Death of a Darklord

The woman opened her mouth, as if trying to speak. Some stray bit of moonlight illuminated her face. The tongue that lolled between her teeth was green with rot. A sound like the mewling of a kitten oozed from her mouth.

Elaine screamed, "Blaine!" But no one was coming to help her, not this time. Gersalius's words came back to her, that she would be able to protect herself, but how?

None of the spells he had shown Elaine would help her now. All the magic she knew was useless in the face of the dead. The other zombies had limped into the alley. They stayed a respectful distance behind the woman, but they were there. Why didn't the woman attack?

"What are you waiting for?"

The woman looked at her and again made the awful mewling sound. Was she trying to talk? Was that it? Was it the fact that Elaine was speaking with her, not just ru

"Do you want to talk?"

The woman shook her head but opened her mouth and tried to speak once more. She coughed violently, as if her lungs were unused to drawing air for breath. A line of dark fluid trickled down her chin from the cough. She wiped it away with the back of one gray-ski

The woman cared enough to not want the dark fluid on her face. She was not just a walking shell, not a simple zombie. "Do you want to tell me something?"

A shake of her head.

"Do you want to show me something?"

The woman nodded, almost eagerly.

Elaine swallowed a lump that was threatening to choke her. "Show me, please."

The dead woman beckoned and began walking back down the alley toward the other zombies. Was it a trick to get Elaine close to them? She didn't think so. She was trapped. If they wanted to kill her, they could have. There was no reason to try and trick her.

"I'm afraid of the others," Elaine said.

The woman merely motioned her to follow, as if she either didn't hear or didn't understand. The other zombies backed away from the woman, seemingly frightened of her. What could frighten the dead? Elaine was not at all sure she wanted to know, yet what choice did she have? The zombie wanted to show her something. It might be the only reason she was still alive. If she stopped following, would the dead woman kill her? Elaine thought it likely.

The other zombies had spilled out into the main street. They huddled on either side of the alley mouth. The woman stood just beyond them, waiting.

Elaine hesitated, staring at the zombies crouched to either side. If she walked between them, they could simply reach out and grab her. She did not want to pass that close to them, not voluntarily.

The female zombie motioned impatiently. It was the most abrupt movement she'd made so far. If she grew angry, would she leave Elaine to the others?

Elaine took a deep breath and darted out of the alley. The one-armed zombie made a grab for her skirts. She squealed and had the oddest feeling the zombie was laughing at her. Of course, zombies didn't have a sense of humor. Elaine glanced into the sparkling eyes of the corpse. The eyes were alive in a way that the body was not. Those sparkling eyes trapped in the rotting body frightened her more than anything else. It was almost as if a living person were trapped inside.

Elaine shook her head. That wasn't possible.

The zombie woman turned and walked down the street. Elaine hurried after her with a last glance at the others. They waited, huddling together. When the woman was almost to the corner, they got up and began to follow.

The dead woman never looked back. Had she forgotten about Elaine? Why did the other dead obey the woman? Elaine had read in Jonathan's books that zombies were just walking corpses. They would take orders from a wizard who raised them, but not from another zombie.

The woman entered a narrow, winding street. The upper stories of the houses nearly met above the street, plunging them into a darkness that was nearly complete. The woman's white dress was a glimmering shape moving just ahead. That uncertain whiteness moving always away, never turning back, never hesitating, as in the ghost stories Elaine had read. Was that what she followed? Could the woman be a ghost? Did ghosts rot? Elaine didn't think so, but she was unsure of so many things.

Walking quietly through the dark streets, she hugged her arms against the cold. She wished for her cloak lying somewhere back in the winter night. Had Blaine missed her by now? She knew he hadn't been badly hurt, for she'd had no hint of a vision. Of course, she'd never been right next to him in a fight.

A rock skittered behind her. She turned and found the back street full of zombies. All sizes and shapes, filling the narrow way like a stopper in a bottle. Elaine hurried after the distant white figure. She fought the urge to run, fearing they might give chase. They weren't hurting her, just following. For now.

The street began to climb a hill. The woman waited at the top. She was bathed in moonlight. For a moment Elaine thought the zombie glowed with light, but as she drew closer, she realized it was the contrast to the dark sky and street. The zombie stood in a clearing away from any building. The moonlight seemed almost u

The dead woman stood beside a high, spiked fence. It was formed of black, iron bars. Elaine came to stand beside the fence. It was a graveyard, where tombstones dotted the ground like the broken teeth of giants.

She looked at the woman. "Why have you brought me here?"

The woman pointed to the fence and what lay beyond. "It is a graveyard-I see that. Did you want to show me where you came from?"

The zombie shook her head, still pointing out into the cemetery.

"Do you want me to go inside the fence?"

Again the head shake.

"I don't understand what you're trying to tell me," Elaine said.

There were scuffling sounds behind them. Elaine turned. The dead were lined up behind her like an audience. A little boy of no more than seven stood closest. Elaine almost asked him what he was doing there, but as he turned his head a bit of bone stuck out of his cheek.

Elaine backed into the fence, one hand holding the cold metal tight, as if only the metal were real. If she could just find something to hold on to, maybe the rest would go away and not be real at all. It was the way Elaine dealt with bad dreams. When you woke, you found something real and normal to hold, to touch, and the dream was just a dream.

Something crawled up the slope toward them. At first Elaine's eyes wouldn't make sense of it. It was alive; it moved, but. . suddenly she could see it, and wished she hadn't.

It was a badly decayed corpse. Its legs were gone, and only the stub of one arm remained to push it up the hill. The flesh was rotted to a mottled color. The naked latticework of the ribs scraped on the cold ground like metal on a plate.

Elaine was all out of screams for the night. It was just one more horror to add to the list.

A figure in a hooded cloak stepped out of the shadows near the buildings. He walked in a long arc around the zombies, approaching Elaine. The dead watched him with sullen eyes. "Are you all right?"

The voice was a man's voice, normal, pleasant, wondrous. "Yes."

He held out a gloved hand. "Come, I'll take you to a place of safety. My spell won't hold them long."

"Spell?" Elaine said.

"A small charm, nothing more. It won't last much longer. I heard your screams and came looking for you." He still held out his hand, waiting.

Elaine moved to take it. The dead woman reached for her, too. Elaine jerked back and half-ran to the man's waiting hand. His fingers were solid and real in his grasp.

He led her away from the graveyard, glancing back at the waiting dead. "We must hurry. I've never tried the charm on so many at once."