Ian Irvine - Alchymist

Someone screamed, the sound drawn into a viscous gurgling as the soldier's throat was torn out. The man two to the right of Nish went flying backwards into the fire. A lyrinx lunged at Xabbier — a small, wingless one, it must have climbed down the escarpment. Xabbier's sword flashed in and out, drawing purple blood at its chin. It reared backwards then sprang, arms whirling like flails. Xabbier avoided those blows but the backhander came out of nowhere, slamming into the side of his head and knocking him to one knee.

Nish lunged. His sword went into one of the plates of the creature's side but did no damage. He wrenched it out and cut at the beast's upper arm. The blade skated off the armour. It ignored him, slashing at the lieutenant's head. Xabbier managed to get the flat of his sword up but the blow tore the blade out of his hand and sent it flying into the fire.

Xabbier groped for his knife. The lyrinx reached out with both hands, intending to tear his head off, though it seemed sluggish compared to those Nish had met previously. Gathering his strength, he raised the sword with both hands and plunged it into the creature's back. It went right through a back plate and into its heart. The lyrinx reared up on the impaling sword, jerked around and fell dead at Nish's feet.

He slumped to his knees. From start to finish the struggle hadn't taken a minute. He'd struck but three blows, yet he was exhausted.

Xabbier pulled Nish's sword free and handed it to him, hilt-first. The blade ran with gore. Xabbier's own was in the fire. He replaced it with the dead soldier's and they fought on.

An hour or two later, the sun creaked up onto the bloody battlefield. Nish had no idea how he'd survived. Xabbier was also alive but most of his troops lay dead. It was much the same story across the valley. There seemed to be more dead and wounded soldiers than living ones.

Army discipline had disappeared long ago. They no longer fought in any kind of formation — it was just man against beast. Nish had taken a number of wounds, though none was serious. He could not even feel them, he was so keyed up. He had killed another lyrinx, this time face to face, and the creature had bled all over him.

Someone called his name, over and again, though it was the fifth time before it registered. 'What?' Nish said dully.

His arm was shaken until he roused from his stupor. He stood staring at the body of a lyrinx, belly carved open and entrails hanging out. Nish had no idea if he had killed it or not. Dead soldiers lay to left and right, men he had fought beside in the darkness, had exchanged the odd word with, without ever seeing their faces. Some no longer had faces.

'Come on, I said.' It was Xabbier, quite as bloody as Nish, though he seemed to be coping better. But then, he was a professional soldier.

'Hoy!' the lieutenant roared across the battlefield. 'To me.

To me!' He waved his sword above his head and a handful of soldiers ran, or limped, to him. They too began roaring to attract the attention of other stragglers.

Xabbier led them onto the higher ground to the south, where they could get a view of the scene. Gumby Marth had been a pretty place, its green sward dotted with patches of forest and bisected by silver streams, the encircling cliffs topped with limestone pinnacles like palisades. Had he really come down there in darkness, twice?

Further down, the upper valley narrowed at the cliff-bound neck, where the river ran deep over pale rocks. If they survived, the next battle would be there. He looked hopefully down the valley but there was no sign of relief.

Skirmishes were still going on all over the battlefield, which had spread across the upper third of the valley. This high, the streams were not deep enough to trouble the lyrinx. The air reeked of blood, smoke and burnt meat.

Xabbier appointed guards, then called Nish and a nearby soldier to him.

As far as I can tell, we've lost two-thirds of our number, dead or too badly wounded to walk. That still leaves thirteen thousand, if we can rally them. I see no flags, no pennants, no signallers, so our senior officers must be dead. But we've sur-vived the night, and done better than I could have hoped when the attack began. We've killed almost as many of them as they have of us, and I don't think that's ever happened before.'

'They seem somehow . . , sluggish,' said Nish. 'They're slow and awkward, and less coordinated than before.'

'I've noticed that too,' said Xabbier. 'Could it be a residue of your father's magic?'

'Or an after-effect of being stone-formed?' said Nish.

'Whatever the reason, it's all that's saved us. Now that the sun's up, things should go better. We can bring our catapults and javelards to bear on them. All we need are people to give the orders.'

'There's no senior officers left alive,' said the third soldier, a grey-haired, scarred man of about forty-five.

'And not many sergeants, either.'

'You've seen experience, haven't you, soldier?' said Xabbier.

'Lemuir, surr. I've been in the army for twenty years. Was a sergeant once, in charge of a squad of clankers, but broken to private for insubord—'

'You'll do. You're sergeant again, Lemuir. Here's a hat.' He plucked a bloody sergeant's cap from a dead soldier. 'Run to the clankers and get them moving, in formation. Shepherd our troops this way. We'll try and move down this side of the valley, towards the neck. If that's not held against us, we'll keep going to the sea, then on to Gnulp Landing. The town is walled; we can take refuge there.'

'And with luck,' Nish added, 'we'll come upon General Troist by noon.' If noon isn't too late.

Lemuir saluted and ran off.

'Cryl-Nish, you're promoted to lieutenant. Find yourself a hat. Go across the stream and round up the soldiers over there. Send them to me On the way back, see if there's anyone alive up at the command post. Any soldier that looks up to command, give them a hat. I'll do the same, and between us we just might make it. We've got a chance, but only if we take advantage of it now.'

Sheathing his sword, Nish limped off.

It took an hour, and several more skirmishes, before he reached the first stream. The lyrinx were more sluggish than before; he killed another on the way, though this one had been badly wounded and could barely stand. Nish had rallied well over a thousand soldiers and sent them back to Xabbier. He'd capped nine others, with orders to spread across the battlefield and send everyone who could walk to Xabbier's command post.

The stream barely came up to his hips, though the cold water bit into wounds Nish did not know he had. On the far bank he looked back. The valley spread out like a map below him and he could see threads of soldiers moving across it, as well as the larger force Xabbier had already gathered. Unfortunately the enemy could see them just as clearly. Several bands of lyrinx were also heading that way. Fortunately there were none in the air. That could mean they were too sluggish to fly. It might also mean the field was too weak to support them.

A clanker crossed his path, moving slowly. Nish waved his lieutenant's hat and the machine turned towards him. There was enough in the field to drive it, at least. He pulled the rear hatch up and yelled inside. 'Find all the clankers you can and lead them across to the southern side. We're making a stand further down the valley.'

'Got no shooter' the operator stated mournfully. Without one, a clanker was little use on the battlefield, and terribly vulnerable.

Nish made a quick decision. 'You have now.' He climbed atop, settled in the seat and loaded the catapult and javelard.

'That way.’

Should have thought of this earlier, he realised. Soon he had been around a dozen clankers, ordering them to contact every machine they came to, and escort the surviving troops to Xabbier. With his lieutenant's hat, no one questioned him.