The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2) (28 page)

‘Get away from me!’ Vivimord’s eyes were darting this way
and that. ‘I can’t bear to be touched.’

‘Yet you held your victims down while you cut their innocent
throats from behind. Do it.’

The balding man drew Vivimord’s shirt up, all the way; it
made a tearing sound. The townsfolk surged forwards again. His chest and
stomach were thickly coated with dried blood, and where the bloodstained shirt
had been torn away from his skin, it was revealed to be hideously thickened and
scarred, with crisscrossing cracks that wept clear yellow fluid.

‘Well, Nish – er, Deliverer,’ said Barquine. ‘The
evidence is clear against Vivimord, and he is your man. What are you going to
do about his crime?’

 
TWENTY-ONE

‘He’s not my man,’ said Nish. ‘He brought me here,
under duress.’

‘Yet you’re known as the leader of his Defiance.’

‘Deliverer!’ Vivimord extended his bound arms as far as they
would go and ratcheted up his Art. ‘This accusation is a vicious lie. An enemy
has set me up for this crime, to prevent you from ever casting the blasphemous
God-Emperor down. You know you cannot succeed without me.’

Nish felt his confidence faltering, for it could be true.
Jal-Nish might have set this up – was there any place on Santhenar his
power did not reach? And what if Nish did need Vivimord to help overthrow his
father? For the good of the suffering people of the world, he could ignore this
one crime, couldn’t he? After all, Tildy was dead; it didn’t matter to her.

‘I – I don’t know. I must think for a moment.’

‘Then think swiftly,’ snapped Barquine. ‘And not of your
bonds with this man, whatever they may be, nor your goal to overthrow your
father. Think only of justice for poor Tildy, who did no one any harm.’

Nish nodded stiffly and walked into the forest. Dawn was
breaking. He knew what had to be done, deep down, but what if he were wrong?

‘You’ve dealt out death aplenty in battle, Nish, and I dare
say slept soundly afterwards. Why do you shy at delivering justice?’

Tulitine’s voice came from the deep gloom between two
gnarled trees which leaned towards each other to form an inverted V.

Nish jumped. ‘I
will
not
become my father.’

‘I never heard that what Jal-Nish meted out was justice.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I don’t believe I do.’

‘Father has tempted me unbearably, over and again. You
cannot know how he whispers in my mind, offering me the things I want most in
all the world.’

‘I know exactly what you want, Nish. You long for wealth and
authority, the love of beautiful women, and most of all, respect. You want
people to look up to you for all you’ve achieved, but you’re terrified of
failure, and of their contempt.’

His stomach clenched. ‘How do you know me so well? Are you a
sorcerer who can extract the secrets of the innermost mind?’

‘You said it all in your fever, months ago. And I can read
your every thought on your face, and in what you say and do. Or don’t do
– like dealing with Vivimord now you have the chance.’

Nish ignored that. Before he could accept her help he had to
confess his deepest desire and his greatest failing – the one which, were
it offered to him again, he did not think he could refuse. That’s where he’d
gone wrong last time. He’d kept it secret and it had grown until it almost
overpowered him.

‘Father holds Irisis’s perfectly preserved body in a glass
coffin in his palace of Morrelune, and he told me that, if I came back to him,
he would restore her to me.’

Tulitine stiffened in the gloom, then reached out and put a
hand on his shoulder. ‘Can the Profane Tears give him the power to reach into
the shadow realm, and even below that?’ she said thickly. ‘It cannot be –
no one
can come back from death.’

She was shaken, which gave Nish pause for thought. Flydd had
also said that it was impossible to raise the dead, but what if Jal-Nish
could
restore Irisis to him? His heart
soared at the thought, even as he recoiled in self-disgust for being seduced by
it.

‘Necromancy is the greatest abomination of all, and yet
you’re swayed by what it can give you,’ Tulitine said icily. ‘Be very, very
careful, Nish. I’d thought better of you. If you can consider such depravity,
you’re closer to becoming your father than I’d realised.’

‘That is why I shrink from dispensing justice to Vivimord,’
he said quietly. ‘Because I fear what will come of it.’

‘How should justice be dispensed, Nish?’

Nish hesitated, for he knew she was going to disagree with
him, and why, but it had to be said. ‘In Vivimord’s case, deep in the forest
and well away from watching eyes. A swift slash across the throat, the way he
killed the girl, then a pyre to burn the body to ashes, and the ashes scattered
to the winds.’

‘You are very wrong if you think justice can be done in
secret. Justice must be public, and impartial, else it looks like revenge and
only inspires more killing.’

‘If it’s done publicly, Father will hear of it; he has spies
everywhere, even here. He will make Gendrigore suffer a thousand times over for
the justice meted out to Vivimord.’

‘But he and Vivimord are enemies.’ Tulitine came out from
behind the trees.

‘Yet Vivimord once saved Father’s life, at great cost to
himself, and Father does not forget such things.’

‘If you deal with Vivimord in secret, Gendrigore will
believe that you let a depraved murderer go out of weakness. That could fatally
undermine the Deliverer.’

‘Are you trying to talk me out of it?’

‘I merely point out the consequences. It’s up to you to make
the choice, and you must do it at once.’

‘I dare not kill him as he deserves, Tulitine. You know how
power tempts me. I dare not take one single step on the corrupt path.’ Nish put
all thoughts of Irisis firmly behind him. ‘Yet neither can Vivimord be allowed
to go unpunished.’

He trudged back to the scene of the murder, oppressed by the
thought that, whatever his choice, ill would come of it. He walked up to the
mayor, looked him in the eye and said in a carrying voice, ‘Vivimord’s crime
was against Gendrigore, not me. He will be tried according to the laws of Gendrigore.’

Vivimord protested his innocence all the way back to the
town green, and exerted his Art ever more powerfully, until Nish felt dazed
from it, and ordered that the men dragging the pole have their ears blocked,
and everyone else keep out of earshot. He stayed well behind, and once away
from the zealot’s influence Nish had no doubt that Vivimord was guilty.

‘What form will the trial take?’ he asked Barquine on the
way.

‘In matters such as this the accused is tried by ordeal,’
said Barquine. ‘If he survives, he is acquitted and will be expelled from
Gendrigore.’

‘And if he does not survive?’

‘Then clearly he was guilty.’

Swift, summary justice, and Vivimord was such a monster that
Nish could not disagree. And yet …

‘You look troubled,’ said the mayor. ‘Do you doubt our
justice?’

‘Not at all,’ Nish said hastily. ‘The law is the law, and I
know, from experience, Vivimord’s character. Few will regret his passing, if he
is convicted. But I should warn you that he was once the right-hand man of the
God-Emperor –’

‘What is that to us?’

‘And Vivimord saved Jal-Nish’s life. If he is harmed, the
God-Emperor could well seek retribution.’

‘I see.’ The mayor paced off across the grass, mud
squelching up between his bare toes.

Nish watched him go, feeling anxious for these kindly
people. They had treated him well, yet, isolated here by cliff and mountain and
impenetrable forest, they could not imagine the depravity of those who fought
to control and dominate the outside world. Jal-Nish might well hate Vivimord for
his betrayal; might well seek to kill him to end the threat to his own reign;
yet if Gendrigore put Vivimord to death, it would be made to pay. Nish wished
he’d carried out his original intention, but it was too late now.

Barquine was gone a long time. Perhaps he was consulting the
town elders. The sun had risen before he came striding back, anxious but
determined.

‘The laws of Gendrigore stand,’ he said abruptly. ‘The Spine
has protected us for twice a thousand years and we do not fear your
God-Emperor. Bring the prisoner to the sea cliffs for trial.’

Vivimord was dragged off, bound to his pole, cursing them in
a low voice. Again Nish felt the power of the zealot’s mancery, and feared he
might yet sway the peasants to let him escape.

‘I would stop his mouth,’ Nish said quietly to Barquine.
‘Vivimord’s chief sorcery is in his voice, and few people can resist for long.’

‘I can feel it working on me.’ Barquine gave the order and
Vivimord’s mouth was filled with rags so he could not utter a sound, then two gags
were bound tightly over them. ‘They will have to be removed for the ordeal,
Nish. The trial must be fair. The accused must be allowed to speak.’

He strode off. The men dragged Vivimord towards a path
through the forest, in the direction of the sea cliffs. The towns-folk
followed.

Tulitine came up beside Nish. ‘Would you take my arm, Nish?
I’m feeling my age this morning.’

Nish did so. ‘What is a trial by ordeal?’

‘It’s an old form of justice, long abandoned in more
civilised
lands,’ she said as they headed
after everyone else. ‘Some say that proving a man guilty or innocent by ordeal
is just like tossing a coin, but I think otherwise. Destiny also sits at the
judgment table and, given a choice between the ordeal and trial by the corrupt
jurors of the God-Emperor, I know which I’d choose.’

After walking for half a league or so, they emerged from the
forest onto a sloping strip of land covered in scrubby, thick-leaved bushes and
small trees, then onto a band of grass and herbs; beyond that was the bare rock
of the cliff edge. The sun was just visible over the forest behind them. At
least a hundred people had already assembled on the rock and more were coming
along the cliffs, and emerging from other paths through the forest. There were
storms out to sea and lightning flashed along the horizon.

Nish smelt salt and rotting seaweed, and heard the crash of
waves breaking on the cliffs far below, and the echoing boom as the swell
rolled into sea caves. The sky was overcast and looked like rain, but then, it
always looked like rain in Gendrigore.

A number of tall tripods were mounted along the cliff edge,
made from tree trunks. Each had a wooden arm extending out over the edge, from
which was suspended, on a plaited rope, a large wooden basket with a bamboo floor
and an umbrella shaped bamboo roof. Each rope ran up, over a rolling block at
the end of the arm, and down to a hand winch fixed to one of the legs of the
tripod.

‘They’re fishing baskets,’ said Tulitine. ‘The fisherwomen
are wound down in their baskets until they’re a few spans above the water. They
lower their lines and crab pots into the water, and wait.’

‘Doesn’t sound like much of a life,’ Nish murmured.

‘Life is what you make of it. They can talk to each other,
watch the ever-changing seas and the colours of the sky, lie back and think,
sleep. What more could anyone want?’

‘It’s very exposed.’

‘The rain is warm here; and the breezes mild.’

‘What if the rope breaks, or a gale dashes them against the
cliff?’

‘Then they’ll die, as we all must some day,’ she said
sharply. ‘Life is dangerous, Nish, whether you’re a cliff fisherwoman of
Gendrigore or a lapsed hero on the run from an all-powerful father and his own
crippling self-doubt.’

He avoided her eye. ‘How does the trial by ordeal work?’

‘I expect we’ll find out soon enough.’

The trial proved simple and dignified. When everyone had
assembled, the mayor simply said, ‘Let the trial of Vivimord, also known as
Monkshart, begin.’

Two sturdy, black-haired young women swung the arm of the
nearest tripod in; a third, who could have been their mother, wound the winch
and lowered the hanging basket to the ground. A bamboo door was unfastened and
swung open. The three women joined a fourth, who was small, old and wiry
– the grandmother, perhaps. They untied Vivimord from the pole, keeping
his wrists and ankles bound, and his mouth stopped.

‘The trial is carried out by those most injured by the
crime,’ said Tulitine. ‘In this case, the women of Tildy’s family.’

They hauled Vivimord to the basket, his feet dragging, and
pushed him inside. He did not deign to struggle, though his dark eyes shot
apocalyptic fury at them. Never had Vivimord been treated with such contempt,
and he could not bear it.

The women said no word as they followed him inside, lashed
his wrists to the side of the basket and fixed a thin rope around his waist.
The other end was tied to the floor. The youngest woman, and the oldest,
remained inside and closed the door. The other two began to raise the basket
with the winch.

It took many turns of the winch handle to lift it but they
did not falter for a moment.

‘It is a matter of pride that they do not give way to human
weakness during the trial,’ said Tulitine. ‘No pain, no weariness may delay the
ordeal, for that would be an ill omen.’

‘For someone who didn’t know what was going on a while ago,
you’re very well informed,’ sniffed Nish.

‘I spend more time watching and listening, and less
talking.’

Her acid tongue reminded him of Flydd, and again he wondered
what had happened to him and Maelys, but that was fruitless.

Once the basket was several spans above the ground, the
winders locked the winch and heaved on ropes to swing the tripod arm, and the
basket, out over the cliff. It began to swing back and forth in the wind. They
tied the arm in place and began to lower the basket towards the sea. The work
was easier now but they kept up the same steady pace at the winch.