The elf's one arm jerked into Jonathan's stomach, making him gasp. A zombie with most of its face rotted away grabbed the horse's head. The animal tried to rear, but the zombie had been a big man. Its weight kept the horse down. The dead closed in, pressing the shuddering horse back against the inn door. Jonathan kicked the door. "Open! Open!"
Silvanus was pulled from the horse; only his arm around Jonathan's waist saved him from being lost completely. Jonathan grabbed a handful of the elf's tunic, the other hand tight-gripped on the saddle horn, legs digging into the horse's side, holding them against the pull of the dead.
Thordin and Randwulf were there, swinging blades, nearly maiming each other. Blood fell on the snowy street. Dead flesh gave way, but dead hands still reached for them. The horse shuddered, but did not rear. Thordin had trained the mount himself, and that training saved them now. If it had reared, they would have been lost, as Tereza and Averil had been.
Silvanus's fingers slipped. His hand was torn away inch by inch. The elf's fingers bruised Jonathan's skin through the clothing. Jonathan dug his hand into the elf's clothing.
The big zombie clawed the horse's eyes. The mount pressed against the door, pinning Jonathan's leg. Jonathan screamed, "Open the door!"
A blinding burst of light shot the length of the street. The zombies cowered, hands before faces. Silvanus sat upon the road, fingers still laced in Jonathan's clothing. The elf, weary in the brief respite, leaned his forehead against the horse's flank.
Gersalius sat on his horse, hands enveloped in white flame. "Hurry, I cannot hold them long." His voice echoed among the buildings, louder than it should have been.
Tereza had hoisted Averil over her shoulder like a bag of flour, then put their backs to the opposite wall. She pushed through the zombies, using her body to shove them aside. Her sword was naked in her hand, but the zombies seemed uninterested in fighting.
Thordin urged his horse toward the inn. Randwulf poked at the zombies with his boot. The dead simply turned away, barely noticing.
Fredric spurred his mount through the zombies. The horse pushed aside the dead as if wading through water.
"Elaine!" Blaine's frantic cry brought everyone's attention to him. He was wheeling his horse in a frantic circle. "Elaine!"
Konrad rode a few steps into the dark beyond the dead. He called, "Elaine!"
The light was fading around Gersalius's hands, like a white-hot ember dying. "A few minutes is all I can give you. Whatever you're going to do, do it soon."
The zombies were looking at them now. The dead eyes stared at the living, not eager, but patient, as if they knew all they had to do was wait.
Jonathan slid from his horse, banging on the inn door. "I am Jonathan Ambrose, mage-finder. You sent Tallyrand for me." No sound, no movement of the heavy door.
Gersalius had urged his horse forward, using his knees. The light was the barest of flickers now. "My magic has done all it can. It's your turn, mage-finder."
The dead were moving slowly, drawing closer. The rotting hands lifted, plucking at the air, held back only by the invisible wall of Gersalius's spell.
Jonathan turned back to the door, pounding on it. It felt a foot thick. Even with an axe, they'd never get through in time, but it was the only idea he had.
"Konrad, we need your axe."
"Elaine is missing," he called back. The dead had begun to surround his horse, isolating him.
"We will all die if we don't get through this door," Jonathan said. That spoken realization made his throat tighten. He could barely breathe round the helplessness of it. He could not let them all die to save Elaine. Not all, for the sake of one.
Konrad spurred his horse through. The dead did not give way. They pressed their bodies against the horse and Konrad's legs. They did not reach for him, not yet, but it was coming.
"No, we can't leave her," Blaine said. He kicked his horse into the alley nearest where he had set her down.
"Blaine, no!" Tereza yelled.
Konrad hesitated, as if thinking of following the boy. "Konrad, we need you," Jonathan called.
The warrior shoved his way through the dead, sliding from his horse near the others. "If they die out there, it will be your doing."
"We are all going to die if we don't get through this door."
Konrad pushed him aside. "Step back! Give me room!"
They moved back. The last flicker of light faded from Gersalius's hands. A great sigh rose from the throats of the dead. Konrad raised his axe. The zombies shuffled forward, rotting hands reaching. The door opened.
Jonathan could see nothing but the opening. Did it matter who had opened it? No. He pushed Konrad through the door. Silvanus and Tereza spilled inside. Thordin tried to ride his horse through. Randwulf sliced at the reaching hands. A zombie leapt upon Randwulf, spearing itself on the sword and not caring. Hands dug at his eyes.
Fredric's great sword swung outward, and the zombie's head flew onto the street. The headless body kept scratching at Randwulf's face. Fingernails raised furrows down his cheeks.
Thordin grabbed the corpse by its collar and yanked. The zombie fell into the crowd of dead. The reaching hands tore at the unprotected flesh, shoving pieces in their gaping mouths. They tore the zombie apart, eating it. The night filled with the sound of snapping bone, the wet sound of flesh being eaten.
"Inside, now!" Jonathan said.
Thordin rode his horse through the door. Fredric made a last slash at the feasting corpses, then urged his mount inside, as well. Jonathan gave a desperate glance down the street; nothing moved but the dead.
His horse reared, jerking reins from his hands. A zombie had fastened teeth into its thigh. The thing that had jumped Tereza now leapt on the horse's back, sinking teeth too sharp to be human into its neck.
Hands grabbed Jonathan and pulled him inside the doorway. The dead surged forward, reaching for him. Jonathan lay on the floor where he had been pushed. Fredric, Thordin, and a stranger were shoving the door closed. Arms shoved through the opening. A face half-rotted away showed through the partially open door, wedging its chest within.
"Can't close it," Thordin said.
Konrad hacked at the chest. The flesh carved, but the corpse continued to struggle, trying to crawl its way into the building. Randwulf joined him, slashing at the arms. An arm fell to the floor, flopping like a landed fish.
A woman ran forward, pouring oil over the arm. A boy at her side set a torch to the thing. The flesh burned, sending off a foul smoke that stung the eyes and filled the mouth with an acrid, unpleasant taste.
The woman splashed oil on the dead that threatened to spill through the door. The boy hesitated, and Jonathan grabbed the torch, shoving it against the zombies. Flame whooshed to life; smoke rolled. The dead mouth shrieked as it burned, and the desiccated flesh burned with unnatural speed.
Another man was there, suddenly, and the three men forced the door closed, snapping through brittle bone and charred flesh. The wood banged to, and the stranger threw the bolts. The three men leaned against the door, panting.
The stranger stood, sweeping a plumed hat from his head in a low, theatrical bow. "I am Harkon Lukas. So glad to meet you at last, Master Ambrose."
Jonathan managed an awkward bow. Two servants were beating out the last of the flames around the door, where the oil had spilled. The wood was solid, shut and secure. And on the other side of it, Blaine and Elaine were trapped out in the dark with an army of the dead.
TWENTY
Elaine stood with her back pressed to the wall and Elaine's horse in front of her, a solid force between her and the dead. His sword glimmered in the moonlight, slashing at the walking corpses. The dead closed in, clawing at the horse and its rider. Blaine wove a pattern of destruction, cutting rotting faces, slicing hands. A finger flew onto the ground beside Elaine. The thing wiggled like a worm, struggling toward her skirts.
She didn't scream, fearing it would distract Blaine and cost him his life, but instead kicked the s
evered finger away from her. It rolled into the mouth of the alley behind them, but began to inch toward her again. A zombie came around the back of Blaine's horse. Its dull eyes stared straight at Elaine.
Two more dead clutched Blaine, and he frantically slashed their hands. Even if she called to him, he could not get to her. He was surrounded and barely holding his own, alone, on foot, and weaponless.
Bone peeked through the rotten skin, glimmering ghostlike. The zombie opened its mouth, and liquid dark and thick as pudding slid down its chin.
Elaine glanced away, swallowing hard. If she threw up now, all would be lost. She began easing her way toward the alley, her back sliding along the wall. At least she was safe from behind. Something pecked at her foot. She gave a startled yelp, and glanced down. The finger was trying to crawl up her leg. Elaine screamed and kicked it away, and it rolled under the horse's hooves and was crushed.
Elaine turned all her attention back to the zombie that stalked her. What could she do without a weapon against an entire zombie?
Her left hand found the corner of the wall, the mouth of the alley. The only thing she had that the dead did not was speed. She darted a glance down the alley. It stretched empty as far as she could see. The zombie lunged at her, and Elaine slipped round the corner into the narrow alley. She ran. One glance behind showed the zombie had broken into a lopsided canter after her.
She ran, her heavy cloak spilling out behind her. She burst out of the mouth of the alley and was jerked to the ground. A woman stood over her, hands digging into Elaine's cloak. At first Elaine thought it was a woman, but then she took in the thin white nightdress and the frozen expression on the face. It was better preserved, but still dead.
Elaine glanced back. The first zombie was almost upon her. She jerked loose the ties at her throat and scrambled to her feet, leaving the female zombie holding the empty cloak.
It was easier to run without the cloak, and she was too scared to feel the cold. She was on another main street, not quite as wide as the first but wide enough that she could see it was empty. She hiked up her skirts and rushed away.
The two zombies behind her gave chase. The male was slow, but the woman ran almost as well as Elaine. Her body did not look dead as it raced over the snowy street. Elaine slipped on a patch of ice, skidding into a wall. She crawled to her feet, scrambling away before she could stand upright.
A glimmer of light caught her eye, lamplight behind the shutters. She tripped on the steps leading up to the door, catching herself on the palms of her hands. The pain was sharp and immediate. She screamed and pounded stinging hands against the door.
"Help me!"
A sound made her glance behind. Three more zombies were walking toward her from the other end of the street. They were well rotted, one missing an arm. The two running zombies were still coming. The woman was almost upon her. Elaine had a second to decide: run or stay. If she stayed and the door did not open, she was dead.
She scrambled off the steps and ran past the three shambling dead. The woman was just behind her, slippered feet pattering on the street.
Two more dead stumbled from a side street to block her path. The tallest one looked quicker, more alive. She couldn't just run past her. Elaine ran into the first alley she came to, not thinking, trying just to run. It was a mistake. The alley was blocked by a wall. A dead end-a phrase that might prove all too literal.
Elaine started to run back out, but the woman blocked her way. Elaine backed slowly away from the dead woman. She stumbled on the garbage in the alley but did not fall. Her fingers traced down one wall to steady herself, and her feet slid backward, searching for footing. She was afraid to glance down, or behind, afraid to lift her gaze from the thing coming down the alley toward her.
The woman looked almost alive, except for that awful stillness, like a painting with all the colors and shapes of life but somehow still lifeless. Flowers had been embroidered into her white gown. Someone had taken great care with the burial clothes, loving care.
"Can you speak?" Elaine asked.
The zombie just kept walking, slowly, deliberately, face empty of anything Elaine could understand. "Speak to me, please. If you can, say something."
The zombie hesitated, then slowly shook her head.
"You understand me," Elaine said. The relief in her voice was painful to hear.
The zombie shook her head again, as if saying no. Did she understand, or was she just moving, reacting to some memory of life? Elaine didn't know and probably never would.
Her back smacked into a wall. She gasped, glancing behind to find the wall that blocked the alley. Her hands spread out upon the bricks. There was nowhere left to run.
"Please, if you can understand me, stop. Please, don't." Elaine wasn't even sure what she was begging her not to do. Not to touch her. No, not to kill her. Not to touch her with cold, dead flesh. Not to hurt her.
The woman opened her mouth, as if trying to speak. Some stray bit of moonlight illuminated her face. The tongue that lolled between her teeth was green with rot. A sound like the mewling of a kitten oozed from her mouth.
Elaine screamed, "Blaine!" But no one was coming to help her, not this time. Gersalius's words came back to her, that she would be able to protect herself, but how?
None of the spells he had shown Elaine would help her now. All the magic she knew was useless in the face of the dead. The other zombies had limped into the alley. They stayed a respectful distance behind the woman, but they were there. Why didn't the woman attack?
"What are you waiting for?"
The woman looked at her and again made the awful mewling sound. Was she trying to talk? Was that it? Was it the fact that Elaine was speaking with her, not just running, or fighting, but talking? Was that what was making her hesitate?
"Do you want to talk?"
The woman shook her head but opened her mouth and tried to speak once more. She coughed violently, as if her lungs were unused to drawing air for breath. A line of dark fluid trickled down her chin from the cough. She wiped it away with the back of one gray-skinned hand.
The woman cared enough to not want the dark fluid on her face. She was not just a walking shell, not a simple zombie. "Do you want to tell me something?"
A shake of her head.
"Do you want to show me something?"
The woman nodded, almost eagerly.
Elaine swallowed a lump that was threatening to choke her. "Show me, please."
The dead woman beckoned and began walking back down the alley toward the other zombies. Was it a trick to get Elaine close to them? She didn't think so. She was trapped. If they wanted to kill her, they could have. There was no reason to try and trick her.
"I'm afraid of the others," Elaine said.
The woman merely motioned her to follow, as if she either didn't hear or didn't understand. The other zombies backed away from the woman, seemingly frightened of her. What could frighten the dead? Elaine was not at all sure she wanted to know, yet what choice did she have? The zombie wanted to show her something. It might be the only reason she was still alive. If she stopped following, would the dead woman kill her? Elaine thought it likely.
The other zombies had spilled out into the main street. They huddled on either side of the alley mouth. The woman stood just beyond them, waiting.
Elaine hesitated, staring at the zombies crouched to either side. If she walked between them, they could simply reach out and grab her. She did not want to pass that close to them, not voluntarily.
The female zombie motioned impatiently. It was the most abrupt movement she'd made so far. If she grew angry, would she leave Elaine to the others?
Elaine took a deep breath and darted out of the alley. The one-armed zombie made a grab for her skirts. She squealed and had the oddest feeling the zombie was laughing at her. Of course, zombies didn't have a sense of humor. Elaine glanced into the sparkling eyes of the corpse. The eyes were alive in a way that the body was not. Those sparkling eyes trapped in
the rotting body frightened her more than anything else. It was almost as if a living person were trapped inside.
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.
Death of a Darklord (ravenloft) Page 17
