Ian Irvine - Alchymist

The slope became steeper; the upper parts of the hill forming a series of cliffs a span or two high, broken by ramp-like inclines. She took the nearest of these, whirring across the tussocky grass and up again, through a moist patch of forest dotted with tree ferns.

On the top of the hill, which was like a rocky pimple rising above the trees, she turned the construct through a circle. Tiaan saw nothing but a series of scalloped ridges covered in forest. Behind her the rocks outcropped in a stack like roughly piled books, several times her height. She cut off the field. All was quiet.

Tiaan got out and began to climb the stack but her knee folded and she tumbled down again, taking a gouge out of her wrist. Her legs lacked the strength to push her up. She had to drag herself all the way.

She checked the horizons. To south, east and north she could see only trees, but in the west she spotted water. The Sea of Thurkad lay no more than a couple of leagues away. Tiaan prayed there was no obstacle in her path, for constructs could rise no more than hip-high and even the smallest cliff would defeat them.

The sun was hot on her bare head and her knees felt shaky. She took a sip from the flask at her hip, regretted that she had nothing to eat, and sat down. Had she stood a moment longer, she would have seen movement in the trees beyond the foot of the hill.

She leaned forward, rubbing her aching calves. It still felt strange to have feeling in her legs, and she often had nightmares that she was paralysed again. She kneaded the muscles until they hurt.

Something cracked in the distance. She sat up straight. It had sounded like a breaking branch, or a dislodged stone. Peering over the edge, Tiaan saw constructs everywhere. A line of them were creeping up the hill, taking one of the few clear paths to the top. Further down she saw others, waiting to block off any escape.

Sliding off the side of the stack, she lowered herself as far as her arms could reach, feeling around with her toes for a foothold. Her fingers lost their grip. She fell, landed on the edge of a lower ledge, which broke off, and crashed onto the slope below. It moved under her and she slid all the way to the bottom on her backside, ending up next to her construct in a deluge of gravel.

She made it into the machine as the first construct came over the crest. Tiaan whirled hers around and headed in the other direction. Too late; the Aachim were coming that way as well.

The only advantage she had, and it was a tiny one, was that she could take more power than they could. Tiaan spun the machine, buckling her belt with her free hand and pulling it tight. She would need it. All the paths were guarded — there was no way out unless she went over the edge.

Once again, she had nothing to lose. She kept spinning until the construct was at the centre of a whirling cloud of dust, leaves and torn-up grass. When she could see nothing at all, Tiaan took a random direction and gave the construct all the power she could bear. If she had no idea which way she was going, it must take them by surprise, The construct roared out of the dust, straight for the largest tree on the edge of the hill. The leading machine fired a missile shaped like a javelard spear. She saw it out of the corner her eye but the shooter had misjudged her speed — it missed by a span. The construct rocketed towards the tree. Let them think she was out of control. At the last instant she sprung left and went off the edge, where the hill dropped away sharply below the little cliff.

Her stomach slid into her throat. The drop was steeper than she remembered — a good two spans. When she struck the slope it could smash in the bottom of the construct. She eased back the controller, then, just before the construct hit, drew power hard. The machine slowed as if it had landed in a cushion of dough. The rear struck first with a shower of sparks and the sound of rending metal, tipping the front down. Tiaan thought it was going to tumble end over end, but the base slid and bounced down the tussocky slope, slowing so sharply that her head struck the binnacle. The machine slammed into a patch of tree ferns, shearing them off, before slewing sideways, the front heading towards a rock, the rear for a tree.

She fought the controls, managed to straighten it up and slid between the obstacles. Ahead was a staggered line of constructs; she could see half a dozen. They were tracking her with springfired javelards which, in the hands of skilled operators, were deadly accurate at this distance. The Aachim were skilled at everything they did. With their long life spans, they had the time to master any craft they desired.

The javelard spears looked designed to attack armoured soldiers and lyrinx, though they might not be able to penetrate the tough metal of the construct.

The two directly in front of her fired together. She ducked, a club-headed missile, similar to the kind that had killed little Haani, thumped into the open hatch cover behind her head, shattering its shaft and embedding splinters in the back of her neck. The other missile, which must have been metal-tipped, screamed off the side of the machine.

Before they could reload, she shot between them, keeping low. Another missile thudded against the side. She heard cries and the whine of construct mechanisms as she fled into the forest.

Because she could draw power from several fields at once, her construct was faster than theirs. Had she been out on the open plain, she would have left them far behind. However, she was no match for their operators in manoeuvring her large machine through the trees.

With every twist, every turn, they were gaining. The leading constructs were only a couple of hundred paces behind, within firing distance. Club-spears whirred overhead; one thumped into the back of the machine. They would be lucky to hit her at that distance, but once they came closer they could pick her off, or lob a catapult ball into the compartment, smashing everything to bits and pulverising her.

Ahead was a large clearing studded with spreading trees. Swerving around a clump of bushes, Tiaan shot across golden grass towards the dubious shelter of the forest on the other side. When she was only halfway across the clearing, another line of constructs appeared. At their head, slightly out in front, was a larger one she recognised. Vithis stood tall, smoking with rage. She could see his expression from three hundred paces away. There was nowhere to go. They were behind her and to either side. If she turned, they could hit her with dozens of weapons at once.

It's between me and you, Vithis. I've got nothing to lose. Let's see if you have. She turned the construct so it was heading directly for him, pressed the helm tightly onto her head and drew power from five fields at once.

The machine leapt. The golden grass fled by. Missiles flashed overhead; others struck the sides. She pulled her head below the level of the sides, gritted her teeth and hung on. Time seemed to slow to nothing. The distance between the two constructs shrank. Vithis's arm moved, as if in slow motion. He seemed to be shouting at the other constructs, though she could hear only the roaring of the wind in her ears. There was nothing in the world but the two of them, and neither was going to give way. She wondered what the impact would look like from outside. At least it would be quick. His teeth were bared, the look in his eyes maniacal. He was not going to give way. Minis must be dead. Dead! She gave the construct more power. The distance closed swiftly. She braced herself for the impact that was going to reduce her to a splatter on the wall.

At the last conceivable instant, the other construct translocated sideways. Had she not accelerated, Tiaan would have missed it completely and been away, but the flared side of her machine struck Vithis's a glancing blow, thrusting it side-on into a tree so that Vithis was tossed out. Had she killed him too? Her own construct careered the other way, out of control.