At first light the next day, the patrol crossed the wall. It felt good to be on horseback again, Horyse thought. Old Kingdom patrols were almost always mounted, and it brought back happy memories of riding out with Jessil and Kearn. The horses' hooves were wrapped in hessian to give better grip, and it made their footfall almost silent as they trotted along the Wallway, making as much speed as they could without risking the horses. It was still dark in the Old Kingdom, but the sky was beginning to lighten in the east. To the Northeast, the red star Iualus still burned brightly.
An hour after sunrise, they reached the mile marker that was closest to Last Bridge, and Horyse himself dismounted to check for Patrol Sign. There was nothing, only a faint trace of a sign left several weeks before. Nor was there anything on the bridge posts, when they reached Last Bridge. All seemed quiet and peaceful. Too quiet and peaceful, thought Horyse, who had expected by now to have seen at least a Gore Crow or two.
"Let's carry on to Barhedrin," he told the men, and urged his own horse across Last Bridge and onto the road that climbed to the top of the hill. He drew his sword, fitted his shield in position and pulled down the faceguard of his helmet. He did not need to turn and check whether the others were doing the same; he knew that they would be.
As they climbed the steep road towards the summit of Barhedrin Hill, Horyse began to be oppressed by a growing sense of dread. Wind began to blow from the east, bringing occasional flurries of snow and also the stench of burning and death. By the time they reached the final hairpin that would bring them to the gate, all the patrol were tense and nervous, their faces white and drawn behind the eyeguards. Horyse motioned them to a halt.
"We'll dismount and go in on foot," he said, for he knew that in a fight against the Dead, Ancelstierran horses would be terrified and would bolt or throw their riders. They had, however, been trained to remain where they were left.
They moved off on foot, and the first sight of the Guard Post confirmed Horyse's worst fears. The Gatehouse was blackened and broken, the great gates splintered into many fragments. The stench of blood and burning grew worse, and with it the lingering metallic taint of free magic. Horyse could sense no Dead at hand, but as he moved into the fort he felt increasingly nauseous.
It was clear that the Dead had broken through en masse and slaughtered the garrison. Just inside the smashed gate was Merreth, in a pool of her own blood, sword still in hand. Further on he found Culver, skull smashed by one of his own hammers. Linnead lay with his hand outstretched over a hole in another man's chest, as though he had died in the very act of trying to heal another. There were many more; some he recognised, others were rendered unrecognisable by their injuries.
"This way," he beckoned to the patrol. "To the central courtyard, and the Charter stone." He already knew from his increasing nausea what they would find there. As they entered the courtyard it was all he could do not to throw up, and sounds of retching behind him indicated that at least one of his men had succumbed.
It was clear that this was where the remainder of the garrison had made their last stand, forming, or attempting to form, a shield ring around the Charter stone. Faint traces of Charter marks lingered in the air where a Diamond of Protection had failed. There he found Jessil and Kearn, swords still clutched tight in their hands despite the many wounds they had sustained. But the worst sight of all was in the centre of the courtyard. The Charter stone, broken down the middle, and crawling with loathsome Free magic perversions of Charter marks. And propped against it was Karim, hands and feet bound, throat cut from ear to ear.
Now, at last, Horyse was no longer able to control his nausea and revulsion, and doubled over, retching violently. Then he straightened, drew a breath, and forced himself to look more closely at his friend. He knew what had happened here; Karim, as the strongest Charter mage, had been ritually sacrificed so that the stone could be broken. Probably, the Necromancer responsible had also used it as a way to enter Death, or bring something back into Life. He noticed that Karim's right hand was gripping something. Gently, he prized her fingers apart and found a small stone. Just an ordinary, round pebble from the gravel of the courtyard, but at his touch it glowed with soft, Charter light. At first he was puzzled, then he tried touching it with the marks used to read Patrol Signs. The golden glow intensified, and he heard Karim's voice.
"To anyone who finds this message. We are under attack from a superior force. Dead Hands, Shadow Hands and a Mordicant, under control of a Necromancer. I believe he intends to break the Charter stone and bring one of the Greater Dead through into Life. We will defend the stone to the last. We have sent a message hawk to Bellisare but hold out little hope of help, since the Regent is assassinated and the Dead roam the city at will. If you can, please inform Lieutenant Horyse or Major Tindall at the Crossing Point, and ask them to get word to Abhorsen."
Horyse turned to the patrol.
"Something strange has happened here. The garrison has been massacred, but their heads have not been removed. Either whatever attacked them was disturbed, or it had some other purpose."
"Maybe whatever it is plans to return at nightfall, sir, and bring them back as Hands?" Rowland volunteered.
"Could be," mused Horyse. "So, we will foil their plans and perform the burial rites."
"But sir," said Anshye, "there must be close on a hundred here, and I reckon three hours at most until dusk."
"Quite so," agreed Horyse. "Not enough time to perform the rite individually. So, we will pile them in groups of twenty or so, and perform the rite on each group. Except for Karim. I will care for her myself."
The men went about their work in grim, uncomplaining silence. The lack of complaint spoke volumes, since grousing and grumbling were a favourite pastime of the Ancelstierran soldier. Horyse had to school himself to overcome his revulsion to gently lift Karim by her shoulders. With Anshye taking her feet, they carefully moved her out of the courtyard, where they laid her on her back and cut her bonds. Horyse drove her sword into the ground at her head, and laid her broken shield across her feet. Then he placed her helmet on her chest, carefully arranging the red and gold plume to hide the hideous, gaping wound in her throat. In her left hand, he placed the pebble that had held her final message. His preparations were interrupted by an urgent shout from Private Devlin.
"Sir, over here!"
Leaving Karim for a moment, he ran back to the inner courtyard where the men had been carefully arranging the guards who had died there ready for the funeral rite. Devlin was standing beside a body which they had removed some distance from the others. Horyse went over and examined it. This was no Royal Guard but a man in his middle age, with a livid scar across his face. He wore battered leather armour and beside him was a sword. Across his chest, a bandolier of bells; the badge of a Necromancer.
"Be careful with the sword, sir, it's crawling with Free magic," Devlin advised. "Rowland tried to pick it up and fainted dead away." He nodded to where Rowland lay prostrate on the ground with Private Rhys trying to revive him with a Charter spell.
"Rhys, Anshye, get him out of here and away from the broken stone. Then try the spell again."
"Sir!" the two men picked up their fallen comrade and left the courtyard. Horyse turned back to look at the slain Necromancer.
"He's truly Dead I think," he mused. "If he had merely entered Death, he would be coated in ice. Nevertheless, the body must be destroyed to prevent his return into Life."
"Who do you think he is, sir?" Anshye had returned.
"A Necromancer, certainly," answered Horyse. "My guess is that he was lured here with a promise of never ending Life in return for breaking the stone, though by who or what, I cannot guess. Possibly something has used his life force to break through back into Life. Whatever it was has not lingered; if something of that power were nearby we would feel it, even with the broken stone. Something with that power could easily overcome us, it must have some purpose more urgent than bringing these dead guards back as hands."
"Do you think it will come back, sir?" Horyse shook his head, slowly.
"It's possible, but I think not. It could quite easily have ambushed us here and destroyed us already." He paused to think, then called the men to gather round.
"Lads, we've a grim task, but you are the best of the Scouts, and that means the best in the whole damned army." They responded with a ragged attempt at a cheer. "Here's what we have to do. We must deal with the Necromancer first. That will take all of us, I think. We must carry him to the outer courtyard, as far from the broken stone as you can. And well away from the slain of the garrison. They should not be defiled by lying next to such filth." The men nodded approval.
"What about the sword, sir?" Rowland asked, a little shakily.
"I will bring that myself," said Horyse. "It's my understanding that anything touching the body is destroyed when the rite is performed. I will perform the rite but I will need all of you to lend me your power. I wish Abhorsen were here," he added, more to himself than the others. "Then, we perform the rites on the garrison." He detailed the men in pairs to deal with the dead guards. "Karim we will deal with last, and together. Her life spirit was used for an evil purpose, and that may make the funeral rite more difficult to perform."
Gritting their teeth, Anshye and Devlin each took one of the dead Necromancer's arms, careful not to touch bells or bandolier. Rhys and Lance-corporal Shakil took the legs. Carefully, they laid him in the furthest corner of the outer courtyard. Horyse took off his scarf and laid it on the ground. Then he reached into the Charter for marks of protection against Free Magic. It was difficult, his access to the flow of the Charter impeded and distorted by the broken stone. He took a firm grip of his sword with his right hand, and by sheer strength of will, forced the Marks down the blade and into the scarf, which he picked up and wrapped tightly around his left hand. Then he picked up the Necromancer's sword.
Immediately he felt a burning pain in his left hand, so that he almost dropped the sword. Nausea overcame him again, but there was nothing left in him except bile. Desperately he staggered on, reaching the Necromancer's body just as the Charter-spelled scarf began to smoulder. Gasping, he dropped the sword onto the Necromancer's chest and flung away the scarf, which burst into flames. The palm of his left hand was blistered, but there was no time to worry about that.
"Quick, lads," Horyse rasped. "The funeral rites." They had practised this often, back at the Crossing Point, and were well drilled. Horyse felt Rowland's hand on his left shoulder and Devlin's on his right, then the others joining and adding their power. Last to join was Anshye, and Horyse felt the surge of his strange gestalt effect. The marks flowed from his sword point with surprising ease, and the Necromancer's body erupted in Charter flame. In moments it was over, nothing left but a pile of ash.
"Well done, lads," whispered Horyse, feeling utterly drained. "He should go quickly beyond the Ninth Gate. Now, let's take care of our comrades."
For the next hour, they toiled under the oppression of darkening skies, and the malevolent influence of the broken stone. They had neither the strength nor time to move the bodies far away, and each time they performed the rites, their strength was drained further. Horyse cared for his closest friends himself, trying to remember them as they had been in Life, such a short time ago.
At last, only Karim remained. As Horyse thought, some malign taint of Free magic lingered about her, resisting the Marks, and it was a trial of all their power until at last, he was able to speak the Master Mark, using the last of his strength. The fire that consumed her was brighter and hotter than Horyse had ever seen it, and he felt relief in knowing that his friend would pass quickly beyond the Ninth gate.
"Travel well, Karim, Captain of the Royal Guard. Go swiftly beyond the Ninth Gate and do not tarry, for you have earned your final rest." As he spoke the words, Horyse felt the last of his strength ebb away, and darkness overcome him.
The next thing he was aware of was the sound of running water, and someone untying his hands and feet. He wondered if he was a prisoner, then realised that his men had placed him across his saddle, and loosely tied his hands and feet to stop him falling. Gently, Anshye helped him to the ground.
"Sorry about that, sir, but you was out cold, and we thought it best to get out of there while there was still some daylight."
"Quite right, Corporal." Horyse was aware of a searing pain in his burned hand, an abominable headache, and a dragging feeling of fatigue. "Where are we?"
"Just the other side of Last Bridge, sir. Downstream a little where the river narrows and there's a bit faster flow. Not much, sir, but at least it's between us and that darned stone. The lads are setting up a bivvy, it's nearly dark." A moment later, Rhys came over, looking concerned.
"Begging your pardon, Corporal, we could use your help with the Diamond. We've managed the others but the North Mark won't take."
"I'll come as well," Horyse said, shaking off Anshye's protest that he should lie still. In the normal way, they should be far enough from the broken Charter stone to cast a Diamond of Protection without trouble, but they were all desperately weakened. The South and West Marks looked strong, but the East mark was noticeably paler.
Once more, Horyse drew his sword and took up a spell casting stance, and once more the others moved up to support him. He summoned all his strength and will power, drawing on his fear and desperation and sorrow to force the mark down his sword blade and out of the point. Glowing lines appeared, though the one between the East and North marks wavered a little and was noticeably less substantial.
They spent a miserable night, huddled for warmth, not daring to light a fire lest the Diamond of Protection fail and give them away. Twice during the night, the North Mark failed and had to be renewed. Horyse's burned hand throbbed, despite Rhys' best efforts to cast a healing spell. Just before dawn, the North Mark failed for the third and final time. Straight away, they felt a new and malign presence overhead; a group of about half a dozen circling Gore Crows. Quickly they broke camp and took to the Wallway, making for the Crossing Point as fast as their exhaustion and spent horses would allow. All around they could feel the malign presence of many dead, and they knew that the gloomy twilight of an overcast winter's day would be no protection. As they grew close, Horyse drew a cylinder, about a foot in length, from his saddlebag.
"I can feel the presence of the dead ahead of us," he told the others. "Probably waiting to ambush us and cut us off before we can reach the Crossing Point. I'm going to let off a flare, and by the Charter, I hope it works, for I haven't the strength to cast anything." The flare would alert the Crossing Point that a patrol was coming in that was in some kind of trouble, and they would be met in force. To his relief, the flare hissed into life, sending first a burst of red lights and then a plume of red smoke high into the still air, just as a horde of dead hands burst from the undergrowth on either side of the Wallway. Urging their horses into one last effort, the patrol charged through, scattering the dead hands on either side. But more were clustered ahead, as close to the Wall as they dared come.
Then, to his relief, Horyse heard a bugle sounding the 'charge'. A squadron of soldiers, mounted on the garrison's remaining horses and led by Colonel Fazackerly himself broke through the line of dead and came to meet the patrol. Behind them, a large force on foot dealt with the remaining dead, then formed up in guard formation in front of the Crossing Point.
Hastily, Fazackerly and Horyse tested each other's Charter Marks, not even bothering to exchange Ancelstierran salutes.
"Hurry," said Fazackerly. "There are more dead behind you."
The relief force surrounded the patrol as they made the best speed they could across the remaining stretch of road. As they entered the tunnel, the infantry closed in behind them and Horyse could feel the fury of the Dead as they were denied entry.