The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (9 page)

The flapping flutter was constantly rising and falling, an
unpleasant sound that set her nerves on end, and the creature breathed with a
revolting wet sucking gurgle. Its reek, as pungent as a squashed stinkbug,
stung her nose.

‘Stop right there!’ shouted Rider Hinneltyne, swinging the
flappeter around to stay above them.

‘Get ready to run, Nish,’ she said in a low voice, praying
that he was capable of taking in their situation. She let go of him but he
wobbled then slumped to his knees.

Maelys almost wept with frustration. She had never been
attacked before and had no idea what to do. She couldn’t carry Nish, nor could
she abandon him. She backed away so the rider couldn’t take them both at once,
feeling on the ground for a stick, a stone or anything she could defend herself
with, but the rocks littering the slope were either too big to throw or too
small to do any damage.

The flappeter dropped sharply, its rider snorting in
triumph. Maelys ran a few more steps, snatched up a stone the size of a plum
and hurled it up at him. It missed. Even as a child she’d not been one for
throwing stones. She was feeling for another when the flappeter swooped at her,
tilting sharply. Rider Hinneltyne thrust one fist forwards and it disappeared
for a second, then a double-beat of the feather-rotors blasted her off her
feet, sending her rolling across the stony ground.

She scrambled up, dropped the stone, snatched another and
hurled it at one of the creature’s large eyes, but it had already darted away
towards Nish. ‘Nish!’ she shouted, ‘Look out!’ not realising that the
leather-clad rider had dismounted until he threw himself at her.

Ducking low under his outstretched arm, she ran. He was a
big man, head and shoulders taller than her and powerfully built, but
slow-footed and lumbering, as if not used to moving on the ground. Maelys
stayed ahead of him, though she wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up. Her
legs were very tired. As she turned to check on Nish, the flappeter, its pairs
of bristly legs spread, came down on top of him, knocking him to the ground.
Reversing the beat of its rotors, it slowly rose, holding him between four of
its legs. The moon was just rising, silhouetting the creature’s bristles and,
creeping down the legs towards Nish’s limp form, many small shapes like
saucer-sized lice.

This was the fatal moment. Nish was lost and, even if she
got away from the rider, Vomix’s troops must track her down. Her only hope was
to implode her taphloid. Maelys hesitated, though only for a second. She
couldn’t go much further. There was a stitch in her side and her knees were
giving out.

She jerked on the chain as she ran, tearing the taphloid
from between her bound breasts and pulling it over her head, recalling the way
Aunt Haga had instructed her to implode the crystal inside it. But that would
cost her the only treasure she had left … She darted back towards the rising
flappeter as Hinneltyne came at her. Nish was struggling now, the lice swarming
on him. And the taphloid held secrets she’d need later on. She pressed its
hidden catch, shook out the crystal and thrust the now-dead taphloid back where
it came from. She shot a glance over her shoulder.

The rider was only a few paces behind, grinning as if
already counting his reward. Not if she could help it! Maelys thought herself
into the heart of the crystal as she’d been taught, then imagined turning it
inside-out and all the power stored within it long ago vanishing in a burst of
fury. Come on, crystal, come on! Hinneltyne threw himself at her but she ducked
again and darted the other way, skidding on gravel. At last the crystal grew
hot in her hand. Spinning on one foot, she hurled it down onto a rock directly
between herself and the rider.

The crystal cracked and red fire glowed along the crack
lines, though it was instantly sucked inside with a zipping sound. The crystal
burst asunder, setting off a
disruption
that rang through the air in all directions, sending a flurry of enigmatic
images through her mind. A spear of pain wiped the images out of memory before
she could take them in. She lost a few seconds and came to, staggering across
the mountainside with the moon glaring into her eyes.

The rider was crouched ten paces away, holding his head
between his hands, swaying from one foot to the other and moaning piteously.
Where was Nish? She couldn’t see the flappeter. Had it gone already?

Something made a shuddering, sucking gurgle above and behind
her; there came a series of violent flutter-flaps and she whirled to see the
flappeter spinning wildly, now on its side, now upside down and desperately
trying to stay in the air. The feather-rotors tangled and it crashed into the
slope, rolled over, still holding Nish between its bristly legs, and lay still.

Had she killed it? Surely not; it hadn’t fallen far, nor all
that hard. Nish was struggling weakly but didn’t seem able to free himself from
the barbed hooks that ran up its legs. She watched it warily, afraid to
approach in case it caught her too.

Maelys didn’t want to go near it, for it was powerful enough
to tear her legs off, but this was her only chance to free Nish. Dare she try?
Taking that first step required what little courage she had left. She was
willing herself to take another when Rider Hinneltyne groaned and forced
himself to his feet. He reeled towards her, teeth bared in a grimace of agony,
eyes like luminous holes in the moonlight. The disruption had hurt him badly
but nothing short of death could make him give up such a prize.

Maelys wasn’t used to thinking on her feet and instead of
bolting, she froze. He fumbled a knife from a belt sheath – a long,
curving blade with something shining in the hilt, and held it up so she could
see it. It matched the unnerving glitter of his eyes, but now something was wrong;
he didn’t look like the same man at all.

Hinneltyne lurched towards her, swaying from side to side,
the knife hacking at the air. What was the matter with him? He was acting like
a man insanely determined to kill her, despite Vomix’s orders. The disruption must
have robbed him of his wits, much as the earlier mind-storm had done to Nish.

The flappeter reared up to her left and let out a shrill cry
of pain, whereupon the rider fell to his knees, mouth gaping, his cry echoing
its suffering. Could rider and flappeter be linked in some way, so that each
felt the other’s pain?

She had to attack while he was down. Maelys threw herself at
him and managed to wrest the knife out of his trembling hand, but before she
could get away his eyes focussed and he swung the other fist, cracking her on
the jaw so hard that it knocked her sideways.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she fell, jaw throbbing. Her
head spun. She scrambled away blindly on hands and knees, the knife clacking on
the stony ground, nearly dropping it as she came to her feet and ran. He hurled
a stone at her. It just missed – he seemed to be recovering his
coordination.

Maelys was on her last gasp and couldn’t run any more. She
turned, watching him warily. He hurled another stone, which caught her below
the breastbone, knocking the wind out of her. She doubled over, wheezing.

He moved a few steps towards her, only to stumble as the
flappeter let out another cry. Maelys backed away, though this time he rose at
once, looking even more witless, and hurled another stone at her face. She wove
out of the way but it cracked into her upraised left elbow and her arm went
numb. Maelys forced herself on, sobbing with pain and terror. Where was the
knife? She’d dropped it. She grabbed it with her good hand as the rider came
for her, big hands outstretched, eyes fixed on her throat, snarling like a
beast. If she didn’t stop him he was going to kill her. It was a life-changing
moment. Maelys had never contemplated harming anyone before, but there was no
choice now.

She took a wild slash at his hands. He swayed out of the
way, then kicked out at the knife, catching her on her numb fingers. He kicked
again, trying to knock the knife out of her hand, but missed and the blade
skated across his shinbone. He gasped; the flappeter reared up, letting out a
sympathetic wail, and he convulsed, but shook off the momentary loss of
coordination and went for her throat again. Maelys’s knees were giving out; she
couldn’t last another minute.

He must have been trained in knife fighting for he avoided
each slash easily, slow though he was. She swiped at his hand, missed; brought
the knife up and hacked down at him. He knocked her arm out of the way,
carelessly, contemptuously. Hinneltyne wasn’t afraid of her, and suddenly
Maelys ran out of steam. She watched him come, knowing he was going to take her
and unable to do anything about it.

He laughed wildly, lunged. His big hands encircled her neck
and his thumbs dug into her windpipe, trying to crush it. She gasped, flailed
wildly, knowing she was doomed, then more by luck than skill got a wicked hack
into his corded neck. The point of the blade went right through the jugular
vein into his windpipe. Hinneltyne made a sucking gurgle, his fingers relaxed,
and in a spray of blood he fell.

SIX

Maelys reeled away and fell to the stony ground, unable
to tear her eyes from the ghastly sight of the man she’d killed. The blood flow
was just a trickle now, but his severed windpipe was still sucking and
bubbling. His arms and legs twitched and went still; the sucking stopped, then
in the distance she made out a shrill keening as if the flappeter was grieving
for its rider who would link with it no more.

She’d killed a man; taken a life. Nothing would ever be the
same. Maelys rolled over onto her back. She felt awful. Her jaw ached, her
chest and stomach were a mass of pain, her throat was bruised and as the life
returned to her numb forearm she felt a sharp pain in her right index finger
where he’d kicked her. It felt broken.

The flappeter wasn’t moving now, but neither was Nish, still
trapped between its legs. She was making her way to him when she noticed a
light, a long way down the mountain to her left. No, a line of lights –
the troops Seneschal Vomix had sent.

The flappeter lay still, its breathing tubes squelching
every so often. Mucous dripped from them and the acrid stink was stronger here.
‘Nish?’ she said softly.

He mumbled something incomprehensible. He was held within a
tepee of four or five legs, each the length of a tall man. They were no thicker
than her wrist, and covered in a horny substance through which wiry bristles
protruded at intervals, terminating in retractable hooks. A series of thorny
outgrowths, each the length of her little finger, ran up the front of each leg,
and Nish was caught in these.

As she tried to pull him out, something bit her on the
little finger. Maelys jerked her hand away but the giant louse didn’t let go;
its fangs were still embedded in her finger. She brought the knife up sharply,
skewered it through the back and flicked it away. Her finger was burning now.

Nish was covered in the creatures; dozens were crawling
across his face, trying to push into his mouth and probing at his nostrils. She
dropped the knife and attempted to ease the flappeter’s legs out of the way.
They were rigid, as if the muscles had locked when the creature collapsed, but
by heaving with the weight of her body she managed to pull them apart.

She was bitten three more times before she had formed a gap
large enough to ease Nish out, wiggling him this way and that to free him from
the snagging thorns. She dragged him a few steps and checked on the lights,
which were noticeably closer. And what if Vomix got hold of another flappeter?
Panic rose at the thought but she choked it down and went at Nish’s giant lice
with her knife, flicking them off and stamping on them. After she’d killed a
few the rest scuttled back to the flappeter.

Nish had been bitten many times. His face was dotted with
little flecks of blood and rising lumps. She felt him over, front and back,
making sure that none of the creatures had hidden inside his clothes or forced
themselves into his mouth.

‘Nish, the soldiers are coming up the mountain. Can you
walk?’

‘Gruump!’ He didn’t move, and when she heaved him to his
feet his legs collapsed. He was really cold; he could die of exposure higher
up. And without her coat, so might she.

She pushed up his eyelid; his eye stared blankly out. Maelys
felt sick. What else could she do? Yet a little core of defiance remained in
her. She couldn’t bear to think of Fyllis in the God-Emperor’s hands; she had
to keep going.

The rider’s leathers were fur-lined, just what Nish needed.
Trying to avoid looking at the mess she’d made of Hinneltyne, she began to
strip off his jacket. It was bloody down the front, stank of sweat and swam on
Nish. She put her own coat back on. Maelys considered Hinneltyne’s pants,
couldn’t face the thought of removing them, then decided that she was in no
position to be squeamish.

She pulled them down over his massive thighs. It was
surprisingly hard work, for he had gone floppy and it was difficult to lift his
legs. After hacking the pants legs to the right length she dressed Nish in the
leathers, pulled the sleeves down over his hands and folded the ends back in.

Maelys took Hinneltyne’s boots, mittens and belt, ran it
around her waist twice and buckled it on. The mittens would be useful if she
did get away. He wore no rings or money belt, though below the ragged opening
in his throat a leather thong ran down into his blood-matted chest hair.
Something glowed faintly green there.

Drawing it out by its thong, she wiped the blood off on a
fold of the rider’s undershirt. It was a little oval brooch or amulet whose
shape vaguely reminded her of a flappeter, though its jade eyes were slanted
rather than spherical and the feather-rotors were represented only by
indentations.