“Three to one. The odds aren’t exactly encouraging.”
“True. But I suspect the three, should they survive long enough to reach the tomb, will fall upon each other the instant it is uncovered. I have no such concerns, nor will I be forced to expend any effort to protect myself from partners who are destined to suddenly become deadly rivals. But I digress. I came here to discuss your role in this small confusion, Finder.”
“You mean aside from my role as your stalking horse.”
“I did not bring you here, Finder. Although I must admit I was most amused when I learned that the Lady had retained you.”
I shivered at the thought of being one of Hisvin’s amusements.
“How do you know I won’t run and tell the Lady that some prehistoric boogeyman and his treasure-trove is buried right under her roses?”
“Because you are not a fool. And because you have no more desire to see such a creature raised than do I. Consider it, Finder. Imagine a being infinitely more powerful than myself. Now imagine that it lacks my own considerable sense of restraint and decorum. Add its understandable annoyance at being buried for most of the Kingdom’s history.”
“I thought you said it was dead. In a tomb.”
“I did indeed mention a tomb. I did not employ the word dead. The alarkin was put down, and bound with ancient magics, and then sealed beneath the earth in what was then a lonely, unpeopled waste. But dead-perhaps so, perhaps not. Death for such a being might well prove to be temporary. And if not, its shade would be nearly as devastating as the being itself. No. We can be assured the alarkin is buried. But we cannot assume it is dead.”
Evis broke his silence. “Why would anyone seek to disturb such a thing?”
“Greed,” replied Hisvin. “The alarkin was doubtlessly entombed with certain artifacts. If one were to raise them, and learn their use-well. That is another point of the history I spoke of, because the Regency would certainly fall before the onslaught of such objects.”
I must have raised an eyebrow. Either that, or Hisvin can read minds.
“No, Finder, I myself have no desire to seek such artifacts. I will make no claim that I am somehow immune to greed, but neither am I insensitive to the cost of such an effort. No. I mean to keep these things buried, though it costs me my life.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Let us hope so indeed. Now. As to your roles. The banshee must be protected. I assume you do in fact have it safely inside?”
No point in denying what I suspected he had the means to know. “I do. But I have to tell you, she’s not very, um, banshee-like. More like a kid. She seems harmless. Might I ask why all the interest in her?”
Hisvin made Skin’s dead face frown. “If my studies are to be believed, she was a creation of the alarkin who lies nearby. I believe, as do my rivals, that the banshee holds the power to call the alarkin back. Probably by shrieking in close proximity to the tomb.”
“Buttercup could bring Old Bones back just by howling?” I rose. “Do you believe that?”
Skin lifted his grey hands. “Close proximity, Finder. Very close. There is no immediate danger. Unless, of course, these other sorcerers take her and put her in the tomb.”
“They’d do that?”
“I simply do not know. They might only be after the artifacts. Or they might have fallen to the alarkin’s shade already, and are working to effect its release. If that is true, they will come for the banshee, Finder. And that I cannot allow.”
Footsteps sounded, shuffling and faint, behind Skin. Footsteps, and a smell.
Evis didn’t stand, but his arms moved. I assume he was readying a weapon.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Hisvin with a dead man’s smile. “Meet another of my little family. I believe he was known as Weexil. He betrayed you to our common enemy, Finder. I thought it only fitting that you behold him, to see that justice has been done.”
Another dead man shambled down the cornrow. This one was already bloated, already drawing flies. I was glad Hisvin did not force it to speak.
In the thick stiff fingers of its black right hand, it held a dagger. I held my breath while Weexil’s corpse shuffled to my feet, dropped the dagger, and then turned and walked slowly away.
“You need not mourn him, Finder. Nor does his young lady. Did you know he planned to murder her and hide her body in these very woods, simply to avoid the dual blessings of fatherhood and matrimony?” The Corpsemaster shook his head in mock surprise. “I despair for the Regency’s future, given the youth of today.”
The dagger was small, as daggers go. The blade and the hilt were worked with symbols that danced and moved as I watched.
“And this is?”
“This is for you, Finder. The banshee is both long-lived and deceptively durable. But a single cut from this blade will prove fatal to it. It need not be a mortal wound. If blood is drawn at all, the banshee will perish.”
“With respect, sir. Perhaps it should be I who takes the weapon. I believe Mr. Markhat has developed a certain paternal affection for the banshee.”
Hisvin laughed through a dead man’s throat. The sound was not at all pleasant.
I took the dagger and stuck it down inside Toadsticker’s scabbard.
“I’ll hold on to this. No need to go cutting any throats just yet.”
“There is indeed a need, Finder. And if you were a practical man, you’d kill the creature immediately, and throw its body into the yard, and thus spare the lives of everyone you hold dear. Surely you can see the value of such a strategy.”
“If it were that simple you’d have killed her yourself.”
Hisvin shrugged. “There are reasons I myself cannot slay her. None of these reasons apply to you.”
I realized I was glaring. “I won’t kill any banshees tonight, Corpsemaster. If that’s the easy way, I’m afraid it’s not the path we’ll take.”
“As you wish. The choice is yours.”
“So. What’s next?”
“The dig at the Faery Ring has been abandoned. Even now, they are preparing to lay siege to the House, capture the banshee and use it to determine the actual location of the alarkin’s burial site. By dawn, House Werewilk will be surrounded by approximately five hundred mercenaries, a variety of heavy siege engines, and a much reduced but still considerable number of minor sorcerers in the employ of three persons of my own stature, or greater. I suspect your breakfast plans will be rudely interrupted.”
Evis spoke. “Do you know the actual location of the alarkin’s tomb, sir?”
“Naturally. I built Werewilk upon it. It seemed the best way to keep the site under careful scrutiny.”
I fought back a shiver. I’d been sleeping over the grave of a monster. Buttercup was even now dancing over its tomb.
“Does Buttercup-the banshee know that?”
“I have very little knowledge of the banshee’s abilities. But if it was drawn to the resting place of its master, it seems it would have been drawn here millennia ago, does it not?”
“Makes sense. From what I hear, she only showed up thirty years or so ago.”
Hisvin nodded. “Which coincides with the last attempt to disinter the alarkin. I suspect the banshee was brought to Rannit at that time by a sorcerer who, sadly, fell quite ill soon thereafter.”
“Bad case of a fatal head wound?”
“Indeed. The banshee escaped. I presume it has been living in the forest since then. My own attempts to capture it failed, time after time.”
Evis perked up. “Does it have access to magic of its own, perhaps?”
“It may. I simply cannot say. And I refuse to place myself in close proximity to the creature. If the alarkin is indeed alive, doing so would expose myself to it, and that has proven universally fatal to the persons who have risked it.”
“So. We hold the House. You slay the sorcerers. And when they’re puffs of smoke, we hope the army itself just shrugs and walks away, is that it?”
The dead man sighed. “You damn me with your lack of faith, Finder. While I cannot simply dismiss all our
