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

by Ian Irvine

  Clap-clap.

  ‘They’re on their way,’ said Colm.

  They ran through the dark for some minutes, Flydd turning this way and that following his mental map, then down another set of stairs to the lowest level. The clatter of running Whelm grew ever louder.

  Flydd reached a door and jerked at the latch but it did not budge. ‘It’s locked, and in a way I can’t fathom.’ He pressed his nose to the ice, which seemed extremely thick here.

  ‘Use the flame,’ said Colm. ‘Burn a hole though it.’

  ‘I’m having second thoughts about that.’

  ‘It worked beautifully last time.’

  ‘It worked a trifle too well, and that makes me uncomfortable.’ Flydd looked up sharply. ‘Did you hear a faint fizzing sound?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colm. ‘I don’t know where it came from, though.’

  ‘I don’t like it. This place is a little too strange for me.’

  ‘They’ll be here any second.’

  It sounded like a hundred Whelm, and taking no trouble to disguise their coming; the clatter of their wooden sandals was deafening and they were making a dull grinding sound, as if they were all moaning and gritting their teeth at the same time.

  ‘Something must have gone wrong,’ said Flydd. ‘Something’s happened to the Numinator, and they’re afraid.’

  ‘Afraid for her?’

  ‘Of course. And equally afraid that they’ll be bereft of their master yet again, and left alone in a hostile world. They’ll fight to the death to prevent that happening.’

  ‘Can’t you blast the door off its hinges or something?’ said Colm.

  ‘Even if I could, we may need to shelter behind it to hold them off.’

  Flydd pressed his forehead against the door, ignoring the biting cold. What was he to do? The more he thought about the chthonic flame and where it had come from, the more perilous it seemed. Who had put it in that crystal casket at the bottom of the shaft, and why had they hidden it so carefully? Questions he should have asked himself before breaching it, but it was too late for regrets now.

  ‘There’s nothing for me here,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve got to get away. The world is at stake and I must be just as focused as the Numinator – but on bringing the God-Emperor down.’

  Feeling in a pocket, he discovered a splinter of precious amber-wood, left there from one of his walks across the top of Mistmurk Mountain before renewal. Amber-wood had an enchanting fragrance, and it helped to conceal the user from watching eyes, especially those watching with the Secret Art. But it also brought good fortune and he had never needed it more.

  Unstoppering the flask of chthonic flame, he dipped the splinter in and traced a circle on the wall, just wide enough to squeeze through, some twenty paces beyond the door. White fire licked up from his trace marks and he heard that fizzing sound again.

  The fire soon ate through the ice. He pushed the circle in, climbed through the hole and, as soon as Colm had squeezed his lanky frame in, wiped away the cold fire. Coating the edges of the circle with meltwater, he fitted the circle of ice back in place.

  ‘It’ll freeze to solid wall within a minute,’ Flydd said, rubbing his hands furiously to warm them.

  ‘But they’ll see the circle in the ice. They’ll know we’re in here.’

  ‘In the dark, it may be some time before they notice it. I’ll just jam the lock.’ He went to the door, melted ice in his hand with white fire and poured the water into the lock, where it froze instantly. ‘Come on.’

  They were in an empty cell whose door was open, one of many along a corridor. Most of the other cells looked unused; walls, floors and ceilings were pure, clean ice.

  ‘This had better be the place,’ said Flydd anxiously. The racket of the Whelm’s wooden sandals could be heard through the thick walls.

  ‘Anywhere could be the place,’ Colm said gloomily. ‘I don’t think the Numinator is predictable.’

  Colm barred the door of the corridor. They continued, opening doors to left and right, but it wasn’t until halfway along that they found an occupied cell. Someone small and dark-haired lay asleep on a narrow bed formed from ice. Flydd illuminated the cell with finger light. It was a woman, in her mid-thirties.

  ‘Hello,’ he said quietly.

  She shot up in bed, the thin furs falling away, and put her hand up to keep the light out of her eyes. Her skin was very pale, as though she had not seen the sun in years, and she looked vaguely familiar. But then, most people did, for Flydd had met so many people in his time as scrutator that it was rare for him to see an entirely new kind of face.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said.

  ‘My name is Chissmoul, surr,’ she said quietly, avoiding his eye.

  Again that familiarity, but he could not remember why. Curse his fragmented memory.

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Further along to the left. You – you’re not a prisoner, are you?’

  ‘No, we’ve escaped – this far anyway.’ Flydd gave a mirthless laugh.

  Giving him a puzzled glance, she slipped out of bed. She was solidly built and wore a woollen shirt, buttoned high, trousers of the same material and thick socks. She pulled on a pair of boots, and a woollen hat over her short hair. ‘I’m ready, surr.’

  ‘Don’t you have a coat?’

  ‘We never go outside, surr.’

  His heart sank. She could not survive on Noom without furs; none of the prisoners could. ‘Show us the way.’

  Chissmoul set off down the corridor, then stopped and said shyly, not looking directly at Flydd, ‘Do I know you, surr?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you?’

  ‘You look strange, but the way you speak … it reminds me of –’

  ‘Spit it out, lass!’ Flydd said peremptorily.

  ‘The scrutator, Xervish Flydd.’

  He stopped short. ‘I am Flydd. I’ve taken renewal – reluctantly.’ It seemed important he say that. He did not want anyone to think he’d done it of his own free will, and that was curious. In the olden days, he hadn’t given a damn for other people’s opinion of him. Must be getting soft, he thought.

  ‘Chissmoul, Chissmoul,’ he mused. ‘You look familiar, but renewal took my memories and many of them have not come back.’

  ‘I was a thapter pilot in the war.’

  ‘Of course! You were the really shy one, yet you flew your thapter as though you were born to it, and with a reckless daring I’d never seen before.’ In his mind’s eye Flydd could see her laughing face now, after she’d just pulled off some desperate manoeuvre with ease, which none of the other thapter pilots could have done without crashing their machines.

  ‘The war was terrible, yet those were the best days of my life. I’ve never felt so alive, flying across the sky, at one with my thapter. But I’ll never fly again.’

  ‘Those days are gone forever, along with many other wonderful things that were no longer possible once the nodes were destroyed.’

  ‘I have my memories,’ said Chissmoul softly, opening the door of another cell. ‘You will remember this man, too. We came here together.’

  The man who lay on the bed was almost as gaunt as a Whelm, and at first Flydd did not recognise him, for little of his former good looks remained. His sandy hair was thin and lank, his grey eyes as dull as the eyes of a fish on a slab. Only the jutting jaw was unchanged, though the bone had less flesh on it than Flydd remembered.

  ‘Sergeant Flangers!’ Flydd cried, unable to contain his joy, for Flangers had been a hero of the lyrinx wars, an honourable man and a loyal soldier. He had also been forced to betray his soldier’s oath, and had not recovered from it, though that had been many years ago. ‘Are you all right?’

  Flangers stared at him, uncomprehending, until Chissmoul said gently, ‘It’s Scrutator Flydd, come back from the dead, renewed by the mancer’s Art.’

  ‘Not quite from the dead,’ said Flydd. ‘But very close.’

  Chissmoul helped Flangers out of bed. ‘I’
ve been better,’ said Flangers, standing up shakily. ‘Old injuries still plague me, surr, and they’ll be the death of me before too long.’

  Flydd thought so too. He hadn’t hoped for much down here, so he wasn’t disappointed, though a dying soldier and a pilot without her craft were bound to be liabilities.

  ‘But I’ll do what I can for you, surr, for old times,’ said Flangers. ‘The menace of the God-Emperor is almost as bad as the one we fought ten years ago, and defeated.’

  ‘Almost,’ said Flydd, offering Flangers his arm.

  Flangers gestured that he would walk alone, so they followed Chissmoul out. ‘How did you come here, old comrade?’ said Flydd.

  ‘We ran for a long time, after Jal-Nish took over the world with his sorcerous tears. The remainder of our fellowship scattered, then met up again, those who had survived.’

  ‘And many did not, I imagine.’

  ‘General Troist was taken first, then killed while trying to escape. At least, that’s what was said.’

  Flydd stopped for a moment, bowing his head, then walked on. It was another blow. ‘That is very bad news, though not unexpected. Troist was a good man, and steadfast to the very end. I wonder what became of his family?’

  ‘I cannot say. Then the dwarf scrutator, Klarm, was taken. I never knew what happened to him –’

  ‘We do!’ Flydd said harshly. ‘Klarm went over to the enemy. He is now a lieutenant of the God-Emperor.’ If he survived the crash of the sky-palace, which I doubt.'

  ‘No!’ cried Flangers. ‘Klarm was the bravest man I ever met. I cannot believe it.’

  ‘I saw him with my own eyes, just weeks ago. He attacked us.’

  ‘How could he betray us?’ Flangers persisted. ‘Klarm wasn’t that kind of a man.’

  ‘Our fellowship was long broken, and we were all thought to be dead. In that situation, a man with a slippery conscience might tell himself that it wasn’t a betrayal.’

  ‘An honourable man can always tell the difference between right and wrong …’ Flangers stopped suddenly, swaying on his feet, and Flydd knew what was the matter with him. He’d been put in precisely that situation by Perquisitor Fyn-Mah, forced by her direct order to fire on his superiors in an air-floater, and that conflict had eaten the heart out of him. ‘But what would I know?’ he said tiredly. ‘I’m just a man of war.’

  ‘What about Fyn-Mah?’ said Flydd.

  ‘Also dead. She was fleeing from the enemy when her horse was shot from under her. She broke her neck and died instantly.’

  ‘Ah!’ cried Flydd. He’d never been close to his prickly subordinate, but they’d worked together for a long time and he’d always admired her. ‘Malien?’

  ‘No one ever saw her again after she fled with Tiaan.’

  ‘And Tiaan?’ Flydd held little hope for her – she’d thwarted Jal-Nish and he would have made her pay.

  ‘No idea, surr.’

  They reached the end of the hall, where Chissmoul twisted the knob and thrust the door open. It was so dark inside that Flydd could make nothing out, until someone laughed in a way that raised his hackles.

  ‘She’s got you too!’ a man spoke in an oddly triumphant tone of voice, one unfortunate taking pleasure in another’s downfall. ‘That completes the picture.’

  ‘You know who I am, even though I’ve taken renewal?’ said Flydd, the hair on the top of his head stirring.

  The man stood up. Flydd made out the faintest double flash, as though he wore broad, shiny bracelets on his wrists. He was very tall.

  ‘I would know you anywhere, Flydd, even after the renewal you swore never to take.’

  Flydd wasn’t going to make excuses to this rival of long ago. ‘What kept you here? Surely you, of all people, could have broken free long ago? Your Arts, after all, are unique, and as I recall they relied less on the power of the nodes than anyone’s. Not even the power of the tears could take all your power from you.’

  ‘Not all, no. Unfortunately, the Numinator’s servants took me by surprise and put these on me.’ The bracelets flashed again. ‘They are bonded to me like my own bones to my flesh. I cannot remove them, and while their enchantment persists I may not use the least part of my Arts.’

  ‘That must be galling.’ Flydd couldn’t feel too much sympathy for him – they had been rivals far too long – though he did understand. In the last months of the war they’d managed to achieve an uneasy comradeship.

  ‘I’ve endured the loss of my powers before, and I can endure it again.’

  ‘So I believe. So who is the Numinator, anyway? If you recognised me so easily, surely you must know her true identity?’

  ‘I’ve never met her,’ said the man in the shadows. ‘I’ve not even seen her from a distance.’

  ‘How curious,’ said Flydd. ‘She showed herself to us freely. Well, no matter. Let’s see if we can get you out of here, Yggur.’

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Yggur chuckled and held out his arms, on which the bracelets gleamed silver. ‘Why did you take renewal?’

  ‘Another time,’ Flydd snapped, studying the bracelets in dim finger light. Without understanding how they worked it would not be easy to break their hold.

  ‘Sensitive, are we?’

  Flydd studiously ignored the jibe. ‘How did you end up here?’

  ‘Jal-Nish hunted me a good way across Lauralin, with a band of fellow miserables that grew smaller every day. There was no hiding place from which he could not winkle us out with his all-seeing tears. The Numinator was my last hope; no one else had the power. As it turned out, she did not, either, and I now think we were lured here. The moment we arrived I was beset by a horde of Whelm – Whelm! Me! – and these bracelets fitted to me. She’s got little power of her own, Xervish. The destruction of the nodes robbed her of most of it, and destroyed her work – I dare say you’ve seen the decaying evidence of it by now.’

  ‘We saw it.’

  ‘The bracelets take all the power I can draw upon, and channel it to her. It’s all that’s holding the Tower of a Thousand Steps together.’

  There came a furious attack on the barred door at the other end of the hall. ‘Is there any other way out of here?’

  ‘I’d be the last person to know,’ said Yggur. ‘As the Numinator’s most dangerous prisoner, and the Whelm’s former master, way back in the Time of the Mirror, my movements here have been severely constrained. What about you, Flangers?’

  ‘As a soldier and a former hero, I haven’t been allowed to roam either.’

  ‘The Whelm made me work all over the place,’ said Chissmoul in that quiet little voice. ‘Up in the tower and down in the pits, but I don’t know of any way out save across the shifting ice on the moat.’

  ‘Then let’s waste no more time looking for one,’ said Yggur. ‘We’d better get through to the others –’

  ‘What others?’ said Colm, who had been very quiet since they’d lost Maelys.

  ‘The Numinator has another hundred and fifty prisoners here, and her Whelm bring in a few more every week. They take anyone from the nearby lands who can read. The work of cross-checking her registers goes on sixteen hours a day.’

  ‘What for?’ said Flydd. The nagging question had gone unanswered for too long.

  Yggur did not answer. At the other end of the hall, the attack on the ice door grew ever more furious.

  ‘They’re nearly through,’ said Colm. ‘Do something, Flydd, before they massacre us all.’

  The cries of the Whelm could be heard clearly now, and they sounded desperate.

  ‘What’s the matter with them?’ said Yggur. ‘I’ve not seen a trace of fear in them in the seven years I’ve been here.’

  ‘Only one thing can make Whelm afraid,’ said Flydd, ‘and better than anyone you know what that is.’

  ‘A threat to their master,’ said Yggur. ‘But no one can threaten her here. She can see an enemy coming for fifty leagues.’

  ‘Only if one comes via the material world! Chissmoul,
where are the other prisoners?’

  Yggur caught his arm. ‘What did you mean by that, Flydd? How did you get here?’

  ‘Later,’ said Flydd, pleased to have Yggur at a disadvantage. Too often, in previous times, it had been the other way around. ‘We’ll have to fight our way out, and five against seven hundred isn’t the kind of odds I relish. I’m going to release the rest of the prisoners and find a way to arm them.’

  ‘This way –’ Chissmoul broke off, staring at the ice wall, down which a thread of glistening white fire was making its way.

  ‘What the blazes is that?’ said Yggur.

  ‘Chthonic flame,’ said Flydd. ‘I found it in the caverns within the plateau of Thuntunnimoe – Mistmurk Mountain.’ But why was it trickling down? It could not have come from the fire he’d used to escape his own cell; not here.

  ‘I know about Thuntunnimoe,’ said Yggur. ‘It has a Charon obelisk on top – a warning to keep away, among other things. And you took this chthonic fire from within?’

  ‘Deep down. There wasn’t any choice, not with the God-Emperor and Vivimord closing in on us, both desperate to get Nish back.’

  ‘So Nish still holds out?’ Yggur said admiringly. ‘He’s got a backbone of adamant, that young man.’ He moved closer to the wall, studying the chthonic fire from just a hand-span away. ‘It’s eating away the ice. This is a perilous force you’ve liberated, Flydd. I do hope you know what you’re doing.’ Yggur’s tone implied that he didn’t.

  ‘I said there wasn’t any choice,’ Flydd said darkly, irritated that Yggur still had the ability to rile him. ‘We would have died, otherwise.

  Yggur pressed his nose to the wall, watched the tiny trail trickle past, and frowned. ‘You might still have made the wrong choice.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You do know the story of the girl who opened the forbidden box and unleashed pestilence upon the world?’