by Ian Irvine
‘We searched this area and didn’t see a thing.’
‘Until I allowed you to. But of course, you can’t stay up here for long.’
‘Why not?’
‘The plateau barely supports me. Five people would eat everything edible within weeks.’
‘Then where can I go? What happened to our allies, anyway? Yggur, Malien, Klarm the dwarf scrutator, General Troist, Fyn-Mah?’
Flydd shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. We separated the day after you were taken, and scattered so Jal-Nish couldn’t take all of us at once. I’ve not heard from anyone else since.’
‘Not even Malien, or Yggur?’
Flydd shook his grizzled head.
‘But since you survived, others may have too.’
‘It’s possible, though my feeling is that he took them quickly and put them to death.’
‘But I never heard of it, Xervish, and they were among the greatest names of the age. Why wouldn’t he make a public spectacle of their deaths?’
‘I don’t know, but Jal-Nish served under me for years and he was never predictable. Indeed, he would sometimes act out of character so as to make himself more unpredictable. Who knows why he might have kept their deaths a secret? Ah, this will be your friends now.’
Zham was emerging through the fog, followed by Thommel, then Maelys, who must have fallen in another sinkhole, for she was drenched and dripping. The wind outlined her curvy figure through her clothes and Nish caught his breath for a second. Her face lit up as she caught sight of Nish, but then she just stared at Flydd.
Zham came up and ran his fingers along the wall of the hut. ‘We walked right past here and saw nothing.’ He extended his hand to Flydd. ‘My name is Zham, surr, and I’ve sworn to protect the Deliverer with my life.’
Flydd shook the huge hand. ‘Deliverer, eh?’ He gave Nish a quizzical glance. ‘But then, why not? I’m very pleased to meet you, Zham. You look like my kind of man. My name is Xervish Flydd and I was –’
‘I know your name, surr.’ Zham bowed awkwardly. ‘Everyone does who lived through the war. I saw you once, when I was young. You came to Roros in a metal machine that flew through the air.’
‘What I’d give for a thapter now,’ said Flydd dreamily. ‘They were the most marvellous of all the Aachim’s constructs. Alas, all failed when the nodes were destroyed, as did everything great, ingenious and beautiful that had been created or sustained by the Art. I wonder if glorious Shazmak still stands, or if it, too, has fallen into ruin. Everything passes, Zham. Remember that and you’ll always be at peace within yourself. Expect nothing to last, for nothing can endure.’
‘Save my father, if he gets what he’s looking for,’ said Nish.
Flydd looked at him sharply but didn’t ask what he meant. He was studying Thommel, who was trailing his fingers up and down the timbers of the hut.
Thommel sniffed his fingers and said, ‘Precious red amber-wood. No wonder we couldn’t see it. My name is Thommel.’
He didn’t add ‘surr’, which Nish felt was disrespectful.
‘What do you know about red amber-wood, Thommel?’ said Flydd equably as they shook hands.
‘I’m a woodcutter nowadays,’ Thommel said. ‘I used to come to these peaks to gather red amber-wood, but that’s a forbidden trade now. Forbidden to me, anyhow.’
‘We’ve all suffered injustice,’ said Flydd. ‘Our character is shown in the way we face up to it.’ He turned to Maelys with the snaggle-toothed smile that transformed his ugly features. ‘You’re Maelys, and even more lovely than Nish said.’ He held out his hand and Maelys took it. ‘My name is Xervish Flydd, but you’ll call me Xervish. Everyone does,’ he lied shamelessly.
‘Hel – hello, Xervish.’ Stumbling a little over the name, she flushed prettily.
‘Come with me, my dear. I want to hear your tale.’
So saying, he handed the flask to Nish. ‘If you would be so good as to offer your friends the hospitality of my hut, such as it is. There’s food inside.’
Flydd went into the hut and came out with a thick coat made from shiny brown leather with an odd, furry lining. He threw it over Maelys’s shoulders then took her by the arm and, without a backward glance, limped off into the mires with her, where they were soon lost to sight.
‘The ugly old devil always did have a way with women,’ Nish observed, smiling after them. Despite Flydd’s words, nothing could dent Nish’s mood now. Flydd would find a way out.
He went inside and found a full platter on the table, covered with a woven reed mat, as if Flydd had been expecting them. It contained a pile of green cakes which appeared to have been made from pressed algae, a pot of pickled berries and some dried flesh that could have been fish, fowl or even giant swamp creeper. Nish couldn’t tell. He carried it out, plus another three goblets, which he filled with the remainder of the flask.
‘He had a way with good food and better drink, too. Shall we?’
To his surprise, Thommel accepted a goblet with good grace, though he waved the platter away. Nish offered it to Zham, who took one of the algae cakes and put it in his mouth whole. ‘Delicious!’ he mumbled.
They were, too. Nish couldn’t imagine how Flydd had made them from the scant resources of the plateau but, even in the old days, Flydd had never ceased to surprise him.
FORTY-TWO
Maelys had been so anxious about Nish’s crushing disappointment, and his state of mind, that her first reaction on seeing him sitting outside the hut with an old man, drinking and talking merrily, was irritation. How dare he enjoy himself when they’d spent the last hours looking for him? But those feelings disappeared as she realised that he’d found what he was looking for at last. His pale skin was lit up by an inner glow.
The existence of the hut, in an area they’d searched thoroughly before, was but a momentary surprise. She’d always known the plateau would be an uncanny place.
But Flydd was a legend from the tales she’d so loved from an early age and she’d imagined him as a powerful, imposing figure, nothing like this wizened, hideous old fellow who looked as though he might die at any moment. Yet once he spoke, she felt as though he was speaking only to her, and when she took his hand she was struck by his charm, his presence and, even in old age, his power.
‘Come with me, my dear. I want to hear your tale.’
She pulled his coat tightly about her. It was amazingly warm, though the fur tickled her throat. ‘Why?’ she said as he gave her his arm and steered her away into the fog, limping badly. ‘Surely Nish has told you everything you need to know about me?’
He chuckled. ‘Once a scrutator, always a scrutator. When we ran the world we had to know everything that went on in it, and I never lost the habit. After nine years with only the giant swamp creepers for company, I’m starved for news and human companionship. And, let me be honest, the company of beautiful women.’
She gave him a quick sideways glance which unfortunately he noticed. ‘I’m not beautiful, Xervish.’
‘Of course you are. And you can’t believe that beautiful women would have anything to do with a repulsive old coot like me.’
‘I’m innocent of the ways of men, surr,’ she said softly, ‘but I know what women would see in you.’
‘Diplomatically put, Maelys. You and I are going to be great friends.’ She must have quivered for he went on quickly, ‘Not friends in that way. I’m past all that and, besides, your heart belongs to another. But we do have a common interest, which we can talk about later. For now, let’s talk about you. Tell me your tale, from the beginning. And you must call me Xervish. I insist.’
‘My tale will take a long time, surr.’
‘Xervish,’ he corrected. ‘I have the time. Indeed I have little else. Begin.’
He led her on a meandering path across the plateau but Maelys felt perfectly safe, for he knew every part of it. As they strolled, she told him her tale, leaving out only such parts as were too private, personal or embarrassing.
‘In
teresting,’ he said at the end. ‘Now, something Nish mentioned has aroused my curiosity.’ She didn’t say anything, and shortly he continued. ‘That your talent, whatever it may be, is shared by others in your clan, in one way or another. What is your clan name?’
She felt sure Nish would have told him, but said, ‘It’s Clan Nifferlin … Xervish.’
‘Nifferlin, Nifferlin, Nifferlin.’ He rubbed his seamed temples. ‘The scrutators were famed for their memory training and my recall was better than most. While Scrutator for Einunar, I knew every important family in my realm, and many of those throughout the world, but it all goes in the end.’
‘My clan was old, but it wasn’t important.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Flydd. ‘Nifferlin – ah, yes. I met two men of your clan when I was travelling in the east, enlisting support for the war, perhaps twelve years ago. I can even remember their names – Rudigo and Pyatre.’
Maelys started, then smiled. It made her feel closer to both of them, and Flydd. ‘Rudigo is – was my father. The last I heard, he was dying in Mazurhize, but that was months ago.’
‘And Pyatre?’
‘My uncle. He disappeared; both my uncles did.’
‘Ah,’ said Flydd. ‘I’m very sorry.’
The injury was so old that it no longer hurt – it was just a loss that could never be made good. ‘Not long after that, Seneschal Vomix sent in his troops to raze Nifferlin to the ground. The rest of our clan, at least those who’d survived, fled, but we stayed, living among the wreckage in two rooms that they could never see, hidden by little Fyllis.’
‘Extraordinary,’ said Flydd, turning to study her more closely. ‘And you must have a similar kind of talent. Not the same, but from the same branch.’
‘It appears so. Father taught us that such talents were dangerous and had to be suppressed, so I never knew I had one. Fyllis was only little when he went to Mazurhize and I suppose that’s why her talent developed normally.’ Her heart began to pound. ‘Can … can you help me learn mine?’
‘Why are you looking at me so anxiously?’
‘Ever since Father had to flee for his life, whenever I’ve wanted something I’ve been told I can’t have it. Or that it’s not for me. Or to get back to work and stop being such a stupid dreamer.’ Maelys realised that she was wringing her hands, and put them behind her.
‘People can be cruel,’ said Flydd.
‘But it was all my fault.’
‘What was?’
She told him about meeting Vomix on the road as a child, and how her foolish, innocent remark had condemned her clan.
‘And you feel guilty about that, though you were just a kid?’
‘I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘Yet you’re the kind of person who can forgive others for injuries they’ve done you.’ He didn’t offer her absolution. He merely said, ‘You didn’t condemn them. The Nifferlin talent did, and Vomix would surely have found out about it, sooner or later.’ He looked away, thinking. ‘You will forgive yourself, one day.’
They didn’t speak for a while, then Flydd said, ‘Tell me everything you know about Monkshart, and Phrune too.’
She did so, and he thanked her, gravely. ‘You know more about Monkshart as he is now than anyone, I think, for you’ve seen him as he really is.’
Maelys was pleased to be able to help him. ‘Did you know them, Xervish?’
‘Not Phrune. He would not have been of age when the war ended. I’ve met Monkshart, whom I knew as Vivimord. Nish and I talked about him. What will he do, I wonder?’
Maelys hadn’t thought about him lately. Since they’d seen the flappeters she’d been focussed on Nish, and Jal-Nish. ‘He’ll come.’
‘Yes, Monkshart will come. He’ll do whatever it takes to get here. He could be here already.’
‘What, up here?’
‘Not without my knowing, but he may not be far from Thuntunnimoe – what’s the matter, Maelys?’
She controlled her heavy breathing with an effort. ‘Whenever I think of Phrune and what he nearly did to me, I get such a pain in my chest. I can’t seem to draw enough air.’
‘Breathe slowly, and if you must think about Phrune, don’t go over the things he did to you. Think about the times when he was struggling, failing, and terrified. Think of him as a man too afraid to face his own fears or foes, so in malice and bitterness he preys on the innocent when they’re helpless.’
Maelys imagined Phrune as she’d seen him coming out of the maze, eyes glazed, speckled with vomit and earless after the sergeant had dealt with him. It helped, just a little.
‘Did you also know Tulitine, Xervish?’
‘I don’t recognise the name, and I don’t suppose I’ll meet her now. She sounds too old to climb the pinnacle. Pity.’
She took a deep breath, then asked anxiously. ‘Will you help me with my talent, surr?’
‘Of course, when I have the time. I’d dearly love to read your clan Histories too, but I dare say they’re lost.’
‘I think so. Mother burned most of the books from the library last winter, to keep warm. Where do you think my talent could have come from?’
‘I’ve no idea. Sometimes such gifts arise spontaneously from a fortunate pairing of mother and father. Others can lie latent for many generations before suddenly rising to the surface in one family, or just one child, then disappearing again. And some families show talent for generation after generation, only to lose it forever. You can never tell. It doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘I just wondered, since our clan has been all but wiped out to get rid of the talent.’
‘The really important question is where your taphloid came from.’
‘I don’t know. Father gave it to me and told me to keep it secret from everyone, including the aunts. Especially the aunts …’
‘Describe it.’
She did so, and it roused her longing for the little device, to say nothing of the guilt she felt for being too frightened to do what had needed to be done – slit Phrune’s murderous throat and take it back.
‘I don’t recognise it,’ said Flydd, ‘but many artisans and mancers crafted cunning devices in the latter stages of the war. No one could keep track of them all, and some were always kept secret. Where is it now?’
‘Phrune stole it after we came out of the maze. I’d given it to Jil’s little brother and asked him to hand it to Seneschal Vomix, and it turned his aura inside out so agonisingly that his face tore from screaming.’ It was another image she’d never forget. ‘Vomix couldn’t let go of the taphloid. I told you that.’
‘It was cleverly done – though I still don’t understand quite what it did. And you didn’t tell me how you knew to do it.’
‘It was a gamble. A guess after he accidentally touched it in the maze while pawing at me, and it hurt him cruelly.’
‘One other thing.’ Flydd perched his scrawny buttocks on a wet rock and patted the surface beside him.
She sat down. He didn’t seem so frightening now. He understood her. ‘Yes, Xervish?’
‘What do you want from Nish?’
She didn’t look away quickly enough, for the blood was already boiling into her cheeks. He took her by the chin and turned her face back to his, and sighed. ‘Your mother and aunts didn’t send you to save Nish because they cared about him, did they?’
‘No,’ she whispered, going even redder.
‘They sent you on this deadly mission to ensure his gratitude so, if he did rise again, Clan Nifferlin would rise with him.’
‘Yes.’
‘But gratitude can be difficult to ensure. It’s so easy to offend some people, wouldn’t you say? Your mother and aunts would have wanted a bond or security to make sure all their efforts, and yours, weren’t wasted. But how could they be sure, from so far away? They couldn’t. The one person who could form that bond is you, Maelys, but what have you got to offer Nish? Stand up, please.’
She did so, blushing even more furiously as his
eyes roved over her, though not in the sordid way of Phrune, or even with the desire she’d seen once or twice on Nish’s face, early on, and in Thommel’s gaze lately. Flydd’s cloudy eyes studied her dispassionately, thoughtfully, and even with a trace of wry amusement.
‘They asked you to seduce him and get yourself pregnant with his child, didn’t they? Even Jal-Nish, monster that he is, would recognise that bond. It’s the one sure way to save Clan Nifferlin.’
‘They didn’t ask me,’ Maelys said faintly.
‘No, you’re not yet of age. You’re still subject to their authority. They would have laid it upon you as a solemn and binding duty to the family, which you must carry out no matter the cost to yourself.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘So what went wrong? You’re a lovely girl of good family, desirable in every respect, and Nish is a man who appreciates beautiful women yet has been deprived of a lover for ten years. Why wouldn’t he have you?’
‘Surr,’ she said, trying vainly to prevent the mortifying tears forming, ‘you’re torturing me.’
‘I’ve got to know what really ails Nish, deep down, and he’ll never tell me. I don’t wish to hurt you but you’re the one person I can ask.’
‘I can’t say, Xervish.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just can’t. It would be like betraying a confidence.’
‘I have to know,’ he said sternly. ‘I don’t want to force you but I will if I have to. And you know I can do it.’
She did, so there was no point denying him. ‘All right. It’s Irisis!’
‘Irisis!’ he frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s obsessed by her to the point of madness. He can’t even think of having another woman, for in his mind Irisis is perfection in every respect, and no one else will do. In his delirium he talked about her as though she was still alive.’
‘He’s obsessed by a woman ten years dead?’ Flydd looked grave.
‘He keeps saying she has a destiny, but how can that be?’