The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (40 page)

The sergeant grunted and attacked with a measured horizontal
slash that shaved off Phrune’s queue, giving him a tonsure. He looked stupidly
at the horsetail of dark hair, which had settled on the path as if it had grown
there, then lunged. It looked as though the knife was going to carve right
through the sergeant’s belly but he bent backwards and the blade only sent
buttons flying.

Phrune lunged again, cutting a streak across the sergeant’s
other thigh. The sergeant speared the point of his sword at the acolyte’s face.
Phrune wove sideways then screamed as the blade sliced off his ear. Another
lucky blow?

No. The point flicked out again, taking the other ear off
just as neatly, then sliced Phrune’s nose from bridge to tip. The soldier was
playing with him, and Nish couldn’t blame him for it. Phrune stumbled away,
squealing like a stuck pig, and shortly a brief sparkle lit up the surroundings
as he forced himself through an intangible barrier and passed out of the maze.

Nish slowly raised his hands. ‘I’m Cryl-Nish Hlar, son of
–’

‘I know who you are, lad,’ panted the sergeant. ‘I’m a
sergeant of your father’s Imperial Militia and you’ll come to no harm from me,
but don’t move. You’re going back to Morrelune.’ He looked the other way.

Monkshart had recovered and was slowly beating Vomix down.
The seneschal was still firing bolts of uncanny force, though aftersickness
appeared to be taking its toll, for they were feeble and the zealot avoided
them easily. Monkshart raised his hands high and his expression slowly set hard
as he prepared a killing blow.

Nish didn’t see the sergeant move, but a knife flashed from
his hand, its hilt striking Monkshart on the right temple, and he fell without
a sound. Vomix lurched across, picked up the knife and was about to plunge it
into the zealot’s eye when the sergeant caught his hand.

‘The God-Emperor will not be pleased if you kill the man who
once saved his life.’

Taking the knife, he slid it into its sheath, then tore the
sleeve off Monkshart’s coat, exposing the ravaged skin of his arm. The sergeant
gagged him with part of the sleeve, pulled the coat over his head and bound it
down tightly to blindfold him. Before Monkshart had recovered, his red-raw
fingers had been fastened together so he could work no spell, and his hands
tied behind his back.

Nish should have run, but he was so dazed from overusing
clearsight that he couldn’t think clearly. He stumbled for the exit but Vomix
blocked the way, and before Nish could get by, the sergeant had taken him from
behind. Tink swiftly bound Nish’s hands, gagged him and tied his coat over his
head.

‘Lead them out, Tink,’ Vomix gasped. ‘Let’s see where we’ve
ended up. I hope the maze hasn’t taken us too far.’

Nish prayed that it had. He felt the sergeant’s strong hands
working at his bonds. ‘I’ve tied you to Monkshart so there’s no point running.
This way.’ Tink turned Nish around.

‘Keep a sharp eye out for that cur of an acolyte,’ said
Vomix, who was recovering. His resilience was astonishing. ‘Though I’ll bet he
won’t stop running until he reaches the Great Ocean.’ He snorted. ‘You’re alone
and friendless, Cryl-Nish. You’ll be back in your father’s hands before you can
say torture chamber. I’ll catch you up,’ he said in a lower voice to the
sergeant, then muttered something that Nish did not catch. He heard Vomix
walking away.

Nish began to walk, despair rising up his throat like bile.

Maelys watched helplessly as the brief battle went one
way, then another, until Phrune fled and Nish and Monkshart were taken. It was
all over in a couple of minutes and, though there was nothing she could have
done, she bitterly regretted letting Vomix live, earlier. If she’d had the
courage to stab him to the heart when she’d had the opportunity, she and Nish
might now be out of the maze and on their way to safety.

Vomix lurched up the slope, grinning from one side of his
sick mouth to the other. ‘I always win in the end,’ he said, jerking her
towards him. ‘The God-Emperor will reward me beyond all measure for what I’ve
achieved today. And do you know what I’m going to ask for, as part of that
reward?’

‘What?’ She managed a painful croak.

‘You, little Maelys. I’ll ask Jal-Nish not to damage you,
outwardly. I wouldn’t like my pleasure in you to be marred in any way. And then
I’m going to break you in. Do you enjoy pain?’

She didn’t want to communicate with him in any way, for that
was all part of his game, but if she didn’t respond she’d suffer for it. She
jerked her head.

‘You will. In my bedchamber, ecstasy and agony are
inseparable. You’ll come to beg for it.’

Down below, the sergeant was leading Nish and Monkshart through
the barrier. Their outlines sparkled, wavered a shimmering yellow, then became
shadows beyond the transparency that blended with all the other shapes and
shadows. Maelys wondered if she could stir up trouble between them. It was
worth trying.

‘You’d better keep an eye on the sergeant,’ she croaked, all
she could manage. ‘He has no reason to love you.’

‘We both serve the same master.’

‘But does Sergeant Tink want to share the credit for this
victory?’

He smacked her in the mouth with a gauntlet. ‘Don’t treat me
like a fool.’

He clicked his fingers and the paralysis was gone, though
she still couldn’t speak above a whisper. He began to drag her down the path,
kicking Jil in the ribs on the way past. She woke dazedly and he snarled,
‘Bring the brat. Don’t make a sound or he dies.’

The barrier had barely any resistance as they followed the
path through it – it was no harder than pushing through a soap bubble,
and that was peculiar. Where was the maze country anyway, and how could it be
separated from the real world by such a fragile barrier? Maelys stepped out
into the normal world, into a sweltering wave of heat and humidity. The air was
sticky and scented with a rich muskiness that was unfamiliar. Perspiration
burst out all over her.

Ahead and down the slope, a wall of tall trees with huge,
moss- and fern-covered trunks cut off all view of the distance. Behind her a
curving outcrop of grey granite formed a broken cliff, a good thirty spans
high, which curved in either direction further than she could see. There was no
sign of the transparent barrier though she felt sure it coincided with the
granite cliff. Its surface was pocked with fern-covered crevices and long wet
fractures, while a shear zone at the base had eroded away to her left leaving a
mossy overhang. Tall ferns and glossy-leaved shrubs luxuriated in the damp soil
along the bottom.

Vomix was feeling the cliff, doubtless trying to work out
how such a powerfully uncanny place as the maze could exist without the
God-Emperor knowing of it, and trying to find a way that he, Vomix, could
profit from it. Was the maze part of the Pit, or had it been created separately
by Monkshart? Or was it a place apart? Either way, Monkshart must be a mancer
of rare and enigmatic talents.

Vomix might also be thinking that Monkshart had been
Jal-Nish’s friend, and that Jal-Nish had sworn never to harm him. What if
Monkshart turned his coat again? Jal-Nish might welcome him back and, in
exchange for the secrets of pit and maze, might reward him with favours that
rightly belonged to his faithful Seneschal Vomix, who had never wavered.

Vomix eyed Monkshart’s broad back, licked his lips, then
eased the dagger in its sheath, caressing its bone hilt. He looked around and
Maelys hastily averted her eyes. A man who contemplated killing his master’s
former friend could permit no witness to such thoughts.

He dragged her across to a sapling in the shadow of the
cliff, swiftly bound her to it, and tied Jil nearby. Vomix didn’t bother with
Timfy. ‘Don’t make a sound,’ he hissed.

She still couldn’t speak loudly enough to call to Nish.
Maelys watched Vomix walk along the base of the cliff to the sergeant, who
stood with Nish and Monkshart. Nish did not know she was within a hundred
leagues, or even alive, and she had no way of telling him.

Vomix pointed to the granite wall. ‘Climb up that cleft. See
if you can see a landmark.’

The sergeant nodded. ‘Keep a sharp lookout. The acolyte
–’

‘He won’t get past me.’ Vomix led the prisoners away around
the curve of the cliff.

The sergeant walked along to the cleft and began to climb.
He was gone some time, but when he came trotting along the base of the cliff
from the other direction he was grinning. ‘I recognised a citadel tower just a
league away, for I served there once, as a common soldier. It’s Gundoe.’

‘Gundoe!’ said Vomix. ‘But that’s … that’s a hundred leagues
north of Tifferfyte, at least.’

‘Closer to two hundred, as the skeet flies. It’s not far
south of the city of Guffeons.’

‘How did we come so far? It would be weeks of walking in the
real world.’

‘A question the God-Emperor will want answered,’ the
sergeant said dryly.

‘Keep an eye out for the acolyte. He’s a dangerous man and
he may have friends nearby.’

‘He’ll need a lot of friends to make any difference. I
flashed a message to Gundoe, using the Imperial Militia’s secret signal, and
they answered. They’ll have a mounted squad here within the hour.’

 
TWENTY-NINE

Half an hour had gone by and Maelys was counting down
the remaining minutes with increasing desperation. Jil and Timfy were a good
ten paces away, while Nish and Monkshart had been taken by the sergeant out of
sight around the base of the cliff. The troops would be here soon, and no one
escaped from the army’s custody.

Maelys told herself not to give up hope. Surely there must
be a way to use her dangerous new aura against Vomix? She was fantasising about
that when she realised that she’d touched him earlier, in the maze. She’d put
her hands on his face and pushed him away, yet he hadn’t reacted, so her aura
can’t have been powerful after all. Her faint hope faded.

But what if it hadn’t been her aura at all? What if the
taphloid had stung him through her shirt? It had grown burning hot as she’d
passed through the Mistmurk, and she’d glimpsed an aura around herself, though
only for a second. Yes, that had to be it. The passage must have changed the
taphloid in some way, and if she could trick him into touching it with his bare
skin, it might distract him long enough for her to attack.

Vomix was heading down into the forest with a handful of dry
grass, undoing his belt buckle. She hoped he suffered from constipation, like
Aunt Haga. If he did, there might be time for this last desperate gamble.

‘Timfy!’ Her whisper came out almost normally. Vomix’s spell
must be wearing off at last. ‘Do you think you could untie me?’

He trotted across, but Vomix’s knots were cunningly tied and
Timfy didn’t have the strength to undo them. ‘I’m sorry, Lady Maelys.’

‘Keep trying,’ she said distractedly, for she’d seen
something moving on the shadowed part of the granite slope above and to her
right. Who could it be? She couldn’t make it out, though the mounted troops
couldn’t come that way. There was no sign of Vomix yet.

Someone dropped to the ground on her other side and she
smelt a familiar sickly sweet and oily odour. Her head whipped around. Timfy
scuttled out of the way.

‘Phrune!’ What was he up to? Better not say anything about
being left in the village, or his night-time activities. Let him think she knew
nothing; it might give her a small advantage. ‘I thought you’d run away.’

‘That’s what I wanted everyone to think,’ he said in a thick
voice. ‘Run away to fight later, that’s my motto.’ He gave her a sour grin.
‘How did you get here, anyway? I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you …’

‘There’s more to me than meets the eye.’ Her voice was a
little stronger now.

‘Oh, indeed.’ He looked her up and down as if measuring her
for one of his master’s body-gloves.

Maelys shuddered and looked away hastily, unable to disguise
her revulsion. With the top of his head shaven down to red-speckled skin, two
bloody holes where his ears had been and a cleft through the end of his nose
which exposed its crusted insides, Phrune was more repulsive than usual. A
shiver of fear passed through her. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Since you and I are such good friends,’ he caressed her arm
with plump, oily fingers as he spoke, ‘I’ll be relying on you to create a
diversion.’

‘How?’ she croaked, trying to pull away.

He drew a stiletto and Maelys shrank back, for her previous
nightmare came flooding back as if it were happening now, but Phrune slipped
the stiletto between her wrists. The bonds parted and the blood pulsed into her
numb hands, making her fingers tingle. He slid the back of his hand across her cheek.
‘Such beautiful skin. It would be a pity to waste it. I’m sure you’ll think
–’

He broke off, pressed a small knife into her hand and
vanished into the shadows. Seneschal Vomix was making his way up the slope, a
long way from where he’d entered the forest, moving quickly but quietly.

He gave her a cursory glance as he passed, then headed along
the granite bulge towards Nish and Monkshart. Maelys couldn’t see them from
where she stood, though she’d heard Vomix talking to the sergeant earlier and
knew roughly where they must be.

She surreptitiously tested the blade as she debated what to
do. It was blunt; Phrune wasn’t taking any risks with her. Phrune was a
treacherous dog who couldn’t be trusted, though for the moment their interests
coincided. Could she sneak up on Vomix? Her heart began to race. Not a chance;
as soon as she moved, he’d see her.

She had only one option, though it made her sick to think
about using a child that way. So don’t think about it, just do it. She drew out
her taphloid and called softly, ‘Timfy?’