They reached the ninth level, which was dry here, but found no crystal. Ullii still pointed in the same direction so they continued sinking the shaft towards the tenth. Water began to trickle into the workings and they had to bring in a pump, powered by two workers on a treadmill, to keep them dry. Below the tenth, the trickle would become an unstoppable flood.
A couple of weeks after Ullii’s discovery of the crystal, Irisis woke to the familiar crash of a catapult ball against the wall of the manufactory. She was running to her station, up on the wall near the front gate, when the scrutator caught her by the arm.
‘What is it?’ she yelled, for already the racket was deafening.
‘Take no risks!’
‘I have to get to my post!’ She tried to pull away but he did not let go.
‘I mean it, Irisis. I can’t replace you.’
‘Plenty of women are prepared to warm the scrutator’s bed!’ she snapped, deliberately mistaking his meaning.
‘Don’t be a fool, crafter. I need you: to make controllers, to support Ullii and, most of all, to work with me on the node problem.’ Nodding curtly, he let her go.
Irisis ran up the stairs, feeling guilty that she had not done better, but she could not make controllers without crystal. On the wall, crossbow in her hands, she soon forgot the scrutator’s warning. In the light of the watch flares Irisis could see eight lyrinx, and from the clamour on the far walls, there must be just as many on that side.
A catapult ball sang overhead, smashing into one of the furnace chimneys, which collapsed in a shower of bricks. The masons and bricklayers would slave for a fortnight to repair it.
Crouching between the battlements, Irisis sighted on a large, green-crested lyrinx that seemed to be directing the attack from the eaves of the forest. Stay where you are, just another second. She fired. The lyrinx jerked, then slapped a hand to its breast. The bolt had gone low, embedding itself in the breast plate. The creature would be sorely bruised but no real damage had been done. It raised its fists to the sky in a voiceless cry.
Irisis was reloading the clumsy weapon when someone cried, ‘Look out!’ and she was struck hard between the shoulders. The crossbow skidded down the paving, struck the wall and went off, firing its bolt into the stone.
Irisis was on her knees, trying to work out what had hit her, when she was lifted in the air. A hovering lyrinx had her in its claws, flapping desperately. She must have weighed more than it had anticipated.
She thrashed her arms and legs. Her coat tore and she fell free but the creature slashed out and its claws went through her collar. The beast wobbled in the air as it tried for a better grip. She kicked, caught it in the groin and it went close to dropping her. Its eyes were staring, its breath coming in tortured gasps.
Irisis tried to pull out of her coat but could not get her arms free. She smacked at the face of the lyrinx, which snapped back, almost taking her hand off. Its wings beat irregularly as it struggled to gain height. She attacked again and managed to poke it in the eye with a finger. It canted sideways, its eye closed and she thought it was going to fall over the edge.
Its head lunged, the great teeth snapping so close that she smelt its hot breath. The abduction had failed; now it was trying to kill her. Irisis drew her legs up and kicked it in the jaw. The lyrinx howled and almost fell out of the air. She was a heavy burden for a creature that required the Secret Art to keep its own weight aloft. Irisis touched the artisan’s pliance hanging around her neck and could sense the distortion the lyrinx was making in the field.
She kicked again but it held its head well back now. Its free hand went for her throat, but so slowly she had time to get her arm across. The claws tore harmlessly through the heavy fabric of her coat. The lyrinx gained control, the great wings beat and it lifted. Irisis could see the guards, their weapons tracking the creature, but no one dared shoot for fear of hitting her.
The scrutator came running up the steps, only to stop at the top as if he had run into a wall. The beast was gaining height now, drifting out toward the edge, its wings thumping the air. Just a couple of spans and it could let her go. She heard its rumbling purr. Irisis struggled but its grip was too tight. She had no knife or any other kind of weapon. She kicked and missed. Kicked again.
The creature rotated in the air. Time seemed to be going so slowly. Flydd was up on the edge of the wall, then he whirled, racing for the steps that led to the lookout above the gate. What was he doing?
Appearing at the top of the watch-tower, he took a flying leap out across the angle of the wall. She felt sure he was going to fall to his death, but the lyrinx drifted underneath and he landed with a thump that drove it out of the air. Irisis crashed into the battlement, the creature landing on top of her with stunning impact. It slid down onto the walkway, its skin flaring bright orange, claws scraping the stone beside her face. Lowering its head, it thrust forward. Her arms were trapped. All she could do was draw her knees up before her face. The lyrinx wrenched them apart and kept coming.
The scrutator’s knife dug in between the neck plates and dragged across. Hot blood exploded from its throat, spraying the stone, her face and her hair. The lyrinx stopped struggling. Two soldiers dragged her out from underneath and she watched the great beast die, its eyes slowly closing, the head drooping. The death colours – mottled yellows, greens and scarlets – kept on flickering long after life was extinguished.
Irisis could not stand up. Flydd wiped the blood off her face, sat her with her back to a battlement and put her crossbow in her hands.
‘I told you to be careful. Get your breath. We’ve a long way to go.’ He ran down the wall.
A ball smashed stone into stinging gravel. Another crashed through the light-tower, scattering blazing tar-soaked straw everywhere. Little fires began on the roofs. Attendants scrambled to put them out.
A boulder struck the massive iron gates below their section of the wall, tearing one off its hinges. Another ball hurtled through the gap, followed by a third, equally large. A splintering crash was confirmed by the doorman’s shout.
‘To the gate! The inner gate is broken.’
Levering herself to her feet, Irisis peered over. The lyrinx charged in a group. In the gloom she could not count their numbers. One fell outside the iron gates, another on the step, struck down by a lump of rock dropped from the wall, but it got up again. She fired her crossbow as fast as she could load it, though soon there were no targets left. The survivors were inside the manufactory.
The attacks on the wall continued, the catapults firing from the edge of the forest. In the dark it was almost impossible to hit them, while the soldiers on the wall were easy targets. A splatting thud signalled the end of another guard.
Not long before dawn she saw Flydd hauling himself up the stair by the railing. He looked as if all the blood had been sucked out of him.
‘What’s happening?’ Irisis yelled.
‘They drove us right through the manufactory, but we ambushed them near the furnaces, firing red-hot bolts. They didn’t like that at all. We killed five and injured the others, and they fled out the back door.’
‘Red-hot bolts,’ said Irisis. ‘Whose idea was that?’
‘One of the artificers. He’s dead, now. It turned the battle though; changed minor wounds into disabling ones.’
Irisis, imagining the agony of such a wound, felt ill.
‘We’ve suffered terrible casualties,’ he went on. ‘At least sixty dead and as many wounded. We can’t take much more, Irisis.’