by Ian Irvine
‘What did take you so long?’ Nish asked as they walked down to where his militia lay sprawled in the sunlight while the Gendri men were setting out the best food they had. A line of stretcher-bearers was carrying the wounded, attended by the two healers, down to join them.
‘I’ll tell you some day, when we’ve got the time. Suffice it to say that Klarm had the air-sled well guarded, and it took all our ingenuity plus a good slice of luck to get to it then, modestly, a stroke of sheerest genius for us to steal it from under his nose.
‘He retaliated with Gatherer, of course, and if it had not been for Chissmoul’s brilliance, the air-sled would have fallen from a great height, which would have been the end of us. I could not take that risk again, so we went to ground some distance away along the Range of Ruin, and there was no way to contact you.’
‘How did you take control of the air-sled?’
‘I tried using the serpent staff and, to my surprise, it worked – eventually.’
‘So did mine,’ said Nish, ‘though why it worked bothers me.’
‘Indeed,’ Flydd said perceptively. ‘The caduceus wasn’t left behind as a warning – Stilkeen left it so we would use its separate parts to get ourselves out of trouble. It’s moving us around like pieces in a board game, and I don’t know why. But we can worry about that later.’
‘I worry about it all the time,’ said Nish, then forced it from his mind and headed down for the feast.
The thunder was growing ever louder and even the slightly tipsy Gendrigoreans were beginning to look anxious.
‘We’d better go,’ said their captain, Glemm, a thickset farmer from the south of Gendri province with shiny black skin and eyes the same colour, and an incongruous tonsure of white hair around a bald patch as shiny as a polished army boot. ‘We’ve got crops to harvest. We can’t be trapped on the range for the really wet season.’
‘Could you survive if you were trapped?’ said Nish. ‘I thought that was a death sentence.’
‘It would be for gwishin like the enemy. And even for you, Nish, resourceful as you are. But we know the mountains; when we have the time we can find food anywhere, plus the herbs we need to keep the ulcers and fevers at bay. It would not be easy to feed us for that long but we would survive … at least, those of us who are unharmed …’
Nish had anticipated that. ‘We’ll take the injured with us, on the air-sled.’
‘Back to their homes?’ said Glemm.
Nish hesitated, and Flydd interposed at once. ‘Unfortunately not. The air-sled has been giving us a lot of trouble and I’m not sure how long we can keep it flying. The mancery that powers it –’
Glemm shuddered and flicked his hand over his left shoulder, a sign to ward off evil. Those nearby emulated his gesture and a murmur of unease spread like a wave through the sprawled militia.
‘You don’t need to worry about that,’ said Flydd. ‘But I can’t take the risk of going to Gendrigore in case the air-sled fails and strands us there. Your war may be over but ours is just beginning, and we’ve got to go south to the heart of the empire with all speed. As soon as the news gets out that Stilkeen has taken the God-Emperor –’
Glemm repeated his gesture, three times.
‘– every rebel on Santhenar will be out for what they can get, and between them they’ll tear the empire apart, unless …’
Flydd rose to his feet and addressed them all. ‘Unless the Deliverer makes himself known throughout the empire at once, and stands ready to fulfil the promise he made at the end of the war. Nish must tell the world that his father has been taken by a being from beyond, and immediately claim the Imperial throne. If the news about Jal-Nish gets out first, it will be too late.’
Nish stirred but did not contradict Flydd, since that could only make things worse. However he was not planning to claim the throne, and as soon as they were in private he intended to remind Flydd of that vow.
‘Nish may claim the throne,’ said Glemm, ‘but not everyone will support him.’
‘Many will stay loyal to Jal-Nish,’ Flydd agreed. ‘At least, until they can be sure he’s never coming back. And others will try to seize power for themselves. Unless we act fast, there will be civil war.’
‘Where are we going, Xervish?’ said Nish.
‘As far down the east coast as the air-sled will take us.’
‘It would be faster to fly across the corner of the Sea of Perion,’ said Nish, mentally tracing the route, ‘then from the mountains of the Wahn Barre and all the way south-east to Father’s palace, Morrelune, near Fadd.’
‘Aye,’ said Flydd, ‘if we trusted the air-sled to take us that far. But the craft has already given us trouble and we can’t afford to be marooned in empty lands if it should fail. We’ll head south to Taranta, which isn’t far as the air-sled flies, and make the initial announcement.
‘From there we’ll fly east to Crandor, the wealthiest nation on Santhenar, and also the most independent and rebellious. Its capital, Roros, is a great and proud city where people will remember your promise, Nish, and many will welcome you. From Roros we’ll hop from city to city down the coast, spreading the news and showing your face everywhere. Then, should the air-sled fail us, we’ll be able to take a fast ship south.’
He paused, then looked over the militia. ‘Of course, the Deliverer – Nish – can’t go alone …’
No one spoke for a long time, then Aimee rose painfully to her feet, holding her ribs. ‘We’ve followed our captain all this way and we’re not going to abandon him now. I’m with you, Nish, and so is this great lump.’
She put her hand on Clech’s woolly head, which was level with her waist though he was sitting down. ‘Though what use he’ll be, since he’s stupidly broken both his legs …’
‘Thank you,’ said Flydd, pointedly shaking the tiny hand and the huge one. ‘Roros has healers whose spells can work marvels upon broken bones, and they’ll have you on your feet in weeks.’ He surveyed the seated militia, frowning.
‘What’s the matter with you lot?’ cried Aimee. ‘Stand up for the man you believe in. Up, up!’
One by one, the twenty-five able-bodied men and women of his militia rose and came forwards to stand beside him, looking abashed. ‘We’re with you, surr,’ Hoshi said quietly. ‘All the way.’
‘Thank you,’ said Nish, deeply touched despite Aimee’s coercion. ‘Though it’s a bit late to start calling me “surr” now.’
‘Sorry, Nish,’ grinned Hoshi.
Nish caught sight of a small, carrot-topped figure among the militia, one hand heavily bandaged, and his smile faded. ‘Huwld, you can’t come with us.’
‘I must,’ cried the boy. ‘I set Uncle free, and he brought the enemy here. It’s my fault that most of the militia are dead. I’ve got to make up for it.’
‘What’s this?’ said Glemm, frowning. ‘How could the boy –?’
Nish explained, briefly.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Glemm. ‘We know about Boobelar.’
‘How?’ said Nish.
‘We caught him below the entrance to the pass, robbing the dead.’ Glemm spat on the ground. ‘The brute tried to escape –’
‘What happened to Uncle Boobelar?’ whispered Huwld.
‘In war, lad, there can only be one punishment for such behaviour – we would have put him down …’
‘But?’ said Nish, praying that Boobelar hadn’t got away again.
‘He tried to escape over the side of the ridge, but with the weight of all his loot he lost his footing and fell. He’s dead.’
‘And I have to make up for what Uncle did,’ said Huwld. ‘I’ve got to go to war with Nish.’
‘No, Huwld,’ said Nish. ‘If I’d known you were with us, I would have sent you back at Wily’s Clearing. Besides, you’ve done as much as any of my soldiers could do, and you’ve lost a finger to prove it.’
‘I have to pay,’ wept the boy.
How could it be so hard to tell a child what to do? Nish was beginning to
despair when Flangers came forwards.
‘Huwld, we’ve fought together at the defences these past days, and your work has saved many lives. I understand how you feel – and you know I do, for we talked about my own troubles one night – but you’ve done enough, soldier.’
‘Please, Lieutenant –’ said Huwld.
‘No, lad,’ said Flangers. ‘You’re going home. And that’s an order from your commanding officer. You do know what the penalty for disobeying orders is, in war?’
‘Yes,’ said Huwld quietly, ‘but I would never disobey your orders.’ He forced a smile, and saluted. ‘Surr!’
‘Thank you,’ Nish said softly to Flangers after the boy had turned away. ‘I was afraid I would never convince him.’
‘He’s a good lad, with as stout a heart as any kid I’ve come across. But too young to take such burdens upon himself. Far too young.’
‘Perhaps it’s a lesson to us all,’ Nish said pointedly, ‘to not blame ourselves for things we’ve paid for long ago.’
‘You may be right, surr,’ said Flangers.
A mass of cloud swirled up and over the tops of the mountains, blotting out the sun, and a chilly wind tumbled down the slopes into their faces. ‘Not long now till the really wet season begins,’ said Glemm, rising. ‘Not long at all.’
The remaining food was hastily packed away; the Gendri militia replenished their supplies from the enemy’s stores, and Nish’s troops scoured the battlefield to refill their quivers and replace their notched swords and battered shields. A network of ropes was strung across the rear half of the air-sled for the troops to hang onto – a wise precaution with Chissmoul at the helm.
Nish limped up to the top of the pass, in case the survivors of Klarm’s army were planning a suicidal counter-attack, but they were already out of sight. He took one last look at the rubble-filled slot where so many of his troops had died, and the scoured slope down which his avalanche had passed, then turned back, shaking his head at the futility of war.
By the time he reached the air-sled the fifteen injured were being carried on, bound to their stretchers, which were tied fore and aft to the safety ropes. After making their farewells, his militia crammed on.
Chissmoul sat at the front beneath the empty pennant pole, in a seat made of wood and canvas fixed to the deck. Flydd stood beside her, clutching the pole in one hand and his serpent staff in the other, and Nish took his place on the other side.
‘Take it gently,’ said Flydd as Chissmoul slipped her fingers in between the wires and crystals of the air-sled’s controller. ‘We’ve got fragile passengers now, remember?’
‘I know,’ she said mildly.
‘Ready?’
‘Yes.’
A flurry of cold rain swept up the pass. Lightning flashed; there was a shattering crash of thunder and a deluge fell upon them. The Gendri militia pulled their oilskin hoods over their heads, waved and turned down towards the western gap, and the long march home.
‘Farewell,’ Nish said quietly, knowing that he was unlikely to return to Gendrigore, or to see any of them again.
Flydd banged the tip of the serpent staff into a socket beside the pennant pole. Chissmoul wiggled her fingers within the wires; an inner crystal shafted out a single beam of blue light, as if to mark the way forwards; the air-sled lifted, revolved on its axis and headed up and over the pass, then south for the city of Taranta.
‘The first phase of the war is over,’ said Flydd. ‘Now the real battle begins.’
TWENTY
‘I’m glad it is you, Maelys Nifferlin,’ said Zofloc, ‘since your coming led to the destruction of my master’s tower and the death of her hopes. Had I been informed in time, I would have prevented it, permanently. In the aftermath I must exact a suitable punishment – as a lesson to all who threaten my master’s plans.’
The sorcerer’s black and glittering eyes were locked on her, and Maelys remembered someone talking about him previously. Unlike the other Whelm, who had no interest in any but their own kind, Zofloc took a keen interest in normal humans … but not a healthy one.
‘W-what are you going to do to me?’ Her voice went hoarse. Why, why hadn’t she answered when Yggur had called earlier?
‘I’m going to kill you with slow sorcery, then wrap your broken body in a treated shroud to make a perfect print of your torments. And wherever I go I will exhibit your death shroud, to demonstrate that our master must never be trifled with. Come.’ He crooked a bony finger at her.
‘Er, no,’ said Maelys, edging sideways along the fire-licked ice. ‘It’s awfully decent of you but I’m finished here now.’
How could she combat a sorcerer? What were the Whelm’s weaknesses, anyway? Flydd had talked about the topic once, but what had he said?
They had a terror, born of their long and tragic Histories, of being cast out by their master. The Whelm were born to serve and without a master they were tormented, purposeless creatures. Unfortunately, Maelys did not see how she could use that fear.
The only other option was to run for her life. Whelm were slow and awkward and, if she could get away, she might beat Zofloc to the base of the steep shaft, but it would be exhausting to climb. Whelm were also tireless and relentless, and if she slipped he would have her.
Once she reached the shaft she could scream for help, and Tulitine and Yggur would probably hear her, but that was no help if they could not find a way in.
She backed around the fire-eaten pillar. Zofloc followed, unperturbed; clearly he wasn’t worried about her escaping. She moved faster, realised that she could no longer see him, and whirled.
‘Aaaahhh!’
He had gone the other way and was right in front of her, reaching out with those repulsive spatulate fingers. One more step and they would have slid around her throat … or lower. She did not like the look in his eyes, nor what she imagined his interest in humans was.
Spinning on one foot, Maelys bolted, but slipped on a frozen puddle and went skating forwards, her arms wheeling. Unable to regain her balance, she fell and skidded across the ice on her palms and knees, trying to scrabble away.
Zofloc stalked after her, his jerky Whelm stride covering the distance deceptively quickly, and caught her by the ankle before she could get up. She kicked furiously but had no hope of freeing herself; he stood head and shoulders above her and was immensely strong.
Yanking her backwards, he lifted her by the ankle and raised his arm until her head dangled several handspans off the floor. Her loose trouser legs slid down to her knees, exposing her chalk-white calves. Blood was trickling from her left knee.
Holding her well away, Zofloc inspected her neat ankles and slim calves. Maelys knew that she looked very different from the Whelm women, who were generally tall and lean, with grey skin, thick, prominent bones and large feet and hands. They certainly didn’t have her well-endowed thighs or broad hips – their bodies were long and brick-shaped, with practically no waist. No bosom either, she realised as her shirt slid down towards her bust.
He was so strong! His arm wasn’t even quivering from her weight. She tried to kick him with her free foot but he caught her other ankle and locked fingers and thumb around it.
Now he was staring at her bosom, squinting against the light from the twinklestone, and she remembered another weakness of the Whelm. Being creatures of the cloudy south and the deep forests, strong light was painful to them.
Raising her hands as if to cover her chest, she yanked the twinklestone off her forehead and stretched it as far as it would go. Instantly its dumbbell shape swelled to the size of a pair of oranges and the light flared so brightly that it hurt her eyes.
Zofloc cried out incoherently and dropped her on her head. Fortunately she did not fall far, though it took a few seconds to recover from the impact.
She found her feet and backed away, holding the twinkle-stone high and watching him carefully. The sorcerer wasn’t pretending; he was holding his callused grey hands in front of his streaming eyes, c
learly in pain. Knowing it was the only chance she was going to get, she fled back the way she had come.
As she was squeezing through the narrow passage, she heard his wooden sandals clapping against the floor. He was after her, and this time he would be more careful. Maelys reached the end of the passage, where it opened into the broad outer tunnel, and looked back.
She could no longer hear his footsteps, and when she shone the twinklestone down the passage, it was empty. However, many such narrow passages ran out from the centre; he must have taken another of them and he would know how she’d entered the underground labyrinth. If he reached the steep shaft before she did, she would be trapped.
And perhaps he knew a quicker way there. Her breath was rasping in her throat, her stomach churning sickeningly. She turned right into the broad tunnel and ran, only to realise that she’d gone the wrong way. Maelys had never had a good sense of direction; she should have turned left, not right.
She ran back, panting so loudly that Zofloc must hear her, and surely he would be nearly there by now. As she pounded along, she held the dazzling twinklestone out in front of her, for it was the only advantage she had.
But not much of an advantage, she thought ruefully. If he cornered her, he could advance with eyes closed and arms spread from one side of the tunnel to the other, and catch her by feel.
Ahead she made out the steeply sloping shaft; her light was winking off the broken permafrost. Maelys glanced over her shoulder but there was no one behind her, and there were no side tunnels between her and the shaft. She was going to make it after all.
Then Zofloc stood up suddenly; he’d been waiting a few spans from the junction with the shaft, and he was laughing. She thrust out the twinklestone but, as she’d predicted, he closed his eyes and spread his arms, low down so she could not get by.
Putting on a burst of speed, she sprang as high as she could, her left foot just grazing his right arm, and landed at chest height on the slope of the shaft. Pain shrieked through her knees and her palms, and the light went out. Where was the twinklestone? She must have dropped the wretched thing and there was not a second to look for it. As she dragged herself up the broken permafrost into the darkness, Zofloc’s sandals sounded below her and he made a muffled crowing noise.