Death of a Darklord (25 page)

Elaine shook her head. That wasn’t possible.

The zombie woman turned and walked down the street. Elaine hurried after her with a last glance at the others. They waited, huddling together. When the woman was almost to the corner, they got up and began to follow.

The dead woman never looked back. Had she forgotten about Elaine? Why did the other dead obey the woman? Elaine had read in Jonathan’s books that zombies were just walking corpses. They would take orders from a wizard who raised them, but not from another zombie.

The woman entered a narrow, winding street. The upper stories of the houses nearly met above the street, plunging them into a darkness that was nearly complete. The woman’s white dress was a glimmering shape moving just ahead. That uncertain whiteness moving always away, never turning back, never hesitating, as in the ghost stories Elaine had read. Was that what she followed? Could the woman be a ghost? Did ghosts rot? Elaine didn’t think so, but she was unsure of so many things.

Walking quietly through the dark streets, she hugged her arms against the cold. She wished for her cloak lying somewhere back in the winter night. Had Blaine missed her by now? She knew he hadn’t been badly hurt, for she’d had no hint of a vision. Of course, she’d never been right next to him in a fight.

A rock skittered behind her. She turned and found the back street full of zombies. All sizes and shapes, filling the narrow way like a stopper in a bottle. Elaine hurried after the distant white figure. She fought the urge to run, fearing they might give chase. They weren’t hurting her, just following. For now.

The street began to climb a hill. The woman waited at the top. She was bathed in moonlight. For a moment Elaine thought the zombie glowed with light, but as she drew closer, she realized it was the contrast to the dark sky and street. The zombie stood in a clearing away from any building. The moonlight seemed almost unnaturally bright after the narrow roofed-in darkness.

The dead woman stood beside a high, spiked fence. It was formed of black, iron bars. Elaine came to stand beside the fence. It was a graveyard, where tombstones dotted the ground like the broken teeth of giants.

She looked at the woman. “Why have you brought me here?”

The woman pointed to the fence and what lay beyond. “It is a graveyard—I see that. Did you want to show me where you came from?”

The zombie shook her head, still pointing out into the cemetery.

“Do you want me to go inside the fence?”

Again the head shake.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” Elaine said.

There were scuffling sounds behind them. Elaine turned. The dead were lined up behind her like an audience. A little boy of no more than seven stood closest. Elaine almost asked him what he was doing there, but as he turned his head a bit of bone stuck out of his cheek.

Elaine backed into the fence, one hand holding the cold metal tight, as if only the metal were real. If she could just find something to hold on to, maybe the rest would go away and not be real at all. It was the way Elaine dealt with bad dreams. When you woke, you found something real and normal to hold, to touch, and the dream was just a dream.

Something crawled up the slope toward them. At first Elaine’s eyes wouldn’t make sense of it. It was alive; it moved, but … suddenly she could see it, and wished she hadn’t.

It was a badly decayed corpse. Its legs were gone, and only the stub of one arm remained to push it up the hill. The flesh
was rotted to a mottled color. The naked latticework of the ribs scraped on the cold ground like metal on a plate.

Elaine was all out of screams for the night. It was just one more horror to add to the list.

A figure in a hooded cloak stepped out of the shadows near the buildings. He walked in a long arc around the zombies, approaching Elaine. The dead watched him with sullen eyes. “Are you all right?”

The voice was a man’s voice, normal, pleasant, wondrous. “Yes.”

He held out a gloved hand. “Come, I’ll take you to a place of safety. My spell won’t hold them long.”

“Spell?” Elaine said.

“A small charm, nothing more. It won’t last much longer. I heard your screams and came looking for you.” He still held out his hand, waiting.

Elaine moved to take it. The dead woman reached for her, too. Elaine jerked back and half-ran to the man’s waiting hand. His fingers were solid and real in his grasp.

He led her away from the graveyard, glancing back at the waiting dead. “We must hurry. I’ve never tried the charm on so many at once.”

“Are you a wizard?” Elaine didn’t think he was; he didn’t feel like a wizard.

“Oh, no. I traveled to a local witch to get a charm so I could walk the streets. The town elders sent for some mage-finder, but I say fight magic with magic.”

Elaine didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Jonathan had taught her that magic was never an option, but much had changed in the last few days. She was no longer sure
if Jonathan had ever been right about anything.

He led her back into the narrow streets. They seemed even darker after the moonlit hill. She stumbled, and only his hand kept her from falling.

“Are you sure you are unhurt?” His eyes caught what little light there was, glinting. They were some dark color. His face was a square-jawed paleness in the dark.

“I just tripped. I’m fine.”

He smiled. “Then come. We need to get inside before they come after us.”

“I knocked on a door. I know someone was inside. I saw a light. They wouldn’t help me.”

“Didn’t open the door, eh?” he said.

“No.”

“They lock the doors and shutters and hide after nightfall. They won’t open the doors to anyone. You can scream and cry, and no one will help you.”

“But you helped me.”

He turned back to her. Elaine thought he smiled again. “I got tired of listening to people scream for help, and no one going to them. So I go to them.”

“Thank you.”

“Here we are.” He stopped at one of the bright-painted doors, one like a dozen others. He released her hand and took a key from his belt pouch. He unlocked the door and motioned her in. She stopped just within. There was no light, and it was darker inside than out. When he closed the door, Elaine couldn’t see her hand before her face. It was dark as a cave. There was a musty smell like an unused attic.

She heard the key turn in the lock. “It’s the only way to keep
the dead out,” he said. “Don’t move, and I’ll light a candle. Wouldn’t want to rescue you from the hill only to have you trip and break your neck in the dark.” There was a hint of cold laughter in his voice.

Elaine stood frozen in the dark. His cloak brushed her leg as he moved past her. He seemed to have no trouble seeing, but perhaps he was just familiar with the room.

The musty smell seemed to be growing stronger.

There was a hiss and the scent of sulfur. The sputtering flame seemed bright as a star in the darkness. He touched it to the first candle in a candelabrum that sat on a small table. The candle caught, and he shook the match out, placing it carefully on a small tray. He lifted the candle from its holder and used it to light the two remaining ones. The light was warm and gentle, and the flames reflected in the gilt mirror on the wall.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Elaine Clairn. What’s yours?”

He looked up then, face turned so the mirror only caught a sliver of his face. He pivoted toward her, smiling. The candle flames set deep flickering shadows inside his hood. For a moment, there was nothing but the glitter of his eyes reflecting the fire.

“The dead have no names, Elaine Clairn.”

“What did you say?”

He pushed his hood back. His face was narrow, with a strong jaw. Long, dark hair spilled out over his shoulders, and his thin nose had a faint dip in the middle as if someone had hit him long ago, and it had not healed right.

Elaine took a step forward, staring. No one had hit him in the face. The nose was crumbling, falling in upon itself.

He gave a wide smile, and his lips cracked, blood trickling down his chin. “I am falling apart, Elaine Clairn, and you will save me.”

“How?” Her voice was a whisper.

“Your blood, Elaine. I will drink your blood.”

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turn the handle, but it was locked. She’d heard him lock it, had stood there like an idiot while he locked her inside.

The urge to just turn around and beat at the door, to panic, was very real. It would feel good for a few moments to scream and rant, but it would be the last thing she ever did. Elaine could not give in to fear. She had to think.

The zombie took off one glove. His skin was stretched paper-thin over the bones. He touched the blood on his chin with two bare fingers. He raised the fingers to his lips and sucked them, slurping the blood off like candy.

Elaine did her best to ignore him. The hallway stretched beyond the candlelight. Two doors stood opposite each other just behind the zombie, and then the hallway gave a sharp turn. If she could get past the zombie, there were places to run to. A door, a window, something. Anything was better than being taken like this, trapped against the door.

The door banged as someone hit it from the outside. Elaine jumped, giving a small scream.

“Elaine, Elaine, open up. It’s Blaine.”

Elaine glanced at the door, hands pressed on its wooden surface. “Blaine, I’m locked in.”

“Locked in sounds good to me. The zombies already ate my horse. I don’t want to be next.”

Elaine slammed her palm on the wood. “There’s a zombie in here. He locked me in.”

The zombie in question said, “Who is this Blaine person?”

Elaine pressed her back to the door. “My brother.”

The zombie smiled again, licking the blood as it flowed from his cracked lips. “He can listen to your screams while you die. How wonderfully awful.”

“Blaine!”

The door shuddered as he beat on it with fists and sword hilt. “The door’s too solid. I’ll find another way in.”

“There is no other way,” the zombie said, “I’ve boarded up the windows, locked all the doors. He is trapped outside with the others, and you are trapped inside with me.” He made a small movement with his hand, touching his chest.

There was a sound outside, as if a body had slid into the door. “Blaine, are you out there? Blaine?”

The zombie laughed. “The others will take care of your brother, Elaine Clairn, have no fear.”

Elaine pressed her back into the door. “Blaine! Blaine!”

Something heavy slithered along the door, shaking it in its frame. Something bigger than Blaine. The handle turned and rattled frantically.

“Blaine!”

“He’s gone, Elaine Clairn, gone before you.” The dead man walked toward her slowly, pacing like a cat. “But don’t worry. Your time is almost upon you.”

He brought the candelabrum with him, carried in his gloved hand. The naked hand he held out before him. The fingers from which he’d licked blood now traced her cheek. The skin felt dry as parchment, not real at all.

He brought the candles down to waist level, his head bowing toward her as if he meant to kiss her. Elaine shoved her hand into the flame. The flame danced on her palm, as it did during a vision. It did not hurt; it did not burn; it only flickered and danced over her skin.

The zombie drew back, just a fraction. “What are you, Elaine? A wizard? I’ve never tasted wizard’s blood before.”

Elaine put the tiny flame in front of his face so he could see it better. She took a deep breath and blew the flame into his face. She willed it to catch, to burn, to grow—and it did.

The zombie shrieked, turning in the hallway, beating at his burning head with his hands. He dropped the candelabrum to the floor. One candle went out. Elaine grabbed the other and ran down the hall, shielding the flame with her free hand.

Just around the corner, stairs led upward. She hesitated. Should she go farther into the hall or up?

“I will kill you, Elaine Clairn. I will suck the marrow from your bones.”

Elaine ran up the stairs. The flame bobbled, shrinking down to a bluish dot. She stopped running, letting the flame revive. Being lost in utter blackness with a zombie was too horrible. The flame reared up, tracing a delicate bell of light around her. Something heavy slipped at the bottom of the stairs.

She looked down. The zombie’s face was at the very edge of her circle of light. The rotting nose was gone. His face had burned down to pinkish ligaments stretched over bone. What had once
been a handsome man was now a rotting skeleton, as if the fire had revealed his nature.

“I would have made it as pleasant as possible for you, Elaine, but not now. Now you will suffer as I suffer. And drinking your blood will heal me. Not even fire can harm me for long.” He moved up a step, holding on to the banister with his gloved hand. He moved as if he hurt, no matter how brave his words.