The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (49 page)

She woke with beads of sweat sliding down her back. The
sun, though only a handspan above the horizon, was blazing directly on her.
After more hard bread and murky water she climbed a hillock to check on her
surroundings. The advance guard of the Defiance were already moving northwest,
though a long tail stretched back to the camp. Word of the great victory must
have spread, for she counted eight small bands of pilgrims moving in to swell
their numbers. Further off, carrion birds circled above the unseen battlefield.

Maelys had decided to follow the caravan at a distance, for
the next few days at least. After that, when her food ran out, she would have
to find a way to survive in a world where the God-Emperor’s spies took note of
every traveller to enter the smallest village.

A day later, she was following the trampled path of the
caravan through another patch of woodland, treading carefully to avoid the
droppings of horses, oxen and ill-mannered people, when she realised that she
wasn’t the only person shadowing the Defiance. She’d seen that tall, lean
figure ahead yesterday afternoon. Maelys had assumed he was going to join the
caravan, but he was just as far behind it now.

Losing sight of the fellow, she slipped into the vase-shaped
depression formed where five trunks spread from the gnarled base of a tree. Its
smooth bark was covered in scribbly marks, like the glyphs of a dead language.
Was he one of Phrune’s minions, hunting
her
?

She crouched down, feeling for her knife, but saw him
further ahead, moving on. He wasn’t after her; he was following the caravan.
But why keep so far back? A spy could learn nothing from this distance that the
whole country didn’t already know.

Shortly, peeping out between the trunks, she saw him again,
moving slowly and carefully. He had to be up to something. Maelys noted where
he made camp that afternoon, in a copse by a rivulet, and once it had grown
dark she crept close.

It was the tall, hollow-cheeked supplicant whom Phrune had
repeatedly turned away. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of
his camp fire, staring into the flames and occasionally rotating a carcass, the
size of a large hare, on a spit.

Fat dripped into the fire, which blazed up. A breeze carried
the smell of roasting meat to Maelys and she salivated. She’d eaten the last of
her dry bread for lunch and, not having found anything edible despite hours of
searching, faced the prospect of going to bed hungry and getting up to more of
the same.

He didn’t look like an assassin, though. He was staring at
the dirt between his boots, as if in a deep depression. Maelys was about to
turn back to her dismal camp when he called, ‘I know you’re out there. Either
show yourself, or go away and leave me in peace.’

His voice had a bitter edge which matched the downcast look
on his face. He’d suffered unjustly, or believed he had. She didn’t sense any
threat in him though, so after a long hesitation she moved into the circle of
fire-light.

‘Hello,’ Maelys said, uncertainly.

He stared at her. ‘The little healer! What are you doing out
here, all alone and defenceless?’

‘No one would harm me,’ she said softly, maintaining the
role.

Again his smile displayed that hint of long-endured
bitterness. ‘Sister, there are people in this world who would eat your living
flesh and lap at your flowing blood for the sheer joy of making you suffer. Go
back to the Defiance where it’s safe, and go quickly.’

‘I –’

‘I’ll escort you, if you wish,’ he said softly. ‘I would not
see you come to harm after your great deeds on the
Deliverer’s
behalf.’ Sarcasm this time, and she couldn’t work out
why.

‘I – I can’t.’ She surprised herself by revealing her
vulnerability to another, and a stranger at that, but, despite Tulitine’s
earlier words she felt that she could trust him. If she didn’t trust someone
she would be lucky to survive.

‘Why not?’ He indicated the ground.

She sat down with a weary sigh, trying not to look at his
dinner. ‘I’m not a healer. At least, not a qualified one, and I’m wearing this
habit so I won’t be recognised.’

He didn’t look surprised. ‘If it would fit, I’d borrow it
from you. Disguise is the only way I’ll ever get to plead my case to the
Deliverer.’

‘What is your case?’

He waved a hand; he didn’t plan to tell her. ‘You don’t look
as though you’ve eaten in days. You’re welcome to share my supper.’

‘I – I don’t –’ Her mouth was so thick with
saliva she couldn’t get the refusal out.

‘There’s plenty for two.’ He prodded the carcass with the
point of his knife. Clear juice ran out. ‘Besides, I can easily catch another.
There are few better hunters in this country than me.’

His words chilled her. What sort of hunter was he and why
was he so bitter about the Deliverer? He snapped the backbone and handed her
the rear half, which was almost too hot to hold. ‘Thank you,’ she said, sinking
her teeth through the crispy skin into juicy white flesh which, to a
half-starved woman, was unbearably delicious.

Neither spoke until they had finished and wiped their hands
and faces on handfuls of dry grass. ‘Since you’re not of the Healing Order, may
I see your face? I like to know who I’m sharing my food with.’

She hesitated; but after all, she couldn’t hide forever.
Maelys drew back her hood. He studied her face as if committing it to memory,
then sighed. ‘I’ve a feeling we’re after the same thing.’

‘What are you talking about? You don’t know anything about
me. I’ve never been to this land before.’ Why had she given that away?

‘We’re now on the southern border of Crandor. You must have
heard of Crandor, wherever you’re from. It’s the largest and wealthiest country
in the world. At least, it was wealthy before the God-Emperor came to power.’

‘Of course I’ve heard of Crandor,’ she said mildly, ‘and I’m
not as far from home as you are.’ The native people of Crandor were
dark-skinned and filed their teeth to points, and they didn’t speak the way he
did.

‘I’m very far from home, but we were talking about you
– and how you stole the son of the God-Emperor out of his most
impregnable dungeon.’

She paled. How could he know that? ‘Nonsense!’ she cried.
‘You’re mad.’

‘I see you don’t deny it. Little sister, the whole world
knows about Nish’s daring escape from prison and his desperate flight into the
mountains with a mysterious
raven-haired
woman with a southern accent, who saved him over and again.’

‘I haven’t heard any such tale.’

‘You would have if you’d spent time with the Deliverer’s
other followers instead of hiding under your healer’s robes.’

‘Anyway, there are millions of women in the world like me.’

‘Not like you, and not
here
.
Besides, the village of Tifferfyte saw you drop out of the sky on a stolen
flappeter, and the full tale was spread across the world by skeet before those
who would use the Deliverer for their own purposes took control. Need I go on?’

‘Go on,’ she said limply. She had to know what the world was
saying about Nish, and her. Though if a man who had never seen her before could
recognise her so easily, surely there was nowhere in Crandor she could hope to
hide.

‘And then the incredible escape from Tifferfyte under the
very nose of Seneschal Vomix, using Arts that were never known before. All
Crandor knows that tale too, though not just from Monkshart’s twisted
half-truths. A girl who escaped with you spread the true tale, and even your
name. You’re Maelys, aren’t you?’

No point trying to conceal it any longer, though surely the
God-Emperor knew her identity too, and was even now hunting down her family.
Nor could she blame Jil for telling the story – to be the bearer of such
a tale would feed her and Timfy for weeks. ‘I am.’

‘So why aren’t you standing in the place of honour beside
the Deliverer?’

‘I …
like
Nish too
much. Monkshart is afraid Nish will become fond of me too, and give up his plan
to become the Deliverer. Monkshart wants me dead.’

He shivered. ‘Then run for your life, Maelys. He’s a
dangerous man and, sooner or later …’

‘But I swore to help Nish become the Deliverer.’

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t hold you to that promise at the risk
of your life.’

‘I didn’t swear to Nish. He never wanted to become the
Deliverer.’

‘Really?’ he said sourly. ‘He looked as though he was loving
every minute of his pampered life.’

‘He was crushed by his time in prison. It’s taken him months
to get over it.’ She didn’t want to say any more. It was none of this man’s
business and she was beginning to worry about what
he
wanted with Nish. No wonder Nish had yearned to run away.
‘Anyhow, he saved us all in the battle.’

‘Yes, he did. I doubted him before that, but who could do so
afterwards?’

‘You didn’t give me your name.’

‘You can call me Thommel.’

Which implied that he didn’t plan to reveal his real name.
‘Why are you shadowing the Defiance,
Thommel
?’

He gave a twisted grin, but didn’t answer.

‘I saw you trying to get an audience with Nish, and Phrune
repeatedly refusing you.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said coolly, as though
she’d trespassed on a forbidden topic.

Thommel was too difficult. She took the hint and stood up,
saying formally, ‘Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. I hope you find what
you’re looking for.’ She turned away, holding her back straight, though it was
impossible to make a dignified exit wearing her tent-like robes.

Thommel sprang up. She shot a glance over her shoulder in
case he had ill intentions after all, but he was just standing by the fire,
looking anxious.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. We do share a common
interest in Nish and … if we travelled together, we could watch each other’s
backs.’

She hesitated, remembering the aunts’ childhood warnings
about men and their uncontrollable desires. But Nish wasn’t like that, and she
didn’t think Thommel was either.

He added the clincher. ‘I’ve another hare hanging in the
tree. For breakfast.’

They followed the caravan for another three days, and
Maelys couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten so well, which was fortunate
because she’d never felt so hungry.

Thommel turned out to be pleasant company after all, except
where Nish was mentioned, though, despite Maelys’s oblique questioning, he
revealed nothing more about himself. He went to every village they passed, to
hear the latest news. Maelys wished she could go too but it didn’t seem worth
the risk. She felt so lonely that she even missed the acerbic company of her
mother and aunts.

Everyone knew about the Defiance’s great victory, and
another attack on its growing force was expected at any time. The caravan was
harried every so often by flights of flappeters, though there was no sign of an
enemy army. But then, there hadn’t been the first time, either.

On their fourth morning together, Maelys and Thommel were
sitting on a small pointed hill looking down at the camp as the sun rose, when
suddenly people began to run everywhere. She leaned forwards. ‘Something must
have happened during the night. Something bad.’

‘I’d better sneak down and find out.’

Thommel was gone a long time, and returned at a lope.
‘Someone tried to assassinate Nish in his bed,’ he panted, ‘and it wasn’t the
first time. There was an attempt two days ago as well – by the guard.’

Maelys could feel the blood draining away from her face.
‘But you’re not saying that Zham –’

‘It wasn’t Zham. Both times it happened when he was off
duty. But that’s not what’s caused the real stir.’

She felt all cold inside. How could it get any worse? ‘What
is it?’

‘Monkshart has gone into an uncontrollable rage; he’s
stalking the camp like a madman.’

‘Thommel, what’s going on?’

‘Nish fled in the night, with Zham, and no one has the
faintest idea where they’ve gone.’

 
THIRTY-SIX

The first two days after Nish’s injury were a blur of
pain and fever accompanied by the strangest dreams: that a small, black-haired
woman was tending his wounds, and she had the softest hands he’d ever felt.

Unfortunately, once he regained his wits, Nish discovered
that his healer was tall, elderly and dark-skinned, with filed teeth and a
brisk, no-nonsense manner, but he kept dreaming about Maelys and often woke,
crying out her name. Monkshart came to Nish each time, soothing him and
reminding him that Maelys had died in the massacre at Tifferfyte.

He knew it to be true but he didn’t want to believe it.

A few days later, Nish was lying awake in the early hours
when he heard a rustle outside his tent. The flap was pushed aside, letting in
a faint light from the guard’s lantern. It wasn’t loyal Zham, who was taking
the few hours he allowed himself off duty, to sleep.

‘Is that you, Monkshart?’ There was no answer. Nish tried to
turn over, though it proved so exceedingly painful that he stopped halfway.

He could hear heavy breathing, as if the intruder had been
running, and smell the rank sweat of a man who hadn’t bathed in months.
‘Monkshart? Phrune?’ No one else ever came into his tent save the tall healer
who changed his dressings, and it wouldn’t be her at this time of night.

Nish hadn’t used his unreliable clearsight in ages, but now
the intimation of danger was so strong that, ignoring the pain, he hurled
himself sideways off the bed, roaring ‘Help!’ The dagger missed him by a few
hairs, then he struck the floor hard and rolled under the bed. The guard, his
face a mask of determined terror, fell to his knees to slash at him in the
gloom.