Ian Irvine - Alchymist

'And a good few behind, sheltering under the cliffs and trees,' said Nish. 'They can afford to wait till dusk, but we can't.'

'Never heard of an attack on a superior force of lyrinx succeeding.' Lemuir tore off an arc of fingernail, chewed pensively on it a moment, then spat it onto the grey rock.

'Nor I,' said Nish. 'We could wait. Troist might yet turn up.'

'We'd have seen him coming up the valley by now.'

Nish had the same fear. 'He'll come over the ridge further down, where he can cross with the clankers.'

'Not in time. The lyrinx aren't going to wait, surr. They're getting ready to attack.'

Down the slope, the gathered lyrinx were moving, and behind them others were coming out of the trees. 'It's always better to attack,' said Nish. The decision had come easily after all. 'And they're fighting uphill.'

It wasn't much of an advantage, the enemy being so much bigger and stronger, but it was all they had. Nish ran down to his assembled sergeants and explained his plan, and the way he'd been successful in attacking the sluggish lyrinx.

'This has got to succeed,' he concluded. 'If they can keep us up here until dark, we're done for. General Troist can't take the neck against such a force. With the field so weak, his clankers might not be able to move uphill. But ours can still go down the slope. We must attack now, and know we'll win.

Anything less is our doom. And we can win!'

'How?' said a sergeant with a bushy beard and a pair of oozing lyrinx scalps hanging from his shoulders, one green-crested, the other red. 'My men are as brave as any, but this has been a day without hope.’

'I've told you how I fight them,' said Nish. 'I'm not a trained soldier, and I've killed six of the enemy today, with sword alone.'

'That's not much help,' grunted the sergeant.

'They don't like fighting in the heat and brightness of midday, so now's our best chance.'

'It's going to rain again.' The sergeant looked pointedly up at the sky.

'The sun's out further down the valley. The cloud's breaking up and, running downhill, our clankers can go through them even with the weak field …'

The sergeant shook his head. 'To beat such fierce fighters we'd need an entirely new battle plan, and all the luck in the world.’

'The enemy have another weakness,' said Nish, improvising desperately. 'They've lost twice as many as they'd have expected, so their morale must be low. Also, they're not used to losing and tend to panic after a sudden reversal. Let's form a flying wedge of clankers, cavalry, and our biggest, stoutest fighters, and charge them.'

'Never been done,' said the sergeant. 'Besides, it's too narrow for the clankers to manoeuvre down there. It'd be suicide.

'So is standing here doing nothing.'

'Look, surr, we need a proper plan. I can't inspire my men if I don't believe in it myself.’

Nish had an idea. 'The lyrinx don't like to break off an attack when they're winning. What if we were to attack with, say, a third of our army, then turn and flee as if in panic. If they follow us out of the neck, we hit them hard with the rest.’

'That's not much of a plan,' the sergeant said, rubbing his stubble.

'I haven't finished yet. In our counterattack, we drive five hundred clankers at full speed right into the middle of their formation, then attack out in all directions, driving some of them up against the cliffs and others into the river. In the deep water, they'll panic and be swept down the rapids and it'll alarm the rest. Once their front line turns around to defend themselves, the remainder of our force attacks them from the other side. They won't have been pressed like that before, and if we're strong enough, we might break through.'

The sergeant considered Nish for a long moment. 'Your father was one for reckless plans, though I never saw him in the front lines. He always took good care of his own life.'

'My father is dead,' said Nish, 'and eaten by the enemy. I'm not reckless, Sergeant. In fact I'm terrified, but I'll be out in front, leading us — to victory or to death.'

The sergeant seemed to be weighing Nish's youth, stature, parentage. The other sergeants and soldiers held their breath. The sergeant asked a question of Lemuir, though Nish did not catch it. The man turned back to Nish and now, Nish knew, he was weighing his reputation, and what he'd done last night and today. The whole army knew of those deeds.

The sergeant grinned and thrust out a hand. 'We'll do it, surr. Death or glory!'

The whole army sighed as Nish clasped the callused hand. He addressed the sergeants. 'Then let's get to it. I want an advance guard, a third of our number. Not your best fighters but the fleetest and wiliest of them, for they've got to put on a good act. They'll attack, accompanied by a hundred and fifty clankers, but the machines will be driven as though there's barely enough power. The rest of the army is to hang back, breaking lines and generally looking afraid.'

'We won't have to put on an act,' Lemuir said dryly.

'When the attack is almost to the enemy lines, the clankers will grind to a stop, as if there's not power to drive them. The shooters will scream out in panic. The soldiers will fight for another minute, then everyone will turn and flee as rabble.

The lyrinx will, I hope, follow them. If they do take the bait, we attack when they'r right out of the neck and hit them with most of our remaining clankers and our biggest, toughest fighters. The fleeing advance guard will run to the rear, rearm and reform. Sergeants of the advance guard, ready your troops.' A number of the sergeants ran off.

'You' Nish said to a lanky, long-legged messenger, mounted on a stubby roan, 'run down to the clankers. Make sure the remaining operators and their troops know to act panicky, but if the attack succeeds, they are to form into a wedge behind my clanker. We'll drive straight at the lyrinx with all but fifty clankers and half our troops. Sergeants, put your best and biggest along the wings, the others behind.' He issued detailed orders for that attack then, 'Should we break through, we'll make for the river and ford it at the meanders. Get ready!'

The remaining sergeants and signallers turned away. The advance formation came together quickly. They were a disci-plined force but Nish was pleased to see they were acting as if on the verge of mutiny. Overacting, he thought, but the enemy could hardly tell that from their lines. He estimated the enemy numbers again. They might have been as many as ten thousand now. He'd lost well over a thousand in the earlier fighting, for he had less than nine thousand men and nine hundred clankers. So few.

Nish's ultimate plan depended on the strength of the field, or rather its weakness. It required a lot of power for the lyrinx to fly. If he could get his soldiers across the river they would have the advantage, given the lyrinx fear of water. But if there was enough in the field they'd fly across the river, attack again and his army must be defeated. 'They're ready, surr,' said a signaller beside him. Nish checked. 'Go!'

The advance guard charged. He held his breath, for the enemy completely blocked the neck and were so numerous that his troops might simply be annihilated. A hail of bolts and javelard spears fell on the lyrinx but made very little difference. They held the line until Nish's soldiers were within spear-throwing distance. Many lyrinx fell, but more of his troops.

"Turn now,' he groaned aloud, seeing what deaths he'd sent his men to. They kept on.

The clankers creaked to a halt, their shooters crying wildly to each other as if in panic. What if they were, and it spread? The operators lurched their machines around. The soldiers screamed, threw their weapons away and fled. Nish's nails dug holes in his palms. It was all too convincing.