The Sartan turned away from the window. Walking over to Haplo, Alfred placed his hands on the Patryn’s shoulders and began to chant.
The circle was joined. The dragonship gave a great shudder, broke free of the magical toils, lifted its wings and soared upward, leaving behind the fiery sea, leaving behind the dead and the living on the stone world of Abarrach.
The ship floated before Death’s Gate.
Haplo lay on a pallet on the deck, near the steering stone. He had collapsed moments after they’d freed themselves. Hovering on the brink of unconsciousness, he’d fought to keep himself awake, fought to guide their ship to safety. Alfred had watched over him anxiously, until Haplo ordered him irritably to go away and leave him alone.
“All I need is sleep. When we reach the Nexus, I’ll be fine. You better find yourself a place to lie down, Sartan, or you’ll end up breaking your neck when we go through Death’s Gate. And this time, when we go through, keep your mind out of mine!”
Alfred stood by the porthole, staring out, his mind walking back on Abarrach, regret gnawing at him. “I didn’t mean to pry into your past life. I don’t have much control—”
“Shut up and sit down.”
Alfred sighed and sat—or rather tumbled—into a corner. He huddled there dejectedly, his bony knees level with his chin.
The dog curled up beside Haplo, put its head on his chest. The Patryn settled himself comfortably, stroked the dog’s ears with his hand. The animal closed its eyes, and its tail wagged contentedly.
“Sartan. You awake?”
Alfred kept silent.
“Alfred.” Grudgingly.
“Yes, I’m awake.”
“You know what’ll happen to you in the Nexus.” Haplo didn’t look at him when he spoke, he kept his gaze on the dog. “You know what My Lord will do to you.”
“Yes,” Alfred answered.
Haplo hesitated a moment, either deciding on his next words or deciding whether or not to say them. When he made his decision, his voice was hard and sharp, cutting through some barrier within himself.
“Then, if I were you, I wouldn’t be around when I woke up.” Haplo closed his eyes.
Alfred stared in amazement, then smiled gently. “I understand. Thank you, Haplo.”
The Patryn didn’t respond. His labored breathing grew even and easy. Lines of pain relaxed from his face. The dog, sighing, wriggled closer.
Death’s Gate opened, drew them slowly inside.
Alfred leaned back against the bulkheads. Consciousness was slipping away from him. He thought he heard, though it may have been a dream, Haplo’s sleepy voice.
“I never did find out about the prophecy. I don’t suppose it matters. No one will be left alive down there to fulfill it. Who believes in that crap anyway? Like you said, Sartan. If you believe in a prophecy, you have to believe in a higher power.”
Who believes? Alfred wondered.
47
The lazar, angered at losing the dragonship, turned their wrath on the living who yet remained on Abarrach. Kleitus led the armies of the dead in an attack on the small band of refugees from Kairn Telest.
The living were led by Baltazar, who barely escaped with his life from the docks. Protected by Prince Edmund, the necromancer hastened back to his people, hiding in the Salfag Caverns. He brought them the terrible news that their own armies of dead had turned against them.
The people of Kairn Telest fled the coming of the dead, running out into the open plains of the land that was itself, dying. They fled without hope, however, for among their number were many sick and many children, who could not stand the forced pace. The cycles of their suffering and hardship were mercifully brief. The dead were hard on their heels and soon the last living beings on Abarrach were brought to bay. They had no choice but to turn and fight.
During this time, I walked among the lazar, pretending to be one with them, for I knew that my hour had not yet come. Prince Edmund remained by my side. Although I knew his grief for his people was acute, he, too, waited for his hour.
The people of Kairn Telest chose for their field of battle a level plain not far from the Pillar of Zembar. They gave some thought to trying to protect the children, the sick and infirm, the elderly. In the end, they decided that it mattered little. Against the dead, there could be only one outcome. Men and women, old and young gathered what weapons they could and prepared to fight. They formed their ranks into a single line—families together, friend beside friend. The fortunate ones would be those who died first and swiftest.
The dead ranged themselves in ranks in the field across from the living. Their army was huge, outnumbering the people of Kairn Telest almost a thousand to one. Kleitus and the lazar walked before them, the dynast exhorting the cadavers to bring the dead necromancers among the Kairn Telest to him for resurrection.
I knew what was in Kleitus’s mind, for I had attended his council meetings with the rest of his lazar. Once the Kairn Telest were destroyed, he planned to enter Death’s Gate and from there pass on to other worlds. His ultimate goal—to rule over a universe of dead.
The trumpets of the cadavers sounded, blowing thin, iron notes that echoed through the kairn. The army of dead prepared to advance. The living of Kairn Telest closed ranks, silently awaiting their fate.
Prince Edmund and I stood together on the front lines of battle. His phantasm turned to face me and I saw then that he had been given the knowledge for which he’d been waiting.
“Bid me farewell, brother.”
“Fare you well, my brother, on your long journey,” I said. “May you know peace at last.”
“I could wish the same for you,” he said.
“When my work is done,” I told him.
We walked together, side by side, and took our places among the foremost ranks of the dead. Kleitus watched us warily, suspiciously. He would have confronted us but the dead began to cheer, thinking that Edmund had himself come out to lead the battle against his own people.
Kleitus could do little against us. My strength and my power had grown during those last days, shining down on me like the sun I had never seen except in the visions of the Sartan from another world, the one who called himself Alfred. I knew its source. I knew the sacrifice I would have to make to use the power, and I was prepared.
Prince Edmund raised his hand, calling for silence. The dead obeyed, the cadavers ceased their hollow cries, the phantasms hushed their endless moaning.
“This cycle,” Prince Edmund shouted, “death comes to Abarrach!”
The dead raised their voices in a mighty shout. The writhing visage of Kleitus darkened.
“You mistake my meaning. Death will not come to the living,” Edmund’s voice rang out, “but to us, to the dead. Let go of your fear, as I let go of mine. Trust in this one.” He knelt down before me, looked up at me. “For he is the one of whom the prophecy spoke.”
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“I am,” he said firmly.
I began reciting the chant, the words I had first heard spoken by the Sartan, Alfred. Blessed be the One who sent him to us.
Prince Edmund’s body stiffened, jerked, as if it felt again the spear plunge into its chest. The face contorted with both the physical pain and the mental, the knowledge of failure, the brief and bitter struggle life makes leaving the body, the world.
My heart was filled with pity, but I continued the chant. The body slumped down to the ground at my feet.
Kleitus, realizing what was happening, tried to stop me. He and the other lazar raged around me, but they were nothing more to me than the hot wind blowing from the sea of fire.
The dead spoke no word, only watched.
The living murmured and clasped hands, wondering if we offered hope or a deepening of their despair.
The corpse lay still and silent, the dreadful magical strings that animated it were severed. The phantasm of Edmund, his spirit, grew stronger and more clearly defined. For a brief instant he appeared to me and to his people as he had been in life—young, handsome, proud, compassionate.