“What about the eyes?” Nightshade sat forward, trying to see Lleu through the smoke.
Rhys had a better view. He looked into his brother’s eyes and recoiled.
He’d seen those eyes before gazing up at him from the grave. Eyes that were empty. Eyes that had no soul behind them. Lieu’s eyes were the eyes of the dead.
He could not take this as proof, however, for he was starting to doubt his own senses. His brother looked alive, he sounded alive, his flesh felt alive to the touch. Yet, there were the Master’s warning, the kender’s assessment, and now that Rhys came to think of it, there was Atta’s reaction to Lleu. She had taken against him from the first, confronting him with bared teeth and raised hackles. She did not want him near the sheep. She’d bitten him when he tried to lay his hands on her.
Rhys might have assumed that the Master was speaking in metaphors. He might dismiss the kender as talking nonsense. But Rhys trusted the dog. Atta had realized from the moment she saw and smelled Lleu that there was something wrong about him.
“You are right,” said Rhys softly. “His eyes are those of a corpse.”
Lleu shoved back his chair, stood up. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting someone. A young lady.” He winked and leered.
“That wouldn’t be Mina, would it?” Rhys asked.
Lieu’s reaction was startling. Reaching over the table, he grabbed hold of the collar of Rhys’s robes and nearly dragged him from the chair.
“Where is she?” Lleu demanded, and he was panting with an ugly eagerness. “Is she around here somewhere? Tell me how to find her! Tell me!”
Rhys looked down at his brother’s hands, gripping the homespun fabric. The knuckles were white with intensity. The fingers quivered.
“I have no idea where she is,” Rhys said. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
Lleu glared at him suspiciously. Then he let go.
“Sorry,” Lleu mumbled. “I need to find her, that’s all. It’s all right. I’ll keep looking.”
Lleu flung open the door and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. The barkeep roared out that he wanted his money, but by then, Lleu was long gone.
Rhys was on his feet. Nightshade jumped up in response. “Where are we going?”
“After him.”
“Why?”
“To see what he does, where he goes.”
“Hey!” shouted the barkeep. “Are you going to pay for your friend?”
“I have no money—” Rhys began and was interrupted by the sound of steel coins ringing on the bar.
“Thanks,” said the barkeep, scooping up the coins.
Rhys looked accusingly at Nightshade.
“I didn’t do it,” said the kender promptly.
“That’s two you owe me, monk,” said Zeboim’s sultry voice from the smoky shadows. “Now go after him!”
Rhys and Nightshade left the tavern, silently hurrying along behind Lleu, who was heading back into Solace.
They took precautions to keep him from seeing that he was being followed, although that proved unnecessary, for he never once looked behind. He strolled jauntily down the road, his head thrown back, singing the refrain of the bawdy song.
“Nightshade,” said Rhys, “I have heard that there are undead known as zombies.” He felt strange, asking such a question, unreal, as if in a horrible dream. “Is it possible—”
“—that he’s a zombie?” Nightshade shook his head emphatically. “You’ve never seen a zombie, have you? Zombies are corpses that are raised up after death. Their stench alone is enough to curl your socks. They have rotting flesh, eyeballs hanging out of the eye sockets. They shuffle when they walk because they don’t know how to move their legs or feet. They’re more like horrible puppets than anything else. They don’t sing, I can tell you that, and they’re not young and handsome.
“I’ll say one thing for your brother, Rhys,” Nightshade concluded solemnly. “He’s the best looking dead man I ever saw in my life.”
12
Rhys and Nightshade followed Lleu to one of the newer parts o Solace. In order to accommodate the numbers of people moving into the city, houses were being hastily constructed below the vallenwood trees, not up among the branches. Those who lived in these new houses were generally refugees who had fled the destruction caused by Beryl. They had lived in tents when they first arrived in Solace, but by now some of them had done well for themselves and wanted permanent dwellings.
A great many houses could be built around the bole of one of the giant trees. To save money and wood, the designer followed the elven plan of using the tree itself as one wall of the house, so that the homes resembled mushrooms sprouting out of the mud at the base of the tree. The hour was late. Most of the houses were dark, their occupants having gone to bed, but here and there a light shone from one of the windows, casting its glow into the street.
Lleu slowed his pace when he reached this part of town and ceased to sing. He walked up to one of the darkened houses and peeked in a window. Then he loitered up and down the street, casting an occasional glance at the house. Rhys and Nightshade stood in the shadows and watched and waited.
The door to the house opened a crack. A young woman in a cloak slipped out and softly and stealthily closed the door behind her. She was having trouble seeing in the darkness and looked about fearfully.
“Lleu?” she called in a tremulous tone.
“Lucy, my dove.” He caught her in his arms and kissed her. “No, no, not here!” she said breathlessly, pushing him away. “Suppose my husband were to wake up and see us?”
“Where shall we go, then?” said Lleu, holding her around the waist and nuzzling her neck. “I can’t keep my hands off you.” “I know a place,” she said. “Come with me.”
Clinging together, laughing and giggling, the two hastened down the street. Rhys and Nightshade followed after them. Rhys was troubled, uncertain what to do. This was apparently nothing more than a midnight assignation with a young woman, perfectly normal for a young man like Lleu, except that Lleu was far from normal and the young woman was married.
Rhys should probably call a halt to this now, take hold of the young woman and drag her back to her house. There would be a scene with the husband: tears and wails, rage, a fight. The neighbors would wake. Someone would summon the authorities.
No, Rhys determined. Nothing good would come of an uproar. He would bide his time, wait until they were someplace quiet, then try to talk to Lleu.
The couple reached a secluded, cleared area amidst a grove of pine trees. From the looks of the trampled grass, this was the local meeting ground for lovers. They had barely stopped walking before Lleu had his hands all over the woman. His kissed her neck, ran his hands over her breasts, lifted up her skirts.
“He’s pretty lively for a dead guy,” Nightshade observed.
Rhys was uncomfortable watching this. He felt he should intervene, although what he would say was open to question. The young woman would be embarrassed and upset. Lleu would be angry. Again, there would be tears, recriminations.
The young woman sighed, panted, and clung to Lleu, pressing his head against her bosom, running her fingers through his hair. Lleu took off her cloak and spread it on the pine needles. The two sank down onto the ground.
“We should leave,” said Rhys, and he was about to turn to go when his brother’s next words halted him.
“Have you thought more about what we talked about, my dearest?” Lleu asked. “About Chemosh?”
“Chemosh?” Lucy repeated vaguely. “Don’t let’s talk about religion now. Kiss me!”
“But I want to talk about Chemosh,” Lleu said, his hand fondling her breasts.
“That old, moldy god?” Lucy sighed, pouting. “I don’t see why you want to talk of gods at a time like this.”
“Because it is important to me,” said Lieu. His voice took on a soft tone. He kissed her on the cheek. “To us.” He kissed her again. “I can’t run away with you if you won’t swear to worship Chemosh, as I do.”