Роберт Асприн - Forever After

“What about you, General?”

“I have Spite,” she reminded him, “and I’m just going in to bluster and leave. We’ll meet up with you.”

When the irritated bleat of a camel alerted them to the proximity of the Magical Folk’s camp, Domino signaled a halt.

“Now,” she whispered, her throat oddly tight at what she was sending the kid into. “Good luck, Seth.”

“Yes, sir. You too, sir.”

When they were away, she squeezed Spite with her knees.

“Let’s go, horse. There’s a kid counting on us — a kid, two men, and, bright heavens, possibly an entire kingdom.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Why did my daddy want me to be a soldier?”

Spite flickered an ear back, but was apparently too busy concentrating on the most graceful canter possible to spare a sarcastic snort. His mane and tail frothed in the pale moonlight and his hooves and eyes mirrored the stars. Despite Domino’s concern for her men, she allowed herself a moment of awe at her steed’s unholy beauty.

Alerted by Seth’s report, she could see the magical wards about the camp. The woven lines of force shone like snail tracks in our morning sun. Spite slowed to a trot and carried her through the gap between two wagons, leaping the trip line as if it didn’t exist.

Trailing rainbows, they came to a halt by the central bonfire. Shadowy figures resolved into men and women, elves and goblins, cats, dogs, hedgehogs, and camels. Domino resisted the impulse to look toward the prison tent, but instead sat straighter on Spite’s back and scanned the throng with a consciously haughty sneer.

In the silence, she became aware of two familiar figures in a fiercely whispered quarrel.

“She wasn’t supposed to be awake yet!”

“She certainly shouldn’t have! That cold combined with my tea. should have kept her groggy.”

“Your teas! My wrap was ensorcelled to keep her from healthy sleep but too tired to think clearly.”

“No, I told you. Magical teas are the best way to do the job so I sent some nice peppermint and chamomile ones.”

“You weren’t supposed to send the tea! My wrap was charm enough.”

“No, we agreed that she was a tea drinker and would surely be more likely to drink tea than wrap in some ugly blanket.”

“Ugly!”

As Granny and Mel degenerated into name calling, Domino repressed a desire to laugh.

“You outdid yourselves, did you?‘ she said coolly.

Mel and Granny were jolted from their argument and looked at her guiltily.

“You did,” Domino repeated, “one or the other would have knocked me out, but together you healed me. Well, it’s too late now. I’m here and you’re going to have to deal with me.”

“Oh, we will,” came a dry voice. ‘These fools may have brought you to us sooner than I had planned, but I have power enough to handle you.“

Necrotica minced out from the brightness of the fire. Her scraggly gray hair blew lank and greasy from her bony skull. The pointed ears that were exotically beautiful on most elves became demonic horns in the firelight.

Domino swallowed hard.

“Well, hello, Necrotica,” she said, trying hard to sound smooth. ‘This isn’t a surprise.“

“It is,” Necrotica said, “for you, Domino.”

“General Blaid,” Domino corrected. “I don’t believe we’re on a first-name basis.”

“Very well.” Necrotica dismissed the comment with a shrug. “I don’t care what you want to be called. I only care now you die.”

“I’m not going to die,” Domino said, squeezing Spite into a walk. Oddly, the horse did not respond to the signal.

“I hope you don’t expect to ride out of here.” Necrotica cackled. “I think your strange horse has dozed off. Why don’t you get down and walk?”

Domino was prepared to stay put, but to her horror she felt herself dismounting.

“Oh, very good, General Blaid,” Necrotica crooned. “Now come on by the hanging tree. I have some friends who would meet with thee.”

Domino shuffled along in the direction the elf necromancer indicated. Surreptitiously, she tested her fingers and toes and knees and ankles. Nothing worked at her command. Somehow, Necrotica gathered what she was doing.

“Give it up, General,” she shrilled. “You won’t even be able to wiggle your ears if I don’t want you to.”

“I can’t wiggle my ears anyhow,” Domino retorted, “and I can talk!”

“Oh, I know.” Necrotica’s grin was pure evil. “I’ve left your voice alive because I want to hear you scream.”

As Necrotica marched her to the gallows tree, Domino decided that there was an advantage to having one’s muscles controlled by another: no one could see that she was trembling. Mel and Granny bound her hands behind her back, apparently less certain than Necrotica of the necromancer’s power.

“For how long did you think that we would be content to grovel for your leavings, General?” Necrotica hissed. “Making us trade herbs and bread, sausages and tea for the very tools of our craft. That’s restricting the development of industry and I understand that Prince Rango is very opposed to that. Yet, you’re very useful, General, and I plan to make you more so.”

She raised her hands, elbows akimbo, hands clawed, and, to Domino’s startlement, began to sing. Her skinny lips rounded into an O and a noise like mating alley cats issued therefrom. Most in the surrounding circle cringed, hands over ears. Domino was not permitted this luxury and so watched in horrified fascination as a slender tail of white issued forth from Necrotica’s lips.

From a wisp of white smoke it solidified into an elastic goo that resolved into elongated human forms, barely wider than a straw where they left the necromancer’s lips, broadening to twice that as they swirled up around her outstretched arms.

Mesmerized, Domino realized that she recognized some of the faces and mismatched uniforms as belonging to the bandits that she had ordered executed.

Twisting the ectoplasm into a noose, Necrotica tossed one end over the tree branch.

“We’re going to hang you, General,” she said somewhat unnecessarily, “and then I’ll have control of your body. Your soul is of no use to me, but some of my associates have been bidding for you, the Colonel, and your pretty boyfriend.”

“Remember, I get the horse,” Mel interrupted.

Domino’s skin broke into goose bumps as the noose was lowered around her throat with the caress of tiny, clammy hands. Under Necrotica’s direction, her feet marched up stairs her own men had built. Within moments, she would be swinging from her own gallows.

She wondered if Jord would appreciate the poetic justice.

“General Blaid!” a high voice called.

At the same instant, the feathered butt of an arrow protruded from Necrotica’s throat and the elf began to crumple.

“Domi!”

Jord raced from the shadows, impulsively intent on freeing her when a scraggly warlock and his equally moth-eaten black cat sprang upon him. At the edge of her vision, Domino could see Rafe working his way toward her, but the cavalry officer was clearly handicapped by having to fight on foot. A wild flight of arrows hinted at Seth’s presence.

When Necrotica fell, Domino’s own limbs returned to her control, but bound as she was, there was no way for her to join the fray. Nor did the ectoplasmic noose loosen its strength. Indeed, Domino became aware that it was steadily tightening, the clammy fingers drumming an agitated tattoo on her throat. If the spell that gave them life was not broken soon, she would be strangled by this noose of her own making — whether or not anyone kicked away the stair.

Frustrated by the specter of such an ignominious death, Domino focused her hatred and despair on Necrotica’s corpse. They had been so close to winning. Now, not only would she die, but her troops would die, and Kalaran would continue unchecked.