Troist took a long time to answer. ‘I do know the penalty, surr, and I take my orders from Xervish Flydd, the head of the Council of Scrutators. He has asked me to wait another hour, and wait I will.’
‘You will regret this, General Troist.’
‘We may all regret it, surr, though not for very long.’
‘I hope I can repay your trust,’ said Flydd after Orgestre had gone.
Troist sank the rest of the potion and continued to knuckle his rebellious belly. The hour passed with agonising slowness. More reports came in, of isolated squads slaughtered to the last man.
Nish turned the hourglass, setting it down with a clatter.
Flydd’s eyes flicked to the glass. ‘I’ll contact Tiaan again.’
‘And if there is no concrete news?’ said Troist.
‘I fear we must turn back to Lybing. Tiaan?’ he called.
‘Still the same,’ Tiaan’s voice came clearly over the whine of the thapter.
‘Can I speak to Malien?’
‘Yes, Xervish?’ said Malien.
‘The enemy are attacking all around the borders. We’ve lost thousands of men already and if they’re really heading for Lybing …’
‘Are you asking me to back up Tiaan’s report?’
‘If she’s wrong, Lybing will be destroyed and the west will fall. I need confirmation.’
‘I’m not able to see the effect that Tiaan has reported,’ said Malien, ‘but I have no reason to doubt her.’
‘In any respect?’ A river of sweat ran down Flydd’s cheek.
‘If you’re questioning her sanity, have the goodness to speak plainly.’
‘The world is at stake here, Malien.’
‘Then you have quite a decision to make,’ she said coldly. The farspeaker cut off.
Flydd wiped his face with a rag that was already drenched with sweat. ‘What am I to do, Nish? How am I to decide?’
‘I don’t know, surr.’
‘The effect Tiaan’s seeing must be a decoy – a spread-out group of lyrinx carrying node-drainers. They’ve lured us here so they can destroy the rest of Borgistry unhindered. That has to be it. I can’t delay any longer. Order the turnabout, General.’
Troist sprang to the farspeaker and changed the setting. ‘Captains, this is General Troist. Turn back to Lybing immediately. Follow Plan Three.’
The orders had just been repeated when the farspeaker squealed.
‘This is Tiaan. I can see the enemy, surr. Surr?’
Flydd jumped out of his seat. ‘Where are they?’
‘They’re coming out of the forest in their thousands, from the point where the Great North Road meets the forest, then west for a couple of leagues. There’s thousands of them.’
After a long pause, Malien added, ‘I’d say tens of thousands.’
‘Thank you! Thank you, Tiaan and Malien. Stay on watch.’ There were tears in Flydd’s eyes. He embraced Troist and then Nish. ‘To war!’
‘To war,’ said Troist, then snatched the farspeaker globe.
‘Captains. General Troist again. Ignore the last order. The enemy are coming from the forest north of Ossury, from the Great North Road west for several leagues. This is the main attack. Put Plan Six into action.’ He broke off and ran to the door. ‘Guards, the war begins. Ready the command-centre defences.’ He came inside and buckled on his armour, made from boiled leather, and his steel helmet.
‘I think I’ll go up in one of the thapters,’ said Flydd. ‘Even in this weather we might see something useful. Will you join me?’
‘My place is here, with my men. I’ll send up my best tactician, Orbes, and he can report back.’
‘Very good.’ Flydd called down the nearest thapter. ‘Nish?’
‘I’m with Troist, at least until the battle is over,’ said Nish, shrugging his armour over his shoulders.
FIFTY
The sun came out and the clouds blew away, but it was going to be a desperate day.
‘They’re not fighting as hard as in other battles I’ve seen,’ said Nish around midday. The command circle had been set up on a bald hill overlooking the battlefield. He was standing at the edge, within the ring of guards, acting as an observer.
‘They do seem a little wasted after their hibernation.’ Troist had just come from the command tent to join him.
‘I wonder why they’re fighting now?’
‘After Klarm discovered their whereabouts and we sent the army to Strebbit, I suppose they had no choice.’
‘Then why didn’t they attack there? They had the numbers.’
‘They were just out of hibernation and needed the past week to recuperate.’
‘Why not take a fortnight and recuperate fully?’
‘How the blazes would I know, Nish?’ snapped Troist. ‘They may have been afraid to wait, in case we discovered them. It’s not easy to hide that many lyrinx and they wouldn’t want to be forced into battle at a ground of our choosing, as they have been here.’
‘I suppose not.’ Nish scanned the battlefield. ‘Our light-blasting weapons don’t seem to be having much effect.’
‘There are few miracle weapons in war. They’ve worked about as well as I’d expected. They are making a difference.’
‘Not much.’
‘A lot of small advantages make a big one. We’re fighting the lyrinx on our terms. Good visibility, open land and bright sunshine. We can use our new tactics to best effect.’
The soldiers were fighting in tight formations, making it difficult for the lyrinx to get through their walls of spears and shields. And when the lyrinx attacked in groups, as they had to, they were vulnerable to the clankers, which could fire their catapults and javelards from the side or the rear, over the heads of the soldiers. The thapters were also taking a toll, maintaining a height from which they could fire at the enemy but above the altitude where the enemy’s catapults could reach them.
‘I do believe we’re gaining a little,’ said Troist in the early afternoon, watching the battle through a spyglass and relaying orders over his farspeaker. ‘They don’t seem to be fighting quite as ferociously as I remember.’
‘I was thinking the same. We’ve taken heavy casualties though,’ said Nish, gingerly feeling a shoulder wound. A small band of lyrinx had broken through the lines just before noon and gone straight for the lookout. It had been a brief but vicious struggle. He hadn’t killed the lyrinx that had attacked him, but fortunately one of Troist’s guards had.
His shoulder was throbbing. It was not a bad wound, as battle wounds go, just three long claw marks. Nothing like the blow that had practically taken his father’s shoulder off a year and a half ago. Another ell, though, and Nish would have been in the same situation.
Troist was going through the latest tally sheets. ‘We’ve lost nine thousand men, and as many injured. They’ve about twelve thousand dead, so it’s evened the odds a trifle, but they still have the advantage if they dare to press it. Pray that they break soon, Nish. They can take these casualties better than we can.’
He called Flydd on the farspeaker. ‘Scrutator, we can’t manage much more of this.’
‘I agree,’ said Flydd. ‘It’s time for a different approach. A strike at their morale.’
Shortly, five thapters appeared in the west, flying in a line, low and slow. As they passed over the enemy formations a soldier on the shooter’s platform of each machine emptied a bag of what looked like brown flour over the side. Dust clouds slowly sifted down onto the lyrinx. At the edge of the battlefield the thapters wheeled and came back on a different track, flying just above catapult height. They kept this up until they’d covered the bulk of the enemy troops and all the bags of dust were gone.
At the end of that line, four thapters turned away and resumed the bloody work with their javelards. The fifth went back and forth across the battlefield again, a second man standing on the rear platform, though he didn’t appear to be doing anything.