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 sulphur. The sputtering match seemed bright as a star in the darkness. He touched the flame 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 Claim. 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 Claim."
"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 Claim, and you will save me."
"How?" Her voice was a whisper.
"Your blood, Elaine. I will drink your blood."
TWENTY-ONE
Elaine backed up into the door. She tried to 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."
"Biaine!"
The door shudder
ed 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 Claim, 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 Claim, gone before you." The deadman 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 Claim. 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.
Elaine backed up two steps. The zombie dropped to his knees and began to crawl up the stairs like a monkey, hand over foot, faster and faster. Elaine ran.
A hand grabbed her at the top of the stairs. The candle dropped from her shocked grasp and rolled along the floor and died. She screamed, slapping at the hands, struggling to break free. The hands dropped her to the floor. She lay in a darkness so perfect she could have touched her own eyes and not seen her fingers.
She could not see, but could hear. Feet and hands scrambled up the stairs, bumping and skittering. Whatever had grabbed her stood at the head of the stairs. It loomed over her but made no move to touch her or do anything else.
The zombie galloped to the head of the stairs. Its breathing filled the darkness. There was a sound like the very air had been sliced, then a soft meaty thunk. A sound like rain, and warm liquid fell onto Elaine's face. Something rolled, bouncing into the far wall.
Sparks flared into the dark like falling stars. A small lantern woke to life. Kneeling in that warm circle of light was Blaine.
She stared at him for a few moments, stared at his long, yellow hair, his white cloak spilling around him, absorbing the flame as if it were made of gold.
Tears burned her eyes, blurring the light. She wiped her fingers on the wetness on her face and knew it was blood. The zombie's head had rolled along the carpet. The headless body lay at the top of the stairs, leaking black black blood onto the floor.
Blaine knelt to kneel beside her. "Are you all right, Elaine?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice. She sat up and hugged him. They held each other, as if only the two of them existed. For that moment there was nothing but each other, nothing outside their circle of light.
Elaine raised her head to stare into his face. "How did you get in?"
"The attic window. It's covered by wooden slats for air to get through. I guess he thought if you couldn't see through it, you couldn't crawl through it."
"I doubt he thought anyone would be climbing roofs in the dead of winter."
Blaine grinned. "Maybe not."
The zombie twitched, a hand convulsing on the floor. Blaine helped her to her feet. "You think you can climb the roof in skirts?"
The deadman was trying to get his arms under his chest, trying to rise.
"Yes, I can climb."
Blaine led her down the hallway, lantern raised for light, and they approached a small door set in a shattered frame. "The door was locked when I came through, but wasn't nearly as well made as the front door."
The stairs were narrow and twisted. Cold air met them at the top, a swirl of snowflakes, and a cold patch of moonlight. That gaping window was one of the most wonderful things Elaine had ever seen.
Blaine knelt by his fallen backpack. He blew out the lantern, wrapping it carefully before stowing it in the pack. Elaine stood in the cold moonlight and strained to hear anything. There was no sound of pursuit, not yet.
Blaine gave her the pack. "Hand it out to me when I reach for it."
She clutched the pack to her chest and nodded. Blaine grabbed the windowsill and lifted himself. When he was even with the sill, he pushed upward with his arms, locking his elbows. He slid through the window headfirst; only his fingers showed, gripping the sill. One hand vanished, then his face appeared in the window.
He balanced his chest and one hand on the sill, and reached his other hand through. She passed the pack to him, and he slipped one strap over his shoulder, then reached back for her.
Elaine gripped his hand tightly. He flexed his arm, lifting her up. She could feel his wrist trembling with the strain, but he never hesitated. When she was even with the window, she grabbed the sill with one hand, helping him lift her to the window. With one hand, he pulled her through, the other hand tight on the sill.
He tucked her against him. Elaine looked down into emptiness. The roof went almost straight down to the street below. Snow fell, swirling into the blackness. Her boots scrambled at the icy roof. Only Blaine's arms kept her from falling.
"Can you climb up above the window?"
She tried to swallow her heart back into her throat. She couldn't breathe, staring down into the swirling darkness.
"Don't look down, Elaine," Blaine said. "Look at me."
She raised her gaze to his face. He was close enough that she could see the whites of his eyes, the pulse pounding in his throat. He wasn't much happier up here than she was. Due to an unfortunate incident involving a dragon, both twins were afraid of heights.
"Can you climb up onto the eaves?" His voice was calmer than his wide eyes.
She looked up. There was a little projection over the attic window, just big enough for her to sit on if she were very careful.
"Yes."
"Do it. I can't hold us both much longer." His voice was still calm, but there was an edge of strain to it.
Elaine reached for the eaves. The clay ties were so cold it hurt to touch them, but she was glad she had no gloves on. She needed every bit of gripping ability she had.
She let go of Blaine, pu
tting both hands on the slick tile, trusting him to hold her legs, to not let her fall. If he lost his grip now, they were both dead.
She stiffly clutched the roof. "I need one leg free, but don't let go."
He loosened his hold on her legs. "I won't let go."
She put one foot on the windowsill. Now was the scary part. For her to put both feet on the sill, Blaine had to let go. She stood for a moment, hands digging into the tile, feet solid on the sill. She heard Blaine sigh when he had only his own weight to support.
Elaine stood on tiptoe, hands scrambling for a hold. When her fingers felt as secure as they were likely to, she braced her feet and crawled upward. She felt Blaine's hand shove her from behind, and she ended up straddling the eave's roof. There she sat, relearning how to breathe.
She heard Blaine begin to ascend behind her, and knew she'd have to move. There wasn't room for both of them. She looked up at the icy, snow-patched tiles and sighed. She had to move, but she wasn't going to enjoy it.
She crawled to her feet, hands gripping the tile, lifting her an inch at a time. She could see Blaine's fingers at the edge of the eaves. He gave a muffled yell, and one hand vanished. He hung by the other.
Elaine went to her knees, reaching for him. She couldn't hold him alone as he had held her. Even as she moved to do it, she knew they would both fall, and she was content with that, if the only other choice was to watch him go alone.
The headless zombie had seized Elaine's legs, and its body hung half out the window. Elaine lay flat on the eaves, giving her brother her arm. He didn't take it, trying to grab the roof again but failing.
"Take my arm, Elaine, please."
His eyes said everything. "No," was all he said aloud.
She clutched his sleeve and pulled. The zombie clawed up Elaine's body; the weight tipped. His fingers slid off the tiles. She dug her hands into his clothing, screaming, "Take my hand!"
The zombie fell out the window, still clinging to Elaine's legs. Elaine hung for a moment. She tightened her hold, flattening her body along the roof, fingers digging into the cloth.
Elaine fell, and the cloth ripped. As he dropped away into darkness, he mouthed her name, "Elaine."
Death of a Darklord (ravenloft) Page 18
