The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2)

by Ian Irvine

  Unfortunately, Maelys had always been a romantic and this was the very opposite of how she had imagined her first time with a man would be. But Nish looked very handsome now, and his robes befitted a prince. Perhaps he did care, a little.

  He pushed the door closed and began to walk towards her. His eyes were glazed, the pupils dilated, and his breathing was fast and shallow. He was also being controlled by Vivimord; he did not want her at all. The realisation made another crack in the enchantment, though when she thought of little Fyllis in the hands of Jal-Nish’s torturers, Maelys knew that lying with Nish was a small price to pay.

  She took a deep breath, rolled onto her back, feeling her breasts straining against the gauzy fabric, and smiled until it hurt. She could not help remembering the time she’d tried to do her duty and seduce him, and the ghastly humiliation as he’d repudiated her. Maelys dreaded it happening again.

  Nish began stripping off his princely robes – which had to be an illusion – as he approached. He climbed onto the bed, his eyes dark pools of longing for the woman she was made up to be.

  Maelys had no experience in the arts of the bedchamber, so she lay back on the pillows, closed her eyes and left it up to him. Her nerves were singing from the incense, and Vivimord’s enchantment must have been working again, for the moment Nish began to caress her, his touch awoke feelings that she had never felt before, though she had read about them in the Great Tales. She did not resist; she could not. She did not want Nish to stop.

  This isn’t you. A tiny voice hammered on the closed doors of her mind, trying to get through. And it isn’t Nish either. Vivimord is moving both of you like puppets. Stop it, now.

  But Nish’s caresses felt so good, the nothings he was murmuring in her ear so right. She wanted them to go on forever.

  Anything Vivimord wants is wrong. Fight him for all you’re worth!

  She did not. Nish drew the covers aside, looking down at her like a prince at his princess, but as Maelys felt the cold air on her skin she was reminded of her mortifying state of undress and it undermined the enchantment a little more.

  As Nish leaned over her, the prince illusion slipped; she saw that his eyes were dull and there was blood on his right cheek, and matted in his hair. Blood under his fingernails, too. Where had it all come from? His clothes were soaked in it. He’d been in a fight; he must have killed a man. She felt sick. Vivimord hadn’t bothered to clean Nish up for her; her feelings did not matter.

  His left hand, the burnt one, was swollen like a five-fingered balloon; it was a mixture of smooth new skin – how had that come about? – and blistered, weeping flesh. His dirty fingers touched her, and she felt so disgusted that it tore the enchantment apart. This was wrong, wrong, wrong and bound to end disastrously, as any alliance of the two most corrupt men in the world inevitably must. She had to stop it.

  Her darting eye fell on the platinum stubs and she remembered the fourth, to the right of them. Vivimord had hidden it from her; might it offer some means of escape?

  ‘Nish, no!’ She pushed him away so hard that he slid off the edge of the bed and fell heavily to the floor, whacking his injured hand. He let out a shriek and drew his knees up against his chest, rocking from side to side.

  She regretted it instantly, and was on her hands and knees, peering down at him, when he cried, ‘Maelys?’ in a choked voice. Pain had cracked the mesmeric spell on him and his eyes hardened; he must be remembering her previous mortifying attempt at seduction.

  ‘Nish, run! It’s a trap.’

  The door slammed back against the wall and Vivimord stood there, his eyes ablaze and the blotched lump on his cheek a livid purple.

  ‘Quick, Nish!’ she screamed.

  He got up, shaking his head dazedly, but Vivimord blocked the door. He smiled, pushed it shut and moved towards them.

  ‘Get back on the bed, Deliverer. You have a duty to perform, for the good of your people and the stability of the realm.’

  Nish looked up at Maelys, then at him, and shook his head.

  ‘You will mate with her, Deliverer.’

  Nish rubbed the back of his burned hand; he was shaking his head furiously. Vivimord reached out to touch him on the forehead but Nish backed away.

  ‘You’re breaking his enchantment, Nish,’ Maelys yelled. ‘Keep fighting him.’

  Vivimord drew his fingertips down Nish’s chest; his eyelids fluttered, then he got up and turned towards the bed like a zombie. Maelys watched him come, stumbling and pale, but when he was just a few steps away he looked up and met her eyes, and there was such dumb, helpless despair in them that her skin crawled. Nish could not endure this any more than she could.

  It was a thousand times worse than before. Under no circumstances could Maelys lie with Nish while Vivimord was standing here, pulling his strings. She couldn’t help Nish but she could stop this from happening, and frustrate Vivimord.

  As he stalked towards her, she threw herself backwards against the bed head. Where was the fourth platinum stub – the hidden one? Dare she try it?

  ‘Nish, onto the bed, quick!’

  He didn’t move; he was completely in Vivimord’s power. She slid her hand across the bed head, past the three stubs, feeling with the heel of her palm for the fourth. She sensed just the faintest indentation, and pressed it.

  Vivimord grinned wolfishly and she knew she’d just failed a critical test.

  ELEVEN

  ‘Nish? Colm?’ said Flydd, squinting into the darkness.

  The thundering feet were now so loud that they drowned out his thoughts. It sounded like a small army running up steps, though he didn’t think they could be close; the climb from the base of the mountain would take hours. However he was having difficulty distinguishing between reality and Vivimord’s Arts of Bemusement and Illusion. He knew Vivimord was close by, though. Flydd could smell him.

  He shook his head but the fuzziness didn’t improve, though he well remembered the crystal clarity of his old mind, before renewal. What if he never regained it? However even that loss was insignificant compared to the nagging ache that was the disappearance of his Art. Curse Maelys for pressuring him into taking renewal; and curse himself for succumbing to the temptation he’d resisted for so long. He’d sooner be dead than try to live with the few pathetic fragments of the Art remaining to him; and even those could be the temporary gift of the woman in red.

  What do you want from me? he raged.

  ‘Flydd?’ said Colm in a cracked tone, from some distance to his left.

  He was afraid, and well he might be. Flydd was too. Once he would have enjoyed the challenge of pitting his wits against another master, but there was no pleasure in being an ordinary man hunted by a master.

  ‘What are you doing way over there?’ Flydd hissed.

  ‘I thought you were going this way.’ Colm’s voice approached. ‘Cursed place – it tangles the mind.’

  ‘Mine too,’ muttered Flydd. ‘Though it’s not the place that tangles it – it’s Vivimord. Where’s Nish?’

  ‘I thought he was with you.’

  Flydd swore under his breath. ‘Nish!’ he said, not too loudly.

  Nish didn’t reply.

  ‘What’s happening?’ said Colm, with forced calm. ‘Is Vivimord trying to pick us off one by one?’

  Flydd pressed his hand against his chest, for he had a burning pain there. What a laugh it would be if his renewed heart was giving out already. ‘He doesn’t give a damn about us, and he doesn’t pick fights needlessly. All he wants is Nish.’

  ‘Nish!’ Colm bellowed. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Shh!’ Colm’s voice hadn’t echoed in the vast chamber, which was odd; but everything about this place was odd.

  ‘How can he not hear us?’

  ‘I’d say Vivimord has got him, but we’d better make sure.’

  They circumnavigated the chamber three times but found no sign of him, and no openings save the double doors by which they had entered.

  ‘Vivimor
d was so quick!’ Flydd wanted to bang his head against the wall. ‘He plucked Nish out from between us in seconds and I haven’t got the faintest idea where to look for him.’

  ‘You know Mistmurk Mountain inside and out. You must be able to find him; and Maelys.’

  ‘Vivimord was ever a master of illusion, and now he’s been rejuvenated at the cursed flame. You saw the fire dripping from his fingers when he fought Jal-Nish in the cave – Vivimord’s powers have been redoubled, and I’ve lost mine.’

  ‘We’ve got to look for them, Flydd.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know where to start. This place is a labyrinth.’

  ‘They can’t be far away.’

  ‘Vivimord could be anywhere, even in this room, but hidden. I can’t break such powerful Arts; can you?’

  ‘Only with a blade to the heart!’ Colm said savagely.

  ‘Phrune is dead; he can’t hurt anyone now. But if you get the chance to take Vivimord down, don’t hesitate, for he’s as big a monster as the God-Emperor. Let’s go back to the altar. That’s where Nish disappeared, and we may be able to pick up the traces. There’s power at the flame, too; power aplenty, if only I could remember how to use it.’

  As they headed back, Flydd’s confusion began to fade and suddenly, when they were just a few steps from the altar, the abyssal flame leapt up spans high, emerald-green shot with black, illuminating the barbarically beautiful chamber. Its shrill whistling was painful to the ears.

  ‘The running feet have stopped,’ said Flydd, his heart sinking. ‘Vivimord’s got what he wanted. Though to get through Jal-Nish’s cordon he’ll have to activate the closed portal, so surely he must come back to this flame? Can I set a trap for him?’

  Colm was pacing, ever more agitated. ‘We’ve got to go after them, Flydd.’

  ‘If we do, we’ll probably be leaving them further behind. No, this place is the key, I’m sure of it. I’m staying here.’

  ‘Flydd –?’

  ‘Shut up! I’ve got to think it through.’

  He sat on the base of the altar and put his head in his hands. In his prime he would have come up with a plan in an instant, but now his mind was like fog. ‘Keep watch by the door, Colm.’

  Why was he so unsure of himself? He’d been a commanding figure for more than forty years and, as a scrutator on the council, he’d been one of the most powerful people in the world.

  Because authority had to be earned, and it could only be maintained by using it. He was out of practice. The world had changed; the old ways were gone forever. Jal-Nish had remoulded the world in his image and Flydd no longer understood it.

  Above his head the flame flared and shadows drifted through his mind, like an image seen out of the corner of an eye – billowing red curtains with someone concealed behind them. The woman in red was peering through a framed hexagonal glass, at him. Her finger pointed at him, Maelys’s taphloid grew hot and he felt a stabbing pressure behind his temples. It wasn’t exactly pain; more like something pushing through a barrier. It disappeared and he tried to focus on the woman behind the curtains, but her image was gone.

  Flydd realised he’d been holding his breath, but didn’t let it out. Something had changed; she’d done something to him. He felt more clear-headed now; or was it more awakened? Did that mean she was ready to put her plan into action?

  ‘Is something the matter?’ said Colm, who had his back to the flame and was watching the doors.

  ‘I had a vision that reminded me of my renewal dream, though why would I see her now?’

  Could her appearance be due to the power of the flame, or did she want him to do something here? If she did, it was unlikely to be for his benefit. Flydd gnawed his lip; he wasn’t used to being kept in the dark and couldn’t bear to be manipulated. He didn’t want anything to do with this perilous flame either, yet it might offer the only way out of here.

  Drawing the taphloid from his pocket, he held it up towards the flame to see what would happen when their innate powers met. The flame’s note changed to a deeper, more muted whistle. Colm drew a sharp breath; the green flame dropped fractionally and a series of little silvery bubbles rose up within it, black shadows and emerald fire drifting across their surfaces, before popping halfway to the ceiling with streams of trailing green specks. Flydd thought he saw her image in one bubble, hands out to him as if she were trying to tell him something.

  Why was the flame affected by the taphloid? She can’t have known he’d have it. No, but she would have expected him to be carrying his charged crystal, and Maelys had put the crystal she’d found below the cursed flame into the taphloid. Could the two flames be linked?

  Flydd rocked back and forth, wondering about the bubbles, then thrust the taphloid at the flame. This time only one bubble appeared, but it was the size of a melon and spinning rapidly. Within it he saw the red curtains again, only they weren’t curtains but the robes of a dark-haired woman, standing on a pinnacle in a wild wind. A huge moon hung above her and she was gazing into a scrying cup. Flydd’s point of view shifted dizzyingly until he was looking down into it as if through her eyes, though this time she did not know he was there.

  She was staring into a black, empty landscape, a place like nowhere he had ever seen before. Everything was black – no, it wasn’t a landscape but a vast structure, for a smooth black floor extended further than he could see. Now he heard her, inside his head, her voice tight with strain.

  I must find a way in. I can’t hold the place together much longer. But what if it finds out?

  The black shapes shifted, dissolving into one another; the bubble burst and her image was gone. Flydd staggered, for his heart was thundering and his knees felt weak.

  ‘I heard her,’ said Colm, shivering. ‘That was the woman in red, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘What was she doing?’

  Flydd wasn’t going to mention the image he’d seen through her eyes; it was too worrying. ‘I don’t know, but she must have mastered the flame, to be so intimately connected to it now.’

  ‘Why did she come to you during renewal?’

  ‘How would I know?’ Flydd snapped. He paced around the altar, cursing the craters in his memory. Dare he take the chance on her? Dare he refuse her?

  Colm was looking ever more alarmed. He’s regretting not taking the easy way out the other night, and jumping off the precipice, Flydd thought. Perhaps he should have.

  ‘What’s she trying to hold together?’

  Flydd shrugged.

  ‘Could it have anything to do with the shadow realm?’ Colm wondered aloud. ‘And where did you hear of the shadow realm, anyway?’

  ‘From Rassitifer, an itinerant sorcerer, but a good one, and a friend for many years; I trusted him. He found a way inside, and that’s where he suffered the wound that killed him. It left no mark, no scar, but he wasted away from within.’

  ‘What did he die of?’

  Flydd squirmed. ‘Not even the council’s healers had seen anything like it – he’d been eaten away inside; his vital organs were no more than soot, crawling with …’

  ‘Maggots?’

  ‘Whatever it was, it wasn’t any kind of life I’d seen before. Meddle with the shadow realm at your peril.’

  ‘And you planned to take us through it?’ Colm’s voice rose. He was as brave as any man when dealing with the known, but how could he cope with this?

  ‘Only because there was no other way out. Besides, I was a greater mancer than Rassitifer; I thought it was worth the risk, and I’d prepared that crystal to protect us on the way through.’

  ‘But you haven’t got the crystal,’ cried Colm. ‘And you’ve lost your Art, so how the bloody hell are you going to protect us if you do find a way in?’

  ‘I – I’ll have to find a way,’ Flydd said weakly. Just how was he supposed to forge a protection when he couldn’t remember where the dangers in the shadow realm lay, nor the spells and protections he’d planned to use there?

  ‘W
ell, you’ll be going on your own. I’d sooner an honest death on an enemy’s blade than what’s going to happen to you.’ Colm was circling around the altar, well clear of the flame, his head turned away as if he couldn’t bear to look at it, which was another oddity in a day full of oddities.

  ‘You’ll probably get your wish. Go and check the doors.’

  Colm went across, opened them carefully and slipped out into the dark. Flydd paced. There was something special about the flame, and it had to do with the woman in red, and what she’d done to him during renewal.

  Why had she been in his head at that time, as if she’d been trying a mind-merge with him? Why would anyone with such powerful Arts want to rifle through the mind of an old fogy like him?

  Because she wanted him to do something she could not do herself, which suggested that she couldn’t use her own powers, or was afraid to. Did she want to attack her enemy without leaving anything that could be traced back to her? Not me. I will not be used!

  Colm crept back, head lowered, again shielding his eyes from the flame. ‘I heard no one outside.’

  ‘It’s as I’d thought – Vivimord sent those footsteps to distract us.’ Flydd took in Colm’s fearful expression, his averted gaze, and remembered that he had also avoided the cursed flame. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were scared of fire.’

  ‘Little fires I can manage,’ said Colm in a bare whisper. ‘I’ve trained myself to cook on them; I had to. But big ones … and especially any kind of uncanny fire –’ A shudder racked him.

  ‘What happened?’ Flydd said more kindly. There wasn’t time for counselling, but he couldn’t have Colm cracking up on him either.

  ‘I was a little kid the first time,’ Colm said haltingly. ‘It was during the war. The lyrinx war,’ he added unnecessarily, for it had lasted a hundred and fifty years and raged across the known world, and there had been no war since it ended. ‘We lived in the mountains of Bannador, on the great Island of Meldorin. Across the Sea of Thurkad. That’s where the war began, in the mountains.’