Fire Sea (52 page)

“Tomas!” cried Jonathan suddenly, although how he could tell one black-robed necromancer from another was beyond Haplo's ability to fathom. “Traitor!” Before anyone could stop him, the young duke sprinted forward, robes flapping behind him.

Tomas whirled around to face them, his panicked shriek echoed through the corridors. He tried to run. An injured leg or ankle gave out, and he fell to the stone floor. Crawling on hands and knees, he attempted to drag himself away. Jonathan caught up with him easily, placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

Screaming fearfully, Tomas lurched over on his back, raised his hands over his face. “No, please! Don't! Please! No!” he babbled, over and over, writhing in a paroxysm of terror, his body twitching and rolling on the floor.

The duke stared at the man. “Tomas! I'm not going to hurt you! Tomas!” Jonathan attempted to catch hold of the wretched man, soothe him. But the sight of hands approaching him only increased his panic.

“Shut him up!” ordered Haplo furiously. “He'll have every guard in the palace down on us!”

“I can't!” Jonathan looked helpless. “He's … he's gone mad!”

Alfred knelt beside Tomas, began weaving his hands over him, chanting the runes.

“Don't put him to sleep, Sartan! We need information.”

Alfred shot Haplo a stern, reproachful glance.

“You want to carry him through the corridors with us?” Haplo demanded. “Or just leave him here, unconscious?”

Abashed, Alfred nodded. The motion of his hands formed an invisible blanket over the man. Tomas's cries ceased, he began to breathe easier. But he continued to stare at them with wide eyes, his limbs shivered and shook. Haplo crouched on the floor near the man. The dog, coming up alongside, sniffed and pawed at Tomas's robes with intense interest. Haplo reached out and touched the robe's fabric. It was wet and sodden. He held up his hand to the light, his fingers were stained crimson.

Alfred shoved the man's robe aside, looked at the leg beneath. It was bruised, but otherwise uninjured. The blood wasn't his own. Alfred went extremely pale.

“You know this man?” Haplo asked Jonathan.

“Yes, I know him.”

“Talk to him. Find out what's
going
on up there.”

“Tomas. It's me, Jonathan. Don't you recognize me?” The duke had forgotten his anger in pity. He reached out his hand, gingerly.

Tomas's eyes followed the hand, his gaze suddenly shifted to Jonathan's face. “You're alive!” he gasped. He grasped Jonathan's hand convulsively, held it fast. “You're alive!” he whispered over and over, and burst into dry, heaving sobs.

“Tomas, what happened to you? Are you hurt? There's blood—”

“Blood!” The man gasped, shuddered. “It's in the air. I can taste it! Breathe it! It stands in pools, burns like the magma. It drips, drips. I can hear it. All cycle. Drip, drip.”

“Tomas …” Jonathan urged.

The man paid no attention. He clutched the duke's hands, stared out into the shadows. “She came … for her father. His blood seeped down through the floor … drip, drip.”

Jonathan's face went livid. He let loose Tomas's grasping hands, sat back on his heels.

Haplo decided it was time to intervene. Roughly crowding the duke aside, he caught hold of Tomas and shook him. “What's going on in the city? What's going on up there?”

“Only one alive. Only one—” He began to choke, his eyes bulged from his head, his tongue protruded from his mouth.

“Sartan! Do something, damn it! He's having some sort of fit! I have to know—”

Alfred moved to minister to him. Too late. Tomas's eyes rolled back in the head, his body stiffened, then went limp.

Haplo felt for a pulse, shook his head.

“Is he—? Is he … dead?” Jonathan's voice was barely audible. “How?”

“His own fear killed him,” Alfred replied. “Whatever he saw up there.”

“ Only one alive,’ “ Haplo repeated the words slowly.

“I hear the voices of the dead,” said the phantasm. Prince Edmund's cadaver stood near Jonathan, the phantasm's gleaming eyes gazed dispassionately at the corpse. “They are many and they are filled with anger. Be at ease, poor spirit,” the prince added, speaking to a thing unseen.

“Your wait will not be long. Time grows short. The prophecy is about to be fulfilled.”

The prophecy! Haplo'd forgotten all about it. He rose to his feet. “Tell me about this—”

The dog growled, lowered its head.

“Damn! Get out of the light!” Haplo ordered, melting back into the darkness. “Keep quiet!”

Shadowed forms appeared, hooded faces hidden.

“The man ran this way,” said one. “I am positive. I can sense warmth. There is life down here!”

“… life down here…”came the faint, sibilant whisper.

“Lazar …” Alfred said, gave a gentle sigh, and slid down the wall.

“He's fainted!” whispered Jonathan.

Just when the bastard might have proved useful! Haplo swore beneath his breath. He glanced down the hallway, back the way they'd come. We passed other corridors. Alone, I could make a run for it. I'd stand a good chance of escaping, particularly because the lazar would be otherwise occupied with the duke and Alfred. That's how you escape wolfen. Toss them a freshly killed carcass. The beasts stop to feast, you make tracks.

He looked at Alfred, lying on the floor, looked at Jonathan, bending over him. The strong survived. The weak did not.

“Dog! Here, boy!” Haplo called softly. “C'mon!” The dog stood over Alfred.

The lazar had stopped to stare searchingly down another corridor. Now was the time.

“Dog!” Haplo ordered.

The animal wagged its tail, began to whimper.

“Dog! Now!” Haplo insisted, snapping his fingers.

The dog took a few steps toward Haplo, then circled back to Alfred. The lazar were on the move again. Jonathan glanced up at Haplo.

“Go on. You've done enough. I can't ask you give up your life for us. I'm sure your friend would want it this way.”

He's not my friend! Haplo started to shout. He's my enemy! You're my enemy! You Sartan murdered my parents,

you imprisoned my people. Countless thousands have suffered and died because of you. Damn right I won't give up my life for you! You're getting no more than you deserve.

“Dog!” Haplo yelled furiously, grabbing for the animal.

The dog glided out of his reach, turned, and dashed straight at the lazar.

CHAPTER
42
THE CATACOMBS,
ABARRACH

I
T WAS DIFFICULT TO COUNT THE NUMBER OF LAZAR. SEEN IN
shadow, their bodies and spirits merged and separated constantly, confusing to the eye, appalling to the brain. They were clad in black robes, necromancers—those who had the power to turn other newly dead into those who were neither dead nor alive.

Haplo had one consolation. They wouldn't be interested in his skin. They'd just butcher him outright. He supposed he should be grateful.

The lazar came to a halt. Strong hands reached out to capture the pesky dog, throttle it, twist its neck.

Haplo traced a sigil in the air. It caught fire, streaked from his hands, flashing like lightning, and struck-the dog. Blue and red flame engulfed the animal. It grew in size and continued to grow with each bounding leap. Its massive head brushed against the ceiling, huge paws shook the ground. Its eyes were fire, its breath hot smoke.

The dog leapt on the lazar, crushed their bodies beneath its gigantic paws. The animal's teeth sank into dead flesh. It didn't rip out the throat, it tore off the head.

“This will stop them, but not for long,” Haplo shouted above the dog's hoarse growling. “Get Alfred on his feet and start moving!”

Jonathan tore his horrified gaze from the carnage at the end of the hallway. Grabbing hold of a groggy Alfred,

who was just starting to come to his senses, the duke and the prince's cadaver managed to lift the Sartan to his feet.

Haplo took a moment to consider his strategy. Going back was out. Their hope lay in reaching the city, in joining forces with the rest of the living. And to reach the city, they had to get past the lazar.

He started down the corridor at a run, not looking behind him. If the others followed, fine. If they didn't, it was all the same to him.

The dog stood in the center of a grisly battlefield of dismembered corpses and torn, black robes. The stone floor was slippery with blood and gore.

Haplo kept close to the wall, watching his footing. Behind him, he heard the young duke's breath rattle in his throat, his footsteps falter.

“Haplo!” he cried in a fear-choked voice.

One of the mangled corpses started to move. An arm crawled toward a trunk, a leg slithered over to join it. The lazar's phantasm, shimmering in the darkness, was exerting its magical power, bringing its severed body back together.

“Run!” Haplo shouted.

“I—I can't!” Jonathan gasped. The man was frozen stiff with terror.

Alfred swayed on his feet, looked around dazedly. Prince Edmund's cadaver stood stock-still, unmoved by the threat.

Haplo gave a low, piercing whistle. The flames around the dog flickered and died, the animal shrank back to its normal size. It jumped lightly over the reassembling corpses, ran over, and nipped Alfred on a bare, bony ankle.

The pain brought the Sartan to his senses. He saw their danger, understood Jonathan's predicament. Grasping hold of the duke by the shoulders, Alfred dragged him past the lazar. The dog raced around them, darting forward to bark threateningly at the various twitching pieces of the corpses. Prince Edmund's cadaver marched gravely, solemnly behind. One of the dead hands clutched at him. He shook it off, heedless, uncaring.

“I'm all right,” Jonathan said through stiff lips. “You can let go of me now.”

Alfred glanced at him anxiously.

“Really,” the duke assured him. He started to turn his head, drawn by a terrible fascination. “It… it was just the shock of seeing …”

“Don't look back!” Haplo grabbed Jonathan, forced him around. “You don't want to see what's going on. Do you know where we are?”

The catacombs had come to an end. They stood at the entrance to brightly lighted, sumptuously decorated corridors.

“The palace,” said Jonathan.

“Can you lead us out, back into the city?”

The Patryn feared at first that Jonathan had been through too much, that he was going to fail him. But the duke drew on reserves of strength he undoubtedly never knew he had. Color tinged the pallid cheeks.

“Yes,” said Jonathan, voice faint but steady. “I can. Follow me.” He walked ahead, Alfred keeping by his side, the prince coming along behind.

Haplo cast a last glance back at the lazar. I should try to get hold of a weapon of some sort, he thought. A sword wouldn't kill them, but it would put them out of action long enough to escape—

A cold nose pressed into his hand.