Fire Sea (58 page)

Baltazar saw the defenses lowered, took a defiant step toward them.

“Do so, and I will kill you, my friend,” said Prince Edmund, not in anger, but in sorrow. “What is one dead more or less in this world of ours?”

Alfred caught his breath in a choked sob.

“Just get us on board, damn you!” Haplo spoke through clenched teeth. “You'll have to do it. I can't… I've lost… too much blood …”

The ship floated above the magma sea, a wide gulf of burning red stretching between them and escape from Abarrach. No gangplank, no ropes…. Behind them, Kleitus had made his way off his ship. He was marshaling the dead, leading them to the assault, urging them to seize the coveted winged ship, urging them to sail into Death's Gate.

Alfred blinked back his tears and he could see the sigla again, he could read them, understand. He wove the runes together in a bright and shining net that wrapped around him, around Haplo, around Haplo's dog. The net raised them in the air, an invisible fisherman hauling in his catch, and lifted them on board the
Dragon Wing.

The runes of his enemy closed protectively behind the Sartan.

Alfred stood on the bridge, stared out the porthole. The dead, led by the lazar, swarmed around the dragonship, beating unsuccessfully against the runes. Baltazar was nowhere to be seen. He was either dead, murdered by the lazar, or he'd managed to flee in time.

The people of Kairn Telest were abandoning Safe Harbor,

escaping back to the Salfag Caverns or beyond. Alfred could see them, a long, thin, ragged line, straggling across the plain. The dead, momentarily distracted by their desire to seize the ship, were letting them go. It didn't matter. Where could the living hide that the dead would not find them? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered …

Kleitus shouted a command. The other lazar ceased their fruitless struggle, gathered around their leader. The crowd of dead parted, and Alfred caught a glimpse of Jonathan lying still and unmoving on the pier. Jera bent over him, clasped the body in her dead arms. Her lazar began the chant that would restore him to terrible, tormented life.

Alfred turned away.

“What are the lazar doing?” Haplo crouched on the deck, his hands on the steering stone. The sigla tattooed on his hands glowed blue, but only a faint blue, barely discernible. He swallowed, removed his hands, flexed them, and shut his eyes.

“I don't know,” Alfred answered dispiritedly. “Does it matter?”

“Hell, yes, it matters! They may be able to unravel my magic. We're not out of this yet, Sartan, so quit blubbering and tell me what's going on.”

Alfred gulped, looked back out the porthole. “The lazar are … are plotting something. At least that's what it looks like. They're gathered around Kleitus. All of them except… Jera. She's …” His voice died.

“That's what they're doing,” said Haplo softly. “They're going to try to break down the runes.”

“Jonathan was so certain.” Alfred stared out the window. “He had faith—”

“—in nothing but your trickery, Sartan.”

“I know you won't believe me, Haplo, but what happened to you in the chamber happened to me, as well. Just as it happened to Jonathan. I don't understand it.” Alfred shook his head, added in a low voice, “I'm not certain I
want
to understand it. If we're not gods … if there is some higher power…”

The ship moved beneath his feet, nearly throwing him off

balance. He looked back at Haplo. The Patryn had his hands on the steering stone. The sigla glowed a bright, intense blue. Sails shivered, ropes tightened. The dragonship spread its wings, prepared to fly. On the pier, the dead began to clamor and clashed their weapons together. The lazar lifted their horrible visages, moved as a group toward the ship.

Apart from them, at the far end of the dock, Jonathan rose to his feet. He was a lazar, he had become one of the dead who was not dead, one of the living who was not living. He began walking toward the ship.

“Stay! Stop!” Alfred cried, pressing his face against the glass. “Can't we wait a minute longer?”

Haplo shrugged. “You can go back if you want to, Sartan. You've served your purpose. I don't need you any longer. Goon, get out!”

The ship began to move. Haplo's magical energies flowed through it, the blue light beamed brightly, welled up from between his fingers, surrounding him in a brilliant halo.

“If you're going, go!” he shouted.

I should, Alfred told himself. Jonathan had faith enough. He was willing to die for what he believed. I should be prepared to do the same.

The Sartan left the porthole, started toward the ladder that led up from the bridge. Outside the ship, he could hear the chill voices of the dead, shouting in fury, enraged at seeing their prey escape. He could hear Kleitus and the other lazar raise their voices in a chant. From the strain suddenly apparent on Haplo's face, they were attempting to break down the
Dragon Wing
‘s
fragile, protective rune structure.

The dragonship jolted to a halt. It was caught, held fast like a fly in a web of the lazar's magic. Haplo closed his eyes, focused his mental powers, his concentration visible in the rigidity of the hands pressed against the steering stone. His fingers—red against the light welling up from beneath— seemed to be made of flame.

The dragonship lurched, sank a few feet.

“Perhaps the choice will be taken from me,” Alfred murmured, almost relieved. He turned back to the porthole.

Haplo gasped, grit his teeth, and held on. The ship rose slightly.

A spell came, unbidden, to Alfred's mind. He could enhance the Patryn's failing energy. He could help break free of the web before the spider stung them.

The choice, far from being taken away, was being laid squarely on him.

The
lazar
that was Jonathan stood apart from the other lazar, the eyes of the soul not quite torn from the body gazed up at the ship, gazed through the runes, through the wood, through the glass, through flesh and bone into Alfred's heart.

“I'm sorry,” Alfred said to the eyes. “I don't have the faith. 1 don't understand.”

The Sartan turned away from the window. Walking over to Haplo, Alfred placed his hands on the Patryn's shoulders and began to chant.

The circle was joined. The dragonship gave a great shudder, broke free of the magical toils, lifted its wings and soared upward, leaving behind the fiery sea, leaving behind the dead and the living on the stone world of Abarrach.

The ship floated before Death's Gate.

Haplo lay on a pallet on the deck, near the steering stone. He had collapsed moments after they'd freed themselves. Hovering on the brink of unconsciousness, he'd fought to keep himself awake, fought to guide their ship to safety. Alfred had watched over him anxiously, until Haplo ordered him irritably to go away and leave him alone.

“All I need is sleep. When we reach the Nexus, I'll be fine.
You
better find yourself a place to lie down, Sartan, or you'll end up breaking your neck when we go through Death's Gate. And this time, when we go through, keep your mind out of mine!”

Alfred stood by the porthole, staring out, his mind walking back on Abarrach, regret gnawing at him. “I didn't mean to pry into your past life. I don't have much control—”

“Shut up and sit down.”

Alfred sighed and sat—or rather tumbled—into a corner.
He huddled there dejectedly, his bony knees level with his chin.

The dog curled up beside Haplo, put its head on his chest. The Patryn settled himself comfortably, stroked the dog's ears with his hand. The animal closed its eyes, and its tail wagged contentedly.

“Sartan. You awake?”

Alfred kept silent.

“Alfred.” Grudgingly.

“Yes, I'm awake.”

“You know what'll happen to you in the Nexus.” Haplo didn't look at him when he spoke, he kept his gaze on the dog. “You know what My Lord will do to you.”

“Yes,” Alfred answered.

Haplo hesitated a moment, either deciding on his next words or deciding whether or not to say them. When he made his decision, his voice was hard and sharp, cutting through some barrier within himself.

“Then, if I were you, I wouldn't be around when I woke up.” Haplo closed his eyes.

Alfred stared in amazement, then smiled gently. “I understand. Thank you, Haplo.”

The Patryn didn't respond. His labored breathing grew even and easy. Lines of pain relaxed from his face. The dog, sighing, wriggled closer.

Death's Gate opened, drew them slowly inside.

Alfred leaned back against the bulkheads. Consciousness was slipping away from him. He thought he heard, though it may have been a dream, Haplo's sleepy voice.

“I never did find out about the prophecy. I don't suppose it matters. No one will be left alive down there to fulfill it. Who believes in that crap anyway? Like you said, Sartan. If you believe in a prophecy, you have to believe in a higher power.”

Who believes? Alfred wondered.

CHAPTER
47
SAFE HARBOR,
ABARRACH

T
HE LAZAR, ANGERED AT LOSING THE DRAGONSHIP, TURNED
their wrath on the living who yet remained on Abarrach. Kleitus led the armies of the dead in an attack on the small band of refugees from Kairn Telest.

The living were led by Baltazar, who barely escaped with his life from the docks. Protected by Prince Edmund, the necromancer hastened back to his people, hiding in the Salfag Caverns. He brought them the terrible news that their own armies of dead had turned against them.

The people of Kairn Telest fled the coming of the dead, running out into the open plains of the land that was itself, dying. They fled without hope, however, for among their number were many sick and many children, who could not stand the forced pace. The cycles of their suffering and hardship were mercifully brief. The dead were hard on their heels and soon the last living beings on Abarrach were brought to bay. They had no choice but to turn and fight.

During this time, I walked among the lazar, pretending to be one with them, for I knew that my hour had not yet come. Prince Edmund remained by my side. Although I knew his grief for his people was acute, he, too, waited for his hour.

The people of Kairn Telest chose for their field of battle a level plain not far from the Pillar of Zembar. They gave some thought to trying to protect the children, the sick and infirm, the elderly. In the end, they decided that it mattered little.

Against the dead, there could be only one outcome. Men and women, old and young gathered what weapons they could and prepared to fight. They formed their ranks into a single line—families together, friend beside friend. The fortunate ones would be those who died first and swiftest.

The dead ranged themselves in ranks in the field across from the living. Their army was huge, outnumbering the people of Kairn Telest almost a thousand to one. Kleitus and the lazar walked before them, the dynast exhorting the cadavers to bring the dead necromancers among the Kairn Telest to him for resurrection.