Willem hesitated.
“I’ve infused them with your blood,” Marek explained, though it appeared to tire him to have to do so. “When they animate, they will look to you for instruction, not me.”
A chill ran through Willem’s body, and his knees went weak. He blinked, but gathered himself quickly. He wasn’t sure he
“Go on, now,” Marek said, irritated. “I’d like to return to the warmth of my hearthfire before dark, if you don’t mind.”
Willem turned and squatted next to the first corpse. Though it wasn’t easy, he shifted all of the little stones to his left hand. After a few tries he finally figured out how to hold the stones with one hand and force the corpse’s mouth open with his right. He dropped two of the blood-infused onyx chips into the dead man’s mouth and pushed it closed.
“Good boy,” Marek said.
Willem grimaced at that, but moved on to the next body, and so on down the line of dead workers. When he was finished he stood, and almost fell to the ground when his head spun. His head felt heavy and his eyesight dimmed. Blinking, breathing deeply, he began to feel normal again after a moment.
“You should eat better,” the Thayan told him with a wink.
Willem shook his head and stepped away from the bodies.
Marek began chanting meaningless words and waving his hands in front of him. His face was set and determined, cold and inhuman, and though he might have looked or sounded ridiculous if it was indeed meaningless gibberish and waving about, Willem knew there was nothing random about it. Willem’s hair began to stand on end, and he itched his scalp. He shivered and had to clench his teeth together to keep them from chattering.
One of the bodies-moved.
Willem stepped back, almost skipped in the mud, and drew in a sharp breath.
A second corpse twitched, and the arm of a third reached up to the sky then fell back down. Within a few heartbeats all fourteen of them jerked where they lay on their backs.
Bile rose in Willem’s throat, and he choked it back.
One of the dead men rolled over onto all fours. Mud dripped from its nose, and it opened its mouth wide, its dead lips falling away from teeth caked with dried mud. The two stones fell out of its mouth and splashed onto the wet ground. The thing, its mouth still open, staggered to its feet. Still clothed in its simple homespun peasant’s blouse and breeches, at first it looked almost normal. But the pale, gray cast of its skin and its yellowed, jaundiced eyes betrayed it. Its arms hung limp at its side, and it staggered. When its bootand it only wore one, the other was likely still buried in the mud where it had diedstepped on the onyx chips, Willem heard a quiet crumbling sound. When it moved its foot again the two gemstones were gone, replaced with a black powder.
Two or three at a time, the other corpses awakened, rolled over, and expelled the gemstones. They stood, shifting on uncertain feet, staring blankly in whatever direction they happened to be facing when they first stood.
Marek approached them, and the creatures didn’t seem to notice him at all. He bent and retrieved one of the stones. He came to Willem and held it out to him. Willem took the gemstone in his hand before he realized it had just been spat out by a zombie. The thought made him flinch and squeeze the stone, which crumbled to black dust in his hand.
“It’s like a piece of charcoal,” Willem said, brushing the dust from his hand.
“More than twenty-five gold pieces each,” Marek said. “Worry not, though, I’ll bill the ransar.”
Willem looked at the black dust that still coated his fingertips. There was no trace of red. His stomach turned at the thought that his blood had somehow been ingested by those hideous abominations.
“They’re all yours, my boy,” the Thayan told him. “Keep your commands simple. They’re not quite as quick- witted as they were in life, though by the look of these peasants and the nature of the work they were content to do, I doubt it was a long way down for any of them.”
Willem nodded, but avoided looking at the zombies.
“Really, Willem,” Marek said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “why so squeamish? They’re better workers now by half. All they lack is the ability to understand how little they matter in the world. Think of it that way, and it’s really a blessing for them.”
Willem couldn’t look at the Thayan’s leering smile. And the wizard’s hand lingered too long on his shoulder.
“Let me know when you have another five and ten of them,” said Marek, “and I’ll come back, or send Kurtsson, to make more for you. In time, you’ll have more undead than living workers, toiling away at all hours without a drop to drink or a bite to eat, oblivious to the weather, and so on. You’ll want to wear something over your mouth and nose in the summer months, believe me, but I’m guessing that was true when they still breathed, eh?” Willem nodded and shook his head at the same time. The zombies had all turned to look at him, awaiting his command.
60
11 Uktar, the Yearof the Banner (1368 DR) Pristal Towers, Innarlith
' I don’t remember the last time I was in the Fourth Quarter,” Phyrea said, swallowing the breathless awe that threatened to overwhelm her.
Her host smiled graciously, but she hardly took notice. The opulence around her made her legs shake.
“If you have any questions about anything you see,” said Pristoleph, “please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Ask him why he lives in such luxury, surrounded by starvation and want, the old woman said.
Phyrea shook her head at the apparition, checking out of the corner of her eye to see if he had noticed. If he had, he was too much of a gentleman to comment.
“It’s not the…” she started. “You have impeccable taste.”
He looked at herreally looked at her, in a way that only one man had before.
Get out of here, the man with the scar on his face said. This one is not to be trifled with.
“It’s quite something that we haven’t met before,” Pristoleph said.
Phyrea stopped at a burled wood side table to admire a tea set that looked to have been cast from platinum traced with gold and accented with diamonds. She couldn’t have begun to guess at its value.
Do you like that? the little girl asked. Phyrea looked over at her. She stood on the other side of the hall next to an identical side table. She had her hand on a cup from a similar tea set, but one made of the most delicate porcelain. Is it better than this one?
Phyrea didn’t respond. She tried not to respond to the ghosts when people were able to hear her, but she desperately wanted to tell the little girl to stop.
The ghost picked up the teacup.
Phyrea gasped.
“Is something wrong?” Pristoleph asked.
The teacup shattered on the floor. The little girl smiled and faded away.
“What?” the senator said, crossing the hall in a few long strides. “How did that happen?”
Phyrea didn’t follow him. She couldn’t move.
Well, the man with the scar on his face saidshe saw him standing at the foot of the wide, sweeping stairs, that’s — never happened before. How did she learn to do that?
Phyrea shook her head and closed her eyes.
“Was that you?” he said.
“What?” Phyrea gasped. “No.”
It was me, the little girl said into her mind.
“Is there someone with you?” Pristoleph asked.
“What?” Phyrea muttered. “No.”
“The man with the scar in the shape of the letter Z?” the senator asked.
