“So this Radu has Nadira, and you had Koschei,” Omar said. “But now Radu has Koschei as well?”
“Captured, two months ago,” Vlad said. “They swarmed him with gunfire. Numidian rifles. Sharpshooters. It took a hundred shots to his chest to bring him to his knees and a hundred more to drop him dead.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Omar said, rolling his eyes. “It only took one shot. I know how it works, there’s no need for your propaganda here.”
Vlad glared in silence.
“Are you also a warrior, sir?” Lady Nerissa asked. “You had a seireiken when you were captured. We know of these terrifying swords. If you have one, you too must be a great warrior.” She stood up, her face pale and stern. “Sir, I ask you, on behalf of my people and my city, to use whatever power you have to help us end this war and save my people. I will grant you any reward you ask if you will do us this service.”
Tycho winced.
Don’t ask that yet, it’s still far too early. This is why they shouldn’t be here. They don’t know the routine. They’re giving him leverage.
Tycho held up a hand and drew Omar’s attention. “If I may. Let’s just step back from that question for a moment. Mister Bakhoum, do you have any knowledge of Koschei’s whereabouts?”
Omar focused on the dwarf. “You’re not interested in the big picture, are you?”
“Actually, I am,” Tycho said. “Koschei?”
“No.”
“And the Damascena?”
“ Nadira. And no.”
Tycho rifled through his papers. “It says here that the captain of your ship, a Mister Ortiz, confirmed that you boarded in Varna, bound for Alexandria by way of several other ports. And none of our contacts inside Stamballa have ever reported seeing a man fitting your description in the company of Prince Radu. Therefore, I’m inclined to believe that you are what you claim to be. A traveler with no part in this war.”
Omar snorted. “Well, thank you very much, my little friend.”
“On the other hand, the fact that you claim to be immortal and that you carry a seireiken gives us two very serious reasons for concern,” Tycho said. “I’ve been to Alexandria. I am familiar with the men who carry these swords. The Sons of Osiris. Are you one of them?”
“Off and on. They have certain valuable resources, and they don’t ask questions, as long as I help them with the occasional project.”
“Such as?”
Omar sighed. “I’m sorry, but this is getting to be a bit tiresome, friend. I’m not going to tell you my life story. It’s far less interesting than you might think, and hardly any of your business.”
“The safety of Constantia is my business, Mister Bakhoum,” Tycho said. “I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“Constantia has stood here for fifteen hundred years,” Omar said. “It has survived countless wars and sieges, famines and plagues, and more earthquakes than I care to remember. It doesn’t need you to save it.”
“Be that as it may-”
A fist pounded on the door and everyone turned to look just as a man on the other side called out, “Major Xenakis! Major! I saw them! I saw them at Saray!”
Saray!
Tycho moved his shaking hands to his lap and looked at the pale Italian. Salvator nodded. Tycho stood up. “Would you all excuse me for a moment, please?” And he walked calmly to the door.
On the other side he found a young Vlachian archer, his face flecked with soot and blood, gasping for breath. “Major, I saw them. Hundreds of them. We fought them, but there were just too many. We couldn’t stop them. We lost half our men in the first few minutes, and most of the others broke ranks and ran into the wilderness. And now they’re coming toward the city. They’re coming here.”
Tycho grabbed the man’s dirty jacket and pulled him forward and down to look him in the eyes. “ What are they? Tell me exactly what you saw.”
“The dead.” The soldier trembled and covered his eyes. “The dead. Dead bodies. Corpses. Rotten and broken, black and blue and white, covered in dirt and ice. Sir, they were dead bodies, and they tore our men and horses into pieces. They were dead. They were already dead.” The man collapsed to the floor, shaking.
Tycho stepped back and let the other men tend to the archer. Salvator stared at the soldiers with a look of revulsion and confusion. Tycho swallowed and tugged his jacket down.
It’s true then. The dead have risen. And they’re coming here. It’s the end, the end of the world. God is choosing who shall stand and who shall fall.
He swallowed again, turned and walked back into the room, waved Salvator inside, and then closed the door. He sat in his seat and folded his hands together on the table. “Your Grace, Your Highness, I must report that there is another army approaching the city from the northwest. They have taken Saray and are moving this way. The rumors have been confirmed.” His voice broke and he paused to swallow again. “It is an army of corpses. The dead have risen from their graves. I’m afraid… The end of the world is upon us.”
Lady Nerissa and Prince Vlad stared at him, and he did his best to look them each in the eye and to keep his breathing slow and even.
“Oh, that?” Omar said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“That’s nothing,” the Aegyptian said. “It’s certainly not the end of the world. It’s a strange event. A scientific curiosity, certainly. But it’s just a confluence of local burial practices, weather conditions, and aether distribution currents.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Tycho asked. “You know about this?”
“Of course. We saw it in Vlachia.”
Tycho felt his heart begin to race. “Can you… can you stop it? Can you help us?”
“Well, I did say I might be inclined to help someone if they asked.” Omar glanced at the fox-eared girl, and then nodded slowly at Tycho. “So, maybe we can spare a little time to help you in your hour of need. Does this mean I can have my sword back now, please?”
Chapter 8. Witch
The longer Wren sat at the table and listened to these strangers babble in Hellan, the less frightened she felt, and eventually even a bit of boredom sank in. Omar looked and sounded as calm and comfortable as ever, and that was enough assurance for her, for the moment. The dwarf had been kind enough, offering her a seat, and once everyone started saying “Nadira” and “Koschei” they lost all interest in her and her ears.
Thank you, Woden. That was a kindness.
But then someone beat on the door and the dwarf stepped out and when he stepped back in everything was different. There was fear in the air, even in the eyes of the beautiful lady in her fancy green dress and the tall scowling man in his black and red uniform. And then, just as she was losing patience with not being able to understand what was being said, she realized that Omar was speaking in Rus again.
“…to include my young friend in the conversation,” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Wren Olgasdottir of Denveller, my apprentice and student of natural philosophy and metaphysics.”
Every eye was once again on her. Wren nodded to the lady in green. “Hello. It’s very nice to meet you.”
The lady smiled.
“Wren,” Omar continued, “I’d like you to meet Lady Nerissa, the Duchess of Constantia, and her ally in arms Prince Vlad IV of Vlachia. And these two gentlemen are their intelligence officers, Major Tycho Xenakis, from Hellas, and Signore Salvator Fabris, from Italia.”
“Hello.” She nodded at them.
“It would seem, my dear, that these good people have just now learned about the small matter of the walking corpses, which have appeared as close as eighty miles away from where we are sitting right now. And being the most gracious and humble fellow that I am, I have agreed to help them deal with the problem.”
