“Sienne, sit down and stop trying to kill yourself,” Alaric said. He guided her away from the balcony to sit on the floor. She opened her eyes and blinked up at him as he lifted one leg over the rail.
“Drift,” she said, turning the pages to the comforting curves of the transform. She felt a flash of nausea, but her stomach stayed still.
Alaric stopped with one leg out of the window and both hands on the sill. “Make it quick,” he said.
Sienne made herself focus on the spell. One syllable at a time. Her mouth filled with a cloying sweetness she swallowed, making her stomach roil, but she persisted. The moment her spell struck Alaric, he shoved off from the wall, diving backward through the air as if into a deep pool and twisting in midair to face away from the manor. Sienne rose with some difficulty and clung to the sill, breathing heavily. Only a few more moments, and the spell would wear off, just as Alaric reached the ground.
“Sienne!” Dianthe shouted. “Alaric! The undead are attacking us! Where’s Master Scholten?”
Alaric alit and took a couple of bounding steps before drift ended. Sienne clutched the rail and watched him. Scholten hadn’t emerged from the stable. “Be careful—he still has spells!” she shouted. Alaric didn’t acknowledge her, but she was sure he’d heard because his steps slowed, and he sidled along the wall of the stable, sword in one hand.
Movement caught Sienne’s eye, not at the stable but closer to the manor. An undead came out from the shadow of the manor, stumbling along faster than usual and with frightening directness. It headed directly for Alaric. Another followed, and another, until there were half a dozen shambling toward the stable. “Alaric, look out!” Sienne screamed. Alaric turned to look at her and saw the undead.
A horse burst through the stable doors. It was Alaric’s big gelding Paladin. Scholten clung to Paladin’s back, leaning over to lie against the horse’s neck. Alaric flattened himself against the stable to avoid being trampled, then ran after the horse, transforming mid-stride into the dark brown shape of his unicorn other self. Sienne raised her spellbook. If they wanted to stop Scholten, it was down to her. If she missed, if Alaric couldn’t outrun him, it might be over.
The hard-edged syllables of force tasted like acid, and the letters blurred almost too much for her to read them. Scholten was a rapidly receding blotch against the estate wall, with Alaric a darker blotch behind him. Almost there…
The force bolt burst from her seconds before she once again retched and vomited thin bile all down the side of the manor. She closed her eyes and collapsed, unable to even look to see if she’d succeeded. If the bolt had flown wide, or worse, hit Alaric…
She concentrated on breathing, swallowed more bile, and tried opening her eyes. That only made her sicker, so she closed them and listened instead. The sounds of fighting drifted up from below, again eerily quiet without the shrieks and moans of the wounded. The low keening of the undead filled the air, making her skin vibrate. She didn’t know how many were left, but certainly enough to kill them all. Even if she’d hit Scholten, even if that made him lose control of the horde, dozens of masterless ghouls would be just as intent on attacking her and her friends as undead obeying Scholten’s orders.
She dragged herself to her hands and knees and crawled, she hoped, toward the door. If they were going to die, she wanted to be with her friends when it happened. She ran into something hard and cold and opened her eyes briefly, though she already knew it was the prison Scholten had cast. From the outside, it looked like a big icy lump, like a frozen haystack. She crawled around it, the cold radiating from it sucking the warmth from her skin. By the time she reached the door, she was freezing again.
In the hall, she managed to push herself upright and use the wall to stand. Blinking, she found she could see again, though not well; her vision was blurry, as if a gauze mask covered her eyes. She stumbled to the stairs. “Where are you?” she cried out.
“Sienne! Watch out!” Dianthe shouted. “The undead are coming up the stairs!”
She listened, and heard the scuffling, shambling tread of several halting feet. Her heart pounded, and she turned and fumbled her way back to the sitting room, where she slammed the door shut. After a few false starts, she managed to drag the chair Scholten had sat in to block the door. Breathing heavily, she stumbled to the window.
She couldn’t see Paladin or Scholten. Alaric was surrounded by undead who pressed him on all sides. He lashed out with his hind hooves, knocking two undead away, then skewered a third with his horn. The one he impaled jerked and fell limp, sliding off the horn to lie unmoving on the ground. Of course. The horn was magical. If only it was enough!
Alaric let out a shrill scream as one of the undead scored a devastating hit on his flank, tearing it open. Sienne lifted her spellbook once more, then let it fall. Another spell really might kill her, and she didn’t have anything that would help Alaric, anyway. She was too tired even to cry.
Something struck the door, hard, making her shriek and spin around. The door thumped again, and the chair blockade shifted a few inches. Terrified, she cast about for some weapon, anything that would let her go down fighting.
Her gaze fell on the circle burned into the floor. It was a gamble. Scholten might have lied about its power, or maybe it had lost its efficacy when he left it. There was no time for her to think about the possibilities. She scrambled across the floor and flung herself into the circle just as the door burst open, flinging the chair away. Two undead fell through the doorway, their pale faces frighteningly empty of emotion. They came toward Sienne, hands upraised, fingers tipped with glistening claws, eyes blank and white like pearls. Sienne screamed and crouched, covering her head with her arms.
But the anticipated blow never came. Sienne peeked up through her arms and saw the undead clawing at the air, unable to approach over the curves of the protective circle. It was like being surrounded by a glass cylinder. Sienne stood, slowly, resisting the urge to lie down and go unconscious. More undead had joined the first two, pressing against them, and the first one, pushed by its neighbor, took a step that put its foot on the burned lines.
The undead shrieked, the first human sound she’d ever heard one make. It fell into convulsions and staggered backward, knocking over the one who’d pushed it. Still screaming, it collapsed into a twitching pile near the balcony.
“Sienne!” Dianthe cried out. “We’re coming!”
“It wasn’t me,” Sienne called out, but her voice had no force behind it, and she wasn’t sure even the nearest undead heard her. She started shivering again and hugged herself. Scholten hadn’t said how long the circle lasted. It was possible all her friends would die and she’d be trapped here until she ventured out to be killed herself, or died of starvation or dehydration.
Then she heard, distantly, Perrin’s voice shouting, “O Lord of crotchets, spare our lives, and grant me this blessing!”
A shock wave like a silent blast of wind struck her, making her stagger almost out of the circle. Every undead in the room froze mid-motion. Then black mist poured from their mouths and noses just as it had when Murtaviti had healed himself. This time, instead of pooling and flowing across the floor, it rose in long, ropy tendrils and tumbled out the window, twisting in invisible currents of air. Sienne craned to look outside and saw the mist rising higher, quickly obscured against the black night sky.
A thump drew her attention back to the room. The undead were falling, rigid as if they’d been paralyzed, to lie motionless on the floor. Sienne stared at them. If that was a blessing, it was far more powerful than anything she’d seen before. And why hadn’t Perrin invoked it sooner? If Alaric—
She gasped and ran to the balcony, tripping over a couple of fallen bodies, then had to cling to the rail to keep from fainting. Once her vision cleared, she looked down on the grassy area between the house and the wall. Undead lay everywhere, collapsed in heaps like puppets with their strings cut. Three still stood, facing Alaric, who was backed against the stables.
As she watched, he reared up and lashed out with his front hooves, bringing his full weight to bear on the nearest undead. It crushed the creature, but left him open to its neighbor’s attack. He stumbled as the undead reached for his throat and got his face instead, tearing it open.
Sienne turned and ran for the door, stumbling in her haste. “Alaric’s in trouble!” she shouted. This time, it came out sounding normal, though she’d intended it to be much louder. She staggered to the stairs and tripped, falling to the landing where the stairs turned. “Help!”
Running footsteps came her way. “Are you hurt?” Kalanath said. “Can you stand?”
She shook her head. “Alaric’s out there—still fighting—the stables—”
Kalanath released her, making her wobble, and sped for the front door. Sienne sank to sit on the top stair of the landing. “I’m not hurt,” she told Perrin, who appeared as if by magic before her, “not in any way you can fix, I cast too many spells—why didn’t you invoke that blessing before?”
“I was knocked unconscious briefly,” Perrin said. “Things were quite exciting down here. Are you certain you are well?”
“Master Scholten’s circle of protection worked. It saved my life. I didn’t think I’d be grateful to him for anything.” Sienne leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “I think he got away.”
“So long as we all live, I cannot find that a tragedy.” Perrin helped her stand and walk down the rest of the stairs. “Did you say Alaric is in danger?”
“We should help him. I can’t cast any more spells, though, damn it!”
“There is little you and I can do. I have no more shields, and that undead-destroying blessing was the only one of its kind. But let us hurry nonetheless, and provide healing, if—” Perrin’s mouth shut abruptly, but Sienne could guess he’d been about to say if it is not too late. She walked faster, willing herself not to fall, and by the time they reached the front door, they were running.
They came around the end of the manor and headed for the stable. Undead bodies lay strewn across the short grass like victims of a fast-acting plague. Beyond them, Kalanath and Dianthe knelt beside another fallen form, one large and dark and sprawled unnaturally still. Sienne felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “Go, go to him, don’t worry about me!” she urged Perrin. He let her go and ran toward Alaric. Sienne followed as fast as she could. If he was dead—if they’d killed him—Scholten wouldn’t be able to run far enough to hide from her. She dashed tears from her eyes and pushed herself harder.
Alaric lay unmoving near the stable wall, his eyes open. Blood covered his hairy brown chest and long face, and a ragged tear laid open his formerly smooth cheek. His horn, which normally gleamed like black oil, was matte-dull. Sienne sucked in a horrified breath and found her knees wouldn’t support her. She landed hard on the ground and let out a cry of pain. Alaric twitched, but made no other response.
“No fear, Sienne, all will be well,” Perrin said, tearing a blessing free from a ragged riffle of paper. “O Lord, have patience in your crankiness, and grant me this blessing,” he prayed.
Green light flared, lighting up every wound Alaric had taken. Sienne found herself crying again. So much damage…it was a miracle he’d survived. It looked like he’d killed more than a dozen undead. The light bathed his sides, making his dark brown hide look sallow. The unicorn closed his eyes and winced as if the light hurt him, though Sienne knew from experience healing was actually pleasant.
Perrin grunted. “This is difficult,” he said. “I hope…”
No one wanted to ask what he hoped, and possibly distract him from whatever role he played in the healing blessing. Sienne wiped tears from her cheeks and prayed as she never had before. Averran, help him, please. He can’t die. Please.
The green light faded. The nasty wound on Alaric’s face was gone, leaving a pale scar. Sienne had never seen Perrin’s healing produce scars before. Alaric’s muscles bunched and flexed, and then he was human again. He blinked. “Did someone get Scholten?” he said in a husky voice.
“He got away,” Sienne said.
“I don’t think so. You hit him in the back of the head with force, and he fell off Paladin.” Alaric tried to sit up. “For that matter, what happened to my horse?”
His voice, despite the huskiness, sounded so normal that Sienne let out a cry and threw herself at him, knocking him over again. He laughed, and put his arms around her, and the tightness in her chest relaxed. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and breathed out a deep sigh of relief.
“Master Scholten is here,” Kalanath said. “He is dead.”
That sent a spike of dread through Sienne. “Force can’t kill.”
“But a fall from a horse can. His neck is broken,” Kalanath said. “Paladin is near the wall. He looks well.”
“Let me up, Sienne,” Alaric said. Sienne drew back, and Alaric stood, wincing as if the motion hurt him. “I don’t feel completely healed.”
“I believe the wounds inflicted by the undead carried with them illness,” Perrin said, “and you may require rest to recover from that. I will heal you again, though, just in case. It is my last blessing for the day. I have never before used all that my Lord has gifted me with.”
“I’m at my limit,” Sienne said. “I can barely see straight, and I feel I might throw up again at any moment.”
Alaric put a steadying hand under her arm. “You should have said something.”
“You were dying. I think that’s more important.”
“Not to me.” Alaric turned to Kalanath. “You’re sure Scholten is dead?”
“Very sure.” Kalanath prodded the inert body with his staff. “And the undead became ghouls. I think that is a thing that happens when the necromancer dies.”
“Then we need to search his house.”
“It’s full of undead!” Dianthe exclaimed. “Dead ones, but still. We destroyed Master Murtaviti, which is what we came for—we need to get out of here.”
“No one’s coming out here to investigate for a while,” Alaric said. “And while our primary goal was killing Murtaviti, we still have a binding ritual to find, and Scholten was part of the blight. We need to find his library.”
“You make a good point,” Perrin said. “And we cannot return to Onofreo, as the gates will certainly be closed by now. We should sleep here, and return to Fioretti in the morning, and hope no one remembers our inquiries about the late Master Scholten to accuse us of his murder.”
“I think I can arrange things so it looks like Master Scholten was killed by the undead,” Dianthe said. “Possibly even that Master Murtaviti looks like the villain. But I don’t think I can sleep in a house full of corpses.”
“Me neither,” Sienne said. “But Alaric’s right, we need to search this place.”
“Then let’s get started,” Alaric said. “Sienne, you’ll rest until you can see straight.”
“I can help search!”
“Rest first.” Alaric guided her back around to the front of the house and into one of the rooms they’d barricaded to force the undead into a route of their choosing. It was, Sienne was relieved to see, completely free of undead. “You have a distressing tendency to push yourself beyond your limits.”
“So do you. So you can hardly criticize me for doing it.”
Alaric found her a sofa and pressed her gently onto it. “Lie down, and see if you can sleep for half an hour.”
“I’m too keyed up to sleep.”
He bent and kissed her, a long, slow kiss that made her long to draw him down to lie beside her for more kissing. “Then close your eyes and relax. I’ll be back shortly.”
She watched him leave, then closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. They’d never been so close to dying. What a nightmare.
She crossed her arms over her stomach, and the pages of Scholten’s spellbook pressed into her skin. Were they hers, now? Someone could make a case that she’d won them by right of combat. But she felt awkward about taking the
spells of a man she’d indirectly killed. Don’t be stupid, she told herself, you could really use some of what he has. The version of force that affected multiple targets, for one, and—no, she didn’t dare take any of the charms, though putting enemies to sleep had its appeal.
Midway through mentally reviewing Scholten’s spells and coming up with justifications for taking each one, she drifted off to sleep.
21
She woke to a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Feeling better?” Alaric said.
She sat up, and the room spun around her. “A little,” she lied. It was only partly a lie, because once the dizziness passed, she found her vision clear and her stomach settled. Probably sitting up too quickly was the problem, and lightheadedness could happen to anyone.
“We haven’t found any necromancy books, and no rooms kitted out as ritual chambers.” Alaric helped her rise and kept his arms around her when she was standing. “If you’re up to it, we could use a fresh set of eyes.”
“Maybe it’s underground.”
“Perrin and Dianthe are checking that possibility now.” Alaric brushed hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead. “I don’t think we’ve ever been so close to catastrophe as we were this time. When that pile of ice appeared…I thought it was solid, and you were under it.”
“It was almost that bad. If I hadn’t had my spellbook, I might have died before you broke through.” She shivered in memory, and he pulled her closer. His warm, strong embrace calmed her heart, even as it worried her that he trembled now and then. She hoped Perrin was wrong about him being infected by whatever diseases the undead carried.
They stood like that for what felt like not nearly long enough, until Alaric released her and said, “I don’t suppose you can turn that disguise spell inside out? Reveal objects that have been camouflaged?”
“Unfortunately, no. But he didn’t have camouflage in his spellbook, and even if he had friends willing to cast it for him, it doesn’t last long. Where should I search?”
Mortal Rites Page 22
