The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (71 page)

‘We worked it out while you were scratching your arse,’ said
Clech rudely. ‘You’ll run around the edge of the platform, burning little holes
with the flask of distilled fire and knotting ropes through them, while Aimee
and I make matching holes in the wall around the opening. Then we attach your
ropes to arrows, shoot them through the holes in the wall, and heave the
platform up.’

‘Let’s get it done,’ said Nish.

He smoothed the shadow web down with the perilous
dimensionless glove, dropped it into the black box, screwed it up and shoved it
into his pocket. Pouring a dribble of fire onto the end of his sword, he passed
Aimee the stoppered flask. Now Nish tilted the sword blade to allow a single
drop of the pink fire to fall near the edge of the platform. It burnt a hole
through it, but it kept expanding until it reached the edge – one drop of
distilled fire was too much.

He touched his sword tip to the platform, which was better;
his second hole was only as wide as a saucer. Once the fire had gone out, Nish
hastily threaded a rope through, tied it securely, coiled it beside the hole
and ran to do the next.

There came a fearful roar from his militia, and a shout of
‘Hold! Hold!’ from Ryll. An atatusk let out a triumphant barking bellow but
Nish restrained the urge to look around; he continued burning holes and tying
ropes to them.

After finishing the last hole, he darted to the opening and
looked in, but the view ahead was blocked by a furious melee. Three of his
troops were down and one, unidentifiable from his blood-covered back, had been
maimed by a savage blow.

Another, the archer, Lym, bore no apparent injury, though
her head now faced backwards and her eyes were wide open, as if astonished at
what had happened to her. Stibble the hairy blacksmith appeared to have been
gored through the skull with two tusks – three more of Nish’s loyal
Gendrigoreans gone.

Two lyrinx were also down, though one kept trying to rise,
purple blood streaming down his left thigh, his right hand reaching out to Nish
as if for aid.

It wrenched him to turn away, but he had his own work to do
and if he failed their deaths would be for nothing. Aimee was twenty spans up
the barrier wall, hanging from sticky pads of shadow web bound around hands,
knees and feet. Clech was below her, trying to climb, but the shadow webs
weren’t sticky enough to support his weight, which was not greatly lessened at
the barrier.

Nish began to sweat, for the plan depended on them raising
the platform quickly and it was taking far too long. If the atatusk broke
through first, as seemed probable, the opening could not be sealed.

Aimee unfastened her rope and crept across the barrier,
above the curve of the opening. Being so small and light, the sticky pads held
her easily. She shook the flask, withdrew the stopper with her teeth –
Don’t! Nish thought, if you get any pink fire on you, it’ll eat through your
face – and pressed it against the barrier until a neat hole formed there.

Bellowing like a walrus, a huge atatusk burst through the
line, sending guards and lyrinx flying, and before the javelard operator could
bring his weapon to bear, the beast had leapt three spans in the air and was
falling towards him from above.

The operator tried to drag out his sword but the atatusk
landed right in front of him and snapped its head down, plunging the twin tusks
into his back on either side of the spine. It tossed its head from side to side
and the operator went spinning across the track, pouring blood from twin
lemon-sized punctures, then over the edge into the nothingness of the void.

The atatusk slammed one of the heavy metal spears into the
groove of the javelard and wound the cranks so fast that they were just a blur.
No dumb beast this – it had understood how to use the javelard in an
instant.

Nish reacted without thinking, knowing that if the creature
was not stopped it would wipe out the defenders in seconds. As he sprang for
the back of the javelard’s box-like wooden frame, the atatusk pulled the lever
and the spear, fired at point-blank range, passed straight through a massive
lyrinx and into the spine of the smaller one in front of him, bringing it down
as well. Was it Ryll? No, it had wings.

Letting out a roar of approval for the ruinous weapon, the
atatusk took another spear. Nish climbed the frame one-handed and went for the
creature from behind. It could not have heard him over the clamour of battle,
so it must have smelt him, and it was spinning around in the seat as he swung.

He drove hard for the junction of the atatusk’s neck and
right shoulder, and the blade cut deep into a blubbery layer before stopping on
bone. Such a blow would have killed any human, and disabled most lyrinx.

Green blood poured out; the atatusk emitted an explosive
snort, but went for the blade and Nish whipped it out of the wound; another
second and it would have been snatched from his fingers. But then, as he
watched, the gash pulled itself together and the flesh knitted across, leaving
a dark brown, seamed scar across the thick grey skin.

No wonder atatusk ate the lyrinx for breakfast – not
even a master healer could heal that quickly. How was he supposed to kill such
a creature? Nish wasn’t game to get close enough to strike that steep, angling
and desperately risky blow up into the heart.

He slid backwards, then feinted, going for its eyes. The
atatusk did not even blink; it threw its left arm around the frame upright next
to it, swung around it and launched itself at him before he knew what was
happening.

Such a heavily-built creature ought to be slow and
lumbering, but in the void it was desperately fast, and Nish couldn’t get out
of the way in time. He hurled himself backwards off the javelard from a height
of a span and a half, a fall which, on Santhenar, would have risked a broken
neck.

He landed on his head, bounced, flipped over backwards and
ended up on his feet again, but the sword jarred out of his hand and went
skidding across the track.

Pink fire still flickered near the tip. He leapt for the
sword, steadied himself, and waited. He had to stop the atatusk and he’d better
be quick. It took a little jump forwards and bared its teeth at him, but its
eyes rolled upwards; it was looking at Clech and Aimee. Could it spring that
high? Nish rather suspected that it might be able to, in the void, and they
were unarmed.

‘You’re not touching them,’ he gritted. ‘You’re mine,
atatusk.’

Letting out a barking sneer, it snapped its tusks up and
down, and moved towards him. He ran at it, weaving a wall of steel in front of
him, and got in a slash to its lower left arm. The wound was a minor one but
the creature seemed to be expecting him to follow through, so Nish did not, and
only just evaded a blow that would have torn his head from his neck.

He struck again, trying to probe its weaknesses, but he
wasn’t seeing any. In the past he’d defeated lyrinx by diving between their
legs, but the atatusk’s legs were so much shorter that it wasn’t an option.

It sprang, soaring high above him then down, the way it had
attacked the javelard operator. He swiped at it and rolled well out of the way,
or thought he had, but it flipped sideways in the air, a movement he would not
have thought possible, swung at his head and a claw tore through the top of his
ear, ripping it like parchment.

Nish threw himself the other way, but too far; being close
to weightless here, he was having trouble controlling his movements. As the
atatusk landed in a crouch he saw an opening, spun on his left foot, bounced
upwards and took an almighty slash at its face.

It swayed backwards and he missed, but several motes of the
pink fire must have been flung off his blade into the creature’s eyes, for it
made a harsh squealing sound and rubbed furiously at them.

Yes! Pink fire was glowing in its eyes and it couldn’t see,
though it continued to fight, turning its head from side to side and sniffing
the air to locate him by smell. Since its eyesight was poor, the loss of vision
probably wasn’t a great handicap.

Nish back-pedalled, thinking furiously. Surely its sense of
smell, no matter how acute, could not locate him as accurately as sight, especially
if he came at it front-on. That’s it, he thought: I’ll try to confuse it, make
a furious front-on attack, and if I’m wrong, I die.

He rubbed his left hand in his sweaty armpit then raised it
high to the left, to spread a false scent trail. As the atatusk swung at his
hand, he closed his fist, ducked to the right and darted in under its upraised
arms. For a fraction of a second it hesitated, unsure where he was, because the
Nish smells were coming from two different directions.

It located him and lunged to take him in a bear hug, but
Nish threw himself against its lower belly and struck up, under the hump at the
top of the chest, and levered inwards. He felt the tip of his sword slide
between the bones into solid, thumping muscle, the heart, and twisted. The
atatusk stiffened, emerald blood exploded from its mouth, and before he could
free his sword the creature fell on top of him.

On Santhenar the impact of an atatusk eight times his weight
would have crushed him to death, but here he was merely trapped beneath it, its
scalding blood flooding over his face until he could barely breathe. Its
internal organs churned and bubbled deafeningly; its punctured heart gave a
last ragged thump, then stopped.

Nish tried to push it off but could not get a grip on the
blood-slick skin. His nose was squashed and with every strangled breath he blew
gory green bubbles. Each breath was harder than the last and he was close to
drowning when the atatusk was heaved off and Ryll stood there, his armoured
chest heaving.

Long claw marks across his right shoulder had torn through
his armoured outer skin to the soft inner skin beneath, but lyrinx could take a
lot of punishment and he did not seem troubled.

Ryll shook his head, wonderingly. ‘That was a mighty stroke
for a little pink grub,’ he said, lifting Nish to his feet. He tore the shirt
off the dead javelard operator and Nish scrubbed the green blood off his face
with it.

‘We can’t hold them, my friend,’ Ryll said to Nish’s unasked
question.

Six of Nish’s twelve had fallen, plus four lyrinx, and the
enemy was regrouping not far away. Nish looked around. ‘Where’s Clech and
Aimee?’

‘Outside, trying to shoot your ropes through the holes.
Better give them a hand.’

Ryll bounded back to the defenders. As Nish stumbled out,
Clech fired an arrow and it shot up towards the wall, trailing the rope, only
to fall short.

‘Can’t get it near the hole,’ Clech said disgustedly as he
hauled it back.

‘The rope’s much too heavy,’ said Nish, ‘and we’re running
out of defenders. Aimee, you’ll have to climb up and pass the ropes through
each hole.’

‘Have we got time?’ said Aimee.

‘I’ll make time. I’ve had an idea. Give me the flask.’

She handed it to him. ‘Don’t use all the pink fire up
– I need some to stick the platform back in place.’

Nish ran in and leapt up into the high seat of the javelard
– he was getting the hang of the low gravity now. He fitted a spear into
the groove and spun the winding handle with one hand while he swung the sights
back and forth, looking for a target.

A pair of atatusk were advancing, about fifty spans off, but
three lyrinx were in the way. He pointed the javelard to the left, where Ryll
was in furious combat with another atatusk, and put a spear through its middle.
The impact took the creature over the edge of the track and out of sight. Its
blubber layer might stop an arrow but only the heaviest steel armour could keep
out a javelard spear.

Ryll raised a thumb in acknowledgement. Nish was looking for
another target when Liett flashed though the air above his head, her
outstretched wings an iridescent glory. She was pointing further down the
track.

‘What is it?’ said Nish.

‘The void is changing,
or
they’re changing it
. Paths are forming everywhere.’

Nish squinted into the distance. His eyes hurt from the
atatusk blood and his vision was a trifle fuzzy, but something did seem to be
forming down there. Yes, more paths were extending slowly this way, one curving
in from the left and another down from the right, while two more were snaking
up from the unseen depths.

On every path he could see atatusk, and once they reached
the opening they would wipe out the defence in moments.

‘Hurry, Aimee!’ he yelled. ‘Can you help, Liett?’

Liett flitted through the opening then came racing back,
shooting over Nish’s head to attack the atatusk from above, going for the eyes
and nose. It was a perilous manoeuvre, since they could leap many spans, and
Liett, being delicately boned and unarmoured, was far more vulnerable than the
other lyrinx, but it had worked so far. Her claws were stained with green blood
and she had blinded and torn the noses of two atatusk, enabling the other
lyrinx to finish them off.

Nish took down the last two atatusk of the troop with
spears, but it only gained a minute, for another small troop of the creatures
was not far behind. This battle was like the fight at the pass all over again,
only this time there were an infinite number of the enemy.

There had to be a better, cleverer way to attack them.
Frantically scanning his surroundings, Nish noticed the thick ice accumulating
around the opening. Chthonic fire would feed and grow on ice; could he fuel the
fire enough to burn through the track with it? It was worth trying.

Lifting off the leather catapult bucket, he bounced to the
opening and hacked off a bucketful of ice. He could barely have lifted it
outside, but in the void he could carry the bucket one-handed.

He heaved the bag up, fitted it over the hooks of the
javelard, wound the crank and looked for a target. Five atatusk from the next
troop had run ahead and were heading for two lyrinx, but Nish had a clear shot
this time. He poured a few drops of pink fire onto the ice and stirred it with
his sword until the ice began to burn. Aiming at the track in front of the
atatusk, he fired.