Rosemary Jones: City of the Dead

Sophraea grabbed his arm. At her touch, the old nobleman stopped swaying.

"Can you walk?" she asked.

He took one careful step and then another. He nodded at Sophraea.

Gustin and Lord Adarbrent, with Sophraea in the middle to steady them both by hanging onto their arms, followed after the marching statue.

The statue marched straight ahead, its eyes fastened on its goal. It seemed more than willing to follow that one instruction from Gustin, to walk to a named destination. But what if that was all it could do?

"Then one of us has to put the shoe inside," Sophtaea muttered to herself as she pushed through the snow after it. "And one of us has to close that door."

The ghasdy knight righted its skeletal horse as they passed. Over her shoulder, Sophraea saw the knight gather up the rotting reins of its steed but give the creature no signal to move.

Leaplow yelled and tried to get to his feet, only to slip and fall again.

"That haunt is still watching us," Gustin informed her.

Sophraea's own sense of movement within the City of the Dead informed her that all the dead were changing their course, turning back from the gates and other exits, and moving slowly toward the north of the graveyard, toward the Markarl tomb.

She didn't know if it was the token that the statue carried or Algozata's horrible spellbook that attracted the dead's attention. She tried to be glad that they were no longer trying to invade Dead End House or the rest of Waterdeep.

But she wondered if ending the curse would be enough. Ever since Gustin tried to reverse Lord Adarbrent's spell, she'd sensed a change in the atmosphere. The noble dead were no longer content with playing tricks on the living, such as rattling a few windows at Stunk's mansion or causing a few houseplants to wilt.

Something worse had woken; something that hungered for more than petty revenge.

Up in Volponia's room, her plan had seemed so simple and so clear. In Volponia's room, she'd thought she knew all the answers. In Volponia's room, she had not been afraid.

But as the snow blew bitter in her face and the noble dead began to move again within the City of the Dead, Sophraea wondered if she'd been right.

For the sun was setting, and the dead were always stronger at night.

She shivered. She had no more wishes in the magic ring. She had to rely on her own courage and the courage of her companions. Would that be enough?

Once the trio had passed through the gate into the City of the Dead, Sophraea's wish began to loosen its grip upon everyone in the courtyard. The snow continued to fall, but at a gentler rate.

First to struggle to their feet were Rampage Stunk and his fighters.

Stunk saw the flick of Sophraea's cloak disappear through the gateway.

"Follow them!" he bellowed at his bewildered men.

As Stunk and his men disappeared through the gate, the Carvers finally found themselves able to rise out ofthe snow.

"Sophraea!" cried Reye, starting after her daughter.

Astute followed hard on the heels of his wife and the rest of the Carvers followed him.

Everyone tumbled through the ravaged opening of the graveyard gate, following the clear tracks of the stone statue leading them north, deeper into the cemetery.

As always in the City of the Dead, Sophraea's vision shattered into pieces. She felt as if she looked through the eyes of a dozen Sophraeas, all showing her glimpses of this part of the graveyard or that part.

"Your eyes are burning blue," Gustin stated. "Your face is shining like a candle. Sophraea, what do you see?" "Too much," she replied.

All around her, she could see the outlines of the dead, keeping pace with her as she followed Gustin's statue.

Every tomb's occupant, every grave's sleeper, was awake. And waiting to see what would happen next. Gustin's own attempt to reverse the curse earlier had roused them all.

Behind her, she could see just as clearly that Rampage Stunk was urging on his frightened men. He did not know the pathways, the twists and turns, as she did. But the marks of the statue's passage were clear in the snow and he would have no problem following them.

And behind Stunk came her family, Astute and Reye, Leaplow and Bentnor, all the uncles, aunts, cousins, and sisters-in-law. All following because they thought she needed help. And she was terrified for them all.

"Sunset," whispered Gustin, as if raising his voice could disturb that expectant hush that filled the City of the Dead.

At her other side, Lord Adarbrent walked without comment. But she knew the old nobleman also was aware of the dead keeping pace with them and the enemies following behind him. It was written in the straightness of his back and the keen glances he darted from side to side.

Snow continued to fall, muffling their footsteps upon the paths, granting an eerie quiet to the memorials they passed. The shadows seemed deeper, blacker, in contrast to the white piling up at the base of the tombs.

But when Sophraea concentrated her vision on what was actually before her, she could see to the west the faintest glimmer of red.

"Not sunset, not just yet," she answered Gustin.

Lord Adarbrent too glanced to the west.

"Not quite night," he agreed. "But almost. And not a night to be long within these walls."

"No, we'll do what needs to be done and leave," Sophraea said. Then her vision of what was behind her obscured her sight and made her stumble on the path. Gustin caught her and held her steady.

"Stunk's men," she informed him, "they saw my family and they've turned back. They'll be fighting again."

And blood spilled upon the snow, on that night and in that place, would bring disaster upon them. That thought sprang into her mind as easily as she knew the right turn to take or the name of the monument that they were passing.

"Too many ofthe dead are awake," she said, desperate to convey her insight to the men beside her. "We need to keep everyone moving, keep my family and Stunk's men from fighting! If they do fight, it will be like meat thrown before hungry dogs!"

"Can you make a light, wizard?" asked Lord Adarbrent, turning back the way that they had come.

Gustin nodded. A blazing ball of white light appeared in his cupped palm. He tossed it once or twice and then flung it upward. It whizzed into the sky, breaking apart in a shower of sparks.

Shouts came from behind them. Gustin's firework had been seen!

"That will bring them running," said Lord Adarbrent. The old man stood in the center of the path, an old-fashioned silhouette against the snow. Flakes settling on his black hat formed a pattern like a white plume. "It is me that Stunk wants. He will pursue me farther into the graveyard. Let the dead follow us if they wish."

"No," protested Sophraea. "You don't understand. It's not like it was before. Something is stirring. Something worse than before."

"But it started with the spell that I cast," said the old man. "So, let me help now, to make amends."

"If you leave us, you might not be able to find your way out," Sophraea said. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see paths shifting, bushes bending down to hide the way, and, everywhere, shadows weaving black webs of confusion. On this night, only a Carver could safely find her way out ofthe City of the Dead. Sophraea was sure of that!

"If I am lost," Lord Adarbrent said, "then it is a sacrifice I make for'one of the great families of Waterdeep. Captain Volponia was right. Waterdeep needs Carvers, just as much as it needs nobles and wizards, merchants and adventurers, and all the rest. Your family is as much a part of Waterdeep's history and its future as all the rest. You keep the City of the Dead beautiful. And you keep it safe."

Sophraea chewed her lip. Letting the old nobleman sacrifice himself for her family seemed wrong. The snowflakes fell like cold tears on her upturned face.