Ian Irvine - Geomancer

‘What’s the matter with her?’ asked Fyn-Mah, sitting down abruptly.

‘She began screaming when the lyrinx first took off,’ Nish said. ‘I suppose the Art was burning her. Is anyone a healer?’

‘I know a little field medicine,’ Rustina whispered. Tuniz had to help her to her knees beside the perquisitor, and then to hold her up.

‘He’s going to die, isn’t he?’

‘I’d say so,’ the sergeant replied. ‘Though I’ve seen men recover from worse.’ She took Jal-Nish’s wrist with her left hand. ‘Well, the pulse is strong. Maybe he has a chance …’

‘I’ll do anything .’ Nish was only now realising how much his arrogant, demanding father meant to him.

‘The arm will have to go,’ said Rustina. ‘The upper bone is smashed to pieces and no one could fix it.’ She looked up as if gauging his courage. ‘You’ll have to do it.’

Nish imagined hacking his father’s arm off at the shoulder, like a butcher carving through a joint. ‘I can’t …’

‘We all must do …’ Rustina began.

‘He can’t do it, sergeant!’ snapped Irisis.

‘Then the perquisitor will die, and it’s probably best. If he did survive, he’d be in torment for the rest of his life, and a horror to look at. Would he want to live?’

‘My father can’t die!’ cried Nish. ‘Give me the knife.’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Irisis. They all stared at her. ‘It’s the leg that’s broken, not my arm. I have a steady hand and a good eye.’

Those who had seen her coolly take the shard from Nish’s neck knew that. And her metal work was the best anyone had ever seen. Half the women of the manufactory wore jewellery Irisis had made in her spare time.

She had to perform the operation sitting, with her splinted leg out straight before her. It was rather awkward. Nish knelt on the other side, holding his father still, for even in his unconscious state Jal-Nish jerked and twitched.

It took surprisingly little time to remove the arm at the shoulder. Rahnd cauterised the wound with a metal plate off the clanker, heated over a fire of scrub branches. The smell was horrible. Worse, the searing shocked Jal-Nish back to consciousness. His screams could have been heard across the plateau, especially when Irisis began to sew his face back together. Three people had to hold him down.

‘Let me die!’ he kept shouting, his one eye staring at them, unblinking.

Finally the ghastly operation was done, the wounds painted with warm tar and bound up. They put Jal-Nish in the clanker with Irisis and Rustina, who had collapsed, moaning and holding her belly.

‘The beast struck her in the middle,’ said Nish. ‘Maybe it’s burst her belly.’ He pulled her clothes up and went still.

‘What is it?’ said Irisis.

Rustina was unmarked but for a set of old scars that carved all the way across her midriff. ‘Lyrinx claws. How did she ever survive? She must have been torn right open.’

‘She was only a child when it happened,’ said Fyn-Mah. ‘There was no possibility of her having children so she was allowed to join the army. All she’s ever wanted since was to kill the enemy.’

Ullii was still crouched behind her rock. Nish could get no response out of her, no matter what he did. He carried her to the clanker, whereupon she came to life and sprang out again.

‘He’s screaming!’ she moaned, though Jal-Nish, sedated with a heavy dose of nigah, was silent.

Nish let her go. He had no energy left for her.

On the way back they managed to right the crashed clanker, but the flywheels had torn from their mountings and the machine had to be abandoned. Ky-Ara sat beside it, weeping silently. The death of Pur-Did seemed a far lesser tragedy than the loss of his machine. Clanker operators rarely bonded with their shooters.

They buried Pur-Did in the gravel and put Ky-Ara in the good machine, but as soon as they clattered away he began to scream and wail, and had to be held to keep him from leaping out.

‘I can still see the clanker,’ said Ullii.

‘Of course you …’ Nish began, trudging beside her, before realising that she had her mask on. Besides, she was looking the other way. They had left the controller behind.

He ran back for it and, reaching in through the back hatch, passed the controller to Irisis. ‘Give him this.’

Cradling the controller in his arms, Ky-Ara fell silent. The bond between operator and clanker went through the controller, which was specifically attuned to both. A clanker whose operator was dead was just scrap metal until another controller could be fitted, or a new operator trained to use the old one.

It was a major handicap in battle, though better than the alternative, which would have allowed the enemy to turn a captured clanker on its own troops.

Ullii began to scream as soon as they crested the hill, even before they set sight on the dreadful scene at the snilau. ‘Waves through the body!’ she kept saying. ‘Waves of flesh.’

There they found carnage such as Nish had never seen before. More than forty human bodies lay strewn all around, clawed and rent worse than any Hürn bear would have done, as well as a dozen of the enemy. Fyn-Mah called Nish down to help check that all the lyrinx were dead, and to see if any of their troops remained alive.

‘Wait!’ cried a weak voice. Rustina climbed shakily out of the hatch.

‘I don’t think …’ Nish began.

‘They are my troops, artificer.’

There was no arguing with that. They checked the bodies one by one. Rustina called out the details of each, including the way they had died, Fyn-Mah wrote it down and they collected any valuables for the families. All the troops were dead and all their sergeants except for Rustina. The operators and shooters of the other clankers had also been slain. Gi-Had lay behind a low wall of ice blocks, where he had been defending a group of injured soldiers. As overseer, the man had been such a powerful presence. Now he lay lifeless on the red-stained snow and Nish was startled to realise what a small man Gi-Had had been, not much larger than Nish himself. Nish closed the half-frozen eyes and stood with head bowed, profoundly sorry. Despite the whipping, the overseer had been the best of men, in his way.

As he walked off, all Nish could think of was the parting scene at the manufactory: the pale wife, the five girls in a line, and the littlest one, with the red ribbons, crying. Daddy was not coming home.

Several soldiers had died recently, as much of the cold as their injuries. Arple, though suffering a dozen wounds, could not have been dead more than a few minutes. He had dragged himself to one of his troops, leaving a bloody trail, and his body was still warm. The most decorated soldier in Glynninar had met his match.

‘What were the lyrinx doing here?’ Nish said when the work was done and all the enemy bodies had been checked, warily.

Fyn-Mah looked around, lowered her voice and said, ‘We don’t know, but …’

‘Yes?’ Nish prompted.

‘It’s not the first time we’ve come across small groups inhabiting the most hostile places. Locations with no strategic value whatsoever, though usually at a powerful node.’

‘And it’s a most strange node here.’

‘Indeed. A double. We think …’ She broke off and walked rapidly toward the largest snilau, a multi-chambered one around which the others spiralled like the whorl of a snail shell. The side and roof of the main chamber had fallen in. They went through the hole, Nish with his sword at the ready as Fyn-Mah searched through the debris of ice blocks.

They found nothing in the larger chambers except rugs and furs, some laid over blocks of ice to form rude benches, chunks of frozen meat (not human), several leather buckets and a few other tools. However, in side rooms the querist discovered a series of cages. Some were empty; others contained small, unearthly-looking creatures. All appeared to be dead, yet Fyn-Mah inspected and described every one with meticulous care.