
the lyrinx had gone. In the core of her lattice she could see their columns,
moving steadily away, abandoning Snizort and all they had made here.

Not
quite all — they carried a number of strange objects with them, thick with the
aura of the Secret An. But they were shielded and Ullii could tell no more
about them, even had she wanted to. She sought for the solace of sleep.

Ullii
woke with a terrible headache, for she'd slept the day through, and the night.
The sun was beating down on the clanker now, which creaked and squealed as the
metal plates expanded and slipped over one another. Her mouth tasted foul; she
was thirstier than ever but could not stomach the wine. She ate a few more
honey biscuits, sniffed the contents of the skin and poured it onto the ground.

Not
daring to go out in the daytime, Ullii lay panting in the clanker until
sundown, growing weaker and weaker. Her headache was worse than before. She
felt sure that she was dying.

The
clanker cooled quickly once the sun set and Ullii, idly trailing her fingers
along the upper side, discovered that it was covered in beads of moisture. She
licked her fingers. Her tongue was so dry that it felt crackly. Following the
trail of drops down the side she discovered a small pool of condensation, about
a cupful, in a metal hollow. After drinking it dry, she felt strong enough to
look for more.

Her
senses were so acute that she could smell water, even among the fumes from the
bodies that had been burned, and the putrid reek of those rotting where they
had fallen. She found a gourd of water, drank her fill and went back to her
hiding place, where sleep was her only escape from the stench. The next morning
she finished the water and went outside. Something had changed.

All
was silent. The hauling teams had dragged the last of the undamaged clankers
from the mire onto solid ground, and were now heading towards the nearest
field. She was alone with the dead.

Ullii
followed the column for days, sleeping in a tree or hollow by day, creeping at
the coat-tails of the procession at night, and living on the few meagre scraps
she could find. She did not know what else to do.

It
was most unpleasant. Several times she saw the one-armed man in the platinum
mask, and after that Jal-Nish's knot was always in her lattice, a shuddering
horror. And even from half a league away, the smell of eighty thousand unwashed
bodies was so strong than she had to plug her nose. The merest whiff made her
gag, and it grew worse as time wore on. One night she found nothing edible at
all, and was driven by hunger to creep to the front of the procession, where
the noise and light were least, to see if she could steal anything.

It
was the boldest deed little Ullii had ever attempted. Her whole life had been
spent in fear of people and their punishments. Now she must steal or starve.
She crept along the line of the leading column, keeping watch in her lattice
for Jal-Nish. He was over the other side, thankfully. A gentle breeze drifted
the stink of the army away from her. Ullii took out her noseplugs. Smell was
her most powerful sense and she needed it here.

The
column was still, the slaves taking a few hours' rest before the labour began
again at dawn. She slipped closer, as quick as silk in the darkness. An errant
breeze brought her an aroma from the camp ovens — fresh bread. Five hundred
bakers had worked all night to feed the multitude their breakfast.

Salivating,
Ullii scanned the area. The bakers' wagons and their portable ovens, were well
lit and securely guarded, so there was no chance of stealing anything there.
She moved up the line, looking for something she could snatch. It had to be
done secretly. If they saw her she would never get away.

As she
prowled, the wind changed, momentarily blowing from the head of the line. Even
among the thousands of sweaty bodies, Ullii caught an elusive, familiar scent.
Her eyes moistened. She raised her head, sniffing the air. There it was again.
Her nipples stood up and Ullii felt an overwhelming flood of desire.

It
was Nish! Her beloved Nish, who had looked after her so tenderly before. If
only she could get to him, she would be safe at last.

Eight
Irisis screamed as the pair of lyrinx leapt through the door; she couldn't help
herself. With a backwards flip that she had not known she could perform, she
fled the other way, expecting to find Flangers dead.

He
was working the sword furiously with his good arm, fighting for his life. The
lyrinx was moving slowly now, the hole in its side pulsing purple blood, though
one of its blows might still have disembowelled a man.

Flangers
hacked at it but missed. It slashed with one hand, then the other, the blows
tearing through the soldier's shirt as he wove backwards. He stumbled, slipped
in purple blood and fell to one knee.

Irisis,
still running, acted instinctively. Leaping high, she landed on the lyrinx's
back, caught hold of its crest and brought her knee up hard against the base of
its skull. The lyrinx reared up, shaking its head as it reached back with its
left hand to tear her off.

As
the blood-tipped claws came at her face, Irisis hung on with her knees and
pummelled it about the side of the head. The blows seemed to daze it so she
poked her fingers into its eyes.

Flangers
came up off the floor like a ball from a catapult. The outstretched sword slid
between Irisis's knees, found the gap in the plates and plunged into the
creature's throat. Irisis, unable to untangle her legs in time, went all the
way down with the falling beast. She hit the floor, rolled and came up holding
her sword.

At
the death of their comrade, the other two lyrinx checked, though not for long.
Irisis just stood there, her initiative exhausted. Flangers caught her hand,
jerking her away.

'Through
the door behind me.'

It
was just a few steps away but she hadn't noticed it before. Irisis waved her
sword around in a professional manner as Flangers jerked it open.

'Hurry!'
he roared.

Irisis
took one look over her shoulder and ran for the door. Flangers kicked it shut
behind them. They fled across the oval space outside but, halfway, Irisis
stopped to look back.

'Come
on!' Flangers was limping badly.

She
stayed where she was. 'There's something wrong. They're not coming after us.'

He
felt his injured arm with his good hand. 'Perhaps they're sneaking round
through one of the other doors, to take us from behind.'

Irisis
tiptoed back to the door, beyond which she heard thuds and squeals. 'No,
they're back at their bloody work, killing the little beasts. They don't want
any of them taken alive. I wonder why?'

'I
can't bear to think,' said Flangers. 'Hey, now!’

Irisis
had opened the door and was peering inside. One of the lyrinx, not three steps
away, broke off from its bloody work with the club. Its dark eyes, the size of
lemons, were fixed on her. She trembled. In the past year she'd had a number of
encounters with the great beasts. It could kill her with a blow, yet it
fascinated her. Its size, its strength, the play of muscles down its armoured
front, the flickering skin colours, now mauve, now purple and black — and
something more.

'What
are you doing?' she said, not expecting it to know her language.

'My
duty,' it said clearly, in a rumble deeper than any human had ever spoken. The
sound tickled her eardrums. 'Seek you to stop me, small one, I must end you the
same way.' It hefted the bloody club.

No
one had described Irisis as small before, but to a lyrinx the largest humans
were puny creatures. The other creature called in a higher voice, almost a
chirrup. The first brandished the club. Irisis ducked backwards, the door was
kicked shut and something slammed against it.

'Whatever
they're doing,' said Irisis, 'they're determined to finish it. I'd better have
a look at your arm.'

'It's
not too bad.' Flangers peeled back the shirt to reveal two raw gouges from
wrist to shoulder. 'Painful, though.'

'I'll
bet. What about the other wound?'

He
looked abashed. 'Oh, it's all right.'

"Then
why are you limping? Turn around, let me take a look at it.'

The
seat of his trousers had been torn out, and four deep claw marks carved across
his right buttock, two extending onto the left. 'That'll need attention . . .'
she began.

'Don't
see much point right now.'

'Hoy!'
called a soldier's voice.

'Over
here,' roared Flangers.

Young
Ivar and the other soldiers came running, followed by Fyn-Mah and a
dark-skinned man Irisis had never seen before — yes she had. It was Eiryn Muss,
Flydd's spy, in another of his disguises. This one was masterly — he seemed to
have altered his size and shape as well as his appearance. He was the same
height, but lean, stringy, and his eyes were a glossy dark brown.