The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (6 page)

Another group of archers appeared. ‘Go across and find an
ambush site,’ Nish said. ‘Fire on the enemy as soon as they appear. We’ve got
to gain some time.’

The leading archer held out his empty hands. ‘Sorry, Nish.
All our arrows are gone. The next group might have a few left.’

Nish cursed. ‘Run to the lower clearing. I’ll wait for
them.’

They had no arrows either, and nor did the band after that.
They’d emptied their quivers firing at the enemy from the forest.

Nish cursed them black and blue. ‘What kind of fools use up
their last arrows with the enemy close behind?’

‘We saved some arrows for last,’ said Lym, a short, stocky
woman who had to shoot with her bow held horizontally, since it was longer than
she was tall. ‘Then
last
came, and we
had to use them. Sorry,’ she said anxiously.

He waved her across, knowing she was right, and followed.
Even if his archers had carried a hundred arrows each, that number would only
last ten minutes in battle. Readying his bow, he withdrew into cover on the
downstream side, and waited.

The rest of his stragglers managed to cross the quaking
root-path, save for the final group of six, four archers and two lancers, who
burst out of the forest just ahead of the enemy. They might have made it along
the dangerous strip of riverbank had they gone at once, but they baulked
momentarily, and the enemy rushed them, forcing them over the bank at
spear-point into the torrent, where they were driven with bone-smashing force
against rolling boulders.

Once, Nish had almost been inured to the horrors of war, but
this casual slaughter of men and women so dear to him stiffened his resolve to
tear down the world his father had created, and replace it with a better one. I
will do whatever it takes, he thought. I will never give in.

But first he had to win the war; no, first he had to survive
this battle. Nocking his arrow, he fired and took the leading soldier in the
throat.

Three more fell before the rest of the Imperial lancers
scrambled back into the forest, but Nish’s plan was in tatters, for he could
not ambush hundreds of men by himself. He moved further into the forest gloom.
He had to try and hold them off, yet if he stayed here long they would hack
paths through the jungle to attack him from all sides. But if he could delay
them for another minute or two, the militia might just reach the gorge first.

He didn’t see the little wisp-watcher globe drifting though
the canopy high above, nor the one that came after, but their spoked irises
contracted at the sight of him. One stayed on watch; the other drifted back the
way they had come.

A soldier appeared at the far end of the grassy bank. Nish
shot him and ducked backwards under a liana as thick as a giant python. As he
did, three arrows struck the vine in a tight group at chest height, where he
had been standing, and others sang through the vines to either side. They had
been waiting for him to fire. Clearly, they did not expect Nish to be here in
person, but their arrows could kill him just the same.

He slid around the next tree and sighted through the gap
between its twin trunks, but no one else appeared. Were they cutting a path to
bypass him? With the roar of the river in his ears he’d never hear them, and he
could not afford to wait much longer.

A minute passed. What were they up to? I’ll give them
another thirty seconds, he thought, and if they don’t come out I’ll go.

The thirty seconds were nearly up, with no further sign of
the enemy, when something round and hard dug into his lower back and a deep,
familiar voice rumbled, ‘Drop the bow, Nish, and raise your hands.’

How had Klarm got so close, without a sound? There would be
no getting away from him.

 
FOUR

Maelys had seen battle before, from a distance, and it
had been a haunting experience, especially the hours she had served in the
healers’ tent with Tulitine, trying to repair the maimed and broken bodies. And
afterwards, escaping past those huge piles of corpses – thousands of
fresh young lives turned to the reeking dead – had been even more scarifying.
If she closed her eyes she could still see them. And they had all died for
nothing!

But this had been far worse, for she had been right in the
middle of the fighting, and no matter which way she’d turned there had been
violent, bloody death in front of her. Spears had fallen all around her, one
flying past her stomach so close that it had torn her clothes; another time, an
enemy’s wild backswing had nearly taken the top of her head off, though the
soldier hadn’t known she was there.

Whatever Yalkara had done to the taphloid the other day, it
seemed to be protecting Maelys from deliberate attack. The soldiers could
certainly see her, but then their eyes would slide away as if diverted, and
they would turn aside.

She shuddered at the memories and ran faster, splashing
along the forest path away from Nish, but still worrying about him. She had
wanted to tell him about lying with Emberr, and that she might be pregnant, but
had felt too embarrassed.

Could she be expecting? It would change everything if she
was, but there was no way of telling, since it had only happened a few days
ago. She wouldn’t know for weeks – assuming she survived that long.

Maelys dismissed the distracting thoughts and kept running
until she reached the lower clearing, then peered out. It formed a ragged
circle extending for several hundred paces along the river to the point where
it ran into the gorge, though the rain was so heavy, and the air near the river
so full of whirling spray, that she could barely see the gorge.

The clearing rose steeply to her right, like a tilted
saucer, up to the right-hand ridge of the valley, and she began to trek across
the slope. The valley was narrower here and she had been told that the
encircling ridges were connected via a natural arch of stone spanning the centre
of the gorge, though she could not make it out. To her left the saucer’s rim
formed a gentle lip up onto the river bank, and a curving pond had formed
there. Further on a narrow gully ran into the river.

She plodded across the slope of the clearing, below a long,
curving rock outcrop over which runoff poured in little cascades, towards the
entrance of the gorge. It was hard to see through the spray from the roaring
river, though on the right side a jumble of boulders the size of elephants
might
be negotiable.

Maelys gulped. She had never been adventurous – her
idea of a perfect day was sitting by the fire reading a book – and the
passage through the gorge looked extremely dangerous. The river’s torrential
flow was grinding boulders together in its bed and flinging spray up a good
three spans, while waterfalls cascading over the sides of the gorge would
deluge anyone trying to pass through.

It might be possible to leap from one huge boulder to the
next, though they appeared to be covered in moss and would be horribly
slippery. We’ll lose a lot of people getting through, she thought, and I’ll
probably be one of them. The Gendrigoreans were outdoor folk, used to climbing
and naturally dexterous, but Maelys was not. Her knees went wobbly at the
thought.

Not to mention that, at the rate the river was rising, the
lowest point of the passage could be closed off by the time the militia
arrived. She looked back, and through waves of driving rain made out the first
of them entering the clearing. She splashed back.

‘There’s the gorge,’ she said to the huge militiaman
carrying Yggur, whose eyes were closed; his arms and legs flopped with every
movement. ‘It’s going to be difficult to get through, though, with the water
rising so fast …’

‘And the longer we wait the more difficult it will be,’ the
militiaman rumbled. His voice was even deeper than dear Zham’s, who had given
his life at the top of Mistmurk Mountain so Maelys, Nish, Flydd and Colm could
escape. ‘My name’s Clech.’

‘Maelys,’ she said, shaking a paw the size of a pumpkin
leaf, but his grip was gentle around her little hand.

He set Yggur down in the mud and looked at her inquiringly,
as if awaiting her orders, which was absurd.

‘Are the rest of the militia close?’ she said.

‘I don’t know. Do you want us to go through the gorge?’

She was not used to giving orders and had no idea what Nish
would do. Was it better to send most of the militia through even if the
stragglers were cut off, or should they wait until everyone was here? Either
way, her instructions, made in ignorance, would be condemning some people to
death.

‘I suppose so,’ Maelys said, then felt a powerful instinct
that it was the wrong decision. ‘No, wait until everyone gets here. I’m sure
Nish would want us to keep together.’

Gnawing a knuckle, she scanned the ridgeline and the edges
of the clearing, knowing the enemy could appear anywhere and attack without
warning. Maelys had never been a leader, nor had she any desire to be one, and
she had no knowledge of battlefield tactics.

He broke into her panicked thoughts. ‘You and Nish are old
friends.’

‘Er, yes.’ She did not want to go into their differences
since she’d helped to rescue him from his father’s prison, months ago. ‘We
travelled together for a long time.’

‘He was very pleased to see you, when you came through the
portal.’

Was he? Nish had treated her badly in their early days
together, partly because Maelys, to her shame, had tried to use him to fulfil
an obligation to her family. However he had softened after his father caught
them at the top of Mistmurk Mountain, and Nish had certainly changed during the
time they had been separated.

Our experiences, and especially our choices, make us what we
are, she thought, and I’m not the naïve girl I was when I met him, either.

More of the militia straggled in, men and a small number of
women. Some were weaponless while the rest carried broken lances or notched
swords. Most of the archers were out of arrows, and Maelys shook her head in
dismay. Even if Nish had been the greatest leader in the world, he could do
little with such a rabble.

Tulitine appeared, hobbling and supporting a staggering,
feverish Flydd, but neither of them could relieve Maelys of the burden of
command.

‘What’s the matter with Xervish?’ she said.

‘When the caduceus blazed up, it also hurt him badly, but
he’s getting better.’

Flydd didn’t look it. ‘Are there many more to come?’ asked
Maelys, scanning the circle of faces. People were hard to identify, being
covered in mud, but she did not see Nish anywhere.

‘A dozen at most,’ said Tulitine hoarsely, rubbing her arm
as if in great pain.

‘Where’s Nish?’

‘He stayed behind to ambush the enemy.’

‘All alone?’ Maelys cried.

‘I don’t know.’

‘What are we supposed to do now?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tulitine repeated. ‘I can’t think.’

The militia were standing around, staring at Maelys. ‘What
do you want us to do?’ said Clech.

She couldn’t send them through the gorge without Nish. ‘Go
up there and get ready to defend yourselves.’

She indicated the waist-high outcrop of brown stone she’d
passed earlier, near the top of the clearing. It curved across the slope for
some thirty paces, and the two-hundred-odd militia might just cram in behind
it, though it would be cramped to defend.

It was the only cover available, though if they had to run
from there to the gorge they would be exposed all the way. Still, if the gorge
became impassable, as was looking increasingly likely, they could retreat up
into the narrow band of forest below the rocky ridge.

Maelys rubbed her forehead, trying to think like a commander.
From there they might scramble over the ridge, which was no longer guarded, but
then what? Klarm would hunt them down; he would never give up.

‘I’ll go along the track a bit and wait for Nish,’ said
Maelys. ‘I’m sure he’ll be along any second.’ She had to keep up the pretence,
for her own sake as much as theirs.

Clech was heading for Yggur when he sat up and said in a
shaky voice, ‘I’m all right now. I can walk.’

Clech nodded and led the militia up the slope. Tulitine said
quietly, ‘You can’t go unprotected.’

‘I’m not going far,’ said Maelys.

‘Wait!’ Tulitine put her hands over her eyes, stiffened and
her head lolled forwards. ‘The pieces are moving into alignment,’ she said in
her lower, whispery seer’s voice. ‘The next few days will determine not just
the fate of this obscure militia, but all Santhenar, and the choices of these
two matter most.’

Flydd’s head shot up; Yggur forced himself to his feet,
swaying. ‘
These two
?’ said Yggur.
‘Nish and Maelys?’

‘That’s how I read the future.’

‘Then she must stay with us, where she can be protected,’
said Flydd.

‘You’re not listening,’ said Tulitine. ‘Our time is nearly
done; Maelys must make her own decisions.’

‘But I haven’t the faintest idea what to do,’ said Maelys.
She was fed up with being the focus of obscure foretellings and could not bear
the responsibility laid on her. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘Your choices are still vital,’ said Tulitine, ‘whether you
accept the responsibility or reject it. Come here; we may be able to improve
your defences a little.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Show us the taphloid,’ said Flydd. ‘Yggur, we might need a
hand.’

Yggur lurched across. ‘What is it? You’ll be lucky to get
anything more out of me today.’

‘We need to heighten the shield in Maelys’s taphloid. Can
you – ?’

‘Her what?’

Yggur had never seen the taphloid, for the only time Maelys
had used it in his presence, at the Tower of a Thousand Steps, she’d kept it
hidden. She held it out.