“That’s true,” I admitted. “But not if the citizens of Merrowvale release us, then tell Talaith we got away because the three of you screwed up and allowed us to escape.”
“Is your brain as dead as the rest of you?” Ortzi snapped. “Zorian, Gizane, and I would never permit the villagers to do that-and even if somehow they succeeded, we’d simply tell the Dark Lady what really happened.”
“True again. But the villagers could tell Talaith that after you let us escape, they killed you in her name for your incompetence. Then there would be no one left to tell Talaith about what really happened, the villagers could keep all their toys, and the Dark Lady would be none the wiser.”
Zorian tried to look calm, but the lines of sweat trickling down his face told a different story. He kept shooting sidelong glances at the crowd in the square. “I think you’ve underestimated the good folk of Merrowvale, Mr. Richter. They would never do anything so heinous simply to keep their…” He broke off as he noticed the villagers staring quietly at him and his two fellow Elders. The lux crystals of the villagers who carried staffs began to glow a baleful red, while others started making intricate hand gestures and chanting mystic phrases.
I turned my head so I could see Devona and Lazlo.
“You might want to close your eyes. I have a feeling this is going to get real ugly, real fast.”
The villagers let out a roar as they surged en masse toward the dais.
Devona, Lazlo and I were hoofing it on the Obsidian Way. I’d been tempted to ask the villagers if we could borrow some horses, though the beasts tend to shy away from me, probably because of my smell. And if they turned up their noses at me, I couldn’t imagine how they’d react to Lazlo’s stink. But after seeing what the villagers had done to their Elder-and the zeal with which they’d gone at it-I decided not to push our luck. A mile and a half isn’t that far to walk, even on stiff, partially damaged zombie legs. But time, as they say, was of the essence. Talaith had already been on her way to Merrowvale when the villagers released us, and it wouldn’t take her long to arrive. Once she saw that we’d escaped, she’d come looking for us, and as long as we were in her Dominion, we weren’t safe. We needed to get to the Boneyard, and we needed to get there fast, and I doubted we were going to make it on foot. If worse came to worst, I would give myself to Talaith and urge her to let Devona and Lazlo go, but I knew the Witch Queen wouldn’t go for it. She’d kill the both of them just to hurt me further. So either we all made it or none of us did. Once more, I attempted to cudgel my zombified brain into providing a way out.
I knew the Darklords constantly strove against one another-within the boundaries set by Dis, that is. They spied on and schemed against one another, tried to outdo the others’ accomplishments and win favor in the eyes of Dis. They ruled their individual Dominions and the inhabitants thereof absolutely, though some of the Lords were more involved in their subjects’ lives than others. Still, it was considered an act of great transgression for a Darklord to interfere with another’s Dominion and its subjects.
I also knew the four remaining Darklords had to be aware of what Talaith had been up to tonight. Even if it was borrowed, the sheer power she was expending would stand out to them like an atomic bomb detonating at a July Fourth celebration. In fact, the other Lords were likely keeping close watch on the situation right now, if for no other reason than to make certain Talaith wasn’t somehow gearing up for an attack on them.
And then I had an idea.
I lived in the Sprawl. That made me a subject of Varvara, didn’t it? If I called upon the Demon Queen, might she intervene to save one of her subjects? No, I decided. Varvara liked me well enough, but we weren’t friends. What she liked about me was the amusement value I offered as a zombie ex-cop trying to survive in Nekropolis. But I doubted she’d find a confrontation with Talaith amusing, especially when the Witch Queen was filled with the combined mystic power of her subjects. Varvara might miss me when I was gone, or she might get a laugh out of my demise, but she wouldn’t help me.
I looked up, trying to see if Talaith was on her way. I saw no sign of the Witch Queen.
As if reading my mind, Devona said, “I feel psychic pressure at the base of my skull, Matt. She’s coming.”
I quickly explained my idea about the Darklords watching.
“If they are, then that means Father is watching too,” she said thoughtfully. “And he knows I’m here and in danger. But if that’s the case, why hasn’t he done anything?” She looked up into the sky. “Father!” she cried. “Father, help us!” But nothing happened.
Maybe I’d been wrong about the Darklords watching. Or maybe they were, but Galm was constrained by one of the Accords, or maybe he just couldn’t afford to expend any of his power so close to the Renewal Ceremony, even to save the life of his own daughter. Or maybe his reasons were political. From what I understood, Galm and Talaith, while not the best of friends by any means, had about as cordial a relationship as any two Darklords can.
But I knew a Lord who Talaith wasn’t on such good terms with-a Lord she’d planned to attack with the Overmind before Dale and I destroyed it.
A voice whispered in my mind then, thick with barely restrained fury. Another valiant attempt to escape me, Matthew, but you’re too late. Look up.
I did and saw a figure swiftly approaching from the western sky. Talaith sat upon an airborne throne of black marble held aloft by a pair of giant flapping raven’s wings growing from the throne’s back. Despite myself, I was impressed. Much classier than a broom or carpet. I knew we had only moments before she reached us. Once again, it was time to do something desperate.
I raised my hands to the heavens. “Lord Edrigu! Hear me! You are Master of the Dead; I am a zombie! Will you allow Talaith to insult you by attacking one of your own subjects? I ask you to help us, if for no other reason than to spite her!”
I waited, but nothing happened.
Nice try, zombie. Talaith’s thought-voice was smug. But Edrigu would never da-
And then, as if Talaith’s comment was a cue, the air near us shimmered and a shadowy coach appeared.
It was Silent Jack’s Black Rig.
We didn’t have time to think about it.
“C’mon!” I shouted, grabbing both Devona’s and Lazlo’s arms and pulling them toward Jack’s coach.
“I’m not going to ride in a ghost hack!” Lazlo protested. “I’m a real cabby! Besides, I’m not going to leave my cab. We have to go back and-”
Talaith was close enough now for us to hear her voice, and she shrieked, furious at Jack’s sudden appearance. She gestured and a bolt of lightning crashed to the ground less than three yards from where we stood.
“I’m going to shut my mouth and get inside,” Lazlo finished.
The door of the coach sprung open of its own accord, and we climbed in: Devona first, Lazlo second, me last. I pulled the door closed after us, and it shut with a muffled click. The interior of the coach was dark and the wood looked…insubstantial, somehow, as if you could put your finger through it if you pressed hard enough. But what else could you expect from a ghost coach? At least it was solid enough to keep the rain out.
I thumped on the roof to get the driver’s attention. “Let’s go, Jack!”
Silent Jack, true to his name, didn’t reply. His whip cracked soundlessly, Malice and Misery let out a pair of inaudible whinnies, and we began to move. But the horses didn’t pull us, at least not in the usual way. The entire coach, horses, slid forward as if on a conveyer belt, slowly at first, but with increasing speed. There was no bouncing or juddering; the ride was eerily smooth.
I pushed aside the curtain over the rear window and saw Talaith pursuing us, eyes flashing with mystic energy and blazing bright with anger and frustration. The Witch Queen poured on the speed, but inch by inch, we began to outdistance her.
Damn you, Richter! a furious voice thundered in my head. This isn’t over!
It is for now, I responded, and settled back in my seat. I’d survived another encounter with the mistress of Glamere.
I looked up at the ceiling and thought of Jack sitting atop the coach, driving the horses onward in silence. We’d gotten away, but, I wondered, at what price?
