A hundred yards further on, the alleyway joined the other main avenue that ran from east to west across the square. Common sense suggested that their quarry had not turned east into the square, where his position would be completely exposed, and the same reasoning suggested that he would avoid turning west into the avenue. The alternative was to cross the avenue into the narrow street which ran down toward the river. Here again the snow had been trampled, so no individual print could be distinguished. As they passed close to the rear of the house in which Skorbo had been attacked, Niall was struck by the thought that their quarry could have taken refuge in any one of a dozen empty buildings. Yet Veig continued to hurry forward without hesitation, so that by the time he reached the embankment he was almost running.
Niall was the first to see the fugitive. He was walking along the road, about fifty yards to their right, toward one of the smaller bridges that crossed the river to the slave quarter. There could be no doubt about his identity; the object he was carrying under his arm looked like a cabbage. Afraid to shout, in case he betrayed their presence, Niall flung up an arm and pointed. The man was walking slowly, in a curiously stiff, doll-like manner, as if both legs were giving him pain. A moment later, Niall felt the blast of will-force that emanated from Dravig; it was so powerful that it made him wince. He expected to see the man fall to the ground as if poleaxed. Yet, incredibly, he continued to walk, in the same stiff-legged manner, toward the center of the bridge. Dravig was also incredulous; it was the first time in his life that a human being had failed to respond to a mental command. As they watched, the man halted and climbed onto the parapet of the bridge. Again, Dravig hurled a thunderbolt of will-force that should have knocked him backward; it had no visible effect. A moment later the man jumped; the wind carried the sound of the splash away from them.
Dravig hesitated no longer; a few strides carried him to the embankment and over its low wall. A few seconds later Niall reached the spot, expecting to see the man struggling in the water, or in the grip of the spider’s forelegs. Instead he saw Dravig standing in the middle of the river — which was about six feet deep at this point — looking bewilderedly to right and left.
They hurried down the steps that led from the embankment to the flagstoned path beside the river. The slow-flowing water was flat and calm, reflecting the moonlight; the only ripples were caused by Dravig himself.
Veig said: “He must be swimming underwater.” But as they stared intently at the smooth surface, it became clear that this was unlikely; no one could hold his breath that long.
Dravig began to wade slowly downstream, and they followed, walking under the black shadow of the bridge. As Dravig emerged from the shadow he halted, and suddenly plunged under the water. A moment later he reappeared, holding the body of a man in his forelegs. In two strides he had regained the bank. Since the body was upside down, and remained motionless, it seemed clear that the man was either dead or unconscious. Then, as he landed with a thud on the flagstones, it became obvious that he was dead. The blank eyes gazed directly ahead and the mouth gaped open like that of a fish; the right arm was still bent against his side, as if holding the head; but the head itself had escaped.
Simeon knelt beside him and touched one of his eyelids, then pinched the flesh of the cheek. When he looked up, his face was very pale.
“This man has been dead for hours.”
“How can that be?” Veig’s voice sounded incredulous, almost angry.
Simeon took hold of the left arm and tried to bend it. “Look. Rigor mortis. That doesn’t set in for at least four hours after death.”
“But we all saw him walking. Dead men can’t walk.”
“Can you think of any other explanation?”
Niall also touched the cheek; it was like cold rubber. There was something repulsive about the face; it was flabby, with a receding double chin and a thick, sensual mouth; the nose was like a pig’s snout. Controlling his aversion, Niall tore open the tunic, exposing the white, hairless chest. He pointed to the pendant, which lay against the base of the throat.
“That’s what killed him.”
Simeon asked: “How can you be so sure?”
“Look.” Niall pointed to the circular red spot above the heart; it was about an inch in diameter and might have been a burn mark. Then he took hold of the pendant and extended it on its chain; it covered the red mark precisely. “That’s why he died of a heart attack.”
Simeon’s hand went up to his own chest. “Great goddess; I’ve been wearing one of those things all afternoon. . .”
Niall said: “But he had no reason to kill you. On the contrary, it would have given him away.”
Veig said: “But who is ‘he’?”
“I don’t know his name. But he’s some kind of magician. Only a magician could make the dead walk. . .” Niall’s voice trailed off as he spoke the last words; it was as if he felt that even speaking them aloud was dangerous.
Simeon removed the pendant from around the man’s neck, and handed it to Niall. “Now at least he’ll stay dead.”
As soon as Niall’s head touched the pillow, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. Yet when he woke, two hours later, it was as if struggling out of a nightmare. He immediately experienced a strong conviction that there was someone else in the room. He raised his head and listened; there was no sound but the wind, which howled against the corner of the building. He reached out cautiously to the lamp that burned in an alcove above the bed, and turned up the wick. The yellow flame revealed that the room was empty. Yet when he stilled his senses, retreating to the silent place inside himself, he still experienced the feeling that he was being watched.
He sat up in bed and took the lamp from the wall. Then, walking silently on bare feet, he went into the next room. Yet even as he tiptoed across the floor, he felt that these precautions were absurd. It was as if the watcher was looking down on him from above, or from some direction beyond the reach of his senses.
The glass containing the mead stood on the table. Now it contained two pendants, one taken from Simeon, the other from the corpse by the river. As soon as he saw them, Niall knew he had made a mistake to put them together. Now each one reinforced the power of the other, creating a living force field that was aware of everything that moved within its radius.
He reached out his hand toward the glass, then snatched it away; it was like trying to reach out to a striking snake. In fact, the pendants with their intertwined chains seemed to be two snakes with their coils intertwined; he felt they were daring him to reach out and touch them.
For a moment Niall considered taking them to the white tower, where they could be rendered harmless by the electromagnetic field of the Steegmaster. The thought of the freezing wind deterred him. Then he was struck by another possibility. In the basement below the hall, there were a number of stone jars made of some black, granitelike substance; they were so heavy that no one had ever attempted to move them. No one seemed to know what they had been used for. But one day the children had discovered that they possessed a peculiar property: pins, needles, and small iron ornaments stuck to them so firmly they were difficult to remove. Simeon told him they had been carved from an ore named magnetite.
With an effort that cost all his power of self-discipline, Niall reached out and picked up the glass. It was hard to dismiss the idea that the two pendants were alive and about to rear up and crawl over the sides. A few seconds later, his hand began to tingle with a sensation like pins and needles. Carrying the lamp in his other hand, he went out into the corridor and down the stairs. In the hall, the air was warm, and red embers still burned in the grate. But as he crossed to the door that led to the basement, the pins and needles turned into a numbing sensation, so that he felt he had to grip the glass more tightly to avoid dropping it.
At that moment he became aware that the force field of the glass was being reinforced from elsewhere; somewhere out in the city, an even more powerful field was joining its energy to theirs. At the same time, he seemed to be surrounded by a dull gray light that made everything unreal. The flame of the lamp was no longer necessary; the light seemed to illuminate the room like the first gray mist of dawn. The sound of his own footsteps seemed very far away. As he pushed open the door into the basement, he realized he was sweating, and that his teeth were chattering. He was seized by an overwhelming desire to put down the glass and run away; the presence that had been watching him now seemed so strong that he expected it to materialize.