by Ian Irvine
‘I want him to,’ said Flydd. ‘I’ve designed it to appear feeble and amateurish, hoping he’ll stop to investigate, but not be alarmed.’
Why would he be? The whole ambush was feeble.
‘And when he does,’ she said, ‘you’ll set off your charges?’
Flydd grunted and headed up the slope, where he had left his cylindrical device.
‘Why can’t you blast the sus-magiz and the soldiers down?’
‘Even in my heyday I didn’t have the power to blast down a squad of soldiers. Few mancers did.’
‘What about Nish? If the horses stampede –?’
‘He’ll have a quick, clean end.’
She stared at him. ‘He’s your friend.’
‘And in the Merdrun’s hands his death will be drawn-out and agonising.’
‘I’ve known some hard men –’
‘It’s my job. Get to your position. They can’t be far off.’
‘What’s my job?’ It struck her that he hadn’t given her one.
‘They mustn’t know you’re here. Don’t be seen.’
‘Why not?’
‘One, you’re on their list. Two, Sulien needs her mother. Three, I like to have a secret weapon … small and dubious though it may be.’
Thanks!
Flydd settled in shrubbery thirty feet up the slope. Karan moved to a suitable spot where she could see the track and pulled her cloak around her. It was cold and misty. Her heart thumped leadenly, her palms were cold and sweaty, and her eyes were leaking. She was way too old for this.
Was there any hope of rescuing Nish? He had been a towering figure in the war against the lyrinx, but at its end he had been imprisoned for ten years by his black-hearted father, Jal-Nish, the self-styled God Emperor. Nish had been freed by Maelys and they, along with Flydd, had led the two-year struggle to defeat Jal-Nish. Then Nish and Maelys had campaigned to clear Karan’s and Llian’s tainted names.
She had to repay the debt.
After a considerable wait, two columns of five soldiers emerged from the drifting mist at the top of the track. Big men and women, all of them, clad in red leather armour and wearing triple-spiked helms. They moved quietly and were ever watchful.
This isn’t going to work, Karan thought. We can’t possibly overcome twenty-four Merdrun – and a powerful sus-magiz. We’re all going to be killed.
Next came eight horse handlers, each leading a string of four horses down the decline. Five were men and three were women, and all had bruised faces and bent heads. They probably feared that they would be killed at the end of the mission.
They probably would be.
They were followed by a pair of soldiers ahead of a horse carrying a slumped prisoner, and another pair behind.
‘Nish,’ Flydd said quietly.
He was swathed in a bloodstained grey cloak and his head sagged until it touched the saddle horn. Had he been beaten? He looked completely out of it.
The robed sus-magiz was behind him. Then came a second column of two by five soldiers.
The light was fading now. The leading column was approaching the point where Karan’s buckets lay hidden. She glanced to her left. Flydd had removed the cylindrical object from its bag. It looked like a skyrocket attached to a thin stick. He thrust it into the ground and adjusted the angle so it would fly up above the road.
What for? She wiped her sweaty palms, made sure her knife was free in its sheath, and waited.
‘Halt!’ said the sus-magiz in a screechy voice that made her shudder.
The columns stopped. His face, an unnatural blue-grey, turned this way and that, his white eyes studying the edge of the forest. In the gathering darkness the ambushers would not be easy to see, but he may have had other senses. If he detected them the ambush must fail.
‘Weak magic,’ said the sus-magiz. ‘Probably just a local hedge-wizard, but be on your guard.’ As he stepped towards the side of the track, his eyes took on an eerie glow.
Flydd touched the fuse of the skyrocket. A red spark was concealed by his hand, then the rocket hissed up –
And exploded with a monumental boom and a red, churning fireball, high above the Merdrun. Waves of heat scorched Karan’s cheeks. Shredded bits of rocket rained down on the enemy.
Flydd’s charges went off, spraying the contents of the leather buckets across the column and splattering thick white spurge sap across most of the Merdrun. A droplet hit Karan on the forehead and burned like acid. She wiped it off on her sleeve, then spat on her fingers and rubbed the skin, which was already swollen. Her fingers began to sting.
The horses tore the ropes out of their handlers’ hands and stampeded through them and the leading column of Merdrun, hurling people in all directions and trampling some of the fallen.
Nish’s horse, which was covered in clots of spurge sap, went up on its back legs, screaming and pawing at the air.
Flydd gestured to his four guards and they ran to the attack. Despite their appearance, they were brave enough. Karan assessed the damage. Two of Nish’s guards were still on their feet, one clinging to the lead rope of his horse. Four from the rear column were still standing. Another five, drenched in spurge sap, were writhing and clawing at enormously swollen faces or blood-red eyes. Three lay still.
The horses had disappeared around the bend. The uninjured handlers ran after them, though it was likely to be a long chase. Karan could hear hooves rattling on the boards of the suspension bridge.
Three soldiers from the leading column had been trampled and another four knocked over the edge, though the fall, either onto the steep slope or into the backwater pool, might not be enough to put them out of action.
The remaining three were on their feet, one supporting his right arm in a way that indicated his collarbone to be broken, the others apparently unharmed. That left eight enemy able-bodied, plus the sus-magiz, the most dangerous of them all. The odds were still well in their favour.
Thud! An enemy soldier fell, Flangers’ crossbow bolt embedded in his forehead. Another crumpled to his knees beside him, shot in the chest.
The right side of the sus-magiz’s long and remarkably narrow face was covered in scarlet welts and his right eye was closed. He had copped a spray of spurge sap and must be in agony, but Merdrun knew better than to show pain. His staff was in his hand, his good white eye searching the slope for the crossbowman.
Karan ducked behind a tree. The sus-magiz blasted fire up towards Flangers’ hiding place, setting fire to moss on the rocks. Lower down, clumps of turpentine bushes belched black smoke then went up with a roar. Flydd’s four guards reached the track, where two were immediately cut down.
Flydd appeared to flicker through the trees to her right. His arms were extended towards the sus-magiz, though Karan could not tell what spell he was trying to cast. The sus-magiz attacked back and Flydd stumbled and went to one knee.
Dark smoke drifted low across the track. Nish’s horse went up on its back legs again, screaming in pain, and tore the lead rope out of the soldier’s hands. It danced backwards, front legs high in the air, then the ground at the edge of the track crumbled and it went over, carrying Nish with it.
There was an almighty splash as it hit the water. And Nish, tied to the saddle, was going to drown – unless she leapt into the water next to a terrified, wildly thrashing horse.
Mummy, Sulien cried over a mind-link. What are you doing? Mummy, no!
21
Why Do You Hate Me So Much?
Ilisial dragged Wilm up the slope, one heave after another, and dumped him inside the mouth of the cave. His whole back felt bruised from Klarm’s blast, and broken rock had scored him from his backside to the back of his head. And it had all been for nothing. The Merdrun would take M’Lainte any minute. Wilm groaned.
‘Stop whining’ said Klarm, ‘or you’ll suffer the penalty for mutiny in active service.’
Ilisial, who was panting, said, ‘You wouldn’t … execute him, would you, surr?’
Not that she cared. She shuddered every time she looked at Wilm. And he had promised M’Lainte to watch over her. How was he supposed to do that?
‘If we didn’t need the moron, I’d seriously consider it.’ Klarm laid his spyglass down and removed his wooden foot. The stump was a bloody mess.
Wilm rolled over and looked down at the sus-magiz, who was binding M’Lainte. ‘He’s a big bastard.’
Sus-magiz were often meagre, but this fellow was as big as any Merdrun soldier and looked just as tough.
‘Archers,’ said Klarm, ‘don’t fire until you’re sure of the kill. Guards, defend the entrance. Ilisial, see how far back the cave goes and if there’s any other way out – or in. Wilm, back here with me.’
‘I can fight,’ said Wilm. ‘I want to do my bit.’
‘Which one of us is in charge?’ Klarm snarled. ‘And which is a disobedient rube who wouldn’t know his arse from his armpit?’
Wilm flushed. Everyone was witness to his humiliation.
Klarm re-bandaged his stump and put his wooden foot back on, his face shivering with the pain. He knuckled his cheeks and began to delve inside the spellcaster.
‘What do you want me to do?’ said Wilm.
‘I’ll tell you when the time comes. Until then, keep your gob shut. This thing is dangerous enough to work on without your inane chattering.’
‘Why do you hate me so much?’ Wilm blurted. ‘What did I ever do to you?’
Klarm opened his mouth and Wilm braced himself, but Klarm looked away and continued taking parts off the top of the spellcaster. The guards grinned among themselves. Perhaps it helped take their minds off what was to come.
Ilisial came back. ‘The cave peters out after sixty feet.’
‘No crack or crevice they could squeeze through? Or their sus-magiz blast open?’
‘No, surr. It’s hard rock top to bottom.’
‘Don’t call me “surr”. Klarm will do fine, for you.’
‘Thank you, s – Klarm.’
‘They’re coming,’ called the archer on the left.
‘Get ready,’ said Klarm to the guards. ‘At all costs, keep them out for the next five minutes.’
Ilisial said quietly, ‘What’s going to happen then?’
‘If I can get this working, they’ll get the shock of their lives.’
‘And if you can’t?’
‘Wilm gets the chance to live up to his great name. Wilm, is Akkidul pressed firmly down?’
Wilm checked. ‘Yes.’
‘Keep it down unless I give the order. And if I do, if the guards have fallen and we’re about to be overrun, draw your blade and bring it down on this point, here, with all your strength.’ Klarm indicated a raised square on the top of the spellcaster. ‘Then again, crossways. Got it?’
‘You trust me to do it, then?’
‘Got it?’ Klarm repeated.
Wilm checked the height of the ceiling, which was a good twelve feet. Room enough for him to raise the sword. He took a quarter step backwards, so he’d be in the right position. ‘Yes.’
‘What will happen then?’ said Ilisial, a tremor in her voice.
‘I rather expect that the spellcaster and the sword will be annihilated,’ Klarm said casually.
‘What about us?’ she whispered.
‘Blasted to bits in an instant, along with the enemy. A good result, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I – I don’t want to die, Klarm.’
‘Can’t say I’m thrilled about the notion either,’ said Klarm. ‘But it’s better than a slow and agonising death at the hands of the enemy. What do you reckon, Wilm? You’ve seen first-hand what they do to their prisoners.’
‘A quick death … would be better,’ said Wilm. How quick, though? And if he did destroy the spellcaster and annihilate everyone in the cave, he would die a killer. Yet if he couldn’t do it, he would die a coward. Great choice!
‘Quiet,’ said Klarm. ‘I’ve got to focus as I’ve never focussed before.’
He inserted the green crystal and made minute adjustments to wheels and pointers, the angle and arrangements of crystals, and to the clockwork mechanism that turned the little hourglass.
‘Now!’ someone said in a low voice.
The crossbowmen fired together, wound their cranks and fired again. The four guards stood back, ready to leap into the attack the moment anyone made it up the steep slope below the cave.
Ilisial moaned. Wilm’s guts clenched. But over the past months, after facing death many times, he had reached an accommodation of sorts with it. Just live for the moment, knowing each breath could be your last, and do the best job you can.
This time, it didn’t help.
Skald’s troops raced up the ridge from the air dreadnought crash site and he matched pace with them, exulting in his first solo command, and in the challenge of using his superbly trained body to the fullest. He could do this for an hour without tiring.
The enemy were crawling along. Skald stopped to check with a spy scope. They were but ten, one a hobbling dwarf and the other a baggy old woman, the mechanician he had to capture unharmed. They were holding the rest back. He smiled; he would have them within the hour.
But where was the secret weapon? Ah! Four guards appeared from behind some bushes, carrying it between them on slings. It looked big and heavy, but he felt sure he could lug it to the gate by himself, if he had to.
He slid the ’scope into its loops and put on an extra burst of speed to catch up to his troop. Merdrun captains led from the front.
They were overhauling the enemy rapidly now. They had stopped. No, they were going on, abandoning the old mechanician. What a prize the secret weapon must be, if they were prepared to leave their most valuable artisan behind to save it.
And what contemptible scum they were! The Merdrun would abandon their weak and injured where necessary, for the good of the nation was paramount and individuals existed to serve the nation. But to abandon their greatest mechanician was unbelievable.
He scanned the slope above them. They were making for a cave. Good! It would make it easier to take them. Then Skald had an awful thought. What if they were planning to smash the secret weapon?
‘Faster!’ he cried. ‘Take them before they destroy it. I’ll secure the mechanician.’
His troops sprinted up the slope, went around the old woman and on. Skald ran up to her. She was fat and unfit and utterly exhausted, and he felt no respect for her. How could she let herself go like this? No Merdrun ever would.
‘I am Captain Skald Hulni,’ he said, ‘and you are my prisoner.’
She rose, trembling a little, and wiped her doughy face. ‘Mechanician M’Lainte. Are you going to kill me?’
‘My orders are to bring you back, unharmed.’
He bound her wrists behind her back, using knots that could only be undone with a knife. His first thought was to leave her here and run up to the attack, but what if she had a suicide poison secreted on her somewhere?
‘We go up,’ he said. ‘Move.’
‘Can’t! I’m done.’
Skald lifted M’Lainte to her feet and heaved her over his shoulder. A heavy burden, even for him, but his orders were to protect her at all costs. He carried her up towards the cave.
The enemy had chosen their refuge well. The entrance was at the top of a steep slope covered in broken rock that would be tricky to climb, and the cave could not be reached from the sides. His troops were attacking furiously but already two lay dead, killed by a pair of crossbow archers partly concealed inside the entrance.
‘Take the secret weapon!’ Skald bellowed.
He was torn between the need to bring M’Lainte back and the dishonour of not leading his soldiers in the attack. Honour won; he had to take a risk on her. He left her behind a boulder, thirty yards below the entrance, and scrambled up.
A Merdrun warrior came hurtling up the slope. Two bolts hit his chest plate but did not penetrate far enough to stop him. He reached the opening, sprang and drov
e both boot heels into the chest of the archer on the right. He collapsed, struggling to breathe.
The soldier landed on the lip of the cave and was going for the second archer when a bolt went through his open mouth. He lost control of his limbs, fell and slid backwards down the slope.
But five more were coming now, and another three behind them. The archers had not taken down as many as Klarm had hoped. Two Merdrun stormed the entrance and the guards were no match for them. The leading warrior swung low, hacking one of the guards off at the knees. Blood sprayed across the cave and all over Wilm. Ilisial screamed and went into another panic attack. The Merdrun shouldered the guard aside as he fell and skewered the fellow next to him.
The second archer and a third guard had fallen now, and only the last man, standing square in the narrow entrance, was holding the rest of the enemy out.
‘Ready, Wilm?’ said Klarm. ‘But don’t draw yet. Ilisial, turn away.’
She did not move. She was on the floor, thrashing and moaning.
Wilm’s heart was thumping so wildly that it hurt. Klarm was making the final adjustments to the spellcaster, fingers moving so fast that they were just a blur. Now he was putting everything back in place.
‘Go, damn you!’ he muttered as the last of the guards fell.
But the spellcaster did not even quiver. It was all over and they were going to die.
‘Wilm, draw your sword –’
As Wilm raised the black blade, the spellcaster rose from the floor for a couple of feet, its funnel-tipped arms slowly rotating, its mechanical innards whining.
‘Wilm, stop!’ yelled Klarm. ‘Hold the enemy off.’
Wilm was already swinging the blade down. He turned it above the spellcaster, spun on the sole of one boot, leapt forwards, and a charging Merdrun ran straight onto the blade.
‘Down, down!’ yelled Klarm.
Wilm dropped to the floor of the cave beside Ilisial, who had recovered enough to cover her head with her arms.
Klarm snapped a Command, ‘Haggergrind, attack my enemies!’
