The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (5 page)

He must have dropped them during the crash but there was no
chance of seizing them – Nish would never find them in the fog. Besides,
even without them, Klarm was a powerful mancer who still had his knoblaggie.

After blowing the signal again, Nish moved down the slope.
Distantly, other horns repeated the message. The fog was slowly thinning
– he could see two paces now – and he made out several of his
militia moving in the same direction.

‘Get a move on,’ he said, afraid that the fog would clear
suddenly and the enemy would resume the attack.

One of Klarm’s soldiers appeared in front of Nish, staring
the other way. He stabbed him in the back and pushed him aside. It was kill or
be killed now.

He had not gone far when lightning flashed from the
direction of the caduceus, turning the fog orange. Flydd bellowed in pain, his
cry oddly muffled, and then the rain Klarm had held back could be restrained no
longer. Tulitine the seer had seen truly.

The skies opened in a deluge like nothing Nish had ever felt
before – not in Gendrigore, the wettest place he had ever lived, nor on
the Range of Ruin, which was even wetter. This was solid rain, so heavy that
his knees bent under the weight of it, rain that hissed and steamed away from
the red-hot caduceus and flowed ankle-deep down the slope, tugging at his feet.

Even if the fog cleared, no one could fight in such weather.
The enemy would put their shields over their heads, hunker down and wait it
out. They knew that the militia was on its knees and, even if they ran through
the fog, where could they run to?

‘Come on,’ he shouted to Tulitine, who had appeared to his
left. He had to shout or she would not have heard him. ‘A downpour like this
can’t last long.’

The fog thinned a little more and Nish saw Hoshi. ‘Where is
she, Nish?’ he said anxiously.

He must be looking for Gi, who had been more than a friend
to him, and Nish could not bear to tell Hoshi that she was dead. He did not want
to think about her, for the look in Gi’s soft eyes as she’d died had reminded
him of other friends, other deaths, and one especially – the best friend
he’d ever had.

‘This kind of rain can last for ages, up here,’ said
Tulitine.

Nish was thinking fast. ‘If it keeps up, it’ll flood the
valley floor –’

‘The low-lying parts, certainly.’ Her eyes were on him. ‘And
that won’t take long.’

‘What if we head for the lower clearing?’

She understood at once. ‘It would flood first, since it’s
right by the river. Come on.’

Nish took the bow and quiver from a fallen archer and slung
them over his shoulder. He must have died early on, for his quiver was nearly
full. Nish had used both javelard and crossbow during the war, and had been a
good shot with both. He was not an expert with the longbow but at close range
he did not have to be.

The glimmerings of a plan were forming. ‘We can’t climb the
ridge in this, but we might scramble through the gorge over the boulders on the
right-hand side.’

‘We’d better be quick. These mountain rivers rise fast.’

‘And the gorge will soon be impassable … Tulitine, if we can
get through quickly, the rising river might stop them from following. They’d
have to climb out over the ridge, and by that time we could be anywhere.’

He tipped water out of the horn and sounded the signal again
then, with a last glance around the battlefield, headed down.

‘Where’s Gi?’ cried Hoshi, grabbing his arm.

He had to be told. ‘I’m sorry. She died in the first
assault.’ It was impossible to put it gently when Nish had to shout to be
heard.

‘Where did she fall?’ Hoshi shook him. ‘She might still be
alive.’

Not with a sword through the heart. Nish pointed up the
slope, mutely, and Hoshi splashed through the mud, crying out her name.

Nish turned away, never hating war more than he did at that
moment. He felt sick at the thought of leaving her body behind, to say nothing
of the many wounded, but he could not do anything for anyone who could not walk
unaided. He had to save those who were still on their feet and had little time
to do it.

He skidded down the slope, sounding the signal over and
over, and in a couple of minutes reached the eaves of the rainforest, where the
fog was thinner, with the last of the survivors. They numbered two hundred at a
rough count, which meant that a hundred and sixty had fallen.

He could not bear to think about the bloody, useless
slaughter, the waste of young, precious lives, nor about those lying wounded on
the battlefield who might, in other circumstances, have been saved. Nothing
could save them now and even the walking wounded had little chance in this
climate, where a scratch could turn septic in half a day. He had to become
iron-hard and think about nothing except saving the able-bodied.

It was almost as noisy in the forest, with the rain hissing
and rattling on the leaves high above, and just as wet. The ground squelched
underfoot and the rain fell in cascades.

Everyone gathered around in a ragged, gasping circle. He saw
Maelys on the far side, blessedly unharmed, along with Tulitine, supporting a
tall, muscular man between them, though it took a few moments before Nish
recognised him as Yggur. What had happened to him? Nish could not see any
obvious wounds but Yggur seemed barely able to walk. And, being the only mancer
still able to use his Art, he was the key to their survival.

‘Clech,’ Nish said to the huge fisherman, who was propping
up a tree, panting, ‘can you bring Yggur? You’re the only one strong enough.’
Though not even Clech could carry him for any great distance.

Clech heaved Yggur over his shoulder like a net full of fish
and grunted, ‘Which way?’

‘Down through the forest, across the lower clearing and
through the gorge – if it’s still open.’

Flydd stumbled out of the fog, bent double and holding his
belly.

‘Xervish?’ said Nish. ‘Are you –?’

Flydd straightened up painfully. ‘When the lightning flashed
from the caduceus, it felt as though I was being torn in two.’ He peered into
the foggy clearing. ‘What’s the plan?’

Nish explained. Flydd frowned. ‘Any hope is better than
none, I suppose.’

‘I reckon they lost two hundred up there,’ said Nish,
‘mainly to our arrows. And if half their troops were illusions, that means
Klarm only had five hundred, not the thousand we thought –’

‘It still leaves them with three hundred crack fighters to
our two hundred novices. If they get among us, they’ll massacre us.’

‘They’re coming,’ someone yelled.

The downpour had not abated but the fog was clearing to
ground-hugging patches of mist, between which Nish made out a dark mass moving
down the clearing. ‘This way.’

He pushed further into the forest. The tangle of vines and
creepers made it impossible to run except to his left, where deer had opened a
winding trail wide enough for two people to move abreast.

Behind him, bowstrings twanged as his archers fired. He felt
a trickle of hope – for the moment, he had the advantage. His troops
could fire on the enemy from cover, while they could not fire back for fear of
hitting him or Maelys. It would help to even the odds, and gain vital seconds.
He began to jog on the slippery path.

Maelys slipped in beside him, wearing a huge knife in a
scabbard on her right hip. He was pleased to see that she was armed, though she
could be killed as easily as Gi had been, and he could not bear to think about
that possibility.

‘I’ve never seen such rain,’ she panted, her breasts
bouncing as she ran. ‘I didn’t think the sky could hold so much water.’

‘The Range of Ruin is the wettest place on Santhenar –
and the really wet season is yet to come.’

Could this be the beginning of it? If it was, every gully
would become impassable and they would be trapped here until it ended five
months later – or, rather, until they starved to death.

She picked a leech off her forearm and flicked it aside, the
puncture ebbing a thin trail of blood. ‘I reckon this rain has something to do
with Yggur’s spell – and the caduceus. What if they’re feeding on each
other?’

‘Mmm.’ He did not have time to think about that, though he
felt sure the same interaction had temporarily heightened his dormant
clearsight.

‘How far is it to the gorge?’

‘Half a league, I’d guess.’

As they hurried along, they brought each other up to date
– what Nish had been doing since Vivimord had carried him to Gendrigore
through the portal nearly six weeks ago, and where Maelys had been with Flydd
and Colm. She told him about her visits to the Nightland; her encounter with
Emberr and his tragic death, for which she felt responsible, though she did not
say why, and her relentless pursuit by the Numinator and Yalkara.

Nish said little, for there was little he could say, but
when he put an arm across her shoulders he sensed that it was a comfort to her.

She stopped for a moment, looking up at him as if she wanted
to tell him something important. ‘Nish?’

‘Yes?’

Maelys gnawed her lip, flushed, then looked away. ‘It
doesn’t matter.’

They ran on. ‘So did you find it?’ he said. ‘I expect you
didn’t, or someone would have told me.’

‘Find what?’ said Maelys absently.

‘The antithesis to the tears. That’s what you went to the
Tower of a Thousand Steps for.’

‘I asked the Numinator but she didn’t know anything about
it.’

The path curved to the left, he heard the river roaring not
far away and they broke out of forest onto a long, narrow and sloping strip of
grassy riverbank. The torrent, to his left, gnashed at the bank, which had
partly collapsed up ahead, leaving just a crumbling rim of earth five paces
long but less than a pace wide. The narrow strip of undermined bank, along the
vine-tangled wall of the forest, was only held together by tree roots.

Maelys stopped, for the grassy river bank to either side of
the collapse was saturated and nearly as dangerous. ‘Put one foot wrong and
we’ll end up in the river. We’ve got to find another track.’

‘There isn’t time,’ he said roughly. ‘Go across and scout
out the lower clearing. If the enemy find a faster path through the forest,
we’re finished.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’m going to set up an ambush. Run! See if the gorge is
still open.’

She edged along the riverbank, hanging onto the looping
vines. Nish closed his eyes, afraid for her, then turned back to warn the
leaders, who were close behind.

‘After everyone crosses,’ he said, ‘I want ten of our best
archers to take cover on the far side and ambush the enemy as they try to
cross. But if they’re getting across under fire, the archers must retreat. I’m
not losing another man if I can help it.’

The word was passed back and Nish hauled himself along the
quaking riverbank. Maelys was out of sight. His worn boots could not grip the
wet grass and without the vines he would have slid straight into the river.

Several dozen lancers crossed, a group armed with swords,
then more lancers. The best part of a hundred of the militia had made it
without loss, but there was no sign of the archers yet. Most would be at the
rear, since they had been firing on the enemy who, judging by the approaching
clamour, were close behind. A band of his swordsmen came pounding down the
track and onto the grassy riverbank, but stopped at the edge of the collapsed
section.

‘Come on!’

They came on, looking back fearfully, for they were
exhausted, panicky and many were weaponless.

‘Where are the archers?’ said Nish, starting to sweat.

‘They’re coming,’ gasped a red-faced, yellow-bearded fellow
whose name Nish could not remember. Yes, he was Avigg, a carpenter.

‘All of them, Avigg?’

‘Except the last dozen. They got cut off. Enemy came through
the forest.’

And the rest must be low on arrows. Nish began to worry that
he’d have to do the job for them. He had to gain a few minutes or the enemy
would run them down before they reached the gorge.

He fitted an arrow to his bowstring, but did not draw it
back. ‘Go on,’ he said to Flydd and Tulitine, who came next. ‘Follow the path.
I sent Maelys to the lower clearing to see if the gorge is still open.’

‘What if it isn’t?’ said Flydd, who looked worse than
before.

Nish waved him on without answering, scanning the forest for
a place where he could shoot from cover. Half a dozen lancers crossed, then
Clech appeared, red in the face and staggering under Yggur’s weight.

‘He’ll have to cross by himself,’ said Nish. ‘I don’t think
the bank will take the weight.’

‘He can’t,’ said Clech, ‘and if I put him down I’ll never
lift him again.’

Which would mean that Yggur was lost. ‘All right, but go
carefully.’

Clech peered over the edge at the thundering waters. ‘Don’t
worry! I’m not washing my filthy feet in there. You’d better not stay here
long, Nish. The bank can’t last.’

Nish did not need to be told. The rising water was flowing
so furiously that it was carrying small boulders with it, and if anyone fell
in, they had no hope of survival. But there was no hope if the enemy caught
them, either.

With a
whoomph
, a
curving section of bank collapsed a third of the way across and was swallowed
by the water, leaving an even more precarious passage across a suspended
network of tree roots.

‘Climb through the forest,’ said Nish. ‘You’ll never get
across there.’

‘I’m a fisherman. I’m used to slippery decks.’

Clech clambered across the roots, holding Yggur over his
shoulder with his left arm and hanging onto the vines with his right. Nish
couldn’t bear to watch, but when he looked again Clech was over and onto the
grass.

Not everyone was so lucky. Three of his precious archers,
clinging onto the same vine, were lost when the first one slipped and his
weight pulled the vine down over the edge. It did not break, but none of the
men had the strength to haul themselves up the wet vine and, one by one, they
fell into the river and were pulled under.