by Ian Irvine
She scrambled up, dropped the stone, snatched another and hurled it at one of the creature’s large eyes, but it had already darted away towards Nish. ‘Nish!’ she shouted, ‘Look out!’ not realising that the leather-clad rider had dismounted until he threw himself at her.
Ducking low under his outstretched arm, she ran. He was a big man, head and shoulders taller than her and powerfully built, but slow-footed and lumbering, as if not used to moving on the ground. Maelys stayed ahead of him, though she wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up. Her legs were very tired. As she turned to check on Nish, the flappeter, its pairs of bristly legs spread, came down on top of him, knocking him to the ground. Reversing the beat of its rotors, it slowly rose, holding him between four of its legs. The moon was just rising, silhouetting the creature’s bristles and, creeping down the legs towards Nish’s limp form, many small shapes like saucer-sized lice.
This was the fatal moment. Nish was lost and, even if she got away from the rider, Vomix’s troops must track her down. Her only hope was to implode her taphloid. Maelys hesitated, though only for a second. She couldn’t go much further. There was a stitch in her side and her knees were giving out.
She jerked on the chain as she ran, tearing the taphloid from between her bound breasts and pulling it over her head, recalling the way Aunt Haga had instructed her to implode the crystal inside it. But that would cost her the only treasure she had left … She darted back towards the rising flappeter as Hinneltyne came at her. Nish was struggling now, the lice swarming on him. And the taphloid held secrets she’d need later on. She pressed its hidden catch, shook out the crystal and thrust the now-dead taphloid back where it came from. She shot a glance over her shoulder.
The rider was only a few paces behind, grinning as if already counting his reward. Not if she could help it! Maelys thought herself into the heart of the crystal as she’d been taught, then imagined turning it inside-out and all the power stored within it long ago vanishing in a burst of fury. Come on, crystal, come on! Hinneltyne threw himself at her but she ducked again and darted the other way, skidding on gravel. At last the crystal grew hot in her hand. Spinning on one foot, she hurled it down onto a rock directly between herself and the rider.
The crystal cracked and red fire glowed along the crack lines, though it was instantly sucked inside with a zipping sound. The crystal burst asunder, setting off a disruption that rang through the air in all directions, sending a flurry of enigmatic images through her mind. A spear of pain wiped the images out of memory before she could take them in. She lost a few seconds and came to, staggering across the mountainside with the moon glaring into her eyes.
The rider was crouched ten paces away, holding his head between his hands, swaying from one foot to the other and moaning piteously. Where was Nish? She couldn’t see the flappeter. Had it gone already?
Something made a shuddering, sucking gurgle above and behind her; there came a series of violent flutter-flaps and she whirled to see the flappeter spinning wildly, now on its side, now upside down and desperately trying to stay in the air. The feather-rotors tangled and it crashed into the slope, rolled over, still holding Nish between its bristly legs, and lay still.
Had she killed it? Surely not; it hadn’t fallen far, nor all that hard. Nish was struggling weakly but didn’t seem able to free himself from the barbed hooks that ran up its legs. She watched it warily, afraid to approach in case it caught her too.
Maelys didn’t want to go near it, for it was powerful enough to tear her legs off, but this was her only chance to free Nish. Dare she try? Taking that first step required what little courage she had left. She was willing herself to take another when Rider Hinneltyne groaned and forced himself to his feet. He reeled towards her, teeth bared in a grimace of agony, eyes like luminous holes in the moonlight. The disruption had hurt him badly but nothing short of death could make him give up such a prize.
Maelys wasn’t used to thinking on her feet and instead of bolting, she froze. He fumbled a knife from a belt sheath – a long, curving blade with something shining in the hilt, and held it up so she could see it. It matched the unnerving glitter of his eyes, but now something was wrong; he didn’t look like the same man at all.
Hinneltyne lurched towards her, swaying from side to side, the knife hacking at the air. What was the matter with him? He was acting like a man insanely determined to kill her, despite Vomix’s orders. The disruption must have robbed him of his wits, much as the earlier mind-storm had done to Nish.
The flappeter reared up to her left and let out a shrill cry of pain, whereupon the rider fell to his knees, mouth gaping, his cry echoing its suffering. Could rider and flappeter be linked in some way, so that each felt the other’s pain?
She had to attack while he was down. Maelys threw herself at him and managed to wrest the knife out of his trembling hand, but before she could get away his eyes focussed and he swung the other fist, cracking her on the jaw so hard that it knocked her sideways.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she fell, jaw throbbing. Her head spun. She scrambled away blindly on hands and knees, the knife clacking on the stony ground, nearly dropping it as she came to her feet and ran. He hurled a stone at her. It just missed – he seemed to be recovering his coordination.
Maelys was on her last gasp and couldn’t run any more. She turned, watching him warily. He hurled another stone, which caught her below the breastbone, knocking the wind out of her. She doubled over, wheezing.
He moved a few steps towards her, only to stumble as the flappeter let out another cry. Maelys backed away, though this time he rose at once, looking even more witless, and hurled another stone at her face. She wove out of the way but it cracked into her upraised left elbow and her arm went numb. Maelys forced herself on, sobbing with pain and terror. Where was the knife? She’d dropped it. She grabbed it with her good hand as the rider came for her, big hands outstretched, eyes fixed on her throat, snarling like a beast. If she didn’t stop him he was going to kill her. It was a life-changing moment. Maelys had never contemplated harming anyone before, but there was no choice now.
She took a wild slash at his hands. He swayed out of the way, then kicked out at the knife, catching her on her numb fingers. He kicked again, trying to knock the knife out of her hand, but missed and the blade skated across his shinbone. He gasped; the flappeter reared up, letting out a sympathetic wail, and he convulsed, but shook off the momentary loss of coordination and went for her throat again. Maelys’s knees were giving out; she couldn’t last another minute.
He must have been trained in knife fighting for he avoided each slash easily, slow though he was. She swiped at his hand, missed; brought the knife up and hacked down at him. He knocked her arm out of the way, carelessly, contemptuously. Hinneltyne wasn’t afraid of her, and suddenly Maelys ran out of steam. She watched him come, knowing he was going to take her and unable to do anything about it.
He laughed wildly, lunged. His big hands encircled her neck and his thumbs dug into her windpipe, trying to crush it. She gasped, flailed wildly, knowing she was doomed, then more by luck than skill got a wicked hack into his corded neck. The point of the blade went right through the jugular vein into his windpipe. Hinneltyne made a sucking gurgle, his fingers relaxed, and in a spray of blood he fell.
SIX
Maelys reeled away and fell to the stony ground, unable to tear her eyes from the ghastly sight of the man she’d killed. The blood flow was just a trickle now, but his severed windpipe was still sucking and bubbling. His arms and legs twitched and went still; the sucking stopped, then in the distance she made out a shrill keening as if the flappeter was grieving for its rider who would link with it no more.
She’d killed a man; taken a life. Nothing would ever be the same. Maelys rolled over onto her back. She felt awful. Her jaw ached, her chest and stomach were a mass of pain, her throat was bruised and as the life returned to her numb forearm she felt a sharp pain in her right index finger where he’d kicked h
er. It felt broken.
The flappeter wasn’t moving now, but neither was Nish, still trapped between its legs. She was making her way to him when she noticed a light, a long way down the mountain to her left. No, a line of lights – the troops Seneschal Vomix had sent.
The flappeter lay still, its breathing tubes squelching every so often. Mucous dripped from them and the acrid stink was stronger here. ‘Nish?’ she said softly.
He mumbled something incomprehensible. He was held within a tepee of four or five legs, each the length of a tall man. They were no thicker than her wrist, and covered in a horny substance through which wiry bristles protruded at intervals, terminating in retractable hooks. A series of thorny outgrowths, each the length of her little finger, ran up the front of each leg, and Nish was caught in these.
As she tried to pull him out, something bit her on the little finger. Maelys jerked her hand away but the giant louse didn’t let go; its fangs were still embedded in her finger. She brought the knife up sharply, skewered it through the back and flicked it away. Her finger was burning now.
Nish was covered in the creatures; dozens were crawling across his face, trying to push into his mouth and probing at his nostrils. She dropped the knife and attempted to ease the flappeter’s legs out of the way. They were rigid, as if the muscles had locked when the creature collapsed, but by heaving with the weight of her body she managed to pull them apart.
She was bitten three more times before she had formed a gap large enough to ease Nish out, wiggling him this way and that to free him from the snagging thorns. She dragged him a few steps and checked on the lights, which were noticeably closer. And what if Vomix got hold of another flappeter? Panic rose at the thought but she choked it down and went at Nish’s giant lice with her knife, flicking them off and stamping on them. After she’d killed a few the rest scuttled back to the flappeter.
Nish had been bitten many times. His face was dotted with little flecks of blood and rising lumps. She felt him over, front and back, making sure that none of the creatures had hidden inside his clothes or forced themselves into his mouth.
‘Nish, the soldiers are coming up the mountain. Can you walk?’
‘Gruump!’ He didn’t move, and when she heaved him to his feet his legs collapsed. He was really cold; he could die of exposure higher up. And without her coat, so might she.
She pushed up his eyelid; his eye stared blankly out. Maelys felt sick. What else could she do? Yet a little core of defiance remained in her. She couldn’t bear to think of Fyllis in the God-Emperor’s hands; she had to keep going.
The rider’s leathers were fur-lined, just what Nish needed. Trying to avoid looking at the mess she’d made of Hinneltyne, she began to strip off his jacket. It was bloody down the front, stank of sweat and swam on Nish. She put her own coat back on. Maelys considered Hinneltyne’s pants, couldn’t face the thought of removing them, then decided that she was in no position to be squeamish.
She pulled them down over his massive thighs. It was surprisingly hard work, for he had gone floppy and it was difficult to lift his legs. After hacking the pants legs to the right length she dressed Nish in the leathers, pulled the sleeves down over his hands and folded the ends back in.
Maelys took Hinneltyne’s boots, mittens and belt, ran it around her waist twice and buckled it on. The mittens would be useful if she did get away. He wore no rings or money belt, though below the ragged opening in his throat a leather thong ran down into his blood-matted chest hair. Something glowed faintly green there.
Drawing it out by its thong, she wiped the blood off on a fold of the rider’s undershirt. It was a little oval brooch or amulet whose shape vaguely reminded her of a flappeter, though its jade eyes were slanted rather than spherical and the feather-rotors were represented only by indentations.
The body of the amulet was metal, perhaps brass, with intricate patterns which she couldn’t make out in this light. It had four pairs of hinged metal legs folded beneath it. The horned head, and the tail, were also tucked under. As she cleaned it the glow from its jade eyes faded, though it did not entirely go out.
She touched the underside of the amulet with a fingertip. Her head spun and the skin over her entire body burned, as if little flames had sprung up there. White streaks flashed in her inner eye then her head steadied and the burning sensation faded to a hot tingle that fluttered back and forth before slowly disappearing.
The flappeter sucked in a gurgling breath, its legs twitched and flexed, and she felt a dull pain in her right elbow. Now she sensed a simmering alien rage – surely the creature’s rage at the loss of its rider. The amulet must have made a mental link between her and it, and she had an insane idea. Could she take command of it, even escape on it?
Maelys shied away from the idea. She’d never been brave or daring. As a kid, while the other children had been off on rambles, diving from rocks into hidden pools or walking across ravines on tree trunks, she’d preferred to sit under a tree, reading or daydreaming. But this time she was going to take command of her situation. She had to.
She touched the amulet again. Once more the flappeter gave a small cry, though this time Maelys didn’t feel anything unusual. She went to the fallen beast, gingerly. Its legs were still tangled and jerking spasmodically, as if the disruption had also affected its coordination and it couldn’t work out how to untangle them. She studied the pairs of legs, biting her lip, afraid to touch the beast since it had regained consciousness. And the soldiers’ lights were much closer now.
Hauling Nish onto the rear saddle of the flappeter between the saddle horn and a pair of saddlebags, she tied him on with a coil of thin rope looped there. Her broken finger was swelling but there wasn’t time to attend to it. She jammed Nish’s feet into the rider’s fur-lined boots and tied them above the ankles so they wouldn’t come off. Taking hold of one of the flappeter’s legs, she tried to ease it out of the way. It resisted, then suddenly gave. As she fell forwards, it snapped back from the knee joint, thumping her in the midriff.
Maelys landed hard, hurting all over. Had it attacked because she’d touched it, or because she wasn’t its rider? Its legs were clacking against each other as they thrashed, its long body heaving sinuously and the scales making a dry rustle.
Rolling onto its side, it forced itself to five or six of its feet and gave a little stagger like a newborn calf. Its long neck curved around and it stared at Maelys for a moment, then bent its legs, snapped them straight and shot into the air. The lower feather-rotor spun, the creature hovered, then the top rotor turned as well and it began to climb.
Maelys cried out in dismay. It was going to fly away with Nish, back to its master. She ran a couple of steps and shouted, stupidly, ‘Come back!’ It lifted out of reach but suddenly the upper feather-rotor jammed and, emitting a shrill wail, it crashed back to ground. Again she felt that twinge in her elbow, though sharper this time – its pain.
She approached it, careful of teeth, tail and legs. One of the feathered blades of the top rotor was sticking up. It had landed on it earlier and must have damaged the blade in the fall. If it couldn’t fly, all was lost.
Maelys had never been closer to giving up than at that moment. She’d been thrown headfirst into a violent world she knew nothing about, where none of her skills were much use, and nothing she did made a difference in the end, so what was the point? Why not leave Nish and run for her life; there was a tiny chance she’d get away.
Why not? Because she’d given her word and that was sacred to her. Her father lay dying in Mazurhize because he’d refused to break his promise and betray a friend, so how could she do otherwise? The thought of being taken, though, of Seneschal Vomix’s all-seeing eyes roving across her body, his slimy fingers all over her, was almost enough to make her change her mind. No! She would keep trying, to the very end.
Could she do anything for the beast? Maelys had been looking after animals all her life, because the care and health of an estate’s stock, birds, fish an
d bees was vital to its survival and prosperity. Though she’d never seen a flap-peter before, there might be a way to gain its confidence.
Moving slowly towards it, keeping in clear sight of the compound eyes, she began to hum, just three notes, the deepest she could manage, shifting smoothly from one to the next. It watched her with that unblinking insect-like stare, but when she was only a few paces away the elongated tail whipped around and would have broken her legs had she not sprung out of the way.
Any injured creature might have done the same but at least she understood farm animals. The flappeter, however, was Jal-Nish’s creature, perhaps made in his image, and she couldn’t hope to gain its trust so quickly. Even horses had to be broken to the saddle and that took ages. But time was short, and if she was going to be caught she’d sooner be killed by this alien monstrosity than by Jal-Nish’s torturers.
Flappeters were rare and valuable. There were only a few of them and if one’s rider were sick or injured, surely another rider must be able to use it. The amulet might be the key. Taking it from her pocket, she squeezed it in her hand as the rider had. Its folded metal legs gave a twitch, the glow of the jade eyes brightened fractionally and she sensed the flappeter’s rage and pain once more. It drew breath hard, then raised its long neck to study her, and Maelys sensed that something had changed between them.
Clutching the amulet tightly, she approached the tail. The neck bent, the eyes following her all the way, but this time it allowed her near. Good so far. She rifled through the saddlebags, looking for anything she could use to tend its injuries. She found food, spare clothing, a tent, bedroll and camping gear. Could the tent pegs be used to splint the rotor blade? She didn’t think she could tie them on tightly enough.
At the top of the food bag lay three forearm-length sections of bamboo or cane, full of a sweet, sticky juice whose smell made her salivate. She poked the knife through one and licked her fingers. It was sweeter than honey, but fermented and strongly spirituous.
