Alchymist twoe-3

by Ian Irvine

  Could it be another vision arising from the touch of the tears? He did not think so, for everything else was diamond clear. He inspected the pinnacle on his right. The claws of its stone-formed occupant were extended towards him, and they seemed to twitch.

  He wanted to scream and run. Closing his eyes, Nish concentrated on showing no reaction. Could it know he'd seen it And if it did, how quickly could it react? The lyrinx might take hours to break out of its lithic state. Alternatively, it might come out in an instant.

  No terror Nish had previously felt was the equal of this. He was alone in the midst of a mighty enemy force, an ambush and his arrogant father had walked right into it. If so many lyrinx fell on Jal-Nish s army in the night without warning, as surely they planned to, they would annihilate it.

  What colossal magic it must have taken to stone-form tens of thousands of lyrinx so effectively. Nish could not imagine such power. His gaze wandered to the top of the spire of stone. It wore, where the grey rock was outlined against the sky, a faint yellow nimbus. The other pinnacles looked the same.

  Nish hurried on. His mouth was dry; his fingers, hanging at his sides, were locked into claws. He dared not look back, for fear that some great beast would shatter its stone refuge and come lunging out of the darkness. He could practically feel its breath on the nape of his neck.

  Should he go on to Flydd and Troist, or carry the warning back to Xabbier? Never had he held such responsibility. If he chose wrongly, thousands would die.

  Somewhere behind him, a piece of rock snapped. Nish let out a muffled cry, thinking they were coming after him. He closed his eyes and hastened into the next tunnel of darkness, which was worse. Even with his eyes closed, he could see lyrinx skeletons everywhere. They had the faintest luminosity and were blurred, as if shivering.

  Or were they preparing to break out, en masse, and attack his father's army in darkness? The box valley would become a slaughterhouse whose streams would carry more blood than water.

  Jal-Nish's army was alert, the watch-fires bright, so the enemy could not take them by complete surprise. But there were too many lyrinx for the army to fight alone. They would have no chance unless he warned Troist, and he had to do it light away. Troist's army would have to do a forced march through the night, cloaked, to reach the neck of the valley in time. He could only hope that the enemy would take ages to break free from their stone-formed state and assemble into battle formation. It took all Nish's courage to keep walking and look neither right nor left. The cracking sound was not repeated. It might have been the stone contracting in the cool of night. He con-centrated on taking one step after another, doing nothing suspicious. How good were lyrinx senses in this stone frozen state? Could they sense what was going on outside, or were their brains as petrified as their bodies?

  Ahead, the open ground was brilliantly lit by the moon. He could not move across unseen if there were winged sentries on high, and dared not take the time to go around. Should he run, or creep like a spy?

  The lyrinx had poorer eyesight than humans in daylight, but better at night. Nish walked out into the brightness, trudging like a lookout at the end of a long patrol, and his weariness was not feigned. Above, he thought he heard the whisper of air across leathery wings. He stopped, mid-stride, looked around and kept going. That was hard. A diving lyrinx would kill him before he realised it was there.

  Again that whisper. He kept going, gaining the shelter of the next pinnacle without further incident. This one was just rock; no inner bones. Stepping into the shadow, he looked up. Was that something in the tree; a shadow of wings? No, just a shape made by the branches. The sound must have been an owl.

  There was nothing to be seen, no matter how carefully he looked, but something was different. Though Nish had no talent for the Art, he could feel a subtle strain and a distortion of the darkness, which he imagined was a drain in the ethyr.

  There was still quite a way to go. Ahead lay the open area, sparsely studded with rock pinnacles. Beyond that was a strip of forest, the cleared expanse with the first set of pinnacles, and, further on, the other wood beyond which Troist's army lay hidden under its cloaking spell. He prayed that it still held.

  Each step seemed to take an hour, but he made it across into the forest, and through it to the next pinnacle field. As he stepped into the rustling grass on the other side, something sharp jabbed him in the back.

  'Don't move, spy, or you're dead.'

  Nish went very still. 'I'm not a spy.' he said in a low voice. 'I'm Cryl-Nish Hlar and I've been on a secret mission for the scrutator.'

  The spear point went through his clothes, breaking the skin above his right buttock. 'Is that so?' the soldier hissed. 'Then explain why Scrutator Flydd has got the whole camp looking for you.'

  'I.., don't know.' For once Nish could not think of a single excuse. I think you'd better take me to him, soldier.'

  'I'm going to. If you try to escape, my friend, you'll get this right up your liver.'

  By the time they found Flydd, who was with General Troist, Nish had half a dozen throbbing gouges in his back, low down, and one in each buttock. He made a mental note to return the favour, if he ever got the opportunity.

  'Where the bloody hell did you get to?' the scrutator said furiously as Nish was prodded into the clanker.

  'I found him sneaking through the forest, surr,' said the soldier, giving Nish another jab in the bum for good measure. 'He's been spying—'

  'I have vital news, surr,' Nish interrupted. 'It can't wait for anything.'

  'Thank you, soldier,' Flydd interrupted. 'That will be all.'

  Nish waited until the man had gone, then moved gingerly into the centre of the clanker.

  'Well?' snapped Flydd.

  'I've just escaped from my father.'

  'What?' cried Flydd and Troist together.

  'You bloody fool!' Flydd went on. 'This is the end, Nish. If you've given us away, I'll hang you with your own intestines—'

  'I didn't mean to go anywhere. I was all knotted up inside, and couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk and—'

  'This had better be good, Artificer,' growled Troist.

  'It's important, surr,' cried Nish. 'The fate of an army hangs on my news.'

  'And the fate of a man on my whim,' Flydd said darkly. "Spill it, Nish, and be quick about it.'

  Nish explained how he'd come to leave the camp and end up near the escarpment, what he'd seen there and how he'd fallen into Jal-Nish's hands, and then, what his father had said and done to him. Flydd and Troist exchanged glances and Nish knew they believed him. 'But surr,' Nish dropped his voice, 'there's something I must speak to you privately about.'

  'I'm sure it's nothing that General Troist can't hear.’

  Nish hesitated. 'I.., believe it is, surr.' He looked anxiously from one man to the other. 'It has to do with a remarkable form of the Secret Art, if you take my meaning.'

  'I've a hundred things to do before the morrow,' said the general. 'Not to mention getting a few minutes' sleep. I'll leave you for the moment.' He went out.

  'Get on with it!' Flydd snarled. 'And don't ever do such a stupid thing again or you'll suffer more than a spear point in the bum.'

  Nish moved close, speaking softly. 'My father has the tears of the node, surr. Both of them.'

  'So it was Jal-Nish,' Flydd breathed. 'He killed them all: the soldiers, the dogs and the poor pilot, to make sure no one would ever know. And no one would have. As the node cooled, the walls would have collapsed and buried any remains. Tell me, what was Jal-Nish like?'

  'Cold; bitter; implacable. I could make no impression on him, but one thing was clear—'

  'Yes?' Flydd rapped.

  'He wants to be chief scrutator, and to revenge himself on his enemies, particularly Irisis.'

  And me.'

  'No, surr.'

  'Why not?' cried Flydd as though it was a mortal insult.

  'I told him you were dead, surr. Of blood poisoning.'

  'You what?'r />
  'Dead, surr. As a maggot!' Nish took a wry pleasure in put-ting it that way.

  'Why?' snapped Flydd. 'Who gave you leave to lie to a scrutator?'

  It seemed like a good idea at the time, surr' Did it now?' Flydd considered. Perhaps it was. So Jal-Nish has the tears. What for, I wonder? He cannot be allowed to command the scrutators. They have more power at their disposal than anyone realises, even without these glorious, perilous tears. Tfell me everything he said.'

  Nish related what had happened. 'And at the end, he thrust my hands into the tears, and I felt the most extraordinary sensations. Everything that was black became white, each colour took on the hue of its opposite. I saw right through to the bones of my father's arm and he said, "I have woken you, Cryl-Nish!".' 'Go on.'

  'He said, "You'll see horrors no one has ever seen before.

  You'll hear what has previously been unheard. And you'll feel — well, I leave that to you to discover. The gift of the tears is not predictable. But you'll know what it is like to suffer. You will know what it is like to be your father, as you stand beside me for the rest of your life."'

  Flydd took a step backwards, regarding him uncertainly.

  then he just let you go?'

  'No — he was behind me, casting some kind of spell. His tabble contained all sorts of alchymical apparatus — stills, retorts—'

  'I should have thought of that,' muttered Flydd. 'What is it, surr?'

  His particular Art is alchymical in nature, and what better By to enhance it than through the tears, which represent nature's purification and distillation of the essence of a node.

  They would fit his Art like a glove. It's worse than I thought.

  The tears could make him too powerful. What did he do then?'

  'He cast his spell, to corrupt me and make me his servant, but it didn't take.'

  'Not even with the power of the tears?' said Flydd, aston-ished. 'Why ever not?'

  'I've no idea, but he seemed disconcerted. He had to do it three times.'

  He's not not yet mastered the tears, evidently. And then?' 'He forced an aichymical potion down my throat…What is it, su rr?' Flydd was looking at him suspiciously.

  And then?'

  'Father ordered Xabbier to take me to the brig and hold me in solitary confinement until the morning, so the spell would have time to set. But Xabbier had heard all he'd said and done to me. He forced me to vomit up the potion right away.'

  'He did?' Flydd said gladly. 'I'd like to meet this friend of yours.'

  'I hope he's still alive. When Jal-Nish finds out …' Nish related how Xabbier had helped him to escape.

  'I see. Is that all?' Flydd seemed to be regarding him ambiguously.

  'Not quite.'

  'I can't imagine anything worse.'

  'I was coming back, through a great field of limestone pinnacles,' Nish began, 'which lie near the edge of the escarpment. The tears must have changed me, somehow, for I realised that I could see right into the stone. But it was not stone inside.'

  Flydd was staring at Nish as though seeing him in a new light. 'What did you see, Nish?'

  'I saw the skeletons of lyrinx, and their beating hearts. Uncounted thousands of them lie hidden within stone pinnacles above the southern escarpment, near the army camp and,, for all I know, as many on the eastern and northern sides. The beasts must have been stone-formed, surr. It's an ambush and, if we don't warn him, Jal-Nish's army will be annihilated to the last man.'

  Flydd threw his arms around Nish, hugging him to his scarred and scrawny chest. As abruptly he let go. 'Would that I had a son, and you were he.'

  Nish's hands fell by his sides; he was astounded, and so proud that his eyes flooded with tears. He wasn't a complete failure after all.

  Before he could say anything Flydd ran to the hatch, bellowing, 'Troist, quickly!'

  The general threw himself in. What is it, surr?' The enemy are between us and Jal-Nishs army. They've stone-formed themselves into limestone pinnacles above the main camp. It's a trap. Break camp; we must leave immediately and march through the night to Gumby Marth.' 'How many were there?' said Troist.

  'I couldn't be sure,' said Nish. 'Tens of thousands, like as not.'

  'Why this way?' said Troist. 'Why not fly in an army at night, from across the sea?'

  'Most lyrinx aren't fliers,' said Flydd. 'They wouldn't have enough of them to attack an army this size. And even a short flight would weaken them. This way they can appear out of nowhere, without warning. And remember the fliers we saw near the exploded node, Nish? They may have guessed Jal-Nish has the, er . . , secret weapon, and know they have to ambush the army to succeed. I'd better check the cloaker.

  The original spell wasn't designed for this big a force, or an enemy so near, and it would take a dozen mancers working together to make it so.'

  'It was still holding the last time I spoke to Nutrid,' said Troist.

  'It could feather around the edges without him knowing.

  Besides, the enemy's stone-forming must take much from the field. If it's drawn down too far, the cloaker won't conceal us.'

  'We'll march at once.' Troist threw up the rear hatch, snapped orders to a messenger waiting outside and turned to the chart on the table. 'What if we head west, this way, and cross into Gumby Marth below the neck? When the enemy attack, they'll hold it, so as to trap Jal-Nish's forces inside. If you keep the escapeway open, the army will have a chance.'

  How far is it?'

  Troist was busy with his dividers. 'It's four leagues before we can get into the valley, then another two back to the neck. A brutal forced march and the clankers will be slower than the men.'

  ‘Can we do it by mid-morning?' said Flydd.

  'We have to find a way through rugged country in the dark. I don't know how long it'll take.'

  'Try very hard, General. If we're too late, there won't be any point.'

  'We'll do our best, surr, though we won't be in prime condition when we get there.'

  'Just as long as we do get there. And we'll have to send someone to warn Jal-Nish. Someone he'll believe.'

  Nish's skin crawled, but he knew duty when it faced him. 'I — I'd better go, surr.'

  'I need you here,' said Flydd.

  'Do you think I want to go? It's a tricky passage through the pinnacles in the dark, and the path down the escarpment is not easily found. We can't risk the messenger getting lost. The enemy could be breaking out already.'

  'If they are, you're dead, Nish.'

  'And so is everyone else.'

  'I won't risk it,' said Flydd. 'Jal-Nish could be calling you back.'

  'I don't think so. When he did it before, it made my skin tingle.'

  'He's cunning, Nish. He might change the compulsion each time. And once he sees you again, you'll be powerless to escape him.'

  'Then you'll have to free me, surr.'

  'I still don't like it.'

  'I've got to warn them, surr I — I've a lot to atone for.'

  Flydd stared at Nish for a second, then nodded. 'Yes, go!' He gave him his hand. 'I hope we meet again.'

  'So do I,' said Troist. 'I really do. Take this.' He handed Nish a piece of rolled flatbread stuffed with spiced ground meat, and a skin of sour beer, the weak kind soldiers were given on I the march when the water was not fit to drink. 'Ill send someone with you to the edge of the watch.'

  'I'd appreciate that, surr.' Nish munched on the roll. 'My backside isn't feeling so hot.'

  He felt better with food in his belly. The beer did not improve matters, however, so after a couple of swigs he slung it over his shoulder for later. The guard, a small man whose brreath whistled in his nose, said no word ail the way through the forest and into the pinnacles beyond. At their furthest edge he left Nish silently.

  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, committin
g 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.

  Twenty-nine

  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.