The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (38 page)

‘It’s a good while since we were on the road together,
Xervish. Do you remember the last time we shared a cup of wine?’

‘I do, though the memory is a trifle hazy.’

Nish snorted.

‘And not because of the quantity I drank, though I recall
you found it hard to stand up afterwards.’ Flydd chuckled. ‘It was on the
little bench outside my amber-wood cabin on Mistmurk Mountain, after you came
out of the swamp to break my lonely nine-year exile.’

‘That was a good day,’ said Nish dreamily.

‘It was a very good day.’ Flydd took another sip. ‘As it
happens, my recollections of the time immediately before renewal are hazy,
though my older memories are as clear as this goblet. Do you remember when we
drank together before that?’

Nish’s smile faded. ‘I’ll never forget a minute of that
terrible day. It was ten and a half years ago in Ashmode, on the shores of the
Dry Sea, which was, even then, starting to fill. We were having a victory
banquet – at least, the best that could be managed with the rations we
had. The war had been won and we’d made an honourable peace with the lyrinx,
who had turned out to be rather like us,
inside
,
despite their fierce outer appearance.’

‘Very like,’ said Flydd. ‘We all want the same things, when
you get down to it.’

‘After a hundred and fifty years the war was finally over,
and I think we all felt numb. We couldn’t believe that we were going to have
peace at last. We were sitting around a long table in the town square, drinking
that dreadful wine and talking about our futures.’

‘Our futures.’ Flydd raised his glass as if toasting the man
he’d been back then, or the memory of him.

‘As I remember it, you were planning to write the true
Histories of the war, and after that you were talking about a cottage and a
little garden. We found that highly amusing,’ Nish snorted.

‘It might seem so, if you were in your cups,’ Flydd sniffed.

‘The great Scrutator Flydd, one of the heroes of the war,
living in a cottage and growing
flowers
?
We couldn’t come to terms with that, either.’

‘You always did lack for vision,’ Flydd said with a touch of
the asperity of old. ‘When times change, a man must change with them and,
if you recall
, all of us who had fought
so hard during the war were overthrown at the end of it, by generals greedy for
power.’

‘They didn’t hold it long,’ said Nish quietly. ‘We talked
about our hopes and dreams for the future that day. Did any of us achieve
them?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Flydd. ‘Though I did write my
Histories, in the lonely years at the top of Mistmurk, and I think they were
the finest of all my works.’

‘What works? I didn’t know you had any.’

‘I’ve always kept my own personal Histories. And up on
Mistmurk Mountain I wrote the tale of the times in five journals. I kept them
under my bed, in an amber-wood box for luck, and in my exile I often imagined
the sensation they would cause when I finally brought them forth, because I didn’t
hold back. Unsuspected traitors would have been revealed, and several great
names ruined. Alas, no one has read them but me, nor ever will. Mistmurk was
smashed to bits by the fall of Jal-Nish’s sky-palace, and my journals would
have been destroyed.’

‘I dare say,’ said Nish, distracted by that memory, though
it was hazy due to his being in Vivimord’s thrall at the time.

The embers settled with a flurry of sparks. Flydd tossed
more wood on, for their camp was at a high altitude and the night was chilly.
‘Thinking back to the banquet, I distinctly remember Irisis telling us about
her
dreams and hopes. She kept saying
that her destiny was to die –’

Nish choked and Flydd gripped him by the shoulder. ‘Drink up
lad,
and remember
. It does no good to
block out the past, no matter how terrible it is. It’s far better to relive it,
when you’re ready, and keep doing so until its horrors no longer have any power
over you.’

Nish said nothing. He couldn’t speak. He did not want to
remember, but neither was he willing to try and forget.

Flydd dropped his hand and continued. ‘Ah, that was one of
the very worst days of my long life – no, it was
the
worst. But Nish, as I recall the banquet that day, you never
talked about your dreams, nor what you wanted for the future.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps I had a premonition of what was to
come; perhaps I was afraid to jinx the future.’

‘Or maybe you were just struck dumb, that so beautiful,
brave and brilliant a woman as Irisis should want an ugly little coot like
you,’ Flydd chuckled.

Nish managed a feeble smile. ‘I wouldn’t have put it quite
so plainly, but yes, I’m sure there was an element of that in it.’

‘I never told you this before, because she only talked about
it when she’d had more wine than was good for her, and swore me to secrecy
afterwards, though after all this time I think you’re entitled to be told. I
don’t know where she got the idea, but Irisis had come to believe that she had
a destiny that could only be fulfilled
after
her death.’

Nish reeled. ‘I hope you’re not saying that she
wanted
to die? That she had a death
wish?’

‘Don’t be absurd, of course she didn’t. She wanted to live
as much as any of us, and she had more to live for than most.’

‘Then what are you saying?’

‘That she believed her death was going to change the
future.’

‘It has,’ said Nish. ‘If she hadn’t died, if we’d escaped
that day, I would never have sworn to overthrow Father. And I wouldn’t have
spent ten years in Mazurhize.’

‘That’s not what she meant. Irisis felt that, despite all
she had to live for, her destiny required her to die …
yet that would not be the end of it
.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Nish.

‘Neither do I, though I’ve thought about it many times. I’m
sure that’s why she never expected to survive the war. You must have heard her
say so.’

‘Many times,’ said Nish, feeling tears forming in his eyes,
‘until I begged her not to mention it again. Let’s not talk about this any
more, Xervish; I haven’t the heart for it.’ He knocked back the rest of his
goblet and surreptitiously wiped his eyes. ‘And stop hogging the liqueur, you
greedy old bugger.’

‘I’ve taken renewal; I’m no longer considered old,’ Flydd
said in superior tones, and poured Nish a trifling measure.

‘Fill it up, damn you. I’m going to get so roaringly drunk
that I won’t remember a thing.’

Flydd gave him a little more. ‘I don’t think that will help,
really I don’t.’

‘When I want your advice I’ll ask for it. You used to be an
old soak, anyway, you hypocrite – a veritable piss-bucket.’

‘And still am, when I can get drink of quality,’ Flydd
retorted, ‘since I need to numb my renewed internal organs. I have no problem
with you getting drunk, not that it ever helps. But not yet.’

‘Why not?’ Nish said surlily.

‘We have to talk about your campaign, and I can’t do that on
an air-sled with forty other people listening. It’s got to be now.’

‘We should involve Flangers at least. And Chissmoul.’

‘Later, once you and I have worked out what to do and how to
do it.’

‘Don’t you trust them?’

‘It’s not a matter of trust. The more people know your
secrets, the sooner the enemy will get to hear of them.’

Nish knew he was right; he was just arguing for the sake of
it, and, even though he’d slept on the air-sled for most of that day’s
shuddering flight, he was exhausted in mind and body. ‘Very well. Let’s talk so
I can go to bed.’

Flydd glanced at the sleeping militia, who were some
distance away, and lowered his voice. ‘There are several ways you could begin
the overthrow of the empire. You might set up a government-in-exile in a
friendly city, say, Roros, and gradually extend your power.’

‘I could.’ Nish leaned backwards. The stars made a vast
pinwheel against the black velvet of the night sky, as bright as he had ever
seen them, though many of the constellations were different from those of the
southern skies under which he had spent most of his life. ‘But I would soon be
besieged from all sides and no longer in control of my own destiny. That’s no
way to bring down an empire.’

‘To
take
an
empire,’ said Flydd pointedly. ‘Bring it down and you create a power vacuum,
which all the scum on Santhenar will scramble to fill. But I agree, so let’s
put that plan aside.’

‘I’m minded to foster a series of small rebellions as I
march up the coast, speaking to as many gatherings as I can and gathering arms
and men, then take cities as I go and head for the centre of Father’s empire.’

‘The way Vivimord, when he was known as Monkshart, planned
to make you into the Deliverer?’

‘Well, yes,’ said Nish. ‘Do I gather that you don’t think much
of the idea?’

‘It’s the strategy your father would expect you to follow.’

‘Oh!’

‘Therefore, even in his absence, and Klarm’s, there will be
plans to combat such a campaign. The art of war lies in being unpredictable,
Nish, and that’s how you’ve gained all your successes so far, both on the Range
of Ruin and in Taranta. But if the God-Emperor’s seneschals and generals guess
what you’re going to do, and how you’ll do it, his mighty war machine will be
waiting to crush you as soon as you appear.’

‘He doesn’t know where I’m going to appear,’ Nish said
mulishly.

‘He has wisp-watchers and loop-listeners in each town and
village. Each town has scriers and spies, and informers are everywhere. Once
you start making speeches and raising an army, Gatherer will know within
hours.’

‘But Klarm has Gatherer, and he’s in the shadow realm.’

‘He could have returned by now. He could even be in
Morrelune. Even if he isn’t, since watchers and scriers can communicate via
Gatherer, Klarm may be able to give them orders the same way.’

‘He couldn’t communicate with his troops on the other side
of the Range of Ruin,’ said Nish, ‘which means that the reach of Gatherer is
limited.’

‘It’s better to overestimate the power of the tears than
underestimate them.’

‘I quite agree, though last time Father didn’t take me
seriously. He let me win my first battle, near Guffeons, even though it cost
him an army.’ The bitterness rose up Nish’s throat like vomit. ‘And he did it
just so he could later have the pleasure of telling me so – to undermine
me and rob me of the satisfaction of my victory against the odds. He’s done it
to me all my life, ever since I was a little kid.’

‘He might have been lying,’ said Flydd.

‘What?’ Nish realised that he was slurring his words a
little. He put the goblet down and concentrated.

‘What if that victory
was
yours, and your father was lying because he couldn’t bear to admit the truth
– that you had beaten him?’

It would have been a blinding revelation if it could
possibly have been true. ‘But I’ve never beaten him,’ Nish said dully.

‘You did on the Range of Ruin. Besides, it’s Klarm we’ve got
to deal with and he doesn’t play games. If you threaten the empire he’ll crush
you. He’s got to, and quickly, so he can turn his attention to Stilkeen.’

‘Klarm didn’t do so well at Blisterbone,’ said Nish.

‘Because he had been ordered to take you alive if at all
possible, and that constrained him severely. But any direct threat to the
empire has to override that order, and if he can’t take you, he’ll have you
killed, anonymously. What could be easier than an assassin’s arrow when you’re
exhorting the masses to rise and join you? Or a poisoned cup; or a knife in the
back from the crowd? If Klarm decides that you must be killed for the good of
the empire, no amount of vigilance can stop him.’

‘If your purpose is to frustrate me and undermine every plan
I put forward,’ Nish said irritably, ‘you’re succeeding. What would you do?’

‘I don’t know. I just wanted to get you thinking. Once we
reach Roros, we’ve got to have a solid plan and be ready to put it into instant
action.’

‘When you’ve thought of one, please let me know.’ Nish
drained his goblet and set it upside down beside the cooking ware.

‘I’m going to bed.’

‘What’s the matter with it now?’ said Nish as the air-sled
began to shake violently.

‘How would I know?’ snapped Chissmoul. ‘I’m a pilot, not a
mechanician. I’ll have to go down again.’

It was their third morning since the attack on Taranta and
the air-sled had been giving trouble from the moment they’d boarded it. She had
landed the craft twice already, and crawled through the hole to fiddle with the
mechanism inside, but it hadn’t made any difference.

‘Is it far to Roros?’ said Flangers carefully, for she had
been touchy ever since leaving Taranta.

They were flying along the western side of the mountains of
Crandor, over desert lands where there was little chance of being seen, but not
even Flydd was familiar with these parts and they did not have a map.

‘I haven’t got a clue!’ She banked the air-sled, scanning
the range for a suitable landing place.

‘It doesn’t look very promising,’ said Nish to Flydd.

‘The country or our journey?’

‘Either. I’d hate to be marooned here.’

‘It would certainly spoil your plans,’ Flydd said
laconically as the air-sled stuttered towards a rock-littered river bed, which
was as dry as every other river they had seen in the past day.

Below them an upland desert stretched in every direction as
far as Nish could see, a hilly, eroded land whose stony ground was scattered
with withered grey shrubs. Being in the rain shadow of the great mountains of
Crandor it did not rain here from one year to the next and, as far as Nish
could tell, the recent flooding of the Sea of Perion had made no difference to
the climate.