The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (28 page)

 
TWENTY

Maelys tried to jerk her arm away but, though Phrune’s
fingers felt as greasy as lard, they’d locked like a manacle around her
forearm.

‘Don’t pull away,’ he purred. ‘I can be a good friend to
you, Maelys.’

‘I don’t need a friend,’ she snapped, ‘and if I did it
wouldn’t be you, you blubbery little creep.’ She wasn’t normally so forthright,
but something about him revolted her.

He jerked her around to face him in the gloom and his
bloated lips stretched into an unpleasant smile. ‘You’re in my power, so I’d
advise you to cooperate. Unless you please my master,
and me
…’ The smile almost cracked his face in two.

She managed to pull free. ‘I have pleased him. I brought
Nish here.’

Phrune went stock still. ‘
Nish?
I though you said Nisk, before. Are you saying that man is
Cryl-Nish Hlar, the son of the God-Emperor?’ He let go of her arm.

‘Yes. I rescued him and brought him here, and he’s my very
good friend, so I suggest you treat me nicely or you’ll find yourself in deep
trouble.’ The last bit was wishful thinking but Nish was a noble man, deep
down, and she felt sure he’d repay the debt. Anything to get Phrune off her
back, which was just where he wanted to be. Maelys knew his type by instinct.

‘Come this way.’ He reached for her arm. She whipped it
away. He dropped his hand and hurried down a glassy-walled corridor, motioning
her to follow. Seen from behind, he waddled. After passing two doors he stopped
at a third, pushed the stone door open and went in. Lighting a wall lantern
with a flint striker, he said, ‘Stay here. I will send a servant to attend you
momentarily,’ and rushed out.

The room was furnished with a bed formed from the same
glassy stone. A jug stood on a small table beside the bed, though it was empty.

Maelys sat on the bed. On the rare occasions she’d thought
about getting to Hulipont, she’d expected to be welcomed with open arms. She
felt like a prisoner here.

Yet there was one consolation. In those last desperate
minutes in the air she and Nish had been working together as if they were a
team, even friends, and it had been wonderful. Then Nish had saved her, twice,
and she knew that he did care for her. The coldness he’d shown her previously
must have been a defence against being hurt. How could she have tried to seduce
him so crudely? He must have been mortally insulted.

It didn’t help her to do her duty, though. Despite all she’d
been through, it was something Maelys could never stop thinking about. Her family
was all she had and she had to provide for them. No one else would.

Shortly a barefoot serving girl, about fifteen,
appeared. She was rather taller than Maelys, but thin, and her hair, though
neatly brushed, was dull and stringy. ‘Will you come with me, please, Lady
Maelys?’ she said in a soft voice, her eyes downcast.

Maelys didn’t move. ‘Where are you taking me?’ She couldn’t
keep the anxiety out of her voice.

‘To your bath, Lady Maelys.’

There was no good reason to refuse. One part of Tifferfyte
would be as safe, or dangerous, as another. ‘You don’t have to call me Lady
Maelys. I’m just an ordinary woman.’

‘Yes, Lady Maelys. This way, please.’

‘What is your name?’ Maelys said. ‘Girl!’ she said, like an
exclamation. ‘You may call me, “Girl!”, Lady Maelys.’

‘I’d prefer to call you by your real name.’

The girl looked over her shoulder, then said softly, ‘it’s
Jillazoun, Lady Maelys, but you can just call me Jil.’

Maelys followed her along the corridor which led away from
the pavilion, then down several sets of steps. Walls, floor and ceiling were
all carved from the same glassy stone. Shortly Jil turned left into an open
chamber and Maelys heard the sound of running water. Jil pushed open a door,
the rushing sound swelled and Maelys looked up in awe.

A large rock-glass basin, full to overflowing, was set in
the middle of the room, thigh-high above the floor, and it was so big that a
horse could have bathed in it. It was continually filled by water falling like
rain from hundreds of holes, in the form of paired crescent moons, in the
ceiling above its centre. The overflow ran in a sinuous channel across the
floor before disappearing down a grated hole.

Maelys trailed her fingers through the water. ‘It’s warm!’
She hadn’t had a warm bath since she was a little girl.

‘The fiery heart of the mountain heats it,’ said the girl,
plucking at Maelys’s shirt as if to undress her.

It didn’t feel right. There had been no servants in
Nifferlin, for all the work had been done by members of the clan. ‘I can
undress myself. You can go now, thanks, Jil.’

The girl’s lower lip quivered. ‘How have I displeased you,
Lady Maelys?’

‘You haven’t,’ Maelys said more kindly, ‘but I’m not used to
being waited on.’

‘It is the custom in Tifferfyte, Lady Maelys,’ Jil said in a
soft but dignified voice. ‘I bathe everyone who dwells down here, save
Monkshart.’

Maelys’s curiosity stirred. ‘Why not him?’

‘He … doesn’t like to touch or be touched, save only by
Phrune
.’

‘What happened to him? His skin looks –’

Jil glanced towards the door, then lowered her voice. ‘It’s
said some spell or Art went wrong, a long time ago, but I wouldn’t know. He has
to wear those tissue-leather gloves and leggings. And only Phrune knows how to
make them –’ She broke off, as if she didn’t want to think about him, and
shook her head.

‘You bathe Phrune too?’

Jil grimaced. ‘Even him.’ She added, softly, after again
checking over her shoulder, ‘If you do not allow me to bathe you, I will be
beaten for displeasing you and my little brother will go hungry tonight.’

‘I didn’t see any children in Tifferfyte.’

‘My brother is the only one. That’s why it’s such a sad
place.’

‘The villagers looked haunted,’ said Maelys. ‘What –’

Again Jil shook her head and Maelys, not wanting to make the
girl more uncomfortable, didn’t pursue the thought.

‘Why are you here, Jil? Do you believe in the Deliverer
too?’

‘Everyone believes in the Deliverer, Lady Maelys. We had no
family, save my big brother, so when he came to Tifferfyte in the name of the
Deliverer, we came too. There was nowhere else to go.’

‘I always wanted a big brother,’ said Maelys with a sigh.
‘It must be wonderful having him to look after you.’

‘He … died, Lady Maelys.’ Jil shivered. ‘There’s just me and
my little brother now. I don’t want to die for the Deliverer but we can never
leave.’

‘Do you mean you’re not allowed to?’

‘Er, yes, Lady Maelys.’

Jil’s situation reminded Maelys of Fyllis, whom she would
probably never see again; who might already be in the God-Emperor’s hands.
‘Then of course you must bathe me,’ she said tiredly, and gave herself up to
being waited upon.

Half an hour later, after the girl had scrubbed her clean
and washed her hair, Maelys stepped out of the basin. Jil rubbed her dry,
pulled a simple blue gown over her head – no more was needed in the balmy
warmth of this place – brushed her hair and dressed the cut on her arm.
Then she led Maelys back to her room, went out, and shortly reappeared carrying
a jug of water and a tray containing half a loaf of brown bread, a large chunk
of cheese, a length of sausage and a bowl of pickles.

Jil carved a perfect slice of bread, cut cheese and sausage
into even pieces, piled them artistically on a slice, topped it with a spoonful
of pickles and reached out towards Maelys’s mouth.

‘No!’ said Maelys. The girl’s lip quivered again, so she
hastily went on, ‘I am perfectly pleased with you, Jil, but I prefer to feed
myself.’ Something occurred to her. ‘Am I allowed to punish a servant who
displeases me?’

‘Of course, Lady Maelys,’ Jil whispered.

‘And reward one who pleases me?’

‘Yes, Lady Maelys.’

Maelys took the knife from the girl’s hand, sawed off
another slice and a few pieces of sausage and cheese for herself, then handed
the remainder of the food to Jil. ‘This is your reward for pleasing me. Feed
your brother. You may go now.’

‘Thank you, Lady Maelys.’ Jil went out with her head high.

Maelys sat on the bed and ate her dinner. How naïve she’d
been to think that, once she’d delivered Nish to the Defiance, all her troubles
would be over. They were only just beginning.

She’d already learned more than she cared to know about
Monkshart and the kind of world he would create if ever he brought Nish to
power. She didn’t want anything to do with him, which was unfortunate, since he
looked like the only person who could help her to uncover her hidden talent
– assuming it was still there. Monkshart had said that she lacked any
aura, so maybe she didn’t have a proper talent at all, and suddenly she wanted
it.

Maelys lay on her bed until midnight, brooding. Why did Monkshart
resent her so? From the moment he’d looked at her she’d sensed an antipathy in
him, and surely there had to be more to it than her relationship with Nish. She
had to find out. Dare she spy on Monkshart? After her recent failures she was
reluctant to use her initiative again, but if he succeeded in separating Nish
from her, her quest would fail.

It took her a long time to find the courage. Opening her
door quietly, she slipped down the passage towards the circular opening,
barefoot, so she wouldn’t make a sound. She could hear Monkshart and Phrune
talking, though not what they were saying. Maelys was about to creep closer
when one of the chairs scraped. Did they know she was here?

She scuttled back to her room, slipped inside and lay on the
bed as if asleep, trying to control her heaving chest. Shortly Phrune came
padding down the hall on his plump feet and appeared at the door, eyeing her in
the dim light. The hairs rose on the back of her neck and she was still
shuddering a long time after he’d left.

She wasn’t game to go back, since he could return at any
minute, and eventually Maelys dozed. Later – she did not know how much
time had passed – she was woken by the unmistakeable sound of Phrune’s
feet on the floor of the hall: a wet slap as he put each foot down, and a faint
squelch as he lifted it.
Slap-squelch
,
slap-squelch
,
slap-squelch
. The sounds stopped outside, his outline appeared in
the door again and she could sense him trying to read her.

‘Phrune?’ Monkshart called irritably. ‘Hurry up. You’ve
still got to cream me.’

Phrune slap-squelched down to the opening and went out onto
the pavilion. Maelys took a deep breath, gathered what little remained of her
courage and followed, trying to avoid stepping on the damp smears he’d left on
the floor. This time she continued almost to the opening. No point spying
unless she could hear, and she didn’t think being caught could make things much
worse for her.

‘It took a long time to go through the archives,’ Phrune
said with a hint of defiance. ‘And I didn’t find anything about
her
.’

‘Give it here.’ Maelys heard pages turning. ‘Ah, Clan
Nifferlin.’ Monkshart muttered something she didn’t catch. ‘I was right about
them. An old clan, neither rich nor important. Clever people, though with a
talent for picking the wrong side in a conflict. Rebellious but mostly
principled rogues …’

‘And her?’ said Phrune silkily. ‘I could use her next, if
you like …’

‘Keep your hands off her!’ snapped Monkshart, then added, as
if mollifying Phrune, ‘For the moment, anyway. I wonder about Maelys. She’s a
cunning little thing; she’s got to be, and she’d encourage him to think for
himself; to question.’

‘And we can’t have that, can we?’

‘She’s the last companion we want for the Deliverer. His
consort must be beautiful, elegant, charming, and worthy in all ways to stand
beside the Son of the God-Emperor. This greedy little slut doesn’t even come
close.’

‘Either mentally or physically,’ amended Phrune. Maelys
imagined Phrune’s tongue caressing his lower lip.

‘Quite. The Deliverer’s consort must be a lovely young
woman, but the stupider the better. Also vacuous and easily moulded.’

‘Though not by him,’ said Phrune. ‘Are you sure he’ll take
to such a one?’

‘Jal-Nish often talked about his youngest son, in the olden
days,’ said Monkshart thoughtfully. ‘Cryl-Nish is a lusty little beggar and
women are his weakness. He can’t resist them, can’t get enough of them –’

‘He’s an ugly little runt. I’d be surprised if he’s had
three women in his life.’

‘So we don’t find him a consort yet. We ply him with willing
girls, a different one each night, until he’s so cock-struck he can’t think of
anything else. He’ll soon forget the little drab. Get onto it tomorrow,
Phrune.’

Maelys headed back to her room, feeling sick. She didn’t
want to hear any more about Nish, or herself. She looked into a small mirror on
the wall but the woman reflected there was neither beautiful, elegant, nor, to
her mind, charming. Irritably, Maelys blew out the lantern and threw herself on
the bed.

Nish spent the next few days closeted with Monkshart,
anxiously going over the plan for the attack on the city and citadel of
Rancidore. Though he knew little about either the capabilities of Monkshart’s
troops or the defences of Rancidore, to Nish’s experienced eye the attack seemed
poorly thought out and unlikely to succeed. Monkshart was undoubtedly a
charismatic leader but he was no general.

Unfortunately there was nothing Nish could do about it,
since the little army lay hidden in the caves of Londe, ten leagues away, and Monkshart
would neither allow him to go there nor put off the attack.

Since it was out of his control, Nish busied himself with
planning for the Deliverer’s campaign, though he found it difficult to
concentrate. Monkshart planned to create an uprising, relying on his personal
charisma, his undoubted talent for mancery and perhaps the strange power of
Tifferfyte too, then move swiftly through the populous coastal lands, gathering
an army of supporters behind Nish and stirring up rebellion everywhere, before
falling on Morrelune like a storm.