The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (61 page)

‘Save my father, if he gets what he’s looking for,’ said
Nish.

Flydd looked at him sharply but didn’t ask what he meant. He
was studying Thommel, who was trailing his fingers up and down the timbers of
the hut.

Thommel sniffed his fingers and said, ‘Precious red
amber-wood. No wonder we couldn’t see it. My name is Thommel.’

He didn’t add ‘surr’, which Nish felt was disrespectful.

‘What do you know about red amber-wood, Thommel?’ said Flydd
equably as they shook hands.

‘I’m a woodcutter nowadays,’ Thommel said. ‘I used to come
to these peaks to gather red amber-wood, but that’s a forbidden trade now.
Forbidden to me, anyhow.’

‘We’ve all suffered injustice,’ said Flydd. ‘Our character
is shown in the way we face up to it.’ He turned to Maelys with the
snaggle-toothed smile that transformed his ugly features. ‘You’re Maelys, and
even more lovely than Nish said.’ He held out his hand and Maelys took it. ‘My
name is Xervish Flydd, but you’ll call me Xervish. Everyone does,’ he lied
shamelessly.

‘Hel – hello, Xervish.’ Stumbling a little over the
name, she flushed prettily.

‘Come with me, my dear. I want to hear your tale.’

So saying, he handed the flask to Nish. ‘If you would be so
good as to offer your friends the hospitality of my hut, such as it is. There’s
food inside.’

Flydd went into the hut and came out with a thick coat made
from shiny brown leather with an odd, furry lining. He threw it over Maelys’s
shoulders then took her by the arm and, without a backward glance, limped off
into the mires with her, where they were soon lost to sight.

‘The ugly old devil always did have a way with women,’ Nish
observed, smiling after them. Despite Flydd’s words, nothing could dent Nish’s
mood now. Flydd would find a way out.

He went inside and found a full platter on the table,
covered with a woven reed mat, as if Flydd had been expecting them. It
contained a pile of green cakes which appeared to have been made from pressed
algae, a pot of pickled berries and some dried flesh that could have been fish,
fowl or even giant swamp creeper. Nish couldn’t tell. He carried it out, plus
another three goblets, which he filled with the remainder of the flask.

‘He had a way with good food and better drink, too. Shall
we?’

To his surprise, Thommel accepted a goblet with good grace,
though he waved the platter away. Nish offered it to Zham, who took one of the
algae cakes and put it in his mouth whole. ‘Delicious!’ he mumbled.

They were, too. Nish couldn’t imagine how Flydd had made
them from the scant resources of the plateau but, even in the old days, Flydd
had never ceased to surprise him.

 
FORTY-TWO

Maelys had been so anxious about Nish’s crushing
disappointment, and his state of mind, that her first reaction on seeing him
sitting outside the hut with an old man, drinking and talking merrily, was
irritation. How dare he enjoy himself when they’d spent the last hours looking
for him? But those feelings disappeared as she realised that he’d found what he
was looking for at last. His pale skin was lit up by an inner glow.

The existence of the hut, in an area they’d searched
thoroughly before, was but a momentary surprise. She’d always known the plateau
would be an uncanny place.

But Flydd was a legend from the tales she’d so loved from an
early age and she’d imagined him as a powerful, imposing figure, nothing like
this wizened, hideous old fellow who looked as though he might die at any
moment. Yet once he spoke, she felt as though he was speaking only to her, and
when she took his hand she was struck by his charm, his presence and, even in
old age, his power.

‘Come with me, my dear. I want to hear your tale.’

She pulled his coat tightly about her. It was amazingly
warm, though the fur tickled her throat. ‘Why?’ she said as he gave her his arm
and steered her away into the fog, limping badly. ‘Surely Nish has told you
everything you need to know about me?’

He chuckled. ‘Once a scrutator, always a scrutator. When we
ran the world we had to know everything that went on in it, and I never lost
the habit. After nine years with only the giant swamp creepers for company, I’m
starved for news and human companionship. And, let me be honest, the company of
beautiful women.’

She gave him a quick sideways glance which unfortunately he
noticed. ‘I’m not beautiful, Xervish.’

‘Of course you are. And you can’t believe that beautiful
women would have anything to do with a repulsive old coot like me.’

‘I’m innocent of the ways of men, surr,’ she said softly,
‘but I know what women would see in you.’

‘Diplomatically put, Maelys. You and I are going to be great
friends.’ She must have quivered for he went on quickly, ‘Not friends in
that
way. I’m past all that and,
besides, your heart belongs to another. But we do have a common interest, which
we can talk about later. For now, let’s talk about you. Tell me your tale, from
the beginning. And you must call me Xervish. I insist.’

‘My tale will take a long time, surr.’

‘Xervish,’ he corrected. ‘I have the time. Indeed I have
little else. Begin.’

He led her on a meandering path across the plateau but
Maelys felt perfectly safe, for he knew every part of it. As they strolled, she
told him her tale, leaving out only such parts as were too private, personal or
embarrassing.

‘Interesting,’ he said at the end. ‘Now, something Nish
mentioned has aroused my curiosity.’ She didn’t say anything, and shortly he
continued. ‘That your talent, whatever it may be, is shared by others in your
clan, in one way or another. What is your clan name?’

She felt sure Nish would have told him, but said, ‘It’s Clan
Nifferlin … Xervish.’

‘Nifferlin, Nifferlin, Nifferlin.’ He rubbed his seamed
temples. ‘The scrutators were famed for their memory training and my recall was
better than most. While Scrutator for Einunar, I knew every important family in
my realm, and many of those throughout the world, but it all goes in the end.’

‘My clan was old, but it wasn’t important.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Flydd. ‘Nifferlin – ah, yes. I met
two men of your clan when I was travelling in the east, enlisting support for
the war, perhaps twelve years ago. I can even remember their names –
Rudigo and Pyatre.’

Maelys started, then smiled. It made her feel closer to both
of them, and Flydd. ‘Rudigo is – was my father. The last I heard, he was
dying in Mazurhize, but that was months ago.’

‘And Pyatre?’

‘My uncle. He disappeared; both my uncles did.’

‘Ah,’ said Flydd. ‘I’m very sorry.’

The injury was so old that it no longer hurt – it was
just a loss that could never be made good. ‘Not long after that, Seneschal
Vomix sent in his troops to raze Nifferlin to the ground. The rest of our clan,
at least those who’d survived, fled, but we stayed, living among the wreckage
in two rooms that they could never see, hidden by little Fyllis.’

‘Extraordinary,’ said Flydd, turning to study her more
closely. ‘And you must have a similar kind of talent. Not the same, but from
the same branch.’

‘It appears so. Father taught us that such talents were
dangerous and had to be suppressed, so I never knew I had one. Fyllis was only
little when he went to Mazurhize and I suppose that’s why her talent developed
normally.’ Her heart began to pound. ‘Can … can you help me learn mine?’

‘Why are you looking at me so anxiously?’

‘Ever since Father had to flee for his life, whenever I’ve
wanted something I’ve been told I can’t have it. Or that it’s not for me. Or to
get back to work and stop being such a stupid dreamer.’ Maelys realised that
she was wringing her hands, and put them behind her.

‘People can be cruel,’ said Flydd.

‘But it was all my fault.’

‘What was?’

She told him about meeting Vomix on the road as a child, and
how her foolish, innocent remark had condemned her clan.

‘And you feel guilty about that, though you were just a
kid?’

‘I’ll never forgive myself.’

‘Yet you’re the kind of person who can forgive others for
injuries they’ve done you.’ He didn’t offer her absolution. He merely said,
‘You didn’t condemn them. The Nifferlin talent did, and Vomix would surely have
found out about it, sooner or later.’ He looked away, thinking. ‘You will
forgive yourself, one day.’

They didn’t speak for a while, then Flydd said, ‘Tell me
everything you know about Monkshart, and Phrune too.’

She did so, and he thanked her, gravely. ‘You know more
about Monkshart as he is now than anyone, I think, for you’ve seen him as he
really is.’

Maelys was pleased to be able to help him. ‘Did you know
them, Xervish?’

‘Not Phrune. He would not have been of age when the war
ended. I’ve met Monkshart, whom I knew as Vivimord. Nish and I talked about
him. What will he do, I wonder?’

Maelys hadn’t thought about him lately. Since they’d seen
the flappeters she’d been focussed on Nish, and Jal-Nish. ‘He’ll come.’

‘Yes, Monkshart will come. He’ll do whatever it takes to get
here. He could be here already.’

‘What, up here?’

‘Not without my knowing, but he may not be far from
Thuntunnimoe – what’s the matter, Maelys?’

She controlled her heavy breathing with an effort. ‘Whenever
I think of Phrune and what he nearly did to me, I get such a pain in my chest.
I can’t seem to draw enough air.’

‘Breathe slowly, and if you must think about Phrune, don’t
go over the things he did to you. Think about the times when he was struggling,
failing, and terrified. Think of him as a man too afraid to face his own fears
or foes, so in malice and bitterness he preys on the innocent when they’re
helpless.’

Maelys imagined Phrune as she’d seen him coming out of the
maze, eyes glazed, speckled with vomit and earless after the sergeant had dealt
with him. It helped, just a little.

‘Did you also know Tulitine, Xervish?’

‘I don’t recognise the name, and I don’t suppose I’ll meet
her now. She sounds too old to climb the pinnacle. Pity.’

She took a deep breath, then asked anxiously. ‘Will you help
me with my talent, surr?’

‘Of course, when I have the time. I’d dearly love to read
your clan Histories too, but I dare say they’re lost.’

‘I think so. Mother burned most of the books from the
library last winter, to keep warm. Where do you think my talent could have come
from?’

‘I’ve no idea. Sometimes such gifts arise spontaneously from
a fortunate pairing of mother and father. Others can lie latent for many
generations before suddenly rising to the surface in one family, or just one
child, then disappearing again. And some families show talent for generation
after generation, only to lose it forever. You can never tell. It doesn’t
matter, does it?’

‘I just wondered, since our clan has been all but wiped out
to get rid of the talent.’

‘The really important question is where your taphloid came
from.’

‘I don’t know. Father gave it to me and told me to keep it
secret from everyone, including the aunts. Especially the aunts …’

‘Describe it.’

She did so, and it roused her longing for the little device,
to say nothing of the guilt she felt for being too frightened to do what had
needed to be done – slit Phrune’s murderous throat and take it back.

‘I don’t recognise it,’ said Flydd, ‘but many artisans and
mancers crafted cunning devices in the latter stages of the war. No one could
keep track of them all, and some were always kept secret. Where is it now?’

‘Phrune stole it after we came out of the maze. I’d given it
to Jil’s little brother and asked him to hand it to Seneschal Vomix, and it
turned his aura inside out so agonisingly that his face tore from screaming.’
It was another image she’d never forget. ‘Vomix couldn’t let go of the
taphloid. I told you that.’

‘It was cleverly done – though I still don’t
understand quite what it did. And you didn’t tell me how you knew to do it.’

‘It was a gamble. A guess after he accidentally touched it
in the maze while pawing at me, and it hurt him cruelly.’

‘One other thing.’ Flydd perched his scrawny buttocks on a
wet rock and patted the surface beside him.

She sat down. He didn’t seem so frightening now. He
understood her. ‘Yes, Xervish?’

‘What do you want from Nish?’

She didn’t look away quickly enough, for the blood was
already boiling into her cheeks. He took her by the chin and turned her face
back to his, and sighed. ‘Your mother and aunts didn’t send you to save Nish
because they cared about him, did they?’

‘No,’ she whispered, going even redder.

‘They sent you on this deadly mission to ensure his
gratitude so, if he did rise again, Clan Nifferlin would rise with him.’

‘Yes.’

‘But gratitude can be difficult to ensure. It’s so easy to
offend some people, wouldn’t you say? Your mother and aunts would have wanted a
bond or security to make sure all their efforts, and yours, weren’t wasted. But
how could they be sure, from so far away? They couldn’t. The one person who
could form that bond is you, Maelys, but what have you got to offer Nish? Stand
up, please.’

She did so, blushing even more furiously as his eyes roved
over her, though not in the sordid way of Phrune, or even with the desire she’d
seen once or twice on Nish’s face, early on, and in Thommel’s gaze lately.
Flydd’s cloudy eyes studied her dispassionately, thoughtfully, and even with a
trace of wry amusement.

‘They asked you to seduce him and get yourself pregnant with
his child, didn’t they? Even Jal-Nish, monster that he is, would recognise that
bond. It’s the one sure way to save Clan Nifferlin.’

‘They didn’t
ask
me,’ Maelys said faintly.