The Key To The Grave (#2 The Price Of Freedom)

by Chris Northern

  Sapphire was swamped in moments but bulled forward. He was not fighting them, not trying to kill the dead, but instead threw them off with sudden supple movements, slipped through them, sending them flying almost as fast as they closed on him; but in moments their sheer numbers began to slow his progress. Beyond him stood Tahal, hand raised, stone flashing, seemingly to no effect. To one side I caught a fleeting impression of Balaran, stone in his hand, his attention fixed on Tahal, and knew that he had countered Tahal's attempted spell casting, hoped he would continue to do so. In front of me, Sapphire was swamped by the dead but still in motion, spilling them around him; his movements were fast and sure, but they bounced up from the dirt floor to leap at him again.

  One of the dead slipped past me, lithe and predatory, attention fixed on Sapphire's back. I felt the sweat-slick grip of the sword in my hand hand and instinctively lashed out, shearing through its shoulder and deep into its back, severing the spine. The impact jarred through my head and my vision blurred as the body fell to twitch and flop at my feet. I wrenched my blade free and stepped over it, surrounded by others of its kind. The soldiers were moving faster than I, but they were fighting the dead, and I knew that that wasn't the point, that I should ignore them, that Sapphire had understood the opportunity before I had, and acted on it. Tahal had focused the dead on the threat to himself; Sapphire was their target. The rest of us could move freely, but only if we didn't fight. I knew that Balaran was intent on stopping Tahal from hurting us with magic. The soldiers were fighting and not moving against Tahal. I glanced back over my shoulder; Dubaku had appeared beside Jocasta and was cutting her loose. Around them the dead were heading towards me, and even knowing I was not their target, the urge to defend myself from them was almost overwhelming. With an effort of will I turned my back on them and aimed for Tahal, knowing I couldn't get there fast enough, that too many of the dead were clustered between me and him, that Sapphire would be torn to shreds before I could end this.

  I began to circle but more of the dead now were sliding in through the windows and entering the hall with every moment that passed, beginning to crowd the hall. Fear thrilled coldly through me. Whatever these things were there were too many of them, far too many, and they would kill us all. I turned my attention this way and that as I pressed forward. The hall was full of movement. The soldiers had formed a circle around Balaran, protecting him, striking at the dead, severing a limb or head. Their swords blurred brightly though the air, fast and precise. But they couldn't win, not against so many, not when even more of the creatures were still crawling out of the grave in an endless stream. They were making a terrible mistake, drawing the attention of the dead, fighting them; they needed to strike Tahal. Only I seemed to understand what Sapphire had in mind but I was hampered by lack of magical enhancements; I was too slow to make a difference. Too hurt. Too confused. I pressed on, sluggish but pulled forward by some need I could barely define or express, trying to keep up, almost borne forward by the dead who pressed past me to close on Sapphire.

  My gaze fixed once more on Tahal. Our gazes met and locked for a moment. His face was white, his eyes wide with fear, almost pleading. The dead surged between us, blocking him from my view; in their midst Sapphire was still moving away from me, too fast for me to keep up with him despite his constant struggle with the crowding dead. The back of one of the creatures presented itself and I again struck instinctively, near severing the creature's head from its body. Its falling weight tugged me down and I twisted the blade free, straightened, glanced to one side, seeing more of the dead climbing back into the room. In that moment the whole wall disintegrated, throwing them and shredded wood spinning out into the night and leaving a gaping hole half the length of the room. The concussion slammed into me, and I staggered, fought to keep my feet under me, ducked instinctively. The noise rang through my head, stilled me for a moment in which I fought for consciousness; then fought to regain control of my rebelling mind and body.

  Straightening from the involuntary crouch that had taken me seemed to take an age; then I saw a knot of writhing figures, amidst which I caught a glimpse of both Sapphire and Tahal.

  Surrounded by the dead, I had little choice but to go with them, still too slow to effect the outcome. Blood spurted from some unseen wound in an arc that glittered, separating into individual spheres. As I closed on them, the mass of bodies heaved convulsively, bulging as Sapphire lifted Tahal and heaved him bodily into the grave. Swamped by a dozen clay covered figures, Sapphire lost his balance and fell with him; I threw myself forward, sliding between slick bodies, trying to reach him. I saw him twist among the dead, the weight of them bearing him down into the grave, saw Tahal slip from sight, other bodies falling with him, saw Sapphire reach out one hand to grip the edge of the grave as he fell, clay bunching around the fingers as they dug deep grooves in the wet earth. The rest of him was lost to sight as I was thrown forward by another concussion. I tried to break the fall, the point of my sword striking the earth near the edge of the grave, my weight pushing the blade to its hilt into the wet clay. Inches from my face, Sapphire's hand slipped out of sight amid the flashing movement of grey bodies all around. My head and chest slid over the edge, one arm reaching down into the roiling mass of flesh. Around me, wet bodies slithered past, feet trampled me as the dead climbed over me, and down. I ignored them as they ignored me, and pushed myself deeper into the grave, reaching for a hand that I could no longer see but could suddenly feel clamped against my wrist hard enough to make bones grind together. I found his wrist and gripped back, panting with pain and confusion.

  For an endless time I hung there, looking down into the grave and the stream of creatures who climbed unheeding into it, over me, past Sapphire, deeper into the endless dark. Every muscle in my body was locked solid, one hand still gripping the sword that stopped me from slipping over the edge, my eyes focused down into a writhing mass of bodies that buffeted and swung the man I held onto as though my life depended on it. I could see but glimpses of him, a flash of cold blue eyes looking up at me. The dead climbed over him, past him, all around us. His face was a study in grim determination beneath a wash of blood. Wet clay smeared his face and hair, his arm, his hand where it held mine, and my hand where it held his wrist, threatening the hold I had on him. I gripped harder, groaned with pain as the bones in my wrist ground together. My head pounded in time with my heart. My vision blurred and began to darken. I fought to stay conscious as another hand reached slowly out of the mire, inched up my forearm; the cold glitter of a knife blade flashing. I could feel the hand that gripped my sword weakening, the hand that gripped his wrist slipping. The knife Sapphire held turned and slid deep into the clay of the grave, point angled down. Some of the pressure eased on my wrist as he pulled himself tight in against the side of the grave and inched toward me.

  “Let go of my wrist, Sumto.”

  I became aware that he had let go of me, was hanging by the blade he had thrust into the wall and by my own grip on his wrist. He was forcing my arm up, trying to find another hold higher up. Other hands reached past me, over me, gripped him by the arms and lifted him onto me. His knee suddenly flashed before my eyes and filled my vision. I barely felt the impact. There was a flash of white that faded to nothing. Ringing voices danced through my awareness, following me down into a seemingly endless pit. A voice calling a word, a word I didn't know.

  Sumto, a woman called out, meaninglessly. Sumto.

  #

  I was looking up into the face of a gaunt, middle aged man. He moved a finger before my eyes from one side to the other. He dropped his hand, rested one hand on my forehead. “Do you recognize me?”

  I shook my head slowly.

  “Balaran, is he awake?” A woman's voice came from across the room.

  “No, no. Still out. Amnesia. It usually passes but when Tahal tampered with his memory... who knows? He was already badly concussed, confused, his brain bruised and swollen.”

  Was he talking about me? I close
d my eyes against the litany of abuse.

  “As for what Tahal snatched from him, he will probably never remember that.”

  “It doesn't really matter if he remembers or not,” a woman's voice was saying softly in the dark as I drifted in a warm haze, thinking about waking. “To wed I have to stand before a mage casting a truth spell, and I cannot. I will not. It would cost him too much.”

  “It's going to hurt,” another voice said calmly.

  “It already hurts,” the bitterness in her voice almost brought me to full wakening but the darkness dragged me back. It could wait, I felt. It could all wait.

  #

  I seemed to have been staring at the rough wooden boards of a low ceiling for a long time. I blinked away sleep and tried to order my thoughts. The light was too bright and hurt my eyes so I raised a hand to shield them from the glare.

  “Sumto?”

  “Yes,” my voice croaked; my throat was parched. I tried to sit up; it was harder than it should have been. My eyes focused on a girl leaning over me, reaching to support me. I recognised her, then remembered, opened my mouth to say her name but couldn't force another sound past my parched lips and throat..

  “Here, drink this,” Jocasta said, one arm coming behind me to support my back and another holding a cup to my lips. I held her hand and the cup, sipped, swallowed, cleared my throat and sipped again.

  “What happened?” I got one elbow under me to support my weight and Jocasta moved back, letting me take the cup from her hand.

  “What do you remember?”

  I looked around, squinting into the light and tried to think. What did I remember?

  “Where am I?” I focused on her face. Taking in the clean look of her.

  She searched my face, questioning, then her face settled into calm, cool resolve. “Still here,” she gestured to the window behind me; the shutter was pulled back and bright light spilling into the room. I looked past her but the light was too bright. I could make out the rough shape of a building or a wall, the slope of a hill beyond it. No details. Everything was blurred; my eyes watered. I closed them.

  “Too bright,” I said.

  I heard her moving, crossing the room, the shutters being closed; the light dimmed.

  “Is that better?”

  I nodded. My head pounded and I felt dizzy for a moment, but it passed. I opened my eyes. Jocasta still stood across the room, in shadow now, her back to the closed shutters. “You took a blow to the head. Concussion. You've been unconscious. I need to know what you remember. To know if you are recovering.”

  I thought about it. Remembered the cup of water in my hand and sipped some more. “I don't know. I'm tired. I can't think.”

  She crossed the room, peasant skirts flowing around her legs. She bent over me, took the cup from my hand and gently helped me rest back onto the pillow that softly supported my pounding head. “Then rest, Sumto. Sleep if you can.”

  Her face was close to mine. I watched a single tear slip from one eye and slide down her cheek. I reached for it but the effort was too much and I let my arm drop to rest on my chest. Looking up at her, the darkness closed in and I let it roll over me.

  #

  My eyes fluttered open on the soft light of dawn. I sat up fast, my head suddenly spinning.

  “Slowly,” a voice commanded, a hand grabbing my arm and another at my back, supporting my weight.

  Good advice, I thought but didn't say. After a moment I managed to shift my weight and shuffle into a sitting position, resting my back against the wall behind me. The supporting hands dropped away and I watched Sapphire settle back into a chair by the bed. His face was covered in scabs that showed where he had been bitten, and how often.

  “You look a mess,” I croaked.

  “You don't look much better,” he said, filling a cup with water and passing it to me. He gestured with the same hand at my face as he settled back in the chair. “One big bruise; lots of colors.”

  “What happened?”

  “We survived,” he said.

  A cascade of memories swirled through my mind, making me dizzy. I sipped the water and tried to sift through them and organize them. “You attacked Tahal.”

  He nodded. “I'd noticed how they all reacted to his thoughts. I thought that if I was a threat they would all attack me, giving everyone else plenty of freedom to act.” He shrugged.

  “Didn't do too well, did we?” I asked, remembering how it was Sapphire who had reached Tahal and Sapphire who had nearly been lost in killing him.

  He slowly raised one hand above his head at full stretch, looking up at it, desperately. “You got the hint,” he said, dropping his hand back into his lap and his gaze back to my face.

  I snorted a laugh and stopped at once. It made my head hurt even more than it already did.

  “What happened after?”

  “The dead things went back to the grave.” he shrugged. “Following Tahal's thoughts of it, or just heading back because he was dead and not directing them. It took a while. There were a lot of them.”

  “How do you feel?” he asked after a few moments' silence.

  I thought about it. “Tired. Hurt. Numb.”

  He nodded. “It will pass. Everything does.”

  I didn't say anything to that. It seemed a far gloomier thought than I suspect he had intended.

  “Is it over?” I asked, though I wasn't sure what I meant by it.

  He nodded. “It's over. We can leave when you feel up to it.”

  “Is this what you were here for? Tahal? The Necromancers?”

  He studied me for a moment, head back against the chair, gaze appraising. “We didn't know much, but we had suspicions. The Necromancers had become a threat we were aware of. Spies and agents. I killed some, fed others false information. I needed to get closer to their source, find out what I could and act as I saw fit. Tahal... his family's involvement was also suspected by your father but there was no proof of how they were linked to the Necromancers. Now we know and can find a way to destroy that weapon. Part of the constant struggle for power that occupies the thoughts of many patrons, those who want it all for themselves, and those who don't.” He smiled. “The price of freedom, as your father explains it, is that you constantly have to fight for it even if you already have it.”

  I let the words wash over me, unable to really pay much attention, unable to organize my thoughts. Something my father once said drifted to mind. 'There are only two kinds of people, those who want to control others and those who have no interest in doing so. It's your duty to fight against those who want control, boy. Remember that, if you forget everything else I tell you.'

  Well, I remembered it. I sighed and closed my eyes for a moment. I didn't want to think any more or remember any more. I was tired.

  “Stay awake,” Sapphire snapped. “You've been asleep too long.”

  I heaved another sigh and opened my eyes. I knew he wouldn't let me drift off to sleep now he'd said it. “Where are the others?”

  “Balaran and the soldiers are out making cairns to cover the dead. The creatures out of the grave made quite a lot of them and Balaran thinks the men should be busy while you recover your strength. Jocasta is sleeping. She wants to talk to you as soon as you wake but I think it can wait. She hasn't rested much. Let her be, for now.”

  Somehow I didn't feel like arguing with him. There was something in his voice that warned me I should do as he said and let it be.

  “And Dubaku?”

  “He is here, somewhere,” Sapphire said.

  I was glad he was alive. Maybe I would be able to repair our relationship, such as it was. I remembered my promise to find his people, and resolved to keep it. I felt that I owed him something. I remembered talking to him in the night at Learneth, before he had set the fires that burned the town to the ground. 'There is a difference,' he had said, 'between killing and murder.' I shied away from the thought and it was replaced by another memory. Dannat, leaning over me, voice raised. Angry. 'There is
no freedom, we are all slaves, there is only slavery of one sort or another. The only choice is what kind of slavery you will accept, what sort of slavery you can live with! There is no freedom for anybody, ever!'

  I thought about that. Wondered if it was true. It made a kind of sense. You have to live in some society, fit into it according to your place in it, abide by its rules, be defined by it. We are what we do, and choices are always limited.

  “You think too much,” Sapphire commented when I had been silent for a while. “See with your eyes, hear with your ears, decide with your mind and act with your body. Then move on and forget it.”

  “Maybe your are right.” I told him what Dannat had said, then asked him if he thought it was true.

  “It's a kind of truth, perhaps. But does it matter?” He met my gaze for a long moment, the dawn light filtering into the room through the gaps in the shutters behind him. “I was reading one of the books in your father's library.” That surprised me. I didn't know he could read. Just the thought of him with a book didn't fit, somehow. “It maintained that we are all three people; the person others think that we are, the person we ourselves think we are, and the person we really are. The only way you can really know who you are is by your actions. Your actions define you. So, are you free? Look at your actions honestly and you will see the truth.”

  “Are you?”

  His expression went still and he was silent for a moment, then spoke softly. “My master became your father's client and left me to your father in his will. I came home to the city with him. There I saw for the first time that a slave could become free. It was a new idea. Can you understand that? It had never occurred to me. I told your father I would serve him if I were free, die if I were not. He wrote the papers at once, but freedom doesn't come from them. Freedom is in here,” he touched his temple with one hard finger. “You see, your father didn't give me my freedom. I took it. I am free because I say I am free. Care to argue with me?”