Death of a Darklord

TWENTY-NINE

Gersalius stood over the grave, flame pouring from his hands. They had dumped oil over the dirt so Gersalius's fire would reach far into the melting ground. Beneath the blast of flame, the frozen earth had softened enough that Thordin and Konrad could begin to dig. Each time they reached frozen ground again, the mage sent more fire into the grave.

Jonathan objected to this blatant use of magic, but he was out-voted. And there was no time. It was early afternoon. Darkness would fall in a few hours.

Gersalius lowered his hands. Flame licked up through the dirt here and there as the oil burned away. When the fire had died completely, Konrad leapt into the nearly empty grave. He plunged the shovel into the softened earth. The blade grated on something more solid than soil.

"I think we've struck coffin," Konrad said. He dropped to hands and knees in the hole, scraping dirt away with his hands. Thordin lowered himself into the grave and began working at the other end. A coffin did appear, but it was rotted. The wood splintered at Konrad's touch, flaking away in long strips. Thordin brushed the dirt away as carefully as he could. A narrow coffin was revealed.

The foot of the box was completely crushed from rot and the weight of earth. Jonathan peered down into the grave. The sunlight beat down, making the snow sparkle and showed bones and the remains of a patterned dress.

Thordin raised his hand, and Jonathan took it, helping the warrior out of the grave. There wasn't enough room for both of them with the coffin to be opened.

Konrad tried to raise the lid, but the wood shattered in his hands. He finally just started tearing great pieces up and handing them to Thordin, who placed the wood carefully on the ground. The body was mostly bones, with some hair attached to the skull. The dress had been some fine cloth. Fine cloth does not weather well in the damp and mildew of the grave. The cloth was thick with wet-looking mold.

"Why would the undertaker's wife not have risen from the grave?" Thordin asked.

"Better, perhaps, to ask why the spell that raises the dead begins in her grave," Gersalius said.

"Do you know something, wizard?" Jonathan asked.

Gersalius shrugged. "Only guesses, and I see from your face that you may have the same thoughts."

"We need to speak with the undertaker; that I know." Jonathan stared down into the ruined grave. "Where is the sack I had you bring, Thordin?"

"Here." He raised a large burlap sack from the snowy ground.

"Konrad, start handing up the bones."

"Jonathan, we've desecrated the grave enough."

"My theory was that someone was doing all this to make a better zombie. What if that were only part of the reason. What if Ashe wanted to raise his wife from the dead, not as a zombie, but as something more. Elaine told of very lifelike zombies. The townsfolk say that the people who died early are normal zombies, rotting corpses, but the later deaths are better preserved. Ashe is waiting until his spell is perfected; then he will raise his wife."

"But why take her body?" Konrad asked.

"We will use it as a hostage," Jonathan said.

Gersalius smiled. "You can't raise someone from the dead without a body to work on."

Jonathan nodded. "Exactly."

Konrad stared down at the skull with its scraggle of hair. "I can't approve of Ashe's methods, but I understand the desire. Beatrice's death killed me, too." He shook his head as if to clear away a bad dream.

"But Elaine awaits you back at the inn," Gersalius said.

Konrad looked up, startled. Then a slow smile spread across his face. He nodded. "Yes." In that one word, Jonathan heard an end to the long grieving. An end to bitterness.

Konrad began to hand up the bones, freeing them from the molded cloth. Thordin placed them in the sack. The bones made a dry sound as they slithered against one another.

*****

Harkon Lukas sat just down the hill, listening. He had grown cold in the snow. The weak winter sunlight was not quite enough to warm him. They had discovered Ashe's secret much faster than he had wanted them to. He had not counted on the magic-user. Ambrose had such a reputation for hating magic. It had surprised him.

Harkon did not like being surprised. If they questioned Ashe, he might reveal that it was Harkon who had given him the idea for the poison and the spell, Harkon who had whispered in the undertaker's ear that he might raise his wife back to life, Harkon who had broken his mind with talk of rotting corpses and his beloved wife as so much meat for the worms.

He could not afford to have Ashe tell all. He was Harkon Lukas, a bard of some reputation, but not a known force of evil. To have the brotherhood know him for what he was would spoil everything.

He could simply kill Ashe, but he wanted Konrad. Perhaps he could go offer his aid to the undertaker. Yes, that had possibilities. He could be Ashe's ally, and in the process he could betray Ashe, steal Kon-rad's body, and perhaps be a hero. He laughed silently, shoulders shaking with his inner mirth. Oh, that would be rich, indeed.

He stood and walked quietly down the hillside. He didn't have much time to work his plans. He needed Ashe alive for the trap and dead before he could spill the truth. Needed to appear as Ashe's friend, and his enemy. A neat trick if he could pull it off. And, being Harkon Lukas, he was confident he could.