Fire Sea (27 page)

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.

CHAPTER
21
NECROPOLIS,
ABARRACH

T
HE CITY OF NECROPOLIS WAS BUILT AGAINST THE HIGH
walls of the kairn
¹
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.”

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 self-sufficient. 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 clear: No beasts inside the city walls,” the Lord High Chancellor stated, his face flint-hard 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.

“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,
²
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 open-mouthed 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?”