The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (51 page)

He felt around with a stick in case of traps, uncanny or
mechanical, then silently scooped a small amount of gold and silver into one of
the leather pouches lying nearby. He tied the drawstrings tightly so it
wouldn’t chink and fastened it to his belt.

The guards were still talking at the front. As he rolled
out, more painfully, again Nish felt a momentary dizziness. Moving off into the
darkness he coughed twice, as agreed, and shortly Zham appeared. He retrieved
their packs from where he’d hidden them, and ten minutes later they were beyond
the outer ring of guards and walking as quickly as Nish could manage, due
north. Zham could see in the dark almost as well as a cat, evidently, for he
wove through the grass and trees without ever tripping or losing his footing.

‘Monkshart will come after us, won’t he, surr?’

‘I left a letter to the Defiance, telling them of an urgent
mission that I must carry out alone. Monkshart will have to show it to them to
explain my disappearance, else the Defiance will fall apart. But once that’s
done, I’m sure he’ll follow us. We’ve got two hours to cover our tracks. Can
you do that, Zham?’

‘I’ll do my best, surr. I’m a good woodsman.’

Nish felt sure that was an understatement, for Zham’s every
accomplishment had exceeded his expectations. He followed him into the night,
doing exactly as Zham told him.

Nish’s mind was on more important matters. Who could have
brought the nylatl here, and why did that person want Nish dead? No agent of
his father would order such a thing, no matter their ambitions, for if Nish
died, Jal-Nish’s wrath would be both terrible, widespread and indiscriminate.

It left but one other person, though Nish couldn’t bear to
think about that.

 
PART THREE – MISTMURK MOUNTAIN

 
THIRTY-SEVEN

‘Who would want to kill Nish?’ Maelys rubbed her
goose-pimpled arms, shivering despite the warm morning, and reached into her
pack for a cold leg of hare. They’d had a good breakfast an hour ago but she
was starving again. ‘How would his death benefit anyone?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m betting he does.’ Thommel walked
away, making figure-eights around the camp fire and through the trees, then
came back. ‘Monkshart read out Nish’s address to the Defiance. He’s gone on a
secret mission that he must do alone, after which he will return to lead the
Defiance to victory.’

‘A secret mission,’ she repeated, looking away.

She didn’t know much about Nish’s vision in the Pit of
Possibilities, for they’d been separated before there had been time to discuss
it in detail. He had to find a tall but narrow plateau, like a cut-off needle
rising out of the rainforest, and climb it to discover whatever was waiting for
him at the top. Nish had been transformed by the vision.

Maelys hadn’t thought much about it at the time but now it
bothered her, for the Pit of Possibilities seemed to have been under
Monkshart’s control, at least while he was there, and she didn’t trust anything
he’d had a hand in, or anything that had come out of it. The plateau could be a
trap by whoever wanted to kill Nish, though that seemed unlikely, since it was
so far away and difficult to get to. But why else would someone lure him there?
To hold the son of the God-Emperor hostage? Again, why so far – unless
the plateau was home to powerful forces that could be found nowhere else.

‘Maelys?’ said Thommel. ‘You know where he’s gone, don’t
you?’

‘Why should I tell you anything,’ she snapped, frustrated
that she couldn’t work out what was going on, ‘since you don’t see fit to tell
me anything about yourself? Or what you want from my friend Nish.’

‘You haven’t told me what you
really
want from him either,’ he observed. ‘Though it conflicts
with what I see shining in your eyes. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’

‘Don’t be stupid!’ She looked down, flushing again. She had
such trouble reading other people, yet her face was an open book to them, and
she hated it.

She cursed her sheltered upbringing, her youth and
inexperience, and couldn’t bear to be dependent on this close-mouthed and
alarmingly perceptive fellow. Without food, money and supplies she’d never find
the plateau, for as soon as she asked about it she’d come to the notice of the
God-Emperor’s spies. She had to trust someone and it might as well be him, but
she resented it.

‘All right!’ she muttered. ‘But you’ve got to tell me
something about yourself, first.’

He made another figure-eight around the camp fire, his
agitation evident in every jerking movement, then sat down and said, ‘Very
well. I – I met Nish a long time ago, during the war. I helped him and he
made me a promise which he never kept.’

‘I’m sure there was a good reason.’

He gave her a cynical look, and she knew why. Nish had
repeatedly tried to get out of his promise to become the Deliverer, and now
he’d fled. Was he totally untrustworthy? She couldn’t allow herself to believe
it, and yet …

‘I don’t know what his secret mission is, and neither would
Nish want me to talk about his affairs to a stranger. But I do know where he’s
going.’ She described the plateau as Nish had seen it in the Pit. ‘He was all
aglow after he had the vision. He said it was a lucky place for him.’

Thommel started. ‘I know that plateau!’ he cried, smiling
for the first time. ‘I saw it when I was a timber cutter in the rainforest.
It’s called Thuntunnimoe – Mistmurk Mountain – and it’s not that
far from here. We could reach it in a fortnight of hard walking.’

‘Mistmurk Mountain?’ The coincidence of names had to mean
something, if it was a coincidence, and she didn’t like the sound of it.

Assuming that Nish and Zham would have hidden their
tracks, Thommel didn’t try to find out which way they’d gone. He set off to the
nearest town to buy boy’s clothes and an extra pair of boots for Maelys, plus a
small sack of flour, a round of cheese and a string of onions. Everything else
he planned to get by hunting with his short bow, or by trapping.

Maelys remained at the camp, since the town was in the
opposite direction to their destination and she didn’t want to take the risk of
being recognised again.

After eating she felt vaguely ill, as she had last night.
She was sitting by the fire, drinking cup after cup of bitter tea made from a
local herb that helped to settle her stomach, when it occurred to her that if
she didn’t try to get her taphloid back now there was little chance she would
ever see it again. The thought of losing it forever to Phrune was too much to
bear, and she began to wonder if there might be a way to recover it.

She still had her robes and it would be a simple matter to
get back into the camp wearing them, since there were plenty of other healers,
though she would have to act right away. Once Monkshart and Phrune set out
after Nish, she’d lose the chance.

I’ll just go into the camp and see, she thought. And if it
looks impossible, nothing has been lost. It also allowed her to put off the
decision for as long as possible. Tulitine was right. She did lack courage.

Within the hour she was in the camp. The Defiance showed no
sign of moving on today. The people looked dazed, uncomprehending, milling
about in groups which were constantly breaking up and reforming, and everyone
who entered the camp was accosted in case they had news of the Deliverer.
Maelys was asked three times before she reached the centre of the camp, to
which she replied each time with a shake of the head.

She wandered towards Monkshart’s large tent. No one took the
slightest notice. She circled it twice, feeling her chest tightening at the
thought of trying to get inside. If Phrune looked out he would recognise her at
once, despite her all-enveloping robes. What if he’d spotted her already?

Maelys followed that thought through, imagining Phrune
kneeling over her with his blade, taking the living skin off her in one piece so
he could make the perfect body-glove for his master – No! She turned away
and plunged back into the crowd, allowing it to carry her along and around the
camp like a leaf in a whirlpool.

A disturbance began at the other side of the camp and the
crowd surged that way, desperate for news or any kind of diversion. Maelys went
with it for a while, until it occurred to her that this might be her chance to
get inside Monkshart’s tent, if Phrune and his master came out to see what was
going on.

She fell back to the rear, then turned and wandered away
until she had a clear view of the tent. Yes, there was the tall figure of
Monkshart at the entrance, and Phrune a few steps away. Monkshart gestured to
Phrune, who hurried after the crowd. Monkshart did not go inside, but walked a
few steps, staring at the distant throng. Even from this distance he looked
worn. His arms hung limply and his back was bowed. Maelys was pleased to see
it.

Now or never. She tried vainly to calm herself, discovered
she couldn’t, then screwed up her courage as far as it would go and walked
around to the back of the tent. No one was looking. She got down on the dry
ground, lifted the side and wriggled underneath.

It was divided into a number of rooms inside. She was in a
large room, an audience chamber perhaps, with a rug on the ground, several
chests in the centre and, beside them, a table made of planks set on trestles.
She left this chamber for later. First she had to find Phrune’s room. Ah, there
it was; the smallest of five. It had a low camp bed, the covers fastidiously
arranged, a small chest, a long, knee-high trestle table whose planks were
shiny with oil, and a belt which sheathed a number of stilettos. His canvas bag
was closed.

Maelys checked it swiftly. It contained nothing but clean
clothes. She turned to the chest. It contained several small instruments that
might be alchymical devices, plus packets of herbs and powders, and jars of
balm. She looked under the bed. Nothing but a spare pair of boots. She checked
them. Nothing was hidden inside.

She was about to go to the next room when she heard Phrune
plodding back, rather out of breath. ‘Just fools fighting over nothing, Master.
Come inside and I’ll cream you up.’

Monkshart muttered something she didn’t catch, in a dead
voice. Maelys should have gone under the side at once but she didn’t think
quickly enough, and when the two entered the outer flap of the tent there was
no time to do anything but slip beneath the camp bed and pray that the
low-hanging covers would conceal her if they came in.

They did. Maelys could see a sliver of the room through a
gap between the covers. Monkshart pulled off his robes then stood while Phrune
peeled away the body gloves, inspected them carefully for tears and laid them
out over the bed. He then helped Monkshart onto the table. He lay down
carefully on his front, wincing. The weeping, corrugated skin covered him all
over.

Phrune scooped balm from a jar and began to spread it over
Monkshart’s legs.

‘The scouts saw no sign of the Deliverer,’ Monkshart said
dully. ‘He’s concealed his tracks too well; by the time I can scry them out
he’ll be long gone. Our quest is teetering towards failure, Phrune. How could
it have come to this?’

Maelys couldn’t hear Phrune’s reply over the squelching of
the balm.

Monkshart went on. ‘He’s gone after her, hasn’t he? After
all I’ve done for him.’

‘I expect so, Master.’

‘What’s the matter with Cryl-Nish? How can he not want to
become the Deliverer?’

‘He’s fatally flawed, Master. I’d say his father has broken
him – or else he’s a gutless fool whose exploits in the war were a total
lie.’

‘No – Nish was a hero once; a great man. With his
allies, he changed the course of the world.’

‘There’s no sign of such vision now. You should have held to
your original plan – taken his mind and used him as a walking, talking
puppet.’

There was a pause while Monkshart turned over, then he said,
‘I dare say you’re right, and should he ever fall into my hands again that’s
exactly what I’ll do. Unfortunately that doesn’t help us now. What does he see
in the little wretch, anyway?’

‘It’ll be her talent between the sheets, Master. The quiet,
ugly ones make the best lovers – they have to try harder.’ Maelys
cringed. ‘And after all,’ Phrune said slyly, ‘Nish hasn’t had it for ten years.
It’s not surprising he should become attached to the first little tart who
spread her legs for him.’

‘I suppose so.’ Monkshart’s voice hardened. ‘But it’s not
her only appeal, is it?’

‘What do you mean, Master?’

‘I’ve been looking into Clan Nifferlin and I don’t like what
I’m seeing. There’s a clan talent. Jal-Nish killed most of the men to be rid of
it, but I think she’s got it too.’

‘But she has no aura. You said –’

‘I thought Cryl-Nish had made up those stories about Maelys
to protect her, but I’ve changed my mind since she followed us through the
maze. She’s got to have a talent: look what she did to Vomix. Have you got that
device of hers – what did she call it?’

‘She told the boy it was a taphloid.’

‘Curious word,’ mused Monkshart. ‘I’ve never heard it
before.’

Phrune moved and cut off her view, but Maelys heard the
rustle of tissue-leather.

‘And just the touch of it was agonising to Vomix,’ Monkshart
went on. ‘Can she have enchanted it in some way?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Phrune. ‘I barely touched it, yet
it felt as if my aura was being turned inside out – as though my very
nature was being forcibly changed. Yet it didn’t hurt the boy.’

‘The boy has no talent. He’s just an ordinary kid with no
aura. I don’t dare touch it with bare skin –
what did you say
?’

‘It seemed to
invert
my aura, Master. No, it felt as if it was trying to convert my aura into its
opposite, and changing me at the same time – transforming the very
essence that gives me my talent.’ Phrune shuddered ostentatiously. ‘Such
torment!’