Death of a Darklord

"What is it you want of me tonight, councilors?" His voice was polite. Jonathan was surprised that he sounded so businesslike, almost pleasant. His voice was such a lie. It gave no hint of the anguish inside his heart and head.

"We need to know what you plan to do to help us," LeBec said. The meistersinger's face was calm enough, his folded hands very still on the table before him. Too still. The effort he was making to appear calm showed in his shoulders, arms, even the still hands.

Jonathan fought an urge to laugh in his face. What could they do? They had ridden into town and been nearly wiped out. They had been unprepared for what met them.

"Your messenger told us that a third of your town had died from some evil plague. He further told us that they had risen as undead and walked the streets. There are hundreds of dead out there. Where did they all come from?

The meistersinger glanced at the undertaker. Ashe spoke, "The village graveyard has been emptied. Cortton was once a much larger village, a town. The graveyard held more dead than the town holds living."

"If we had been told there were hundreds of dead here, we wouldn't have ridden into Cortton after dark."

The i

"You shouldn't believe everything the bards tell you," Jonathan said.

LeBec looked down at the table, studying his hands. He glanced up at Jonathan's face and held his gaze. "I know that some of my brethren exaggerate, but not that much. We truly thought you would be safe, riding straight to the i

"Did you really? Then why did no one open the door? The women that lie upstairs might have been saved their injuries if the door had opened sooner."

None of them could meet his eyes. Anger flared through him in a rush that almost burned along his skin. He opened his mouth to say what he thought of them all, but a voice interrupted.

"They were afraid, mage-finder."

Jonathan turned to see Harkon Lukas leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed carelessly over his chest, and a mocking smile curled his lips. He was dressed in a wine-dark burgundy tunic, and pants trimmed in black velvet. His burgundy hat boasted no less than three black plumes. His monocle caught the lamplight, winking at them.

"And I resent the defaming statements against my profession. I assure you I sing only the truth."

"You saved our lives tonight. For that I am grateful."

Lukas pushed away from the wall, striding toward them. He waved the gratitude away. "It seemed silly to let the savior of the village die in the street."

"We could hear the dead outside the door," Beli

Jonathan could not argue with that. "I thought only those that died of plague rose from the dead."

She shook her head. "All."

"That is odd. If the plague was a spell, only plague victims should rise from the dead."

"What does it mean that all dead walk?" LeBec asked.

"Perhaps the plague is not a spell, or not all of it."

"I don't understand what you are implying," LeBec said.

Jonathan shook his head. He wasn't sure he could explain it yet. It was merely the seed of an idea, not ready to see the light of day yet. Certainly not ready to be explained to a group of nervous strangers.

"I wish to gather more evidence before I speak." It was a standard stalling tactic. The three councilors nodded and murmured, as if he had said something clever.

"Of course," LeBec said, "we understand. Accusations of black magic are not lightly made."

Jonathan said nothing. He had found that a stern face and silence often did better than words. Especially if you had nothing to say.

"Do you think you have the answer to Cortton's little problem so soon?" Harkon Lukas stood in front of Jonathan, hands on slender hips. He was a tall, strong-looking man, but there was something feminine about him, a grace that was closer to a dancer's movements than a bard's. There was a sparkle in his dark eyes that said he suspected Jonathan of bluffing.

Jonathan almost smiled, but managed to swallow it. He gave a solemn nod of his head. "I have some suspicions."

"Care to share them?"

Jonathan shook his head, silent. He couldn't keep the smile hidden. Only Harkon Lukas saw it. The bard cocked his head to one side, staring at Jonathan. An expression passed over his face that Jonathan could not read.

"Remind me never to play cards with you, mage-finder. You have the proverbial poker face."

"I don't have much time for playing games."

"Pity. Games are so diverting."

"Do you really think so?" Jonathan asked. His thoughts were on Tereza and the missing children. "I find games a waste of precious time."

"Ah, yes, you have people lost outside. Time is precious to them. How many hours until dawn? Can they survive on the streets that long?"

Jonathan turned away from him. He couldn't face the bard's mocking face. He didn't think the man was being purposefully cruel, but it amounted to the same thing.

"Harkon," LeBec said, "you are being thoughtless."

His face crumbled into sorrow, his graceful hand touching his heart. "Oh, I am so sorry. I am not merely thoughtless, but cruel. I am already thinking of the song I shall write when they come safely back, having survived the night ru

Jonathan studied the bard's face. He couldn't tell if he were being teased or if the man just had a peculiar sense of humor. Was he trying to comfort Jonathan with such childish tales? The twins were not coming through that door or any other, not alive.

"I am sure if they return they will be most happy to regale you with their night."

"Especially Blaine," Thordin said. He'd been quietly leaning against the opposite wall. Now he walked to the center of the room to stand near Jonathan. "Blaine loves a good brag."

Jonathan nodded. "Yes, he does."

"Then I will give him the chance to brag to a bard, something all of Kartakass longs to do."

"Do they?" Jonathan said. "I do not. I stand by my earlier statement. Bards collect the facts but never quite get them right. I have heard stories of my own exploits where only my name remained unchanged."

"Simon, I believe he accuses us of being liars." He stared at Jonathan, taking two strides to bring them nearly touching. His quick, dark eyes flitted here and there over Jonathan's face as if he would memorize every line of it.

"Enough, Harkon. Leave our guests be. They have people they worry about."

"And well they should," Harkon said. He spoke directly to Jonathan's face from inches away. "I am writing a song about the dead of Cortton, mage-finder. The dead of Cortton are not just murderous, they are hungry."

Jonathan could not speak. It was Thordin who asked, "What do you mean, bard?"

Harkon Lukas never glanced away; he stared straight into Jonathan's eyes. "The dead feast upon the living. That is how they kill, with naked hands and teeth."

Thordin pushed Lukas backward. The bard stumbled, but did not fall.

"Either you are a fool, or you are taunting us," Thordin said. "If it is the latter, we can settle it with cold steel. There is room enough to fight right here."

The bard gave a surprised bark of laughter. "A duel? You challenge me to a duel?"

"Unless you admit to being a loose-tongued fool, yes, I challenge you."