At a sign from Edmund, dead warriors escorted the two strangers off to a corner of the cavern by themselves, away from the people, who continued to stare at them curiously, and away from the corpses, still lying on the rock floor.
The necromancer took his place among the dead, whose phantasms began to writhe and stir, as if touched by a hot wind. The corpses continued to lie still and unmoving. The necromancer began his chanting once more, raised his hands and brought them together with a sharp clap. The bodies twitched and jerked, a jolt of magical energy striking each one of them. The small corpse of the child sat up almost immediately and rose to its feet. The eyes of the small phantasm behind it appeared to search for someone in the crowd. A woman, weeping, came forward. The child’s cadaver ran to her, white, cold hands outstretched in love and longing. The woman reached out to her child. A man, face drawn in grief, halted her, took the sobbing woman in his arms and drew her away. The little girl’s corpse stood in front of them, staring at them. Slowly, the arms of the cadaver dropped to its sides; the wispy, ethereal arms of the phantasm remained outstretched.
“My people .. . what have they done?” Alfred repeated in a tear-choked voice. “What have they done?”
One by one, the cadavers regained the semblance of life. Each time, the eyes of the phantasm sought out loved ones among the living, but the living turned away. One by one, each of the dead took its place in the back of the cavern, joining the crowd of other dead, who stood behind the living. The young warriors joined ranks with their dead fellows. The aged, among the last to be persuaded to return, rose up like weary sleepers who have at last lain down to rest and are loath to awaken. The child lingered near her parents for some time, then finally, withdrew to mingle with other small cadavers. Haplo saw that there were many children among the dead, few among the living. He recalled Edmund’s words, This world is dying, and he understood.
But Haplo understood something else. These people possessed the key to eternal life! What greater gift could Haplo bring to his lord, to his people? No longer would the Patryns be at the mercy of the Labyrinth. If the Labyrinth killed them, they would simply rise up and fight on, their numbers growing, until finally it was conquered. And then, no army in the universe could stop them, no living army could hope to defeat an army of the dead!
I have only to learn the secret of the rune-magic. And here, Haplo thought, his gaze going to Alfred, is one who can teach me. But I must be patient, bide my time. The Sartan doesn’t know yet much more than I do. But he will learn. He can’t help himself. And when he does, I’ll have him!
The last cadaver to rise to its feet was the elderly man wearing the golden crown. And it seemed likely, at first, that the old man was going to defy them all. Its phantasm was stronger than the others, and it stood over the body defiantly, braving the necromancer’s pleas and even—after an apologetic look at the grief-stricken prince—threats. At last, the necromancer, scowling, shook his head and threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat. Edmund himself stepped forward, spoke to the body lying on the ground at his feet.
“I know how weary you are of life, Father, and how you long for and have earned rest. But think of the alternative. You will sink into dust. Your mind will continue working, yet you will know the hopeless, bitter frustration of being powerless to affect the world around you. You will live like this through the centuries, trapped in nothingness! Resurrection is far better, Father! You will be with us, the people who need you. You can advise us ...”
The old man’s phantasm writhed, rippled in a wind that only it could feel. It appeared frustrated with the fact that it couldn’t communicate what it obviously, desperately desired to reveal.
“Father, please!” Edmund pleaded. “Return to us! We need you!”
The phantasm wavered, then dwindled, nearly disappearing. The cadaver stirred. The same magical jolt passed through it that had passed through the others, and it rose, feebly, to its feet.
“Father, my king,” said the prince, bowing low.
The phantasm, barely a shadow, twisted in the air like mist rising from a pond. The cadaver lifted its wasted, waxen hand in acceptance of the homage, but then the head with the golden crown and its fixed, expressionless eyes, swiveled this way and that, as if wondering what to do next. The prince’s own head bowed, his shoulders slumped. The necromancer drew near.
“I am sorry, Your Highness.”
“It isn’t your fault, Baltazar. You told me what to expect.”
The corpse of the king remained standing before its people, its regal pose a terrible mockery of what the man had once been.
“I had hoped he might be different,” said Edmund, speaking in a low voice, as if the dead man might overhear him. “In life, he was so strong, so resolute—”
“The dead can be nothing more than they are, My Lord. For them, their life ends when the mind ceases to function. We can return life to the body, but there our power stops. We cannot give them the ability to learn, to react to the living world around them. Your father will continue to be king, but only to those to whom he was king before their deaths.”
The necromancer gestured. The dead king had turned the sightless eyes to the back of the cavern, to the dead who stood there. The corpses bowed in homage and the dead king, its phantasm whispering in grief, abandoned the living who did not know him anymore, and went to join the dead.
Edmund started to go after him. Baltazar plucked him by the sleeve.
“Your Majesty...” The necromancer indicated with a glance that they needed to talk in private. The two drew apart from the rest of the people, who made way for them in respect.
Haplo, with a casual gesture, sent the dog after them. The dog pushed near Edmund’s leg. Unconsciously, the man’s hand reached down to pet the soft fur. Haplo heard, through the animal’s ears, every word that was said.
“. . . you should take the crown!” the necromancer was urging in low tones.
“No!” The prince’s response was sharp. His eyes were on the cadaver of his father, walking with proud and ghastly mien among the legions of the dead. “He wouldn’t understand. He is king.”
“But, My Liege, we need a living king—”
“Do we?” Edmund’s smile was bitter. “Why? The dead outnumber us. If the living are content to follow me as their prince, then I am content to remain their prince. Enough, Baltazar. Don’t push me.”
The youthful voice hardened, the eyes flashed. The necromancer bowed silently, glided off to other duties involving the cadavers. Edmund stood by himself a long while, his thoughts turned inward. The dog whined, nuzzled the hand absently petting him. The prince glanced down, smiled wanly.
“Thank you for your comfort, Friend,” he said to the dog. “And you are right, I am being a neglectful host.”
Recalled to his guests, Edmund came over to seat himself down on the rock floor beside Haplo and Alfred.
“We had animals like this among us once.” Edmund fondled the dog, who wagged its tail and licked his hand. “I remember, as a boy—” He paused, sighed, then shook his head. “But you’re not interested in that. Please, be seated. Forgive the informality,” he added. “If we were in my palace in my land, I would entertain you with royal ceremony. But, then, if we were in my palace, we’d be freezing to death, so I suppose you prefer it where you are. I know I do. At least, I think I do.”