Laurell Hamilton - Death of a Darklord

The town had been a center of commerce, but no farmer would come near it now. Traveling merchants would not enter the main street. The meistersinger's reassurance of daylight safety hadn't helped. After what he had seen in the night, Jonathan could not blame anyone for avoiding the town.

A breeze had come with the dawn, an icy finger of wind that trailed down Jonathan's spine as if he stood bare before the window. He shivered, and could not seem to stop.

"Jonathan," Tereza's voice, hoarse, faint, but there. He turned with a smile. She held one hand out to him. The hand trembled, but the smile on her lips was firm.

He knelt beside the bed, taking her hand in both of his hands. He pressed her fingers to his lips. "How do you feel this fine morning, my wife?"

Her smile widened. "Better than last night."

He spoke with his lips against the back of her hand. "Is there anything I can get you? Are you hungry?"

"Did Elaine or Elaine come back last night?"

It was the one question he did not want to answer, but he could not lie to her face. He'd never been able to lie to those dark eyes. "Mo, they did not."

She struggled to sit up but fell back against the pillows. "We must go after them. We must. help them."

"Tereza, either they found shelter last night, or they do not need our help."

"No, Jonathan. I don't believe they are dead."

"Tereza, please…."

She tried to sit up again but fell back, gasping this time. Her skin paled, and a beading of sweat broke on her skin.

"Tereza, you are too hurt to go anywhere."

She turned her face to the wall, pulling her hand from his grasp. "No, Jonathan. 1 won't give up."

"There are hundreds of undead in the streets at night. Hundreds. I watched them from this window.

There is no survival out of doors in Cortton after dark."

She turned her head, tears glittering in her eyes. "Then find their bodies."

He looked down at the floor, unwilling to meet her eyes. He was a coward. He did not want to tell her there would be no bodies to find.

"What is it? What are you keeping from me?"

He looked up. Something like a smile twisted his lips, but there was no joy to it. "I could never lie to you, could I?"

"No, and don't start trying now. What is it?"

"The town council demanded to speak with me last night. They said all who died in Cortton rose to walk the night."

"Those that died of the plague," she said.

"No, my love, all who die in Cortton rise as undead." He watched the horror spread across her face, the realization of what that meant for their 'children.

"No, Jonathan, not that. I might be able to bear their being dead, but not that. Please, Jonathan, not that."

He held her good hand and cradled her head in his arms. He held her while she cried, but did not cry himself. He had insisted Elaine come. If she had been safely at home, Blaine would not have had to go in search of her. It was his fault, his doing. Jonathan would not let himself cry. He didn't deserve it.

A scream cut the morning, a wordless wail that held all the pain in the world. The sound froze Jonathan, heart pounding in his chest. Feet clattered up the stairs. The sound seemed to release him. He stood, moving gently from the circle of Tereza's arms.

"What was that?" she asked.

He shook his head, but he feared he knew. He opened the door and found a crowd of people filling the opposite doorway.

Jonathan pushed through the people until he stood in the doorway. Fredric had dropped to his knees, head bowed. Randwulf stood to one side of the bed. His young face raw with grief. Silvanus sat in the narrow bed, holding Averil's limp body. He rocked her as he would a child, but her arms flopped with every movement like those of a broken doll.

Silvanus was saying something, over and over, too soft for Jonathan to hear. Konrad stood at the window, staring out at the morning light. His hands were clasped so hard behind his back, the veins corded in his forearms.

The white-haired doctor stood in the middle of the room. For a man that had seen a great deal of death, he seemed at a loss.

Jonathan took a deep breath and stepped into the room. He went to Konrad. "What happened?"

Konrad shot him a quick, harsh glance out of the corners of his green eyes. "She lost too much blood. Then the wound became inflamed. The fever burned her alive. No herb or potion that I had helped her."

"What of her own potions that she brought with her?"

"She used the last on her father."

Jonathan glanced at the bed. Everyone seemed stunned, unable or unwilling to do anything. He stepped forward, past the stupefied doctor. He could hear what Silvanus was muttering now.

"I couldn't save her. I couldn't save her. I couldn't save her. I couldn't save her." It was a piteous litany. His voice squeezed tight with grief and guilt. Yes, Jonathan recognized the taste of guilt. It was too strong in his own mouth not to know it in others.

He placed a gentle hand on the elf's shoulder. Silvanus did not notice. He rocked his dead daughter in his arms as if her limp body were the center of the world. And for that one moment, perhaps it was.

Jonathan squeezed the elf's shoulder. "Silvanus?" He made the name a question.

The elf gave a sobbing cough and looked up at him. Those golden eyes swam with tears. The tears looked like mercury sliding down his cheeks, as silver as the elf's hair was gold. Elves cried silver tears. The sight of it startled Jonathan down to the soles of his feet, tingling. The sight was astonishing, the grief unbearable.

"Silvanus. " Words failed him. What could he say? I'm sorry wasn't enough. I grieve with you was a lie. He hadn't known Averil, not really. He'd have traded her life for Elaine's in a moment. "There are no words, but I am deeply sorry for your loss."

"I tried to raise her from the dead. All these years it came easily to me. But this time, when I would have given my whole soul for the power, it did not come. Why?"

Some questions had no answers, or at least none that we wanted to hear. "I don't know, Silvanus. I don't know."

He hugged her to his chest, his one good arm tight against her back. The missing arm was longer, and the stump helped hold her in place. The sight of the growing stump made Jonathan's stomach clench. Nausea burned at the back of his throat. He took a deep breath through his nose and swallowed. He would not let his own fears make this hideous scene worse.

"We have to tend the dead before dark," the doctor said. His voice sounded ordinary enough. Jonathan wondered why he himself felt so startled. He had seen many scenes of grief before.

Silvanus shook his head, rocking faster. Averil's hand slapped the bedframe with a meaty thunk.

Every few moments; thunk-thunk-thunk. That one sound seemed worse than all the others.

Randwulf rushed forward, grabbing both the elf and his dead daughter in his arms. Hugging them both. He held them close and the awful sound stopped.

Randwulf's head was bent over Silvanus's shoulder. There was a large bump at the top of the boy's spine. Jonathan couldn't remember it being there before, when he saw Elaine heal the old wound.

He shook his head. Now was not the time.

"We have sent for the undertaker," the doctor said.

Silvanus's head snapped up, rage sparkling through the tears. "No, not yet."

"We must have her out of doors by dark," the doctor said.

"Why?" Silvanus asked.

Jonathan made a movement to attract the doctor's attention. He gave a small shake of his head. The doctor frowned, not seeming to understand.

Jonathan walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, directing him toward the door. "I think we should give Silvanus a few moments alone with his grief."

"But we can't have a dead body inside…"