The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2) (74 page)

Hostage! For –
white-ice-fire!
that tormented being from the void had cried as it seized
the God-Emperor and carried him off, but what had it meant?

Had Stilkeen meant that Jal-Nish was held hostage until it
regained the chthonic fire – the force that had once bound its physical
and spirit aspects together – stolen from it in ancient times?

Or did the caduceus signify that the whole world was
Stilkeen’s hostage? Either way, Nish had no idea what to do about it. No one on
Santhenar had faced an immortal
being
before and not even Yggur, oldest of them all, knew how to deal with it.

‘Then I’d better organise our defences.’ Nish turned away,
sick at the thought of the coming massacre. The professional soldiers up there
were going to tear his rag-tag militia apart.

His eye fell on the ginger-haired cook’s boy, Huwld, a
cheerful, scrawny lad of eleven.

‘What the blazes are you doing here?’ Nish cried.

‘Got better,’ grinned Huwld.

He had suddenly appeared halfway up the range, as though the
militia had been hiding him from Nish all that time. Nish had sent the boy back
with the third of his militia who had contracted dysentery, but somehow Huwld
was still here, and it made the coming battle so much worse. The boy was going
to die, along with all his people, and Nish couldn’t bear it.

The Gendrigoreans seemed to have no idea what an army was
really for, or how brutal and savage warfare was. And why should they, Nish
mused. No enemy had successfully crossed the Range of Ruin into Gendrigore in
over a thousand years.

At first he’d thought of them as little more than carefree,
pleasure-loving innocents, impossible to turn into a decent fighting force, but
he knew better now. Inside, they were tough as the gnarled roots of an old
tree.

Huwld had vanished again and, as Nish scanned the militia
for the boy, he saw Aimee, a young woman so small and slender that she made
Nish look tall. Whatever had possessed him, allowing her to join the militia?
She was as brave as any warrior, but what use was she going to be when the
fighting started? A heavy blow would break her in half.

Nish shook off the gloom and self-doubt before it became
despair, and looked up. Above the western ridge, Jal-Nish’s deputy, the dwarf
General Klarm, stood spread-legged on a drifting air-sled the size of an
emperor’s bedroom. He appeared to be issuing orders to his troops, who were
lined up along the ridge like pegs on a washing line. Nish estimated their
number at a thousand, three times his militia, and they were big, brutal men,
twice Klarm’s height. The God-Emperor’s white standard, mounted on a wooden
pole at the bow, flapped high above him.

Nish still couldn’t come to terms with the betrayal, for
Klarm, who had been a friend and ally during the war, was one of the bravest
men Nish had met. Yet after Jal-Nish seized power ten years ago Klarm had,
inexplicably, taken service with him and was now his commander-in-chief, even
trusted with the Profane Tears in his liege’s involuntary absence. And because
Nish’s militia had refused to surrender, Klarm would show no mercy.

‘They’ll shoot us down from the edges of the clearing,’ said
Gi, a gentle, sturdy young woman, one of Nish’s lieutenants and his closest
friend in the militia. ‘No need to risk their own lives.’

‘The God-Emperor doesn’t give a damn for his soldiers’
lives,’ said Flydd, ‘but he would not risk his only surviving son’s life, and
neither can Klarm. They’ll have to come on foot, and an agonising death awaits
any soldier who harms you, Nish.’

Nish took no comfort from that, for no one could control the
course of a battle, and in its chaos soldiers were often killed by accident, or
even by their own people. Besides, he would sooner die in battle than be
captured and see all his friends and allies slain.

‘Take them!’ Klarm’s amplified voice rang out from the
air-sled, and his troops began to move down the steep ridges towards the
rainforest covering the floor of the valley.

‘What if we run into the forest?’ said Gi. ‘It’s dark in
there. Some of us might escape.’

‘They’ve ringed the valley and they hold the only exit,’
said Nish. ‘Klarm will make sure that no one escapes. We’ve got to stay
together.’

He raised his voice. ‘Form into a circle, facing out.
Archers at the front, lancers behind them and swordsmen at the rear. Archers,
when I give the order, fire until they’re just ten seconds away, then fall
back. Lancers, hold firm and make them come onto your spears. They won’t dare
fire at you for fear of a stray arrow hitting me or Maelys.’ At least, Nish
hoped they wouldn’t.

The militia formed a tight circle, about forty paces across,
surrounding the caduceus with their backs to it.

‘What good will it do?’ said Hoshi, a big, enthusiastic
youth who had been an apprentice potter in Gendrigore. Nish had tried to train
him in leadership but Hoshi had no head for it, his only tactic being to go
straight at his opponent, whacking furiously.

Nish rubbed his scarred left hand, which was aching again.
Many years ago, on the battlefield of Gumby Marth, his father had thrust Nish’s
hands into the tears in an attempt to control him, but the compulsion had
failed and Nish’s feeble, unreliable clearsight had appeared instead. Last
month, in a cavern at the clifftop of Mistmurk Mountain, he had put his left hand
into Reaper in a desperate effort to enhance his clearsight and find Flydd’s
lost Art, and had partly succeeded, though his hand had been hideously burned.

He kneaded the scars as he considered Hoshi’s question. The
poorly armed and untrained militia stood no chance in hand-to-hand combat with
Klarm’s crack Imperial Militia, but Nish’s archers were skilled hunters and
could do great damage if he used them well.

‘From the edge of the clearing it’ll take the enemy at least
a minute to reach us through the mud, and our archers can each fire ten arrows
in that time. If we can even the numbers, and delay them a minute or two, Yggur
might be able to do something …’

‘He’d better get a move on!’ snapped Flydd, for he and Yggur
had always been rivals and, clearly, Flydd felt his own helplessness keenly.

‘I don’t think you should use your Art so close to the
caduceus, Yggur,’ called Tulitine, who was standing a few paces from it.

‘Why ever not?’ said Yggur imperiously. He did not
appreciate being told what to do.

Nish would have been cowed, but Tulitine was unfazed. ‘If
you do, it may go ill for you.’

‘Death may go ill for us all,’ said Flydd wryly.

The enemy were skidding down the wet slopes and moving into
the forest; they would reach the edge of the clearing in minutes. It was still
pouring, Nish was sweating rivers in his sodden clothes, and the humidity was
so thick he could have sliced it with his sabre.

‘We can’t get away,’ said Tulitine. ‘We’ve got to
concentrate on saving you, Nish, so you can rebuild your forces and fight
again.’

‘I led my militia here,’ Nish said, ‘and I’m not running out
on them now.’

‘You must,’ she said urgently. ‘When your father took over
with the tears, you swore to return, bring down his corrupt realm and restore
freedom to Santhenar.’

‘And I’ve failed,’ he groaned. ‘Again and again.’ Nish
deeply regretted that despairing vow after Jal-Nish had slain his beloved
Irisis, for he was never going to fulfil his oath. The enemy was too strong.

‘You’ve got to try harder,’ said Tulitine. ‘You gave hope to
a million desperate souls – indeed, your vow has been the people’s only
hope over the ten years of your father’s brutal rule, and you cannot let them
down.’

‘I can’t do it, Tulitine.’

‘You’ve got to try and get away. Even if you die in the
attempt, striving valiantly to keep your word, you will become a beacon of hope
for generations to come – just as Irisis’s self-sacrifice has
strengthened you.’

‘What kind of a man escapes at the cost of his friends’
lives,’ said Nish, ‘and the loyal militia that has followed him all this way?’

‘A man who does what he has to do for the greater good,’
said Flydd, ‘no matter how hard it is.’

‘Or a man who abandons his friends in their most desperate
need,’ Nish retorted. ‘When Father returns, as I’m sure he will, he would call
me a coward and an oath-breaker. How could
that
make me a beacon of hope?’

‘It’s a difficult choice, but you have to make it.’

‘I’ve made it.’ Nish turned and passed through the circular
lines towards the centre. ‘I can’t stand in front of my troops and tell them
I’m running away.’

‘I’ll tell them,’ said Tulitine, ‘because it must be done
for the good of the empire.’

‘No, you won’t! I will not abandon my people.’ He walked
away.

‘I can’t bear it either,’ Maelys said quietly, going with
him.

‘The waiting?’ said Nish, glad she was there. Though only
nineteen, and of a quiet, shy disposition, Maelys had an inner strength the
equal of anyone here, and he felt better for having her at his side.

‘The knowing that everyone else is going to die, while I’ll
live because of the possibility that I may be bearing your child.’

After an interval he lowered his voice and said, ‘And are
you?’

‘Of course not,’ she muttered, meeting his eyes. Hers were
the colour of dark chocolate and showed nothing, though a pink flush spread
across her pale cheeks. Maelys blushed easily, and rather prettily, despite the
mud on her face. ‘I made that story up to save our lives.’

She had told his father that she had gathered Nish’s
nocturnal seed months ago, while nursing him, and placed it inside herself so
as to become pregnant. And Jal-Nish, desperate for a grandchild, had believed
her.

‘You did save our lives,’ said Nish, ‘so it was worth it.’

‘It cost me my friendship with Colm. Afterwards, he looked
on me as no better than a – a whore!’ Her flush deepened.

‘You can’t be a virgin
and
a whore.’

‘In Colm’s eyes I was,’ she said plaintively. ‘I really
liked him, Nish. He was good to me, in the early days.’

Nish restrained the urge to tell her just what he thought of
Colm, who had lost his clan’s estate in the war and would forever be bitter
about it, as he was about a number of other injustices. Colm also resented the
stain on his clan’s name left by his distant relatives Karan and Llian, once
heroes of the Time of the Mirror, who were now known as Karan Kin-Slayer and
Llian the Liar.

Nonetheless, Colm had treated Maelys better than Nish had in
the first month they had travelled together. But Colm was gone. He had accepted
Klarm’s offer of amnesty and was now their enemy; he and Nish could be fighting
each other in minutes.

It was time to make amends. He put an arm across Maelys’s
mud-covered shoulders and drew her closer. ‘I’m sorry it’s come to this. And
sorry for the way I treated you, after all you’d done for me. Can … can you
forgive me?’

She looked up at him and her dark eyes were shining. How
little it took. ‘Of course, Nish. I – I wasn’t honest with you in the
early days; I should never –’

‘They’ll be through the forest any minute!’ cried Flydd.
‘Yggur, are you ready?’

‘Not yet.’ Yggur was walking in a spiral around the caduceus
with his right hand upraised, the fingers hooked as if he were clinging onto a
bar.

‘What’s he doing?’ whispered Maelys, pulling away and
turning to stare at Yggur.

Nish knew that she was fascinated by mancery. Maelys had
been told that she had a gift for it, but she had never been trained and now
she might be too old to learn.

‘He’s trying to find a point where Gatherer can’t penetrate
the field surrounding the caduceus,’ said Flydd in grudging admiration. ‘Yggur
is taking an awful risk, but if he can find that point, he may be able to use
his fog spell there without Gatherer instantly cancelling it.’

‘Assuming that the caduceus doesn’t cancel him,’ muttered
Maelys. ‘I can feel the power radiating out from it. It’s a horrible, alien
thing and we shouldn’t go near it.’

‘Tulitine was right,’ said Flydd. ‘By its very nature, or
the nature of the being that created it, the caduceus affects all spells done
nearby.’

Nish was also afraid of it, but Yggur was their only hope
now. Nish headed towards him and she followed but, as they approached, Yggur’s
hooked fingers clenched and the caduceus flared white hot.

Momentarily, Nish felt a throbbing pain behind his temples.
One of the iron serpents around the shaft was displaying its forked tongue,
while the other had its mouth wide open, baring two pairs of fangs. The upper
ones were huge, the lower pair smaller and curved backwards to hold its prey,
and in a flash of clearsight he noted that the serpent with the fangs had
something burning at its core.

‘Stilkeen is in pain,’ said Maelys, wrapping her arms around
her chest and squeezing hard. ‘Terrible pain, just from being in our world.’

‘Tell it to bugger off, then.’ Nish turned away, for there
was no more time.

He called his signallers and his four lieutenants –
Hoshi and Gi, Clech the giant fisherman, and the dapper joker, Forzel –
and they agreed on signal codes, both flags and horn blasts, in case Yggur
succeeded and there came an opportunity to retreat.

‘Chief Signaller Midge,’ Nish said to the fuzzy-haired young
woman whose size belied her name, for she was tall and solidly built, ‘stay
close to me. If Yggur manages a fog, we’ll need to retreat at once.’

‘How will we find our way?’ asked Midge, wiping her muddy
face on a yellow flag and turning it brown.

‘Not on the signal flags, Midge, please.’ Nish scraped the
mud off with his sabre and handed the flag back. In some respects they
were
like children, his loyal
Gendrigoreans; he didn’t think he’d ever turn them into soldiers. ‘If we get a
chance to retreat, we’ll head downslope and gather at the lowest edge of the
clearing. We can tell we’re going down-slope even in fog.’