by Ian Irvine
He'd seen soldiers hiding up there earlier though, if they were there now, they weren't coming out. There might well be thirteen thousand left alive but Xabbier would be lucky to round up three-quarters of them. And who could blame the others, after their second massacre in a month?
He spent another two hours scouring the battlefield, sending men and clankers across to Xabbier, appointing sergeants from any soldiers who had battle experience, and giving them their orders. He encountered lyrinx, though not many, for they had moved further down the valley, following the mass of the army. Nish used his javelard three times, killing two more of the creatures, and fired the catapult many times without doing any damage. It was only accurate in the hands of an expert.
Despite his earlier vow, he did stop for those wounded who had some chance of recovery. The seriously injured he had to leave where they lay, despite their piteous groans. He'd just lifted a cruelly wounded man, speared through the groin, when another called out to him. This fellow had his stomach torn open and was bound to die.
'I'm sorry,' Nish said, crouching beside him and giving him the last of the beer. 'I've no room left inside.'
'I'm dying anyway,' said the soldier, clutching at his wrist. 'Please, end it for me.'
Nish looked into the fellow's eyes and knew what had to be done but, despite his father, he could not do it. No matter how good the justification, killing the man to put him out of his misery was beyond him. He was sick to his heart of all the violence.
'I'm sorry,' he said, and had to walk away. For the rest of the day he could see the pain in the soldier's eyes, and the bewilderment.
The clanker was bursting with wounded by the time he finally reached Xabbier's staging post, having replenished his missiles from wrecked machines several times on the way. They were creeping along now, at little more than walking pace.
'What's the matter, Operator?' Nish called. He did not know the fellow's name. 'Can't you go any faster?'
'There's not much left in the field,' said the operator mournfully. Nish had yet to meet a cheerful one — the bond with the machine was so intense that all human interactions palled by comparison. 'It's been going down all morning. It's only a small node hereabouts and we've nearly drained it dry.'
Not surprising, given the number of clankers that had drawn on it, and lyrinx too, not to mention that great struggle between the golden-crested lyrinx and Jal-Nish. And if our clankers can barely move, he thought, Troist's won't be doing any better. But at least the enemy won't be able to attack us from the air.
A great mass of soldiers had gathered on a grassy mound, with smaller detachments grouped above and below. Rows of clankers defended them, some hundreds, but it was a pitiful remnant of the great army of yesterday.
The enemy had drawn off, for the moment. An army of lyrinx had collected under the trees near the closest stream, watching the scene. Nish had his operator drive the clanker up to Xabbier's flag.
I've done all I can.' He climbed down. 'I've sent across about four thousand men and a few hundred clankers.
'And I've gathered another six thousand,' said Xabbier, but that's not a quarter of those who were alive last night.'
'There are thousands of undamaged clankers with no operator to drive them,' said Nish, 'I saw a lot of soldiers further down the valley, across the second stream, though they were too far away to call back. There's no one left alive in the middle of the valley. At least, no one with a chance of living.' He saw that dying soldier's eyes again. 'There are so many injured, just dying there in the sun. And to go past and be able to do nothing for them …'
'It's cruel,' said Xabbier. 'But what can we do? If we stay to comfort them, more will die.'
'And all for the folly of one man, my father! How can I ever make up for it?' Nish knew he had to — the night, and the morning, had changed him forever, and he felt a need to atone for his father's crimes as well as his own blunders.
'You've already begun to,' said Xabbier, 'by what you've done last night and today.'
'It can never be enough,' said Nish. 'I can't bring the dead back to life.'
'Don't take on more than your due,' said Xabbier. 'Your father committed this terrible folly all by himself.' He looked burdened. 'I don't know what to do now. What do you think, Cryl-Nish?'
Why ask me? Nish thought. You're the soldier. But Xabbier hadn't commanded such a force in a rout either. 'We're low on spears,' Nish began, 'so I'd send a few clankers round the battlefield to pick up used ones. Then make our way down to the neck, fast as we can. The enemy have suffered terrible casualties, more than they must have expected, and their morale may be faltering.'
'Doesn't look that way,' said Xabbier.
'Well in bright sunlight they're slightly handicapped, but if we're not out of the valley come nightfall, there's not a man will be living in the morning.'
That was my plan too,' said Xabbier. 'And we can expect Troist's army before too long.' He sent the clankers off, then conferred with his sergeants. He gave orders and the signallers relayed them to the troops.
'We can hope for it,' Nish muttered.
The clankers returned, distributed the spears, and the army and escorting clankers set off. Before too long the bright sunshine was replaced by dark clouds sweeping in from the distant Sea of Thurkad. Raindrops pattered on the top of the clanker. Nish wiped his face, gloomily. Rain would disadvantage them and aid the enemy.
Soon they ran into heavy fighting. The army was quickly broken into struggling bands of soldiers and the leaders fell like flies. Nish had no idea what was going on, so he ducked through a line of fighting men and climbed a knoll. The soldiers were spread out all across this side of the valley and no one seemed to be leading them. He went back and forth in the clanker, issuing fruitless orders while he searched everywhere for Xabbier. There was no sign of him. He must have fallen in the assault.
Nish felt panic rising; this was going to be another massacre and at the end there wouldn't be a soldier left standing. He had to do something, hopeless though it was. He would try to rally the soldiers and get them down to the neck.
'Down there!' he ordered his operator. 'Take me to the front.'
The fighting was fierce; within minutes Nish had used all his spears. Rotating the javelard out of the way, he settled behind the catapult, wound it back a few extra notches and took aim at a band of lyrinx running towards him.
Nish pulled the release lever. The cords snapped, shaking the clanker, and the catapult ball rolled gently off the side.
'What's that?' cried the operator, peering fearfully up through the hatch. His 'crown of thorns' — a headband of wire and crystals that allowed him to control the clanker — hung askew over one ear.
'Catapult's broken' Nish said 'Keep going.’
Nish couldn't see the clankers with the extra spears, and could not go back for more without leaving his troops leaderless. His clanker was damaged and moving at less than walking pace so, ordering it back for spears, he slipped off the side, pulling out his bloodstained sword. He had learned more about sword play this morning than he had in the years of intermittent training at the manufactory. Every muscle throbbed, every bone ached, but he was inured to it now.
He fought his way down Gumby Marth, rallying the scattered bands of soldiers into a fighting force, and praying that when he topped the rise he would see Troist's army stretching before him. All he saw was more enemy and, despite the debilitating effects of stone-forming, in one-on-one combat they won more often than they lost.
At last he reached the opening of the neck with a dozen other soldiers. The survivors of the army were now close behind, at least, and their sergeants had them in hand. Here the valley was only a few hundred paces wide and cliffs hemmed them in on either side. A rocky ramp occupied the middle, over which the river, as it now was, roared in a series of cascades. There was room for the clankers and soldiers to pass down between the river and the cliff, though the broken country restricted movement to a few narrow passages,
each guarded by lyrinx. At least the army had the advantage of height, though several lyrinx had climbed the cliffs and could hurl rocks down at them.
The slope dropped away steeply for the length of a bowshot, then flattened out as Gumby Marth broadened again. Down there, patches of trees, and folds in the land, made ideal places for an enemy ambush. In the distance he could just make out the Sea of Thurkad, there close to its narrowest as it rushed towards the Karama Malama, the chilly Sea of Mists.
He scanned the lower valley, searching for the nine hundred clankers and thirteen thousand soldiers of Troist's army.
All he saw were lyrinx, thousands of them, holding the neck of the valley against him.
Thirty-two
It occurred to Tiaan that Minis might have come the other night in search of absolution. He wanted to please everybody and to have everyone like him. Minis jumped every time he heard his foster-father's voice.
She walked around and around her room, treading softly so she would not be heard. Her legs were now strong enough for an escape attempt, though she hadn't worked out how. Every Aachim kept an eye on her. Thyzzea and her family watched Tiaan especially closely, since her flight would mean their punishment.
To flee, she must have command of a construct, and that meant getting Vithis out of the way. Could she play on his obsession with his clan? If some of them had survived the gate, he would surely drop everything else to find them.
A plan began to germinate. She spent half the night working it out.
Thyzzea was woken in the early hours of the morning by moans from Tiaan's room. She slipped in through the open flap. 'What's the matter?' she said softly.
Tiaan jerked up in bed, the bedclothes falling all around her. 'I saw them!' she said, staring into an infinite distance.
The girl took her hand. 'Who did you see, Tiaan?'
"They were crying out, as in torment,' Tiaan whispered.
'What are you talking about?'
'It's my fault they were lost.' A tear ran down Tiaan's face. Her eyes closed and she sank onto the pillow, fast asleep.
Thyzzea went out. 'Just a bad dream,' she said to her mother Twice more that night the Aachim were disturbed by similar dreams, though Tiaan seemed not to be aware of them. However, when Thyzzea came to wake her at dawn, Tiaan would not rouse.
Thyzzea shook her by the shoulder. 'Tiaan, wake. Vithis will be here soon.'
Tiaan hid her face and began to wail and groan. 'All my fault. All my fault.'
Abruptly Thyzzea was thrust out of the way. 'What is your fault, Artisan?' grated Vithis.
Tiaan groaned, tossed her head from side to side and squeezed a tear out from under one eyelid. The Aachim's hand caught her shoulder.
'I saw them,' she whispered. 'Just as I saw Minis, after I first used the crystal. I saw lost Inthis—'
'My clan!' He screwed up his face in anguish. 'What did you see?'
In a single movement he heaved her out of bed and held her high. Tiaan almost gave it away then, for her borrowed nightgown was revealing. She had to force herself not to react, as if she was still asleep.
'They were crying out for help.' Opening her eyes wide like a sleepwalker, Tiaan looked wildly about. Her voice rose to a shrill cry. 'I saw them, standing by a broken construct.'
'Lord Vithis,' said Zea, who had come in quietly. 'This is not seemly.'
Vithis put Tiaan down. 'You saw Inthis? Where, Tiaan?'
'There was a man who looked like you,' she improvised. Last night, after working her plan out, Tiaan had dreamed it, over and over. Her dreams were especially intense after using the amplimet and now she could hardly distinguish what was dream and what was fiction.
'Like me?'
'Not as tall, and younger. There was no grey in his hair but he had your face.' An easy guess.
'My cousin, Nythis! Did you see anyone else?'
The desperate hope in his eyes almost undid her How could she work such a shabby deception on him? Though Vithis had used her, that did not make it right to give him hope where there was none. But if she did not, she was doomed.
'I did see others,' she said faintly, 'though not so clearly as the man. There were three children …No, four, and two young women, both tall and black haired. Or were there three? It's fading.' She used the commonest images of Aachim. Hope must do the rest, and make them into his lost loved ones.
'Gia and Mien, surely,' he said with an exhalation of breath. 'Is that all, Artisan? Just those few?'
She screwed up her eyes as if trying to see what was far awav. 'Other constructs lay in the distance — some were broken, others whole. There may have been more people; I couldn't see clearly.'
'Where, Artisan?' He reached for her, as though to shake her, but thought better of it.
An image from the dream came to her. 'It was no place I've ever seen before.'
'What did it look like?' he gritted.
Tiaan had not thought her plan through that far but another memory, or dream, sprang into her mind. All the land was white. White as snow, though I don't think it was snow.'
'Ice?' said Vithis.
'It could have been ice …There were no trees, no animals. The sky was so dark it was almost purple.'
'A purple sky? There are such places in the void,' said Vithis. 'But it is endless. They might be anywhere.'
He twisted his long fingers, then turned to Thyzzea, who stood in the doorway behind her mother. 'Call Urien; and find Larniz the Mapmaker, at once.'
Thyzzea glanced at Zea, who nodded. She hurried away. What else, Artisan?' said Vithis. 'You haven't given me enough.’
Tiaan didn't want to make up anything else. It would be too easy to be trapped by an inconsistency. She couldn't remember much about the time when the gate had opened, though she recalled the feelings very well; the cries, the torment, the loss. Wait; there had been something, just before Vithis had taken control of the gate. Clan Inthis, panicking, had ignored his pleas to stay back. A host of constructs had roared up the spiralling path to the gate, and she recalled that their smooth metal had a bluish tint. None of the constructs she had seen since had that colour. They were all black.
Tiaan hesitated. If she was wrong, it would ruin all the work she'd done so far. She gave a little shudder, opened her eyes and looked Vithis full in the face.
'What do you remember, Artisan?'
'The constructs were different to these ones. The metal was blue.'
His smoky brown eyes lit up. 'Are you sure? Only Clan Inthis knows the secret of working the blue metal.'
'They were blue,' she said. 'All of them. That's all I remember.' She closed her eyes again, as exhausted as if she had not slept at all.
Thyzzea came running in. 'I've sent word to find the map-maker, Lord Vithis.'
'Where's Urien? I need her counsel.'
'She has ridden to the main camp near Gospett.'
He scowled. 'I knew nothing of this. When did she go?'
'Last night. She planned to take a construct from Gospett and meet those returning from Tirthrax. Word came yesterday afternoon that they were on their way, I'm told.'
Tiaan went rigid under the covers. She could only hope the seed she had planted in Vithis would germinate before Urien got back.
'Why did she conceal this from me?' he said fretfully. 'How far away are they?'
'Near a place called saludith, south-east of here' said Thyzzea. 'Two days, if they travel hard'
'How may I help you, Lord Vithis?' The speaker was an extremely burly man, thick of arm and leg, with a bald head and a short, dense beard quite as black as coal.
The artisan has had a vision — at least, I hope it's a vision, and not an hallucination — about lost First Clan. She saw people in blue metal constructs, in a barren land that was all white, with a purple sky. Not covered in snow, but possibly ice. That's all you saw, Tiaan?'
'Yes,' she said faintly.
Where could they be, Mapmaker?'
'If not for the sky I would have said somewh
ere on this world, in the frigid south, or the doubtless equally frozen north. But a purple sky? Can it be the void?'
'Surely you know your trade, Mapmaker!' Vithis said imperiously.
'None of us has ever ventured into the void, Lord Vithis.'
'Then consult the archives!'
'Such records would be from the ancient past. We don't have them.'
'Why not?'
'Our libraries had to be left behind on Aachan, including most of what we know about the void.'
'So you can't tell where this place is,' Vithis said furiously.
'My construct is packed with maps and charts, but none are of the void.'
'What if we had ended up there?'
'We would have died, with or without my maps. Others may have the information you are seeking, but I do not.'
'Do you know anything about seeking out the lost, Mapmaker?'
'I am not a mancer, Lord Vithis.'
'You're dismissed. I'll go after Urien. If anyone can find them, she can.' He turned to the door.
Larniz followed him out, calling, 'Lord Vithis?'
'What is it?' Vithis cried. 'I can't wait for any man.' 'It may be more fruitful to mind-search the artisan—'
Vithis returned. 'You're right. I must not favour one approach over another. Once I come back, we will attempt a dream-forcing. Larniz, run and find Minis for me. I'll put her under his personal guard. I can't trust treacherous Clan Elienor if I'm not here to watch over them. Tiaan must complete the recovery of the constructs. When that's done,' he gave Larniz a meaningful look, 'we shall see.'
Shortly, Minis appeared and formally took custody of Tiaan. They went straight to work. The day was hard, and the work slower than before, so by the time exhaustion put an end to it in the mid-afternoon, Tiaan had only done two trips. Eighty-nine constructs still remained to be moved. Another day's grace though, by the end of it, Vithis and Urien would be back.
Minis had stood in the shooter's turret all day, with another Aachim, and there had been no chance to talk to him alone, much less implement Tiaan's plan. She had to gain his cooperation. There was no possibility of escaping without it.
