The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3)

by Ian Irvine

  ‘You’ve got to continue with the plan,’ said Flydd, breathing heavily. ‘You’ve got to get to Morrelune.’

  ‘Within fifteen days,’ said Yulla, who alone among them seemed calm and in control. She thought for half a minute. ‘All right, this is the plan. You’ll have to allow eleven days to sail to Fadd then march up into the mountains to Morrelune. Adding a slim contingency of two days for all the things that can go wrong makes thirteen days. Therefore, you’ve got to sail within forty-eight hours.’

  It was another insight into the woman who, greedy though she was, had been such an accomplished governor. She had the gift of instantly summing up each new threat and calmly responding.

  Nish wished he had her presence of mind. In fifteen days, a hundred things could go wrong, any one of which could prevent him from reaching Morrelune in time. He fought to control his panic, to appear as calm as she was, though the situation already seemed beyond control.

  ‘That schedule allows no time to get the fleet away in secret,’ said Flydd. ‘And our departure must be secret, for every power in the empire will be after Nish now.’

  Yulla steepled her pudgy fingers and rested her chin on them. ‘I have it. Nish has to show himself in Roros, tomorrow morning, then fly away on the air-sled.’

  ‘How is that going to help?’ cried Nish.

  ‘The moment you appear, then disappear,’ said Yulla, ‘the seneschal of Roros will know you’re up to something, and he’ll send his army after you, plus most of the scriers and wisp-watchers in Roros.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘He has to. If the seneschal takes you, he has removed the biggest obstacle to his seizing the throne; but if he loses you, and you take the throne, you’ll get rid of him at once.’

  Yulla turned a black crystal over in her hands, then went on. ‘I’ve been moving my corps out of Roros in small numbers over the last week. Once the seneschal’s army and scriers have gone after you, Nish, the fleet will slip out of port, load your army in the isolated cove of Kralt, south of here, and sail for Fadd at all speed.’

  She looked around, smiling like a crouching toad.

  ‘How do we get to Fadd?’ said Nish. ‘On the air-sled?’

  Yulla’s smile vanished. ‘I have other uses for it. M’lainte will take you to the fleet and bring the air-sled back.’

  ‘I don’t understand why I have to show myself,’ said Nish warily. ‘There’s got to be a good reason, otherwise the seneschal will be suspicious.’

  ‘He’ll be sure you’re after chthonic fire, so you can claim the empire.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Nish. ‘Why would he think I’m after the fire?’

  ‘Because you’re going to attack an ancient monastery not far from Roros.’

  ‘A monastery!’

  ‘It’s called the House of the Celestial Flame, and it’s built over a vent that has been burning for thousands of years.’

  Flydd stared at Yulla. ‘And you think the pure chthonic fire could be hidden there?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Yulla, ‘though I know that a good place to hide something is where everyone can see it. Once the seneschal thinks you’re after the fire, Nish, he’ll be determined to take you, and it’s all that matters.’

  ‘So you want me to steal some of the monks’ sacred fire, tomorrow?’ said Nish.

  ‘Yes. Then run for the mountains on my air-sled. M’lainte has repaired it but she’ll pretend that its mechanism is failing. The seneschal is bound to take most of his army, and his scriers, since he can’t afford to give you the slightest chance to escape. Once you’ve led him well away from Roros, M’lainte will double back to the coast at night and you’ll go aboard ship for Fadd.’

  ‘And the seneschal will follow us.’

  ‘He won’t be able to,’ said Yulla. ‘He won’t have any ships.’

  ‘I like it,’ said Flydd.

  Nish did not. Events were moving too quickly for him. ‘How can I plan an attack on a place I’ve never seen, in so little time? If something goes wrong we could be trapped.’

  ‘If it’s planned properly,’ said Yulla, ‘nothing will go wrong.’

  Statements like that only made him feel worse. ‘If this diversion is necessary, why can’t it be done by someone else?’

  ‘The seneschal won’t lead his army out of Roros after anyone else, and he’s got to go or I won’t be able to get the fleet away. You have to do it, Nish, and it has to be tomorrow.’

  ‘The House of the Celestial Flame?’ said Flydd thoughtfully. ‘I can’t say I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘For three thousand years its monks have worshipped at the sacred vent, and they’re a wealthy, secretive order with powerful friends. When Nish’s father declared himself God-Emperor, most other monasteries were dissolved and their wealth was appropriated, but the Order of the Celestial Flame went untouched.’

  ‘Where is the monastery?’ said Nish.

  ‘In a valley a few leagues west of Roros, a place of great natural beauty,’ said Persia. ‘Its walls are granite cliffs hundreds of spans high, threaded with waterfalls; the floor of the valley is lush with sweet grass and a hundred kinds of wildflowers. There are geysers, mud baths and mineral springs, and the animals that dwell there are so tame that they can be fed from the hand, for the monks of the Celestial Flame eat neither flesh, fish nor fowl.’ She sounded wistful.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Nish said dazedly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Yulla. ‘You’ll leave here in the early hours, rendezvous with M’lainte and your militia and depart on the air-sled at dawn, so you can be seen, and reach the valley an hour later. The great city wisp-watchers will note your path, but it’ll take the seneschal’s fastest riders all morning to get to the monastery.’

  ‘It doesn’t leave a lot of time to deal with the monks and find the white fire – if it’s there,’ said Flydd. ‘If you want everyone to believe Nish is after the true fire, he’s got to do a convincing job.’

  ‘It’s all the time we have,’ said Persia. ‘We can’t leave before dawn, because Nish has to be seen leaving Roros.’

  ‘How many monks are there?’ asked Nish.

  ‘About sixty, though many are old and some infirm. At least half the number are young and will doubtless put up a fight; you’ll have to subdue them without harming them.’

  Nish’s heart sank even further; it would be like fighting with his hands tied. ‘What’s the layout?’

  ‘The monastery is set halfway up a broad valley with rivers to either side,’ said Persia. ‘It’s a single building shaped like a wheel, one storey high, easy to attack and impossible to defend. The order has no enemies.’

  It does now, Nish thought.

  ‘And the Celestial Flame is where?’ asked Flydd.

  ‘There’s a temple at the centre of the wheel, built over a subterranean vent. Its vapours have burned continuously since the monastery was established.’

  Flydd raised an eyebrow. ‘The parallels with Mistmurk Mountain, where I first found the chthonic flame, are unmistakable.’

  ‘But they may be coincidental,’ said Yulla. ‘Flames fed by natural vapours occur at several places in Crandor.’

  ‘Has anyone built temples over them, and protected them for thousands of years?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Then the true fire could well be hidden at the monastery and, since no one had heard about chthonic fire until I found it at Mistmurk, it would be perfectly safe there. Even if the place was ransacked, fire would attract no attention.’ Flydd paced the room. ‘Surely it can’t be that easy?’

  ‘If it is there,’ said Nish, ‘we can’t let the God-Emperor’s seneschal get hold of any.’

  ‘You’ll have to search the place thoroughly, steal any white fire you find, and put out the sacred flame.’

  The monks are going to love that, Nish said to himself. ‘Who is the seneschal, anyway?’

  Yulla looked at Persia, who was staring straight ahead, her hands
clenched. ‘Persia!’ Yulla said sharply.

  Persia drew a shuddering breath. ‘He –’ Her voice went shrill, but she controlled it with an effort and said, ‘He comes from the south and has an evil reputation. His name is Vomix.’

  Nish felt the acid burning his throat again, for Vomix had destroyed Maelys’s home, Nifferlin Manor, and eliminated most of Clan Nifferlin, all because of a thoughtless remark she had made as a child, when the seneschal had passed her on the road. And what did Persia know of him?

  ‘That settles it,’ said Nish, thinking about the relentless way the seneschal had hunted him and Maelys after the escape from Mazurhize. ‘He’s a brute and no depravity is beyond him. If I get the chance to strangle the bastard with my bare hands, I will.’

  ‘Under the terms of our agreement,’ said Yulla icily, ‘you will take no unnecessary risks.’

  ‘I don’t recall that being mentioned before,’ snapped Nish.

  ‘It must have slipped my mind,’ she said blandly. ‘You will carry out the diversion, take the fire, fly away on the air-sled and hide until dark. Later that night M’lainte will fly you, your militia and Persia to the fleet, and Persia will carry the flame to Morrelune, in case it is the pure, uncorrupted fire.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised she was coming with us.’

  ‘I have to protect my investment,’ said Yulla with another toad-like smile.

  So Persia wasn’t only here to protect him, but also to spy on him and report back to Yulla. Nish ground his teeth together. He was fed up with being manipulated, first by his father, and Vivimord, then Flydd and now Yulla.

  ‘We still have one unsolved problem,’ said Flydd.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Nish.

  ‘To save Santhenar, we’ve got to find pure fire, but if it isn’t at the monastery we don’t know where to look for it.’

  ‘That must be your task, Flydd,’ said Yulla, ‘and it may be that you’re the only one who can do it.’

  ‘It may be that no one can do it,’ said Flydd.

  They were supposed to be leaving Yulla’s mansion in the early hours, but Persia woke Nish before midnight. ‘It’s time to go.’

  He checked the stars through the window and saw that he’d been asleep for no more than an hour. ‘Is something wrong?’

  She was looking down at him, and Nish thought he saw a momentary sadness in her dark eyes.

  She hesitated before saying firmly, ‘Yulla thought it best that we leave early.’

  He got ready, yawning and feeling more than usually dull-witted. Persia led him on foot to an empty warehouse by the harbour, where the militia were camped, still asleep. He found a spare blanket, lay down and slept at once.

  Not long before dawn, Chissmoul and M’lainte landed the rebuilt air-sled on the warehouse roof, which sloped towards the sea and was not visible from Roros. The craft now boasted an ornate cabin over the stern half, framed in brass and black iron. Small windows all around were made from thin, flexible sheets of clear mica, and there were also angled arrow slits. Rows of benches inside would seat the militia during flight, while double doors at the front would keep out wind and weather.

  ‘The walls and roof are of bimblewood,’ said M’lainte, ‘a timber so light that a beam of it can be picked up by a child, yet so strong that it will keep out a crossbow bolt fired from close range. But not a javelard spear, unfortunately.’

  ‘I hope it won’t come to that,’ said Nish.

  ‘Best to be prepared for every contingency,’ said M’lainte, rubbing her stubby, oil-stained fingers through her thin hair and smearing black oil across the bald patch.

  ‘Like keeping the wretched thing in the air!’

  ‘You won’t have that problem again; I’ve rebuilt the flight mechanism. Considering it was the personal air-sled of the God-Emperor, it was remarkably ill-made. It’ll be much more reliable now, and twice as fast.’ Her old eyes gleamed at the thought.

  ‘Everyone must stay inside during fast flight,’ M’lainte went on as the militia assembled, ‘otherwise they’ll be in danger of going over the side with every change of course.’

  ‘What about Chissmoul?’ said Nish. Her canvas seat had been replaced by an extravagant, sleigh-like bench, wide enough for two, made of iron and red cedar. A pair of belts were looped through the rear slats.

  ‘I’ve got to be able to see.’ Chissmoul wore leathers; a pair of insect-spattered goggles were pushed high on her forehead.

  She took her seat, M’lainte sat beside her and Flangers led the militia inside. Nish was glad to be back with them after the past frustrating week. The injured had been left behind, save for Clech who, after allowing a risky experimental bone-healing spell to be used on him, so as to heal his thigh bones quickly, was hobbling about on crutches, and Aimee, whose healing ribs were bound so tightly she had trouble bending over.

  Dawn streaked pink rays across the sky. Chissmoul looked questioningly at Nish, who was standing with Persia on the roof. In the blushing light she looked more beautiful than ever.

  ‘A few more minutes,’ she said. ‘Nish has to be seen.’

  He went through his mental list again, fretting that he had forgotten something vital. In daylight, the attack seemed foolhardy, even reckless.

  ‘Where’s Xervish?’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Gone,’ said Persia, who was looking out to sea. A pleasantly cool breeze ruffled a few dark hairs that had escaped her braid.

  ‘I thought he was coming with us.’

  ‘He was never coming with us,’ she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

  ‘And no one thought to tell me? Wait a minute! That’s why we left early, isn’t it? So you could separate us.’

  ‘It wasn’t of my doing,’ said Persia, again colouring delicately. ‘Yulla thought it was best.’

  ‘Really?’ snapped Nish, still furious about the way he’d been manipulated by everyone. ‘Why does Yulla want to separate us?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Can’t, or won’t?’

  ‘I can’t betray my mistress’s confidences or plans, any more than you would betray Flydd’s.’

  ‘Right!’ he snapped. ‘Thanks for reminding me that you can’t be trusted.’

  It was as though he’d slapped her across the face. ‘I can always be trusted,’ she whispered. ‘My word is everything to me.’

  ‘You’re not here to protect me at all, are you? You’re here to control me – you and that cow, Yulla. Well, I’m not taking it.’

  All the softness went out of her eyes, and all the warmth. Persia did not say a word, but walked away across the gently sloping roof, her jerky steps betraying her agitation. He went after her, caught her by the arm and she swung around.

  ‘Where’s Flydd?’ he said furiously.

  ‘He made a portal with his serpent staff and went through to search for the true fire.’

  ‘A portal! I didn’t know he could make portals with it. Why didn’t he tell me?’

  She did not reply.

  If Flydd had that ability, why hadn’t he used it earlier? They might have come directly here from Taranta, or the Range of Ruin for that matter. And if Flydd had known all along – if he could have saved them at the Range of Ruin but had chosen not to do so – it must prove that he was up to no good.

  What about Yulla? Was she planning to betray them both, or did she hope to seize the chthonic fire if Flydd came back with it? She was a master strategist who manipulated people without even thinking about it … and Persia was her willing acolyte. He scowled at her but she was hunched over, her shoulders shaking.

  The light was growing rapidly now. ‘Time to go,’ Nish said curtly, and climbed aboard. As Chissmoul lifted off, he sat down with his back pressed up against the rear of the sleigh-shaped seat and held on to the base of the frame.

  ‘It’s not safe there,’ said Persia. ‘You must go inside.’

  ‘I couldn’t give a damn whether it’s safe or not,’ he gritted, so furious that he could not contain
himself. ‘Go into the pen, where you belong.’

  A spasm passed across her face but Persia did not move. As his bodyguard, she must remain by his side. She stood behind Chissmoul, holding onto the back of the bench, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

  She stared blindly ahead as the air-sled shot across the city, her eyes watering in the wind. It passed low and fast over the square where they had heard the announcement yesterday, and both wisp-watchers swung to follow their path, as did the heads of the people already swarming there in the cool of the morning.

  No question but that we’ve been seen, Nish thought. This gamble had better work.

  ‘Where to?’ said Chissmoul.

  ‘Fly west, straight as an arrow and at all possible speed, for the Monastery of the Celestial Flame. Let no one who sees us be in any doubt about our destination, nor the urgency of our quest.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  From the Great Library, Yggur, Tulitine and Maelys went to Zile and equipped themselves for their coming journey, then travelled by portal to the Aachim city of Stassor, which lay hidden within the glacier-woven mountains several hundred leagues south of Roros.

  Maelys stepped out of the portal onto flat ice. She faced a series of snowy peaks across a broad valley, and an icy wind was blowing. They had obtained mountain clothing in Zile, but even with her furs pulled tightly around her it was miserably cold, and the thin air at this altitude was hard to breathe.

  ‘Each portal takes more out of me than the one before,’ said Yggur, swaying on his feet and pressing his forearm across his belly.

  Maelys steadied him. ‘I thought the caduceus was doing the work?’

  ‘It is, yet I feel as drained as if I had drawn power for the mighty portal spell from within myself, and that’s strange.’

  ‘Is your aftersickness getting worse?’

  He doubled up, groaning, and Maelys thought he was going to vomit, but at length he straightened. ‘You could say that. Enough of my troubles; turn around, look up and see the majesty of Stassor.’