The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (8 page)

Maelys fought an urge to lay Nish down and run for her life.
After all, his father would never harm him; at least, not the way he would her.
But she’d given her word, and to abandon him now would be a betrayal of both
duty and trust.

There was no point heading for Hulipont, which would take
weeks to reach and would be captured long before she could get there. Her only
option was to head up into the mountains and try to hide before it was too
late, though she didn’t see how that could work either. By dawn Jal-Nish would
have a thousand soldiers scouring the mountainside – maybe ten thousand.

Nish began to whimper. She put one hand on his forehead and
he stopped at once, but it didn’t help. Her panic was getting worse, her heart
crashing back and forth in her chest, her knees barely holding her up. It had
all gone wrong from the beginning, as she’d known it would.

‘I can’t carry you any further,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Can you
walk, Nish?’

After a hesitation she felt him jerk his head, so she eased
him to the ground. He swayed; clutched at her arm. Maelys debated what to do.
Should she implode the taphloid, as she’d been told to do in an emergency? If
she did, the secret within it, vital for her survival later, would be lost.

No, the soldiers were too far away; they wouldn’t be
affected. It would just tell the accompanying scriers where to look for her.

‘This way, Nish.’ Taking his arm, she headed along a stony,
little used path between two terraces towards a large pond, hoping their tracks
wouldn’t show on the hard ground. She could just make out a patch of reeds or
rushes in one corner of the pond.

Nish was moving like an old man, but she daren’t hurry him
in case he collapsed. She stared down the slope, trying to track her hunters by
the starlight winking off their armour. It was her one advantage. The
God-Emperor liked his troops to stand out, so their appearance would strike
fear into all.

Maelys could see plenty of reflections now, moving up the
mountain in lines that extended all the way back to the barracks behind
Mazurhize. Could the scriers be tracking her? The aunts had said not; her
taphloid would shield her, at least from a distance. But the aunts had been wrong
about Cathim …

A breeze carried the smell of water to her and it reminded
her of a hiding place used by the heroine in one of her favourite tales. Maelys
plucked a handful of rice straws. ‘This way, Nish. Over the edge and down into
the water. Can you swim?’

‘Enough to save myself.’ He sounded a little stronger, more
normal.

‘You’re better than me, then. I can’t swim a stroke.’
Stupid, stupid! You’ve got to encourage him.

She led him down the slope then across onto a rock shelf
that ran into the water. Sitting Nish down, she took off his boots and stinking
socks, which she stuffed into the oilskin pouch containing her spare clothes.
Wet footwear would be deadly up here at this time of year. She did the same
with her boots, then her coat and jacket, pulled the drawstring, tied it to her
pack and slung the pack on her back.

The water still retained some warmth from the afternoon sun,
thankfully. At Nifferlin, a thousand spans higher than here, it would have been
frozen by now. She waded out until it reached her shoulders, then drew him to
her. ‘Hold on.’ Nish was twitching again and his eyes were the size of eggs.
‘I’m Fyllis’s sister, remember?’

He nodded stiffly; the twitching eased to a tremor. Maelys
led him around the curve of the pond towards the rushes, careful not to get out
of her depth. Her feet skidded on the sludgy bottom and it was hard to stay
upright. They reached the rushes, where at least she had something to hang
onto, though she had to be careful not to break the stems – the troops
would check every sign. She kept Nish behind her in case he flailed at the
rushes, pushed her floating pack into their centre, and waited.

The water felt cold now and was leaching all the warmth from
her body. Nish’s teeth were chattering. She folded over a couple of straws and
thrust them into his mouth. ‘Bite on these.’

He did so and the chattering stopped. She could hear the
approaching soldiers; they were making no attempt to disguise their movements.

‘We’ve got to go under, Nish. Can you breathe through a
straw and let out the bubbles among the rushes?’

‘Don’t – think so.’ His teeth were starting to chatter
again, poor man. He was just skin and bones, and he’d chewed through the
straws.

‘I’ll help you. Quick, out there where we’ll be hidden
behind the rushes.’

Maelys eased her way between the clumps, pulling Nish
through the water behind her like a sodden pillow, floating with head back and
just his nose and mouth out of the water. At least he couldn’t cause too much
trouble that way.

She reached the outer fringe of the rushes as the first
lantern appeared over the rim of the terrace. Moving into shelter, she put her
mouth to Nish’s ear. ‘We’re going under now. Hold your breath. I’ll look after
you.’

Maelys wasn’t sure she could but he nodded with a jerk that
created a little splash. She held the straws in her mouth, ducked and pulled
him under. He sank at once but she found it hard to stay down. Holding him with
one hand, she grasped a clump of rushes below the water with the other. It kept
her from floating up though she couldn’t use her straws.

She found his right hand and curled his fingers around the
rush clump, praying that he’d have the sense to hold on. He did, so she did the
same with his other hand. Poking the straw ends above the water, she drew
breath.

It proved surprisingly difficult to draw air down the thin
straws, and it made a faint whistling sound that worried her, but she got a
breath, then pulled Nish closer to her. She had to feel for his mouth; she
couldn’t see a thing underwater.

She slid the straws in but he bit through the ends, and they
were her lifeline. She pulled his face hard against hers, sealed his mouth with
her own and blew most of her breath into him. He jerked again.

His lips were almost dead with cold, and he didn’t move
until she pulled away, yet Maelys felt acutely uncomfortable. It felt intimate,
wrong, even though she was doing it to save his life, and it reminded her of
the greater intimacy, the far greater wrong that she had to do with him if they
ever got away.

FIVE

Suck and blow. Suck and blow. Maelys was doing it
automatically now. It felt as though they’d been in the water forever, though
it couldn’t have been more than a quarter of an hour. Her head was aching and
she was shuddering from the cold, but Nish wasn’t even shivering. Was he
sinking into a coma from which he would never wake?

One of her cousins had died of exposure when she was seven
and she could still picture him lying by the fire, so pale and deathly cold.
Nothing they’d done had been able to warm him. She dared not take the risk with
Nish; she had to go up even if it meant being caught.

Squeezing his hands tightly around the base of the rushes,
she gritted her teeth and drifted up, trying to break the surface as gently as
she could. A breeze feathered the still water; on her wet skin it felt icy.
Maelys floated, blinking water out of her eyes. It was darker now, for gauzy
cloud covered the stars directly above. She couldn’t make out anyone on the
pond wall to her left. Nothing on the right side, either, though the central
portion of the wall was partly concealed behind rushes. That’s where they’d
lurk if they thought Nish was hiding in the pond.

No, if they even suspected he was here they’d have come in
at once, no matter the cold. What was a little discomfort compared to the wrath
of the God-Emperor? Her teeth began to chatter. Maelys clenched her jaw. She’d
have to risk it. She couldn’t endure the cold any longer.

Nish! It had been more than a minute. Maelys took a deep
breath, went down hastily, drew his rigid body to her and blew the whole breath
into him. His lips were freezing. Had she killed him? Panicking, she pulled him
to the surface, grabbed her floating pack, then dragged him through the reeds
and heaved him onto the rock. ‘Nish?’ she whispered, shaking him.

He didn’t answer; her heart turned over. She felt his
cheeks, his throat and then, again feeling that she was taking a liberty, under
his arm. Detecting a faint warmth there, she put her ear to his chest. He was
breathing, though very shallowly, and was so cold that he might die. She spread
her heavy winter coat on him, knowing it wasn’t enough. When someone got this
cold they couldn’t generate enough warmth by themselves. She had to do it for
him. She slipped under the coat and lay on him, pulling him tightly against
her.

It was lucky he was unconscious, for the position was
acutely mortifying. She lay there, rocking gently from side to side, feeling
her cheeks flaming and the cold wind licking at her wet neck, until eventually
she began to feel warmth at chest, belly and thighs, where they touched.

As she rolled off, Nish gave another little whimper. That
was better. She stripped off his wet rags, thankful for the dark, and pulled
her spare pair of pants on him. Her shirt wouldn’t fit over his broad shoulders
but she managed to get him into her jacket and put his boots on. He was
shuddering fitfully so she wrapped him in her coat as well. ‘Can you walk?’ she
said, shivering in her wet clothes and wondering how
she
was going to cope. The cold was just bearable here, but further
up it would be freezing.

‘Hungry.’ His teeth began to chatter.

Cathim had been providing supplies for the journey and all
Maelys had were some soft biscuits made from dried fruit and nuts pounded together.
She fed him one, then another.

‘Beautiful food,’ he said hoarsely, and starlight touched a
tear on his eyelash.

Truly, he must have been starved. She gave him another of
the precious biscuits. ‘Come on. We’ve got to get right away from here.’

They climbed the slope, rested briefly in a little dip
then headed along the next ridge, which ran up into the mountains proper. It
was hard, slow work, for Nish was so weak that she had to support him most of
the time, but every step was another step away from Jal-Nish and widened the
area he’d have to search.

A long time after that, but still a few hours before dawn,
Nish ground to a halt and Maelys couldn’t get him going again. She was rubbing
his cold face and hands when she heard the raspily unnerving flutter she’d
noted earlier. Pulling Nish against her, she held him still and searched the
sky. Was that a shadow passing in front of the stars? It was hard to tell.

Before she could move there came a wild swirl of wind and a
shrilling wail of triumph. A beam of lantern light touched her, then a
flappeter – one of Jal-Nish’s flesh-formed monstrosities – dropped
out of the dark and began to hover just a few spans above them. How had it come
so close without her hearing it?

Nish cried out in horror and Maelys had to choke back a
scream, for she had heard dreadful rumours about flappeters since her
childhood.

She drew Nish backwards across the slope but the flap-peter
kept pace without effort, its feather-rotors scooping at the air like
egg-beaters and blasting cold gusts into her face. There was nowhere to run,
nowhere to hide. The barren mountain slope offered no concealment.

She looked up, shielding her eyes, as a man’s voice called,
‘Surr, I’ve found him!’ The flappeter had a rider and he was leaning forwards,
his fist outstretched, evidently speaking to someone via a glistening
loop-listener.

‘Found who?’ This voice was distorted to a glutinous hiss by
the loop-listener but it sent shudders through her, for it reminded her of
something unpleasant from her childhood. ‘Identify yourself and your location,
fool!’

‘I’m Rider Hinneltyne, on Flappeter Rurr-shyve, surr. I’m
right above Cryl-Nish Hlar. It’s definitely him, though he looks in bad shape.
He’s with a boy, about twelve.’

‘A boy!’

‘Yes, surr. They’re not armed, Seneschal Vomix, surr.’
Seneschal Vomix. Maelys felt sick with horror. ‘Excellent,’ said Vomix. ‘The
God-Emperor will be well pleased.’

‘Can you send another flappeter for the boy, surr?’

There was a short pause. ‘Not at the moment. Secure them,
Rider Hinneltyne, but ensure not a hair of Cryl-Nish’s head is harmed. I’ll
send a squad to escort him down. Where are you?’

‘On Nusimurr Mountain, surr, just to the west of Ironbar
Col. And the boy?’

‘Teach him his first lesson but don’t damage him. Our
God-Emperor has reserved that joy to himself.’

The rider drew back his fist; the loop-listener went dull
and he looked down into Maelys’s eyes. She shivered and pulled Nish backwards,
studying the hovering flappeter.

Even in the dimly reflected lantern light it looked bizarre.
It was three times the length of a horse, but had an elongated body like a
dragonfly, covered in large scales and bristly hairs. A pair of oval discs
stuck up at the tail and four pairs of thin legs ended in scythe-like hooks.

One pair of luminous compound eyes were the size of large
melons, another pair no bigger than lemons. Its triangular head was crested
with two pairs of horns, a long curved pair which protruded sideways and a
short straight pair extending forwards. But its wings were the greatest oddity
of all, if they could be called wings, for they didn’t belong on any creature
Maelys had heard of.

There were two sets, one above the other, sprouting above
the rider’s head like feathered rotors from a stalk, as thick as her thigh,
which arose from the middle of its back. Each feather-rotor had three long,
curved, scythe-like blades driven by great muscle bunches below the stalk, and
they spun rapidly, the rotors tilting and the angle of the blades changing all
the time to keep the monstrosity in the air.