Fire Sea (57 page)

A cold touch on the back of his leg nearly sent Alfred leaping into the sea. He thought it was one of the hands of the cadavers, and he shuddered, waited for death, until he heard a soft, pathetic whine.

Alfred opened his eyes, sighed in relief. The dog stood at his side. Certain it had the Sartan's full attention, the animal darted sideways several steps, then darted back, and looked at Alfred expectantly.

The dog wanted him to go to its master, of course. Haplo stood on the pier, propped up against a bale of kairn grass. The Patryn's shoulders sagged. His face was deathly pale. Only his indomitable will and strong sense of survival kept him conscious.

Mercy, compassion, pity …

Alfred drew a deep breath. Expecting to be halted, challenged, cut down by arrow, spear, or sword, he gripped his courage in both hands and began to edge his way through the dead toward Haplo.

Jonathan continued his speech, a speech now pitiable in Alfred's estimation. He knew how it must end and so, he realized suddenly, did the young duke.

“Our ancestors feared these people who now came forward, crying out against the necromancers, warning that we must change or we would end up destroying not only ourselves, but the fragile balance that exists in the universe. The answer of our ancestors was to murder the ‘heretics,’ seal their bodies up in the chamber that became known as ‘Damned’ and surround it with runes of warding.”

The dead eyes of the cadavers followed Alfred's movements, but they made no attempt to stop him. He reached Haplo's side, knelt down near the wounded man. “What… what can I do?” he asked in a low voice.

“Nothing,” Haplo answered, teeth clenched against his pain, “unless you can shut that fool up.”

“At least, while he's talking, we have time—”

“For what?” Haplo demanded bitterly. “Write a last letter home, maybe?”

“They didn't do anything to me.”

“Why should they bother? They know we're not going anywhere.”

“But your ship—”

“Make one move toward it, and that move will be your

last.” Haplo drew a shuddering breath, bit off a groan. “Look on board the dragonship. The lady isn't paying attention to her husband's speech.”

Alfred looked up, saw Jera looking directly at him.

“She knows about the ship, about Death's Gate. Remember?” Haplo pushed himself into a more upright position, gasping at the agony the move caused him. The dog, standing over him, whimpered in sympathy. “My guess is … they want to take it for themselves, try to enter …”

“Enter worlds of the living! Enter to kill! That's… that's awful! We've got to do something!”

“I'm open to suggestion,” Haplo said dryly.

He had managed—at what terrible cost in pain Alfred couldn't begin to imagine—to hack off much of the shaft of the arrow in his thigh. But the arrow's head remained lodged in his flesh, his pant leg was soaked with blood. His shirt had stuck to the wound on his arm, forming a crude bandage. The deep slash would break open and begin to bleed the moment he moved.

“We might have one chance,” he said softly, his gaze intent on the young duke. “You can see, of course, where this tale of his is leading?”

Alfred didn't answer.

“When they move in for the kill, we make a run for the ship. Once we're on board, the runes will protect us. I hope.”

Alfred looked back at Jonathan, standing, alone.

“You mean … abandon him?”

Haplo's bloody hand snaked out, grabbed Alfred's collar, dragged the Sartan's face to within an inch of his.

“Listen to me, damn you! You know what will happen if these lazar come through Death's Gate! How many innocents will die? How many on Arianus? How many on Pryan? Balance that against one man's life on this world. You made him believe in this ‘higher power.’ You're the one who sent him to his death! You want to be responsible for bringing death itself through Death's Gate?”

Alfred's tongue felt swollen. He couldn't talk, could only stare at Haplo in wordless confusion.

Jonathan's voice, firm, strong, powerful, caught their attention. He drew even Jera's dead eyes.

“Your warding runes couldn't keep out those who went searching for the truth! I saw. I heard. I touched. I don't understand yet. But I have faith. And I will prove to you what I have discovered.”

Jonathan took a step forward, raised his arms in appeal. “Beloved wife, I wronged you deeply. I would make amends. Slay me where I stand. I will die by your hands. Then raise me up. I will join your ranks, the ranks of the eternally damned.”

The lazar that had once been Jera left Kleitus's side. It walked down the ramp that stretched from the ship to the pier. Her phantasm, trapped in its dead shell, surged as far ahead as it could, ephemeral hands outstretched in eager anticipation.

Tears slid down Jonathan's cheeks. “So you came to me as my bride, Jera …”

He waited for her. The dead gathered around them, waited. The corpse of Prince Edmund and its shadowy phantasm, floating free beside it, waited. Out in the magma sea, the dragon drifted on the burning lava, waited. The lazar of Kleitus, standing on board ship, laughed, and waited.

The cadaver's hands reached out as if to clasp her husband to her breast. The cruel fingers, strong in death, closed instead around Jonathan's throat.

“Now!” cried Haplo.

CHAPTER
46
SAFE HARBOR,
ABARRACH

H
APLO REACHED OUT A HAND TO ALFRED TO SUPPORT HIM.
Alfred cast a stricken glance back over his shoulder. He couldn't see Jonathan, for the wall of dead surrounding the young man. He saw fists flail, saw a sword flash, heard a muffled groan. When the sword was raised again, it was dark with blood.

Blackness crept toward Alfred, comforting, soothing oblivion, a place where he could hide and not be responsible for anything that happened, including his own death.

“Alfred, don't pass out! Damn it, Sartan, for once in your miserable life, accept the responsibility!”

Responsible. Yes, we're responsible. I'm responsible for this … for all this. I've been like the dead myself, walking the land in a shell of a body, my soul buried in a tomb….

“There's nothing you can do for Jonathan,” Haplo's voice grated, “except die with him. Help me reach the ship!”

The blackness receded, but seemed to take all feeling and rational thought with it. Numb, Alfred did as he was told, obeying Haplo like a puppet or a child. The Sartan put his arm around the Patryn's shoulder and back. He aided Haplo's limping footsteps, Haplo aided Alfred's limping spirit.

“Stop them!” Kleitus howled in fury. “I need that ship! Let me through to stop them!”

But a thousand dead, milling around the dock, eager to

kill, stood between Kleitus and his prize. Some of the cadavers heard the dynast's cry; most heard only the screams of their victim, joining them in death.

“Don't look back!” Haplo commanded with what breath he had remaining. “Keep running!”

Alfred's arm ached with the strain of supporting Haplo, the fire of the magma sea glowing around him seemed to burn in his lungs. He tried calling on his magic, but he was too frightened, too exhausted, too weak. Sigla swam in his mind, burst in dazzling flashes before his eyes. A forgotten language, they meant nothing to him.

Haplo sagged against his supporter, his footsteps slipped, although they never faltered their pace. Alfred glanced at him, saw the Patryn's face ashen gray, jaw clenched tight, sweat glistened on his skin. They were near their goal, the ship loomed above them. But shuffling footsteps sounded close behind.

The footsteps goaded Alfred on. He was close, very close—

A blur of black robes rose up in front of them like a wall of night.

“Damn it all…” Haplo sighed, sounding weary to the point of not caring.

In their fear of the dead, they'd forgotten the living. Baltazar stood before them. Pale, composed, black eyes red with the reflected light of the magma, he blocked their way to the ship. He raised grasping hands and Alfred shuddered in terror. But the hands clasped together, pleading.

“Take us with you!” Baltazar begged. “Take me, take my people! As many as we can crowd on board!”

Haplo regarded Baltazar intently, but for the moment the Patryn couldn't answer, he lacked the breath to speak. Alfred guessed that the necromancer had already tried to board; the Patryn's protective sigla had prevented him. The footsteps behind them grew louder. The dog barked a warning.

“I'll teach you the necromancy!” Baltazar said softly, urgently. “Think of the power in the worlds beyond! Armies of the dead to fight for you! Legions of the dead to serve you!”

Haplo flicked a glance at Alfred. The Sartan lowered his gaze. He was tired, defeated. He'd done all he could and it hadn't been enough. Hope—inexplicable and not clearly understood—had been born within him in the chamber. It had died with Jonathan.

“No,” said Haplo.

Baltazar's black eyes widened in astonishment, stared in disbelief, then narrowed in fury. The dark brows came together, the pleading hands clenched to fists. “That ship is our only means of escape! Your living body will not tell me how to break the runes, but your corpse will!” He took a step toward Haplo.

The Patryn gave Alfred a push that sent the Sartan staggering into a bale of kairn grass.

“Not if my corpse is in there, it won't.” Haplo pointed at the magma sea. Balancing precariously on his good leg, his sword in a bloodstained hand, he stood on the edge of the obsidian wharf, only a step or two from flesh-searing death.

Baltazar halted. Alfred was dimly aware of Kleitus's shouts growing louder, of more footsteps rushing toward them. The dog had ceased to bark, the animal stood at Haplo's side. Alfred picked himself up, not certain what he could do, trying desperately to summon his magic.

A chill voice sounded close by his ear.

“Let them go, Baltazar.”

The necromancer cast the prince a sorrowful glance, shook his head. “You are dead, Edmund. You no longer have power over the living.” Baltazar took a step nearer Haplo.

Haplo took a step nearer death.

“Let them go,” repeated Prince Edmund sternly.

“Your Majesty dooms his own people!” Baltazar cried. Foam flecked the necromancer's lips. “I can save them! I—”

The cadaver raised its waxen hand, a bolt of lightning crackled, flashed out, and struck the ground at the necromancer's feet. Baltazar fell back, staring at the prince in fear and astonishment.

Prince Edmund gave Alfred a gentle shove. “Go to your friend. Help him on board the ship. You had better hurry. The lazar are coming to take you.”

Dazed, stupefied, Alfred did as he was told and reached Haplo just as the Patryn's strength began to fail him. They hastened toward the ship, the Sartan assisting the flagging steps of his ancient enemy.

Alfred slammed up suddenly against an invisible barrier. He had the startling impression of sigla flashing blue and red around him. A word from Haplo, barely audible, caused the barrier to disappear. Alfred continued on, Haplo leaning on him heavily. He grimaced in pain with every movement.