The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2) (34 page)

‘Does it really matter after all this time?’ said Colm
irritably. ‘You’re always chasing thoughts around in circles, Flydd. Get the
damn thing working. I want to feel good solid earth under my feet again.’

‘I know how to make it work. And since it’s still live, that
won’t take long.’

‘Will you take me to Elludore? Please?’

‘Perhaps I will. I can get back my Arts there as well as
anywhere. And I too would like to see Faelamor’s legendary trove.’ His eyes
glinted in a most un-Flydd-like way, then he stepped inside. ‘Come through.
Colm, tell me everything you know about Elludore. It’s not a land I know, and
I’ve got to find a safe place for the portal to open, and see the destination
clearly, or we’ll never get there.’

 
TWENTY-FIVE

It felt as though Maelys was sliding down an endless
tunnel lined with silk. Half an hour must have gone by before, without warning,
she dropped nearly a span into long, dry grass. Her knees folded, she hit the
ground softly and opened her eyes. Feathery seed heads caressed her bare arms
and tickled her nose; she hastily suppressed a sneeze, not knowing whether it
was safe to make a sound. It was late afternoon, clear but cool, and the sun
was falling behind snow-clad mountains. It would soon be dark, and cold.

She was on the upper slope of a steep hill, one of a cluster
of five whose crests were grass-covered, though forest on their lower slopes
extended out to the horizon in all directions. To her left a brick fireplace
large enough to roast an ox was topped with a chimney five or six spans high.
Beyond it a broken stone wall ran straight for twenty or thirty paces, with
smaller walls extending off it; squared stone littered the grass as far as she
could see. It looked like the ruins of a manor or country house, or perhaps a
monastery.

A tear formed in her eye at the thought of beloved Nifferlin
Manor, torn down to the foundations by the God-Emperor’s troops. She dashed it
away.

The grass rustled to her left. ‘Colm?’ she said quietly.
‘Xervish?’

No answer; perhaps they hadn’t come through yet. They’d left
the Nightland together but the portal had thrown her into that lightless tunnel
and she’d lost them.

What if they hadn’t come through at all? She suppressed a
twinge of panic. She had no coin, no weapon, no boots; just the clothes on her
back and the taphloid around her neck, which Flydd had returned before they
left the Nightland. And Elludore, if this was Elludore, was an unknown land far
from anywhere she knew. It could be a lawless land where an unaccompanied woman
would be in peril.

‘Xervish?’ she called, more loudly. Her injured calf
throbbed.

The afternoon was absolutely still. She limped across the
crest and peered down the other side of the hill, seeing nothing to alarm her,
though any kind of predator could be hidden in the long grass. What if Flydd
and Colm had ended up somewhere else? Her chest grew tight at the thought, the
familiar anxiety of abandonment rising up to choke her. She forced it down
again and tried to think.

It would be freezing up here tonight but she wasn’t game to
light a fire, for it would be visible for leagues; besides, she had neither
food nor water, and there would be no water up here. Yet if she went down to
the forest Flydd and Colm wouldn’t know where to look for her.

The grass rustled again, just behind her, and she looked
down to see a large black and red snake winding its way between the stems, just
a flashing strike away from her bare feet. Terror froze her to the spot, and
Maelys nearly wet herself when the snake stopped and raised its head to stare
at her.

She didn’t know what to do; snakes had been rare in the cold
uplands of Nifferlin, and though she’d seen them on her travels since, there had
always been someone with her. She’d never had to deal with one all by herself.
What was she supposed to do? She wasn’t game to run, sure that it could strike
more swiftly than she could leap, and what if there were others close by? She
wouldn’t see them if she were running.

She didn’t move, apart from an uncontrollable curling of her
toes into the powdery dirt. The snake’s head turned this way and that, its eyes
staring into hers. Don’t worry about me, she thought desperately. I’m no
threat. I’ve never killed a snake in my life.

A hundred thumping heartbeats she stood there, watching the
snake as it watched her, before it lowered its head, wriggled elegantly through
the grass and was gone.

Maelys picked her way back to the stone chimney, inspecting
the ground ahead and to either side before each step; she had never felt more
vulnerable. The chimney looked solid enough, and there would be a better view
from the top. Reluctant to climb the outside, which would leave her exposed to
view, she stepped into the fireplace and looked up. At least there would be no
swamp creepers in this one.

It was still sooty, and rather narrow at the top, but any of
the boys at Nifferlin Manor would have been able to scramble up it, so surely
she could. The sun was falling rapidly towards the snowy mountains and it would
soon be dark. She scrambled up; the last third of the climb proved a tight
squeeze and she tore her pants squeezing through. I don’t have to worry about
falling down again, Maelys thought ruefully.

Some leagues to the east the land sloped steeply down to a
broad plain covered in forest save for a few small patches of cleared land. The
plain ran north and south further than she could see. Beyond must be the long
narrow Sea of Thurkad, though she couldn’t make it out through the haze.

Behind her, in the west, the land rose ever higher, though
it lay in the shadow of the setting sun and she could see no signs of human
habitation there. Manors or farmhouses occupied two of the other nearby hills,
though none of their chimneys were smoking, which surely meant that they were
abandoned. South of her, however, perhaps a league away, a village was
clustered around a larger building; a communal barn or inn. No, not a barn; she
could definitely see smoke rising from its chimneys. It must be an inn, and a
substantial one.

Maelys could see no sign of Colm or Flydd further down her
hill, nor were there any tracks in the grass. Should she wait, or head down to
the village, barefoot? Either alternative was fraught – she knew all too
well how unfriendly country folk could be, especially to people who spoke
differently, and had no money.

The sun dropped below the mountains, the temperature fell
sharply and the choice was made for her – it would take half the night to
reach the village in the dark, but with nightfall all kinds of predators would
be on the prowl.

She climbed down, rubbed her chilly fingers together and
went looking for firewood. There was none up here; nor could she find a sharp
stick with which to defend herself. She had to have shelter though, so
gathering what broken stone she could lift, she built a curving wall in front
of the fireplace.

It was only hip-high when the last light faded, but better
than nothing. She felt more secure crouching in the fireplace behind her
shelter, until the night noises began. Something swooped past the chimney, and
in her imagination it was a savage skeet, or some beast flesh-formed by the
God-Emperor’s Arts. A cat-call, not far away, was answered by a howl somewhere
to her left, and Maelys almost cried out. Curse Colm and Flydd; why hadn’t they
come through? At least they were armed. Any large predator could leap the wall
and trap her inside.

The next cry was closer; Maelys imagined she could see two
yellow eyes moving towards her in the darkness. Scrambling to her feet, she
felt for the handholds in the chimney and hauled herself up as fast as she
could go.

Her left foot was dangling in the centre of the fireplace
when something struck her wall, knocking a stone off the top layer, and let out
a screeching howl. Maelys yelped, jerked her foot up, then felt for a handhold
and headed higher.

The creature, whatever it was, scrabbled over the wall and
began to claw at the chimney. Afraid that it could climb, she pulled herself up
to the narrow point, but this time she stuck there, and no matter how she
strained Maelys could not force her way up any further.

That night was one of the longest she could ever remember.
The beast remained there for at least an hour, and she could smell it. It was
rank as an old fox, though far bigger, and its breath reeked as though it dined
on carrion.

It jumped out over the wall and she dared to hope that it
had given up, but it began to howl until it was answered by other howls, not
far away. They weren’t wolves, but something just as savage. It ran around the
chimney at least a hundred times before rushing the fireplace again. This time
a whole pack followed it, all screeching and snarling at each other, then
clawing themselves a span up the chimney on the backs of the pack, to snap at
her feet. Maelys twisted around, managed to wriggle her hips up through the
constriction and clung to the top of the chimney, looking down. Dozens of pairs
of eyes reflected the starlight.

Frost began to settle on the stone. Maelys eased her legs
and body down the chimney where the stone was still warm from the sun, though
the rising stench from the pack of beasts was nauseating. She supported herself
on her arms but dared not sleep in case she fell down among them.

The night dragged on, every second an eternity, and it
wasn’t until the sun rose that the creatures slunk away. They looked like
jackals, only with bigger shoulders, huge, bone-crushing jaws and dragging
haunches.

Pulling herself up to watch them go, Maelys was clinging on,
feeling ill from lack of sleep, when she saw a pair of horses climbing the
hill. She slid into the chimney and peeped over the top. The two riders stopped
halfway up, pointing to tracks in the grass and then to the pack of hunting
beasts, now creeping on their bellies into a patch of longer grass. The riders
looked up in her direction, one pointed, and they rode towards her.

There was no way to escape them. They would see her tracks
in the grass, and the rude wall that, clearly, had only been built yesterday,
so what was the point of hiding?

Never give up; something might distract them at the last
minute. Withdrawing below the level of the chimney, she made sure she had a
solid foothold and kept still.

The horses’ hooves made barely a sound on the powdery
ground. As they approached she heard a mutter of conversation, and a man
laughed. They knew she was here and she could do nothing to defend herself. Her
imagination was running through a series of probable fates when there came a
rapping sound on the side of the fireplace and Flydd’s voice said, ‘Maelys, you
can come down now.’

She almost fell down the chimney in relief. She climbed down
to the hearth, scrambled over the wall and stopped, staring. She didn’t
recognise either of them.

‘Our faces are too well known.’ Flydd’s voice came from the
older of the two men, who was grey-haired, bearded and yellow-skinned. ‘A
strong illusion was needed so Jal-Nish’s watchers and spies would not recognise
us.’

Colm was weather-beaten, tanned and bald apart from an arc
of hair behind his ears. They were wearing clean clothes, looked freshly
bathed, and Flydd had even had a haircut.

He studied her, head to one side, smiling. Maelys flushed;
she felt sure he was laughing at her filthy, bedraggled appearance. Her arms
and clothes were smeared with soot; her face must be as well, and her pants
were torn on both hips where she’d forced herself up through the narrow point
of the chimney.

‘I – I thought you were my friend,’ she wailed. ‘I
– can’t – take – any – more,’ and she burst into tears.

‘I ache all over,’ Maelys groaned as she slid off
Flydd’s horse into the mud outside the inn at a village called Plogg, a good
six leagues from where she had prematurely fallen out of the portal. She hit
the ground and her knees buckled, for she’d been riding in front of him all day
on a lumpy and poorly made saddle. Her backside was one massive bruise, the
insides of her thighs were rubbed raw and her new boots pinched. But worst of
all, she was dressed as a boy again and her bound breasts were even more
painful than her bottom.

Flydd steadied her. ‘I don’t feel so good myself. Using the
virtual construct was more painful than I expected.’

‘You are all right, though?’

‘I will be in a day or two. And you haven’t helped, have
you?’ he said to his horse, patting it on the flank. ‘My new body has thighs as
soft as a maiden’s.’

‘What would you know about maidens’ thighs?’ she snapped.

‘I’ve ridden that saddle many a time,’ he chuckled, ‘and
it’s a damn sight more comfortable than this one. Why, I remember –’

‘
Thank you
,’ she
said coldly.

Colm was looking around in satisfaction. ‘The inn at Plogg
is exactly as it was when I came here as a boy – three storeys of mossy
white stone, a host of chimneys like cut-off witches’ hats, and a front door
decorated with a pair of eels standing on their tails.’

‘Lampreys, to be precise.’ Flydd indicated the hanging sign
above the door,
The Laughing Lampreys
.

‘What’s a lamprey?’ said Maelys.

‘It’s like a parasitic eel. It attaches to a fish with its
sucker mouth and feeds on it.’

‘What about people?’ Maelys said uncomfortably.

‘I’ve met just as many parasites among humans.’ He chuckled.

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know what you meant. Lampreys don’t attach to land
animals, as far as I’ve heard. Come on – I’m wet and hungry. Now, don’t
say anything about our quest.’

Colm led their horses down the street to a stable. ‘Ah, I’m
weary,’ said Flydd, clinging to the doorknocker for a moment. ‘Let’s get in out
of the rain,’