The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (45 page)

‘As was Tallia bel Soon,’ said Flydd thoughtfully.
‘According to the Great Tale, she was a master of armed and unarmed combat.’

‘It’s in the family,’ said Persia.

‘Then I’ll leave Nish in your safe hands. I’ll just have a
word with my former mechanician before I go, if I may. It’s late and there’s
much to be done tomorrow.’

‘I’ll show you to M’lainte’s quarters. Nish, I won’t be a
minute.’ Persia led Flydd away.

Nish sat down and stared moodily out the window, feeling
less in control than ever. He was practically a prisoner here, and what if
Yulla turned out to be a traitor? Flydd had said that she kept her promises,
but a lot could change in ten years. Klarm had also been a reliable man who
kept his word …

Technically Klarm had not broken his word, Nish conceded, since
he did not change sides until long after the war had been won and the world
lost to the God-Emperor. And if Yulla was a secret ally of the empire’s –

‘You seem troubled, Nish,’ said Persia from behind.

She was also a master of moving silently. ‘I hadn’t expected
to be kept here,’ he said coolly.

‘Yulla is sorry about that.’

I’ll bet! Persia might be sorry but Nish was damned sure
Yulla wasn’t. She did not appear to be troubled by normal human emotions, save
greed.

‘Why does she have all those rocks and crystals upstairs?’
said Nish. ‘Is she a geomancer?’

‘Not at all,’ said Persia. ‘She collects beautiful things,
wherever she can, and perfect minerals satisfy her most of all. She also
appreciates their solidity and permanence … in a world that is transient and
unreliable.’ She gave him a measuring glance, as if assessing his own
reliability. ‘But you must be hungry by now.’

‘I’m starving.’

‘Come with me. You will want to bathe. I’ll bring a tray to
your room afterwards.’

He rubbed his hair, which was stiff with salt. ‘That would
be splendid. I itch all over.’

The bathing chamber had both hot and cold running water, an
unheard of luxury, and Nish lay in the huge tub until the warm water had eased
the worst of his aches and bruises. He donned the robe laid out for him and
found her waiting outside the door with his tray.

His room was on the other side of the house and had a view
up the rugged coast, which made a series of jagged outlines against the palely
silvered sea. Nish noticed that the windows, unlike those in the upstairs room,
did not open.

‘Am I a prisoner, Persia?’ he said, careful to pronounce her
name correctly.

‘No, you’re being held here for your protection.’

If anyone else had said that he would have called them a
liar, but Persia’s face seemed incapable of concealing deception or falsehood.
He wasn’t blinded by her beauty – Nish had known many beautiful liars
– but over the years he had learned to read faces, and he seldom
misjudged people.

She turned down the bed and Nish sat in a chair by the
window, picking at the food on the tray. He was starving but his stomach was so
knotted and his throat so tight that he had to force each morsel down.

‘Is there anything you would like to ask me before bed?’ she
said, delicately concealing a yawn behind her hand. ‘It’s nearly two in the
morning.’

He shook his head and stood up, yawning as well. She was
turning away when his robe slid off one shoulder, revealing his battered and
bruised chest and side. Her eyes widened.

‘You look as though someone tried to batter you to death.’

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ said Nish.

‘What happened?’

‘Surely you’ve heard our tale by now?’

‘Just an outline. I’ve been away and only returned this
evening.’

‘You’re tired. It can wait until the morning.’

‘Not if you’re carrying injuries that could affect the
campaign. Take your robe off and lie on the bed.’

In other circumstances Nish might have lusted after Persia,
and he didn’t want to reveal himself to her in his present condition. ‘I’ll
visit a healer in the morning.’

‘Now!’ she said mildly. ‘I’m stronger than I look, Nish.’

He certainly wasn’t going to suffer the indignity of her
stripping the robe from him, so he did as she asked.

Though her gaze was entirely cool and professional, Nish
felt self-conscious and embarrassed. She rolled him over, exclaiming at the
fading bruises and sword-edge scars on his buttocks, and touching the ancient
crisscross scars on his back.

‘There’s hardly an unmarked spot on you,’ she said. ‘I would
not have thought any man could have suffered such punishment and lived.’ She
didn’t look so professional now; there was a soft look in her eyes, as if she
felt for him.

‘You should have seen Flydd’s body before he took renewal.
Compared to him I’ve got skin like a baby.’

‘Stop trying to change the subject,’ she said with a lilting
laugh. ‘How did these scars on your back come about?’

He had long since lost his embarrassment about that
punishment. ‘I was flogged at the manufactory where I worked as a prentice
clanker artificer. But don’t feel sorry for me; I was a callow, obnoxious fool,
out for what I could get, and deserved every stroke.’

‘I’m sure you were quite a rogue,’ she said, smiling as
though she did not believe a word of it, and her hand lingered on his shoulder.

Persia was thorough, he had to grant her that. She
questioned him about every scar and every bruise, and felt his bones and skull
all over, after he told her about being flung about inside the falling
air-sled.

She peered into his eyes, and frowned. Her breath smelled like
tangerines. ‘Were you knocked unconscious at any stage?’

‘No. If I had been, I probably would have drowned.’

‘Have you ever been unconscious?’

‘Quite a few times. I can’t remember all the battles I’ve
fought in. Is something the matter?’

‘I’ll tell you if there is.’ She studied his scarred left
hand. ‘What happened here?’

‘An encounter with Reaper.’ He told her about it.

‘It’s a wonder you’re not dead a dozen times. We’ll have to
take better care of you if you’re to fulfil your destiny.’

‘And restore Yulla’s fortune,’ he said without thinking.

Persia went still, all the warmth went out of her eyes, then
she said stiffly, ‘You came begging her favour and asking her to collaborate in
a sedition that could cost everyone here,
and
our families, their lives. She did not approach you.’

She went out and pulled the door closed.

Nish got into bed, his cheeks flaming. Why hadn’t he thought
before he’d opened his mouth? Had he damaged the campaign? Surely not. The
agreement had been made and could not be broken. But even so, he needed Yulla’s
regard, and he wanted Persia’s even more. For a moment there she’d seemed to
care about him.

Putting her out of mind, he lay in the dark, listening to
the waves breaking on the shore below and going over the day’s events, trying
to think of another way to attack the empire, but he could not come up with
one.

What of the campaign Yulla had proposed? Suppose she did
raise an army of two thousand, and they took the long sea voyage down to Fadd,
a perilous journey of some four hundred leagues along a coast notorious for its
sudden storms, uncharted reefs and treacherous currents.

It would take a week if the weather was fair and the winds
favourable, two or three times that if not, and should the weather turn bad
they would have to wait it out in the nearest port, running a grave risk of
being discovered. How could the departure of a fleet of ships be kept secret
anyhow?

Even supposing they reached Fadd, its garrison held at least
five thousand troops and if he did slip past them, and march his little army up
into the mountains without being attacked, the army guarding Morrelune and the
grim prison of Mazurhize must be even larger. How could he evade the first
army, and beat the second? Nish had no idea, and little hope.

A frustrating week had gone by, which Nish had mostly
spent staring out the window or pacing back and forth. Though his room was
large, beautifully decorated and had a glorious view, he felt as though he was
in gaol, and that raised hideous memories of the ten years he had spent in
Mazurhize.

M’lainte had successfully raised the air-sled and taken the
militia on board the salvage vessel, but it had sailed to a secret location and
he had not set eyes on them. He only saw Persia when she brought his meals, and
Yulla not at all. As far as he knew, no progress had been made on finding
enough ships, or assembling his army.

Without either company or news, Nish grew more anxious every
day. Was the empire’s net drawing ever tighter around them? Even if the
air-sled had not been seen heading to Roros, it was one of the most likely
places to begin a rebellion, and its Imperial seneschal would have his scriers
on high alert.

‘I’ve got to go outside,’ he said when Flydd finally
appeared.

‘What for?’ grunted Flydd, who seemed more preoccupied than
usual.

‘I feel like a prisoner.’ Nish paced the track he’d worn in
the carpet.

‘Here?’ Flydd exclaimed.

‘I nearly went mad in Mazurhize,’ Nish said quietly. ‘I’m a
trifle sensitive about gaol.’

‘You’d better speak to Persia,’ said Flydd. ‘I’ve got to go
away for a while.’

‘What for?’

‘Private business.’

‘What about?’

Flydd scowled in the scrutatorly way Nish knew all too well,
and turned towards the door. He constantly queried others about their affairs,
but did not like to be asked about his own. It refreshed Nish’s anxiety about
what Flydd was really up to.

‘How are your insides, Xervish?’

‘Worse,’ grunted Flydd over his shoulder. ‘I’m not sure how
much more I can take. Oh, I brought you this.’ He turned back, unbuckling a
finely tooled sword belt and sheath, and handed them to Nish.

Nish drew the sword, a light, double-edged blade so keen
that he could have shaved with it, and so finely polished that it reflected his
face. The metal had a reddish cast, the hilt was subtly engraved, and the
weapon was perfectly balanced.

‘Thanks,’ said Nish. ‘It’s a beautiful sword, but not a
showy one. I appreciate that.’

‘You’re a plain, down-to-earth sort of a fellow,’ said
Flydd, looking pleased for once. ‘I didn’t think you’d want anything flashy.’

He went out, leaving Nish to wonder if he’d just been
complimented, or insulted.

When Persia brought his lunch, he asked to go outside.

‘Into Roros?’ she said, frowning.

He explained about nearly going insane in Mazurhize, and
how, ever since, he could not bear to be held against his will.

Again he saw that soft, caring look in her eyes. ‘I
understand perfectly. I’ll speak to Yulla at once.’

When she returned, Persia said, ‘You’ll have to be
disguised, though I’m not sure what disguise would be best. Could you pass for
a dark-skinned native of Crandor, I wonder?’

‘That depends on how good the disguise is.’

‘Illusion is best if you only want to fool the common folk,
but unless it’s a powerful one the wisp-watchers will see straight through it.’

‘Don’t powerful illusions have their own problems?’ said
Nish.

‘They do. The seneschal has sensitives capable of detecting
such forms of the Art.’

‘What about shape-changing?’

‘That’s mighty mancery, way beyond my minor powers. Besides,
the shape-changing spells are cousin to the Regression and Renewal Spells, and
you already know how deadly they can be.’

‘Poor Tulitine,’ he said, wondering if she could still be
alive.

‘I think we’ll go for a physical disguise,’ said Persia.
‘When done well it can even fool a scrier close by. Should I make you into a
native of Crandor or a foreigner?’ she said thoughtfully. ‘A foreigner would be
easier and there are plenty of them in Roros, but if word gets out about you
every foreigner will be taken in, and you’ll be uncovered. I’ll make you into a
local.’

‘I don’t look much like a local,’ said Nish. ‘My skin is too
pale and I’m the wrong build.’

‘There are stocky Crandoreans, such as the silver miners of
Twissel. Exposure to all that silver turns their brown skin a hideous silver-blue,
and everyone despises them, so it’s a good disguise. And the rest –
beard, frizzy wig, grime under the fingernails, silver-black teeth – is
easy. It’ll be fun making you up,’ she said, smiling for the first time in a
week, and he saw the lovely, warm Persia again.

‘More fun than looking at myself in the mirror after you’ve
finished with me, I dare say.’

‘What do you care? You want people to avoid you.’

‘I don’t know why,’ said Nish, ‘but I’ve always cared about
my appearance, such as it is. You couldn’t understand that, being so
beautiful.’

She started, then knitted her brows. ‘Beauty has benefits
but also many drawbacks. It attracts all the pests and parasites in the world,
and when you do well, some people imply that you achieved it, er … horizontally.
I often wish I could walk through a crowd and have nobody notice my passing.
Speaking of which, this is the way miners walk, and you’ll have to learn it.
The seams they mine aren’t thick enough for them to stand up.’

She demonstrated a bent-backed shuffle, which Nish did his
best to imitate.

‘Not like that,’ she said, smiling again. Putting her hands
on his shoulders, she bent his back a little more and tilted his face sideways.
Again her hands lingered, before she said briskly, ‘Try that.’

Several hours later, Nish looked in her full-length mirror
and saw a man so grotesquely ugly that he would not have spoken to him in the
street, and there was no question that he was unrecognisable.

‘You’re an artist of rare skill, Persia.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s been fun. I – I haven’t
had a lot of fun, lately.’