SALFAG CAVERNS, ABARRACH

“NOW WE must proceed with the resurrection. after that, we would be honored if you would be our guests and join our repast. It is meager,” Edmund added with a rueful smile, “but we are happy to share what we have.”

“Only if you will allow us to add our food to yours,” Alfred said, bobbing another awkward bow.

The prince looked at Alfred, at his empty hands. He looked at Haplo and his empty, rune-covered hands. Edmund appeared somewhat puzzled, but was too polite to question. Haplo glanced at Alfred to see if he was astonished over this peculiar statement of the prince’s. How could a Sartan food supply be limited when they, like the Patryns, had almost limitless powers of magic to increase it? Haplo caught Alfred glancing with raised eyebrows at him. The Patryn quickly averted his gaze, refusing to give the Sartan the satisfaction of knowing that they were sharing similar thoughts.

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.”

“What terrible occurrence destroyed your kingdom?” Alfred asked.

The prince looked at him with narrowed eyes. “The same occurrence that destroyed yours, undoubtedly. At least, so I must guess, to judge by what I’ve seen on my travels.”

Edmund was regarding them with renewed suspicion. Alfred stammered, appeared highly confused. Haplo sat forward, attempted to salvage the situation by changing the subject. “Did I hear something about food?”

Edmund gestured. “Marta, bring our guests supper!”

The old woman approached respectfully, carrying in her hands several dried fish. She set the fish down before them and, bowing, rose to leave.

But Haplo, watching her, saw her eyes dart jealously to the fish, then to himself and to Alfred.

“Go, old woman,” the prince said sharply. His cheeks were flushed. It seemed he had noted the look, as well.

“Wait,” Haplo called. Reaching out, he handed some of the fish back. “Take this for yourself. As we said, Your Highness,” he added, when he saw Edmund start to protest, “we can provide our own.”

“Yes.” Alfred joined in eagerly, glad to have something to do. He lifted the fish in his hands. The old woman, clasping the food close to her bosom, hastened away.

“I am deeply shamed,” Edmund began, but his words died on his lips.

Alfred was singing the runes to himself, his voice raised in the high-pitched nasal whine that seemed to pierce right through Haplo’s head. The Sartan held one fish in his hand, then he held two, then three appeared. Ceasing the chant, Alfred handed the food to the prince, who stared at it, wide-eyed. The Sartan offered another fish, deferentially, to Haplo.

His runes glowed blue and red and where there had been one fish there were now twelve, then twenty-four. Haplo arranged the fish on the flat rock, remembered to give one to the dog, who—with an uneasy glance at the dead—dragged its dinner off to a dark recess to enjoy it in private.

“Such magic is wonderful, truly wonderful,” the prince said in awed tones.

“But ... you can do this,” Alfred said, nibbling at the salty-tasting flesh. Hearing a sound, he looked up.

A child, a living child, was staring enviously at the dog. Alfred motioned the boy near and handed the fish to him. The boy caught hold of it, and hurried off. He presented the dried fish to an adult male, who stared at it in astonishment. The child pointed back at them. Haplo had the distinct feeling he was about to go into the seafood trade.

“It is said that in the old days we could perform such feats,” Edmund remarked, his awed gaze fixed on the meat. “But now our magic is concentrated on our survival in this world. ...” He glanced back at the cadavers, standing patiently in the shadows. “And on theirs.”

Alfred shuddered, seemed about to say something.

Haplo gave him a swift poke in the ribs, and the Sartan fell meekly silent and began to conjure up more fish.

“You’ll find food and supplies in that town,” Haplo said, nodding back toward it. “Surely you saw that much while you were there.”

“We are not thieves!” Edmund raised his chin proudly. “We will not take what is not ours. If our brethren in the city offer it freely, that will be different. We will work, we will pay them back.”

“Some of our people think it is our ‘brethren’ who should be paying us back, My Liege.” The new voice came from Baltazar. He stared with stern eyes at the magic being performed.

Quietly and without fuss, Haplo was replicating fish with his magic and handing it to those who crept near. Alfred was doing the same. A large crowd surrounded them. The necromancer said nothing until everyone had been fed and departed. Crossing his legs beneath the black robes, he seated himself and picked up a bit of the food.

He studied it carefully, as if he expected it to disappear in his hands the moment he touched it. “So you have not yet lost the art.”

“Perhaps,” said the prince, eyeing Alfred, “your land is different from ours. Perhaps there is hope for the world, after all. I tend to judge everything by what I see. Tell me that I have judged wrongly!”

Alfred couldn’t lie, he couldn’t tell the truth. He stared at them, opening and closing his mouth.

“It’s a big universe,” Haplo said easily. “Tell us about your part of it. What he said—your necromancer—about your brethren paying you back. What does that mean?”

“Be wary, Your Majesty,” warned Baltazar. “Would you confide in strangers? We have only their own words to trust that they are not spies from Necropolis!”

“We have eaten their food, Baltazar.” The prince smiled faintly. “The least we can do in return is answer their questions. Besides, what does it matter if they are spies? Let them take our story back to Necropolis. We have nothing to hide.

“The realm of my people is ... or was ... up there.” Edmund glanced upward beyond the shadows of the cavern ceiling. “Far, far up there ...”

“On the surface of this world?” Haplo asked.

“No, no. That would be impossible. The surface of Abarrach is either cold and barren rock or vast plains of ice shrouded by darkness. Baltazar has traveled to that realm. He can describe it better than I.”

“Abarrach means world of stone in our language as well as in yours.” Baltazar nodded at Haplo and Alfred. “And it is just that, at least as far as the ancients—who had the time and talent to devote themselves to study—were able to determine. Our world consists of rock through which penetrate countless caverns and tunnels. Our ‘sun’ is the molten heart burning in Abarrach’s core.

“The surface is as His Highness described it. It supports no life nor any possibility of life. But, beneath the surface, where we had our homes ... ah, there the living was very pleasant. Very pleasant.” Baltazar sighed over his memories.

“The colossus—” he began.

“The what?” Alfred interrupted.

“Colossus. Don’t you have them in your world?”

“He’s not certain,” said Haplo. “Tell us what you mean.”

“Gigantic round columns of stone—”

“That support the cavern? We saw those outside.”

“The Colossus do not support the cavern. Such support isn’t necessary. They were created by magical means by the ancients. Their purpose was to transfer the heat energy from this part of the world up to us. It worked. We had bountiful supplies of food, water. Which makes what happened all the more inexplicable.”

“And that was—”

“A drop in our birthrate. Every year the number of children being born to us decreased. In some ways, however, the phenomenon proved fortunate. Our most powerful wizards turned their attention to the secrets of creating life. Instead, we discovered—”

“—the means of extending life past death!” Alfred exclaimed, voice quivering in shock and disapproval.

Fortunately, perhaps because of the language differences, Baltazar mistook shock for awe. He smiled, nodded complacently. “The addition of the dead to the population proved most beneficial. Keeping them alive does leech much of our magical power, but—in past days—we had little need for magic. The dead provided all physical labor. When we noticed that the magma river near our city was beginning to cool, we thought little of it. We continued to receive energy from below, heat traveled up through the colossus. The Little People mined the rock. They built our dwellings for us, and maintained the colossus—”

“Wait!” Haplo stopped Baltazar. “Little People? What Little People?”

The necromancer frowned, thinking back, “I don’t know much about them. They are gone now.”

“I recall hearing stories about the Little People from my father, Edmund said. “And I met them once. They loved more than anything to dig and delve in the rock. They coveted the minerals they found there, calling them such names as ‘gold’ and ‘silver’ and brought forth jewels of rare and wondrous beauty—”

“Dwarves?” Alfred ventured at a guess.

“That word sounds strangely in my ears. Dwarves.” Baltazar looked to the prince, who nodded thoughtfully in agreement. “We had another name for them, but that is near the mark. Dwarves.”

“Two other races are believed to populate this world,” Alfred continued, either ignoring or simply not seeing Haplo’s attempts to stop the Sartan from saying too much. “Elves were one, humans another.”

Neither Baltazar nor Edmund appeared to recognize the names.

“Mensch,” suggested Haplo, using the term by which both Sartan and Patryns referred to the lesser races.

“Ah, mensch!” Baltazar brightened in recognition. He shrugged. “Reports exist in the writings of our grandfathers. Not that they ever saw any, but they heard of them from their fathers and their fathers before them. These mensch must have been extremely weak. Their races died out almost immediately after they came to Abarrach.”

“You mean ... no more remain on this world! But, they were left in your care.” Alfred began in severe tones. “Surely you—”

This had gone far enough. Haplo whistled. The dog left off eating. Following its master’s gesture, it trotted over and, plopping itself down beside Alfred, gleefully began to lick the man’s face.

“Surely you—stop that! Nice doggie. Go ... go away, nice doggie.” Alfred attempted to shove the dog aside. The dog, thinking this was now a game, entered into the spirit of the contest. “Down! Sit! Nice doggie. No, please. Do go away! I—”

“You’re right, necromancer,” Haplo struck in coolly. “These mensch are weak. I know something of them and they couldn’t have survived in a world such as this, a fact that some should have recognized before they brought them here. It sounds like you’d found the good life. What happened?”

Baltazar frowned, his tone dark. “Disaster. The blow didn’t fall at once. It came on us gradually, and that made it worse, I think. Little things began to go wrong. Our water supply mysteriously began to dwindle away. The air grew colder, fouler; poisonous gases were seeping into our atmosphere. We used up more and more of our magic in efforts to protect ourselves from the poison, to reproduce water, to grow food. The Little People—those dwarves as you called them—succumbed. We could do nothing to help them, without endangering ourselves.”

“But, your magic—” Alfred protested, having finally persuaded the dog to sit quietly at his side.

“Aren’t you listening? Our magic was needed for ourselves! We were the strongest, the fittest, the best suited to survive. We did what we could for the ... these dwarves, but in the end they died as the other mensch died before them. And then it became more important than ever for us to resurrect and maintain our dead.”

Haplo shook his head in profound admiration. “A labor force that never needs rest, never eats the food or drinks the water, doesn’t mind the cold, hardship. The perfect slave, the perfect soldier.”

“Yes,” agreed Baltazar, “without our dead, we living could not have managed.”

“But don’t you understand what you’ve done?” Alfred cried in earnest, agonized tones. “Don’t you realize—”

“Dog!” Haplo ordered.

The animal jumped back to its feet, tongue lolling, tail wagging.

Alfred raised his hands in front of his face and, with a fearful glance at Haplo, fell silent.

“Certainly we realize,” said the necromancer crisply. “We regained an art that was, according to the old records, lost to our people.”

“Not lost. Not lost,” Alfred said sorrowfully, but he said it beneath his breath. Haplo heard it through the ears of the dog.

“Of course, you must not think us idle in attempting to discover what was going wrong,” Edmund added. “We investigated and came at last, and most reluctantly, to the conclusion that the colossus, which had once provided us life, were now responsible for depriving us of it. Warmth and fresh air had once flowed through the columns. Now our heat was being tapped and drawn off—”

“By the people in that city?” Haplo waved his hand in the direction of the buildings over which he’d flown. “That’s what you suspect, isn’t it?”

He barely listened to the answer. The subject didn’t much interest him. He would have preferred to pursue the subject of necromancy, but didn’t dare make his intense interest known, either to these men or to Alfred. Patience, he counseled.

“It was an accident. The people of Necropolis could have no way of knowing that they were harming us,” Edmund was arguing warmly, his gaze going to the necromancer Baltazar scowled, and Haplo recognized this as an old disagreement between them.

The necromancer—perhaps because there were strangers present—forebore offering an opinion contrary to that of his ruler. Haplo was about to attempt to turn the conversation back to the dead when a clatter and commotion in the cavern drew everyone’s attention. Several cadavers—soldiers by the remnants and fragments of their uniforms—came running from the direction of the cavern’s entrance.

The prince rose immediately to his feet, followed by the necromancer. Baltazar caught hold of the prince’s arm, pointed. The corpse of the dead king came shuffling forward, also intent on interviewing the guards.

“I told Your Highness this would be a problem,” Baltazar said in low tones.

Anger flushed the prince’s pale skin. Edmund started to say something, bit off whatever hasty words he might have spoken.

“You were right and I was wrong,” he said instead, after a frowning pause. “Are you pleased to hear me confess as much?”

“Your Highness misunderstands me,” the necromancer said gently. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t, My Friend.” Edmund sighed wearily. Exhaustion drained the color from his thin cheeks. “Forgive me. Please excuse us,” he had just the presence of mind to say to his guests, and walked hurriedly over to where the corpse of the king was conferring with the corpses of his subjects.

Haplo made a motion with his hand and the dog, unnoticed, trotted along behind the prince. The living in the cavern had fallen silent. Exchanging grim glances, they began hastily packing away what items they had brought out to aid them in their meager meal. But, when they could turn their attention from their work, their eyes fixed on their prince.

“It isn’t honorable for you to spy on them like that, Haplo,” Alfred said in a low voice. He glanced unhappily at the dog, standing at the prince’s side.

Haplo didn’t consider the comment worthy of response.

Alfred fidgeted nervously, toying with his bit of uneaten fish. “What are they saying?” he asked at last.

“Why should you care? It isn’t honorable to spy on them,” Haplo retorted. “Still, you might be interested to know that these dead, who are apparently scouts, report that an army has landed in the town.”

“An army! What about the ship?”

“The runes will keep anyone from coming near it, let alone harming it. What should concern you more is that the army is marching this way.”

“An army of the living?” Alfred asked in a low voice, seeming to dread the answer.

“No,” Haplo said, watching Alfred closely. “An army of the dead.”

Alfred groaned, covered his face with his hand.

Haplo leaned forward. “Listen, Sartan,” he said urgently, softly. “I need some answers about this necromancy and I need them quick.”

“What makes you think I know anything about it?” Alfred asked uneasily, keeping his eyes averted.

“Because of that handwringing and moaning and whining you’ve been doing ever since you saw what was going on. What do you know about the dead?”

“I’m not certain I should tell you,” Alfred said, lowering his bald head between hunched shoulders, the turtle ducking into its shell.

Haplo reached out, caught hold of the Sartan’s wrist, and gave it a painful twist. “Because we’re about to be caught in the middle of a war, Sartan! You’re obviously incapable of defending yourself, which leaves your safety and mine up to me. Are you going to talk?”

Alfred grimaced in pain. “I’ll ... tell you what I know.”

Haplo grunted in satisfaction, let loose of the man.

Alfred rubbed his bruised flesh. “The cadavers are alive, but only in the sense that they can move around and obey orders. They remember what they did in life, know nothing beyond.”

“The king then ...” Haplo paused, not quite understanding.

“Still thinks of himself as king,” Alfred said, his gaze going to the cadaver, to the white head and hoary locks crowned with gold. “He’s still trying to rule, because he thinks he is still the ruler. But, of course, he doesn’t have any conception of the current situation. He doesn’t know where he is, probably thinks he’s back in his own homeland.”

“But the dead soldiers know—”

“They know how to fight, because they remember what they were trained to do in life. And all a living commander has to do is point out an enemy.”

“What are those spirit things that follow the cadavers around like their shadows? What do they have to do with the dead?”

“In a way, they are their shadows, the essence of what they were when they were alive. No one knows much about the phantasms, as they are called. Unlike the corpse, the phantasm seems to be aware of what is happening in the world, but it is powerless to act.”

Alfred sighed, his gaze going from the dead king to Edmund. “Poor young man. Apparently he believed his father would somehow be different. Did you see the way the old man’s phantasm fought against returning to this corrupt form of life? It was as if it knew—Oh, what have they done? What have they done?”

“Well, what have they done, Sartan?” Haplo demanded impatiently. “It seems to me that necromancy could have its advantages.”

Alfred turned, regarded the Patryn with serious, grave intensity. “Yes, so we thought once, long ago. But we made a terrible discovery. The balance must be maintained. For every person brought back untimely to this life, another person—somewhere—untimely dies.” He cast a despairing glance around the people huddled in the cavern. “It is possible, extremely possible, that these people have unwittingly been the doom of our entire race.”