Jonathan managed an awkward bow. Two servants were beating out the last of the flames around the door, where the oil had spilled. The wood was solid, shut and secure. And on the other side of it, Blaine and Elaine were trapped out in the dark with an army of the dead.
eLaINe StOOD WItH HeR BaCK PReSSeD to tHe WaLL and Blaine’s horse in front of her, a solid force between her and the dead. His sword glimmered in the moonlight, slashing at the walking corpses. The dead closed in, clawing at the horse and its rider. Blaine wove a pattern of destruction, cutting rotting faces, slicing hands. A finger flew onto the ground beside Elaine. The thing wiggled like a worm, struggling toward her skirts.
She didn’t scream, fearing it would distract Blaine and cost him his life, but instead kicked the severed finger away from her. It rolled into the mouth of the alley behind them, but began to inch toward her again. A zombie came around the back of Blaine’s horse. Its dull eyes stared straight at Elaine.
Two more dead clutched Blaine, and he frantically slashed their hands. Even if she called to him, he could not get to her. He was surrounded and barely holding his own, alone, on foot, and weaponless.
Bone peeked through the rotten skin, glimmering ghostlike. The zombie opened its mouth, and liquid dark and thick as pudding slid down its chin.
Elaine glanced away, swallowing hard. If she threw up now, all would be lost. She began easing her way toward the alley, her back sliding along the wall. At least she was safe from behind. Something pecked at her foot. She gave a startled yelp, and glanced down. The finger was trying to crawl up her leg. Elaine screamed and kicked it away, and it rolled under the horse’s hooves and was crushed.
Elaine turned all her attention back to the zombie that stalked her. What could she do without a weapon against an entire zombie?
Her left hand found the corner of the wall, the mouth of the alley. The only thing she had that the dead did not was speed. She darted a glance down the alley. It stretched empty as far as she could see. The zombie lunged at her, and Elaine slipped round the corner into the narrow alley. She ran. One glance behind showed the zombie had broken into a lopsided canter after her.
She ran, her heavy cloak spilling out behind her. She burst out of the mouth of the alley and was jerked to the ground. A woman stood over her, hands digging into Elaine’s cloak. At first Elaine thought it was a woman, but then she took in the thin white nightdress and the frozen expression on the face. It was better preserved, but still dead.
Elaine glanced back. The first zombie was almost upon her. She jerked loose the ties at her throat and scrambled to her feet, leaving the female zombie holding the empty cloak.
It was easier to run without the cloak, and she was too scared to feel the cold. She was on another main street, not quite as wide as the first but wide enough that she could see it was empty. She hiked up her skirts and rushed away.
The two zombies behind her gave chase. The male was slow, but the woman ran almost as well as Elaine. Her body did not look dead as it raced over the snowy street. Elaine slipped on a patch of ice, skidding into a wall. She crawled to her feet, scrambling away before she could stand upright.
A glimmer of light caught her eye, lamplight behind the shutters. She tripped on the steps leading up to the door, catching herself on the palms of her hands. The pain was sharp and immediate. She screamed and pounded stinging hands against the door.
“Help me!”
A sound made her glance behind. Three more zombies were walking toward her from the other end of the street. They were well rotted, one missing an arm. The two running zombies were still coming. The woman was almost upon her. Elaine had a second to decide: run or stay. If she stayed and the door did not open, she was dead.
She scrambled off the steps and ran past the three shambling dead. The woman was just behind her, slippered feet pattering on the street.
Two more dead stumbled from a side street to block her path. The tallest one looked quicker, more alive. She couldn’t just run past her. Elaine ran into the first alley she came to, not thinking, trying just to run. It was a mistake. The alley was blocked by a wall. A dead end—a phrase that might prove all too literal.
Elaine started to run back out, but the woman blocked her way. Elaine backed slowly away from the dead woman. She stumbled on the garbage in the alley but did not fall. Her fingers traced down one wall to steady herself, and her feet slid backward, searching for footing. She was afraid to glance down, or behind, afraid to lift her gaze from the thing coming down the alley toward her.
The woman looked almost alive, except for that awful stillness, like a painting with all the colors and shapes of life but somehow still lifeless. Flowers had been embroidered into her white gown. Someone had taken great care with the burial clothes, loving care.
“Can you speak?” Elaine asked.
The zombie just kept walking, slowly, deliberately, face empty of anything Elaine could understand. “Speak to me, please. If you can, say something.”
The zombie hesitated, then slowly shook her head.
“You understand me,” Elaine said. The relief in her voice was painful to hear.
The zombie shook her head again, as if saying no. Did she understand, or was she just moving, reacting to some memory of life? Elaine didn’t know and probably never would.
Her back smacked into a wall. She gasped, glancing behind to find the wall that blocked the alley. Her hands spread out upon the bricks. There was nowhere left to run.
“Please, if you can understand me, stop. Please, don’t.” Elaine wasn’t even sure what she was begging her not to do. Not to touch her. No, not to kill her. Not to touch her with cold, dead flesh. Not to hurt her.
The woman opened her mouth, as if trying to speak. Some stray bit of moonlight illuminated her face. The tongue that lolled between her teeth was green with rot. A sound like the mewling of a kitten oozed from her mouth.
Elaine screamed, “Blaine!” But no one was coming to help her, not this time. Gersalius’s words came back to her, that she would be able to protect herself, but how?
None of the spells he had shown Elaine would help her now. All the magic she knew was useless in the face of the dead. The other zombies had limped into the alley. They stayed a respectful distance behind the woman, but they were there. Why didn’t the woman attack?
“What are you waiting for?”
The woman looked at her and again made the awful mewling sound. Was she trying to talk? Was that it? Was it the fact that Elaine was speaking with her, not just running, or fighting, but talking? Was that what was making her hesitate?
“Do you want to talk?”
The woman shook her head but opened her mouth and tried to speak once more. She coughed violently, as if her lungs were unused to drawing air for breath. A line of dark fluid trickled down her chin from the cough. She wiped it away with the back of one gray-skinned hand.
The woman cared enough to not want the dark fluid on her face. She was not just a walking shell, not a simple zombie. “Do you want to tell me something?”
A shake of her head.
“Do you want to show me something?”
The woman nodded, almost eagerly.
Elaine swallowed a lump that was threatening to choke her. “Show me, please.”
The dead woman beckoned and began walking back down the alley toward the other zombies. Was it a trick to get Elaine close to them? She didn’t think so. She was trapped. If they wanted to kill her, they could have. There was no reason to try and trick her.
“I’m afraid of the others,” Elaine said.
The woman merely motioned her to follow, as if she either didn’t hear or didn’t understand. The other zombies backed away from the woman, seemingly frightened of her. What could frighten the dead? Elaine was not at all sure she wanted to know, yet what choice did she have? The zombie wanted to show her something. It might be the only reason she was still alive. If she stopped following, would the dead woman kill her? Elaine thought it l
ikely.
The other zombies had spilled out into the main street. They huddled on either side of the alley mouth. The woman stood just beyond them, waiting.
Elaine hesitated, staring at the zombies crouched to either side. If she walked between them, they could simply reach out and grab her. She did not want to pass that close to them, not voluntarily.
The female zombie motioned impatiently. It was the most abrupt movement she’d made so far. If she grew angry, would she leave Elaine to the others?
Elaine took a deep breath and darted out of the alley. The one-armed zombie made a grab for her skirts. She squealed and had the oddest feeling the zombie was laughing at her. Of course, zombies didn’t have a sense of humor. Elaine glanced into the sparkling eyes of the corpse. The eyes were alive in a way that the body was not. Those sparkling eyes trapped in the rotting body frightened her more than anything else. It was almost as if a living person were trapped inside.
Elaine shook her head. That wasn’t possible.
The zombie woman turned and walked down the street. Elaine hurried after her with a last glance at the others. They waited, huddling together. When the woman was almost to the corner, they got up and began to follow.
The dead woman never looked back. Had she forgotten about Elaine? Why did the other dead obey the woman? Elaine had read in Jonathan’s books that zombies were just walking corpses. They would take orders from a wizard who raised them, but not from another zombie.
The woman entered a narrow, winding street. The upper stories of the houses nearly met above the street, plunging them into a darkness that was nearly complete. The woman’s white dress was a glimmering shape moving just ahead. That uncertain whiteness moving always away, never turning back, never hesitating, as in the ghost stories Elaine had read. Was that what she followed? Could the woman be a ghost? Did ghosts rot? Elaine didn’t think so, but she was unsure of so many things.
Walking quietly through the dark streets, she hugged her arms against the cold. She wished for her cloak lying somewhere back in the winter night. Had Blaine missed her by now? She knew he hadn’t been badly hurt, for she’d had no hint of a vision. Of course, she’d never been right next to him in a fight.
A rock skittered behind her. She turned and found the back street full of zombies. All sizes and shapes, filling the narrow way like a stopper in a bottle. Elaine hurried after the distant white figure. She fought the urge to run, fearing they might give chase. They weren’t hurting her, just following. For now.
The street began to climb a hill. The woman waited at the top. She was bathed in moonlight. For a moment Elaine thought the zombie glowed with light, but as she drew closer, she realized it was the contrast to the dark sky and street. The zombie stood in a clearing away from any building. The moonlight seemed almost unnaturally bright after the narrow roofed-in darkness.
The dead woman stood beside a high, spiked fence. It was formed of black, iron bars. Elaine came to stand beside the fence. It was a graveyard, where tombstones dotted the ground like the broken teeth of giants.
She looked at the woman. “Why have you brought me here?”
The woman pointed to the fence and what lay beyond. “It is a graveyard—I see that. Did you want to show me where you came from?”
The zombie shook her head, still pointing out into the cemetery.
“Do you want me to go inside the fence?”
Again the head shake.
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” Elaine said.
There were scuffling sounds behind them. Elaine turned. The dead were lined up behind her like an audience. A little boy of no more than seven stood closest. Elaine almost asked him what he was doing there, but as he turned his head a bit of bone stuck out of his cheek.
Elaine backed into the fence, one hand holding the cold metal tight, as if only the metal were real. If she could just find something to hold on to, maybe the rest would go away and not be real at all. It was the way Elaine dealt with bad dreams. When you woke, you found something real and normal to hold, to touch, and the dream was just a dream.
Something crawled up the slope toward them. At first Elaine’s eyes wouldn’t make sense of it. It was alive; it moved, but … suddenly she could see it, and wished she hadn’t.
It was a badly decayed corpse. Its legs were gone, and only the stub of one arm remained to push it up the hill. The flesh was rotted to a mottled color. The naked latticework of the ribs scraped on the cold ground like metal on a plate.
Elaine was all out of screams for the night. It was just one more horror to add to the list.
A figure in a hooded cloak stepped out of the shadows near the buildings. He walked in a long arc around the zombies, approaching Elaine. The dead watched him with sullen eyes. “Are you all right?”
The voice was a man’s voice, normal, pleasant, wondrous. “Yes.”
He held out a gloved hand. “Come, I’ll take you to a place of safety. My spell won’t hold them long.”
“Spell?” Elaine said.
“A small charm, nothing more. It won’t last much longer. I heard your screams and came looking for you.” He still held out his hand, waiting.
Elaine moved to take it. The dead woman reached for her, too. Elaine jerked back and half-ran to the man’s waiting hand. His fingers were solid and real in his grasp.
He led her away from the graveyard, glancing back at the waiting dead. “We must hurry. I’ve never tried the charm on so many at once.”
“Are you a wizard?” Elaine didn’t think he was; he didn’t feel like a wizard.
“Oh, no. I traveled to a local witch to get a charm so I could walk the streets. The town elders sent for some mage-finder, but I say fight magic with magic.”
Elaine didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Jonathan had taught her that magic was never an option, but much had changed in the last few days. She was no longer sure if Jonathan had ever been right about anything.
He led her back into the narrow streets. They seemed even darker after the moonlit hill. She stumbled, and only his hand kept her from falling.
“Are you sure you are unhurt?” His eyes caught what little light there was, glinting. They were some dark color. His face was a square-jawed paleness in the dark.
“I just tripped. I’m fine.”
He smiled. “Then come. We need to get inside before they come after us.”
“I knocked on a door. I know someone was inside. I saw a light. They wouldn’t help me.”
“Didn’t open the door, eh?” he said.
“No.”
“They lock the doors and shutters and hide after nightfall. They won’t open the doors to anyone. You can scream and cry, and no one will help you.”
“But you helped me.”
He turned back to her. Elaine thought he smiled again. “I got tired of listening to people scream for help, and no one going to them. So I go to them.”
“Thank you.”
“Here we are.” He stopped at one of the bright-painted doors, one like a dozen others. He released her hand and took a key from his belt pouch. He unlocked the door and motioned her in. She stopped just within. There was no light, and it was darker inside than out. When he closed the door, Elaine couldn’t see her hand before her face. It was dark as a cave. There was a musty smell like an unused attic.
She heard the key turn in the lock. “It’s the only way to keep the dead out,” he said. “Don’t move, and I’ll light a candle. Wouldn’t want to rescue you from the hill only to have you trip and break your neck in the dark.” There was a hint of cold laughter in his voice.
Elaine stood frozen in the dark. His cloak brushed her leg as he moved past her. He seemed to have no trouble seeing, but perhaps he was just familiar with the room.
The musty smell seemed to be growing stronger.
There was a hiss and the scent of sulfur. The sputtering flame seemed bright as a star in the darkness. He touched it to the first candle in
a candelabrum that sat on a small table. The candle caught, and he shook the match out, placing it carefully on a small tray. He lifted the candle from its holder and used it to light the two remaining ones. The light was warm and gentle, and the flames reflected in the gilt mirror on the wall.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Elaine Clairn. What’s yours?”
He looked up then, face turned so the mirror only caught a sliver of his face. He pivoted toward her, smiling. The candle flames set deep flickering shadows inside his hood. For a moment, there was nothing but the glitter of his eyes reflecting the fire.
“The dead have no names, Elaine Clairn.”
“What did you say?”
He pushed his hood back. His face was narrow, with a strong jaw. Long, dark hair spilled out over his shoulders, and his thin nose had a faint dip in the middle as if someone had hit him long ago, and it had not healed right.
Elaine took a step forward, staring. No one had hit him in the face. The nose was crumbling, falling in upon itself.
He gave a wide smile, and his lips cracked, blood trickling down his chin. “I am falling apart, Elaine Clairn, and you will save me.”
“How?” Her voice was a whisper.
“Your blood, Elaine. I will drink your blood.”
eLaINe BaCKeD UP INto tHe DOOR. SHe tRIeD tO turn the handle, but it was locked. She’d heard him lock it, had stood there like an idiot while he locked her inside.
The urge to just turn around and beat at the door, to panic, was very real. It would feel good for a few moments to scream and rant, but it would be the last thing she ever did. Elaine could not give in to fear. She had to think.
The zombie took off one glove. His skin was stretched paper-thin over the bones. He touched the blood on his chin with two bare fingers. He raised the fingers to his lips and sucked them, slurping the blood off like candy.
Elaine did her best to ignore him. The hallway stretched beyond the candlelight. Two doors stood opposite each other just behind the zombie, and then the hallway gave a sharp turn. If she could get past the zombie, there were places to run to. A door, a window, something. Anything was better than being taken like this, trapped against the door.
Death of a Darklord Page 18