“I take it, then, that troop movement along this highway isn’t exactly normal?” Haplo asked, leaning back in the carriage and folding his arms across his chest.
“Probably a royal escort for His Highness,” Jonathan said, brightening.
“Yes, that’s it. Surely,” Jera agreed, with rather too much relief in her voice to be entirely convincing.
Edmund smiled, ever courteous, despite whatever private misgivings he might have had.
The wind rose, the mists thinned. The troops were close and clearly visible. The soldiers were dead, new dead, in superb condition. At sight of the carriage, they came to a halt, formed a line across the highway, blocking the way. The carriage stopped on a hastily given command by Jonathan to his dead driver. The pauka snorted and shook its head restlessly, not liking the beasts the soldiers rode.
Lizardlike creatures, the soldiers’ mounts were ugly and misshapen. Two eyes on either side of the head revolved, each independent of the other, giving the impression that they could see in all directions at once. Short and squat, built close to the ground, they had powerful hind legs and a thick, barbed tail. The dead rode on their backs.
“The troops of the dynast,” Jera said, speaking in an undertone. “His soldiers alone are permitted to ride mud dragons. And the man in the gray robes leading them is the Lord High Chancellor, the dynast’s right hand.”
“And the black-robed person riding beside him?”
“The army’s necromancer.”
The chancellor, mounted astride a mud dragon and looking extremely uncomfortable, said a few words to the captain, who guided its beast forward.
The pauka sniffed and snorted, shook its head at the mud dragon smell, which was foul and rank as if it had climbed out of a pit of poisonous ooze.
“All of you, please step out of the carriage,” requested the captain.
Jera glanced at her guests. “I think, perhaps, we better,” she said apologetically.
They trooped out of the carriage, the prince graciously assisting the duchess. Alfred stumbled down the two stairs, nearly pitched headfirst into a pit. Haplo stood quietly toward the back of the group. An oblique gesture of his hand brought the dog padding to his side.
The cadaver’s expressionless eyes peered at the group, its mouth forming the words the Lord High Chancellor had bidden it say.
“I ride in the name of the Dynast of Abarrach, ruler of Kairn Necros, regent of Old and New Provinces, king of Rift Ridge, king of Salfag, king of Thebis, and liege lord of Kairn Telest.”
Edmund flushed darkly at hearing his own kingdom thus claimed, but he held his tongue. The cadaver continued.
“I am looking for one who calls himself king of Kairn Telest.”
“I am prince of that land,” Edmund said, speaking up proudly. “The king, my father, is dead and but newly raised. That is why I am here and he is not,” he added for the benefit of the waiting necromancer, who nodded the black hood in understanding.
The cadaver captain, however, was somewhat at a loss. This new information came outside the scope of its orders. The chancellor indicated in a few words that the prince would serve in place of the king, and the captain, reassured, carried on.
“I am bidden by His Majesty to place the king—”
“Prince,” inserted the chancellor patiently.
“—of Kairn Telest under arrest.”
“On what charge?” Edmund demanded. Striding forward, he ignored the cadaver, glared at the chancellor.
“Of entering the realms of Thebis and Salfag, realms foreign to him, without first seeking the permission of the dynast to cross their borders—”
“Those so-called realms are uninhabited! And neither myself nor my father ever knew that this ‘dynast’ even existed!”
The cadaver was continuing its speech, perhaps it hadn’t heard the interruption. “And of attacking without provocation the town of Safe Harbor, driving off the peaceful inhabitants, and looting—”
“That is a lie!” Edmund shouted, his fury overtaking his reason.
“Indeed it is!” Jonathan cried impetuously. “My wife and I have just returned from the town. We can testify to the truth of the matter.”
“His Most Just Majesty will be only too pleased to hear your side of this dispute. He will let you both know when to come to the palace.” It was the chancellor who spoke.
“We’re coming to the palace with His Highness,” Jonathan stated.
“Quite unnecessary. His Majesty received your report, Your Grace. We require the use of your carriage to the city walls, but, when we arrive in Necropolis, you and the duchess have His Majesty’s leave to return to your home.”
“But—” Jonathan sputtered. It was his wife’s turn to restrain him from speaking his mind.
“My dear, the harvest,” she reminded him.
He said nothing, subsided into an unhappy silence.
“And now, before we proceed,” continued the chancellor, “His Highness the Prince will understand and forgive me if I ask that he surrender his weapon. And those of his companion, too, I—”
The chancellor’s gray hood, hiding his face, turned for the first time toward Haplo. The voice ceased speaking, the hood paused in its rotation, the fabric quivered as if the head it covered were subject to some strong emotion.
The runes on Haplo’s skin itched and prickled. What now? he wondered, tensing, sensing danger. The dog, who had been content to flop down in the road during the lull in the proceedings, jumped to its feet, a low growl rumbling in its chest. One of the eyes of the mud dragon swiveled in the direction of the small animal. A red tongue flicked out of the lizard’s mouth.
“I have no weapons,” said Haplo, raising his hands.
“Nor I,” added Alfred in a small and miserable voice, although no one had asked him.
The chancellor shook himself, like a man waking from a doze he never meant to take. With an effort, the gray hood wrenched itself from staring at Haplo back to the prince, who had remained motionless.
“Your sword, Your Highness. No one comes armed into the presence of the dynast.”
Edmund stood defiant, irresolute. Duke and duchess kept their gazes lowered, unwilling to influence him in any way, yet obviously hoping he would not cause trouble. Haplo wasn’t certain what he hoped the prince would do. The Patryn had been warned by his lord not to become involved in any local dispute, but his lord had certainly not counted on his minion falling into the hands of a Sartan dynast!
Edmund suddenly and swiftly reached down, unbuckled his sword belt, and held it out to the cadaver. The captain accepted it gravely, with a salute of a white and wasted hand. Cold with outraged pride and righteous anger, the prince climbed back into the carriage and seated himself stiffly, staring out over the blasted landscape with studied calm.
Jera and her husband, prey to shame, could not look at Edmund, who must think now that they had lured him into a trap. Faces averted, they silently entered the carriage and silently took their seats. Alfred glanced uncertainly at Haplo, for all the world as if he were asking for orders! How that man had survived on his own this long was beyond the Patryn’s comprehension. Haplo jerked his head toward the carriage, and Alfred tumbled in, stumbling over everyone’s feet, falling rather than sitting in his seat.
They were all waiting for Haplo. Reaching down, patting the dog, he turned the animal’s head toward Alfred.
“Watch him,” he instructed in a soft undertone that no one heard except the animal. “Whatever happens to me, watch him.”
Haplo climbed into the carriage. The cadaver captain rode forward, caught hold of the pauka’s reins, and started the grumbling animal moving, driving the carriage forward toward the city of Necropolis, the City of the Dead.
21
The city of Necropolis was built against the high walls of the kairn[8] that gave the empire its name. The kairn, one of the largest and oldest on Abarrach, had always been habitated, but had not, until now, been a great population center. Those who traveled to this world in the early years of its history had moved to the more temperate regions nearer the planet’s surface, those cities that were located, as was popularly quoted, “between fire and ice.”
8
Kairn is a Sartan word meaning “cavern,” a variation on the dwarven word cairn, which means “pile of stones.” It is interesting to note that the Sartan had no word of their own for cavern prior to their removal to Abarrach and were forced, apparently, to borrow a word from the dwarves.