Free The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) by Ian Irvine Page B

could move there came a wild swirl of wind and a
shrilling wail of triumph. A beam of lantern light touched her, then a
flappeter – one of Jal-Nish’s flesh-formed monstrosities – dropped
out of the dark and began to hover just a few spans above them. How had it come
so close without her hearing it?
    Nish cried out in horror and Maelys had to choke back a
scream, for she had heard dreadful rumours about flappeters since her
childhood.
    She drew Nish backwards across the slope but the flap-peter
kept pace without effort, its feather-rotors scooping at the air like
egg-beaters and blasting cold gusts into her face. There was nowhere to run,
nowhere to hide. The barren mountain slope offered no concealment.
    She looked up, shielding her eyes, as a man’s voice called,
‘Surr, I’ve found him!’ The flappeter had a rider and he was leaning forwards,
his fist outstretched, evidently speaking to someone via a glistening
loop-listener.
    ‘Found who?’ This voice was distorted to a glutinous hiss by
the loop-listener but it sent shudders through her, for it reminded her of
something unpleasant from her childhood. ‘Identify yourself and your location,
fool!’
    ‘I’m Rider Hinneltyne, on Flappeter Rurr-shyve, surr. I’m
right above Cryl-Nish Hlar. It’s definitely him, though he looks in bad shape.
He’s with a boy, about twelve.’
    ‘A boy!’
    ‘Yes, surr. They’re not armed, Seneschal Vomix, surr.’
Seneschal Vomix. Maelys felt sick with horror. ‘Excellent,’ said Vomix. ‘The
God-Emperor will be well pleased.’
    ‘Can you send another flappeter for the boy, surr?’
    There was a short pause. ‘Not at the moment. Secure them,
Rider Hinneltyne, but ensure not a hair of Cryl-Nish’s head is harmed. I’ll
send a squad to escort him down. Where are you?’
    ‘On Nusimurr Mountain, surr, just to the west of Ironbar
Col. And the boy?’
    ‘Teach him his first lesson but don’t damage him. Our
God-Emperor has reserved that joy to himself.’
    The rider drew back his fist; the loop-listener went dull
and he looked down into Maelys’s eyes. She shivered and pulled Nish backwards,
studying the hovering flappeter.
    Even in the dimly reflected lantern light it looked bizarre.
It was three times the length of a horse, but had an elongated body like a
dragonfly, covered in large scales and bristly hairs. A pair of oval discs
stuck up at the tail and four pairs of thin legs ended in scythe-like hooks.
    One pair of luminous compound eyes were the size of large
melons, another pair no bigger than lemons. Its triangular head was crested
with two pairs of horns, a long curved pair which protruded sideways and a
short straight pair extending forwards. But its wings were the greatest oddity
of all, if they could be called wings, for they didn’t belong on any creature
Maelys had heard of.
    There were two sets, one above the other, sprouting above
the rider’s head like feathered rotors from a stalk, as thick as her thigh,
which arose from the middle of its back. Each feather-rotor had three long,
curved, scythe-like blades driven by great muscle bunches below the stalk, and
they spun rapidly, the rotors tilting and the angle of the blades changing all
the time to keep the monstrosity in the air.
    The flapping flutter was constantly rising and falling, an
unpleasant sound that set her nerves on end, and the creature breathed with a
revolting wet sucking gurgle. Its reek, as pungent as a squashed stinkbug,
stung her nose.
    ‘Stop right there!’ shouted Rider Hinneltyne, swinging the
flappeter around to stay above them.
    ‘Get ready to run, Nish,’ she said in a low voice, praying
that he was capable of taking in their situation. She let go of him but he
wobbled then slumped to his knees.
    Maelys almost wept with frustration. She had never been
attacked before and had no idea what to do. She couldn’t carry Nish, nor could
she abandon him. She backed away so the rider couldn’t take them both at once,
feeling on