Kill the Dead, Tanith Lee [a court of thorns and roses ebook free .TXT] 📗

or another. The magnetism worried Myal for anumber of reasons. At first, it had seemed just another of his impulsivelyfatal fascinations with the element of danger. He had had, besides, the excuseof wanting to make a song of Ghyste Mortua. But when had that idea first takenhold of him? Could he really pin it down as being before he tried to rob the ghost-killerin the mountain valley village? It seemed to Myal now that there had been somefaintly unsavoury destiny that had directed him over the mountain pass and intothe village, only four or five days before Parl Dro also limped the same way. Unsavouryand supernatural. For not only had Myal’s wandering advent meant a meeting withDro, but also the ultimate revelation about the instrument—no longer a rareterpsichorean mystery, but a jest, a con trick, the toy of a clown. Thecoincidences that belaboured the plot Myal’s recent days seemed to have becomeniggled him. Dro and he, and Ciddey Soban come to that, seemed tangled likestrands of wool.

Somethingunprecedented was happening to the procession. He had not been watching it withall his attention, but in retrospect, it seemed to have stopped, and now itseemed to be changing course like a demented river—

“Enjoying yourself?”

Asbefore, Myal nearly overbalanced. He whirled around with a yell of startledvexation and of relief. Parl Dro stood under one of the yellow lamps, still asif carved. As on the hill, there had been no discernible prologue to hisarrival.

“You like giving me heartfailure, don’t you,” said Myal.

“Not particularly. It’s tooeasy.”

“Well, you’re here.”

“So I am. Now what do we do?”

“I—don’tknow,” said Myal slowly. “I think we just wait. Something’s going to turn up.”

“Yes,something’s bound to do that.” Dro looked away over the slope to the muddledwrithing of the procession. “You realise your psychic abilities,” said Dro,“undisciplined and infantile as they are, have persuaded you to precipitate acrisis.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.”

“I’m afraid that’s exactly what Ihave given you.”

Theprocession was spooling up into an alleyway. Myal was suddenly reminded of aflock of sheep, and let out a crow of laughter. The duke-earl of Tulotef, andall his ghoulish court, were coming this way. Insubstantial or not. Harmful ornot. Certainly, a crisis.

Onthe road, they would pass by the inn where Myal and Ciddey had lain together.Maybe that was significant He had noted the inn sign jutting out across thestreet between the roofs quite some way down. And though he could not see it,the girl would still be trapping the unicorn by its horn and the mailed warriorslashing off the unicorn’s head. A castration symbol? Or maybe a simple omen.Myal turned back to Dro.

“Ithink Ciddey’s with the procession. If so, she’s said something about you totheir ruler here—about your line of work. You said Tulotef was weak, but how weak is Tulotef s weak? They could kill you, could they?”

“UnlessI was here in astral shape only, as you are. As I originally planned to be. Asyou dissuaded me from being, did you not?”

“I’msorry. I thought—you said—”

“Theydon’t kill. Not randomly any more. They haven’t the energy left to do it, andthere’s no true incentive. Except with an exorcist. That hate goes as deep withthe deadalive as fear of the deadalive goes with most humans.”

Myalchoked down presumably imaginary nausea, and said, “Get going. Run.”

“Run? You forget I’m a cripple,” saidDro very graciously.

“Wellhobble then. I’ll stall them.”

“Withwhat? Handstands? Communal singing?”

“I’llthink of something. They can’t hurt me.Can they?”

“Probablynot. I wouldn’t swear to it, under the circumstances.”

“Iknow you’ve got a death wish,” said Myal coldly. “Any kind of murderer has. Butdon’t indulge it here and now. Go on.”

“Whileyou bravely fight them off. That’s what it will come to.”

“Go.”

“Haveyou ever fought the deadalive?”

“Willyou—”

ParlDro stood like an emperor, watching the tide of death sweep around corners,between walls, up steps. Myal shouted at him, then muttered, then ceasedcommunication of any sort. He too watched, with a fundamental sinking of hisnon-present vitals, until the crimson spectres of Tulotef s priesthood brimmedup into the street, directly in front of him. Priests, a choir, even thecarriages had somehow negotiated the route. Then everything folded aside, and awedge of mailed riders came pushing through.

Myalsaw through all of them. Not literally, since they appeared solid enough; theirinsubstantiality proclaimed itself in other, more insidious ways. Yet his eyesseemed to pierce them all, like any unknown mob, seeking and resting themselveson a single familiar face, which obviously was Ciddey’s.

Whiteas some wicked flower, she sat on a horse which a man in mail had been leading.His face was a blank, as if set there ready to be sketched in with emotion,personality. All their faces were the same. Except for hers.

Therewas also a man riding close at her side, clothed in an oddly far-off glitter.He must be the duke. Ciddey, not taking her eyes from Myal, made a smallgesture to this man, deferring to him. Yet the duke of Tulotef hung there,somehow creditable only because Ciddey included him in her awareness.

Andit was Ciddey who spoke.

“Hallo,traitor,” she said to Myal. And then she called him a very foul name. AlthoughMyal had been on the receiving end of it countless times, it unnerved himespecially, coming from her kissable lips. But her eyes had gone past him. Theyhad fixed on Parl Dro. “Lord duke,” said Ciddey, “the man in black is the man Itold you of. The murderer. He killed my sister virtually in front of me. Mydarling sister, all I had in the world. I swore to have justice from him. Idedicated myself to it. I came all these miles to your town and your court toask it.”

Theghost duke stared at Parl Dro. Some vestige of decayed mortal anger marked hiscountenance, which was firmer now. His long-nailed hands tensed very slightlyon the jewelled reins.

“Thelady has a grievance against you,” said the duke to Parl Dro. “How are youprepared to answer it?”

“Witha politely smothered yawn,” said Dro.

“Yourinsolence suggests desperation.”

“I’msorry. It was meant to suggest boredom.”

“I—”said the duke.

Ciddeycut through like a thin white blade.

“Don’tdebate with him, lord duke. Kill him.” Ciddey leaned from the horse andclutched the shoulders of the mailed retainer who had led it.