Alchymist (52 page)

The
sergeant grinned and thrust out a hand. 'We'll do it, surr. Death or glory!'

The
whole army sighed as Nish clasped the callused hand. He addressed the
sergeants. 'Then let's get to it. I want an advance guard, a third of our
number. Not your best fighters but the fleetest and wiliest of them, for
they've got to put on a good act. They'll attack, accompanied by a hundred and
fifty clankers, but the machines will be driven as though there's barely enough
power. The rest of the army is to hang back, breaking lines and generally
looking afraid.'

'We
won't have to put on an act,' Lemuir said dryly.

'When
the attack is almost to the enemy lines, the clankers will grind to a stop, as
if there's not power to drive them. The shooters will scream out in panic. The
soldiers will fight for another minute, then everyone will turn and flee as rabble.

The
lyrinx will, I hope, follow them. If they do take the bait, we attack when
they'r right out of the neck and hit them with most of our remaining clankers
and our biggest, toughest fighters. The fleeing advance guard will run to the
rear, rearm and reform. Sergeants of the advance guard, ready your troops.' A
number of the sergeants ran off.

'You'
Nish said to a lanky, long-legged messenger, mounted on a stubby roan, 'run
down to the clankers. Make sure the remaining operators and their troops know
to act panicky, but if the attack succeeds, they are to form into a wedge
behind my clanker. We'll drive straight at the lyrinx with all but fifty
clankers and half our troops. Sergeants, put your best and biggest along the
wings, the others behind.' He issued detailed orders for that attack then,
'Should we break through, we'll make for the river and ford it at the meanders.
Get ready!'

The
remaining sergeants and signallers turned away. The advance formation came
together quickly. They were a disci-plined force but Nish was pleased to see
they were acting as if on the verge of mutiny. Overacting, he thought, but the
enemy could hardly tell that from their lines. He estimated the enemy numbers
again. They might have been as many as ten thousand now. He'd lost well over a
thousand in the earlier fighting, for he had less than nine thousand men and
nine hundred clankers. So few.

Nish's
ultimate plan depended on the strength of the field, or rather its weakness. It
required a lot of power for the lyrinx to fly. If he could get his soldiers
across the river they would have the advantage, given the lyrinx fear of water.
But if there was enough in the field they'd fly across the river, attack again
and his army must be defeated. 'They're ready, surr,' said a signaller beside
him. Nish checked. 'Go!'

The
advance guard charged. He held his breath, for the enemy completely blocked the
neck and were so numerous that his troops might simply be annihilated. A hail
of bolts and javelard spears fell on the lyrinx but made very little
difference. They held the line until Nish's soldiers were within spear-throwing
distance. Many lyrinx fell, but more of his troops.

"Turn
now,' he groaned aloud, seeing what deaths he'd sent his men to. They kept on.

The
clankers creaked to a halt, their shooters crying wildly to each other as if in
panic. What if they were, and it spread? The operators lurched their machines
around. The soldiers screamed, threw their weapons away and fled. Nish's nails
dug holes in his palms. It was all too convincing.

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.

Stay
calm,' he yelled, firing his javelard. 'We'll be all right. General Troist
can't be far away now.'

Nish
had never seen the operator's face, just a pointed nose, dark hair thinning at
the crown and no chin at all. It sounded as if the field was about to fail. He
looked back; the battered lyrinx were close behind and gaining. How quickly
they'd overcome their fear.

The
open land on the far side of the river was empty, though in the distance he saw
other groups of soldiers and clankers. More were coming out of the trees, and
from other hiding places, now that they saw some hope. On the whole, Nish
couldn't blame them. He did not see any enemy over there, thankfully.

'Pull
up,' he ordered as the clankers approached a cut in the bank that marked the
ford. The army hadn't gone across yet. Standing up on the shooter's platform,
hanging on with one hand as the machine bounced and lurched across the uneven
ground, Nish signalled to his clankers to form a defensive fan. Once that was
in place, and it was pitifully thin, he signed to the main body of the army,
'Go across.'

The
soldiers, accompanied by the leading clankers, began to move into the water.
Further up the hill, the lyrinx were regrouping. Nish considered his one
remaining spear and shivered. 'Hoy?' he yelled to the blood-covered shooter on
the next clanker. 'Got any missiles left?'

The
man shook his head. Nor did the one after, nor the one after that. Nish
signalled the clankers that had crossed the river to fan out and ready their
javelards, in case the enemy broke through his line. It would take fifteen
minutes to get the remainder of the army across and his small rearguard would
be lucky to survive that long.

Springing
down, he scoured the ground for missiles. The pebbles were too small, though
closer to the river there were flat stones the size of oranges. He gathered a
couple of basketfuls and packed stones into the leather bucket of the catapult.
The other shooters did the same. There was no telling where they would fly, but
it was better than that desperate feeling of being defenceless.