The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2) (76 page)

Gi fired, drew another arrow, then gasped.

‘What is it? Are you hit?’ He hadn’t seen the enemy fire,
but Klarm might have battle mancers among his troops, attacking with unknown
Arts. ‘Fire!’

‘My arrow went right through its target,’ she said in a
tight voice, struggling to control her terror, ‘and the soldier didn’t even
check. He just kept on.’

Her teeth were chattering, her eyes darting this way and
that, but she forced herself to hold firm and he admired her all the more for
it. That first, terrifying experience of battle – even without mancery
– could break the strongest soldier.

Klarm must be using the tears to undermine the morale of the
superstitious Gendrigoreans. ‘Fire! I think some of the enemy are illusions.’

The enemy were ploughing through the mud. ‘W-we’re going to
die, Nish,’ said Gi.

He thought so too, but he had to pretend otherwise. ‘Hold
firm, Gi – illusions can’t fight. We can beat the enemy. We’ll come
through this yet, you and I.’

The lie sickened him, and especially telling it to sweet,
gentle Gi. Why, why had he allowed her to come?

‘How can we tell which is which?’ said Gi, firing again.

The leaders were less than a hundred paces away when Nish
noticed that not all of the soldiers were struggling in the mud; some were
moving easily through it with not a trace of muck splattering from their boots.
‘Fire!

‘Watch their feet – half the soldiers are phantoms,
illusions
,’ he roared, ‘and they can’t
touch you. Klarm hasn’t got the numbers.’ Yet even with half their number, the
enemy were a superior fighting force.

The air-sled drifted his way, about twenty spans above the
ground. Its metal frame was slightly bent from where it had crashed earlier,
and a clump of grass dangled from a kink in one of its runners.

‘Should I bring the dwarf down, Nish?’ said a red-haired,
balding man, one of Nish’s best archers.

Nish hesitated, but only for a second; Klarm’s death could
swing the odds their way, and it was kill or be killed now. ‘Have a go.’

The archer swung, aimed and fired in one fluid movement. The
arrow streaked towards Klarm’s throat, but the dwarf’s head whipped around, his
hand reached for Reaper, and a moment before the arrow reached the target it
burst into splinters.

The caduceus shrilled; Nish’s head screamed and, momentarily
a red mist obscured his vision. It cleared; in another flash of clearsight he
saw the churning core of the caduceus again, then a vibration shot from Reaper
towards the red-haired archer, a tube of vapour condensing in its wake, and
struck.

The archer’s bow shattered first, then his hand; the
vibration propagated up his arm, tearing it to pieces in a stinging spray of
blood, tissue fragments and shards of bone.

The archer was splattered with the pulverised remains of his
arm, as was everyone around him, and blood was pumping from his shoulder. He
had not made a sound, but he was so pale that the freckles on his fair skin
stood out like moles. His eyes were fixed on Nish as if to say, ‘Why did you
tell me to shoot?’

Gi let out a moan that made Nish’s skin creep, and many
others echoed it. The superstitious Gendrigoreans could face death in battle
with fortitude, but the uncanny Arts terrified them, and if they panicked the
battle was lost.

Then, oddly, Klarm cried out in pain, the air-sled dipped
sharply, recovered and shot away.

Tulitine reached the bleached archer as he collapsed and
pressed her fingers against his spurting arteries, but Nish knew the man could
not be saved; not up here. The healers Dulya and Ghosh ran out, bearing the
stretcher.

Nish turned away; they had their job to do, and he his own,
and one second’s inattention could prove fatal. ‘Hold, hold!’ he roared to the
nearby rabble. ‘We’re beating them. Aim! Ready? Fire!’

Fortunately, most of his militia were too far away to have
seen what had happened. The archers fired, but Nish did not see many enemy
fall. The real soldiers laboured across the boggy soil, churning it to mud.

Nish caught his breath. Ten seconds until they struck.
‘Fire!’ He rubbed his eyes, for his vision kept going in and out of focus and
the headache was worse.

‘Fire! Archers, fall back.’ They could do no more.
Effectively, half his militia was now useless.

The illusory soldiers disappeared; the real ones kept on and
struck, driving through the lancers’ spears with ruthless efficiency, catching
the spearheads on their shields and hacking through the shafts with their
swords.

Before his lancers could recover, the enemy were attacking
the front line, smashing a lancer’s shield aside with one blow, taking him in
the belly or throat with the next, then shouldering the sagging body out of the
way to attack the next man, and the next.

Even with only half their expected numbers it was terrible,
bloody slaughter, as sickening as anything Nish had ever seen in war. In ten
more minutes, the Imperial forces would butcher the lot of them, and it could
not be borne. Neither could he do anything to stop it.

Three soldiers were converging on Gi and Tulitine, grinning.
Nish came out from behind them, sprang forwards and thrust his sabre through
the ribcage of the nearest man, who died with an astonished look on his swarthy
face.

He had not seen Nish coming. The Imperial troops were well
trained but there had been no war in ten years and they were not battle
hardened the way Nish had been. He whirled, struck upwards and slew the second
man with a slash that took his head off, then turned for the third.

The soldier was out of reach, and Gi was defending furiously
with the heavy sword that had been her grandfather’s, but even had she been
trained in sword fighting she could never match this man. He was toying with
her, feasting on her terror, delivering a minor cut to the shoulder, another to
the thigh. Nish tried desperately to reach him but the soldier saw him coming
and laughed as he thrust his blade into her heart.

Loyal, gentle Gi, who had been Nish’s closest ally since
he’d arrived in Gendrigore, fell on her back into the mud. Her eyes met his,
she looked puzzled, then their light faded and she was dead.

No time to grieve; no time for anything. Nish ran and, with
a wild swipe, hacked through the soldier’s side. He screamed and fell on top of
Gi’s body, thrashing. Nish heaved him off and put him out of his agony with one
swift thrust. After a last look at her compact, bloody form and her pretty,
bewildered face, he shook his head and turned to survey the battlefield, which
had descended into the chaos of hundreds of individual melees.

‘The cause is lost,’ bellowed Flydd from not far away.
‘Yggur, if you’re going to do anything, do it now! Nish, this way.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Nish. He had led his faithful
militia here and nothing could induce him to run out on them now.

On the circling air-sled, Klarm was peering around the
steamy clearing, searching for him, and Nish felt an urgent need to hide. He
slid in behind Tulitine but Klarm touched Reaper and Nish’s head felt as though
it were bursting – as if the dwarf had used the same spell on him as he
had on the red-haired archer.

Every nerve fibre sang and his scarred hand shrieked with
pain. The scars took on a bright, silvery glow, like a reflection of the
mercuric shimmer of the tears, and even when he slipped the hand inside his
shirt, its glow could still be seen. He’d never hide now.

He raised a fallen spear in his shining hand; the caduceus
shrilled, his headache faded and his vision cleared suddenly, as if he were
seeing the world through a diamond lens – his clearsight had switched on,
as it sometimes did when things were desperate.

From the corner of his eye he made out an aura swirling
around the caduceus; high above them, the Profane Tears roiled menacingly. And,
to his surprise, something pulsed within the blade of the sabre –
Vivimord’s enchantment?

It was no use to him; he had no idea how to use it. Catching
a movement from the corner of his eye, Nish whirled; a giant of a warrior was
heading for him. Over his back was strapped a span-long sword, and he carried a
weighted net whose cords had a faint aura, no doubt linked to the tears. On
seeing Nish’s shining scars, the giant raised the net. Once he threw it, it
would be impossible to evade.

GLOSSARY

Aachan
: One
of the Three Worlds, the original world of the Aachim and, after its conquest
by The Hundred, the Charon. It was recently rendered uninhabitable by massive,
and mysterious, volcanic eruptions, and some tens of thousands of Aachim fled
to Santhenar through a portal, in a fleet of constructs.

Aachim
: The
human species native to Aachan; they are a long-lived, clever people, great
artisans and engineers, but melancholy and prone to hubris. Many were brought
as slaves to Santhenar in ancient times, but later the Aachim flourished, until
they were betrayed by Rulke in the Clysm, after which they withdrew from the
world to their hidden mountain cities (see also Aachan).

Aftersickness
:
Sickness that people suffer after using the Secret Art or a native gift or
talent.

Antithesis
:
The one object (or power or force) that can break the power of the Profane
Tears and bring down the God-Emperor.

Bladder-bat
:
A flesh-formed aerial attack beast. An internal bladder can be inflated with
floater-gas, enabling it to lift heavy objects.

Blending
: A
child of the union between two of the four different human species –
Charon, Faellem, Aachim and old human. Blendings are rare, and often deranged,
but can have remarkable talents.

Calendar
:
Santhenar’s year is roughly 395.7 days and contains twelve months, each of
thirty-three days.

Charon
: One
of the four human species, once the master people of the world of Aachan where,
mysteriously, the Charon were practically sterile, and though they had
enormously long life, few children were born, until the race was almost
extinct. At the end of the Time of the Mirror, the few survivors went back to
the void, to go to their extinction with dignity.

Chissmoul
: A
thapter (flying construct) pilot during the lyrinx war, shy but known for her
reckless verve.

Clanker
: An
armoured war cart which moved via pairs of mechanical legs and was powered by
the field. All were rendered useless by the destruction of the nodes at the end
of the war.

Clysm
: A
series of wars between the Charon and the Aachim beginning around 1500 years
ago, resulting in the almost total devastation of Santhenar.

Colm
: Once
the heir to Gothryme, he lost both clan and heritage during the war and resents
it deeply. He accompanied Maelys to Mistmurk Mountain and nurtures an affection
for her. During the war, when Colm was just a boy, he helped Nish, and Nish
promised to come back one day and help Colm regain his heritage. Colm is bitter
that Nish forgot his promise, even though Nish was powerless in prison.

Compulsion: A form of the Secret Art; a way of forcing
someone to do something against their will.

Construct
: A
war machine at least partly powered by the Secret Art, invented by Rulke in the
Nightland. His construct was capable of creating portals, though the constructs
later modelled on his by the Aachim were not. All were rendered useless by the
destruction of the nodes at the end of the war.

Council of
Santhenar
: An alliance of powerful mancers. The Council helped to create
the Nightland and cast Rulke into it, but was later overthrown by the Numinator,
who created the Council of Scrutators in its place..

Crandor
: A
rich, tropical land on the north-eastern side of Lauralin.

Cryl-Nish Hlar
:
Generally known as Nish, he started out badly but grew to become one of the
greatest heroes of the lyrinx war, though at the end of it he was cast into
prison for rebelling against his father, Jal-Nish. He was freed by Maelys a few
months ago and has been on the run ever since. At the end of the war Nish vowed
to overthrow his father and relieve the suffering of the people of Santhenar,
but Nish has not been able to keep his promise, for he is stricken with
self-doubt and afraid that he will take the same corrupt path as his father. He
has always been tempted by power and what it can bring. And Nish never got over
the death of his beloved Irisis, slain on his father’s orders; Jal-Nish offers
to bring her back from the dead and, though Nish knows this is impossible, he
is unbearably tempted.

Cursed Flame
:
A mysterious flame in the caverns below the Charon obelisk on Mistmurk
Mountain. It has somewhat ambiguous healing properties.

Defiance, the: The Deliverer’s supporters and army,
initially controlled by Monkshart.

Deliverer, the
:
The one person (or so the common folk believe) who can overthrow the
God-Emperor.

Dry Sea
:
Formerly the Sea of Perion, it dried up in ancient times but began to flood at
the end of the lyrinx war a decade ago and is now the Sea of Perion again.

Dunnet
: A
small, secluded land within Elludore Forest, once Faelamor’s hideout.

Ell
: An ell
is a small (and approximate) measure of distance, about the length of a finger
joint.

Elludore
: A
large forested land, north and west of Thurkad on Meldorin Island.

Faelamor
:
Leader of the Faellem species who came to Santhenar soon after Rulke, to keep
watch on the Charon and maintain the balance between the worlds. She was
Maigraith’s liege and kept her in thrall for most of her life. Faelamor took
most of her people back to their world, Tallallame, at the end of the Time of
the Mirror, and there they self-immolated.