Her Knights gathered around her, wondering and ill at ease.
“Alarm’s over,” Galdar told them. “Go back to your duties.” They went, but not without many backward looks. Galdar supported Mina’s unsteady steps.
“What happened to you?” he asked, eyeing her anxiously. “You spoke of punishment. Who punished you and for what?”
“The One God,” said Mina. Her face was streaked with sweat and drawn with remembered agony, the amber eyes gray. “I failed in my duty. The kender was of paramount importance. I should have retrieved him first. I...” She licked her bloodied lips, swallowed. “I was so eager to see my mother, I forgot about him. Now he is gone, and it is my fault.”
“The One God did this to you?” Galdar repeated, appalled, his voice shaking with anger. “The One God hurt you like this?”
“I deserved it, Galdar,” Mina replied. “I welcome it. The pain inflicted on me is nothing compared to the pain the One God bears because of my failure.”
Galdar frowned, shook his head.
“Come, Galdar,” she said, her tone chiding, “didn’t your father whip you as a child? Didn’t your battle master beat you when you made a mistake in training? Your father did not strike you out of malice. The battle master did not hit you out of spite. Such punishment was meant for your own good.”
“It isn’t the same,” Galdar growled. He would never forget the sight of her, who had led armies to glorious conquest, on her knees in the dirt, writhing in pain.
“Of course, it is the same,” Mina said gently. “We are all children of the One God. How else are we to learn our duty?”
Galdar had no reply. Mina took his silence for agreement.
“Take some of the men and search every room in the Tower. Make certain the kender is not hiding in any of them. While you are gone, we will burn these bodies.”
“Must I go back in there, Mina?” said Galdar, his voice heavy with reluctance.
“Why? What do you fear?” she asked.
“Nothing living,” he replied, with a dark scowl at the Tower.
“Don’t be afraid, Galdar,” said Mina. She cast a careless glance at the bodies of the wizards, being dragged to the funeral pyre. “Their spirits cannot harm you. They go to serve the One God.”
A bright light shone in the heavens. Distant, ethereal, the light was more radiant than the sun, made that orb seem dim and tarnished by comparison. Dalamar’s mortal eyes could not look long at the sun, lest he be blinded, but he could stare at this beautiful, pure light forever, or so he imagined. Stare at it with an aching longing that rendered all that he was, all that he had been, paltry and insignificant.
As a very small child, he had once looked up in the night sky above his homeland to see the silver moon. Thinking it a bauble, just out of his reach, he wanted it to play with. He demanded his parents fetch it for him, and when they did not, he wept in anger and frustration. He felt that way now. He could have wept, but he had no eyes to weep with, no tears to fall. The bright and beautiful light was out of reach. His way to it was blocked. A barrier as thin as gossamer and strong as adamant stretched in front of him. Try as he might, he could not move past that barrier, a prison wall that surrounded a world.
He was not alone. He was one prisoner among many. The souls of the dead roamed restlessly about the prison yard of their bleak existence, all of them looking with longing at the radiant light. None of them able to attain it.
“The light is very beautiful,” said a voice that was soft and beguiling. “What you see is the light of a realm beyond, the next stage of your soul’s long journey. I will release you, let you travel there, but first you must bring me what I need.”
He would obey. He would bring the voice whatever it wanted, so long as he could escape this prison. He had only to bring the magic. He looked at the Tower of High Sorcery and recognized it as having something to do with what he was, what he had been, but all that was gone now, behind him. The Tower was a veritable storehouse for the magic. He could see the magic glistening like streams of gold dust among the barren sand that had been his life. The other, restless souls streamed into the Tower, now bereft of the one who had been its master. Dalamar looked at the radiant light, and his heart ached with longing. He joined the river of souls that was flowing into the Tower.
He had almost reached the entrance when a hand reached out and seized hold of him, held him fast. The voice, angry and frustrated itself, hissed at him, “Stop.”
“Stop!” Mina commanded. “Halt! Do not burn the bodies. I have changed my mind.” Startled, the Knights let loose their hold. The corpses flopped limply to the ground. The Knights exchanged glances. They had never seen Mina like this, irresolute and vacillating. They didn’t like it, and they didn’t like to see her punished, even by this One God. The One God was far away, had little to do with them. Mina was near, and they worshiped her, idolized her.
“A good idea, Mina,” said Galdar, emerging from the Tower. He glared balefully at the dead wizards. “Leave the vultures to be eaten by vultures. The kender is not in the Tower. We’ve searched high, and we’ve searched low. Let’s get out of this accursed place.” Fire crackled. Smoke curled about the Tower, as the mournful dead curled about the boles of the cypress trees. The living waited in hopeful expectation, longing to leave. The dead waited patiently, they had nowhere to go. All of them wondered what Mina meant to do. She knelt beside Dalamar’s body. Clasping one hand over the medallion she wore around her neck, she placed her other hand on the mage’s mortal wounds. The staring eyes looked up vacantly.
Softly, Mina began to sing.
Wake, love, for this time wake. Your soul, my hand does take. Leave the darkness deep. Leave your endless sleep.
Dalamar’s flesh warmed beneath Mina’s hand. Blood tinged the gray cheeks, warmed the chill limbs. His lips parted, drew in breath in a shivering gasp. He quivered and stirred at her touch. Life returned to the corpse, to all but the eyes. The eyes remained vacant, empty. Galdar watched in scowling disapproval. The Knights stared in awe. Always before, Mina had prayed over the dead, but she had never brought them back to life. The dead serve the One God, she had told them.
“Stand up,” Mina ordered.
The living body with the lifeless eyes obeyed, rose to its feet.
“Go to the wagon,” Mina ordered. “There await my command.” The elf’s eyelids shivered. His body jerked.
“Go to the wagon,” Mina repeated.
Slowly, the mage’s empty eyes shifted, looked at Mina.
“You will obey me in this,” said Mina, “as you will obey me in all things, else I will destroy you. Not your body. The loss of this lump of flesh would be of little consequence to you now. I will destroy your soul.”
The corpse shuddered and, after a moment’s hesitation, shuffled off toward the wagon. The Knights fell back before it, gave it wide berth, although a few started to grin. The shambling thing looked grotesque. One of the Knights actually laughed aloud.
Horrified and repelled, Galdar saw nothing funny in this. He had spoken glibly of leaving the corpses to the vultures, and he could have done that without a qualm—they were wizards, after all—but he didn’t like this. There was something wrong with this, although he couldn’t quite say what or why it should so disturb him.
“Mina, is this wise?” he asked.
Mina ignored him. Singing the same song over the second wizard, she placed her hand upon his chest. The corpse sat up.
“Go join your fellow in the wagon,” she commanded.
Palin’s eyes blinked. A spasm contorted his features. Slowly, the hands with their broken fingers started to raise up, reach out, as if to grab and seize hold of something only he could see.