Alchymist (46 page)

Nish
stayed where he was for a moment, still thinking about his father and the
spell. What if Jal-Nish caught him and Flydd could not set him free? His father
would bind him with the spell and Nish would be forced to serve him, committing
all kinds of atrocities, to the end of his days. He might even become corrupt
and grow to enjoy that servitude, even to take pleasure in the suffering he
inflicted. Better that he hurl him-self over the precipice and leave Jal-Nish,
and his army, to their fate.

But
that wasn't an option either. He'd taken this task upon himself and could not set
it aside. Nish took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and moved on.

He
made it through the next patch of forest and into the main series of pinnacles
without incident, but had not gone a dozen steps before he realised that
something was different.

He
hesitated, then kept going. He had to act normally, in case the enemy could
tell he was there.

What
had changed, though? He hadn't yet lost the sight. He couuld still see the
robust, odd-shaped skeletons, the bodies bent in strange shapes to accommodate
themselves to the form of the rock. Occasionally he saw a heart pulse, or a claw.
It was hard not to look over his shoulder. It was very hard not to run, to
pant, to gasp. He was less than halfway through the maze, which was now more
difficult to negotiate, the moon being low. Shadows covered all but the tops of
the pinnacles.

What
was different? He strained his ears, as if to detect the racing heartbeats as
the lyrinx prepared to break out. There was no sound. Not a sigh of wind in the
trees; not a rustle in the grass; not the scuttle of animal feet on the rocks.

No
sound at all. Wild creatures could tell the danger better than he could. He
walked a little faster. Then, as he squeezed between two knife-edged blades of
stone, Nish heard it.

Crack-crack-crack.
That was not rock contracting in the night. It was rock being shattered from
the inside as a stone-formed beast came back to life and prepared to break out.

Nish
gasped. His head whipped from side to side. He saw nothing, but from ahead,
came that crack-crack again. In his mind's eye, enhanced by the tears, rock
cracked off the monstrous armoured bodies; leathery wings slowly unfurled into
the night. The lyrinx were coming.

He
began to run, but had not reached the end of the corridor of limestone
pinnacles when something pushed up in front of him like a statue rising from
the sea. Chunks of stone fell like hail. Great thewed arms rose slowly into
position; wings twice the height of Nish snapped taut. The head creaked around.

It
was moving sluggishly, as if the stone-forming spell was not completely undone.
Nish did the only thing he could think of. He dived between its spread legs,
hit the ground hard and scrabbled out of the way.

The
creature gave a drawn-out roar, tried to turn in that narrow space, and stuck.
Nish came to his feet, looking back to gauge his peril. The lyrinx was caught
at the hips. Kaising one mighty fist — slow, slow — it smote the pinnacle to
its left. The limestone snapped off halfway. Nish fled.

The
crashing continued behind him, which at least told Him where his enemy was. It
was more unnerving when it stopped, for then there was only the pounding of his
feet and ibe thumping in his chest. Until the footsteps began.

The
lyrinx was after him. In the open it could run much faster than he could but,
within this maze of pointed rocks and bladed pinnacles, Nish might just have
the advantage. He could hear it crashing against the stone, snapping off the
fragile tips. Its armour gave it an advantage there.

He
turned left, found he was in a dead end and had to backtrack. Panic began to
seize him. This wasn't the way he'd come earlier, and the low moon only
illuminated the tips of the pinnacles. If he wasn't out of here before it set,
he'd never find the way.

Nish
went right but that led to another dead end. Letting out an inarticulate cry,
he retraced his steps, then edged down a corridor of stone so narrow that he
had to turn sideways to negotiate it. With luck it would hold the enemy back.

It
did not. Fully flesh again, his hunter rose up on its wings and flapped across
the spires directly towards him. Where could he go? A long straight lane, too
wide to hide in, ran ahead and behind. Nish stumbled down it, gasping for
breath. Spotting a crevice between a pair of low spires, he thrust himself into
it.

The
lyrinx turned this way and that, trying to see where he had gone. It climbed,
flapping noisily, then used the Art to hover for a few seconds. Its head turned
as it picked up the sound of his breathing. The creature glided towards him
then dropped, attempting to trap him in his hiding place, to crush him. Nish
threw himself deeper into the crack. The lyrinx came down hard into the
darkness. Rock cracked all around Nish and he was sure he was going to die.

The
lyrinx gave a muffled Ugh! and began to flail at the rock, hurling shards in
all directions. Wetness flicked against Nish's cheek. The claws of one
thrashing foot gouged scars across the soft limestone. He protected his eyes
with his hands. The great feet gained a purchase and the thighs flexed, hurling
the beast back into the air.

For a
second it was outlined against the moon, then it plummeted into the next row of
pinnacles, smashing them to fragments as its frantic wings beat back and forth.
A spike of stone hung from the low part of its belly where it had impaled
itself. The blade had gone in between the cracks in its armour.

Nish
couldn't tell if it was badly wounded, and didn't wait to find out. He bolted
along the corridor in front of him until he could no longer hear it. Then — crack,
crack — ahead of him, and now to even' side, more lyrinx were freeing
themselves. Had some master mancer among them decreed that it was time for the
ambush, or were they coming to get him? He staggered on. There was not for to
go now — he was almost through. Ahead, a last row of pinnacles guarded the rim
of the escarpment like a row of sentries.

They
were cracking open as he went by them, the lyrinx moving sluggishly as they
strained against the fading spell. One threw out a claw and almost hooked it
through his collar. A great fist, still partly stone-formed and as hard as
rock, caught Nish in the chest, knocking him off his feet. He struck the ground
on his back, the breath knocked out of him, and waited for his doom.

The
lyrinx was slow to move. The blow must have been accidental. He did not give it
the chance for another, but scuttled by it on hands and knees, came to his feet
and ran.

Nish
sprinted across the platform of white limestone and reached the cliff edge.
Where was the precipitous way down? He ran back and forth. The cracking grew
louder. Ah, there! As he gained the path, Nish looked back.

The
moon, just tipping the western horizon, shone across the field of stone,
illuminating a hundred thousand spikes, spires, pinnacles and blades of limestone.
It was beautiful, for the tips and edges were as translucent as milk. In many
of them he could see the bones of the stone-formed creatures.

A
single clap of thunder reverberated across the valley, and before his eyes the
spires began to burst open in waves that spread from one end of the pinnacle
field to the other. Lyrinx thrust their heads high, moving as sluggishly as
chickens just hatched from eggs. The moonlight caught their eyes, dozens of
them, hundreds, thousands upon thousands, and still they emerged, stone into
flesh.

The
first lyrinx lifted, flapping ponderously, evidently still weighed down by the
spell. Nish felt an internal sucking, which his charged senses knew was due to
the creatures draw-on the field to keep them aloft. Within a minute, dozens
were lurching into the sky.

'Soldiers,
wake! Nish roared, bolting down the perilous goat track, screaming so loudly
that it tore at the flesh of his throat. He gave no further thought to
Jal-Nish. 'Wake, wake!

Ambush!
The enemy are upon us. The lyrinx are coming down from the heights. Soldiers,
wake. Xabbier, Xabbier!'

Nish
never knew how he got down, and later, looking at the cliff in daylight, could
not believe that he had. The previous time it had taken nearly an hour; this
journey he completed in a scant ten minutes, leaping off boulders, skidding
down loose gravel in miniature landslides, scarcely looking where he put his
feet, giving his fate up to instinct. And, perhaps because his senses had been
so enhanced by the tears, he had made it unscathed, apart from a badly wrenched
knee where a stone rolled underfoot when he was nearly down.

He
was still roaring hysterically when he reached the bottom. The camp was alive,
the highly disciplined soldiers running to their formations, the watch-fires
stirred to blazing brilliance. The great war machine had been alerted just in
time and was grinding into battle position.

'Soldiers!
Wake!' Nish kept shouting long after there was any necessity for it. 'Xabbier!
Lieutenant Xabbier!'

A
soldier caught him by the arm. 'Come this way please, surr.'

He
ran, pulling Nish after him. Nish's mind was ablaze with that image of the
enemy streaming into the sky. He could still see the skeletons through their
flesh.

The
soldier stopped by a blazing pyre. Xabbier stood there, tall and broad as a
door, rapping out orders. He sent his troops off and turned to Nish.

'Cryl-Nish,
that was you brought the alarm?'

'Yes,'
Nish said hoarsely. It felt as though he'd screamed his throat out.

Xabbier
took Nish's two hands in his, squeezing hard. 'Never was a warning more
welcome.' He looked up at the sky, now full of wheeling lyrinx, touched by the
setting moon.

Nish
tried to estimate the number. More than ten thousand, surely, and still they
cracked out of the pinnacles. There could be twenty thousand of them, even
thirty. Not all would be fliers, of course, but those who weren't could come
down the cliffs more quickly than he had Cold fear dripped down Xish's back.
And if there were more on the other side of the valley . ..

'We'll
talk afterwards,' said Xabbier. 'If there is one! Are you armed, Cryl-Nish?'

'No,
I didn't think to bring a weapon. Stupid, isn't it?'

Xabbier
sprang through the rear hatch of a clanker and tossed out a metal helm, a set
of chest and back armour made of hardened leather, and a long dagger in a
sheath. Nish buckled the helm under his chin — it fitted well enough. Taking
off the forgotten skin of beer, he put the armour over his shoulders, settling
it in place. It was made for a bigger man than he, but protected his body,
shoulders and upper arms without encumbering him too greatly.

The
lieutenant passed Nish a short, dark sword. 'This has a virtue set on the blade
and may even penetrate the'armour of a lyrinx, if you strike a lucky blow.'

Nish
buckled it on. 'I'm not much of a hand with a sword, Xabbier, but I can shoot a
crossbow well enough.'

'I've
none in my squad, unfortunately. Ready?'

Nish
took a hefty swig from the skin of beer. It no longer tasted sour; it was just
what the situation required. He downed half and held it out to Xabbier.

The
lieutenant shook his head, then said, 'Why not? It'll probably be my last.' He
squeezed a stream into his mouth, grimacing at the taste. 'Ugh! I hope that's
not my last memory of beer. Bring it. Fighting lyrinx is thirsty work.' He
looked up at the sky. 'How many are they?'

'Ten
thousand, at least,' Nish replied. The wheeling creatures now darkened the sky.
'Maybe twenty or thirty, counting the ones climbing down the cliffs.'

'So
many? Why didn't they attack head-on?'

'Perhaps
they're afraid Jal-Nish has a secret weapon. Or they've some weakness we don't
know about.'

'I
hope so. Come this way.'

xabbier's
position was high enough for the fires to outline the shape of the surrounding
valley and reflect off the screams. The camp lay at the upper part of the
valley, which was a tilted bowl about a league across, mostly pasture land with
patches of trees here and there. A pair of streams divided the width of the
valley into thirds, though the camp lay in the southern third. Each stream was
ten or fifteen paces across and, though not deep, was fast enough to cause
trouble for a man weighed down with armour and weapons. The jagged escarpments
to east, south and north formed the steep sides of the bowl, the tilted western
side the valley entrance. The rocky neck midway down the valley could not be
seen in the dark. They might escape that way if the enemy failed to defend it,
though that seemed unlikely.

The
lieutenant led Nish to the troop he commanded, called out his name and gave
final orders. The soldiers assumed defensive positions behind their clankers.

'Who
the blazes picked this place?' said Nish. 'If the lyrirrx come up the valley,
as surely they must, we'll be trapped.'

'Your
father chose it,' said Xabbier, 'against the advice of his generals.' 'Why?'

'He
failed to communicate his strategy to his officers.' 'Where's my father's
tent?' Nish had no idea where Xabbier had taken him on his previous visit.