The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2) (13 page)

She took a deep breath, rolled onto her back, feeling her
breasts straining against the gauzy fabric, and smiled until it hurt. She could
not help remembering the time she’d tried to do her duty and seduce him, and
the ghastly humiliation as he’d repudiated her. Maelys dreaded it happening
again.

Nish began stripping off his princely robes – which
had to be an illusion – as he approached. He climbed onto the bed, his
eyes dark pools of longing for the woman she was made up to be.

Maelys had no experience in the arts of the bedchamber, so
she lay back on the pillows, closed her eyes and left it up to him. Her nerves
were singing from the incense, and Vivimord’s enchantment must have been working
again, for the moment Nish began to caress her, his touch awoke feelings that
she had never felt before, though she had read about them in the Great Tales.
She did not resist; she could not. She did not want Nish to stop.

This isn’t you
. A
tiny voice hammered on the closed doors of her mind, trying to get through.
And it isn’t Nish either. Vivimord is moving
both of you like puppets. Stop it
, now.

But Nish’s caresses felt so good, the nothings he was
murmuring in her ear so right. She wanted them to go on forever.

Anything Vivimord
wants is wrong. Fight him for all you’re worth!

She did not. Nish drew the covers aside, looking down at her
like a prince at his princess, but as Maelys felt the cold air on her skin she
was reminded of her mortifying state of undress and it undermined the
enchantment a little more.

As Nish leaned over her, the prince illusion slipped; she
saw that his eyes were dull and there was blood on his right cheek, and matted
in his hair. Blood under his fingernails, too. Where had it all come from? His
clothes were soaked in it. He’d been in a fight; he must have killed a man. She
felt sick. Vivimord hadn’t bothered to clean Nish up for her; her feelings did
not matter.

His left hand, the burnt one, was swollen like a five-fingered
balloon; it was a mixture of smooth new skin – how had that come about?
– and blistered, weeping flesh. His dirty fingers touched her, and she
felt so disgusted that it tore the enchantment apart. This was wrong, wrong,
wrong
and bound to end disastrously, as
any alliance of the two most corrupt men in the world inevitably must. She had
to stop it.

Her darting eye fell on the platinum stubs and she
remembered the fourth, to the right of them. Vivimord had hidden it from her;
might it offer some means of escape?

‘Nish, no!’ She pushed him away so hard that he slid off the
edge of the bed and fell heavily to the floor, whacking his injured hand. He
let out a shriek and drew his knees up against his chest, rocking from side to
side.

She regretted it instantly, and was on her hands and knees,
peering down at him, when he cried, ‘Maelys?’ in a choked voice. Pain had
cracked the mesmeric spell on him and his eyes hardened; he must be remembering
her previous mortifying attempt at seduction.

‘Nish, run! It’s a trap.’

The door slammed back against the wall and Vivimord stood
there, his eyes ablaze and the blotched lump on his cheek a livid purple.

‘Quick, Nish!’ she screamed.

He got up, shaking his head dazedly, but Vivimord blocked
the door. He smiled, pushed it shut and moved towards them.

‘Get back on the bed, Deliverer. You have a duty to perform,
for the good of your people and the stability of the realm.’

Nish looked up at Maelys, then at him, and shook his head.

‘You
will
mate
with her, Deliverer.’

Nish rubbed the back of his burned hand; he was shaking his
head furiously. Vivimord reached out to touch him on the forehead but Nish
backed away.

‘You’re breaking his enchantment, Nish,’ Maelys yelled.
‘Keep fighting him.’

Vivimord drew his fingertips down Nish’s chest; his eyelids
fluttered, then he got up and turned towards the bed like a zombie. Maelys
watched him come, stumbling and pale, but when he was just a few steps away he
looked up and met her eyes, and there was such dumb, helpless despair in them
that her skin crawled. Nish could not endure this any more than she could.

It was a thousand times worse than before. Under no
circumstances could Maelys lie with Nish while Vivimord was standing here,
pulling his strings. She couldn’t help Nish but she could stop this from
happening, and frustrate Vivimord.

As he stalked towards her, she threw herself backwards
against the bed head. Where was the fourth platinum stub – the hidden
one? Dare she try it?

‘Nish, onto the bed, quick!’

He didn’t move; he was completely in Vivimord’s power. She
slid her hand across the bed head, past the three stubs, feeling with the heel
of her palm for the fourth. She sensed just the faintest indentation, and
pressed it.

Vivimord grinned wolfishly and she knew she’d just failed a
critical test.

 
ELEVEN

‘Nish? Colm?’ said Flydd, squinting into the darkness.

The thundering feet were now so loud that they drowned out
his thoughts. It sounded like a small army running up steps, though he didn’t
think they could be close; the climb from the base of the mountain would take
hours. However he was having difficulty distinguishing between reality and
Vivimord’s Arts of Bemusement and Illusion. He knew Vivimord was close by,
though. Flydd could smell him.

He shook his head but the fuzziness didn’t improve, though
he well remembered the crystal clarity of his old mind, before renewal. What if
he never regained it? However even that loss was insignificant compared to the
nagging ache that was the disappearance of his Art. Curse Maelys for pressuring
him into taking renewal; and curse himself for succumbing to the temptation
he’d resisted for so long. He’d sooner be dead than try to live with the few
pathetic fragments of the Art remaining to him; and even those could be the
temporary gift of the woman in red.

What do you want from
me?
he raged.

‘Flydd?’ said Colm in a cracked tone, from some distance to
his left.

He was afraid, and well he might be. Flydd was too. Once he
would have enjoyed the challenge of pitting his wits against another master,
but there was no pleasure in being an ordinary man hunted by a master.

‘What are you doing way over there?’ Flydd hissed.

‘I thought you were going this way.’ Colm’s voice
approached. ‘Cursed place – it tangles the mind.’

‘Mine too,’ muttered Flydd. ‘Though it’s not the place that
tangles it – it’s Vivimord. Where’s Nish?’

‘I thought he was with you.’

Flydd swore under his breath. ‘Nish!’ he said, not too
loudly.

Nish didn’t reply.

‘What’s happening?’ said Colm, with forced calm. ‘Is Vivimord
trying to pick us off one by one?’

Flydd pressed his hand against his chest, for he had a
burning pain there. What a laugh it would be if his renewed heart was giving
out already. ‘He doesn’t give a damn about us, and he doesn’t pick fights
needlessly. All he wants is Nish.’

‘Nish!’ Colm bellowed. ‘Where are you?’

‘Shh!’ Colm’s voice hadn’t echoed in the vast chamber, which
was odd; but everything about this place was odd.

‘How can he not hear us?’

‘I’d say Vivimord has got him, but we’d better make sure.’

They circumnavigated the chamber three times but found no
sign of him, and no openings save the double doors by which they had entered.

‘Vivimord was so quick!’ Flydd wanted to bang his head
against the wall. ‘He plucked Nish out from between us in seconds and I haven’t
got the faintest idea where to look for him.’

‘You know Mistmurk Mountain inside and out. You must be able
to find him; and Maelys.’

‘Vivimord was ever a master of illusion, and now he’s been
rejuvenated at the cursed flame. You saw the fire dripping from his fingers
when he fought Jal-Nish in the cave – Vivimord’s powers have been
redoubled, and I’ve lost mine.’

‘We’ve got to look for them, Flydd.’

‘I wouldn’t know where to start. This place is a labyrinth.’

‘They can’t be far away.’

‘Vivimord could be anywhere, even in this room, but hidden.
I can’t break such powerful Arts; can you?’

‘Only with a blade to the heart!’ Colm said savagely.

‘Phrune is dead; he can’t hurt anyone now. But if you get
the chance to take Vivimord down, don’t hesitate, for he’s as big a monster as
the God-Emperor. Let’s go back to the altar. That’s where Nish disappeared, and
we may be able to pick up the traces. There’s power at the flame, too; power
aplenty, if only I could remember how to use it.’

As they headed back, Flydd’s confusion began to fade and
suddenly, when they were just a few steps from the altar, the abyssal flame
leapt up spans high, emerald-green shot with black, illuminating the
barbarically beautiful chamber. Its shrill whistling was painful to the ears.

‘The running feet have stopped,’ said Flydd, his heart
sinking. ‘Vivimord’s got what he wanted. Though to get through Jal-Nish’s
cordon he’ll have to activate the closed portal, so surely he must come back to
this flame? Can I set a trap for him?’

Colm was pacing, ever more agitated. ‘We’ve got to go after
them, Flydd.’

‘If we do, we’ll probably be leaving them further behind.
No, this place is the key, I’m sure of it. I’m staying here.’

‘Flydd –?’

‘Shut up! I’ve got to think it through.’

He sat on the base of the altar and put his head in his
hands. In his prime he would have come up with a plan in an instant, but now
his mind was like fog. ‘Keep watch by the door, Colm.’

Why was he so unsure of himself? He’d been a commanding
figure for more than forty years and, as a scrutator on the council, he’d been
one of the most powerful people in the world.

Because authority had to be earned, and it could only be
maintained by using it. He was out of practice. The world had changed; the old
ways were gone forever. Jal-Nish had remoulded the world in his image and Flydd
no longer understood it.

Above his head the flame flared and shadows drifted through
his mind, like an image seen out of the corner of an eye – billowing red
curtains with someone concealed behind them. The woman in red was peering
through a framed hexagonal glass,
at him
.
Her finger pointed at him, Maelys’s taphloid grew hot and he felt a stabbing
pressure behind his temples. It wasn’t exactly pain; more like something
pushing through a barrier. It disappeared and he tried to focus on the woman
behind the curtains, but her image was gone.

Flydd realised he’d been holding his breath, but didn’t let
it out. Something had changed; she’d done something to him. He felt more
clear-headed now; or was it more
awakened
?
Did that mean she was ready to put her plan into action?

‘Is something the matter?’ said Colm, who had his back to
the flame and was watching the doors.

‘I had a vision that reminded me of my renewal dream, though
why would I see
her
now?’

Could her appearance be due to the power of the flame, or
did she want him to do something here? If she did, it was unlikely to be for
his benefit. Flydd gnawed his lip; he wasn’t used to being kept in the dark and
couldn’t bear to be manipulated. He didn’t want anything to do with this
perilous flame either, yet it might offer the only way out of here.

Drawing the taphloid from his pocket, he held it up towards
the flame to see what would happen when their innate powers met. The flame’s
note changed to a deeper, more muted whistle. Colm drew a sharp breath; the
green flame dropped fractionally and a series of little silvery bubbles rose up
within it, black shadows and emerald fire drifting across their surfaces,
before popping halfway to the ceiling with streams of trailing green specks.
Flydd thought he saw her image in one bubble, hands out to him as if she were
trying to tell him something.

Why was the flame affected by the taphloid? She can’t have
known he’d have it. No, but she would have expected him to be carrying his
charged crystal, and Maelys had put the crystal she’d found below the cursed
flame into the taphloid. Could the two flames be linked?

Flydd rocked back and forth, wondering about the bubbles,
then thrust the taphloid at the flame. This time only one bubble appeared, but
it was the size of a melon and spinning rapidly. Within it he saw the red
curtains again, only they weren’t curtains but the robes of a dark-haired
woman, standing on a pinnacle in a wild wind. A huge moon hung above her and
she was gazing into a scrying cup. Flydd’s point of view shifted dizzyingly
until he was looking down into it as if through her eyes, though this time she
did not know he was there.

She was staring into a black, empty landscape, a place like
nowhere he had ever seen before. Everything was black – no, it wasn’t a
landscape but a vast structure, for a smooth black floor extended further than
he could see. Now he heard her, inside his head, her voice tight with strain.

I must find a way in.
I can’t hold the place together much longer. But what if it finds out?

The black shapes shifted, dissolving into one another; the
bubble burst and her image was gone. Flydd staggered, for his heart was
thundering and his knees felt weak.

‘I heard her,’ said Colm, shivering. ‘That was the woman in
red, wasn’t it?’

‘It was.’

‘What was she doing?’

Flydd wasn’t going to mention the image he’d seen through
her eyes; it was too worrying. ‘I don’t know, but she must have mastered the
flame, to be so intimately connected to it now.’

‘Why did she come to you during renewal?’

‘How would I know?’ Flydd snapped. He paced around the
altar, cursing the craters in his memory. Dare he take the chance on her? Dare
he refuse her?