The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (76 page)

As the battle raged on, Nish noticed that Flydd was probing
the stone wall where the door had opened, then running his hands over the
transparent barrier. Flydd shook his head.

‘You can’t open it, surr?’

‘Not – without power.’

‘Do you think Maelys –?’ Flydd gave a violent shake of
the head and Nish broke off. His father might still overhear.

Maelys, about ten paces away in her bubble, was also
fingering its clear curved wall. Not finding any weakness, she stood with her
nose pressed to the barrier, watching the combatants. A blast of blue fire from
Vivimord was accompanied by a roar that made the wall oscillate like a soap
bubble. She jumped backwards, then came forwards again, staring out.

Both mancers were staggering now. Jal-Nish was bent over,
gasping for breath. Vivimord stood upright, keeping his back to Reaper, but
could barely move. It looked as if his joints were freezing up.

Maelys turned away from them, putting her hand down her
front as if to scratch herself, but lifted something over her head. Nish
couldn’t see what she held, but she thrust her hand out, pushing it hard into
the barrier, and to his amazement it tore open. She forced through, her face a
mask of terrified resolve. As Nish stared at Maelys, she took three steps to
Jal-Nish, who stood side-on to her, and before he had realised the danger she
whacked her open hand against his bare neck.

Jal-Nish convulsed and a coruscating red and black aura, a
reversal or corruption of his own, flickered into existence around him,
dazzlingly bright, then abruptly pulled back in. He smashed Maelys out of the
way with his stiff arm and reeled off, holding his face in his hands and crying
out in agony. She’d touched him with her taphloid.

Vivimord’s head whipped from side to side, as if the senses
which replaced his sight hadn’t told him what had happened, then threw out his
arm to destroy the presumptuous God-Emperor. Nish caught his breath –
despite everything, this wasn’t how his father should fall. And was Vivimord
any better?

Maelys, lying on the floor of the cavern where she’d fallen,
drew her arm back and tossed her taphloid at Vivimord. It whirled through the
air on its chain and struck him on the right cheek. The green nimbus flared
then shrank to nothing; a patch of skin the size of an egg blistered and bulged
out like a black mole. Letting out a thin scream, Vivimord fell down, right on
Reaper. He convulsed until he bent double and shot to his feet again, his robes
smouldering across his chest and belly, the cloth falling away there to reveal
his skin bubbling like crackling on a roast pig.

Nish, scenting the hope of escape after all, forced at the
barrier but it didn’t give. ‘Maelys!’ he screamed, gesturing at her to break it
with the taphloid.

She didn’t see him. She was watching the two mancers, mouth
open. Vivimord was on his knees by the wall, his face screwed up in agony.
Jal-Nish was lurching in circles, the deadly aura flickering in and out, though
Nish noticed that every wobbling circle took him closer to the tears.

Vivimord hit him with blue fire again, knocking Jal-Nish
backwards into the wall. He slumped to the floor but managed to raise his hand
for one final burst of power which hurled Vivimord backwards through the mossy
curtain. He landed on the springy plank, bounced high, struck again and,
deliberately, rolled over the edge.

The transparent barrier faded to nothing. Nish ran to the entrance,
getting there just before his father. It didn’t seem like Vivimord to commit
suicide, and he hadn’t.

He was whirling his hands in front of his face as he fell,
evidently performing summoning mancery, then flung them out as a flock of
Jal-Nish’s bladder-bats materialised below him. He caught one by the legs,
swinging around in a falling spiral as it inflated to several times its former
size, then slowly drifted down out of sight.

Jal-Nish lurched out after him and stood on the plank, his
arms hanging limply, panting. He stared after his former friend, then beckoned
and the distant sky palace began to grind back towards the cave on its
contracting plank. Jal-Nish turned towards Reaper but his corrupted aura flared
brilliantly. He gasped and doubled over, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Maelys got up, slowly and painfully, retrieved her taphloid
from the floor and hung it around her neck. Had she succeeded in recharging the
crystal after all?

Nish felt a surge of impossible hope, but if they had any
chance at all they had to strike now while his father was still weak, and while
the inverted aura prevented him from taking up Reaper again. Even now, Jal-Nish
was far from powerless. He, Nish, had to create a diversion so she could get
the crystal to Flydd, unseen.

His mind raced. What could he do? He had no weapon, nor any
way to attack his father. No plea would make any difference now. Neither would
Jal-Nish listen if Nish were to agree to go back to him. It was too late for
that.

Could he shock Jal-Nish by playing on his greatest fear?
Nish dared not reveal that Maelys had seen him in the Pit of Possibilities, for
that would doom her instantly, but …

‘I know what you’re most afraid of, Father,’ he said. It
didn’t come out as well as he’d thought. It sounded like something one child
would say to another in the schoolyard.

Flydd made a grunting sound in his throat, as if trying to
cut Nish off, but Nish ignored him. They had only one tiny chance and he had to
take it, whatever the cost later. Assuming there was a later.

Jal-Nish didn’t react at all. ‘Another of your silly games,
Cryl-Nish?’

Flydd made another urgent grunt. Nish had to say it now or
he’d never be able to. ‘It’s the antithesis to the tears!’ he burst out. ‘The
one thing that can unmake them and take all your power with it. We’re going to
find it and tear you down, Father.’

Jal-Nish jerked so violently that the platinum mask slipped
sideways, revealing his ruined mouth and scarred chin. His one eye stared at
Nish for a moment, then he thumped the mask back into place, saying hoarsely,
‘I have no weakness. There is no antithesis to the tears.’

From the corner of his eye, Nish saw Maelys ease something
from her pocket, her hand glowing faintly red. She’d done it! They had one last
chance, if she could get the crystal to Flydd without Jal-Nish seeing.

But Jal-Nish raised his good hand. ‘I see what you’re about,
Son, and it won’t work. I know what you’re most afraid of, Maelys of
Nifferlin.’

Maelys’s clenched hand, which had been creeping out towards
Flydd’s, froze. The red glow pulsed in her fist, as if synchronised to her
heartbeat. ‘Afraid of?’ she croaked.

Jal-Nish made a pass in the air and a floating ball of mist
appeared between them, just above head height. ‘Look into the mist,’ he said.

‘Don’t look,’ said Flydd. ‘Whatever he shows you, it’ll be a
lie.’

She looked, and so did Nish. The mist cleared to a globe of
darkness within which the faintest shadows moved. A dull yellow light grew in
the centre, revealing a horribly familiar cell – Nish’s dungeon cell in
Mazurhize, or another exactly like it. It contained four people: three
middle-aged women slumped against one wall, and someone, much smaller, clinging
desperately to the bars.

‘Mother!’ Maelys cried in anguish. ‘Fyllis?’

It was the beautiful blonde-haired little girl who had
rescued Nish from Mazurhize, but she looked gaunt, her hair was lifeless and
her eyes were staring vacantly through the bars. The women didn’t move.

‘It’s a lie,’ Flydd repeated. ‘All a lie, Maelys.’

‘No,’ said Maelys. ‘He has them; I know it.’

‘Give up the crystal, Maelys,’ said Jal-Nish, ‘and I promise
you’ll see your family again.’

‘Because I’ll be in that cell with them.’

‘You’re a clever, brave girl who has given your all for my
son, worthless though he is. I recognise your courage. Hand me the crystal and
I’ll allow you your freedom, and your family’s. I’ll even rebuild Nifferlin
Manor and restore it to you.’

Why doesn’t Father strike her down and take the crystal?
Nish wondered. Was he enjoying the game, or was he too weak now – too
afraid that Flydd would get the crystal first and crush him with its flame-fed
power?

‘But if you don’t,’ Jal-Nish went on, ‘your family will feel
the longest and most terrible excruciations my torturers can devise, and your
little sister will suffer equally with them.’

Maelys closed her eyes, swaying on her feet. Nish knew what
she was going through, for he’d endured the agony of his father’s bitter
choices many times. ‘Don’t give in to him,’ he said softly, though who was he
to say it? In her place …

Maelys looked up at Fyllis, whose mouth was gaping as she
stared through the bars, then turned away from Flydd. ‘I can’t do it, Xervish,’
she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Flydd groaned and reached out a hand.

Maelys took a step towards Jal-Nish, staring into his eye.
She opened her hand and the crystal, lying on her palm, lit up the cavern with
diamond-clear beams of flame-fed light. Nish felt a shiver pass down his spine
at the raw power it held.

The moment was drawn out; time hardly seemed to be passing
at all. His father was staring at it too. Nish saw him swallow. It threatened
him, in his weakened state.

Flydd had fallen to his knees again. Zham and Colm were at
the rear of the cavern, by the closed door, too far away to help. This was
Nish’s own moment of choice. No one else could do anything. It was up to him.
His father wasn’t even looking at him. Dare he try? It would mean sacrificing
Maelys’s family and destroying her faith in him forever. But surely, if it was
their only chance to overthrow his father, he had to take it.

Maelys took another step forwards, and another.

Yes, he would take it. He must, whatever the consequences.
Nish sprang at her, tore the crystal from her hand and in one movement tossed
it to Flydd, praying that his old friend had the wit to catch it.

Flydd fumbled the crystal but caught it on the second
attempt. He stood upright, crying out in exultation, then clenched the crystal
in his fist and raised it high. Jal-Nish hadn’t moved. He was as stiff as a
plank and his thick hair was standing up on his head. He was afraid of his old
enemy and it did Nish’s heart good to see it.

Flydd strained for a minute or two, his face went red and
the muscles of his square jaw stood out, but the closed door behind him did not
budge. He groaned and his hand fell to his side.

Jal-Nish let his breath out, then laughed mockingly. The
corrupted red and black aura which had so weakened him was gone; he wasn’t
afraid now. He’d won and everyone knew it.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Nish desperately, turning to
Jal-Nish. ‘What have you done to the flame crystal?’

‘Show me,’ said Jal-Nish, walking across and picking Reaper
up out of its bed of moss.

Flydd held out his hand. The crystal lay on his palm,
burning with trapped fire.

Jal-Nish hung Reaper about his neck and caressed the
shimmering quicksilver tear. ‘That crystal has power to open any barrier,
for one who can use it
.’

‘What – what do you mean?’ said Nish.

‘Oh, this is the most delicious irony I’ve ever tasted,’
Jal-Nish gloated. ‘Flydd always swore that he’d never take renewal –
indeed, that it was the ultimate corruption. Yet he repudiated that vow,
seduced by the thought of being young and hale again, and having back what the
scrutators’ torturers rightly cut from him. Perhaps he thought to rival me,
even overthrow me. Fool! He knew the renewal spell often goes wrong, yet took
no precautions to prevent it.

‘Renewal has stripped Flydd of his talent for the Art. He’s
not a mancer any more, just the most ordinary of men, and even if that crystal
held all the power of Gatherer and Reaper, he couldn’t force a worm back into
its hole with it. He’s mine, and so are you, Cryl-Nish. If you’d come
willingly, you could have had it all. Now you’ll get nothing – any of you.’

Maelys directed a hate-filled glare at Nish for his
betrayal, then fell to her knees and wept.

THE END

of

The Fate of the Fallen

The story continues in

Book 2

The Curse on the Chosen

The first
chapters of
The Curse on the Chosen
follow

FIRST CHAPTERS OF
THE CURSE ON THE CHOSEN

ONE

Maelys stood frozen in the centre of the cave, glaring
at the rigid back of her enemy. The nightmare had come to pass. That monster,
Jal-Nish Hlar, God-Emperor of all Santhenar, held her mother, aunts and her
little sister Fyllis, the only family Maelys had left, in the festering
dungeons of Mazurhize. Now they were going to pay for her failure; they would
die in unspeakable agony for helping Nish escape his father’s prison, and it
had all been for nothing.

‘Uurgh! Gahh!’

Xervish Flydd was on his knees, throwing up on the floor,
and she blamed herself for that as well. She had pressured him to
renew
his aged, failing body, but the mighty
spell had gone wrong and the God-Emperor had appeared before Flydd could
recover from the trauma. Though he now had the body of a man in middle age, he
had lost his gift for the Secret Art. Without it they could not hope to escape
through the sealed door into the perilous shadow realm as they had planned,
then back to a distant part of Lauralin where they could hide in safety while
Flydd regained his strength.

Huge, gentle Zham stood by the columns carved into the rear
wall, sword in hand, but he could do nothing to save them. Neither could her
friend Colm, beside him. They were also going to die.