The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (3 page)

‘Stay away from it,’ said Tulitine. ‘I think it’s a trap.’

‘I’m sure it is, but with Klarm using Gatherer to block my
powers, the one place I can use my Art is next to the caduceus.’

In an open space, Nish noticed the three healers setting up
their station. Closest was lanky Dulya, her chin marred by a large strawberry
mark, and behind her, plump and palely pretty Scandey, one of the sisters of
poor Tildy, the milkmaid who had been murdered by Vivimord in Gendrigore. After
Scandey had seen Vivimord tried by ordeal above the Maelstrom of Justice and
Retribution, and found guilty, she had been one of the first to join Nish’s
militia.

The third healer was Ghosh, a stocky youth with an
exceptionally long body and short, thick legs. Unlike the other Gendrigoreans,
he never smiled. He found his healer’s duties too overwhelming.

Pulling his collar up to protect the back of his neck, Yggur
backed towards the caduceus until his clothes began to steam, then stopped and
raised his hands to try the spell again.

Nish’s gut tightened. What if Tulitine was right? Was Yggur
doing just what Stilkeen wanted?

‘They’re coming out,’ Gi shrilled.

Nish ran out through the lines as the first of the Imperial
troops appeared. Within minutes they had formed an oval ring around the edge of
the clearing, surrounding the militia.

‘Archers, pick your targets,’ said Nish. ‘Lancers, get into
line; don’t you remember anything you’ve been taught?’ He turned, his head
throbbing worse than ever, and noticed Maelys beside him. ‘What the blazes are
you doing out here – you’re
unarmed
.
Get into the centre of the circle.’

She ducked through a gap in the line, towards the little
rise where the healers were getting ready to work on the brutal fruits of
battle.

Nish faced the enemy and tried to prepare himself for what
was going to be a massacre.

 
TWO

Nish drew the black sabre which he’d taken from
Vivimord’s tent after the zealot’s disappearance in the Maelstrom. The sabre
was a magnificent weapon with an edge that never needed sharpening, though it
was a trifle long for him. Whenever he held it, the pain in his left hand eased,
which was curious.

‘I don’t like you using that weapon,’ Flydd said to Nish
dyspeptically.

‘Why not?’

‘It’s an enchanted blade.’

Nish nearly dropped the sabre. ‘Really? What kind of
enchantment?’

‘I don’t know, but I’d be very careful with it. Go behind
the lines. If they take you, they can butcher us at their leisure.’

The keening of the caduceus rose half a note, as if
mimicking the song of the tears, and again the black eyes of the fanged serpent
seemed to be on Nish. He rubbed his throbbing temples, then said coldly, ‘I’m
not cowering behind my friends while they die for nothing.’

‘If the enemy takes you, their deaths
will
be for nothing.’

‘You’re talking like a manipulative scrutator, Flydd.’

‘You’ve got to start acting like one if you hope to bring
down your father. You have to do whatever it takes.’

It was a side of Flydd that had bothered Nish as far back as
the time of the lyrinx war, but it had been more evident since his renewal. He
seemed harder and more ruthless now and Nish rarely saw the kindly,
warm-hearted side of him.

‘I tried that once,’ said Nish, ‘and look where it got me.
I’m going to defeat my father my way, or die trying, in which case my troubles
will be over.’

‘You have a higher duty –’

‘How dare you lecture me!’ Nish cried, for his headache was
blinding now and there wasn’t time for this. ‘If you can’t help me, get out of
my way.’

Tightening his jaw, Flydd stalked back through the lines.
Nish turned to face the top of the clearing and swished his sabre through the
air. Though he was skilled with a blade, he was a small man and would be at a
disadvantage fighting the tall Imperial troops. On the other hand, they could
not afford to harm him.

They did not wear armour, for no man could have endured it
in the heat of the tropical lowlands, and neither had they carried their huge,
cumbersome war shields up the precipitous mountain paths. It gave Nish’s
archers the advantage, though they would only have ten arrows each to
capitalise on it.

The enemy were armed with short lances and long swords; they
wore iron helms and carried small oval shields that only covered their torsos.
They stood silently around the edge of the clearing, at least eight hundred of
them, awaiting Klarm’s orders. The remainder held the ridges to either side, to
cut down anyone trying to escape and, even if they lost hundreds to Nish’s
archers, the end could be in no doubt.

‘Why don’t they attack?’ said Gi, trembling. She had never
been in a battle before – hardly any of the militia had seen warfare.

Nish put a steadying hand on her shoulder and she looked at
him gratefully.

‘They’re trying to unnerve us,’ said Tulitine. ‘They’re
succeeding,’ said Nish, though he was icily calm now, for during the war he’d
been in dozens of battles. There were only two possible outcomes for anyone
– you lived, or you died – and, ultimately, anyone’s survival came
down to chance.

In Tulitine’s serene and beautiful face it was hard to see
the old woman she’d been before. How long did she have before the failing
Regression Spell took its savage toll? ‘I wish you’d go inside the circle,’ he
said.

‘But you’re not game to order me about,’ she said, smiling.
‘I’m standing with you, Nish, and if it comes to it I’ll fall with you. I’ve
had a good life – for the most part – and a long one, and it would
be a blessing to die while I still have my health and my looks.’

‘I never thought of you as vain,’ he said absently, waiting
for the enemy to move.

‘I’m human. Who would be old and feeble when vigorous youth
and beauty were on offer, even for a few days – ah, here he comes.’

The air-sled came zooming down the ridge, then lifted and
shot above the tops of the trees before curving in an elegant arc around the
clearing. General Klarm stood mid-centre, legs spread and cloak flapping.

‘He appears to be enjoying the ride,’ said Nish.

‘Klarm has command of the marvel of flight. And with the
tears, he has only to wish for something and he can have it. Who would not
enjoy that?’

The question sounded like a test, and Nish did not reply.
The air-sled side-slipped towards the troops at the pointy end of the clearing
and hovered soundlessly in the heavy air. Klarm raised his hand and the teeming
rain stopped.

‘Can he even control the weather?’ said Gi breathlessly. Few
Gendrigoreans knew anything about mancery and they were superstitious about it.

‘For a moment, evidently,’ said Tulitine, ‘though if he
holds back the rain now, later it must fall all the harder. Weather is driven
by forces beyond our understanding, and if one changes it there is always a
consequence. And a cost.’

‘Come back into the line where we can defend you, Nish,’
called Hoshi, the apprentice potter. ‘Don’t make it easy for them.’

His Gendrigorean troops never called him surr, only Nish.
He’d been irritated by their lack of discipline at first, until he appreciated
that it was just the way they were. He moved back through the archers and the
wavering line of spears, eyeing the enemy. ‘They’re covering their bodies well
with those oval shields. We’re not going to take many down.’

‘We could aim for their heads,’ said Gi, raising her bow.

‘Not at this range.’

‘The legs, then. It’s a tough man who can fight with an
arrow through the leg.’

‘They’re tough,’ said Nish. ‘Archers, take aim.’

His hundred and fifty archers drew back their bowstrings.
The enemy army lifted their spears.

‘Advance,’ Klarm said softly, yet his amplified voice came
clearly to every part of the clearing. ‘Cut Cryl-Nish Hlar and Maelys Nifferlin
out. Leave no …’ His voice faltered; he had been a decent man, at heart, and
clearly still had trouble with his orders, but Klarm had sworn to the
God-Emperor and would follow orders to the letter. ‘Leave no one else
standing.’

A shaft of sunlight broke through the churning clouds,
illuminating the caduceus and the mud-caked militia surrounding it, and the
sodden ground steamed. Nish scratched his backside. He hadn’t washed since
Boobelar’s treacherous attack several days ago, and he itched all over.

The Imperial troops took a step, then another. No one spoke;
the clearing was silent save for the keening of the caduceus. The hairs on the
back of Nish’s neck lifted, then fell.

‘Nish!’ said Gi. ‘I’ve had an idea.’ She put her mouth to
his ear.

Nish studied the line of the enemy, then nodded. ‘Well done!
Why didn’t I think of that?’ He lowered his voice, ‘Archers, turn halfway to
your right and take aim at the body of the enemy you are then facing. Pass the
word around.’

The archers turned and, instead of aiming at the soldier
directly opposite, each took a bead on a man forty-five degrees around the oval
ring, for the soldiers’ small shields did not protect them from arrows slanting
in from the side. It was a fundamental weakness of Klarm’s encircling position.
He should have formed two lines and crushed the militia between them.

‘Fire!’

The archers let loose a ragged volley, smoothly reached for
their second arrows and nocked them as Nish counted five seconds. ‘Fire!’ He
watched the arrows to their targets, counting under his breath, and a good
number of the enemy fell, more than he had expected. But not near enough; not
even all those who had been hit. He squinted at the soldiers, wondering if they
were protected by sorcery.

‘Fire!’

More soldiers fell. The survivors whipped their shields
around to cover their left sides, exposing their chests to frontal fire, and
charged.

‘Face forwards,’ roared Nish, ‘and now fire at the man
directly ahead. Hold fast, lancers. They’re taking a lot of casualties and
they’ll be exhausted when they get here. We can beat them.’

Gi fired, drew another arrow, then gasped.

‘What is it? Are you hit?’ He hadn’t seen the enemy fire,
but Klarm might have battle mancers among his troops, attacking with unknown
Arts. ‘Fire!’

‘My arrow went right through its target,’ she said in a
tight voice, struggling to control her terror, ‘and the soldier didn’t even
check. He just kept on.’

Her teeth were chattering, her eyes darting this way and
that, but she forced herself to hold firm and he admired her all the more for
it. That first, terrifying experience of battle – even without mancery
– could break the strongest soldier.

Klarm must be using the tears to undermine the morale of the
superstitious Gendrigoreans. ‘Fire! I think some of the enemy are illusions.’

The enemy were ploughing through the mud. ‘W-we’re going to
die, Nish,’ said Gi.

He thought so too, but he had to pretend otherwise. ‘Hold
firm, Gi – illusions can’t fight. We can beat the enemy. We’ll come
through this yet, you and I.’

The lie sickened him, and especially telling it to sweet,
gentle Gi. Why, why had he allowed her to come?

‘How can we tell which is which?’ said Gi, firing again.

The leaders were less than a hundred paces away when Nish
noticed that not all of the soldiers were struggling in the mud; some were
moving easily through it with not a trace of muck splattering from their boots.
‘Fire!

‘Watch their feet – half the soldiers are phantoms,
illusions
,’ he roared, ‘and they can’t
touch you. Klarm hasn’t got the numbers.’ Yet even with half their number, the
enemy were a superior fighting force.

The air-sled drifted his way, about twenty spans above the
ground. Its metal frame was slightly bent from where it had crashed earlier,
and a clump of grass dangled from a kink in one of its runners.

‘Should I bring the dwarf down, Nish?’ said a red-haired,
balding man, one of Nish’s best archers.

Nish hesitated, but only for a second; Klarm’s death could
swing the odds their way, and it was kill or be killed now. ‘Have a go.’

The archer swung, aimed and fired in one fluid movement. The
arrow streaked towards Klarm’s throat, but the dwarf’s head whipped around, his
hand reached for Reaper, and a moment before the arrow reached the target it
burst into splinters.

The caduceus shrilled; Nish’s head screamed and, momentarily
a red mist obscured his vision. It cleared; in another flash of clearsight he
saw the churning core of the caduceus again, then a vibration shot from Reaper
towards the red-haired archer, a tube of vapour condensing in its wake, and
struck.

The archer’s bow shattered first, then his hand; the
vibration propagated up his arm, tearing it to pieces in a stinging spray of
blood, tissue fragments and shards of bone.

The archer was splattered with the pulverised remains of his
arm, as was everyone around him, and blood was pumping from his shoulder. He
had not made a sound, but he was so pale that the freckles on his fair skin
stood out like moles. His eyes were fixed on Nish as if to say, ‘Why did you
tell me to shoot?’

Gi let out a moan that made Nish’s skin creep, and many others
echoed it. The superstitious Gendrigoreans could face death in battle with
fortitude, but the uncanny Arts terrified them, and if they panicked the battle
was lost.

Then, oddly, Klarm cried out in pain, the air-sled dipped
sharply, recovered and shot away.

Tulitine reached the bleached archer as he collapsed and
pressed her fingers against his spurting arteries, but Nish knew the man could
not be saved; not up here. The healers Dulya and Ghosh ran out, bearing the
stretcher.

Nish turned away; they had their job to do, and he his own,
and one second’s inattention could prove fatal. ‘Hold, hold!’ he roared to the
nearby rabble. ‘We’re beating them. Aim! Ready? Fire!’