Ian Irvine - Alchymist

Someone took him by the arm. 'What's the matter?' Xabbier hissed.

Nish swayed on his feet. 'My father—' Better not say anything about the tears. Nish shook his head, but that only made things worse. Coloured auras streamed up from among the soldiers, and in the background he could still hear the faint whine of the tears. 'He's poured a potion down my throat and bespelled me. I don't feel well, Xabbier.'

'Come this way.' Xabbier led him through the rows of tents to one whose flap was folded back, but did not enter. 'Open your mouth.'

'What?'

Xabbier thrust two fingers down Nish's throat and Nish brought up the contents of his stomach. When he'd done heaving, which took quite a while, the soldier wiped Nish's face and led him inside.

Xabbier lit a lantern. 'That's got rid of the bulk of it, though surely not all. I don't know much about the Art, Cryl-Nish, but this I do know. You must fight the spell with all the strength you have. Don't give in or it'll take you.'

Nish shielded his eyes from the light. He tried to speak but could only manage a dry rasp. Xabbier held a pannikin of water to his lips, then fed him a slab of bread torn into pieces.

After wolfing it down, Nish felt better. His vision inverted again but came back to normal. His belly throbbed. He rubbed it and a bubbling belch rumbled up. The sick feeling faded but did not entirely disappear.

He sat up suddenly, seized by an urge so powerful that it burned him. 'Father's calling. I must go to him.'

Nish scrambled to his feet but Xabbier stood in his way, as solid as a tree trunk. The mighty arms went around Nish, binding him immovably. He struggled, for the urge to run to his father's side was overwhelming. Nish knew what Jal-Nish was; he saw the evil more clearly than ever, but he had to go to him. The compulsion was impossible to resist.

He struggled until he was worn out, and once broke free, slipping by the big man like a ferret. Xabbier threw out a foot and sent Nish sprawling, then sat on him. Nish kicked and beat his fists on the ground, clawed at the earth floor, snarled and tried to bite his friend. Xabbier held his nose until, finally, the compulsion snapped. He felt a desperate grief for his father, but the urge to go to him had passed.

Xabbier let Nish up, watching him warily as he wiped dribble off his chin with his sleeve. 'I suppose …You'd better take me to the cells, before he punishes you, too …'

Xabbier turned away; crouching down with bent head, as though thinking, but he held on to Nish's wrist just in case. He reached a decision. There was a knot in his jaw, a furious light in his eye. 'I heard everything he said to you, Cryl-Nish, and what he did. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it. I can't let him have you.'

'What?' said Nish dazedly. Nothing made sense any more.

'I'm taking you away from here.'

'But he'll destroy you. He'll flay you alive.'

'We might all die tomorrow or the next day. I can't go to my doom knowing I've betrayed a friend. I've closed my eyes to too much of his evil already.'

But Xabbier—'

'My mind's made up. Come on.'

Nish said no more. Xabbier led him through the camp and the sentries by the darkest ways, back to the escarpment and finally up a different track from before. Halfway to the rim, Xabbier stopped.

'Wait here and don't make a sound. I'll find the guard for this section and distract him while you slip past. Go that way.' He pointed to Nish's right.

They embraced. 'Thank you, Xabbier. I'll never forget this,' said Nish. 'Good luck.'

'And you,' said the lieutenant, 'wherever your path takes you.I hope we meet again in happier circumstances. And remember, he'll try again, Nish, and again. You'll have to fight him every time. You must not give in, no matter how easy it seems.'

He turned away. Nish watched Xabbier until he disappeared, then began to labour up the faint path, agonising about his friend. When Jal-Nish found out, he would crucify Xabbier.

After many rest stops, for his muscles were like putty, Nish made it to the top and headed into the maze of limestone pinnacles. Once more he felt that prickling feeling of being watched, or followed, though he saw no one. Nish continued, stumbling now. The touch of the tears had drained him to the marrow of his bones, but the interview with his father, had left him an emotional pincushion.

At the thought, he felt another burning spasm and a return of the compulsion. Nish's skin tingled. It was hard to fight it on his own, and when he had, he had to rest for a moment.

Flat on his back on a broken shelf of limestone, Nish rubbed his eyes. They were still watering; the moon still seemed unusually bright. It was midnight. He covered his eyes, which felt better until that unnerving feeling of being watched recurred. Nish peered through his fingers. Though the pinnacle in front of him lay in shadow, he could see every surface detail. More than that, he could see inside it. And it seemed to have bones.

Nish blinked but the bone shapes were still there. They weren't human bones, nor the skeleton of any wild animal he knew they were too massive, and the wrong shape. Rising into the upper arch of the pinnacle he could just make out robust, hollow wing bones, yet the cranium was colossal, with hundreds of large teeth, and the jaw gaped open.

I'm hallucinating, Nish thought as he slid off the shelf. It must be the touch of the tears. He shook his head and kept moving, looking steadfastly ahead. As he edged around a corner into another corridor, his eye fell on the limestone face to his left, where he saw the same kind of bones. There could be no doubt — it was the skeleton of a lyrinx.

Could this place be an ancient lyrinx graveyard, all limed over? But how could it have turned to rock so quickly? Then, and the realisation felt like a fist inside his chest, Nish saw a grey shadow within the skeleton contract and expand, contract and expand. It was the great heart of the beast. No skeleton this — there was a live creature inside!

Tearing his gaze away, Nish began to walk faster. Now he saw bones everywhere, twisted up in strange positions inside the pinnacles, and there could be only one explanation — the enemy had stone-formed themselves. There were thousands of them, probably tens of thousands, if even a quarter of the pinnacles contained the beasts, and they could be across the valley on the far escarpment as well.

Could it be another vision arising from the touch of the tears? He did not think so, for everything else was diamond clear. He inspected the pinnacle on his right. The claws of its stone-formed occupant were extended towards him, and they seemed to twitch.

He wanted to scream and run. Closing his eyes, Nish concentrated on showing no reaction. Could it know he'd seen it And if it did, how quickly could it react? The lyrinx might take hours to break out of its lithic state. Alternatively, it might come out in an instant.

No terror Nish had previously felt was the equal of this. He was alone in the midst of a mighty enemy force, an ambush and his arrogant father had walked right into it. If so many lyrinx fell on Jal-Nish s army in the night without warning, as surely they planned to, they would annihilate it.

What colossal magic it must have taken to stone-form tens of thousands of lyrinx so effectively. Nish could not imagine such power. His gaze wandered to the top of the spire of stone. It wore, where the grey rock was outlined against the sky, a faint yellow nimbus. The other pinnacles looked the same.

Nish hurried on. His mouth was dry; his fingers, hanging at his sides, were locked into claws. He dared not look back, for fear that some great beast would shatter its stone refuge and come lunging out of the darkness. He could practically feel its breath on the nape of his neck.