Thirty

'They're coming!' someone bellowed.

 Nish scrambled up onto the shooter's platform of the nearest clanker, trying to get a picture of what was happening.

There were lyrinx everywhere, falling from the sky so thickly that they could not be counted. They seemed to come out of nowhere, and thousands more were swarming down the escarpments.

And, Nish saw, they fell most thickly further up the valley, above the officers' tents. It was the tactic they'd used in the battle for Nilkerrand, wiping out the commanding officers in a few minutes, then routing the leaderless army. Troist had gained his command that way.

There's too many, Nish thought despairingly. Unless Jal-Nish used his magic immediately, this was going to be a massacre. Another wedge of lyrinx were falling further down the valley, to bottle them in. They would try to drive them into the fires. Any who escaped would be forced into the streams or up against the escarpments. When Troist finally arrived, he would enter a valley of the dead, and the enemy would finish the story with him. Better that he hadn't brought Troist here at all, than bring him into this.

'Don't lose hope, Cryl-Nish,' said Xabbier as if reading his thoughts. 'We're a tough force—'

Suddenly the lyrinx were everywhere, landing in the darkness all around them, bounding down the lower slopes of the escarpments and running up the valley from the west.

Nish drew his sword, shrugged the armour into place and prepared to fight and die. The beasts roared their drawn-out battle howls, each with a vibrating whip crack at the end, then charged.

There came a shriek from further up the slope. Nish's hair bristled, for no human throat could have made that sound, nor lyrinx either. The enemy froze where they stood, then every head turned towards the source, as if on wires.

Nish stood up on his toes on the platform, but was not high enough to see. The sound went on and on. It was coming from the direction of the command tents, and his father's tent, where the lyrinx clustered as thickly as bats in a fruit tree.

A violet light appeared in the centre of the command area and began to swell like a balloon. The lyrinx surrounding it rose in the air and hovered, as if resting on the surface of a transparent dome. The violet surface developed spines like those of a sea urchin, and they slowly extended out and up, pushed by a metallic silver sphere whose surface roiled like the surface of the tears.

Nish felt the heat-cold again, and again that charging up of his unknown inner senses. Here and there, a violet spine touched one of the hovering lyrinx, which fell from the sky in flames. They did not seem able to move out of the way.

So Jal-Nish did have a secret weapon — his Art was bolstered with the tears. Nish prayed he would succeed; and prayed he would fail, too. His father was an evil man and the more power he gained, the worse he would become. But if he failed, it must be the end for everyone here.

It didn't look as though he was going to fail. More lyrinx fell, impaled on the thousands of violet spines that now bristled upwards and outwards like spikes on a helmet. The enemy seemed to be drawn to the spines like moths to a lantern.

That drawn-out, inhuman shriek came again. The roiling dome swelled prodigiously and more spines formed, until they might have numbered as many as all the lyrinx on the battlefield.

'I don't know how he's doing it,' said Xabbier, 'but he's luring them in.'

'He's going to beat them.' Nish said to the shooter, a rangy, balding redhead who was standing up behind his javelard, gaping.

All at once the shriek was cut off. The dome set and the violet needles froze. A great black Iyrinx spiralled down into the firelight above the command tents and hovered there, its head thrust down, wings beating slowly.

'What's going on?' Xabbier called from below. 'I'm not sure,' Nish yelled back. 'Got a spyglass?' Xabbier snapped an order and shortly a stubby brass ocular was passed up. Climbing to the top of the javelard frame, Nish focussed the glass.

'It's an enormous, black, golden-crested lyrinx, hovering above the dome just out of javelard range. It must be a mancer of surpassing power — I can feel it drawing down the field from here.'

'What's it up to? Quick, Nish! These lyrinx aren't going to stay quiet for long.'

'It's fighting against Jal-Nish's Art. It seems to be holding him for the moment. It must be incredibly powerful — I've never heard of a lyrinx that could fly and do great magic at the same time.'

The struggle went on. No one said a word. The dome swelled, contracted then swelled again. The violet rays pushed up thickly towards the mancer-lyrinx, almost touching him. Nish held his breath. So very close — there could only be a span between life and death for the mighty creature.

He felt a psychic sucking as the field was drawn down. Then the mancer skin-spoke, his whole body inverting in an instant from coal-black to brilliant white, and back to black. Triumph, or despair? Nish couldn't tell. The violet spines crept up again until they almost reached his armoured chest. Father's going to do it, Nish thought. He'll defeat the crea-ture and the battle will be over before it's begun. The thought did not fill him with joy. After such a victory Jal-Nish would be unstoppable. It could change the world, if the tears really were that powerful.

Once more the mancer-lyrinx flashed black-white-black, This time the spikes were pushed down a fraction. Nish felt weary from watching the struggle.

Again he experienced that psychic sucking, as if the field had been drawn swirling through a plughole. Nish's skin prickled. Suddenly Jal-Nish's roiling dome shrank, shrank again, and the violet spines thinned almost to nothing. The golden-crested lyrinx drifted down, and through the spyglass Nish could see its hands making patterns in the air. The dome was crushed down, down towards the tears from which it came.

'The lyrinx appears to have your father's measure after all,' Xabbier said quietly. He had climbed up unnoticed and now stood beside the red-haired shooter.

'I'm afraid so—'

The atmosphere seemed to charge up. Discharges wavered in the air from every metal object and the violet spikes shot up as if it had all been a ruse. One almost skewered the mancer-lyrinx, who twisted out of its way, moving his hands furiously in denial. Black-white, black-white, black-white,, black\

With a tearing shriek, the dome split along its circumference. The air thrummed and a white disc of light roared up vertically, bright as the sun, sharp as a razor.

The great lyrinx somersaulted in the air, avoiding the scything blade. Some were not so lucky. Nish saw a hovering lyrinx cut clean in two, the parts continuing to float for a few seconds before falling out of the sky. Other lyrinx lost wings, limbs, heads.

The golden-crested lyrinx raised its arms, then plunged them down, pointing directly at the centre of the dome. The thrumming grew louder, more urgent, before cracking as the white disc shattered and vanished like smoke.

Nish felt another drain on the field and now, under the mancer-lyrinx's overwhelming power, the dome was crushed down and down, until it was no bigger than a wagon, a barrel, a melon. He lost sight of it. No — it swelled momentarily and again that bladed disc of white light roared out, but this time it was forced horizontally, low to the ground. Though it had no effect on the hovering lyrinx, it made a deadly scythe through the tents, the generals and their elite guard, extended out a hundred and fifty spans, faded then vanished.

The roiling dome imploded in a crash of thunder that reverberated off the cliff walls. Nish had to block his ears. It, was over and Jal-Nish had lost ruinously. Smoke belched into the sky. Whatever happened next, as hundreds of lyrinx fell on the survivors at the command tents, Nish did not see 'It's the end!' he said softly to Xabbier. 'No one could sur-ve such an onslaught, not even with the tears.' 'Then let's make a good account of ourselves before we die,' said Xabbier.

Nish had no time to dwell on his father's fate, for at that instant the lyrinx charged. As he drew his sword, the inner sight that had been with him ever since he'd touched the tears, and had allowed him to see the stone-formed lyrinx, faded away. He was glad to see it go. It had felt wrong — like wearing another man's underwear.

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.