Abarrach’s world had been most carefully designed by the Sartan when their magic first attempted to save their world by sundering it. “All the more astonishing that what had seemed so right had gone so tragically wrong,” said Alfred to himself during the dismal, gloom-ridden journey to the city.
Of course, thought Alfred, this world, like the other three worlds, was never meant to remain selfsufficient. They were to have communicated, cooperated. For some reason, unknown, the cooperation failed, left each world cut off, isolated.
But the populations of mensch on Arianus had managed to adapt to their harsh surroundings and survive, even flourish—or they would if their own squabbles and bickering did not kill them off. It was the Sartan, Alfred’s race, who had disappeared on Arianus. It would have been better—far, far better, he reflected sadly—if his race had disappeared off this one, as well.
“The city of Necropolis,” announced the Lord High Chancellor, dismounting awkwardly from his mud dragon. “I am afraid that from here on we must walk. No beasts are allowed inside the city walls. That includes dogs.” He stared hard at Haplo’s pet. “I’m not leaving the dog,” Haplo said shortly. “The animal could stay with the carriage,” Jera offered, her manner timid. “Would he remain here by himself, if you told him to? We could take him back to our dwelling.”
“The dog would, but it won’t.” Haplo climbed out of the carriage, whistled the dog to him. “Where I go, the dog goes. Or neither of us goes.”
“The creature is extremely well trained.” Jera, dismounting from the carriage with her husband, turned to the chancellor. “I will vouch for its good behavior while inside the city.”
“The law is dear: No beasts inside the city walls,” the Lord High Chancellor stated, his face flinthard and sharp, “except those destined for the marketplace and they must be butchered within the specified time after entering. And if you will not submit to our laws peaceably, sir, then you will submit by force.”
“Ah, now,” said Haplo, smoothing the rune-covered skin on the back of his hands, “that should be very interesting.”
More trouble, Alfred foresaw unhappily. Having his suspicions concerning the dog and its relationship to Haplo, the Sartan had no idea how this would be resolved. Haplo would sooner part with his life than the animal and it seemed, from the look on his face, that he would enjoy the opportunity to fight.
No wonder. Face-to-face, at last, with an enemy who had locked his people into a hellish world for a thousand years. An enemy who had deteriorated in magical skills ... and in so much else! But could the Patryn deal with the dead? He had been captured easily enough back in the cavern. Alfred had seen pain twist the man’s face, and the Sartan knew Haplo well enough to guess that there were few who had ever seen him so incapacitated. But perhaps now he was prepared, perhaps the magic in his body was acclimated.
“I don’t have time for such nonsense,” said the Lord High Chancellor coldly. “We are late for our audience with His Majesty as it is. Captain, deal with it.”
The dog, having grown bored during the conversation, had been unable to resist taking another sniff and mischievous nip at the pauka. Haplo’s gaze was fixed on the chancellor. The captain of the guard leaned down, grabbed the dog up in strong arms and, before Haplo could prevent it, the cadaver hurled the animal into a pit of bubbling hot mud.
The dog gave a wild, pain-filled scream. Its front paws scrabbled frantically, liquid eyes fixed in desperate pleading on its master.
Haplo leapt toward it, but the mud was thick and viscous and scalding hot. Before the Patryn could save it, the animal was sucked down beneath the surface and vanished without a trace.
Jera gasped and hid her face in her husband’s breast. Jonathan, shocked and appalled, glowered at the chancellor. The prince cried out in bitter, angry protest.
Haplo went berserk.
Runes on his body flared into brilliant life, glowing bright blue and crimson red. The vivid light could be seen through his clothing, welling out beneath the fabric of his shirt, showing clearly the runes drawn on his arms. The leather vest he wore hid those on his back and chest, the leather trousers concealed those on his legs, but so powerful were the runes that a glowing halo was beginning to form around him. Silent, grim, Haplo launched himself directly at the cadaver, who—seeing the threat—went for its sword.
Haplo’s lunge carried him to his prey before the captain had its sword halfway clear of the scabbard. But the moment the Patryn’s choking hands touched the cadaver’s chill flesh, white lightning flared and danced crazily around the two of them. Haplo cried out in agony, staggered backward, limbs twitching and writhing convulsively as the charge passed through his body. He slammed up against the side of the carriage. Groaning, he slid down to lie, seemingly unconscious, in the soft ash that covered the road.
An acrid odor of sulfur filled the air. The cadaver continued, unperturbed, the motion of drawing its sword, then looked to the chancellor for orders.
The Lord High Chancellor was staring, wide-eyed, at Haplo, at the glow of the runes that was just beginning to fade from the skin. The minister licked his dry lips.
“Kill him,” was the command.
“What?” Alfred quavered, staring in disbelief. “Kill him? Why?”
“Because,” Jera said softly, laying a restraining hand on Alfred’s arm, “it is far easier to obtain information from a cadaver than a stubborn, living man. Hush, there is nothing you can do!”
“There is something I can do,” Edmund said coldly. “You cannot kill a helpless man! I won’t allow it!” He took a step forward, obviously intent on impeding the cadaver in its grisly task.
The captain never paused, but raised its hand in a commanding gesture. Two of its troops ran to obey. Dead soldiers grasped the prince from behind, pinioning his arms skilfully to his sides. Edmund, outraged, struggled to free himself.
“Just a moment, Captain,” said the chancellor. “Your Highness, is this man with the strange markings on his skin a citizen of Kairn Telest?”
“You know very well he isn’t,” answered Edmund. “He is a stranger. I met him just today, over on the opposite shore. But he has done no harm and has seen a faithful companion meet a barbarous death. You have punished him for his effrontery. Let it go at that!”
“Your Highness,” said the Lord High Chancellor, “you are a fool. Captain, carry out your orders.”
“How can my people ... my people commit these terrible crimes?” Alfred babbled wildly, talking to himself, wringing his hands as if he would wring the answers from his own flesh. “If I stood in the midst of the Patryns, then, yes, I could understand. They were the race that was heartless, ambitious, cruel.... We .. . we were the balance. The wave correcting itself. White magic to their black. Good for evil. But I see in Haplo ... I have seen good in Haplo. . . . And now I see evil in my fellow Sartan. . . . What shall I do? What shall I do?”
His immediate answer was: faint.
“No!” Alfred gasped, fighting against his inherent weakness. Blackness crept over him. “Action! Must . . . act. Grab the sword. That’s it. Grab the sword.”
The Sartan flung himself at the captain of the guard.
That was the plan. Unfortunately, the Sartan ended up flinging only part of himself at the captain of the guard. Alfred’s upper half went for the sword. His lower half refused to move. He fell flat, landed in a headlong sprawl on top of Haplo.
Alfred, looking at him, saw the Patryn’s eyelids flicker.