The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (65 page)

He sounded in great pain, and Maelys did not think it was
feigned, so she obeyed. These stairs were also wreathed in the pale fire that
burned constantly yet gave off no heat. She could feel its radiance on her face
and hands, like firelight, and it tickled where it touched bare skin.

The lower level was a large open space framed by curved
arrays of columns much like the rest of Morrelune. She looked right and left.
The flames were less visible here and behind them she saw silken tapestries on
the walls, a plain but elegant silk carpet on the marble floor, but no Klarm.
Was it an ambush? She felt for her knife.

‘Up here,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t laugh.’

The dwarf hung upside down from the ceiling, several spans
above her. His left boot had been caught in a wire noose that must have whipped
up after he’d stepped in it, and it had drawn so tightly around his ankle that
he could not free himself.

Klarm’s lips were drawn back from his teeth and sweat
dripped from his brow. His right hand was wrapped in a filthy, frayed bandage,
possibly the same one as he’d worn when she’d freed Nish from the air-sled on
the Range of Ruin weeks ago.

‘Why would I laugh?’ said Maelys. ‘I take no pleasure from
others’ pain.’

Klarm was scratched and bruised, his clothes were torn as if
by large claws, and his face was a congested purple. ‘Snared in a trap of my
own design,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll never live this down.’ He caught her eye. ‘Will
you help me?’

Maelys could not forget that he had once been a devious
scrutator. And he
had
condemned her
at the Range of Ruin. ‘You’ve got the tears; free yourself.’

‘I dropped them; besides, this noose is a
livewire
. Once you’re caught in it, it
keeps tightening and there’s no way to stop it, even via mancery – unless
the God-Emperor wills it.’

And he’s dead, thought Maelys. Hurrah!

The tears lay on the floor some distance away, while Klarm’s
sword and knoblaggie were directly beneath him; they must have fallen from
their sheaths when he was jerked upside down. Her heart began to pound. If she
could get the tears to Flydd, they might turn the tide of the battle.

She crept across and stood looking down at their roiling
quicksilver surfaces, sick with fear. The song of the tears was just the
faintest drone, but she had seen what their kiss could do. She reached for the
chain, then drew back as Klarm spoke.

‘I wouldn’t,’ he said softly. ‘Few people – indeed,
few mancers – can wield the tears, and you certainly are not one of
them.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of using them.’

‘Even to pick them up by the chain is taking a mortal risk.
If Reaper came at you, how would you protect yourself?’

‘C-came at me?’ She remembered Nish’s agony after he’d touched
Reaper, and how terribly it had burned his hand. She knew the scars still
troubled him.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Klarm. ‘Reaper
hates
, Maelys, and Reaper longs to devour. It’s been shaped that
way by its master, and even a mancer of my power must be ever on his guard
against it. Are you going to help me, or not?’

She stepped away hastily and studied the livewire, a fine,
coppery binding cutting through the boot into his ankle. ‘How am I supposed to
get you down? Do you want your knoblaggie?’

‘The livewire can’t be undone, even by mancery,’ he reminded
her. ‘Throw me my sword.’

She picked it up, wondering how she was going to toss it
that high without hitting him. She hacked a piece from the silk carpet, wrapped
it around the blade and gave a small heave to gauge the weight.

‘Careful. It’s fiercely sharp,’ said Klarm.

She wrapped the carpet around again, tied it on with some
loose threads, aimed and threw. The sword flew to Klarm’s left but he gave a
convulsive sideways jerk and his outstretched hand caught the hilt. He swung
upside down again, grimacing at the pain in his ankle, allowed the carpet
sheath to fall and bared the blade.

Only then did Maelys realise what he was going to do. ‘No!’
she whispered. ‘There’s got to be a better way.’

‘I designed the trap, Maelys. There’s no other way out of
it. Step aside.’

Klarm’s jaw tightened, then he twisted his body and swung
the sword before Maelys could look away. It crunched straight through boot and
bone above his ankle and he fell, still holding the sword, tumbled over in
mid-air and landed on his one foot. The livewire tightened on the severed
ankle, squeezing it out of the noose, then his foot fell to the floor beside
him. It was no bigger than one of her own small feet.

The stump was pouring blood and if it wasn’t stopped he
might bleed to death. Maelys was wondering if she could bind the wound with
strips of carpet when Klarm dropped the sword, hopped across to the tears and
pressed the severed end of his leg against Reaper.

‘No!’ she yelled, feeling faint at the thought of such a
terrible remedy.

There came a ghastly sizzling and Klarm let out a single,
choked-off shriek. Smoke fumed up all around him; she smelt burned meat and
charred bone; Maelys felt a shocking pain in her middle, as if Gatherer were radiating
Klarm’s agony in all directions, but it faded and he lay gasping on the floor.

She ran across. His eyes were tightly closed but tears were
leaking out of them.

‘What can I do?’ she said, taking his hand. ‘Tell me what to
do.’ He was no longer her enemy, just a little man in agony.

‘Get my knoblaggie,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘And a
length of wood or metal.’

The tapestries were suspended from metal rods. She tore one
down, wrenched the rod out and gave it to him. Using the power of the knoblaggie,
he bent the rod double and fused its ends to form a blob, flattened on the
base, which he bound to his lower leg to form a crude foot. The gruesomely
cauterised wound began to drip a straw-coloured fluid.

‘Help me up,’ he gritted.

She did so.

‘Where’s Jal-Nish?’ As he took an awkward step, pain
shivered across his handsome face.

‘He’s dead.’

‘Dead! Are you sure?’

‘We all saw his rotting body, and he looked as though he’d
been dead for weeks. It wasn’t pleasant.’

‘Where was he?’

‘In the top level of the palace.’

‘I swore an oath to him, and I’ve come all this way,’ Klarm
said. ‘I’ll see him laid to rest. You’d better get out of the palace; it isn’t
safe.’ He turned aside.

‘Wait!’ said Maelys. ‘Stilkeen has cut a hole in the void
and they’re coming through.’

He froze, turned painfully. ‘
What’s
coming through?’

‘Beasts I have no name for – savage, terrible
creatures. It offered Santhenar to them; it told them to get rid of humanity
and find the white fire.’

Klarm stumped back, caught her arm and pulled her down to
his level. ‘And who’s to hold them off?’ he said hoarsely. ‘I’ve had no news
since I left Blisterbone and went into the shadow realm, and in there I can’t
even tell how time is passing.’

‘You left Blisterbone nearly four weeks ago.’ She told him
about the armies gathered outside, and Nish’s allies.

‘Extraordinary,’ said Klarm, stumping away past his
amputated foot, and back. ‘I hadn’t thought any of you would survive.’

‘And Vomix has an army as well. Maybe six thousand men.’

‘Seneschal Vomix? What’s he doing here?’

‘Trying to take the empire for himself.’

‘Like hell!’ Klarm thought for a moment. ‘You’d better come
with me.’

‘I’m looking for a way to attack Stilkeen.’

‘I’ve been trying to think of one ever since I left
Blisterbone Pass –’

There came a barking bellowing from outside, as though a
great beast was raging into battle. Weapons clashed and a thin, squealing
scream echoed down the steps, but was cut off. Someone had just been slain.

‘My friends are dying out there and I can’t fight beside
them,’ said Maelys. ‘But I’ve got to do something.’

‘You helped me.’ Dispassionately, Klarm studied the crusted,
seeping mess on the end of his leg. ‘And I’ll do what I can for you. I can only
think of one man who might know Stilkeen’s weakness. Unfortunately …’ He looked
her up and down as if weighing her resolve.

‘I’ll do anything,’ said Maelys.

‘Unfortunately, he’s been dead for two hundred years. But if
you truly are brave enough to do
anything
,
that need not stop you.’

Her toes curled. ‘What do you mean? You don’t mean …’

‘The one man who might know is Old Nadiril, the greatest
librarian of all. I saw him in the shadow realm as I came though, but I don’t
see how you could possibly survive in that place, Maelys, doughty though you
are.’

Neither did she. She definitely did not want to go there,
but she had to do something.

‘My taphloid conceals me from Stilkeen, and also hides my
aura,’ said Maelys. She hastily explained about Kandor’s protection, and Yggur.
‘Kandor made the taphloid to give Yggur a warning when Stilkeen drew near; and
to help conceal him.’

Klarm rubbed his beard, thinking. ‘The taphloid must
suppress its wearer’s aura on all the planes, and it might conceal you from
Stilkeen’s revenants, too, but it won’t hide you from the normal spirits in
that place. Your old friends Vivimord and Phrune are among them – Phrune
asked after you the moment I entered the shadow realm.’ His face twisted in
disgust.

The thought of meeting Phrune again made Maelys physically
ill, but she could not back out now. ‘What choice do I have?’

‘No more and no less than I do,’ he said quietly. ‘We are
each prisoners of our given word, yet our oaths may also serve us, in dark
times. Take this.’

With his fingertips Klarm tapped a beat on the knoblaggie,
which was like three brass balls fused together, and handed it to her.

The knoblaggie felt as heavy as solid brass. ‘How will you
defend yourself?’ she said, amazed that he would offer her something so
precious to him.

‘I have the tears,’ Klarm reminded her. With exquisite care,
he picked them up and put them around his neck; their song rose and fell.

Maelys stepped away hastily. ‘How do I use the knoblaggie?
Can
I use it, without any Art?’

‘Yes, I’ve
allowed
you to. If you’re in danger, you must will a physical shield around yourself,
matching the concealment the taphloid gives you. It may save your life –
once.’

‘What if I get attacked a second time?’

Klarm closed his eyes, smoothed his hand over the surface of
Gatherer, not quite touching it, and turned his head from side to side.
‘There’s a blade lying on the floor above here. Get it.’

She did not move. ‘What good can it do in the shadow realm?’

‘You never know,’ said Klarm. ‘If you escape, leave my
knoblaggie here – I’ll need it afterwards.’

She did not ask what he meant, but ran up the stairs. The
blade turned out to be the sabre M’lainte had returned to Nish –
Vivimord’s sabre – which he’d left on the side of the sky-galleon. It
must have fallen off. The sabre was way too long for her, but better than nothing,
so she took it and went back to Klarm.

He started when he recognised it. ‘I’ve a fancy Vivimord
would be glad to see that.’

‘Why?’ said Maelys.

‘It’s been enchanted for a special purpose, but don’t reveal
it unless you have to. It might be worth something to you down there.’

She wrapped the sabre in the length of silk carpet and tied
it firmly in place. ‘How do I get into the shadow realm? Is it far from here?’

Klarm slid his hand above the surface of Gatherer again and
a pit appeared in the floor between them.

‘The shadow realm lies everywhere, Maelys, and touches all
places equally. Jump in.’

She did not move; she wasn’t ready. ‘I thought it would be
harder than that. When Flydd was trying to get into the shadow realm, once
–’

‘Normally it’s very hard to get in,’ said Klarm. ‘But with
Stilkeen so near to us, the barriers between the dimensions have thinned.’

She looked down, but couldn’t see anything save vague
flittings and scurryings in the darkness. She was sick of darkness and flame;
Maelys wished she was outside, and that the sun was still shining. But there
was no point to wishing; the job had to be done.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and jumped. ‘Waaaaiiit!’ she called
as she was falling. ‘How will I recognise Nadiril, among millions of spirits?
And how do I get out again?’

There was no answer. The pit had already closed over.

She drifted down, almost weightless, though she could still
feel the heaviness of the knoblaggie and the warmth of the taphloid between her
breasts, vibrating ever so slightly. The carpet-wrapped sabre was tucked under
her left arm.

Mist wreathed across the space she was falling through, and
the air sparkled here and there. Rays of light streaked above and below her,
illuminating rods of sky like a searchlight shining through rain. Another ray
went right through her as though she had a glass belly.

A transparent woman in a green gown shot by, head forward,
arms clasped behind her, gliding through empty air like a skater across a
frozen pond. A pair of children whirled and danced the other way, as excited as
puppies chasing a leaf.

Maelys was smiling after them when she sensed something
behind her, turned and came face to face with a chubby, malevolent spirit whose
pale skin shone as if painted with oil. His head was shaven, apart from a
gleaming queue, and his cheeks were so plump that his eyes were mere slits.
However his ears had been cut off and the tip of his nose was split, revealing
its revolting insides.

‘Phrune!’ she gasped, backing away through the air and
groping for the knoblaggie. She did not go for her taphloid, since it’d had no
effect on Phrune’s reanimated body after he had died.

‘One of me,’ he said in a treacly voice. ‘But the other four
Phrune spirits aren’t far away, as distances run in the shadow realm. We’ve
been watching the entrances for you, little Maelys. Vivimord said you’d join us
before too long.’