“Now you’ve done it!” Haplo shot irritably out of the corner of his mouth. “I had everything under control! Get off me!”
Either the cadaver didn’t notice that now it had two victims instead of one, or perhaps it assumed that it was to save time by dispatching both at once.
“I—I can’t!” Alfred was paralyzed with fear, unable to move. Looking up in frantic terror, he saw the razor-sharp, if slightly rusted blade, descending.
The Sartan gasped the first runes that came to his lips.
The captain of the dead had been a brave and honorable soldier, well respected and loved by his men. He had died in the Battle of the Pillar of Zembar,[9] of a sword thrust in the gut. The horrible wound could still be seen, a gaping, although now bloodless, hole in the cadaver’s stomach.
Alfred’s rune-chant appeared to inflict the same killing blow over again.
For a brief instant, a semblance of life flickered in the dead eyes. The cadaver’s well-preserved face wrenched with pain, the sword fell from a hand that reached instinctively at its torn vitals. A silent scream came from blue lips.
The cadaver doubled over, clutching its gut. Those watching in stunned shock saw its hands curl around the invisible blade of some unseen attacker. Then, seemingly, the sword was wrenched free. The cadaver gave a last, silent groan and slid to the ground. It did not get back to its feet, it did not continue the attack. The captain lay on the ash-covered ground, dead.
No one moved or spoke; all standing near might have been struck by the same invisible sword. The Lord High Chancellor was the first impelled to action.
“Bring the captain back!” he commanded the court necromancer.
Hastening forward, her black robes fluttering around her, her cowl fallen, unheeded, from her head, the necromancer approached the captain’s corpse.
She sang the runes.
Nothing happened. The captain lay motionless.
The necromancer sucked in a deep breath, eyes widened in astonishment, and then narrowed in anger. She began to chant the runes again, but the magic died on her lips.
The cadaver’s phantasm rose up before the necromancer and stood between the wizardess and its corpse,
“Be gone,” ordered the necromancer, attempting to brush it aside, as she might brush away smoke from a fire.
The phantasm remained where it was, began to change in appearance. No longer was it a pitiful wisp of fog, but the semblance of a man—strong and proud—who faced the wizardess with dignity. And all realized, who stood watching in amazed awe, that they were seeing the corpse as he had been in life.
The captain faced the necromancer and the watchers saw, or thought they saw, the phantasm shake its head in firm denial. It turned its back on its corpse and walked away, and it seemed a great and sorrowful wail resounded from the mist around them, a wail that was fraught with envy.
Or was it the wind, howling among the rocks?
The necromancer stood gazing at the phantasm in openmouthed stupefaction. When it disappeared, she suddenly became aware of her audience and snapped her mouth shut.
“Good riddance.” Bending over the corpse, she spoke,the runes again, adding, for good measure, “Get up, damn you!”
The corpse didn’t move.
The necromancer’s face flushed an ugly red. She kicked at the cadaver. “Get up! Fight! Carry out your orders!”
“Stop it!” Alfred cried in anger, regaining his feet with difficulty. “Stop it! Let the man rest!”
“What have you done?” The necromancer rounded on Alfred. “What have you done to it? What have you done?”
Alfred, taken aback, stumbled over Haplo’s ankles. The Patryn groaned and stirred.
“I—I don’t know!” Alfred protested, bumping into the side of the carriage.
The necromancer advanced on him. “What have you done?” she demanded, her voice rising to a shrill scream.
“The prophecy!” Jera exclaimed, clutching at her husband. “The prophecy!”
The necromancer overheard, paused in her harangue. She stared at Alfred narrowly, then looked swiftly to the chancellor for orders. He appeared dazed.
“Why doesn’t it get up?” he asked in a shaken voice, staring at the corpse.
The necromancer bit her lip, shook her head. She went over to discuss the matter with him in low, urgent undertones.
Jera took advantage of the chancellor’s distraction to hasten to Haplo’s side. She was solicitous of the Patryn, attentive to him, but the green eyes fixed in silent questioning on the stammering Alfred.
“I—I don’t know!” he answered, as confused as anyone there. “Truly, I don’t know. It all happened so fast. And ... I was terrified! That sword—” He shuddered, shivering from cold and reaction. “I’m not very brave, you see. Most of the time I ... I faint. Ask him.” He pointed a shaking finger at Edmund. “When his men captured us, I passed out cold! I wanted to faint this time, but I wouldn’t let myself. When I saw the sword ... I spoke the first words that came to me! I can’t recall, for the life of me, what I said!”
“For the life of you!” The necromancer turned, glared at Alfred from the depths of her black hood. “No, but you’ll recall them swiftly enough after death. The dead, you see, never lie, never keep anything concealed!”
“I’m telling you the truth,” said Alfred meekly, “and I doubt if even my corpse would have very much to add.”
Haplo groaned again, almost, it seemed, as if he were responding to Alfred’s statement.
“How is he?” Jonathan asked his wife.
Jera’s hand reached out to trace the runes on Haplo’s skin. “I think he’ll be all right. The sigla appear to have absorbed most of the shock. His heartbeat is strong and—”
Haplo’s hand closed suddenly and firmly over hers. “Don’t ever touch me again!” he whispered, voice hoarse.
Jera flushed, bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She flinched, tried to move her arm. “You’re hurting me . . .”
Haplo flung her from him, regained his feet by his own power, though he was forced to lean for support against the carriage. Jonathan hastened to his wife’s side.
“How dare you treat her like that?” the duke demanded savagely, swinging around on Haplo. “She was only trying to help—”
“Don’t, my dear,” Jera interrupted. “I deserve his reproach. I had no right. Forgive me, sir.”
Haplo grunted, muttered something in ungracious acceptance. He was obviously still not feeling well, but he understood that danger had not lessened.
If anything, thought Alfred, it has increased.
The chancellor was giving new instructions to his troops. Soldiers massed themselves around the prince and his companions, herding them close together.
“What in the name of the Labyrinth did you do?” Haplo hissed, edging nearer the wretched Alfred.
“He fulfilled the prophecy!” said Jera in a low voice.
“Prophecy?” Haplo looked from one to the other. “What prophecy?”
But Jera only shook her head. Rubbing her bruised flesh, she turned away. Her husband put his arm around her protectively.
“What prophecy?” Haplo demanded, turning his accusing stare to Alfred. “What the hell did you do to that corpse?”
“I killed him,” said Alfred, adding by way of explanation. “He was going to kill you—”
“So you saved my life by killing a dead man. That figures. Only you—” Haplo stopped talking, stared at the corpse, then looked back at the Sartan. “You say you ‘killed’ him.”
“Yes. He’s dead. Quite dead.”
The Patryn’s gaze switched from Alfred to the infuriated necromancer to the sharp-eyed duchess to the watchful, suspicious prince.
“I really didn’t mean to,” Alfred pleaded unhappily. “I... I was frightened.”
“Guards! Keep them apart!” The chancellor gestured, and two cadavers hastened to separate Alfred and Haplo. “No talking among yourselves! Any of you! Your Graces.” He turned to the duke and duchess. “I’m afraid that this . . . incident changes matters. His Majesty will want to interview all of you. Guards, bring them!”
9
Fought during the rebellion of the people of Thebis, who refused to pay one-third of their crops in taxes to the dynast. The rebellion failed and almost certainly led to the downfall of a once-great city-state. Fair-minded historians point out that although this tax burden does seem excessive, the people of Thebis thought nothing of charging the dynast and the people of Necropolis a fee of fifty bales of kairn grass per use of the Pillar of Thebis, which supplied much-needed water to the city of Necropolis.