street. Dead flesh gave way, but dead hands still reached for them. The horse shuddered, but did not rear. Thordin had trained the mount himself, and that training saved them now. If it had reared, they would have been lost, as Tereza and Averil had been.
Silvanus's fingers slipped. His hand was torn away inch by inch. The elf's fingers bruised Jonathan's skin through the clothing. Jonathan dug his hand into the elf's clothing.
The big zombie clawed the horse's eyes. The mount pressed against the door, pinning Jonathan's leg. Jonathan screamed, 'Open the door!'
A blinding burst of light shot the length of the street. The zombies cowered, hands before faces. Silvanus sat upon the road, fingers still laced in Jonathan's clothing. The elf, weary in the brief respite, leaned his forehead against the horse's flank.
Gersalius sat on his horse, hands enveloped in white flame. 'Hurry, I cannot hold them long.' His voice echoed among the buildings, louder than it should have been.
Tereza had hoisted Averil over her shoulder like a bag of flour, then put their backs to the opposite wall. She pushed through the zombies, using her body to shove them aside. Her sword was naked in her hand, but the zombies seemed uninterested in fighting.
Thordin urged his horse toward the inn. Randwulf poked at the zombies with his boot. The dead simply turned away, barely noticing.
Fredric spurred his mount through the zombies. The horse pushed aside the dead as if wading through water.
'Elaine!' Blaine's frantic cry brought everyone's attention to him. He was wheeling his horse in a frantic circle. 'Elaine!'
Konrad rode a few steps into the dark beyond the dead. He called, 'Elaine!'
The light was fading around Gersalius's hands, like a white-hot ember dying. 'A few minutes is all I can give you. Whatever you're going to do, do it soon.'
The zombies were looking at them now. The dead eyes stared at the living, not eager, but patient, as if they knew all they had to do was wait.
Jonathan slid from his horse, banging on the inn door. 'I am Jonathan Ambrose, mage-finder. You sent Tallyrand for me.' No sound, no movement of the heavy door.
Gersalius had urged his horse forward, using his knees. The light was the barest of flickers now. 'My magic has done all it can. It's your turn, mage-finder.'
The dead were moving slowly, drawing closer. The rotting hands lifted, plucking at the air, held back only by the invisible wall of Gersalius's spell.
Jonathan turned back to the door, pounding on it. It felt a foot thick. Even with an axe, they'd never get through in time, but it was the only idea he had.
'Konrad, we need your axe.'
'Elaine is missing,' he called back. The dead had begun to surround his horse, isolating him.
'We will all die if we don't get through this door,' Jonathan said. That spoken realization made his throat tighten. He could barely breathe round the helplessness of it. He could not let them all die to save Elaine. Not all, for the sake of one.
Konrad spurred his horse through. The dead did not give way. They pressed their bodies against the horse and Konrad's legs. They did not reach for him, not yet, but it was coming.
'No, we can't leave her,' Blaine said. He kicked his horse into the alley nearest where he had set her down.
'Blaine, no!' Tereza yelled.
Konrad hesitated, as if thinking of following the boy. 'Konrad, we need you,' Jonathan called.
The warrior shoved his way through the dead, sliding from his horse near the others. 'If they die out there, it will be your doing.'
'We are all going to die if we don't get through this door.'
Konrad pushed him aside. 'Step back! Give me room!'
They moved back. The last flicker of light faded from Gersalius's hands. A great sigh rose from the throats of the dead. Konrad raised his axe. The zombies shuffled forward, rotting hands reaching. The door opened.
Jonathan could see nothing but the opening. Did it matter who had opened it? No. He pushed Konrad through the door. Silvanus and Tereza spilled inside. Thordin tried to ride his horse through. Randwulf sliced at the reaching hands. A zombie leapt upon Randwulf, spearing itself on the sword and not caring. Hands dug at his eyes.
Fredric's great sword swung outward, and the zombie's head flew onto the street. The headless body kept scratching at Randwulf's face. Fingernails raised furrows down his cheeks.
Thordin grabbed the corpse by its collar and yanked. The zombie fell into the crowd of dead. The reaching hands tore at the unprotected flesh, shoving pieces in their gaping mouths. They tore the zombie apart, eating it. The night filled with the sound of snapping bone, the wet sound of flesh being eaten.
'Inside, now!' Jonathan said.
Thordin rode his horse through the door. Fredric made a last slash at the feasting corpses, then urged his mount inside, as well. Jonathan gave a desperate glance down the street; nothing moved but the dead.
His horse reared, jerking reins from his hands. A zombie had fastened teeth into its thigh. The thing that had jumped Tereza now leapt on the horse's back, sinking teeth too sharp to be human into its neck.
Hands grabbed Jonathan and pulled him inside the doorway. The dead surged forward, reaching for him. Jonathan lay on the floor where he had been pushed. Fredric, Thordin, and a stranger were shoving the door closed. Arms shoved through the opening. A face half-rotted away showed through the partially open door, wedging its chest within.
'Can't close it,' Thordin said.
Konrad hacked at the chest. The flesh carved, but the corpse continued to struggle, trying to crawl its way into the building. Randwulf joined him, slashing at the arms. An arm fell to the floor, flopping like a landed fish.
A woman ran forward, pouring oil over the arm. A boy at her side set a torch to the thing. The flesh burned, sending off a foul smoke that stung the eyes and filled the mouth with an acrid, unpleasant taste.
The woman splashed oil on the dead that threatened to spill through the door. The boy hesitated, and Jonathan grabbed the torch, shoving it against the zombies. Flame whooshed to life; smoke rolled. The dead mouth shrieked as it burned, and the desiccated flesh burned with unnatural speed.
Another man was there, suddenly, and the three men forced the door closed, snapping through brittle bone and charred flesh. The wood banged to, and the stranger threw the bolts. The three men leaned against the door, panting.
The stranger stood, sweeping a plumed hat from his head in a low, theatrical bow. 'I am Harkon Lukas. So glad to meet you at last, Master Ambrose.'
Jonathan managed an awkward bow. Two servants were beating out the last of the flames around the door, where the oil had spilled. The wood was solid, shut and secure. And on the other side of it, Blaine and Elaine were trapped out in the dark with an army of the dead.
TWENTY
Elaine stood with her back pressed to the wall and Elaine's horse in front of her, a solid force between her and the dead. His sword glimmered in the moonlight, slashing at the walking corpses. The dead closed in, clawing at the horse and its rider. Blaine wove a pattern of destruction, cutting rotting faces, slicing hands. A finger flew onto the ground beside Elaine. The thing wiggled like a worm, struggling toward her skirts.
She didn't scream, fearing it would distract Blaine and cost him his life, but instead kicked the severed finger away from her. It rolled into the mouth of the alley behind them, but began to inch toward her again. A zombie came around the back of Blaine's horse. Its dull eyes stared straight at Elaine.
Two more dead clutched Blaine, and he frantically slashed their hands. Even if she called to him, he could not get to her. He was surrounded and barely holding his own, alone, on foot, and weaponless.
Bone peeked through the rotten skin, glimmering ghostlike. The zombie opened its mouth, and liquid dark and thick as pudding slid down its chin.
Elaine glanced away, swallowing hard. If she threw up now, all would be lost. She began easing her way
