The ghost lady stared at Lord Adarbrent. She lifted one glimmering hand toward him.
“Farewell, my dear,” said the old man in the softest voice that Sophraea had ever heard from him.
Lord Adarbrent took the spellbook from Sophraea.
“I began this,” he said. “Now, let me finish it.”
The pale lady stepped aside, disappearing back into the shadows.
“It’s stopped,” moaned Gustin, staring at his creation.
The statue had marched to the first step leading into the Markarl tomb. There it stood, rocking back and forth slightly on its stone heels.
“It has to go inside, and come out again, and close the door,” instructed Lord Adarbrent, nose almost resting upon the pages of Algozata’s spellbook as he tried to read it in the dim light.
“Maybe if I move closer,” said Gustin.
“Is it safe?” said Sophraea.
“Truly, I don’t know,” the wizard replied. He moved up to the statue and laid a hand on its stone shoulder. The faintest purple light sparked when he touched his creation.
“My spell is holding,” he said.
“Go on, go inside,” Gustin spoke directly into the statue’s beautifully carved ear. Rather than commanding, his voice took on a coaxing tone.
For a breathless moment, the statue stayed still. Then, with a ponderous creak, it took one step forward into the tomb, and another, and another.
“Don’t touch the tomb or the tomb’s door,” called Lord Adarbrent to him. “Stay back a little and you should be safe from Algozata’s curse.”
The statue stopped in the center of the tomb’s floor.
“Now, put your burden down,” Gustin instructed it.
Again, it stood for a long moment before bending down and placing the shoe in the center of the floor.
Then, the statue straightened and, with Gustin’s repeated coaxing, retreated out the door.
Without hesitation, Lord Adarbrent turned the pages to Algozata’s curse and began to recite the ending of the spell.
Undercutting his words were Gustin’s continued instructions. “Grab the door, push it, push it.”
Sophraea chewed her knuckles, darting glances over her shoulder at the crowd held at bay by the topiary dragon.
The statue pushed the bronze door of the Markarl tomb shut.
Lord Adarbrent ended the last verse with a sigh and nodded to Gustin.
“Lock!” Gustin commanded.
The statue turned the iron key in the lock with a hollow clang. Then it swiveled in place and leaned its back against the entrance of the Markarl monument. The statue froze into place, a heroic paladin surveying the City of the Dead, a permanent guardian for the tomb.
Sophraea felt a collective sigh heave out of the very earth of the graveyard. She closed her eyes and saw the noble dead fall back from the walkways and paths. The marchers ceased marching, and the dancers ended their spinning dances. The knight upon his skeleton horse reared once and galloped away.
All around the perimeter of the City of the Dead, its shining guardians strengthened their circle of protection. The black streak that formed a path for the dead to the Dead End gate disappeared.
Algozata’s curse was finally broken.
“We did it!” Sophraea spun in her excitement to congratulate Gustin and Lord Adarbrent, only to halt in mid-spin. For now, with the other dead fading away to their tombs, she could see what flew down the path toward them.
Black robes swirled around gray skin shrunken upon the bones. Eyes burned with red fire. Gems, dulled under years of dust, studded the remnants of the broad seafarer’s belt and heavy axe.
This was what she’d felt moving in the City of the Dead ever since Gustin had amplified Algozata’s curse. This was the “something bigger” that had bothered her as they had fled the tunnels. This was the anger that she’d felt when they’d come back into the City of the Dead.
This corporeal ghost arrived with a roar even as Sophraea tried to cry out a warning.
“Dorgar Adarbrent!” bellowed the ghost. “How dare you wake me!”
Lord Adarbrent fell back before a fury even greater than one of his own rages.
“Grandfather!” he choked out.
“Spells! Foul magic!” The ghost cried unhooking his axe and swinging it so the wind whistled over the blade. The spectral breeze knocked everyone back a pace. “What have you done, Grandson?”
Gustin tried to counter with a spell, a fizz of sparkling light that streaked toward the ghost. Lord Adarbrent’s aggrieved ancestor batted it aside with his axe.
An answering wave of cold rolled over Gustin, chilling even Sophraea standing several paces back. The wizard’s teeth chattered in his head and he pitched to his knees in the snow.
Sophraea ran forward, flinging her arms around Gustin’s shoulders. Tremors of chill shook the lanky wizard’s frame. Sophraea rolled him over, lifting his head out of the snow and cradling it in her lap.
The ghost of Royus Adarbrent advanced on his grandson. Lord Adarbrent held his ground, chin up and staring straight ahead.
“What have you done, Dorgar?” bawled the ghost.
“Protected Waterdeep,” answered the old man with dignity.
“By waking every ghost? By using dreadful spells? Algozata’s book should have burned with her body. How dare you bring it here?” the ghost snarled. With every shout, the ghost swung his axe, each stroke coming closer and closer to Lord Adarbrent. The old man did not flinch.
Each slice of the axe through the air swept the area with a bitter wind. Frost formed on every leaf of the topiary dragon. Briarsting trembled on the creature’s neck, turning from green to gray with the cold. The Carvers huddled together and even Rampage Stunk was struck silent with the chill.
Under each icy wave emanating from the axe ran a current of terror. Sophraea fought to stay still and not run screaming. She clutched Gustin’s shoulders, anchoring herself to the wizard. Gustin groaned.
The Carvers held their ground. Sophraea could hear her father and her uncles talking in their rumbling voices to the rest, urging them to stay together and wait for this phantom to quit the place.
Stunk’s men were not so calm. Most dropped their weapons and ran. Stunk stayed where he was, swaying back and forth as he always did, fingers clenched at his side. His hate-filled eyes remained fixed on Lord Adarbrent.
Sophraea bent over Gustin. His eyelids fluttered. “Wake up,” she pleaded.
The wizard blinked up at her. “I’ll be all … all … r-r-right,” Gustin ground out between shudders. “J-j-just cold.”
“We need help,” she stated when the ghost of Royus Adarbrent was almost upon his grandson.
Gustin gritted his teeth and heaved himself out of Sophraea’s lap. He planted both hands in the snow, shoving himself into a kneeling position. The faintest sound of a spell spilled from his lips. He raised one trembling hand and traced shapes in the air. The magic spilling from his hand etched a circle in the snow around Sophraea and himself.
Sophraea felt as if a candle had been lighted in her heart. Warmth spread through her. The terror rolling off the ghost receded.
“Can you extend the circle?” she whispered to Gustin.
“I’m trying,” his voice was barely a breath and his shoulders shook under her hands as she tried to steady him. “That ghost is very strong.”
Standing directly in front of Lord Adarbrent, the phantom Royus let his axe drop until the head rested on the snow. The burning eyes narrowed, scanning the face of his grandson.
“You have courage,” the ghost stated in a calmer voice as Lord Adarbrent remained standing still before him.
The faintest smile twisted up the corners of the old man’s lips.
“I am too old and too close to death to be afraid of it,” the nobleman said.
The ghost rubbed his chin, the same contemplative gesture that Sophraea had often seen Lord Adarbrent use.
“Algozata was executed by the family for
this spell,” the ghost said finally.
“Yes,” answered Lord Adarbrent immediately.
Still Royus Adarbrent hesitated.
The furious Rampage Stunk burst out, “Go on! Kill him! What are you waiting for!”
The angry fat man ducked around the frosted topiary dragon, striding forward with his odd rolling gait.
“Finish him!” Stunk yelled at the ghost.
The phantom swung around to stare at Stunk.
“Who are you,” he said in exactly the same angry accents that his grandson always used, “to tell an Adarbrent what to do?”
He raised his axe high over his head and swung down.
“No!” screamed Sophraea.
With unbelievable quickness, Lord Adarbrent thrust his sword cane between the axe and Rampage Stunk. The axe struck the stick, shattering it, as Stunk scrambled backward to safety. The force of the blow made the old nobleman gasp and almost go down to one knee.
But when the phantom whirled around, Lord Adarbrent straightened his back and stood tall.
“Why did you save him?” he said, the flames of his eyes so bright that Lord Adarbrent’s shadow streamed out black against the snow behind the old man.
“Because she is right,” answered Lord Adarbrent, indicating Sophraea standing stock still, afraid to move and break this odd truce. “If we spill blood here tonight, the stain will spread to Waterdeep.”
The phantom raised his head, looking over the City of the Dead. Then he contemplated Sophraea.
“A Carver, are you not?” he said with the calmest voice he had used all night.
“Yes, my lord,” she answered with a steady voice although her hand trembled on Gustin’s shoulder.
The phantom nodded slowly. “No blood?” he asked to make sure.
“The dead are returning to their graves,” she said. “But if we create any more disturbance, we will never quiet them down.”
A sour expression flitted across his ghastly features.
“Very well, Grandson, you live tonight,” he said. “But this is the end of your tricks. I trust the Carvers will keep an eye on your activities from now on and keep you from any more foolish actions.”
“I promise, my lord,” said Sophraea quickly, before Lord Adarbrent could answer. “No more raising of the dead.”
The phantom gave a curt nod and decreed, “But there must still be punishment. Grandson, I forbid you to rest with the family. When your death comes, let the Carvers find you a grave far from the Adarbrents. You are banished from burial near us.”
Lord Adarbrent bowed his head in acquiesce.
With a swirl of its rotted black cape, the ghost of Royus Adarbrent faded away from view. Where he had stood, the snow was smooth and white and free of any marks.
“That’s it? That’s all?” Rampage Stunk bounded up to them. “You ruin my business with your tricks. You try to steal my tomb! And you just get banished from your family plot!”
“This tomb was never meant to be yours in the first place,” returned Lord Adarbrent hotly.
“You miserable old man,” screamed Stunk. “If that ghost won’t kill you, I will!”
He charged at Lord Adarbrent, dragging a dagger out of his belt.
“Stop him!” Sophraea yelled at the topiary dragon. Frost flew as the creature swept its tail in a wide arc. The prickly end crashed against Stunk’s shins, tripping him into the snow.
The rest of the Carvers swept past the topiary dragon to encircle Lord Adarbrent, creating a wall of solid Carver flesh between him and the furious Stunk.
Sputtering, the fat man struggled to his feet.
“I will destroy you!” he screamed at Lord Adarbrent. “And your friends! I’ll ruin you all.”
As Rampage Stunk continued to rant, Sophraea helped Gustin to his feet.
“Do you have any spells left?” she asked him.
“A light to see us home,” he answered with a quick hug. “And a whirlwind spell. Although, after all that knocking about, I might not be able to manage more than a small breeze. Maybe you should give me another kiss, just to warm me up.”
“That’s enough of your teasing,” Sophraea answered him, although she almost kissed him despite the fact her entire family was watching this exchange closely. “It’s time to go home. But I don’t want Stunk following us.”
“I can help with that,” Gustin told her.
Rampage Stunk was still screaming at Lord Adarbrent. Leaplow growled and raised his big fists to bloody the nose of Rampage Stunk. Sophraea stepped in front of her brother to face down the furious merchant and his tide of threats.
“Get out of my way!” yelled the fat man, rocking back and forth in his wrath.
Sophraea stared him down. “Do you know where you are?”
Rampage blustered back, “What do you mean?”
“You are in the City of the Dead, it is night, and there is only one family in all of Waterdeep who can always find their way home from this place in the dark. And we are not going to help you!” Sophraea announced.
With that, Gustin loosed his whirlwind to make snow swirl even thicker around Rampage Stunk.
The Carvers disappeared from Stunk’s view, hidden behind a curtain of snow.
Sophraea grabbed Gustin with one hand and Lord Adarbrent with the other. With the rest of the family following her, she turned toward Dead End House. The snow fell heavily all around them, muffling their footsteps as they swept around the corner of the Deepwinter tomb.
In the light kindled from Gustin’s magic, Sophraea saw the shallow steps that led up from the path to the hole in the wall carved out long ago by her family. With a sigh of relief, she led her friends and family safely out of the City of the Dead.
The shouts and screams of Rampage Stunk escalated behind them, but none of the Carvers looked back. Crashing sounds drifted across the silent graveyard as the fat man blundered down one path and then another.
“Will the dead claim him?” Gustin asked.
“No,” said Sophraea, seeing again all the ghosts of the City of the Dead. Some still drifted along the pathways. There was mischief in the darkness but no malice, no hatred, anymore. “They may tease and trick him, as they will any who wander unprotected, but they will not seek blood tonight. I am sure of it.”
Briarsting and the topiary dragon escorted the Carvers as far as their gate.
“Try to keep him from falling into an open grave,” Sophraea said to the thorn, as the sounds of Stunk’s blundering grew fainter and farther away.
The little man shook his head at her. “You need a harder heart, girl,” he said, “or all your enemies will outlive you.”
“There’s nothing finer than a tender heart,” Gustin answered him.
Sophraea blushed as Briarsting responded, “Yes, but you think she’s perfection already. Keep her safe, wizard!”
“I’ll keep myself safe,” Sophraea answered with her usual spirit.
“But let me help with that task, it’s been so much fun these past few tendays,” Gustin whispered in her ear, making her blush even harder.
“Hey,” said Leaplow, “what are you saying to my sister? Do we need to have a talk?”
“No!” said Sophraea so emphatically that the rest of the family laughed. She shoved Leaplow up the stairs. “You leave Gustin alone! No fights! No bets! No wrestling matches! He’s a friend!”
The rest of the family chuckled as Sophraea scolded her brother all the way into the center of the courtyard.
Once everyone was through the Dead End gate, Astute Carver dragged a few boards from the wreckage left from their battle and propped the lumber before the opening. The black-and-white Carver cat twined around his legs in greeting and then slipped past him to sniff at the temporary barrier.
“We’ll need to reforge the gate,” said Perspicacity.
“In the morning, Brother,” answered Judicious with a pat on his shoulder.
“In the morning,” agreed Astute in his usual calm voice.
“Sophraea Carver, your skirts are soaked through,” said her mother. “Come inside, and tell us your adventures.”
“Yes, Sophraea,” said Bentnor. “Where have you been, little cousin?”
And suddenly she and Gustin were surrounded by her swarm of a family, big, warm, and loving. Exclaiming, arguing, hugging, as they recounted their battles with Stunk and the dead.
“Stunk thought he could steal our ledger!” yelled one cousin.
“He thought he could control the City of the Dead, buy and sell tombs in it like houses in Waterdeep!” shouted an aunt.
“Guess he knows different now,” said several Carvers together.
“Come on,” said Sophraea to Gustin, “let’s find something to eat.”
“Maybe your grandmother can make soup and toasted bread,” Gustin responded.
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Leaplow said, clapping the wizard on the back and making Gustin stagger. “I could eat a whole loaf! With cheese melted across the top! Fighting always makes me hungry.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The next morning, Sophraea stood in the snow, watching her uncles rehang the Dead End gate. Perspicacity had forged extra flourishes and twists to the iron bars and Judicious had supplied a beautifully polished brass knob and lock. Astute and Sagacious helped them hang it while Vigilant gave them plenty of advice.
“Well, doesn’t that look fine,” said Gustin, making his way carefully across the slippery cobblestones. Although the storm had passed, the air was still unusually cold and the snow was very heavy on the ground.
Sophraea nodded. “They thought they’d do it a little fancier, knowing it wouldn’t be broken any time soon,” she explained.
“No signs of haunts during the night?” he asked.
“None at all. Everything has been quiet.”
“There you are! I thought you were going to sleep the day away!” A voice sounded high above their heads.
Sophraea looked up. Briarsting stood on the wall between the graveyard and Dead End House. A Carver cat walking along the wall hissed at him but turned tail with a mew when the little man poked his sword at it.
City of the Dead Page 27
