“Oh no,” Scorbus paused to run a bony hand across a balustrade made from thigh bones. “I built the nave and the central church, and the hallway we’ve just left. But this…” he gazed upwards, at the interior surface of the massive dome above. “How on Earth did they manage that?”
“Yes, well.” Marius stared at each exit in turn, half expecting to see someone gazing back at him. “Perhaps we ought to leave sightseeing for another time. We really must–”
“Wait.”
“What?”
Scorbus’ gaze had fallen from the dome, and now rested upon the lone figure in the middle of the hall. Tanspar had long ago given up calling for help. The only sound that now emerged from the embalmed body was gentle, hopeless sobbing.
“Who is that?”
“That?”
“The King,” Gerd interrupted. “Recently killed in battle. Bravely killed.” Gerd’s face was a mask, and Marius quickly turned away from it. Scorbus strode towards the bier, his heels clicking loudly on the stone floor.
“Tanspar” he broadcast softly.
“Oh, oh thank God,” Tanspar replied, his voice breaking with relief. “You can hear me. You can hear me!”
“I can hear you.”
“Where are you? I… I can’t see. Who are you?”
“My name is Scorbus.”
There was a long pause, while the young King digested the name.
“What?” he said, eventually.
“I am Scorbus.”
“But… but you can’t be.”
“I am.” Scorbus reached out and laid a hand on Tanspar’s shoulder. “I am the first King, and I am honoured to meet you.”
“But… this is a trick. I am captured, aren’t I? This is some Tallian–”
“Tanspar. You will listen to me.”
“But…”
“Listen!” Scorbus’ command echoed through the hallways of Marius’ mind. He winced, and shook his head. Tanspar fell silent.
“You are King of Scorby. Ruler of the coastal lands and all the seas, commander of the air, representative of the Gods above all.” Scorbus said. “You will comport yourself as such.”
“I… yes. Of course.” Tanspar’s voice changed, firmed up. “Of course. What is it you want?”
“You cannot see because you are dead, my Lord.” Scorbus turned to Marius, who mouthed ‘embalmed’ at him. “You are embalmed, and while your life has ended, you will soon be amongst equals.”
“I’m… equals?”
“Those who ruled before you. You lie in state in the Bone Cathedral. You will soon be laid to rest in the Hall of Kings.”
“Ah.”
“They will expect a strong man to join them. One who accepts his lot.”
“I see. And how is it you are here to tell me these things?”
“I have been liberated. I am to take up a new place, among the free dead. You will be laid to rest with your peers.”
“I see.” A long pause. “And my wife, my children. What news of them?”
“They grieve, Majesty.” Gerd broke in. “Bravely, but they grieve.”
“Who are you?”
“A dead man,” Gerd replied. “And your servant.”
“Listen to me, Tanspar.” Scorbus spoke before the young monarch could contemplate the idea of his family living on without him. “I will return. I make that promise to you, as I have the others. I will free you. But for now, face your peers with grace. You are King of Scorby, and always will be. Death does not end that.”
“But this blindness… this deafness… how is it I can hear you? Where are my senses?”
“Majesty, we have to go.” Marius leaned into Scorbus’ line of vision. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but we really have to go.”
“I will return,” Scorbus said. “I promise you.” He turned away.
“Wait. Please. Wait!”
“Be strong, Tanspar. Await my return.”
“Wait! Don’t go! Please!”
Scorbus strode away, Marius and Gerd in his wake. Tanspar’s voice accompanied them across the hall.
“Where now?” Scorbus demanded. Marius pointed to the far exit.
“That’ll take us to the far side of the cathedral, away from the main square. We can follow the line of the building to the front, then cross to the shadow of the palace. After that, we either climb down the face of the Radican or try to steal some clothes from a ground floor room and take side streets to the northern gate. Then we find the nearest cemetery.”
“Cemetery?”
Marius nodded, remembering the grave in the forest, and the dead men coming towards him out of the gloom in Sangk’s cellar. “Gateway to the underworld.” He smiled wryly. “You’ll love it.”
“I see. Well, let’s not waste time.”
The trio made their way towards the exit. Partway there, Marius called a halt, and bent to pick up two halberds lying where Yerniq and Ghaf had dropped them on their way in to help with Scorbus’ rescue.
“We might need these,” he said, handing one to Gerd. “Have you ever used one before?”
“No. Have you?”
Marius had, once, while training in the Caliphate of Orm’s army. In half an hour he had smashed three helmets, gouged out a sergeant’s eye, and turned the regimental mascot into Sunday dinner. He leaned the pole against a wall. “On second thought, let’s rely on speed. Come on.”
They made the exit without incident. Marius poked his head out of the open door.
“All clear,” he waved them outside.
“What now?” Gerd asked as he ran across the square towards the great avenue.
“Soon as we’re across we head for the alleyway we saw on the way up, remember?”
“Yeah, sure. Why that one?”
“There’s a closed-up business at the far end. At the very least it’ll give us a place to hide Scorbus while we find some clothes for him. Once he’s covered up we get down into the city as quickly as possible. I know a few places we can hole up, wait for night, then we can get through the northern… uh oh.”
“The what?”
Marius skidded to a stop, and pointed towards the boulevard. “Trouble.”
From footpaths at either side of the street, figures approached. They caught sight of the three escapees, and paused. The dead men stared back. For a moment, nobody moved. Then the figures on the paths raised their arms. Marius had time to sight the long, steel weapons they held, before a cry rang out and the boulevard boiled over with running figures.
“Marius?”
“Run.”
“Where?”
“Run!”
He took off, back the way they had came. Scorbus and Gerd tailed him. The mob, seeing them flee, let out a roar and took off in pursuit.
“What happened?” Gerd asked as they ran.
“They rallied, obviously.” Marius risked a glance back over his shoulder. At the front of the surging crowd he saw two familiar figures; Yerniq and Ghaf, torches held aloft, their faces contorted with rage as they yelled encouragement to the lynch mob. “I’m guessing they had something to do with it.”
