The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (72 page)

The ice chunks shattered and pink fire went everywhere,
spreading along the track for spans and flaming up around the atatusk’s feet.
It did not affect the track but the atatusk leapt out of the way, emitting
screeching cries and beating at the flames that speckled their feet.

It kept them back for another minute or two, giving Nish
time to gather another bucket of ice. By the time he’d run back with it, they
were clearing the path with sweeps of their long arms and he knew the ploy
would not work a second time, but he had thought of another way to attack them.

Tying a length of rope to the shafts of two spears, he
coiled it neatly in the middle so it would not tangle and fitted both spears
into the firing groove, their heads slightly diverging.

Aiming at the band of atatusk, he fired and the spears shot
out, one angling to the left of the atatusk, the other to their right. The rope
pulled taut between the spears, struck the leading two atatusk at neck height,
and the momentum of the heavy spears slammed them backwards into the ones
behind, knocking them off their feet.

Three of the creatures got up, looking shaky, but the other
two lay still, as if their necks were broken. It had gained the defenders
another minute, but they were few now. Beyl and four more of the militia were
still fighting, though the other seven were dead. Five lyrinx had fallen while
another lay on the track, kicking feebly.

‘Clech?’ Nish yelled. ‘We can’t hold them much longer.’

‘On the last rope,’ said Clech.

The three surviving atatusk had waited for the rest of their
troop and now formed a phalanx, armed with large rectangular shields and long
five-pointed spears, that would be almost impossible for the lyrinx to stop.

Nish roped up another pair of spears and fired again, but
the front line of the phalanx raised their shields together and the spears
glanced off, deflecting the rope over their heads. Only three javelard spears
remained and he could not afford to waste them.

‘We’re ready!’ Clech yelled.

Aimee was coming down the last rope. Clech had hold of the
other four and was heaving mightily, trying to raise the platform into place,
but his feet kept slipping on the soft track.

‘I need the flask,’ called Aimee.

Nish poured a few drops of pink fire into the catapult
bucket in case he got the chance to fling more ice, then leapt down and bounded
towards the opening, for he’d found that to be quicker than running here.

Clech threw his weight against the ropes but it had little
effect. ‘I’m too light this far in,’ he rumbled. ‘Never thought I’d say that.’

‘You’ll be heavier closer to the opening,’ said Nish as he
took hold of the ropes behind Clech.

‘The angle is too steep there; the ropes won’t pull through
the holes.’

Nish passed the flask to Aimee, who darted out to smear fire
around the edges of the platform.

‘Don’t forget to leave a gap for us to get out,’ he yelled.

She whirled and gave him the look, hands on hips, then
tossed her head and went to work. Clech chuckled.

Even with the two of them heaving, they could not raise the
platform, and Nish could feel the heavy breath of failure on the back of his
neck. ‘Ryll?’ he yelled. ‘Can you give us a hand?’

‘When we go through the little hole,’ said Clech casually,
‘what happens?’

‘We hang onto the rope until Tiaan comes to pick us up.’

‘What if she doesn’t?’

‘We fall to our deaths, eventually.’

‘Good-oh,’ said Clech. ‘Just so’s I know. I’d better make
some footholds, then, otherwise you landlubbers will fall off real quick.’ He
began to tie loops in the rope on the lower left-hand side of the opening.

Ryll and another lyrinx came running and took hold of the
ropes. Their toe claws gave them a much sounder grip yet, even with all their
strength, the platform rose slowly.

‘We need another two on the ropes,’ said Ryll, panting.

‘That would leave us almost undefended,’ said Nish.

‘If we don’t get it closed, we’ve lost.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Nish bounded back to the javelard.

The other paths were extending from all directions, steadily
converging on the opening, and each carried troop after troop of atatusk,
determined to take Santhenar. At their current rate of progress they would
arrive well before the opening was sealed.

 
FORTY-SEVEN

The atatusk were now close enough that Nish could fire
over the top of their shield wall, and with his last spears he took down three
of the enemy, but it made no difference. What else could he do? He couldn’t
take on the phalanx with a sword.

The surviving guards had come to the same conclusion,
evidently, for they were retreating to the entrance and heaving on the ropes.

Aimee was clinging to the barrier twenty spans up, applying
smears of pink fire to the two edges as the platform was pulled into position,
and cutting the dangling ropes. While Nish watched, the curved rent through the
wall began to smooth out and fade like a healing cut.
If a breach is made, the barrier yearns to repair itself
, Lilis had
said.

The lyrinx ran back to the defence, wrenching used javelard
spears out of dead atatusk and gathering up their five-pointed spears. As Aimee
scrambled down, the flask swinging by its thong, the phalanx broke into a run.
Despite the atatusk’s short legs and huge bodies, in the void they could move
rapidly.

Why had he delayed? Nish fired the burning ice in the
catapult bucket, but it was turned harmlessly aside on their shields.

‘Get moving!’ he bellowed, running back. ‘Through the
opening and onto the rope.’

The phalanxes on the other paths were also running now,
racing the leading troop to victory. The five lyrinx on the path made a wall
with their bodies, with Ryll in the centre, and Liett swooped down at the
leading phalanx, trying to hold them back. An atatusk in the middle pointed a
white mace at her, she wobbled in the air and shot off.

‘Come away,’ Ryll said hoarsely. ‘You know their mancers can
bring us down in flight.’

Liett ignored him, as Nish had known she would, for she was
the best flier among the lyrinx and, despite her lack of armour, she never held
back. She attacked again, striking recklessly between the spears at the
red-eyed atatusk with the mace.

The air around it shimmered; her wings missed a beat, she
fell sideways and three points of a spear plunged into her thigh. The atatusk
converged on her but she broke free and flapped away, trailing blood.

Ryll was staring at her, his chest rising and falling.
‘Liett!’ he said in an anguished voice.

Nish’s Gendrigorean troops were at the opening but it was a
slow squeeze through, and they had to be careful moving onto the rope. We’ll
never make it, Nish thought. The atatusk were too close, and coming too
quickly. And after they’ve killed us they’ll tear the barrier open again. We’ve
failed.

Liett must have thought so too, for she whirled in the air,
cried, ‘Fly, Ryll!’ and headed for the face of the phalanx.

Red jags burst from her fingertips, for she was an
accomplished mancer, and several shields burst apart. Momentarily the spears
pointed in all directions; she swooped on one of the atatusk, caught its head
in her toe claws and, though it must have been twice her weight, dragged it upwards.
It struck at her but she retracted her claws and dropped it onto the front of
the phalanx, which collapsed.

‘Go through, Nish!’ cried Aimee.

Only Aimee and Clech remained, and the lyrinx, but Nish
hesitated, watching the phalanx.

‘I’m leading this force,’ he said. ‘I’m not leaving anyone
behind.’

The phalanx swiftly reformed and, as Liett flapped away,
clearly exhausted, the red-eyed atatusk pointed its mace at her. Her wings
collapsed; she fell onto the track ten spans in front of them, hit hard and struggled
to get up.

‘Liett!’ Ryll roared, and ran towards her, swinging the
heavy javelard spear in both hands.

‘Haaiii!’ barked the red-eyed atatusk, and they all surged
forwards.

‘We can’t hold it open,’ someone shouted through the hole,
which was narrowing of its own accord.

‘You’ll have to,’ snapped Nish, as the lyrinx and atatusk
clashed furiously. Ryll was standing over Liett, whose purple blood had puddled
on the track. Green atatusk blood began to mix with it.

‘Go, Aimee,’ said Nish, and raised his useless sword.

‘Hey, what about that pink crystal Yulla gave you?’ said
Aimee.

He’d forgotten all about it. He dredged it out of his
pocket, half embedded in the screwed-up dimensionless box. ‘I’m not sure how
–’

Aimee shook her head at his stupidity, then poured the last
of the pink fire over the realgar crystal. Fire spilled down towards his hand;
Nish hastily tossed the crystal, now trailing white smoke, over the heads of
the lyrinx, at the closest atatusk. It bounced off one of its tusks and landed
behind Ryll and Liett.

The atatusk doubled over, coughing white smoke out of its
mouth and nostrils, then took a tentative step forwards, but fire enveloped the
crystal and white fumes belched up from it to hang in the air above the track,
then slowly spread across it, enveloping Liett, and Ryll up to his knees. The
other atatusk checked, but came on more slowly.

Ryll bent and lifted Liett, though before he could get back
to safety with her, the leading atatusk thrust and caught her in the belly with
the points of the spear. She convulsed and went limp.

Nish froze. ‘Liett?’ he said softly. Was she dead?

Ryll laid her down then, moving faster than the eye could
see, tore the spear from the atatusk’s grip and drove it through its open mouth
and out the back of its head. He wrenched it out, leapt at the enemy like a
berserker and, swinging the spear back and forwards like a club, knocked down
the creatures behind it, then hurled it at the next row.

Turning his back contemptuously, he lifted Liett and walked
into the white fumes with her, one hand pressed against the spear wounds in her
belly. As he emerged, the lyrinx separated to let them through, then bowed as
they passed, for Liett was a great favourite as well as their brave and noble
Matriarch. Her hand moved, her eyes fluttered; she was alive, but grievously
injured.

Nish glanced over his shoulder. Aimee was standing by with
the flask, for she would have to go through last and seal the hole. Or would
she? Clech was struggling to hold the gap open – the breach, yearning to
repair itself, was pulling closed and sealing.

‘Lyrinx, come through!’ Nish shouted.

Before they could follow Ryll to the hole, the phalanx
pushed into the cloud to attack. Nish held his breath; would the fumes do their
job?

The leading atatusk broke through the clinging white fumes.
The crystal had failed. But then an unseen atatusk let out a deep, shivering
squeal and suddenly the rest were choking and dropping their weapons and
shields as they scrambled backwards to safety.

A wisp of white fume coiled Nish’s way and he caught an
overpowering smell of garlic, followed by an acrid pungency that stung his nose
and eyes.

‘Keep away from the smoke!’ a lyrinx shouted.

Nish ran back to Ryll. Liett’s soft skin had gone
transparent, her bent wings had lost all colour and blood was still running
from her leg and belly. Ryll had his hand on her belly and was speaking words
of mancery, presumably a wound-sealing spell, but it did not seem to be
working. She was pale as snow and her lips were blue.

Nish went with them to the barrier. It was taking all
Clech’s strength to hold the opening, and he was straining upwards with all the
power of his legs to stop it from sealing itself.

‘Go through, Aimee!’ he choked. ‘I can’t hold it.’

‘Not without you,’ she said, unmoving.

There was no way out for him, or the lyrinx, for as soon as
he let go, the gap would snap closed. Now, beyond the fumes, the atatusk from
the rear of the phalanx were tramping over their fallen fellows, advancing with
spears held low and sweeping them from side to side across the track. Once they
knocked the crystal into the void the poisonous fumes would thin and there
would be nothing to stop them. And the atatusk on the other paths were only a
minute away.

‘Go!’ cried Clech to Aimee. ‘You too, Nish.’

Tears flashed in her eyes and she headed towards the
opening. Ryll followed, bearing Liett, but there was no way he could squeeze
through the hole before it closed.

The smoking crystal was knocked over the side and the
atatusk moved gingerly into the fumes, holding their breath. Their spear tips
appeared through the fumes. It was all over.

Only then did Nish think of the black glove and know that it
was time for the most desperate of measures. He shook it out of the
dimensionless box, carefully slid the fingers of his left hand inside, then
took up his sword with the right.

‘Pull the hole open as far as you can,’ he said. ‘I’ll hold
them off.’

It was, undoubtedly, the most reckless of the many reckless
things he had ever done, but Nish felt no fear this time. The enemy had to be
held back and he was the only one who could do it – if it could be done
at all.

As two lyrinx took hold of the hole and heaved it open a
little further, Nish headed for the phalanx, gloved fist clenched at his side
and sword up. An atatusk leapt for him, swinging a club. He parried it with his
sword then thought, here goes.

Springing forwards, he swung, opening his hand so the
dimensionless glove’s surface was flat. He couldn’t reach as high as the
atatusk’s head; instead he slapped it open-handed in the groin.

The very dimensions gave forth a shrill wailing as they
collapsed on contact. The atatusk screamed, dropped the club and tried to
clutch at its concealed organs, but they were drawn out of its body into the
surface of the dimensionless glove, progressively flattening into a gory sheet,
a skein of dripping threads, then disappearing completely.