The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (68 page)

‘It’s a wonder he let her live.’

‘He didn’t plan to.’

‘So how did she end up with Yulla?’

‘Yulla knew Persia’s parents, so she sent me to rescue her.’

‘You!’ Nish exclaimed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean –’

‘It’s quite all right,’ M’lainte said equably. ‘The job
required
brain
, not brawn, plus the
use of certain devices hidden since the end of the war. And we did it.’

‘And then Persia indentured herself to Yulla for seven
years, in repayment,’ said Nish.

‘Yes,’ said M’lainte. ‘And for her own safety, of course.’

It explained why Persia would not hear a bad word about
Yulla; and also why she so craved the security of a powerful protector.

‘What happened to the man who did all this to her?’

‘He’s out there now.’ M’lainte nodded towards the
battlefield.

‘Vomix!’

‘None other.’

‘Poor Persia,’ Nish said, remembering her terror when she’d
seen the seneschal at the monastery. ‘She’s had to face him again and again.’

‘Nothing is gained by hiding from our fears. Ah, Tiaan is
ready.’

She was moving the lever back and forth. The sky-galleon
shuddered forwards, then back, and Tiaan nodded. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

Up at the opening, another squad of atatusk were sliding
down their ropes. Nish waited until the platform was empty then said to Tiaan,
‘Go, quickly!’

As the sky-galleon raced upwards, sweat prickled in his
armpits. His force was pitifully small but it was all the craft could carry,
and they would not have long to get everything set up on the platform. If the
next squad of atatusk was close enough to charge them, everyone would be swept
over the sides.

‘Do they have any weaknesses?’ said Nish.

‘Well …’ Ryll scratched his armoured backside, his claws
making a sound like wood being sawn. ‘They don’t like each other; they fight in
clan groups but they never form armies.’

‘They won’t need an army. A few dozen of them could finish
us off.’

‘And their eyesight is poor. They probably can’t tell one
human from another.’

‘I recall
you
saying that we all looked the same.’

‘I only said that to be insulting – when we were
enemies,’ Ryll added hastily. ‘But their sense of smell is acute, and they pick
up movement quickly with it. Strong smells trouble them, though I wouldn’t
exactly call that a weakness.’

‘If you’d told me earlier I wouldn’t have bathed.’

‘I wasn’t aware that you had.’

Nish swatted at him; Ryll ducked, grinning toothily.

‘What kind of smells trouble them?’ said Yulla curiously,
emerging from the cabin, crystal in hand.

‘Pungent ones,’ said Ryll. ‘I can’t think of any other
weaknesses. When you’re fighting hand-to-hand, they’re hard to kill unless you
can get in low and close, then strike straight up under the ribs into the
heart.’

‘If I’m that close, I’m a dead man,’ said Nish.

‘That’s generally the problem,’ the lyrinx said drily.

‘Better put a rope around the first to jump,’ called Lilis
as they approached the opening.

‘Why?’ said Nish, beckoning Aimee and Clech.

‘The platform might not be very solid.’

‘What do we do if it isn’t?’

‘Leave that to me,’ said M’lainte, popping her head out of
the cabin where she was working. ‘Ready? The sky-galleon can’t go too close to
the barrier.’

Clech and Aimee roped up and the craft curved past the
platform, fifty spans out. Nish looked through the opening and blanched. If
that moving shadow in the far distance was a horde of atatusk, the attack was
doomed before it began.

‘That’s bad,’ said Clech.

‘They’re a good way back,’ said Ryll. ‘We
might
manage to close it before they get
here.’

Now the sky-galleon’s flight mechanism began to stutter, and
as they approached the barrier it grew worse.

‘You’d better go,’ said Tiaan. ‘I can’t keep it here much
longer.’

Clech and Aimee sprang over the side onto the platform
– and plunged straight through it, trailing their ropes. It might be
solid for the void-dwelling atatusk, but it was no firmer than air to humans.
Ryll hauled Clech up; Nish did the same for Aimee.

‘I was afraid of that,’ said M’lainte, hurrying back into
the cabin.

Nish made out pouring and stirring sounds, and she returned
carrying a wooden bucket full of an oily liquid with pink fire flickering on
it, plus a mop.

As Clech hauled himself over the side, M’lainte said,
‘Here.’ She immersed the mop in the bucket and handed it to him.

‘What am I supposed to do with it?’ said Clech.

Aimee hooted with laughter. ‘Swab the platform, you lubber.’

‘The liquid is distilled fire – the corrupted stuff
that Zofloc brought – but I’ve safely diluted it,’ said M’lainte. ‘Mop
the top of the platform and it should turn solid enough to stand on. Then swab
across to the opening.’

Tiaan held the stuttering craft in place while Clech mopped
a patch on the end of the platform, then prodded it. It did not yield. He
jumped down, rather recklessly in Nish’s opinion, and began to swab furiously,
accompanied by good-natured jeers from his fellow militiamen.

When he’d done half the platform, the troops started over
the side. Ryll’s crew heaved the small javelard down, plus the ropes and all
their other gear, and began to drag it through the opening onto the track
leading into the void.

Nish was waiting his turn when M’lainte reappeared and
handed him a stoppered flask with a thong tied around its neck.

‘What’s that for?’

‘It’s
undiluted
distilled fire and, unlike any other kinds of chthonic fire you may have
encountered, it’s deadly. One drop will burn right through the barrier, and
through you as well, if you get any on you. Once you’ve heaved the platform
into place, rub the merest smear of fire around the edges and it’ll seal the
opening.’

‘How do you know?’ said Nish.

‘Because that’s what it does. When you’ve finished, Tiaan
will come back and pick everyone up.’

Nish thought
everyone
was a trifle over-optimistic, but he nodded and tied the thong to his belt.

M’lainte handed him a dimensionless box. ‘This contains your
shadow web.’

Nish took the box carefully, knowing how dangerous it was.
‘How do I get the web out?’

‘Shake the box. And you’ll need this to handle the webs.’
Holding a black glove by a dangling string, she dropped it into the box.
‘Careful – I made it from a dimensionless box. Don’t touch the outside of
the glove while you’re putting it on.’

‘What would happen if I did?’

‘I can’t say, exactly, but Hackel’s death would be pleasant
by comparison.’

His hair standing on end, Nish crumpled up the dimensionless
box and pocketed it.

‘You … you might find this comes in handy if the atatusk are
getting too close,’ said Yulla, offering him a beautiful, fist-sized pink
crystal, partly translucent and rather heavy.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s the largest crystal of realgar ever found, the prize
of my collection. If you burn it, it will give off choking fumes of arsenic
– which smells of garlic – and sulphur, both very pungent. Use it
wisely.’ She turned away abruptly.

‘Thank you,’ said Nish, conscious that the gift meant far
more to her than any of her other treasures.

He clambered down onto the platform, which felt solid
beneath his feet, though slightly rubbery, and the sky galleon sideslipped
away.

Before he reached the opening he could feel the chill from
beyond. Inside, the granular track, wide enough for a dozen men – or half
that many lyrinx – to stand abreast, extended into the limitless void.
His defenders had already gone through and were advancing in bounding strides
that took them a span into the air, exclaiming at the floating sensation. There
was nothing to either side of the track, nor above nor below it –
literally nothing except greyness which deepened to black in the distance.

Ahead the track extended straight and true as far as he
could see and, moving along it in their separate clan troops, came the atatusk
horde. The closest troop was only a few hundred spans away.

‘Into position,’ said Nish.

The archers aimed their weapons and the lyrinx formed an
armoured barrier beside them. At the rear the lancers waited.

‘You’d better get on with it,’ said Ryll, bouncing several
spans into the air so as to see further. ‘We can’t hold them long.’

Nish ran out to the platform, shook the sticky shadow web
from its dimensionless box and gingerly slipped his hand into the black glove
without touching the outside, which was more difficult than it had seemed.

Using the glove, he pressed a strip of shadow web across the
edge of the platform, waited for it to set and yanked hard to make sure it was
secure. The web pulled away. He turned it over and tried the other side, with
the same result. The plan wasn’t going to work; the web wasn’t sticky enough to
lift the solidified platform.

So how were they to close the opening?

 
FORTY-FIVE

‘I’ll send you back now, Maelys,’ said Nadiril, rubbing
his bald and blotchy skull with his fingertips, ‘for time is precious.
Vivimord, you’re the best orator I’ve ever known. You must convince the
revenants that it’s safe for them to leave the shadow realm and go to
Stilkeen.’

The librarian’s clouded eyes settled on the carpet-wrapped
parcel on her lap, as if he knew what was inside.

Maelys stirred reluctantly. She felt safe here but, once she
left Nadiril, she would be surrounded by enemies, including Vivimord, who
hadn’t yet said that he would help. For all she knew, he was still set on
revenge.

‘That won’t be easy,’ said Vivimord. ‘Stilkeen has impressed
upon its revenants that they must remain in the shadow realm until it lets them
out, on peril of their lives. They may be foolish, thoughtless creatures, but
they won’t disobey it.’

Nadiril turned those all-seeing blind eyes on him. ‘Yet
should the revenants come to believe that Stilkeen had opened the gate and was
calling them, and if
you
convinced
them that it was safe to leave, I don’t think anyone would be able to stop
them. They yearn to rejoin with it just as much as it does with them. That
longing is a constant ache, a burning need that affects them both, when they
are severed.’

‘I might be able to sway them,’ said Vivimord. ‘But what
would be the point? I can’t let them out of the shadow realm.’

‘Can’t they go out the way I came in?’ said Maelys.

‘The dead may take many paths into the shadow realm,’ said
Nadiril, again looking down at her lap, ‘but they have only one way out, and
that gate has not been opened in the two hundred years I’ve spent here. No one
has the key and, assuming such a key is ever found, the gate only lets one
spirit out per opening.’

‘Does that mean only one revenant?’

‘The revenants may all leave at once, since they are
effectively one spirit – but no other.’

‘What about me?’ said Maelys, squeezing the heavy knoblaggie
in her pocket.

‘Live humans can pass through any entrance,’ said Vivimord.
He paused, then added menacingly, ‘as long as they have the means to open it.
And they stay alive long enough
.’

Would the knoblaggie open the gate for her? Klarm hadn’t
said anything about that. Had he used the knoblaggie to escape – or the
tears?

‘Didn’t you say, not long after you reached the shadow
realm, that your Black Arts had fashioned a key?’ said Nadiril.

‘I did,’ said Vivimord. ‘Though unfortunately, when I died
at the Maelstrom of Justice and Retribution, I did not have the key with me.
Besides, it was
my
way back to life.’

‘Then should you ever regain it, you will face a difficult
choice. Which do you love more – beautiful Santhenar, or your own
freedom?’

Maelys looked from one to the other, frowning, for Nadiril
was talking as though Vivimord did have the key, or soon would.

‘You can’t possibly understand, you dried-up old fool,’ said
Vivimord in a low voice.

‘Can’t I?’ said Nadiril mildly.

‘Your librarian’s span was far more than the allotted life
of any man, and by its end you must have been glad to die. My life was brutally
cut short.’

‘As you cut short the lives of many others,’ Nadiril pointed
out. ‘Few people are ever glad to go and I was not – my research was at a
most fascinating stage when I died. Besides, what use is your freedom if you
return to a world that has been destroyed –
when you could have saved it
?’

Vivimord did not reply, though Maelys could see his lungs
swelling and contracting through his chest, as though his spirit, which could
have no need for air, was breathing heavily.

‘You must abandon those dreams, my friend,’ Nadiril added. ‘The
dead may not return to life. But when we spirits are given a chance to ease the
burden of the living, we must seize it, to atone for the wrongs we did during
our own lives. Maelys, it’s time. Give it to him.’

‘What?’ said Maelys, shifting on her seat.

The sabre, of course. Klarm had said that Vivimord might be
glad to see it, because it was enchanted. What for? To cut his way out of the
shadow realm? Yes, that must be it. Vivimord had talked about his delvings into
the mancery of death a long time ago.
I
know Black Arts that can make a corpse scream in agony
, he’d said to her
after she had killed Phrune.

She turned towards Vivimord, praying that he would not use
those Arts on her, and allowed the carpet to fall away, exposing the sabre.

Vivimord stared at it in wonder. ‘My fashioned key! Where
did you get it?’

‘Klarm thought you might need it.’