Ian Irvine - Alchymist

Would it work or not? Everything depended on what the lyrinx did. Nothing, it seemed; then, all at once, the enemy bounded after the fleeing soldiers, taking some down with their own spears. Lyrinx were faster than men. The slaughter was sickening and there was nothing he could do about it -they were a sacrifice to save the rest.

The soldiers scattered; the clankers ground away in all directions, troops hanging off the sides. 'Your orders, sun? Nish's signaller said urgently.

'Not yet.' Let the lyrinx come up just a bit further. The wait was agonising, the deaths horrible, but finally the enemy were clear of the neck. 'Charge!' Nish roared, waving his sword in the air.

Running to one of the leading clankers, he clambered up the side, settling into the seat in front of the shooter. The clankers moved; the soldiers too. 'Is this as fast as we can go?' he called through the hatch.

'We'll pick up speed down the slope,' came the voice of the operator, 'but there's not much in the field and it's getting weaker all the time.' His teeth chattered. If he lost the field, he'd lose his clanker too.

Running full tilt downhill, they converged rapidly on the enemy. The shooter fired his catapult, the ball whizzing over Nish's head, and suddenly it was on. The other shooters were firing balls and spears. Gaps appeared in the enemy lines. The catapult ratchet went furiously. Nish, swaying with the bumps and lurches, heaved his shooter another ball. He wished he could fire the javelard but the clanker was an early make, not designed to use both at the same time. With only fifty paces to go, a rain of missiles came at them — used javelard spears, balls of rock and any other object the enemy could lay their hands on. A heavy spear took the shooter on the clanker beside Nish's right off his platform. The enemy also used catapults but none were in evidence here. Such large weapons could not have been stone-formed. For the first time in his life, Nish felt no fear for himself. He'd passed beyond such emotions, though he did feel a terrible, knotted pain for his troops, who were being slain and maimed all around, and even for the enemy. Perhaps the touch of the tears had heightened his senses. It was brutal and senseless, and all he could do was try to save as many of his men as he could.

He could see the expressions on the enemy's faces now, they were so close. Nish could almost read their flickering skin-speech. They were uneasy at his unprecedented mode of attack. Good!

The flying wedge of clankers and men struck the enemy lines with shattering violence. Nish's clanker drove right over a slowly moving lyrinx, which must have been injured. Another beast leapt for the shooter's platform, beheading Nish's catapult operator with a single blow. Whirling the javelard around, Nish discharged the spear. It went straight though the beast, lifting it over the side. The clanker kept going. He pushed the dead shooter out of the way and flopped into the sticky seat, trying not to think about it. He had an army to manage and it was impossible to take it all in.

The front of the wedge, a couple of hundred clankers and three times as many men, had burst right through the front ranks of lyrinx and now formed into a circle three ranks of clankers deep, firing furiously into the enemy. After half a dozen salvoes that left the ground littered with enemy dead, the soldiers moved out behind their shield wall, trying to split the lyrinx ranks apart. Nish fired the catapult and struggled to load another heavy ball, turning the weapon around to fire over his soldiers' heads. In this situation he could not miss.

Further uphill, the survivors of the advance guard had rejoined the rest of his troops, armed themselves, and were attacking with the strength of desperation, taking what advantage they could from their uphill position. Nish could not tell how the battle was going. Even from his elevated seat it was just a blur of violence that went on and on, but, under attack from front and rear, the leading ranks of the lyrinx must be feeling the strain. To his right a squad of lyrinx were forced into the river, where they panicked and could not save themselves. A ripple of ash-grey skin colours passed through the enemy. Drowning was a terror that death in battle could never be.

He fired until all his rock balls were gone, and all but one of his spears. Almost every shot went true, exacting sickening slaughter. How could they not, where the enemy ranks were so tightly packed? A shiver went through the lines of the lyrinx. Their jagged red-and-black skin patterns indicated distress, which flicked in an instant to camouflage colours as their front line broke.

It was far from over, but it was the first sign that his tactics were working. Nish signalled twenty clankers to secure the gap, and the rest fought on. After another vicious ten minutes, the tide seemed to be turning. The uphill section of his army was less than a hundred paces away, and their line still held.

Nish rallied his troops again and again, bolstering the weak places in the circle and expanding it to wedge the enemy forces apart. The lyrinx, now fighting in five or six bands all showing black-and-red distress patterns, split at the rear. Nish's uphill and downhill armies flowed together. They had broken through and the way to the ford was clear.

His troops and clankers streamed through the gap. 'To the ford!' he signalled to the second wave. Then, to the survivors of his flying wedge, 'Form a rearguard, clankers last of all, and we'll hold them off. Shooters, replenish your spears.'

They leapt off their machines and gathered up the fallen spears. Nish remained on his platform, watching the enemy. The lyrinx had drawn away to the side of the valley, shocked at the defeat and near to panic. Their leaders were trying desperately to rally them, so Nish fired a ball at a small group of officers and was pleased to see them scatter. His troops were vulnerable to a counterattack from the rear.

The army raced through the narrow passages of the neck and down the hill. He signalled his flying wedge into a defensive line, trying not to think of the injured, whose piteous cries could be heard above the thudding of the clankers. Again, anyone who could not walk had to be left behind to die, and there were hundreds of them. It was cruel. Tears poured down Nish's face at the thought of abandoning men who had fought so bravely, and who were in such agony, but nothing could be done. Any man who stopped to attend the injured would be slain by the enemy.

A band of lyrinx to their left had rallied and were getting ready to attack. Nish checked over his shoulder. The main body of the army was halfway to the ford. A soldier came running towards him, staggering under the weight of an armload of spears. 'Thought these might come in handy,' he said laconically.

'Thanks, soldier. Now run.'

The wings of the rearguard clankers were already in position. 'Fly!' Nish shouted to the foot soldiers of his rearguard. "Wait at the ford for us to defend your backs.'

He gave them a minute or two to get away, firing salvoes at the enemy to help keep them at bay. 'Move out!' he signalled, and the clanker rearguard turned as one.

The eight metal feet of his machine thudded against the ground, crushing stones and pebbles into powder. The clanker crashed down the steep slope, screeching across rock outcrops, slipping on wet clay and skidding from side to side. The operator over-corrected, skidded the other way then gained control.

Now Nish noticed an irregularity in the beat of the feet, thud-thud, thud-thud, which grew worse as they went on. 'What's the matter?' he yelled. 'I don't know,' wailed the operator.

The operator was cracking under the strain. Nish had to be the strong one, the one who never gave up, for his operator's sake, for the sake of all the survivors.