Dance of the Dead

by Christie Golden

  Almost at once, voices arose. Gelaar was an extremely powerful illusionist, and Dumont allowed himself the briefest of grins as he recognized the voices of individual crewmen spewing typical comments.

  “Here y’are, Captain. We’re ready for them. No way they’d attack when we’ve got this,” came Dragoneyes’ voice. Dumont’s grin faded. My friend, he thought to himself, what I would not give to hear that hint of cold laughter in your voice again.

  He shook himself. It would not save La Demoiselle for him to grow maudlin at a time like this. “Have the men talk about the powerful wards on the boat, and then make her glow.”

  Gelaar obeyed. The illusionary men jabbered excitedly about Dumont’s new spells, and suddenly the boat began to radiate a cool blue light, studded here and there with the multicolored sparkles of the feu follets. There were indeed wards on the boat, wards conjured and reinforced by the music of The Pirate’s Pleasure. They had already been put into operation when the cast began singing. The radiance conjured by Gelaar was purely cosmetic, but anyone who attempted to hostilely board the showboat when the wards were at full strength would have to fight for every inch.

  Bathed in the illusory glow, Dumont went to the pilothouse. Tane and Jahedrin were both there, tense, fully dressed and carrying weapons.

  “What’s going on, Captain?” Tane asked, his eyes flickering about as he tried vainly to see through the almost solid wall of fog. “And what are those drums?”

  “Not sure,” Dumont confessed. “There’s something out there and I think it or they mean to board us.”

  “I found one I think I can handle and—oh.” Sardan, who was running up the stairs with a sword in his hand, stopped when he saw Dumont.

  The captain glowered at his leading man. “What are you doing on deck, boy? Why aren’t you down in the theater, singing with the rest of the bloody cast?”

  Sardan flushed, but remained resolute. “I can fight,” he said stubbornly.

  Dumont was about to protest, then gave up. “Maybe you can at that. You’ll die at least as well as the rest of us, at any rate. Let’s get down to the main deck. No need to stay in the pilothouse when we’re not going anywhere.” The four men stepped outside and began to move toward the main deck.

  There was only the faintest increase of wind to herald the onslaught of bats. Thousands of the winged creatures descended upon La Demoiselle, crawling on the glowing blue deck, flapping their leathery wings about the crewmen’s heads, searching for toeholds in their clothing. Sharp teeth gnawed at the flesh of the men’s faces, searching hungrily for the eyes. Instantly the men threw up their hands to protect themselves.

  Dumont sang a few sharp, shrill notes, and the bats still on the wing veered off and disappeared into the roiling white mists. Those who were on the deck or clinging to the men’s clothing, however, continued to crawl about. “Ignore them,” Dumont cried. “We’ve got worse things to worry about.”

  Jahedrin’s arms were covered with small, bleeding bites, and both Tane and Sardan had wounds on their faces. Their vision, however, was intact. Dumont glanced downward at the zombies on the main deck and saw that they had not fared so well. Several of them patted dully at their faces, bumping into one another or the railings. They had not reacted swiftly enough to avoid being blinded.

  The captain caught his breath and listened, motioning the men to continue down toward the main deck. The drumbeat had increased its tempo. Dumont knew that some people used the sounds to carry messages, and he wondered what kind of generals were giving orders in this miserable place.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gelaar standing with his eyes closed. The elf’s slender hands moved gently, and his lips mouthed a spell. Dumont wasn’t sure what he was doing, but it was a reassuring sight nonetheless.

  Another, more sinister sight brought the captain’s attention down to the water. Because of the mist and the darkness, he couldn’t see far beyond La Demoiselle, but right near the edge of the boat he saw movement in the water. Dumont ran to the railing, bringing the eye pendant up and peering through it.

  At first, it looked as though crocodiles were approaching the boat. Then Dumont saw a human male in the water. There would hardly be humans swimming in crocodile-infested waters. A glance revealed that all sides of the boat were now coming under attack, and Dumont gritted his teeth and charged down the stairs, sword drawn.

  Some of the men had already boarded from the river, and Dumont was pleased to see that the zombies were holding their own. He threaded his way through the combat, fighting the whole time, and slew two of the big, ugly men. A splashing sound to his right told him that someone else was trying to board, and Dumont wheeled to face the intruder. He grasped the railing and gazed down onto the brass ladder that connected the boat with the yawls.

  Dumont found himself looking into the eyes of his beautiful young ward. She had only just reached out to climb the ladder and was still in the water. Her white hair was loose and floated behind her. It blended with the spiraling wisps of mist and the blue light of the boat to create an eerie, otherworldly halo. The black water lapped under her chin, and the rest of her body was lost to his sight.

  Larissa’s blue eyes stared up at him, and in them was a wildness that it would have been impossible for Dumont to conceive a few weeks ago, before they had traveled to this cursed island. For that brief instant, she did not look quite human to him, though her beauty seemed to have increased with her savageness.

  “Larissa!” Dumont cried hoarsely, suddenly seeing a brown, scaly shape with yellow eyes swimming rapidly toward the girl. He dropped his sword and started to descend the ladder, one arm reaching out to pull her to safety. His outburst shattered the moment, and she vanished with scarcely a ripple beneath the inky surface, merging with the dark waters as if she had been made of them. The last glimpse Dumont had of the dancer was her pale hair disappearing into the depths.

  White-hot agony shot through his arm, then Dumont was dimly aware of a loud splash as water slapped him. He stared down at the bleeding stump of his arm, ragged just below the elbow. The crocodile that had bitten off his right hand mouthed the severed limb, using its needle-sharp teeth to maneuver it for easier swallowing, then gulped it down whole.

  Dumont stumbled back from the railing, his left hand clutching the slippery raw flesh of the wound in a futile attempt to staunch the pumping blood. The water below him was filled with noise, and the deep bellow of one of the giant reptiles rumbled through the clammy night air.

  Lond, Dumont thought fuzzily as he stumbled back in an attempt to get clear of the fighting. Perhaps Lond could heal the maimed limb. Jahedrin came up to him, ripping up his own shirt for use as a tourniquet as he ran. Dumont extended his arm while his crewman tied the material about the pumping wound.

  “Lond,” he rasped. Jahedrin helped Dumont climb the stairs. He caught the captain once, when the bigger man nearly fainted.

  Lond fell silent as Dumont entered his cabin. Jahedrin, seeing the horrifying room for the first time, swore softly and made an ancient gesture to protect himself from evil. Lond looked impassively at the bloody limb.

  “You’ve got to heal me. My boat and I are the only chance you’ve got left,” Dumont managed. He blinked rapidly as Lond’s black shape swam before him. The wizard laughed humorlessly.

  “As usual, Captain Dumont, you have it backward. I’m the only chance you’ve got left. But,” he added, “I do not think you truly wish my help in healing. You might not like the results.”

  Dumont had spent his life as an active, healthy man. The thought of living without a limb—his right hand—made him reckless. “Do whatever you want, just so long as I’m healed.”

  Lond shrugged. “As you will.” He began to rummage through his grisly collection and casually selected a long, sharp knife. He brushed past Dumont and Jahedrin, who instinctively drew back, and went onto the deck.

  “Captain,” said Jahedrin in a faint voice, glancing about at the ghoulish room, “what
have you gotten us involved with?”

  Dumont did not answer for a moment, the pain from his arm choking his words. At last he said, “The world of nightmares. And I don’t know that I can get us back out.”

  Lond returned, Brynn and Dragoneyes in tow. He was carrying something in his cloak. Before Dumont truly realized what was happening, the two dead crewmen had him in a viselike grip. Lond approached. It was then that Dumont saw what the black-cloaked mage was carrying—the desiccated arm of a zombie.

  “No!” the captain cried, but his protests were in vain. He heard Lond chanting. A sudden cold replaced the pulsing hot agony in his severed arm, a cold that burned instead of numbed and crept up his arm to his shoulder. Violent pain slashed through him as the dead arm was joined to his pulped flesh. Dumont opened his mouth and wailed, a long, high sound that seemed to go on forever. When Dumont next became aware of himself he was on all fours on the deck. Lond’s door was closed, and the zombies had disappeared.

  Jahedrin crouched by his side. “Captain?”

  Dumont’s left arm was brawny and strong, the fingers thick and clever. His right arm was little more than strings of flesh that barely hid the bone. He moved his arm, and like some nightmarish mirror, the dead flesh unnaturally attached to his own living body moved in response.

  * * * * *

  Larissa didn’t witness Dumont’s mutilation. She had slipped beneath the water, breathing it easily. Dumont’s wards had negated her invisibility when she touched the boat’s hull.

  She swam beneath the flat-bottomed showboat, accompanied by two lezards. The lezards were similar to minxes, creatures that could assume either animal or human form at will and with astonishing speed. They were formidable allies indeed, and Larissa was glad to have them on her side. Some had chosen one form, some the other; hence Dumont’s confusion when he saw crocodiles and men swimming together.

  The three surfaced on the other side, and Larissa looked around to see how the second wave of attack was doing. Kaedrin, paddling aboard a large raft, had arrived and was preparing to board. With him on the raft was Longears, who was aflame with the desire for revenge, and a sleek gray wolf that was only a little larger than the rabbit loah.

  Larissa had thought the former ranger an impressive-looking man when she had first met him. Now, he was truly intimidating. There was no playfulness in that muscular build, only a taut sense of readiness. His armor was ancient, but it would serve, and his old weapons had been newly honed and cleaned.

  He and the lezards who had chosen human form had collected a large number of cast-off buck antlers, which Larissa and the Maiden had magically strengthened. The warriors had then tied thick, sturdy ropes to the horns.

  Larissa swam over to the ranger and nodded. Kaedrin nodded back, then fastened his piercing gaze upon the railings, swung one of the ropes with the attached antlers a few times to build up momentum, then let the makeshift grappling hook fly. It caught on the railing of the cabin deck, with a tinny, clanking sound. The others followed suit, each aiming for various levels, and began to shinny up ropes. Now the zombies would be spread over various levels as they fought the intruders.

  Larissa let herself start to sink, relaxing and merging with the water. Then she snapped her body like a mermaid and pushed against the water with arms, shooting back up toward the surface. The river obeyed her. It gently lifted her, as on a giant’s hand, until she could reach out for the railings and clamber onto the deck.

  A quick glance down showed her that the vanguard of the swamp’s army had made it safely aboard as well and were apparently holding their own. Even as she watched, a tall man with a wicked grin and sharp yellow eyes ducked a skillful sword stroke. The lezard abandoned his pretense, and the grin widened. A thick, scaly tail lashed out, ripping the lezard’s now-unnecessary trousers. The flailing limb knocked one zombie to the deck, where Kaedrin’s wolf leaped for its throat. Half-human, half-reptile, the lezard lunged at his prey. The sword with which the unfortunate zombie hacked at the beast inflicted only minor damage against the suddenly hard, scaly skin, whereas the mammoth jaws crunched the dead man’s head in a single snap.

  Larissa shuddered and looked away. A short time ago, she would never have dreamed that she would ally with such violent creatures. But, she told herself, the beings she fought against were far worse. As she hastened to the empty pilothouse, she looked about for Lond. She knew his cabin was on this level, but the mage was nowhere to be seen. The dancer did catch a glimpse of Gelaar, though, standing alone on the sun deck and casting a spell. He didn’t appear to have noticed her, fortunately.

  She slipped inside the pilothouse and headed down the stairs to Dumont’s cabin. Larissa knew where he kept the keys—dangling from the horned skull over his bed. Her luck seemed to be holding, for the large, gold key ring with its many keys was still in place.

  She reached for it eagerly—and her fingers closed on empty air. Shocked, Larissa tried again. There were no keys there. It was just an illusion! She let out a sharp cry of panic.

  “Looking for these?” came a voice behind her.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Larissa spun around.

  Gelaar stood behind her, twirling the key ring almost playfully in his thin hand. “I just arrived here myself,” he explained. “I ducked into the wardrobe—I was afraid you were Dumont. Do not worry, Larissa, I want to help the prisoners, too. Dumont has my daughter trapped, and I hope perhaps one of the prisoners knows a way to free her.”

  Larissa blinked, totally confused. “But I just saw you on deck.”

  Gelaar gave her a quick, conspiratorial smile. “I am an illusionist.” He gestured with the key ring. “On deck right now, I am also an illusion. Dumont still thinks I’m there casting spells.”

  Larissa smiled hesitantly, then laughed. For the first time, she actually believed that the daring attack just might succeed. “There’s a trap door—”

  “Here,” Gelaar finished, pulling back the carpet. Together, they tugged the heavy door open. Larissa appropriated one of the small oil lamps and descended the narrow stairs first.

  “Who’s in charge of your side?” Gelaar asked as he carefully lowered himself hand over hand.

  Larissa had to smile to herself. “I am.”

  “What?”

  “A lot has happened, Gelaar. If we get through this, I’ll tell you, but right now I’m the only one who knows enough magic to free the prisoners. That’s why I’m here instead of behaving like a good general and sitting safely behind the lines.”

  She reached the bottom and looked around. The oil lamp’s light revealed boxes, tools, sacks of flour, and other items. “We’re in the storage room. The livestock area should be—” she paused, hearing the prisoners’ singing, and pointed wordlessly to the door. Gelaar began to sort for the keys.

  “Wait,” Larissa said. She approached the door, laid a gentle hand on it, and closed her eyes. Politely, she asked the wood if it would be safe for her to enter.

  What life was left in the wooden door flickered faintly. Not safe.

  “The door’s trapped,” she told Gelaar. Larissa closed her eyes again, and began to move her feet gently on the wooden floor. She swayed back and forth, then placed her hands on the wood in a silent command. The door began to radiate a soft blue light. The chorus inside fell silent. Larissa stepped back and nodded to Gelaar, who opened the door.

  Larissa rushed in. “Willen!” she cried, falling to her knees on the dirty straw behind him and embracing him tightly.

  He returned the embrace as best his manacles would permit him, whispering her name over and over and kissing her desperately when her lips found his. Tears were in both pairs of eyes when she pulled away and looked at his manacles. She almost lost her composure at the sight, but quickly redirected her pain into cold anger at Dumont and Lond.

  She rose and began to dance. The manacles began to glow with an orange light. The feu follet felt the metal grow warm, but just when it reached the point of being painfully hot
the iron bracelets snapped open and fell off his wrists and ankles.

  Gelaar, meanwhile, had unlocked the pseudodragon’s cage and was now freeing Skreesha. Larissa turned to the fox loah, and his harness, too, began to radiate orange light. Willen quickly freed Bushtail.

  “What’s going on up there?” the feu follet asked Larissa.

  Larissa turned her attention to Bouki, who was still singing his song about gumbo. Bushtail sped to his friend, leaped up, and pulled the end of the noose from the ceiling with his teeth. Larissa eased it off Bouki’s head, wincing at the thin line of dried blood crusted on the animal’s neck. The fox licked Bouki’s face furiously. The rabbit loah blinked, his large brown eyes focusing on his friend. Puzzled, he raised a forepaw to his throat and patted it gently. “Look, Bushtail!” he exclaimed brightly, “I’m free!”

  “The zombies and what’s left of Dumont’s crew are being kept busy by lezards,” Larissa answered. “I think the rats and other small animals should be aboard by now.” She straightened, and looked over at Willen. “I’m going after Lond.”

  “Larissa, no, he’s—”

  She raised a hand to silence her lover’s protest. “I have to. As long as he can control the zombies, we don’t stand a chance. Now that you’re free,” she continued, turning to include all the prisoners, “you can either leave or fight with us.”

  Bushtail glanced up, and there was hatred in his eyes. “For myself, I will fight.”

  “Me, too,” said Bouki. All the creatures were nodding. The ravenkin was perched on Gelaar’s shoulder, and the mage had tears in his eyes.

  “Skreesha knows how to free Aradnia,” he said thickly. “I must tend to her, first, before—”

  “Of course,” Larissa agreed. “The rest of you—on deck.”

  They emerged into the theater, to the astonishment of the still-singing cast members. The performers fell silent, staring at Larissa as if they had seen a ghost.

  “Larissa!” one of the chorus girls cried, looking at the menagerie that followed the white-haired dancer. “What—”