“It’s moving!” someone screamed.
I swiftly looked back to see Rodolfo’s severed head lying on the ground, its flat eyes fixed on mine. The torso suddenly rose up, holding in one hand another javelin of ice. I cast a wild glance about for some sort of cover; however, neither Jeff nor I had a shield—Jeff’s was on his saddle and Jusson had taken his back. We were totally out in the open. Hurriedly calling up fire, I flung it at the corpse, but at the same time Jeff tried to pull me behind him and the fireball splashed harmlessly beyond it.
“Rabbit!”
Both Jusson and Wyln tried to go back down the steps, but were blocked by those below them who were frozen in shock. The king shoved—and knocked a royal guard into Wyln, who slid on the slick steps, scrambling to find purchase. Laurel roared, and I could hear over the shrieks of the crowd the screech of his claws against the paving stones as he scrambled to his feet and began racing towards me.
Rodolfo’s torso came together with its bottom half and stood, still holding its javelin of ice, and I desperately formed a shield of fire as I let loose another fireball. The reconstructed corpse, though, sidestepped and the fireball again missed. It raised the javelin as its head, still on the ground, grinned at me, its eyes once more shining like frozen puddles.
At that moment the double church doors blew open the wrong way, with a splintering crash, the force of it causing most of the search party to stumble down the steps. Jusson managed to stay upright by latching onto a column, Wyln also somehow stayed on his feet, and both of them turned to see Doyen Dyfrig stepping out from the church carrying his Staff of Office. The wind swirled around him in a mad storm, his white hair waving wildly about his head, as his gaze lit on what had once been Rodolfo.
“By all that’s holy!”
Dyfrig raised the Staff and slammed it down hard against the stone porch, and the wind ascended to the sky in a howling whirlwind. There was a sizzling crack and boom that shook the ground under my feet, and lightning zigzagged down, hitting the headless corpse. White and black reversed on the back of my eyelids as I shut my eyes against the blinding light, and when I opened them again Master Rodolfo’s body was again collapsed on the ground with smoke rising from all three parts.
The wind’s howling dropped to a soft moan as Dyfrig gripped the Staff of Office with both hands, his body drooping, his face white in the streetlamps’ light—which could’ve been the result of battling the revenant, or it could’ve been just the nighttime leeching him of color.
Or it could’ve been the fact that Dyfrig had just come into his full mage power—some sixty years later than normal, true, but with all the attendant signs, wonders and trauma. Just as I had experienced when I’d done the same some months earlier, triggered by the terrifying crises of Magus Kareste finding me after five years of hiding. Then too there were thunderclaps without a cloud in the sky.
Jusson hurried down the stone steps and, striding to the smoking corpse, once more prodded it with his sword. And again the dead man stayed inert. This time, though, the king raised his head, his eyes brilliant gold.
“Burn it. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
We found Keeve and Tyle in the spire. Patches of melted ice showed how they were chased up the ladder to the wooden platform just under the bells. Their bodies were also wet with melted ice, their faces wearing the same look of horror that had been on the dead jailer Menck’s.
Jusson had changed his mind and decided that the best place for me was with him, but he still wouldn’t let me help with removing the two clerks from the tower. Instead, some rope was found that was then tied around them, and they were gently lowered down to the ground floor, where town officials just as gently placed them on wooden benches. A low moan filled the square from the waiting townspeople as the bodies were carried outside, while up in the spire the wind whistled through the arched openings. It caused the giant iron bells to hum, the tones mingling with the sounds of grief.
We went through the rest of the church, but other than additional puddles of melted ice marking the movements of Rodolfo’s corpse, there was no sign of upset—certainly none of the destruction we saw in the charnel house. Still, as I looked at the altar streaked with water, I found myself backing away, the tightness in my chest creeping up to my throat and causing each breath to ache. It could’ve been as Wyln had said while we were at the abandoned warehouse—I was feeling the aftermath of one of my aspects being used to raise a revenant. But riding the crest of the pain was the guilty knowledge that if I hadn’t led everyone the wrong way, Keeve and Tyle would still be alive.
Finished searching, Jusson herded us outside again and had the guards prop the blown-apart doors closed. He then had melted wax dripped on the two doors and sealed them by pressing his signet ring into the wax. Such a small thing and in no way physically capable of barring anyone—or anything—determined to pass, but I felt its binding as strongly as I had felt the wardings on the charnel house.
To our surprise, one place Rodolfo hadn’t gone near was the sacristy. Even so, Jusson and the town elders decided to remove its contents, and the king now led us down the church steps, himself carrying Dyfrig’s big hat and vestments. Jeff and I followed, toting between us the chest filled with the implements of blessing, and behind us the Own, nobles and town elders carried the rest of the paraphernalia. Even Wyln had brought something from the church—the bundle of wheat that had been part of the prayer for an abundant harvest. It was all put on a table one of the aldermen had produced from the town hall and, at Jusson’s softly spoken command, I had two of the Own stand guard over the rescued church accoutrements. Chadde was there also, but she and her watchmen were by the bodies of Keeve and Tyle. At first I thought they were holding vigil, but as I watched, people ran up with kindling, wood and rags soaked in oil, and immediately began building two pyres.
Despite the northern view on burning and burials, it seemed that no one was taking any chances with the two clerks. Then the thought crossed my mind that Menck was still missing, and I turned to look at the charnel house fire, but it burned just as brightly as before, with no sign of dimming.
Doyen Dyfrig and Laurel Faena had both opted to stay outside to oversee Rodolfo’s burning while we searched the church. They now left the master player’s dying fire to join us at the clerks’ bodies, the doyen’s face pale and drawn. Laurel leaned over first Keeve, then Tyle, but stood straight again without touching either. He gave a soft, rumbling sigh and shook his head, his own face troubled.
“They rang the bells as I tried to draw the abomination off,” Dyfrig said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t succeed very well.”
“The fact that the dead man isn’t rampaging through the town is proof of your success, Your Reverence,” Jusson said. “Do not make yourself impotent with guilt.”
I didn’t bother to see if Jusson was also aiming that barb at me, but kept my gaze on the mounting piles of wood. He touched my arm.
“You too, Rabbit. You are no good to me if you allow yourself to wallow in what-ifs and if-only’s. As Beollan said, you made a reasoned decision based on the facts you had.”
“Truth,” Beollan said wearily. “And left up to me, we would’ve been still chasing snipers by the Kingsgate.”
“Yes, sire,” I said. “My lord.”
Jusson sighed. “We will talk about this later, cousin. Though I would’ve supposed that after almost six years in the army, you would know how to handle good choices that turn sour.”