“Well, what have they done, Sartan?” Haplo demanded impatiently. “It seems to me that necromancy could have its advantages.”
Alfred turned, regarded the Patryn with serious, grave intensity. “Yes, so we thought once, long ago. But we made a terrible discovery. The balance must be maintained. For every person brought back untimely to this life, another person—somewhere—untimely dies.” He cast a despairing glance around the people huddled in the cavern. “It is possible, extremely possible, that these people have unwittingly been the doom of our entire race.”
CHAPTER
16
SALFAG CAVERNS, ABARRACH
“THEORETICAL NONSENSE!” HAPLO SNORTED IN DISGUST. “YOU CAN’T prove such a thing.”
“Perhaps it already has been proven,” Alfred replied.
Haplo rose to his feet, not intending to stay around and listen to any more of the Sartan’s whimperings. So the dead had a few memory problems, a short attention span. Haplo considered that if he were in their position, he might not want to dwell on the present either. If he were in their position . . . would he want to be resurrected?
The thought brought him to a standstill. He pictured himself lying on the rock floor, the necromancer standing over him, his body rising. . .
Haplo shoved the question out of his mind, continued walking. He had more important matters to consider.
Maybe not, whispered a voice inside him. If you die on this world—and you very nearly died on two other worlds—then they’ll do this to you!
The staring eyes that looked straight ahead into their past. The waxy, white flesh, the blue nails and lips, the lank, uncombed hair. Revulsion twisted his stomach. For an instant, he considered fleeing, running away.
Appalled, he got a grip on himself. What the hell’s the matter with me? Running out! Running away! From what? A bunch of corpses!
“The Sartan’s doings,” he muttered angrily. “That sniveling coward’s working on my imagination. If I were dead, I don’t suppose it’d matter to me one way or the other.” But his gaze shifted from the cadaver to the phantasms, those pathetic, shadowy forms always hovering near their bodies, within reach, yet unable to touch.
“Father, leave this to me,” Edmund was talking to the cadaver with praiseworthy patience. “Stay with the people. I will go with the soldiers and see what this is all about.”
“We’re under attack from the people in the city? What city? I don’t remember any city.” The dead king sounded querulous, the hollow voice frustrated, confused.
“There isn’t time to explain, Father!” The prince’s patience was slipping. “Please, don’t concern yourself. I will deal with it. The people. You stay with the people.”
“Yes, the people.” The cadaver caught hold of that, seemed to hang on tightly. “My people. They look to me for leadership. Yet what can I do? Our land is dying! We must leave it, search for somewhere new. My Son, do you hear me? We must leave our land!”
But Edmund was no longer paying attention. He left with the dead soldiers, hastening back through the cavern toward the entrance. The necromancer stayed behind to listen to the cadaver’s rambling. The dog, having no instructions to the contrary, trotted along at the prince’s heels.
Haplo hurried after the prince but, when he caught up with him, he saw tears glisten on Edmund’s cheeks, saw the raw grief in the man’s face. The Patryn fell back a pace, stopped to play with the dog, give the prince time to compose himself. Edmund halted, brushed the back of his hand hastily over his eyes, glanced around.
“What do you want?” he demanded, voice harsh.
“Came to get my dog,” Haplo said. “He ran off after you before I could catch him. What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t time . . .” Edmund hurried on ahead again.
The dead soldiers moved swiftly, if clumsily. Walking was difficult for them. They had trouble guiding their steps or making changes in direction if they encountered an obstacle. Consequently, they blundered headlong into the cavern walls, careened off boulders, stumbled over rocks. But although they couldn’t seem to comprehend obstacles, no obstacle stopped them. They trundled through red-hot magma pools without hesitation. The glowing lava burned off whatever clothes or armor they might have had left, turned the dead flesh into charred lumps. Nevertheless, the lumps kept on moving.