Nish stood up on his toes on the platform, but was not high enough to see. The sound went on and on. It was coming from the direction of the command tents, and his father's tent, where the lyrinx clustered as thickly as bats in a fruit tree.
A violet light appeared in the centre of the command area and began to swell like a balloon. The lyrinx surrounding it rose in the air and hovered, as if resting on the surface of a transparent dome. The violet surface developed spines like those of a sea urchin, and they slowly extended out and up, pushed by a metallic silver sphere whose surface roiled like the surface of the tears.
Nish felt the heat-cold again, and again that charging up of his unknown inner senses. Here and there, a violet spine touched one of the hovering lyrinx, which fell from the sky in flames. They did not seem able to move out of the way.
So Jal-Nish did have a secret weapon — his Art was bolstered with the tears. Nish prayed he would succeed; and prayed he would fail, too. His father was an evil man and the more power he gained, the worse he would become. But if he failed, it must be the end for everyone here.
It didn't look as though he was going to fail. More lyrinx fell, impaled on the thousands of violet spines that now bristled upwards and outwards like spikes on a helmet. The enemy seemed to be drawn to the spines like moths to a lantern.
That drawn-out, inhuman shriek came again. The roiling dome swelled prodigiously and more spines formed, until they might have numbered as many as all the lyrinx on the battlefield.
'I don't know how he's doing it,' said Xabbier, 'but he's luring them in.'
'He's going to beat them.' Nish said to the shooter, a rangy, balding redhead who was standing up behind his javelard, gaping.
All at once the shriek was cut off. The dome set and the violet needles froze. A great black Iyrinx spiralled down into the firelight above the command tents and hovered there, its head thrust down, wings beating slowly.
'What's going on?' Xabbier called from below. 'I'm not sure,' Nish yelled back. 'Got a spyglass?' Xabbier snapped an order and shortly a stubby brass ocular was passed up. Climbing to the top of the javelard frame, Nish focussed the glass.
'It's an enormous, black, golden-crested lyrinx, hovering above the dome just out of javelard range. It must be a mancer of surpassing power — I can feel it drawing down the field from here.'
'What's it up to? Quick, Nish! These lyrinx aren't going to stay quiet for long.'
'It's fighting against Jal-Nish's Art. It seems to be holding him for the moment. It must be incredibly powerful — I've never heard of a lyrinx that could fly and do great magic at the same time.'
The struggle went on. No one said a word. The dome swelled, contracted then swelled again. The violet rays pushed up thickly towards the mancer-lyrinx, almost touching him. Nish held his breath. So very close — there could only be a span between life and death for the mighty creature.
He felt a psychic sucking as the field was drawn down. Then the mancer skin-spoke, his whole body inverting in an instant from coal-black to brilliant white, and back to black. Triumph, or despair? Nish couldn't tell. The violet spines crept up again until they almost reached his armoured chest. Father's going to do it, Nish thought. He'll defeat the crea-ture and the battle will be over before it's begun. The thought did not fill him with joy. After such a victory Jal-Nish would be unstoppable. It could change the world, if the tears really were that powerful.
Once more the mancer-lyrinx flashed black-white-black, This time the spikes were pushed down a fraction. Nish felt weary from watching the struggle.
Again he experienced that psychic sucking, as if the field had been drawn swirling through a plughole. Nish's skin prickled. Suddenly Jal-Nish's roiling dome shrank, shrank again, and the violet spines thinned almost to nothing. The golden-crested lyrinx drifted down, and through the spyglass Nish could see its hands making patterns in the air. The dome was crushed down, down towards the tears from which it came.
'The lyrinx appears to have your father's measure after all,' Xabbier said quietly. He had climbed up unnoticed and now stood beside the red-haired shooter.
'I'm afraid so—'
The atmosphere seemed to charge up. Discharges wavered in the air from every metal object and the violet spikes shot up as if it had all been a ruse. One almost skewered the mancer-lyrinx, who twisted out of its way, moving his hands furiously in denial. Black-white, black-white, black-white,, black\
With a tearing shriek, the dome split along its circumference. The air thrummed and a white disc of light roared up vertically, bright as the sun, sharp as a razor.
The great lyrinx somersaulted in the air, avoiding the scything blade. Some were not so lucky. Nish saw a hovering lyrinx cut clean in two, the parts continuing to float for a few seconds before falling out of the sky. Other lyrinx lost wings, limbs, heads.
The golden-crested lyrinx raised its arms, then plunged them down, pointing directly at the centre of the dome. The thrumming grew louder, more urgent, before cracking as the white disc shattered and vanished like smoke.
Nish felt another drain on the field and now, under the mancer-lyrinx's overwhelming power, the dome was crushed down and down, until it was no bigger than a wagon, a barrel, a melon. He lost sight of it. No — it swelled momentarily and again that bladed disc of white light roared out, but this time it was forced horizontally, low to the ground. Though it had no effect on the hovering lyrinx, it made a deadly scythe through the tents, the generals and their elite guard, extended out a hundred and fifty spans, faded then vanished.
The roiling dome imploded in a crash of thunder that reverberated off the cliff walls. Nish had to block his ears. It, was over and Jal-Nish had lost ruinously. Smoke belched into the sky. Whatever happened next, as hundreds of lyrinx fell on the survivors at the command tents, Nish did not see 'It's the end!' he said softly to Xabbier. 'No one could sur-ve such an onslaught, not even with the tears.' 'Then let's make a good account of ourselves before we die,' said Xabbier.
Nish had no time to dwell on his father's fate, for at that instant the lyrinx charged. As he drew his sword, the inner sight that had been with him ever since he'd touched the tears, and had allowed him to see the stone-formed lyrinx, faded away. He was glad to see it go. It had felt wrong — like wearing another man's underwear.
Someone screamed, the sound drawn into a viscous gurgling as the soldier's throat was torn out. The man two to the right of Nish went flying backwards into the fire. A lyrinx lunged at Xabbier — a small, wingless one, it must have climbed down the escarpment. Xabbier's sword flashed in and out, drawing purple blood at its chin. It reared backwards then sprang, arms whirling like flails. Xabbier avoided those blows but the backhander came out of nowhere, slamming into the side of his head and knocking him to one knee.
Nish lunged. His sword went into one of the plates of the creature's side but did no damage. He wrenched it out and cut at the beast's upper arm. The blade skated off the armour. It ignored him, slashing at the lieutenant's head. Xabbier managed to get the flat of his sword up but the blow tore the blade out of his hand and sent it flying into the fire.
Xabbier groped for his knife. The lyrinx reached out with both hands, intending to tear his head off, though it seemed sluggish compared to those Nish had met previously. Gathering his strength, he raised the sword with both hands and plunged it into the creature's back. It went right through a back plate and into its heart. The lyrinx reared up on the impaling sword, jerked around and fell dead at Nish's feet.