Alchymist by Ian Irvine Page B

that had been burned, and the putrid reek of those rotting where they
had fallen. She found a gourd of water, drank her fill and went back to her
hiding place, where sleep was her only escape from the stench. The next morning
she finished the water and went outside. Something had changed.
    All
was silent. The hauling teams had dragged the last of the undamaged clankers
from the mire onto solid ground, and were now heading towards the nearest
field. She was alone with the dead.
    Ullii
followed the column for days, sleeping in a tree or hollow by day, creeping at
the coat-tails of the procession at night, and living on the few meagre scraps
she could find. She did not know what else to do.
    It
was most unpleasant. Several times she saw the one-armed man in the platinum
mask, and after that Jal-Nish's knot was always in her lattice, a shuddering
horror. And even from half a league away, the smell of eighty thousand unwashed
bodies was so strong than she had to plug her nose. The merest whiff made her
gag, and it grew worse as time wore on. One night she found nothing edible at
all, and was driven by hunger to creep to the front of the procession, where
the noise and light were least, to see if she could steal anything.
    It
was the boldest deed little Ullii had ever attempted. Her whole life had been
spent in fear of people and their punishments. Now she must steal or starve.
She crept along the line of the leading column, keeping watch in her lattice
for Jal-Nish. He was over the other side, thankfully. A gentle breeze drifted
the stink of the army away from her. Ullii took out her noseplugs. Smell was
her most powerful sense and she needed it here.
    The
column was still, the slaves taking a few hours' rest before the labour began
again at dawn. She slipped closer, as quick as silk in the darkness. An errant
breeze brought her an aroma from the camp ovens — fresh bread. Five hundred
bakers had worked all night to feed the multitude their breakfast.
    Salivating,
Ullii scanned the area. The bakers' wagons and their portable ovens, were well
lit and securely guarded, so there was no chance of stealing anything there.
She moved up the line, looking for something she could snatch. It had to be
done secretly. If they saw her she would never get away.
    As she
prowled, the wind changed, momentarily blowing from the head of the line. Even
among the thousands of sweaty bodies, Ullii caught an elusive, familiar scent.
Her eyes moistened. She raised her head, sniffing the air. There it was again.
Her nipples stood up and Ullii felt an overwhelming flood of desire.
    It
was Nish! Her beloved Nish, who had looked after her so tenderly before. If
only she could get to him, she would be safe at last.
    Eight
Irisis screamed as the pair of lyrinx leapt through the door; she couldn't help
herself. With a backwards flip that she had not known she could perform, she
fled the other way, expecting to find Flangers dead.
    He
was working the sword furiously with his good arm, fighting for his life. The
lyrinx was moving slowly now, the hole in its side pulsing purple blood, though
one of its blows might still have disembowelled a man.
    Flangers
hacked at it but missed. It slashed with one hand, then the other, the blows
tearing through the soldier's shirt as he wove backwards. He stumbled, slipped
in purple blood and fell to one knee.
    Irisis,
still running, acted instinctively. Leaping high, she landed on the lyrinx's
back, caught hold of its crest and brought her knee up hard against the base of
its skull. The lyrinx reared up, shaking its head as it reached back with its
left hand to tear her off.
    As
the blood-tipped claws came at her face, Irisis hung on with her knees and
pummelled it about the side of the head. The blows seemed to daze it so she
poked her fingers into its eyes.
    Flangers
came up off the floor like a ball from a catapult. The outstretched sword slid
between Irisis's knees, found the gap in the plates and plunged into