“Father, please!” Edmund pleaded. “Return to us! We need you!”
The phantasm wavered, then dwindled, nearly disappearing. The cadaver stirred. The same magical jolt passed through it that had passed through the others, and it rose, feebly, to its feet.
“Father, my king,” said the prince, bowing low.
The phantasm, barely a shadow, twisted in the air like mist rising from a pond. The cadaver lifted its wasted, waxen hand in acceptance of the homage, but then the head with the golden crown and its fixed, expressionless eyes, swiveled this way and that, as if wondering what to do next. The prince’s own head bowed, his shoulders slumped. The necromancer drew near.
“I am sorry, Your Highness.”
“It isn’t your fault, Baltazar. You told me what to expect.”
The corpse of the king remained standing before its people, its regal pose a terrible mockery of what the man had once been.
“I had hoped he might be different,” said Edmund, speaking in a low voice, as if the dead man might overhear him. “In life, he was so strong, so resolute—”
“The dead can be nothing more than they are, My Lord. For them, their life ends when the mind ceases to function. We can return life to the body, but there our power stops. We cannot give them the ability to learn, to react to the living world around them. Your father will continue to be king, but only to those to whom he was king before their deaths.”
The necromancer gestured. The dead king had turned the sightless eyes to the back of the cavern, to the dead who stood there. The corpses bowed in homage and the dead king, its phantasm whispering in grief, abandoned the living who did not know him anymore, and went to join the dead.
Edmund started to go after him. Baltazar plucked him by the sleeve.
“Your Majesty. ..” The necromancer indicated with a glance that they needed to talk in private. The two drew apart from the rest of the people, who made way for them in respect.
Haplo, with a casual gesture, sent the dog after them. The dog pushed near Edmund’s leg. Unconsciously, the man’s hand reached down to pet the soft fur. Haplo heard, through the animal’s ears, every word that was said.
“. . . you should take the crown!” the necromancer was urging in low tones.
“No!” The prince’s response was sharp. His eyes were on the cadaver of his father, walking with proud and ghastly mien among the legions of the dead. “He wouldn’t understand. He is king.”
“But, My Liege, we need a living king—*
“Do we?” Edmund’s smile was bitter. “Why? The dead outnumber us. If the living are content to follow me as their prince, then I am content to remain their prince. Enough, Baltazar. Don’t push me.”
The youthful voice hardened, the eyes flashed. The necromancer bowed silently, glided off to other duties involving the cadavers. Edmund stood by himself a long while, his thoughts turned inward. The dog whined, nuzzled the hand absently petting him. The prince glanced down, smiled wanly.
“Thank you for your comfort, Friend,” he said to the dog. ‘And you are right, I am being a neglectful host.”
Recalled to his guests, Edmund came over to seat himself down on the rock floor beside Haplo and Alfred.
“We had animals like this among us once.” Edmund fondled the dog, who wagged its tail and licked his hand. “I remember, as a boy—” He paused, sighed, then shook his head. “But you’re not interested in that. Please, be seated. Forgive the informality,” he added. “If we were in my palace in my land, I would entertain you with royal ceremony. But, then, if we were in my palace, we’d be freezing to death, so I suppose you prefer it where you are. I know I do. At least, I think I do.”
“What terrible occurrence destroyed your kingdom?” Alfred asked.
The prince looked at him with narrowed eyes. “The same occurrence that destroyed yours, undoubtedly. At least, so I must guess, to judge by what I’ve seen on my travels.”
Edmund was regarding them with renewed suspicion. Alfred stammered, appeared highly confused. Haplo sat forward, attempted to salvage the situation by changing the subject. “Did I hear something about food?”