The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2) (22 page)

‘I wondered why you filled that phial at the cursed flame.’

‘I had a different purpose in mind, but if I have to use it
here, I will.’

The ground shook and a stone’s throw to their left a geyser
erupted in the marsh, followed by an explosion of boiling mud. That’s where the
abyssal flame was going to come up, and it was dangerously close. Flydd threw
himself behind the obelisk. Colm was struck in the chest by a huge clod of hot
mud and reeds and was knocked off his feet. He cried out, clawing away the
boiling, clinging muck.

Flydd dragged him into shelter. ‘Stay down. This is only the
beginning.’

Colm cooled his scalded chest in a puddle as steam belched
up from dozens of fissures, obscuring everything. They crouched under the
tilted obelisk as the explosions continued; it was like being next to a mud volcano.
Boiling mud was blasted up and out in every direction; chunks the size of oxen
rained down, splattering on the obelisk and sliding off its edges to form
steaming piles on either side of them.

‘It’s the end of the world,’ said Colm, his eyes huge.

‘Not yet, but I’m doing my best,’ Flydd said sardonically.

The explosions, and the deluge, grew ever louder, the rain
of mud more intense. Colm said something but Flydd didn’t catch it; the noise
was deafening. The ground was shuddering wildly now.

‘I said, what if the obelisk falls on us?’ Colm shouted in
his ear.

Flydd had been thinking the same thing. ‘It’ll end all our
worries. If we go out we’ll be buried in hot mud. It’ll stop in a minute.’ As
soon as all the mud above the abyssal flame boiled away, and then what? He felt
a little shiver of anticipation. The abyssal flame was too powerful, too
uncanny. It wouldn’t go out tamely. It was preparing the way for something
monumental.

The mud eruptions cut off, though the ground was still
shaking. He peered around the edge of the obelisk. The mist and steam had been
blasted away and there was just enough starlight to make out a crater wall some
fifty paces off, though he wasn’t high enough to see inside it.

Then, with a whistle that grew to a roar, the abyssal flame
burst through its last barrier and shot upwards, a ruler-edged rod of green and
black fire climbing a hundred spans into the sky. A shockwave blasted outwards,
tearing up reeds and overtopping pools. The mud wall collapsed abruptly,
deluging Flydd to the knees, and it was still scalding. He pulled himself out
and retreated further under the obelisk.

When the debris settled, he scrambled up to the tip of the
obelisk, and in the light of the flame he could see all the way to the edges of
the plateau. A line of shadows rose up along the rim. In every direction, as
far as he could see, the God-Emperor’s Imperial Militia were climbing to their
feet, their armour winking in the glare.

‘They must be three thousand strong,’ said Colm, joining him
at the top.

‘At least,’ said Flydd.

‘And there’s no way out.’

‘Bar our portal to the shadow realm.’

In a sudden silence, the sky palace materialised high above
them, its white stone sails shining in the light. Flappeters were wheeling
around it, riding the updraughts; flocks of bladder-bats appeared from
apertures in the sky palace; a wing-ray began to curve down towards them.

‘No way,’ said Colm. ‘None at all.’

 
SEVENTEEN

Maelys felt as though she’d been following Vivimord for
a lifetime, as he drove a dazed, uncomprehending Nish before him. She had
tracked them up the perilous stair and through the dark corridors above it,
finding her way by smell. There was no sign of dead Phrune but she could smell
his unguents on Vivimord’s ruined skin. Phrune must have gone back to the pit
for her, and discovered her escape; he would be hunting her now.

She turned around, holding the rapier out like a silver
spear, but saw no living thing, nor any walking corpses, thankfully, though as
she went on she could feel his dead eyes on her.

She hadn’t learned any more about Flydd or Colm’s fate,
though it did not seem possible that they could have escaped the soldiers and
Vivimord. So that meant it was all up to her, again. Every success was topped
by another disaster, but she had to fight on. She could not allow herself any
self-doubt or hopelessness, else she would not be able to continue.
Nonetheless, those feelings were always just below the surface.

She kept them at bay by renewing her vow. She was going to
destroy Vivimord and Phrune, and rescue Nish. And then …?

She simply did not know. Her old life and old dreams had
been so thoroughly destroyed that Maelys could not imagine any future beyond
the struggle against the God-Emperor, not even if, by some miracle, they won.

As she walked, she was trying to think of a way to rescue
Nish, but no plan came to mind. Without her taphloid she could not attack
Vivimord from behind, for he would detect her aura before she came close enough
to strike.

Maelys was edging around a corner when she saw the flame
again, rushing up an eerily shimmering shaft. Vivimord could hardly have gone
that way; he must have turned back, but how close was he? She squinted against
the brightness. There he was, just ten paces away! She ducked back. His head
was bowed and he was dragging Nish, whose eyes were closed, his arms sagging.
Vivimord must have renewed the enchantment on him.

She scuttled back the way she had come until she saw a
cranny in the tunnel wall; Maelys squeezed into it and waited for them to go
by, praying that Vivimord would pass on the other side of the tunnel, far
enough away that he would not detect her aura. The cranny was unnervingly
webbed with cords and had a faint odour of octopede, but it was too late to
look for another hiding place. She crouched in the base of the cranny with the
rapier pointing up over her head, just in case.

Vivimord stopped a few paces past her, sniffing the air.
Maelys had never wanted her lost taphloid more, both for its concealment of her
aura, and as a weapon she knew he feared. The rapier would be little protection
against him.

‘Where the devil has he gotten to?’ he muttered.

Vivimord sounded agitated and she wondered why, since he had
what he wanted. He hurried on, stopping frequently to sniff the floor and
examine it for tracks, the dark radiance of the cursed flame dripping from his
hooked fingers. She followed, keeping no more than thirty paces behind. Being
so close posed a grave risk if he turned back, but she was afraid to let him
get further ahead in case she lost him.

Several times she saw brighter glimmers as he used his Art
to find the path, before finally he said, ‘Ah!’ and turned up a steep slope, no
wider than his shoulders, hauling Nish behind him.

Maelys followed, her heart thumping. At the top she waited
until she heard him moving down the next tunnel before going after him. She was
so tired that every step was a struggle, and was plodding along, squinting at
the swinging puddle of black light coming from his fingertips, when Vivimord
suddenly crouched and light stabbed out from his fingers.

She thought he’d discovered her, until it illuminated
something large and black flapping out of the darkness ahead of him. The
wing-ray let out a brittle cry and shot over his head, dripping blood, to
disappear in the darkness between Vivimord and her. Maelys didn’t hear it hit
the floor, which meant that it was still alive and would attack her next. And
even if she killed it, Vivimord would discover her when he came to investigate
the ruckus.

She ducked down, holding the rapier out to protect her face,
praying that the wing-ray would pass over her head and keep going. She saw
nothing, heard nothing, then a thumping blow drove her backwards a good span.
It had driven itself onto the point of the rapier and every furious flap was
forcing it further along the shaft towards her. Maelys couldn’t hold it and
wasn’t game to pull the rapier out in case the beast came at her. Feeling its
cold breath on her hand, she let go and threw herself out of the way.

‘What the blazes was that?’ she heard Vivimord cry, and his
black light began to grow again.

She crawled back to a curve in the tunnel, defenceless now.
He would recognise the rapier, deduce that it was hers and hunt her down, but
she dared not retreat further for fear of dead Phrune. She knew he was coming
after her.

Light crept from Vivimord’s hand, streaking low along the
tunnel floor, and she realised that he was also afraid. The mountain was full
of troops and scriers now, and not even Vivimord’s illusions could hide him
from the direct gaze of Gatherer. A narrow beam touched on the body of the
wing-ray, whose fleshy wings were undulating like waves on the sea. He studied
it from several paces away while she held her breath and felt the backs of her
hands prickling. His acrid sweat was unpleasantly strong. The floor of the
tunnel moved underfoot and the muted roar of the flame grew louder. Vivimord
hastily turned away.

He hadn’t seen the rapier. He must have thought that his
blast had brought the wing-ray down. She was about to move when he spun around,
arm upraised. Had he seen her; heard her;
sensed
her aura
?

Vivimord was absolutely still. Black flames dripped from his
fingers again, and if he came after her, he could blast her down as easily as
he had the ray. Her palms oozed sweat; projections on the floor were cutting
into her knees, and her stomach was so empty that it hurt. Then the light was
drawn back towards his hand, and died to the faintest glimmer as he turned
away. It took a long time before she could find the courage to follow.

It was completely dark now but she could tell where the ray
was by its wing flutters. She approached gingerly, unable to tell whether it
was badly injured, perhaps dying, or about to wriggle free. She was reaching
down to feel for the rapier hilt when she remembered that barbed stinger in the
middle of the creature’s back. She couldn’t risk it; the rapier would have to
be abandoned.

She went sideways until she touched the far wall of the
passage, keeping as far from the wing-ray as possible, and continued. After
following Vivimord for some minutes she heard him squelching through mud, then
scrambling up a rubbly slope, dislodging small rocks as he went. Water trickled
down and momentarily the smell of the marsh blew his reek away.

Nish must have fallen, for she recognised his pained cry.

‘Get up there, Deliverer,’ Vivimord grated, ‘and be quick
about it. Flydd can’t hide from Gatherer up top, and neither can I.’

So he had been following Flydd. Relief flooded her; she
wasn’t completely alone. Maelys crept to the mud at the base of the slope and
waited for them to move away, for she could not move silently over the rubble.
She started up, then stopped. What if Vivimord had sensed her and was waiting
at the top?

Something clacked behind her, like an iron-shod boot on
stone. The God-Emperor’s troops must have picked up the trail. She had to take
the risk. Peering up the slope, she made out a darkly ragged opening against
the night sky, curtained with the straggling roots of marsh plants – it
was the plateau at last. And five minutes from now she could be dead; or
Vivimord could have won; or, more likely, the God-Emperor would have taken the
lot of them.

She had just reached the top when the ground lurched
upwards, collapsing the steep bank of an empty pond next to the opening; a
river of muddy slurry poured down the hole and the rubble began to move under
her feet. Maelys snatched at the roots as she fell, twisted them around her
wrists, and they held.

As she pulled herself up, the marsh burst open some distance
ahead and slightly to her right, and boiling mud lumps began to splatter down
all around. She scrambled across to an intact section of the overhanging bank,
covering her head with her arms. If it collapsed she would be buried alive,
which had a slight edge over being cooked in boiling mud.

Despite several more lurches and shudders, the bank held,
but as the mud eruption paused, she heard that boot clack again, and a deep
male voice.

‘It’s started. Get up there.’

Lanterns were approaching the base of the rubble slide. She
would be discovered in seconds. She had to risk the eruption.

Maelys dragged herself up the bank and was creeping through
the marshes with clots of hot mud raining down all around her, when there came
a shattering boom from not far ahead, and a wild gust of hot wind knocked her
flat on her back. The greeny black abyssal flame roared up, casting brilliant
light and deep shadows across the top of the plateau.

And there, hanging in the sky high above, was the
God-Emperor’s sky palace. The trap had been sprung and there was only one way
out of it – Flydd’s spell into the shadow realm. If he’d discovered how
to make it work. If he was still alive.

‘If you don’t open the portal now,’ Colm cried, ‘it’ll
be too late.’

Flydd, who was standing on the tip of the tilted obelisk
gnawing his upper lip, didn’t answer. He could hear soldiers pounding up steps
directly below the obelisk, making for the cavity at its base, and others would
be storming up the rubble slide he and Colm had just climbed. At the same time,
Jal-Nish’s Imperial Militia were moving steadily in from the edges of the
plateau, tightening the noose, while flappeters, bladder-bats and wing-rays
guarded the skies. Now the sky palace hung high above them, all the more
ominous because it was absolutely silent.

‘Jal-Nish has blocked every avenue of escape save the one I
no longer want to take: the portal to the shadow realm. But I have no choice
– as a novice at the perilous art of portal making, aiming it anywhere in
the real world would almost certainly be fatal.’