The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (44 page)

She looked down into the grassy valley, drew a sharp breath
and threw herself out of sight. All the upper slopes were covered with tents,
hundreds upon hundreds of them, crammed into every available space between
round rocks and copses of umbrella-shaped trees.

‘Is something the matter?’ Tulitine limped up to her,
leaning on a black, knobbly walking-stick. Rog followed with her gear.

‘There’s an army down there.’

Tulitine reached the top and looked over, moving her head
from side to side as if that helped her to see better. ‘Indeed, and it’s ours.
That’s the Defiance, girl.’

‘But …’ Maelys looked up at the older woman, who stood
taller, even though her back was bent. ‘There are thousands of people down
below, and it’s only been a week since you met Nish.’

‘I’ve been to twelve villages, calling on everyone there to
join the Deliverer and fight for our freedom. Some of my friends are doing the
same, as are many of the people they’ve swayed, and Monkshart himself. How many
people would you say are down there?’

Maelys studied the scene. People were swarming everywhere
and, for an instant, hope flared in her heart. If the Defiance could grow so
quickly, maybe it was possible to overthrow the God-Emperor after all. ‘Too
many to count. Three thousand? Four?’

‘I’d heard six thousand this morning, and more are coming
all the time.’

‘But the God-Emperor must know about them. They’re not even
trying to hide.’

‘Oh, he knows, but why should he be in a hurry? He’s never
been beaten, and the Defiance presents him with the opportunity and the
pleasure of teaching his realm another lesson. If he attacks tonight or
tomorrow, the rebellion will end right here.’ Tulitine turned to Rog. ‘I’ll
take your arm for the journey down, if I may. My old knees find it harder going
downhill than up.’ She looked up at him, smiling girlishly, and Maelys could
have sworn that the old woman fluttered her eyelashes.

Rog grinned and closed his big brown hand over her veined
fingers. ‘No one could take better care of you than I will, Tulitine, by day or
by night.’

Maelys’s euphoria passed as quickly as it had come. The
God-Emperor had gigantic armies which were well-equipped, disciplined and
highly trained. He had battle mancers, flappeters, air-dreadnoughts and all
kinds of devices powered by the Secret Art, to say nothing of the tears
themselves. He could never be beaten.

As they came down out of the scrub into an open meadow they
were intercepted by two guards, though as soon as they saw Tulitine they bowed,
smiled and turned away. Everyone knew the old woman and respected her, but it
felt lax to Maelys. How many spies and agents of the God-Emperor were already
in the camp? All he had to do was snatch Nish away, then fall upon the
leaderless Defiance and butcher them. She shivered, though it was another hot
day.

‘Where is he?’ The tents were all shapes, sizes and colours,
and there was nothing to say which one was Nish’s. She felt a sudden tightness
in the chest, a shortness of breath. ‘Where’s Nish?’

Tulitine took her by the arm, drew her to one side and waved
Rog ahead. ‘Shh! From what you’ve told me, Maelys, which isn’t as much as you
might have, Monkshart and Phrune must not learn you’re here, or else they’ll
finish the job they began in Tifferfyte.’

‘But …’

‘You told me that Monkshart won’t allow the Deliverer to
form attachments which could distract him from his purpose. And there’s
something else about you – something dangerous. I’m not sure what it is
but Monkshart must have sensed it too.’

‘Oh?’ Maelys wondered about that. ‘But I’ve still got to see
Nish.’

‘And so you shall, though not openly. Maelys, listen. You
may think of me as a silly old herb woman, but I’m wise in the ways of the
power hungry. Treachery is the God-Emperor’s must valued weapon and it’s how
the Defiance is most likely to come undone. Trust no one.’

‘Not even you, Tulitine?’ Maelys’s family had squabbled
constantly, but clan loyalty was everything to them and betrayal unthinkable.

‘What makes you think you can trust me?’

‘We’ve been talking for days. I know that you’re wise, and
kind –’

‘Am I,’ said Tulitine coldly, ‘or have I just put on a
suitable face? Many mancers and illusionists could disguise their true selves
to look like a harmless old woman. Who am I really, girl? What do I want, and
how far will I go to get it?’

Maelys reeled backwards. ‘But … but if I must suspect
everyone I meet, what’s the point of hope, or friendship … or life, for that
matter?’ She regarded Tulitine with her dark eyes, then said furiously, ‘I
trust my judgement; I do trust you, whatever you say to the contrary!’

Tulitine sighed. ‘That’s the only answer. You must trust
your judgement above all else. Of course you can trust me, child. After all,
how could an old woman like me harm anyone?’

Maelys smiled at that. Some of the most evil deeds in the
Histories had been committed by crones as venerable as Tulitine, and they both
knew it.

‘What about Nish?’ she said plaintively.

‘Since you haven’t seen fit to favour me with your full
confidence, about either him or yourself, I have nothing to say.’

Maelys flushed. She hadn’t told Tulitine her clan name, nor
of her second duty to her family. ‘We’ve been through so much together and I
think … I –’

‘You think you love him, though I doubt it’s more than a
girlish infatuation. Either way, trust him least of all.’

Maelys felt insulted. ‘He’s a good man!’ she snapped. ‘And
I’m not a child, so don’t treat me like one.’

‘Then don’t act like one,’ Tulitine said mildly.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m not normally
–’

‘I know that. You can’t offend me, child,’ said Tulitine.
‘But I’ve touched Nish, so I know him almost as well as you do. Better, in some
respects. He’s a good man and a worthy Deliverer who will do his best to fulfil
his promise, if the world will let him. But beware! He’s subject to forces that
would tear any normal man apart. His father works on him in all sorts of
uncanny ways, seeking to tempt and compromise him. And Monkshart who, though
few knew it, was the God-Emperor’s most powerful sorcerer and ally before he
turned away –’

‘I didn’t know that!’ cried Maelys. ‘He said he was just a
minor mancer.’

‘And you believed him, though you had every reason not to?
Monkshart, formerly called Vivimord, was the highest of the God-Emperor’s
lieutenants, with everything he could ever want save the one thing he could
never have. Yet he gave it all up – for what?’

‘On a matter of principle, Monkshart said.’

‘And you believed him?’ Tulitine repeated.

Maelys didn’t say anything this time.

‘I also touched Monkshart, or Vivimord. I can’t be sure
about him, though men like Monkshart seldom change. I suspect he wants what
only Nish can deliver him, and he’ll bend every iota of his intellect, will and
mancery to the task of getting it. How can your friend resist these two
opposing forces? Nish must bend one way or another or, like the tree that tries
to resist the hurricane, he’ll be torn apart.’

Maelys was silent for a long time. ‘What am I to do? I’ve
got to know if Nish callously abandoned me, or if he was duped by Monkshart.’

‘And you’ll feel better for knowing the truth?’

‘I’ve got to know,’ she said stubbornly, ‘whatever the
truth. And if Nish is in such danger, I’ve got to help him.’

‘What if your presence would only make things worse?’

‘I don’t know!’ she wailed. ‘But I’ve got to do something.’

‘Yes, you must. Go and sit under that tree, and watch,’ said
Tulitine. ‘I’ll find all-covering robes for you, as if you were a Healer of
Flammermoul.’

‘Won’t that seem suspicious?’

‘Not at all. The Healers are forbidden to show their faces,
and no one with any respect would dream of asking them to. You’ll be quite
invisible, and you can keep an eye on Cryl-Nish while you busy yourself with
good works. But you must not go so near that Monkshart will recognise you. Or
Phrune. Or Nish, for that matter.’

Something occurred to Maelys. ‘What about you, Tulitine?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You say you understood Monkshart simply from touching him.
What if he understood you, too? You could be in as much danger as I am.’

‘Old women are never in as much danger as young ones, for we
have so much less to lose. Don’t worry about me; I take good care of myself.
And there’s Rog to look after me.’ She turned away.

But Rog was just one man. And no matter how clever Tulitine
was, how could she be a match for the man who’d formerly been the highest of
the God-Emperor’s lieutenants?

Maelys, swathed in the shapeless green gown, headpiece
and veil of a Healer of Flammermoul, spent the next two days tending the sick
and injured. She knew how to act the part, for Aunt Bugi had been the clan
healer and Maelys had helped her since she’d turned seven.

There were many sick among the Defiance, mainly due to foul
water, and injuries were common, generally from fighting, drunkenness or
snakebite. Her first patient was suffering from all three, and her duties kept
her so busy that she had no time to dwell on her own problems. She hadn’t seen
Tulitine since they’d arrived, and didn’t know whether she was also in disguise
or had left the camp.

Monkshart led the ever-growing Defiance in a wandering curve
centred on the city of Guffeons, which was situated on the coast. It took over
an hour to get going each morning and the caravan stretched for the best part
of a league, scouring the land of everything edible as it passed. He seemed in
no hurry to reach Guffeons, if that were his destination, for Campanie was
fertile and well populated. Here he could recruit more followers in safety, or
so he told the assembled Defiance.

Maelys, however, felt oppressed; the enemy was out there
somewhere and her dread grew stronger every day. How could this ill-disciplined
and poorly armed rabble hope to keep the God-Emperor’s crack troops at bay?

On the tenth day, not long after noon, they camped on a
tongue-shaped hill with rugged country at the back and swamp to either side,
chosen because it was easy to defend. It was a long haul to get water, though.
Maelys was wearily climbing the steep slope from the swamp with a bucket in
each hand, sweating rivers in her confining clothes, when lightning struck the
rocks at the back of the camp and the skies opened.

Before she reached the hilltop she was soaked to the skin
and the camp had become a muddy, steaming wallow. The downpour flooded the
floor of the tent she shared with half a dozen other women, though an hour
later the clouds had blown away and it was blisteringly hot again.

She spent most of the afternoon tending twin brothers who
had chopped down a dead tree for firewood but felled it on top of themselves.
They had fifteen broken bones between them and it took most of the afternoon to
set them and dress their injuries. Once they were sleeping she pulled the hood
over her face, drew her veil up and went, as she did every day, to stand at the
back of the crowd of supplicants who were milling outside the Deliverer’s tent,
hoping to gain audience.

Some she recognised as having been in waiting for days,
while others were given audience without delay. She wondered why. She could
just make out Nish in the shadows well inside the large tent, separated from
his followers by four burly guards.

She was trying to get a better view when she saw Phrune
seated in a little canvas foyer. His facial injuries had been rudely repaired
and he glowed with self-satisfaction, which could only mean one thing. She
hadn’t noticed him in the camp before and such a surge of hate and disgust went
through her that she choked. The man next to her gave her a curious look.

She hastily turned away, her thoughts racing. Monkshart’s
tissue-thin body-leathers only lasted a few days before they had to be
replaced, so Phrune must be up to his nocturnal activities again, stalking the
young and innocent for their flawless skins.

It took two circuits of the vast camp site before she felt
steady enough to go back. And Phrune had her taphloid. That was the worst thing
of all. She couldn’t bear to think of the only possession from her childhood,
the gift of her dead father, in Phrune’s depraved hands. What if he or
Monkshart could look inside it and see the memories or lessons her father had
hidden there for her? She had to get it back.

The supplicants were still milling in the blistering sun.
Phrune interviewed each of them at length, chose those who would be permitted
to see the Deliverer, and turned the rest away.

One young man had been refused every day since she’d been
here, yet he always came back, standing on tiptoe to try and catch the
Deliverer’s eye. He was tall, with close-cropped brown hair and pleasant,
regular features. He might have been called handsome save that his cheeks were
hollow and he had a pinched look about him. He’d been worked too hard, with
seldom enough to eat, she thought. Still, the world was full of such people,
including herself.

Exhausted, she put him out of her mind and headed towards
her sodden bedding for the briefest of naps, but all she could think of was her
taphloid in Phrune’s hands and the impossibility of getting it back.

 
THIRTY-THREE

By the tenth day the Defiance had grown to a force of
eight thousand, though Monkshart’s envoys and rumourmongers told of twice or
even thrice that figure. Most were armed with bows, swords or spears hidden
since the end of the war, and they appeared to be a formidable force, from a
distance.

But Nish had once commanded an army and was dismayed by what
he saw. Of his eight thousand, many were beardless youths and young women who
had never held a weapon before, while almost as many were middle-aged or old.
They weren’t feeble but their reactions were slow, their eyes weak and their
muscles wasted. Less than a quarter had any battle experience, and that dated
back to the war. Monkshart had made officers and sergeants from the best of
these and set them to train the remainder, though it was not going well. They
simply could not impose army discipline on the unruly peasants.