Blood in Snow (29 page)

The shape closest to him held Becky at arm’s length, struggling to push her away, then, with a tremendous heave like a thunderclap, it hurled her into the cell from which Edmund had just leapt. The door slammed shut, its hinges rattling as Becky barked and clawed furiously behind it.

Then Edmund saw him.

In the corridor stood a man—no, not a man … a king, tall and proud and fair beyond anyone Edmund had ever seen. He was panting, blood trickling where claws had raked his pale cheek. Upon seeing Edmund, he straightened.

“Edmund,” the Undead King said, surprised.

Smiling, he smoothed out his satin surcoat. A quizzical expression crossed his ageless face.

“You can see me, can’t you? Interesting. Very interesting. Your mind has become stronger, or has somebody been instructing you?”

Edmund stepped forward, sword pointed at Kar-Nazar, feet and weapon arm positioned the way King Lionel had taught him.

The Undead King noted the black blade. “Where did you—?” His smile faltered. “You made that, didn’t you?”

“Where is she?” Edmund blurted out, trying to steady his sword.

“Where is who, Edmund?”

“Molly. Where is she?”

The cell door shook as if great claws tore at the wood.

The Undead King put on a sad frown.

“Molly’s dead, Edmund. I’m sorry, but you really need to come to terms with that. I could bring her back, but … trust me, you wouldn’t want that. Not so long after she’s passed on.”

“I mean her, her daughter! Where is she? Where’s the baby?”

The Undead King’s face brightened, and something in its sincerity made Edmund’s heart tighten.

“Her daughter?” he repeated, pleased. “She’s well. And safe, I can assure you. Quite safe and happy, indeed. But you and I have other matters to discuss, now don’t we? Come.” He indicated Edmund should walk with him. “Perhaps we should sit. Would you like some wine?”

“Where is she?” Edmund shouted. “Tell me!”

The Undead King stopped and considered Edmund, the black blade trembling in his outstretched hands.

“I suppose,” he said, though more to himself, “first things need to be first with humans.”

“Tell me where she is, or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what, Edmund? Kill me?” he asked politely.

Something large and heavy smashed up against the cell door.

Edmund advanced a half step closer, but the Undead King didn’t appear too concerned.

“I cannot be slain by any means, Edmund. You should know that by now. Or didn’t Vorn tell you? No?” His eyebrow rose in question. “Well, it must have slipped his mind. So allow me to explain.

“Since our kinds have first looked at the heavens, we’ve both craved one thing and one thing alone: an understanding of life. No … not just an understanding,” he corrected himself, “but a mastery over it. A mastery over it and death.”

Edmund took a step forward. He thought about lunging, but he’d only have one chance. He couldn’t miss.

“I alone have found the answers,” the Undead King went on, excitement growing. “I have mastered both.”

“Tell me where the girl is.”

“As I said, Edmund, she’s quite happy and safe. I wouldn’t dream of allowing harm to come to her. I’ll even introduce the two of you, if you’d like. But you and I have too much to discuss at the moment, as I’ve already indicated.”

The cell door stopped rattling. Through the gap between its bottom and the floor came panting snorts, as though a great beast crouched on the other side, sniffing. The Undead King looked over, startled.

“Where did you get that animal?” He nervously surveyed the iron hinges, now partially pulled from the mortar. “It’ll be your downfall if you keep it near you.”

“She’s a friend. Now give me the girl.”

“Edmund, if you mention her again, I will get angry.”

“I don’t care. Give her to me!”

The Undead King’s expression hardened.

“I’m afraid I’ll need to teach you two lessons before we continue. Perhaps then you’ll begin to understand and we can move along.”

The Undead King strolled toward Edmund.

Edmund shuffled back several paces, sword still pointed at the Undead King’s chest. “Get back!”

“Or what, Edmund? You’ll kill me? Stab me and see what happens. Go on.”

The Undead King kept advancing and spread his elegant hands, offering himself as a helpless target.

Edmund retreated, hesitated, and with a cry sprang forward, driving his sword deep into the Undead King’s belly. The black blade slid in effortlessly, like it had slipped into water. Blood, as red as any human’s, erupted and the Undead King stumbled back, face contorted in pain.

Then wound closed and the Undead King grinned at Edmund.

“That,” he laughed, “was the first lesson.” In a flash, his hand seized Edmund’s wrist and twisted. The sword fell from Edmund’s grasp, clattering on the tiled floor. “This,” he said, “is the second.”

The Undead King’s green eyes narrowed at Edmund.

A violent shock jolted Edmund’s body, shot through his arm, and stabbed into his heart. Color drained from the world. His bones turned icy. Unable to speak, Edmund dropped to his knees, convulsing as life trickled out of him. Becky roared and threw herself at the cell door, bending its thick timbers.

“Life, Edmund, can be given or taken. Do you understand?”

Edmund twitched, tongue swelling at the back of his throat.

The Undead King let go.

Edmund collapsed, shaking on the floor.

“Are you beginning to understand what I’m telling you?” the Undead King asked. “You cannot kill me. Many, many people have tried, your Iliandor being one of them. But I simply cannot die. Once you accept that, your remaining choice will become evident.”

Weakened and trembling, Edmund grabbed his sword and crawled backward. The Undead King strolled after him.

“This is your present situation, Edmund. I need the rest of the formula Iliandor stole. You will give it to me, and I will let you live. I’ll even allow you to rule your little human kingdom. Now that our presence in these mountains has been discovered, it doesn’t matter who you tell. I’ll give you what you want, Edmund, and you’ll give me what I want.”

“I want the girl!”

The Undead King’s boot kicked Edmund square in the face. Edmund flew back, dropping his sword and skidding to a stop by the stairs to the floor above.

“If you mention her again, I will inflict more pain than you would like to experience.”

Edmund touched his nose and mouth; blood flowed freely, splattering in red puddles.

The Undead King shook his head in disgust. “Heal yourself, if you’re able. Otherwise, I’ll do it for you.”

Scrabbling farther away, Edmund cupped his nose and cast his healing spell.

“
Smerte av reise
.”

Slowly, the bloody flood changed to a trickle, then stopped.

“I could teach you more than that,” said the Undead King. “I could teach you real healing that doesn’t require words or thoughts. Eternal life, Edmund. Give me what I want, and I’ll give you eternal life. You’ll neither grow old nor die. You can have your kingdom and rule over it for as long as you wish; you’ll become like a god to your people.”

Legs quavering, Edmund fought to stand.

“Give me the formula you found in Iliandor’s diary, Edmund.”

Edmund staggered back, using the wall for support.

“It, it … it doesn’t, it doesn’t work!” He stumbled, nearly falling. “Look!” He pointed to the sword lying by the Undead King’s feet. “Look at the blade. It isn’t, it isn’t right.”

The Undead King picked up the sword and inspected the blade. Tiny chips marred the edge where Edmund had cleaved open goblin armor and struck stone.

“He didn’t write the entire formula,” Edmund said, “so it didn’t work; not completely. Look at the color of the steel, it’s n-n-nearly, it’s nearly black. It isn’t like the steel he made. It had a bluish hue.”

“Did you follow the formula precisely?”

“Of course! I, I wouldn’t make a defective sword! I … I wanted what Iliandor had, something indestructible. This, this is strong and light, but it, it breaks! It can be broken. I don’t have the formula!”

The Undead King’s lip curled. He cursed and threw the sword, clanging, against an ancient tapestry.

“Iliandor!” The Undead King drew his fingers through his long blond hair in frustration. “He must have left out a key step and hid that somewhere else.”

He stared at Edmund cowering against the wall.

“Tell me what you know. Tell me exactly what that document said. Perhaps I can improvise the rest.”

Edmund vacillated, considering whether he should run to the secret door or dive for his sword. Then he realized the stairs were behind the Undead King, and even with his sword, he couldn’t kill him.

He couldn’t run, and he couldn’t fight.

“Edmund”—the Undead King drew closer—“tell me exactly what that document said, word for word.”

Edmund dove for the sword, scooped it up, and, still prone on the floor, pointed it at the Undead King.

“Enough of this foolishness! Tell me
exactly
what that document said!”

“No.”

The Undead King sighed. “Oh, Edmund … I’d hoped we could avoid these unpleasantries.”

Edmund waved his sword, but the Undead King batted it away and seized Edmund by the throat.

“Tell me what it said.”

“No.”

Edmund screamed, body convulsing. Becky snarled and clawed at the cell door, unable to tear through its splintering wood. Then there was the sound of running feet as Pond leapt from the stairwell behind the Undead King.

“You!” the Undead King shouted, dropping a breathless Edmund to the ground.

“Me!” Pond pounced, thrusting his black-bladed rapier.

The Undead King sidestepped, dodging the blow. With a swipe of his foot, he tripped Pond and sent him reeling across the floor, rapier sliding out of reach.

The Undead King laughed.

“If you’re so heedless of your own discomfort,” he said to Edmund lying at his feet, “perhaps you’ll change your mind at your friend’s suffering.”

“No!” Edmund clambered to his knees and tried to pull the Undead King away, but the Undead King kicked him back. “No! Don’t! Leave him alone!”

The Undead King seized Pond’s neck and lifted him off the floor.

“Tell me what I want to know or he dies—slowly.”

Pond flailed, face draining white then turning ashen-grey. He bucked and contorted, eyes rolling up into their sockets.

“Tell me what the document said, Edmund. Word … for … word.”

Pond finally screamed—high and shrill.

Another scream answered. Abby charged out of the stairwell at the Undead King, dagger thrust before her like a lance. She slashed at him but missed. Dropping Pond, the Undead King grabbed her wrist.

Becky roared, furious but helpless behind the reinforced door.

“No! Leave her alone!” Edmund fought his way to his feet. He brandished his sword.

The Undead King grinned at him, caressed Abby’s cheek adoringly.

“Now,” he said quietly, “you will tell me everything I want to know … I’m quite sure of it.”

“Don’t …” Pond said weakly.

Becky howled, the cell door buckling under her constant onslaught.

“Please,” Edmund begged. “Please, don’t!”

Abby kicked the Undead King’s leg and slashed at him with her dagger, but he merely continued to caress her check, smiling at Edmund.

“Tell me,” he said. “Or else.”

The Undead King’s pale hand slid up underneath Abby’s coat and chainmail. He fondled her petite breast.

Abby’s arms twitched.

“No!” Edmund cried.

She gurgled as her limbs flailed.

“Don’t! Please!”

“Then tell me what that document said,” the Undead King replied calmly.

Abby choked, then screamed.

Slowly, from the roots outward, her beautiful black hair turned white. Her skin drained to the color of drying clay.

Crying out, Edmund charged and, with all his strength, stabbed his sword directly at the Undead King’s heart. But the Undead King, still smiling, lifted Abby’s convulsing body like a shield and Edmund, unable to stop his strike, drove his sword into her flesh, impaling her through the stomach.

Blood poured from Abby’s mouth. The Undead King tossed Abby’s still-twitching body to the floor. Screaming, Edmund dropped his sword and fell to his knees by her side.

“Abby!”

“Tell me what I want to know, Edmund, and I’ll bring her back to life.”

Edmund laid his hands over Abby’s wound, trying to push her intestines back in.

He cast his healing spell—again and again and again.

The wound closed, but Abby still wasn’t moving. Her eyes, once a penetrating dark brown, had dulled, staring off into the distance.

“Tell me—”

“Okay!” Edmund cried between sobs. He cradled Abby in his blood-soaked arms. “Okay! I’ll tell you everything. Just save her! Save her!”

“What incantation did Iliandor use on the molten metal?”

“
Te mär luun a kova.
”

“
Luun a kova
?” the Undead King repeated doubtfully. “That doesn’t make sense. Are you absolutely sure it was
luun a kova
?”

“Yes! Yes!” Edmund shouted, clutching Abby’s body to him. “I’m sure! Now, please! Please, save her!”

“
Te mär luun a kova …
” the Undead King repeated thoughtfully as Abby’s blood spread in an ever-widening pool.

“Please!”

Annoyed, the Undead King reached down and touched Abby’s lips. In a great spastic jerk, she started to breathe, coughing and gasping, yet her face remained old and grey.

“Now, tell me exactly, in the original language, what the text said. If you leave out a single word, Edmund, I will not restore her to how she was.”

Rocking Abby in his arms, Edmund choked on his tears and recited what he’d found under the cover of Iliandor’s diary. The Undead King nodded eagerly, eyes bright with delight … until bent hinges squealed behind him. Pond had opened the door to Becky’s cell.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Becky stalked from the cell, long white canines bared in a silent, grinning snarl.