City of the Dead (33 page)

“Are there any living in the City of the Dead?” Sophraea called.

“Just that crowd that’s following you,” said Briarsting. “We saw them pass and knew you had to be close. I’ve been searching for you all afternoon. Met your brother chasing the dead down the paths toward your house. Now there’s a boy who likes a fight! And then, every light and flame went out. That’s when the Watch started yelling for everyone to clear out and locked down the gates!”

“That was me!” said Gustin.

“Did you know dousing the light was like ringing an alarm in the ear of every corpse within these walls?” the thorn inquired. “It wasn’t intentional,” Gustin said.

“And there’s a great statue stumping its way toward the Markarl tomb,” the litde man added, standing high on his perch and squinting his eyes against the flurries.

“That’s mine too,” said Gustin.

“Well, you have had the busy afternoon,” Briarsting concluded. “But now what?”

“We need your help,” Sophraea said. “Yours and every guardian that you. can rouse.”

“Every ghost and spirit with a friendly feeling toward Waterdeep is striving to keep the gates closed tonight,” Briarsting stated.

Sophraea closed her eyes for a moment and, in her Carver vision of the graveyard, she could see that Briarsting was right. Glimmers of silver and gold stood before the public gates and along the wall, working as hard as the City Watch and the wizards of the Watchful Order on the other side to keep Waterdeep protected from the dead in the coming night. Heroes and legends, even the bright flare of some long-forgotten dead god, ringed the outer perimeters to hold the living city safe.

Only the Carver’s gate and Dead End House behind it was unprotected. Lord Adarbrent’s curse was a black break in the shimmering circle of ghosdy goodwill.

“We need to get to the Markarl tomb,” Sophraea said, her eyes popping open to contemplate her companions. “But can you bring my family and Stunk and Stunk’s men there too? Help Lord Adarbrent lead them that way, but keep them from fighting?”

The topiary dragon swept its tail from side to side, sending up a spray of snow.

“We can do it,” Briarsting swore.

“Are you sure?” said Lord Adarbrent.

Sophraea nodded firmly. “Your noble dead will not sleep if they smell blood within these walls,” she said with conviction. “Keep my family and Stunk’s men apart but bring them to us. We need them all to be there when this is finished.”

So we can get everyone safely out of the City of the Dead, she thought, but did not want to jinx her luck by speaking this out loud.

Catching Gustin’s hand, Sophraea hurried toward the Markarl tomb.

They passed the reflecting pool. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophraea saw that the weeping warrior no longer covered her face. The stone woman stood very straight, stone sword and shield upraised, to protect whatever lay beneath her feet.

At the corners of other tombs, guardgoyles were stirring, beaks open and ready to scream, wings outstretched to beat off any intruders. Perpetual flames burned bright enough in the dishes outside tomb doors to reveal the elemental faces within the Are. Certain fountains shot higher into the night as the water spirits within roused themselves against the torpor caused by snow and ice.

Briarsting was right. All the guardians of the City of the Dead were awake.

Running through the snow, drifts as high as Sophraea’s knees, they caught up to the stone statue as it enteredthe little circle of land that Stunk had claimed for himself. A few marker stakes crunched under the statue’s feet as it continued toward the open door of the Markarl tomb.

A pale young lady in a gold brocade dress and shoes stood in the doorway. She smiled sadly at Sophraea and Gustin.

“1 am so sorry,” Sophraea said to the ghost, “but this must end.”

She pulled the spellbook from her basket. “What must we say?” she said, flipping open the book.

Gustin raised his hand and cast a wizard light over her shoulder to illuminate Algozata’s spellbook.

“A bit of doggerel,” the wizard said. “That anyone could read. That’s what Lord Adarbrent said.”

“But what page?” In her distress, Sophraea almost tore the pages, flipping one after the other. Strange symbols, written in uneasy colors, flashed before her eyes:

The silence ofthe graveyard was once again shattered by shouts and muffled-cries. One voice above the rest was clearly her brother Leaplow, yelling “Sophraea! Gustin! Are you all right? Where did this bush come from?”

A black shape slid next to Sophraea. Lord Adarbrent shook the snow from his wide coat cuffs with a practiced twist of the Wrist.

“Almost amusing,” he huffed. “That creature cut the crowd in two and ran them here like a well-trained sheep dog with two flocks.”

The Carvers were pressed back against one tomb, held there by the sweeping tail of the topiary dragon. At the beast’s other end, equally at bay from the snapping teeth and Briarsting’s occasional flourish of his thorn blade, Stunk and his men huddled together.

The ghost lady stared at Lord Adarbrent. She lifted one glimmering hand toward him.

“Farewell, my dear,” said the old man in the softest voice that Sophraea had ever heard from him.

Lord Adarbrent took the spellbook from Sophraea.

“1 began this,” he said. “Now, let me finish it.”

The pale lady stepped aside, disappearing back into the shadows.

“It’s stopped,” moaned Gustin, staring at his creation.

The statue had marched to the first step leading into the Markarl tomb. There it stood, rocking back and forth slightly on its stone heels.

“It has to go inside, and come out again, and close the door,” instructed Lord Adarbrent, nose almost resting upon the pages of Algozata’s spellbook as he tried to read it in the dim light.

“Maybe if I move closer,” said Gustin.

“Is it safe?” said Sophraea.

“Truly, I don’t know,” the wizard replied. He moved up to the statue and laid a hand on its stone shoulder. The faintest purple light sparked when he touched his creation.

“My spell is holding,” he said.

“Go on, go inside,” Gustin spoke directly into the statue’s beautifully carved ear. Rather than commanding, his voice took on a coaxing tone.

For a breathless moment, the statue stayed still. Then, with a ponderous creak, it took one step forward into the tomb, and another, and another.

“Don’t touch the tomb or the tomb’s door,” called Lord Adarbrent to him. “Stay back a little and you should be safe from Algozata’s curse.”

The statue stopped in the center of the tomb’s floor.

“Now, put your burden down,” Gustin instructed it.

Again, it stood for a long moment before bending down and placing the shoe in the center of the floor.

Then, the statue straightened and, with Gustin’s repeated coaxing, retreated out the door.

Without hesitation, Lord Adarbrent turned the pages to Algozata’s curse and began to recite the ending of the spell.

Undercutting his words were Gustin’s continued instructions. “Grab the door, push it, push it.”

Sophraea chewed her knuckles, darting glances over her shoulder at the crowd held at bay by the topiary dragon.

The statue pushed the bronze door of the Markarl tomb shut.

Lord Adarbrent ended the last verse with a sigh and nodded to Gustin.

“Lock!” Gustin commanded.

The statue turned the iron key in the lock with a hollow clang. Then it swiveled in place and leaned its back against the entrance of the Markarl monument. The statue froze into place, a heroic paladin surveying the City of the Dead, a permanent guardian for the tomb.

Sophraea felt a collective sigh heave out of the very earth of the

graveyard. She closed her eyes and saw the noble dead fall back from the walkways and paths. The marchers ceased marching, and the dancers ended their spinning dances. The knight upon his skeleton horse reared once and galloped away.

All around the perimeter of the City of the Dead, its shining guardians strengthened their circle of protection. The black streak that formed a path for the dead to the Dead End gate disappeared.

Algozata’s curse was finally broken.

“We did it!” Sophraea spun in her excitement to congratulate Gustin and Lord Adarbrent, only to halt in mid-spin. For now, with the other dead fading away to their tombs, she could see what flew down the path toward them.

Black robes swirled around gray skin shrunken upon the bones. Eyes burned with red fire. Gems, dulled under years of dust, studded the remnants of the broad seafarer’s belt and heavy axe.

This was what she’d felt moving in the City of the Dead ever since Gustin had amplified Algozata’s curse. This was the “something bigger” that had bothered her as they had fled the tunnels. This was the anger that she’d felt when they’d come back into the City of the Dead.

This corporeal ghost arrived with a roar even as Sophraea tried to cry out a warning.

“Dorgar Adarbrent!” bellowed the ghost. “How dare you wake me!”

Lord Adarbrent fell back before a fury even greater than one of his own rages.

“Grandfather!” he choked out.

“Spells! Foul magic!” The ghost cried unhooking his axe and swinging it so the wind whistled over the blade. The spectral breeze knocked everyone back a pace. “What have you done, Grandson?”

Gustin tried to counter with a spell, a fizz of sparkling light that streaked toward the ghost. Lord Adarbrent’s aggrieved ancestor batted it aside with his axe.

An answering wave of cold rolled over Gustin, chilling even Sophraea standing several paces back. The wizard’s teeth chattered in his head and he pitched to his knees in the snow.

Sophraea ran forward, flinging her arms around Gustin’s shoulders. Tremors of chill shook the lanky wizard’s frame. Sophraea rolled him over, lifting his head out of the snow and cradling it in her lap.

The ghost of Royus Adarbrent advanced on his grandson. Lord Adarbrent held his ground, chin up and staring straight ahead.

“What have you done, Dorgar?” bawled the ghost.

“Protected Waterdeep,” answered the old man with dignity.

“By waking every ghost? By using dreadful spells? Algozata’s book should have burned with her body. How dare you bring it here?” the ghost snarled. With every shout, the ghost swung his axe, each stroke coming closer and closer to Lord Adarbrent. The old man did not flinch.

Each slice ofthe axe through the air swept the area with a bitter wind. Frost formed on every leaf ofthe topiary dragon. Briarsting trembled on the creature’s neck, turning from green to gray with the cold. The Carvers huddled together and even Rampage Stunk was struck silent with the chill.

Under each icy wave emanating from the axe ran a current of terror. Sophraea fought to stay still and not run screaming. She clutched Gustin’s shoulders, anchoring herself to the wizard. Gustin groaned.

The Carvers held their ground. Sophraea could hear her father and her uncles talking in their rumbling voices to the rest, urging them to stay together and wait for this phantom to quit the place.

Stunk’s men were not so calm. Most dropped their weapons and ran. Stunk stayed where he was, swaying back and forth as he always did, fingers clenched at his side. His hate-filled eyes remained fixed on Lord Adarbrent.

Sophraea bent over Gustin. His eyelids fluttered. “Wake up,” she pleaded.

The wizard blinked up at her. “I’ll be all… all… r-r-right,” Gustin ground out between shudders. “J-j-just cold.”

“We need help,” she stated when the ghost of Royus Adarbrent was almost upon his grandson.

Gustin gritted his teeth and heaved himself out of Sophraea’s lap. He planted both hands in the snow, shoving himself into a kneeling position. The faintest sound of a spell spilled from his lips. He raised one trembling hand and traced shapes in the air. The magic spilling from his hand etched a circle in the snow around Sophraea and himself.

Sophraea felt as if a candle had been lighted in her heart. Warmth spread through her. The terror rolling off the ghost receded.

“Can you extend the circle?” she whispered to Gustin.

“I’m trying,” his voice was barely a breath and his shoulders shook under her hands as she tried to steady him. “That ghost is very strong.”

Standing directly in front of Lord Adarbrent, the phantom Royus let his axe drop until the head rested on the snow. The burning eyes narrowed, scanning the face of his grandson.

“You have courage,” the ghost stated in a calmer voice as Lord Adarbrent remained standing still before him.

The faintest smile twisted up the corners of the old man’s lips.

“I am too old and too close to death to be afraid of it,” the nobleman said.

The ghost rubbed his chin, the same contemplative gesture that Sophraea had often seen Lord Adarbrent use.

“Algozata was executed by the family for this spell,” the ghost said finally.

“Yes,” answered Lord Adarbrent immediately. Still Royus Adatbrent hesitated.

The furious Rampage Stunk burst out, “Go on! Kill him! What are you waiting for!”

The angry fat man ducked around the frosted topiary dragon, striding forward with his odd rolling gait.

“Finish him!” Stunk yelled at the ghost.

The phantom swung around to stare at Stunk.

“Who are you,” he said in exactly the same angry accents that his grandson always used, “to tell an Adarbrent what to do?”

He raised his axe high over his head and swung down.

“No!” screamed Sophraea.

With unbelievable quickness. Lord Adarbrent thrust his sword cane between the axe and Rampage Stunk. The axe struck the stick, shattering it, as Stunk scrambled backward to safety. The force of the blow made the old nobleman gasp and almost go down to one knee.

But when the phantom whiried around, Lord Adarbrent straightened his back and stood tall.

“Why did you save him?” he said, the flames of his eyes so bright that Lord Adarbrent’s shadow streamed out black against the snow behind the old man.

“Because she is right,” answered Lord Adarbrent, indicating Sophraea standing stock still, afraid to move and break this odd truce. “If we spill blood here tonight, the stain will spread to Waterdeep.”