Alchymist (49 page)

He
wrenched it out, feeling faint. No matter how often he did it, he would never
get used to the feeling of his sword backing through the enemy's flesh. It was
horrible.

The
lyrinx screamed, put its foot on the ground and collapsed, leaving its belly
and throat exposed. Nish should have slain the creature, but did not have the
stomach for it. He col-ected an armload of javelard spears from a clanker that
had been neatly cut in half, staggered back to his machine with them and
climbed aboard.

'There's
no one alive in the command area,' he said. 'Head up towards the cliffs.'

He'd
seen soldiers hiding up there earlier though, if they were there now, they
weren't coming out. There might well be thirteen thousand left alive but
Xabbier would be lucky to round up three-quarters of them. And who could blame
the others, after their second massacre in a month?

He
spent another two hours scouring the battlefield, sending men and clankers
across to Xabbier, appointing sergeants from any soldiers who had battle
experience, and giving them their orders. He encountered lyrinx, though not
many, for they had moved further down the valley, following the mass of the
army. Nish used his javelard three times, killing two more of the creatures,
and fired the catapult many times without doing any damage. It was only
accurate in the hands of an expert.

Despite
his earlier vow, he did stop for those wounded who had some chance of recovery.
The seriously injured he had to leave where they lay, despite their piteous
groans. He'd just lifted a cruelly wounded man, speared through the groin, when
another called out to him. This fellow had his stomach torn open and was bound
to die.

'I'm
sorry,' Nish said, crouching beside him and giving him the last of the beer.
'I've no room left inside.'

'I'm
dying anyway,' said the soldier, clutching at his wrist. 'Please, end it for
me.'

Nish
looked into the fellow's eyes and knew what had to be done but, despite his
father, he could not do it. No matter how good the justification, killing the
man to put him out of his misery was beyond him. He was sick to his heart of
all the violence.

'I'm
sorry,' he said, and had to walk away. For the rest of the day he could see the
pain in the soldier's eyes, and the bewilderment.

The
clanker was bursting with wounded by the time he finally reached Xabbier's
staging post, having replenished his missiles from wrecked machines several
times on the way. They were creeping along now, at little more than walking
pace.

'What's
the matter, Operator?' Nish called. He did not know the fellow's name. 'Can't
you go any faster?'

'There's
not much left in the field,' said the operator mournfully. Nish had yet to meet
a cheerful one — the bond with the machine was so intense that all human
interactions palled by comparison. 'It's been going down all morning. It's only
a small node hereabouts and we've nearly drained it dry.'

Not
surprising, given the number of clankers that had drawn on it, and lyrinx too,
not to mention that great struggle between the golden-crested lyrinx and
Jal-Nish. And if our clankers can barely move, he thought, Troist's won't be
doing any better. But at least the enemy won't be able to attack us from the
air.

A
great mass of soldiers had gathered on a grassy mound, with smaller detachments
grouped above and below. Rows of clankers defended them, some hundreds, but it
was a pitiful remnant of the great army of yesterday.

The
enemy had drawn off, for the moment. An army of lyrinx had collected under the
trees near the closest stream, watching the scene. Nish had his operator drive
the clanker up to Xabbier's flag.

I've
done all I can.' He climbed down. 'I've sent across about four thousand men and
a few hundred clankers.

'And
I've gathered another six thousand,' said Xabbier, but that's not a quarter of
those who were alive last night.'

'There
are thousands of undamaged clankers with no operator to drive them,' said Nish,
'I saw a lot of soldiers further down the valley, across the second stream,
though they were too far away to call back. There's no one left alive in the
middle of the valley. At least, no one with a chance of living.' He saw that
dying soldier's eyes again. 'There are so many injured, just dying there in the
sun. And to go past and be able to do nothing for them . . .'

'It's
cruel,' said Xabbier. 'But what can we do? If we stay to comfort them, more
will die.'

'And
all for the folly of one man, my father! How can I ever make up for it?' Nish
knew he had to — the night, and the morning, had changed him forever, and he
felt a need to atone for his father's crimes as well as his own blunders.

'You've
already begun to,' said Xabbier, 'by what you've done last night and today.'

'It
can never be enough,' said Nish. 'I can't bring the dead back to life.'

'Don't
take on more than your due,' said Xabbier. 'Your father committed this terrible
folly all by himself.' He looked burdened. 'I don't know what to do now. What
do you think, Cryl-Nish?'

Why
ask me? Nish thought. You're the soldier. But Xabbier hadn't commanded such a
force in a rout either. 'We're low on spears,' Nish began, 'so I'd send a few
clankers round the battlefield to pick up used ones. Then make our way down to
the neck, fast as we can. The enemy have suffered terrible casualties, more
than they must have expected, and their morale may be faltering.'

'Doesn't
look that way,' said Xabbier.

'Well
in bright sunlight they're slightly handicapped, but if we're not out of the
valley come nightfall, there's not a man will be living in the morning.'

That
was my plan too,' said Xabbier. 'And we can expect Troist's army before too
long.' He sent the clankers off, then conferred with his sergeants. He gave
orders and the signallers relayed them to the troops.

'We
can hope for it,' Nish muttered.

The
clankers returned, distributed the spears, and the army and escorting clankers
set off. Before too long the bright sunshine was replaced by dark clouds
sweeping in from the distant Sea of Thurkad. Raindrops pattered on the top of
the clanker. Nish wiped his face, gloomily. Rain would disadvantage them and
aid the enemy.

Soon
they ran into heavy fighting. The army was quickly broken into struggling bands
of soldiers and the leaders fell like flies. Nish had no idea what was going
on, so he ducked through a line of fighting men and climbed a knoll. The
soldiers were spread out all across this side of the valley and no one seemed
to be leading them. He went back and forth in the clanker, issuing fruitless
orders while he searched everywhere for Xabbier. There was no sign of him. He
must have fallen in the assault.

Nish
felt panic rising; this was going to be another massacre and at the end there
wouldn't be a soldier left standing. He had to do something, hopeless though it
was. He would try to rally the soldiers and get them down to the neck.

'Down
there!' he ordered his operator. 'Take me to the front.'

The
fighting was fierce; within minutes Nish had used all his spears. Rotating the
javelard out of the way, he settled behind the catapult, wound it back a few
extra notches and took aim at a band of lyrinx running towards him.

Nish
pulled the release lever. The cords snapped, shaking the clanker, and the
catapult ball rolled gently off the side.

'What's
that?' cried the operator, peering fearfully up through the hatch. His 'crown
of thorns' — a headband of wire and crystals that allowed him to control the
clanker — hung askew over one ear.

'Catapult's
broken' Nish said 'Keep going.’

Nish
couldn't see the clankers with the extra spears, and could not go back for more
without leaving his troops leaderless. His clanker was damaged and moving at
less than walking pace so, ordering it back for spears, he slipped off the
side, pulling out his bloodstained sword. He had learned more about sword play
this morning than he had in the years of intermittent training at the
manufactory. Every muscle throbbed, every bone ached, but he was inured to it
now.

He
fought his way down Gumby Marth, rallying the scattered bands of soldiers into
a fighting force, and praying that when he topped the rise he would see
Troist's army stretching before him. All he saw was more enemy and, despite the
debilitating effects of stone-forming, in one-on-one combat they won more often
than they lost.

At
last he reached the opening of the neck with a dozen other soldiers. The
survivors of the army were now close behind, at least, and their sergeants had
them in hand. Here the valley was only a few hundred paces wide and cliffs
hemmed them in on either side. A rocky ramp occupied the middle, over which the
river, as it now was, roared in a series of cascades. There was room for the
clankers and soldiers to pass down between the river and the cliff, though the
broken country restricted movement to a few narrow passages, each guarded by
lyrinx. At least the army had the advantage of height, though several lyrinx
had climbed the cliffs and could hurl rocks down at them.

The
slope dropped away steeply for the length of a bowshot, then flattened out as
Gumby Marth broadened again. Down there, patches of trees, and folds in the
land, made ideal places for an enemy ambush. In the distance he could just make
out the Sea of Thurkad, there close to its narrowest as it rushed towards the
Karama Malama, the chilly Sea of Mists.

He
scanned the lower valley, searching for the nine hundred clankers and thirteen
thousand soldiers of Troist's army.

All
he saw were lyrinx, thousands of them, holding the neck of the valley against
him.

It
occurred to Tiaan that Minis might have come the other night in search of
absolution. He wanted to please everybody and to have everyone like him. Minis
jumped every time he heard his foster-father's voice.

She
walked around and around her room, treading softly so she would not be heard.
Her legs were now strong enough for an escape attempt, though she hadn't worked
out how. Every Aachim kept an eye on her. Thyzzea and her family watched Tiaan
especially closely, since her flight would mean their punishment.

To
flee, she must have command of a construct, and that meant getting Vithis out
of the way. Could she play on his obsession with his clan? If some of them had
survived the gate, he would surely drop everything else to find them.

A
plan began to germinate. She spent half the night working it out.

Thyzzea
was woken in the early hours of the morning by moans from Tiaan's room. She
slipped in through the open flap. 'What's the matter?' she said softly.

Tiaan
jerked up in bed, the bedclothes falling all around her. 'I saw them!' she
said, staring into an infinite distance.

The
girl took her hand. 'Who did you see, Tiaan?'

"They
were crying out, as in torment,' Tiaan whispered.

'What
are you talking about?'

'It's
my fault they were lost.' A tear ran down Tiaan's face. Her eyes closed and she
sank onto the pillow, fast asleep.

Thyzzea
went out. 'Just a bad dream,' she said to her mother Twice more that night the
Aachim were disturbed by similar dreams, though Tiaan seemed not to be aware of
them. However, when Thyzzea came to wake her at dawn, Tiaan would not rouse.

Thyzzea
shook her by the shoulder. 'Tiaan, wake. Vithis will be here soon.'

Tiaan
hid her face and began to wail and groan. 'All my fault. All my fault.'

Abruptly
Thyzzea was thrust out of the way. 'What is your fault, Artisan?' grated
Vithis.

Tiaan
groaned, tossed her head from side to side and squeezed a tear out from under
one eyelid. The Aachim's hand caught her shoulder.

'I
saw them,' she whispered. 'Just as I saw Minis, after I first used the crystal.
I saw lost Inthis—'

'My
clan!' He screwed up his face in anguish. 'What did you see?'

In a
single movement he heaved her out of bed and held her high. Tiaan almost gave
it away then, for her borrowed nightgown was revealing. She had to force
herself not to react, as if she was still asleep.

'They
were crying out for help.' Opening her eyes wide like a sleepwalker, Tiaan
looked wildly about. Her voice rose to a shrill cry. 'I saw them, standing by a
broken construct.'

'Lord
Vithis,' said Zea, who had come in quietly. 'This is not seemly.'

Vithis
put Tiaan down. 'You saw Inthis? Where, Tiaan?'

'There
was a man who looked like you,' she improvised. Last night, after working her
plan out, Tiaan had dreamed it, over and over. Her dreams were especially
intense after using the amplimet and now she could hardly distinguish what was
dream and what was fiction.

'Like
me?'

'Not as
tall, and younger. There was no grey in his hair but he had your face.' An easy
guess.