by Ian Irvine
She was wondering what to do when she sensed someone watching her. She stiffened involuntarily, then made to climb down towards the river.
‘Stay where you are, girl.’ It was a man’s voice. ‘Turn around.’
She considered running but there were villagers between her and the ford, and they’d easily catch her. She half-turned, shielding her face again.
‘Turn around!’ the man said.
‘Leave her to me, Vixil,’ said the old woman from below. ‘Off you go.’ The man turned for the village at once. The old woman laboured up the bank. ‘You’ve come a long way, girl, yet you don’t look like a traveller.’
‘W – what do you mean?’ said Maelys.
‘I’m not blind yet. You’re born and bred in the misty mountains of the south coast, if I’m not mistaken.’ The old woman touched her hair. ‘Only the mountain dwellers of that region have such silky ebony hair and such creamy skin. From the shape of your face and the way you speak, I’d say you were a native of the province of Fadd, and not long left home.’
The old woman was no fool. The city of Fadd was only a week’s walk down to the coast from Nifferlin Manor, and Fadd Province included the mountain spine where Maelys had lived all her life.
The old woman touched Maelys’s cheek with a dry hand, but drew back at once, looking thoughtful. ‘Yet your complexion is unmarred by sun and wind. Had you trudged hundreds of leagues from the south, it would not be.’
‘I might have ridden,’ Maelys said faintly. ‘Or come by ship.’
‘You don’t walk like a rider.’ She lifted the back of Maelys’s hand to her nose, sniffing it. ‘And you’ve never seen the sea. You dwelt in the mountains all your young life and never travelled before this, yet here you are, looking as fresh as if you’d just left home.’
Maelys snorted, for she was dirty, sweaty, ragged and unkempt. She didn’t ask how the old woman could tell so much about her. It was worrying enough that she could. ‘What are you going to do to me?’
‘Perhaps I’ll take you with me – at least until I unravel your mystery.’
‘Take me where?’
‘To follow the Deliverer, of course.’ The old woman’s eyes were clearer now. ‘All the way, as long as my legs can carry me.’
‘But … you’re …’
‘A frail old woman who hasn’t got long to live.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve buried three husbands and worn out four lovers, and all my children died in the war. I’ve no one to answer to, I’m tough as ironwood and I’m going on the great adventure of my life. Nothing can stop me save only Death, and do you think I’m afraid of her? I’ll see the God-Emperor brought down first, or all hope lost.’
‘Have you seen Nish – the Deliverer?’ Maelys said, a trifle too eagerly. ‘Is he all right?’
If the old woman noticed the slip, she didn’t comment on it. ‘He looked well enough, considering all he’s been through. I think he has the mettle for it.’
‘But … after what you just said …’
‘The future is not fixed and can never be, no matter what fool or seer tries to tell you otherwise, nor what is seen in pool or pit. Even in the very moment of victory one random action can undo all, and the Defiance is a long way from its first sniff of victory. But we will defy the God-Emperor. Not for the likelihood of victory, but rather because the trying gives us hope, and without hope, life is no more than living death. What is your name, girl?’ she rapped out.
‘It’s Maelys,’ she said without thinking, ‘and I’m nineteen.’
‘Therefore not yet of age, and still a girl. I’m seventy-eight.’ The cloudy eyes roved over her. ‘You know him, don’t you?’
‘I – I –’ How could she tell? ‘The Deliverer, you mean?’
‘Don’t treat me like a fool, girl! I can see it in your eyes. You know the Deliverer and you want something from him.’
Maelys bowed her head, afraid of this old woman who saw everything so clearly, despite her clouded eyes. ‘I know him,’ she whispered.
‘I’ll take you with me, just to see what happens. It could be rather amusing. But tell me no lies.’
THIRTY-TWO
The old woman’s name was Tulitine. She didn’t say where she had come from, but Maelys gathered that she was a wise woman well respected in these parts for her herb lore, as well as for clear-sightedness in other ways unsaid.
Tulitine left the village at dusk, along with twenty-two believers who were off to follow the Deliverer. They separated a few hours later, and Tulitine, Maelys and Rog, a muscular, smiling farmhand who slept in the old woman’s tent, took a wandering path, and she spoke at every village on the way. Consequently three days had passed before they reached the secluded valley where Monkshart had camped for the night. They arrived at the ridge top on the eighth day after Maelys had emerged from the maze, in the mid-afternoon.
She looked down into the grassy valley, drew a sharp breath and threw herself out of sight. All the upper slopes were covered with tents, hundreds upon hundreds of them, crammed into every available space between round rocks and copses of umbrella-shaped trees.
‘Is something the matter?’ Tulitine limped up to her, leaning on a black, knobbly walking-stick. Rog followed with her gear.
‘There’s an army down there.’
Tulitine reached the top and looked over, moving her head from side to side as if that helped her to see better. ‘Indeed, and it’s ours. That’s the Defiance, girl.’
‘But …’ Maelys looked up at the older woman, who stood taller, even though her back was bent. ‘There are thousands of people down below, and it’s only been a week since you met Nish.’
‘I’ve been to twelve villages, calling on everyone there to join the Deliverer and fight for our freedom. Some of my friends are doing the same, as are many of the people they’ve swayed, and Monkshart himself. How many people would you say are down there?’
Maelys studied the scene. People were swarming everywhere and, for an instant, hope flared in her heart. If the Defiance could grow so quickly, maybe it was possible to overthrow the God-Emperor after all. ‘Too many to count. Three thousand? Four?’
‘I’d heard six thousand this morning, and more are coming all the time.’
‘But the God-Emperor must know about them. They’re not even trying to hide.’
‘Oh, he knows, but why should he be in a hurry? He’s never been beaten, and the Defiance presents him with the opportunity and the pleasure of teaching his realm another lesson. If he attacks tonight or tomorrow, the rebellion will end right here.’ Tulitine turned to Rog. ‘I’ll take your arm for the journey down, if I may. My old knees find it harder going downhill than up.’ She looked up at him, smiling girlishly, and Maelys could have sworn that the old woman fluttered her eyelashes.
Rog grinned and closed his big brown hand over her veined fingers. ‘No one could take better care of you than I will, Tulitine, by day or by night.’
Maelys’s euphoria passed as quickly as it had come. The God-Emperor had gigantic armies which were well-equipped, disciplined and highly trained. He had battle mancers, flappeters, air-dreadnoughts and all kinds of devices powered by the Secret Art, to say nothing of the tears themselves. He could never be beaten.
As they came down out of the scrub into an open meadow they were intercepted by two guards, though as soon as they saw Tulitine they bowed, smiled and turned away. Everyone knew the old woman and respected her, but it felt lax to Maelys. How many spies and agents of the God-Emperor were already in the camp? All he had to do was snatch Nish away, then fall upon the leaderless Defiance and butcher them. She shivered, though it was another hot day.
‘Where is he?’ The tents were all shapes, sizes and colours, and there was nothing to say which one was Nish’s. She felt a sudden tightness in the chest, a shortness of breath. ‘Where’s Nish?’
Tulitine took her by the arm, drew her to one side and waved Rog ahead. ‘Shh! From what you’ve told me, Maelys, which isn’t as much as you
might have, Monkshart and Phrune must not learn you’re here, or else they’ll finish the job they began in Tifferfyte.’
‘But …’
‘You told me that Monkshart won’t allow the Deliverer to form attachments which could distract him from his purpose. And there’s something else about you – something dangerous. I’m not sure what it is but Monkshart must have sensed it too.’
‘Oh?’ Maelys wondered about that. ‘But I’ve still got to see Nish.’
‘And so you shall, though not openly. Maelys, listen. You may think of me as a silly old herb woman, but I’m wise in the ways of the power hungry. Treachery is the God-Emperor’s must valued weapon and it’s how the Defiance is most likely to come undone. Trust no one.’
‘Not even you, Tulitine?’ Maelys’s family had squabbled constantly, but clan loyalty was everything to them and betrayal unthinkable.
‘What makes you think you can trust me?’
‘We’ve been talking for days. I know that you’re wise, and kind –’
‘Am I,’ said Tulitine coldly, ‘or have I just put on a suitable face? Many mancers and illusionists could disguise their true selves to look like a harmless old woman. Who am I really, girl? What do I want, and how far will I go to get it?’
Maelys reeled backwards. ‘But … but if I must suspect everyone I meet, what’s the point of hope, or friendship … or life, for that matter?’ She regarded Tulitine with her dark eyes, then said furiously, ‘I trust my judgement; I do trust you, whatever you say to the contrary!’
Tulitine sighed. ‘That’s the only answer. You must trust your judgement above all else. Of course you can trust me, child. After all, how could an old woman like me harm anyone?’
Maelys smiled at that. Some of the most evil deeds in the Histories had been committed by crones as venerable as Tulitine, and they both knew it.
‘What about Nish?’ she said plaintively.
‘Since you haven’t seen fit to favour me with your full confidence, about either him or yourself, I have nothing to say.’
Maelys flushed. She hadn’t told Tulitine her clan name, nor of her second duty to her family. ‘We’ve been through so much together and I think … I –’
‘You think you love him, though I doubt it’s more than a girlish infatuation. Either way, trust him least of all.’
Maelys felt insulted. ‘He’s a good man!’ she snapped. ‘And I’m not a child, so don’t treat me like one.’
‘Then don’t act like one,’ Tulitine said mildly.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m not normally –’
‘I know that. You can’t offend me, child,’ said Tulitine. ‘But I’ve touched Nish, so I know him almost as well as you do. Better, in some respects. He’s a good man and a worthy Deliverer who will do his best to fulfil his promise, if the world will let him. But beware! He’s subject to forces that would tear any normal man apart. His father works on him in all sorts of uncanny ways, seeking to tempt and compromise him. And Monkshart who, though few knew it, was the God-Emperor’s most powerful sorcerer and ally before he turned away –’
‘I didn’t know that!’ cried Maelys. ‘He said he was just a minor mancer.’
‘And you believed him, though you had every reason not to? Monkshart, formerly called Vivimord, was the highest of the God-Emperor’s lieutenants, with everything he could ever want save the one thing he could never have. Yet he gave it all up – for what?’
‘On a matter of principle, Monkshart said.’
‘And you believed him?’ Tulitine repeated.
Maelys didn’t say anything this time.
‘I also touched Monkshart, or Vivimord. I can’t be sure about him, though men like Monkshart seldom change. I suspect he wants what only Nish can deliver him, and he’ll bend every iota of his intellect, will and mancery to the task of getting it. How can your friend resist these two opposing forces? Nish must bend one way or another or, like the tree that tries to resist the hurricane, he’ll be torn apart.’
Maelys was silent for a long time. ‘What am I to do? I’ve got to know if Nish callously abandoned me, or if he was duped by Monkshart.’
‘And you’ll feel better for knowing the truth?’
‘I’ve got to know,’ she said stubbornly, ‘whatever the truth. And if Nish is in such danger, I’ve got to help him.’
‘What if your presence would only make things worse?’
‘I don’t know!’ she wailed. ‘But I’ve got to do something.’
‘Yes, you must. Go and sit under that tree, and watch,’ said Tulitine. ‘I’ll find all-covering robes for you, as if you were a Healer of Flammermoul.’
‘Won’t that seem suspicious?’
‘Not at all. The Healers are forbidden to show their faces, and no one with any respect would dream of asking them to. You’ll be quite invisible, and you can keep an eye on Cryl-Nish while you busy yourself with good works. But you must not go so near that Monkshart will recognise you. Or Phrune. Or Nish, for that matter.’
Something occurred to Maelys. ‘What about you, Tulitine?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You say you understood Monkshart simply from touching him. What if he understood you, too? You could be in as much danger as I am.’
‘Old women are never in as much danger as young ones, for we have so much less to lose. Don’t worry about me; I take good care of myself. And there’s Rog to look after me.’ She turned away.
But Rog was just one man. And no matter how clever Tulitine was, how could she be a match for the man who’d formerly been the highest of the God-Emperor’s lieutenants?
Maelys, swathed in the shapeless green gown, headpiece and veil of a Healer of Flammermoul, spent the next two days tending the sick and injured. She knew how to act the part, for Aunt Bugi had been the clan healer and Maelys had helped her since she’d turned seven.
There were many sick among the Defiance, mainly due to foul water, and injuries were common, generally from fighting, drunkenness or snakebite. Her first patient was suffering from all three, and her duties kept her so busy that she had no time to dwell on her own problems. She hadn’t seen Tulitine since they’d arrived, and didn’t know whether she was also in disguise or had left the camp.
Monkshart led the ever-growing Defiance in a wandering curve centred on the city of Guffeons, which was situated on the coast. It took over an hour to get going each morning and the caravan stretched for the best part of a league, scouring the land of everything edible as it passed. He seemed in no hurry to reach Guffeons, if that were his destination, for Campanie was fertile and well populated. Here he could recruit more followers in safety, or so he told the assembled Defiance.
Maelys, however, felt oppressed; the enemy was out there somewhere and her dread grew stronger every day. How could this ill-disciplined and poorly armed rabble hope to keep the God-Emperor’s crack troops at bay?
On the tenth day, not long after noon, they camped on a tongue-shaped hill with rugged country at the back and swamp to either side, chosen because it was easy to defend. It was a long haul to get water, though. Maelys was wearily climbing the steep slope from the swamp with a bucket in each hand, sweating rivers in her confining clothes, when lightning struck the rocks at the back of the camp and the skies opened.
Before she reached the hilltop she was soaked to the skin and the camp had become a muddy, steaming wallow. The downpour flooded the floor of the tent she shared with half a dozen other women, though an hour later the clouds had blown away and it was blisteringly hot again.
She spent most of the afternoon tending twin brothers who had chopped down a dead tree for firewood but felled it on top of themselves. They had fifteen broken bones between them and it took most of the afternoon to set them and dress their injuries. Once they were sleeping she pulled the hood over her face, drew her veil up and went, as she did every day, to stand at the back of the crowd of supplicants who were milling outside the Deliverer’s tent, hopi
ng to gain audience.
Some she recognised as having been in waiting for days, while others were given audience without delay. She wondered why. She could just make out Nish in the shadows well inside the large tent, separated from his followers by four burly guards.
She was trying to get a better view when she saw Phrune seated in a little canvas foyer. His facial injuries had been rudely repaired and he glowed with self-satisfaction, which could only mean one thing. She hadn’t noticed him in the camp before and such a surge of hate and disgust went through her that she choked. The man next to her gave her a curious look.
She hastily turned away, her thoughts racing. Monkshart’s tissue-thin body-leathers only lasted a few days before they had to be replaced, so Phrune must be up to his nocturnal activities again, stalking the young and innocent for their flawless skins.
It took two circuits of the vast camp site before she felt steady enough to go back. And Phrune had her taphloid. That was the worst thing of all. She couldn’t bear to think of the only possession from her childhood, the gift of her dead father, in Phrune’s depraved hands. What if he or Monkshart could look inside it and see the memories or lessons her father had hidden there for her? She had to get it back.
The supplicants were still milling in the blistering sun. Phrune interviewed each of them at length, chose those who would be permitted to see the Deliverer, and turned the rest away.
One young man had been refused every day since she’d been here, yet he always came back, standing on tiptoe to try and catch the Deliverer’s eye. He was tall, with close-cropped brown hair and pleasant, regular features. He might have been called handsome save that his cheeks were hollow and he had a pinched look about him. He’d been worked too hard, with seldom enough to eat, she thought. Still, the world was full of such people, including herself.
Exhausted, she put him out of her mind and headed towards her sodden bedding for the briefest of naps, but all she could think of was her taphloid in Phrune’s hands and the impossibility of getting it back.
