Alfred, looking at him, saw the Patryn’s eyelids flicker.
“Now you’ve done it!” Haplo shot irritably out of the corner of his mouth. “I had everything under control! Get off me!”
Either the cadaver didn’t notice that now it had two victims instead of one, or perhaps it assumed that it was to save time by dispatching both at once.
“I—I can’t!” Alfred was paralyzed with fear, unable to move. Looking up in frantic terror, he saw the razor-sharp, if slightly rusted blade, descending.
The Sartan gasped the first runes that came to his lips.
The captain of the dead had been a brave and honorable soldier, well respected and loved by his men. He had died in the Battle of the Pillar of Zembar, [2] of a sword thrust in the gut. The horrible wound could still be seen, a gaping, although now bloodless, hole in the cadaver’s stomach.
Alfred’s rune-chant appeared to inflict the same killing blow over again.
For a brief instant, a semblance of life flickered in the dead eyes. The cadaver’s well-preserved face wrenched with pain, the sword fell from a hand that reached instinctively at its torn vitals. A silent scream came from blue lips.
The cadaver doubled over, clutching its gut. Those watching in stunned shock saw its hands curl around the invisible blade of some unseen attacker. Then, seemingly, the sword was wrenched free. The cadaver gave a last, silent groan and slid to the ground. It did not get back to its feet, it did not continue the attack. The captain lay on the ash-covered ground, dead.
No one moved or spoke; all standing near might have been struck by the same invisible sword. The Lord High Chancellor was the first impelled to action.
“Bring the captain back!” he commanded the court necromancer.
Hastening forward, her black robes fluttering around her, her cowl fallen, unheeded, from her head, the necromancer approached the captain’s corpse.
She sang the runes.
Nothing happened. The captain lay motionless.
The necromancer sucked in a deep breath, eyes widened in astonishment, and then narrowed in anger. She began to chant the runes again, but the magic died on her lips.
The cadaver’s phantasm rose up before the necromancer and stood between the wizardess and its corpse,
“Be gone,” ordered the necromancer, attempting to brush it aside, as she might brush away smoke from a fire.
The phantasm remained where it was, began to change in appearance. No longer was it a pitiful wisp of fog, but the semblance of a man—strong and proud—who faced the wizardess with dignity. And all realized, who stood watching in amazed awe, that they were seeing the corpse as he had been in life.
The captain faced the necromancer and the watchers saw, or thought they saw, the phantasm shake its head in firm denial. It turned its back on its corpse and walked away, and it seemed a great and sorrowful wail resounded from the mist around them, a wail that was fraught with envy.
Or was it the wind, howling among the rocks?
The necromancer stood gazing at the phantasm in openmouthed stupefaction. When it disappeared, she suddenly became aware of her audience and snapped her mouth shut.
“Good riddance.” Bending over the corpse, she spoke,the runes again, adding, for good measure, “Get up, damn you!”
The corpse didn’t move.
The necromancer’s face flushed an ugly red. She kicked at the cadaver. “Get up! Fight! Carry out your orders!”
“Stop it!” Alfred cried in anger, regaining his feet with difficulty. “Stop it! Let the man rest!”
“What have you done?” The necromancer rounded on Alfred. “What have you done to it? What have you done?”
Alfred, taken aback, stumbled over Haplo’s ankles. The Patryn groaned and stirred.
“I—I don’t know!” Alfred protested, bumping into the side of the carriage.
The necromancer advanced on him. “What have you done?” she demanded, her voice rising to a shrill scream.
“The prophecy!” Jera exclaimed, clutching at her husband. “The prophecy!”
The necromancer overheard, paused in her harangue. She stared at Alfred narrowly, then looked swiftly to the chancellor for orders. He appeared dazed.
“Why doesn’t it get up?” he asked in a shaken voice, staring at the corpse.