Fire Sea (28 page)

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!”

The chancellor and the necromancer strode on, heading toward the gate in the city walls. The cadavers closed ranks around their captives, separated them one from the other, and ordered them forward.

Alfred saw the Patryn cast one glance at the mud hole into which his faithful dog had disappeared. Haplo's mouth tightened, stern eyes blinked rapidly. Then the guards took him away, blocking him from Alfred's sight.

A moment of confusion followed. Edmund struck aside the chill hands of the cadavers, stated that he would enter the
city as a prince, not a captive. He moved forward proudly on his own, his guards trailing behind.

Jera took advantage of the situation to whisper hurried, urgent instructions to her carriage driver. The cadaver nodded and turned the pauka's head toward home, guiding the animal down a road that ran for some distance beneath the city wall. Duke and duchess exchanged glances, they were of one mind on something, but what that could be the unhappy Alfred had no idea.

Nor, at the moment, did he care. He had not been lying. He had no idea what he had done and he wished, with all his heart, he hadn't done it. Lost in dark thoughts, he didn't notice that the duke and duchess fell into step with him, one on either side, the dead guards tramping along behind.

CHAPTER
22
NECROPOLIS,
ABARRACH

T
HE INHABITANTS OF NECROPOLIS HAD TAKEN ADVANTAGE
of a peculiar natural rock formation in building their city walls. A long row of stalagmites, poking up from the cavern floor, extended from one side of the back end of the cavern around in a half circle, closing it off at the other end. Stalactites flowed into the stalagmites, forming a wall that gave the visitor the startling impression he was entering a gigantic, bared-toothed mouth.

The stalactic form was ancient, dating back to the world's origins, and was undoubtedly one reason that this point had become one of Abarrach's earliest outposts of civilization. Old Sartan runes could occasionally be seen on the massive wall, their magic having once conveniently filled up gaps left by the natural architecture.

But Sartan magic had dwindled, the continual fall of drizzling laze had worn most of the sigla away, and no one now remembered the secret of restoring them. The dead kept the wall in repair, filling the gaps between the “teeth” with molten lava, pumping magma into the cavities. The dead also guarded the walls of Necropolis.

The city gates stood open during the dynast's waking time. Gigantic doors woven of strong kairn grass reinforced by the few crude runes these Sartan remembered were shut only when the royal eyes closed in sleep. Time in this sunless
world was regulated by the ruler of Necropolis, which meant that it tended to change depending on the whim of His or Her Majesty.

Time was, therefore, denoted by such appellations as “the dynast's breakfast hour” or “the dynast's audience hour” or “the dynast's napping hour.” An early-rising ruler forced his subjects to rise early to conduct their business under his watchful eye. A late-rising ruler, as was their current dynast, altered the routine of the entire city. Such changes were no great hardship on the living inhabitants, who were generally at leisure to alter their lives to suit their ruler. The dead, who did all the work, never slept.

The Lord High Chancellor and his prisoners entered the city gates during the close of the dynast's audience hour, one of the busiest times of day for the city's inhabitants. Audience hour marked a last moment's flurry of activity before the city shut down for the dynast's luncheon hour and the dynast's napping hour.

Consequently, the narrow streets of Necropolis were crowded with people, both living and dead. The streets were, in reality, tunnels, created either naturally or artificially, designed to give the inhabitants some protection from the constantly falling rain. These tunnels were narrow and twisting and tended to be dark, shadowy places, imperfectly lighted by hissing gas lamps.

Masses of people—both living and dead—crowded into the tunnels. It seemed barely possible for Alfred, the duke and duchess and the guards to add their bodies to the throng. Alfred understood that the law prohibiting beasts in the city streets had not been passed arbitrarily but out of necessity. A mud dragon would have seriously impeded traffic, the huge furry form of pauka would have brought movement in the streets to a complete standstill. Studying the crowds heaving and shoving and pushing around him, Alfred saw that the dead vastly outnumbered the living. His heart seemed to shrivel inside him.

The guards closed ranks around their prisoners, the several groups were almost instantly separated by the crowd.

Haplo and the prince vanished from sight. The duke and duchess pressed close to Alfred, one on either side, their hands closing over his arms.

He felt an unusual tenseness, a rigidity in their bodies, and looked at each in doubt and sudden, sickening apprehension.

“Yes,” said Jera, her voice pitched low, barely audible above the noise level created by the multitudes jamming the streets, “we're going to try to help you escape. Just do what we tell you, when we tell you.”

“But … the prince … my fri—” Alfred paused. He had been about to term Haplo his “friend” and wondered uneasily if the word was quite proper or even accurate.

Jonathan appeared troubled, glanced at his wife, who shook her head firmly.

The duke sighed. “I'm sorry. But you see that helping them is impossible. We will make certain you get away safely, then perhaps together we can do something to assist your friends.”

What he said made sense. How could the duke know that, without Haplo, Alfred was a prisoner no matter where he went on this world? He emitted a small sigh, that no one could possibly have heard. “I suppose it wouldn't matter if I told you that I didn't
want
to escape?”

“You're frightened,” said Jera, patting his arm. “That's understandable. But trust us. We'll take care of you. It won't be that difficult,” she added, casting a scornful glance at their dead guards, shouldering their way through the crowd.

“No, I didn't think it would,” Alfred said, but he said it to himself.

“Our concern is for your safety,” added Jonathan. “Is it?” Alfred asked wistfully.

“Why, of course!” the duke exclaimed, and Alfred had the feeling that the young man actually believed what he said.

The Sartan couldn't help but wonder, with a gentle melancholy, how ready these two would be to risk their lives to save a clumsy-footed bumbling fool instead of a man who'd fulfilled “the prophecy,” whatever that might be. He considered asking, decided he really didn't want to know.

“What will happen to the prince, to … to Haplo?” “You heard Pons,” said the duchess shortly. “Who?”

“The chancellor.”

“But he's talking about murder!” Alfred was aghast. He could believe it of mensch, believe it of the Patryns … but his people!