by Ian Irvine
While Nish was studying the map, Monkshart added, ‘And we have other bastions in the east and north, not marked on that map.’
Nish handed it back, thinking furiously. Could he become the Deliverer? And could he trust Monkshart? He didn’t see that he had a choice, for he knew too much to be allowed to leave, and if he didn’t agree, would he and Maelys be allowed to live? He tried to see into the zealot with his clear-sight, but it felt blocked here. That wasn’t surprising, since Nish’s tiny talent had come from the touch of the tears.
‘I know what worries you,’ said Monkshart. ‘It’s all very well for the Defiance to have secret outposts, but what’s the good of them if they never strike at the enemy? I have hundreds of agents in the west, spreading subversion against the “God-Emperor”.’ His lips twisted as he said the title, as if it were bile to him. ‘Even now we’re preparing for a strike against him. Within days we’ll be ready to attack his citadel of Rancidore, which lies behind the range in the west. Perhaps you saw it on the way.’
‘We passed by a town with a horned tower at its heart. That’s where the flappeters found us again. And Seneschal Vomix.’
Monkshart frowned. ‘Why has Vomix followed you all this way? He should have handed over to the Seneschal of Rancidore.’
‘I don’t know,’ Nish mused. ‘But he said he recognised Maelys –’ As soon as the words left his lips he regretted them.
‘Indeed?’ Monkshart gave him a keen glance. ‘How curious.’
‘How do you plan to attack Rancidore with a few hundred hungry villagers? This place is so shabbily constructed, a flappeter’s fart would blow it down.’
Monkshart allowed himself a superior smile; he’d expected the question. ‘My chief Art is illusion – the only Art which has grown stronger since the nodes were destroyed. You saw what I wanted you to see, as does every flappeter and rider who passes overhead. Jal-Nish now knows there are rebels at Tifferfyte, and that they’ve assembled at the one place his power cannot reach. But he’s not aware of how my illusionist’s Art has been strengthened here. We have weapons enough to attack Rancidore, well hidden, and veterans of the wars to wield them.
‘And whether Rancidore falls, or the attack is beaten off, or even if our forces are wiped out, the shockwaves will reverberate around Santhenar, growing ever stronger, especially when we announce that Cryl-Nish Hlar stands at the head of the Defiance, ready to fulfil his promise. Cities will fall to us on the strength of your name; peasants will rally in their thousands. Will you join us, Cryl-Nish, and help to tear down the abomination of the God-Emperor? Will you fulfil your promise, or will you betray the faith of your suffering people?’
Listening to the zealot’s stirring words, and thinking about the array of other Defiance outposts, even Nish saw a glimmer of hope.
‘Your father can’t touch you here,’ said Monkshart. ‘Vomix has already withdrawn his forces to Rancidore.’
Nish looked up at Monkshart, feeling his despair lifting for the first time in years. A surge of fury went through him at all his father had done, and suddenly all his doubts disappeared and the resolve was there, almost as strong as when he had made the promise. ‘I will!’ he cried. ‘Together we’ll tear down the tyrant and restore freedom to Santhenar.’
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.
It was a brilliant plan with several major flaws, of which the greatest was Nish himself. What if he failed, or broke, or simply didn’t inspire people?
It was bad enough that he was taking on the most powerful man in the world, one whose attention to detail was as legendary as his ruthlessness, and moreover one who’d had ten years to perfect both his defences and spying networks. But when that man was his father, by whom Nish had always felt intimidated, and against whom he’d never felt that he measured up, he simply didn’t believe that it was possible.
Furthermore, his father still retained that hold he’d put on Nish before the battle of Gumby Marth. It had lain dormant all this time but surely, as soon as he became the Deliverer, Jal-Nish would find a way to renew it and everything Nish had built so painstakingly would come tumbling down, to the ruin of all.