"Tereza?" he said it softly.
She spoke with her lips against his neck, cheek nestled in his beard. "Jonathan, I'm so hungry."
Teeth cut into his neck. He screamed and tried to push her away. She clung to him, mouth fastened to his neck, lapping up the blood, digging for flesh.
Thordin pulled her head back by the hair. Gersalius helped peel her off Jonathan. Thordin flung her into the snow-covered street. Tereza stood there, looking just like herself except for the blood on her face.
Gersalius splashed oil on her. She screamed, "Jonathan."
"No!" He took a step forward. Thordin grabbed him.
Gersalius snapped off a flame spell. It arched through the air like a tiny star, then hit the oil with a loud blue rush of heat.
Tereza shrieked, and what she screamed was his name. "Jonathan!"
He collapsed. Only Thordin's arms kept him from falling. The big man lowered him to the ground and sat, cradling him.
She burned. The skin that he had caressed so many times peeled and blackened. The hair went up in a shower of sparks. Through it all, she screamed his name. At the end, Jonathan screamed hers.
She fell forward into the snow, one burning hand still reaching for him.
THIRTY-TWO
Harkon Lukas stood in the shadows of the room, last door to the right. Ashe had come running, with Konrad behind him. It had worked better than Harkon had hoped. Only Konrad had followed. He waited in the shadows, expecting the others.
"Where's Elaine?" Konrad stalked into the room, axe held ready.
"I don't think I'll tell you," Ashe said.
"Tell me where she is, and I won't kill you."
"I don't think you'll kill me at all." He backed away toward where Harkon was hiding. "I think you will be the one who dies." He swept the drapes aside, revealing Harkon.
Lukas had to smile. He did so love a dramatic gesture.
"The bard. What are you doing here?" Konrad said. He stood in a crouch, axe at the ready. He was surprised but still sure what to do. Kill it if it threatens you, no matter who it is.
Ashe was smiling out at Konrad, eager for the show to begin. Harkon stabbed the narrow undertaker through the back. He fell to his knees, a startled expression on his face. His hands groped at the sword point coming out of his chest, then he fell slowly forward, sliding off the sword on his own.
Harkon stepped away from the wall. "We don't have much time. I'll take you to Elaine."
"What were you doing here with the undertaker?"
Oh, he was nicely suspicious. "From the smell of things, we don't have much time. She's locked in. She'll be burned alive."
Doubt passed over Konrad's face.
"I suspected Ashe, but needed proof. When he ran in here, I hid. I was certainly glad to see you."
Konrad lowered his axe but did not put it away. Harkon sheathed his own sword. "We must hurry. Without our help, she'll never escape."
Harkon walked toward him, hands loose at his sides, showing himself unarmed without being obvious about it. "She's just across the hall in the next room." He pointed out the open door.
Konrad turned to look, and Harkon slid a hidden dagger into the man's heart. Konrad gave a wordless cry, and his axe dropped from suddenly nerveless hands.
Harkon lowered the dying man to the floor, holding him close. He grabbed the amulet and tossed it over Konrad's neck.
"Sleep. Sleep forever, my suspicious friend."
Something hit him in the chest, like a club. Harkon stared down to find a knife in his chest. Konrad's hand slipped away from it, and he fell backward, collapsing to the floor.
Harkon grabbed at the knife, trying to stop the blood. It bubbled, hot and wet. He tore it out of his chest with a scream. Blood poured over his hands. Darkness ate at his vision.
Harkon fell forward, on hands and knees. He tried to change into wolf form, but it was too late. He was dying. No, he was dead.
It was his last thought before the darkness ate the light.
*****
Elaine pounded on the door, screaming. Smoke was pouring through the cracks. The door opened inward, and she stumbled backward. Konrad stood there, half-lost in smoke. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the choking cloud, then into the next room where there was a window with a rope of drapes tied to a heavy chair.
"Climb," he ordered.
Elaine didn't ask questions, there was no time. She grabbed the makeshift rope and climbed down. When she was halfway down the wall, the rope sagged as Konrad climbed on.
"Drop, and I'll catch you, girl." Thordin's voice.
She took a deep breath and let go. Strong arms caught her, tumbling them both to the ground.
Konrad dropped the last few feet, landing on hands and knees in the snow. Elaine ran to him, throwing her arms around him. He hugged her back, face pressed into her shoulder. Smoke billowed out of the window they had escaped from.
With a shuddering roar, the floor collapsed, and flames whooshed to the ceiling/Elaine's body was in there, but clean flame was taking it. It was a better end than the fate of most of Cortton's dead.
Konrad raised his face to hers. He was so close, so close. He kissed her, and she let him. His lips were soft, and his skin smelled of smoke.
The amulet around his neck glinted in the flames. Elaine didn't remember him ever wearing jewelry.
Konrad ran his soot-blackened hands through her hair and laughed. He kissed her again, fierce and hard, as if he would push himself inside her through her mouth. It almost hurt.
Thordin and Gersalius stood over them, watching the house burn. She looked for Jonathan and found him huddled in the snow, beside the burned body of a zombie. "Jonathan." She called his name, but he didn't moved.
Gersalius put a hand on her shoulder. "Tereza came back as one of them. We had to destroy her."
Elaine looked at Jonathan's huddled form. She wanted to run to him, to tell him it would be all right, but in her heart of hearts, she knew it was a lie.
THIRTY-THREE
The Iron Goat Tavern was crowded. The new bard was bringing in a lot of business.
Kelric was a man of medium height but broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He had learned to play the guitar, harp, and harpsichord with larger hands than he had now, but these fingers were long and slender, made subtle by thievery, not practice. He had used that suppleness, reteaching the fingers to play music rather than lift money from unsuspecting backsides. Kelric Cutpurse had become Kelric Sweetvoice in a matter of months.
He missed his reputation as Calum Songmaster, but at twenty years old, he had years to rebuild his lost fame. Kelric had a higher, cleaner sound to his voice, which Calum quite liked. It was merely a matter of choosing new songs that suited his new voice, a new beginning in every sense of the word.
Harkon Lukas had brought the young Kelric to Calum's bedside. He had placed the amulet on the young man's neck. A few words, and the change had been complete. Calum couldn't even remember a sensation. One moment, he was lying in bed, racked with pain, the next he was standing staring down at an old shriveled man.
It had been so long since he had looked in a mirror that he was shocked. His skin was parchmentlike, wrinkled, hanging in folds from his bones. The skin of his skull had slid downward like half-melted wax. Only his eyes were familiar. Only the eyes were left of what he remembered. Calum Songmaster had died a long time ago. He just hadn't known it.
Those eyes blinked up at him, mouth wide with a silent scream. Kelric had volunteered for this-he truly had-but he hadn't understood. No one could explain the pain. He screamed, wordlessly. The tongue flopped in the toothless mouth, lips so thin there was nothing but the wordless hole.
"I can't, I can't," he screamed. "Take me out, oh, gods, take me out."
"What do you think, Calum? Should we trade bodies back?" Harkon touched the strong, new shoulders, kneaded the new muscles with long fingers.