... And then she felt Sir Sidney’s mental commands reaching out to grab the undead, screaming his orders into their gestalt. There was a long pause, then the first row of undead stopped, only to be pushed over and trodden on by the second or third row. Olivia staggered under the impact as Sir Sidney’s command – a simple STOP – slammed into her head, even though it wasn’t directed at her. The undead seemed completely confused; some stopping, others still lunging towards Sir Sidney, right into his influence. For a long moment, Olivia thought they’d won.
Olivia shuddered as she felt the Tsar, suddenly aware of what was happening, reach out his mind towards the undead. His orders washed through the gestalt, driving out Sir Sidney’s orders, but they were weaker, somehow. It took Olivia a long moment to realise that he was trying to issue orders that were simply too complex, given the situation. The undead were torn between a simple command to stop and the more complex commands to ignore Sir Sidney and charge.
But they can’t ignore him, she realised, as she understood – finally – the link between her blood and the undead. They appear to be speaking with the same voice. Neither of them are actually superior, so one set of orders cancels another, only to be cancelled in turn.
She hesitated, then directed the rats into the fray. The more undead to be wiped out while they were confused, the better, if only because there were millions of rats in the city. Indeed, she could feel others joining the gestalt at the corner of her mind, killed and yanked back to life by undead rats under her control. The ranks of undead staggered, then started to fight one another. It was clear the Tsar was grimly aware of the danger of leaving too many undead too close to Sir Sidney, even though the Tsar hadn’t bothered to show himself. He was trying to obliterate the undead who might have followed Sir Sidney before it was too late.
But it’s too late for him, Olivia thought, grimly. We can drive them away from the palace.
Sir Sidney started to shamble forwards, growing in power with every step. More and more undead were falling under his influence, allowing him to start directing them to attack other undead themselves. It looked like one of the brawls in the Rookery that had so terrified her as a child, ones where there were no rules and no sides. It was every man for himself; Sir Sidney might hold a particular undead under his control, then lose it seconds later to the Tsar. Both controllers were trying desperately to maintain control over as many undead as possible, but Sir Sidney had an unfair advantage. He was simply closer to his undead than was the Tsar.
Gwen walked over to her and frowned. “Are you all right?”
“I feel sick,” Olivia confessed, as she pulled her mind away from the rats. The swarms were still spreading, attacking the undead wherever they found them. But it wouldn’t be long before the Tsar tried to take control of the rats for himself. Olivia was speaking with the same voice too. “What about you?”
“I’ve felt better,” Gwen confessed. “Can you locate the Tsar?”
Olivia closed her eyes, reaching out towards the undead she’d created. Three of them seemed to be trapped in swarms of undead, as if they were being dragged along by sheer weight of numbers; the remainder were wandering the city. It seemed impossible to locate the Tsar, at least directly. But they could still sense his pulsing thoughts.
“I’ve sent them after him,” Olivia said. “But I don’t know where he is now.”
Gwen nodded. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. She looked up, sharply. “I think I have company coming. You and Raechel can get everyone ready to make a run for it.”
“I will,” Olivia said. “But how should we get out?”
“The river seems the best bet,” Gwen said. “Just make damn sure you check the boat thoroughly before everyone gets inside.”
Olivia nodded as Gwen turned and threw herself back into the air.
***
Gwen sensed the four magicians as they flew through the air towards her, driven by madness and the Tsar’s growing desperation. Two Movers, she decided, and two other magicians with unknown powers. She was fairly sure the Russians didn’t have any Masters – they wouldn’t have overlooked the one they’d caught if they’d known anything about Master-level magic – but the others could be anything from Blazers to Charmers. They would be dangerous.
She dropped to a rooftop and looked up as the magicians landed around her, their eyes gleaming with power. The two Movers were obvious – Gwen could sense the magic billowing around them – but the remaining two were harder to identify. There was a long pause as they sized her up, hopefully underestimating her. Russia was even less kind to women than England and she hadn’t seen any female magicians among the strange monks. It was just possible that they’d take one look at her chest and refuse to take her seriously.
One of the magicians spoke, in Russian. Gwen felt the Charm – powerful Charm – echoing through his words, but did nothing. There was no way to obey when she honestly didn’t understand the orders being hurled at her. She gritted her teeth as the Charm grew stronger, then lifted her hand and sent a pulse of magic directly at the Charmer. One of the Movers shielded him, then threw magic back at her. Gwen jumped upwards, then threw another pulse of magic towards the rooftop. It shuddered, forcing the Charmer and the fourth magician to their knees. Moments later, the second Mover caught her with a wave of power, sending her falling back towards the streets. It was useless to resist, so she concentrated on cushioning her landing. The impact took her breath away, but she survived without serious injury.
A pair of undead lunged towards her. Gwen picked them both up with magic and hurled them towards the Charmer, knowing that his Charm would be useless on the undead. He let out a sound like a rat – Gwen’s lips twitched; she’d never met a Charmer who wasn’t a physical coward – and he called to one of the other magicians. The Mover shredded both of the undead seconds later.
The other Mover landed in front of Gwen. She smiled, charged the street with magic and jumped straight up, relying on her magic to carry her out of the blast range. The Mover had clearly seen the trick from the last time she’d used it, because he shielded himself in time to avoid the worst of the blast, but he still staggered backwards. Gwen recalled the Russian for sleep and shouted it as loudly as she could, pushing Charm into her voice. The Russian staggered, long enough to drop the wall of magic protecting him. Gwen drove a burst of magic into his skull and watched as it exploded into chunks of blood and gore.
There was no time to congratulate herself. The other Mover started to throw pieces of debris at her, bombarding her with bricks, stone and pieces of wood. Gwen gritted her teeth, concentrating on shielding herself, then created a dozen separate illusions, each one showing her walking in a different direction. The Mover was distracted long enough for Gwen to blast the lower floors of the building he was standing on, causing the whole structure to begin to collapse into debris. He jumped up into the air and dropped down towards her, wrapped in a haze of magic. Gwen braced herself, then summoned fire and hurled it back at him. Even if he could shield himself, it wouldn’t be enough to prevent the fire sucking away the oxygen and suffocating him.
And then Gwen felt an arm wrapped around her neck. She gasped in shock, feeling her magic draining away, as she realised the fourth magician was a Leech, a power-drainer, someone impossible to sense or track through magic. A professional too, part of her mind noted dully, as he started to make it harder for her to breathe. He wasn’t trying to grope her, merely to put her to sleep as quickly as possible. And it was clear they wanted her alive. He could have put a knife in her back if he’d wanted to kill her outright.
Bracing herself, she threw her head backwards and slammed it into his chin. His grip loosened and she pulled herself free, reaching for the knife she’d hidden in her sleeve. But he caught her again before she could draw it fully and struggled to hold her in place. Gwen twisted, trying to bring up her knee to strike him in the groin, then felt someone else behind her, too late. The Charmer held her while the Leech returned his grip t
o her neck. There was a moment of blurriness, then Gwen plunged down into darkness.
***
Olivia was grimly aware of the stares following her and Raechel as she ran into the council room and saw Lord Standish, Romulus and Talleyrand standing there, staring down at a map of Moscow. The shortest route to the river was marked clearly, but no one was sure if there were any boats available – or if the undead could swim. Olivia rather suspected they couldn’t, yet they could probably survive underwater. They didn’t need to breathe, after all.
She checked on the rats as she caught her breath, trying to see through their eyes. The battle for control between Sir Sidney and the Tsar was only intensifying, both men struggling for dominance. She tried to see Gwen through the ratty eyes, but saw nothing. The rats didn’t seem to be capable of recognising individual humans, any more than most undead saw anything more than the life energy in a living human. The rats just kept attacking the undead wherever they saw them.
“We need to start moving,” Raechel said, urgently. Her uncle eyed her in surprise. “Lady Gwen and Sir Sidney are distracting the Tsar, but that won’t last.”
“Then we had better move now,” Romulus said. “We won’t have much time, whoever wins.”
Lord Standish glanced at him, then looked away. “Get everyone together,” he ordered one of the Russians. “Hand out the weapons. And then we’ll make a rush for the boats.”
He looked up at Raechel. “You can go and recover your Aunt,” he ordered. “And bring her down here.”
Raechel smiled, although the smile didn’t quite touch her eyes. “Yes, Uncle,” she said. “I’ll bring her down, right now.”
Olivia followed her as she led the way upstairs to the bedroom they were using as a makeshift prison. The banging Olivia had heard earlier had faded away, leaving the corridor eerily silent. Raechel looked oddly worried as she reached for the key at her belt, then slotted it into the lock. Moments later, the door burst open, revealing a noblewoman who looked to be on the brink of madness. Her face was so horrific that Olivia couldn’t help wondering if an undead had got into her room and bitten her. But she was definitely human.
“Raechel!” she shouted, her voice cracking with fury. “You ... you ...”
Raechel drew the sword from her belt and held it out, point first, towards her Aunt. “No, Auntie,” she said. “Today you listen to me.”
Lady Standish stared at the blade with mad eyes. Olivia smirked, inwardly. No doubt Lady Standish had never anticipated being at her niece’s mercy. Judging from what little Raechel had said, Lady Standish hadn’t been a very kind Aunt, although it was quite possible that she’d meant well. Most aristocrats did, Olivia had noted; it was just their judgement of what was doing good that was at fault. At least Gwen was smart enough not to assume that her birth automatically made her better than everyone else.
“We are surrounded by millions of undead monsters,” Raechel continued. “You are going to walk with us to the boats, where we will get on the river and escape. You are going to keep your mouth firmly shut, do as you are told and help us to escape without screaming, fainting or having a fit of the vapours. And, when we get home, you will surrender control of my inheritance without any further ado.”
“But ...” Lady Standish managed to say. “I ...”
Raechel leaned forward, her eyes glinting with near madness herself. She had to be exhausted, Olivia realised suddenly. She’d only been able to catch a few hours of sleep overnight, before the attack had begun. And she’d fought as valiantly as anyone else during the attack itself. No wonder she was tired and cranky.
“You will do as I say, or I will tie you up and carry you,” Raechel hissed. “I’ve had enough of you trying to direct my life. Do as I say or you’ll be carried out of here or left to the undead.”
Lady Standish glared at her furiously, then nodded slowly, tears dripping from her face. Olivia couldn’t tell if it was an attempt to influence her niece or genuine shock, but it hardly mattered. Raechel tore her aunt’s dress, making it easier for her to run, then pushed her towards the stairs. Olivia smiled at her, tiredly, then followed Raechel and her aunt as they walked down towards the ground floor. Romulus was handing out weapons as the remaining defenders and women, including Alexander’s little girls, gathered in the dance hall.
“Romulus,” Lady Standish’s strident voice thundered, “I am most displeased with my niece’s conduct!”
Romulus turned to face her. Lady Standish stepped backwards in shock. Olivia understood; a society queen, someone so used to reading body language, would be shocked to see the change in her butler. Romulus had moved from someone who obeyed orders to someone who was very different, perhaps issuing orders himself. And Lord Standish wasn’t trying to gainsay him. To someone as sensitive as Lady Standish clearly was, that was as good as an advertisement in the newspapers that there had been a shift in power.
“Your niece has been doing very well,” Romulus said mildly, although there was an icy edge under his voice. “And I would suggest you keep your voice down. You never know what it might attract.”
Olivia caught his eye as Lady Standish staggered away. “What do you want me to do?”
“Lady Gwen hasn’t returned,” Romulus said. “Do you know where she is?”
Olivia looked up, alarmed. Gwen had said she had company ... and then, what? Other magicians? Gwen was powerful, combining all of the known talents, but she wasn’t all-powerful. It was quite possible that Gwen could be overwhelmed by two or three magicians working together, particularly if they were each masters of their own talent. But if so ... was she dead?
“I don’t know,” she said. She wanted to sit down and start peering through undead eyes until she found her adopted mother, but there was no time. “I’ll tell Sir Sidney to start clearing the way for us.”
“If he’s still sane,” Romulus said. He sounded as worried as Olivia felt. “Does he still need to sleep?”
Olivia shrugged. Was that why the Tsar hadn’t mounted an attack before Gwen had had time to fly to the airstrip and back? If a natural-born Necromancer like herself needed to sleep, what about a created Necromancer? But the Tsar was undead. No one had ever recorded any of the undead needing to sleep. It had never happened before, as far as anyone knew. They sucked on life energy and just kept going.
“I don’t know,” she said, again. What would Gwen want her to do? She knew the answer – Gwen would want her to get everyone out first – but she didn’t want to leave Gwen behind, even if she was dead. The thought of Gwen rising again as part of the Tsar’s army was horrific. “I’ll speak to Sir Sidney.”
“We’ll be ready in ten minutes, I think,” Romulus said. He looked over at Lady Standish, who had sat down in a corner, looking lost. “Some of us excluded, of course.”
“You won’t be working for her any longer,” Olivia noted. “Does it matter?”
“Not really,” Romulus said. “But it was important to me to maintain my cover.”
Olivia shrugged, then headed outside to find Sir Sidney. The whispering grew louder as she approached him, his commands echoing through the mental atmosphere. She tried to shield her mind as he turned to face her, then forced herself to smile. He looked ghastly, his entire body twitching with the stress of maintaining control of so many undead.
“We’re almost ready to run,” Olivia said. “Are you ready to support us?”
“Yes,” Sir Sidney said. He groaned, as if a moan was trying to escape his lips. “But you should hurry.”
Olivia took one last look at him and nodded.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The whispering grew louder as Olivia stepped outside, following Raechel and the rest of the womenfolk. Despite Raechel’s protestations, the women were put in the centre of the formation, walking right down the road towards the river. There was no attempt to sneak through the shadows; the undead lurked in nearby buildings, waiting for anyone unwary enough to get too close. Instead, they moved as quickly as they co
uld, right out in the open.
“We’ll see them coming,” Raechel had muttered, when she’d been told where they would be walking. “But is that a good thing?”
Olivia walked beside her, her eyes half-closed as she reached out towards her army of undead rats. The Tsar didn’t seem to be trying to control them – it looked as though he could only maintain control of his army of undead humans, not an army of rats – but his undead were striking out at the rats whenever and wherever they found them. Olivia sensed dozens of rats dying, their undead magic snapping out of existence, as they were crushed below human undead or kicked hard enough to shatter their bodies. At least the Tsar was still having problems keeping his undead away from Sir Sidney’s influence.
But that won’t last, she thought, grimly. Sir Sidney simply has far less practice in controlling the undead.
Sir Sidney stood at the edge of the group, keeping his distance from the living humans. His face had grown slack, almost completely emotionless, yet his body shivered, rocking backwards and forwards with the effort he was expending to control the undead. Olivia saw several of the diplomats, including Talleyrand, looking at Sir Sidney, as if he was a monster that might turn on them, given enough time. They might well be right, Olivia knew, as much as she hated to admit it. Almost all stories about Necromancers concluded with them eventually going insane, if they weren’t killed first.
Raechel placed a hand on her shoulder as Olivia shivered, hearing the sound of whispering growing louder. Both the Tsar and Sir Sidney shouted into the ether, their commands so loud it was impossible for the undead to disobey, yet the whispering was also growing louder. It was hard to be sure, but Olivia rather suspected the undead were forming a mental gestalt of their own anyway, even though they had two semi-Necromancers trying to control them. And who knew what that would mean for the future?
Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) Page 32
