The Sword of Kings, Prologue: Rise of the Dead

Autumn had come to southern Ogrynwood. Vibrant leaves, red, yellow, and orange, rustled and twisted in the breeze. Towering trees shaded the leaf-strewn ground from the bright afternoon sun. A quiet beauty filled the woods, a subtle magic of the everyday sort.

Nothing like the enchantments of Faerie, thought Kari du Sharrel.

Faerie had its charms, to be sure, but Kari preferred the mundane world. After all, she had lived for over two decades among the humans in the tiny hamlet of Markway before returning to her homeland. She had become used to the absence of casual magic, and she had grown accustomed to doing without it. She felt more at home here, in the forest of the ogres, than in the lands of her own people.

She returned her gaze to the forest floor and examined the boot-print on the ground. It was barely detectable, and to the untrained eye it would have provided no information of worth. But Kari was among the greatest trackers of Faerie. To her the print was a font of knowledge. It was fresh, no more than a few hours old. The boot that made the print was worn, but there was no doubt it was dark Fairy design. Another print nearby confirmed what she had already known: the trail continued to head southward, toward Faryn-Gehnah.

Turning toward her companions, she said, “I was right. She is going to the tomb.”

Jinn Alyndra, the short, pale-skinned sprite who had been her companion during her years in Markway, laughed. “To the tomb she goes, to treat with the dead! Oh what madness! What delight!”

The three dark Fairies they traveled with did not share the sprite’s amusement. “What could she possibly want there?” asked Naroth, the dark Fairies’ commander. “There are easier ways to cross the mountains.”

“There are no easy ways to cross the Gravescorn,” Kari answered, “but trying to go through the tomb is pure madness.”

Kari was not easily frightened, but the thought of the tomb made her skin prickle. For two centuries a curse had lain upon it, a dark power that caused the dead to stir. The Fair Folk had sent Shapers—Tomb Keepers, they were called—to try to break the curse and reclaim the ancient burial ground. The effort had failed: all but one of the Keepers had died, and the curse was as powerful as ever. Kari’s half-human nephew, Alec Mason, had told her of his harrowing journey through the tomb, so she knew from first-hand accounts the horrors that walked within.

“Perhaps she is mad after all,” said Naroth. “So it is said among my people.”

“But you still believe she has a purpose. She does not simply flee your new Lord Shaper’s wrath.”

“She has a purpose.” Naroth’s face revealed nothing, but Kari noticed his hand drifting toward his sword as he spoke of their quarry. “Gothra l’Uarach is a dangerous woman. Whether driven by madness or reason, she must be stopped.”

“Madness has a smell,” said Jinn, leaping to Kari’s side and squatting to sniff the boot-print. “Aye. There be a hint of it here, but it’s nearly lost in other flavors. Death I smell. Evil. A rare treat, milady.” He looked up and grinned. “A rare treat indeed.” All these years they had been friends, and Kari still didn’t understand the little imp’s delight in the unsavory aspects of their job.

“Can you not control the sprite?” said Naroth.

She turned to him as he headed toward the cluster of trees where they had secured their mounts. She looked at Jinn and then back to the dark Fairy.

“No one can control a sprite.”

Jinn burst out laughing.



They rode southward through the woods. Kari occasionally dismounted to examine Gothra’s tracks, but it was hardly necessary. It was obvious where she was headed. Kari’s party would reach the gates of Faryn-Gehnah before nightfall, and Gothra would be waiting for them there. Or she would have entered the tomb, in which case she was probably a dead woman.

Kari glanced over her shoulder at Naroth and his kinsmen. Like most of the Fair Folk, Kari had always been distrustful of their northern neighbors, the dark Fairies. But in her new capacity as trade ambassador to Northern Faerie, she was often among them. She had learned quickly, much to her surprise, that they were not so different from her own people. They were dour, certainly, and had a strange code of honor she could not fully grasp, but they were not, as a race, evil. Some, like Gothra and the late Lord Shaper Shynogoth, had been seduced into serving Vorik Seth by the vile sorcerer Salin Urdrokk. Others had been forced to Salin’s will when he controlled the Talisman of Unity. But most were loyal, in their own way, to the King of Faerie.

Kari, too, was loyal, but for reasons of her own she preferred to serve her King from afar. So Kari had entered the service of Lady Devra in Lehnwood, a town almost a day’s ride from the King’s palace in Fairhaven. In Lehnwood she had grown close to the captain of Devra’s guard, Lord Vyrdan. She smiled thinking of him, the only man who had been able to break through her cold exterior and warm her heart.

But Vyrdan was far away with duties of his own. Her duty was here. As an ambassador, she had been with the Dark Folk when Gothra had turned against her people. Gothra had broken into the Lord Shaper’s dungeon, slain several guards, and freed a prisoner. The Dark Folk would not tell Kari the name of this prisoner, but apparently he was a sorcerer of some power, a sorcerer who long ago had served Salin. She had heard them refer to him as “the albino.”

Why Gothra had freed this albino was no clearer than why she was headed for the tomb. But whatever the reason, Gothra and her sorcerer had parted ways somewhere in Faerie. One group had pursued the sorcerer, while a second, led by Naroth and Kari, had followed Gothra. It had been a long chase, for Gothra had traveled far to the west before cutting southeastward toward the tomb, presumably to avoid the vast chasm that split Ogrynwood in two. She had begun her journey on horseback, but had ridden so hard without stopping that her mount had perished some days ago. Kari shook her head, wondering how any Fairy, dark or fair, could abuse one of their horses so.

Kari dismounted once more to examine the trail. Jinn jumped down from his pony and put his nose to the ground, sniffing loudly.

“She is very close,” said Kari. “These tracks are but minutes old.”

“Fresh as daisies,” Jinn added with a wide, toothy grin.

“We are at the edge of the forest,” said Naroth. “The walls of the Gravescorn, and the tomb, lie just beyond.”

“Come on.” Kari lowered her voice to a whisper. “Let us leave our mounts here. I think a stealthy approach would be best.”

She could move quietly when she had to, and so could Jinn, but her gray-skinned companions were so silent she had to look back to make sure they were following. Even the leaves under their feet barely crunched as they passed. Her lip curled upward in a slight grin of admiration.

They reached the forest’s edge. When she saw Gothra standing a little more than a stone’s throw away, she motioned for the others to get down. Quietly, they crouched to the ground, keeping to the trees and underbrush.

“We should take her unawares,” said Naroth.

“Not yet,” answered Kari. “I want to see what she is doing.”

Gothra l’Uarach stood with her back to the trees, half-way up the stony foothills that led to the sheer face of the mountain. Beyond her, Kari could just make out a massive gate set into the mountain wall. Moss, grass, and a few strangled trees grew through the rocky earth surrounding the gate, and vines entwined its iron bars. Gothra stood still as a post, rigidly facing the gate of Faryn-Gehnah.

They waited several minutes, but Gothra did nothing. Kari could feel Naroth’s tension, could sense that this waiting was making him anxious. She decided it was time to move in on Gothra and she opened her mouth to say so, but she closed it again when she heard the grinding clangor of metal against stone. The gate was opening.

Things were pushing it open. Kari’s jaw dropped as more things poured from the gates, leaving the cold darkness of the tomb to enter the light of day. They were dead things, creatures of dry bone and monsters of necrotic flesh. Some wore rags, some wore scraps of armor, and some were naked. A dim red light burned in their eyes. They walked, shuffled, crawled, and dragged themselves over the rocks toward Gothra. Still the dark Fairy woman did not move.

“The undead!” gasped one of Naroth’s companions.

“This cannot be,” said Naroth. “They cannot leave the tomb!”

Kari brought her hand to her open mouth. Naroth was right. The curse gave the corpses a semblance of life, but the power of the curse did not exist outside the tomb. The undead couldn’t leave it. It was impossible!

And yet it was happening.

The corpses murmured and groaned, and soon dozens of them clustered before Gothra. Then, as one, they fell silent and stood utterly still. The light in their eyes briefly went gray and then burned brighter then before. And then they began to speak with one voice, a chorus chanting in unison. The dry, dusty sound was unlike anything Kari had ever heard, and she gripped her arms and shivered. Despite the distance, she had no trouble making out what they were saying.

“Gothra l’Uarach. You have done much. You have come far. You have heard our master’s call and have come to do his bidding.”

Gothra’s reply was nearly too quiet to be understood, but Kari used her magical skill at Shaping air to allow the dark Fairy’s voice to travel from the foot-hills to the forest’s edge.

“Yes. I have heard a voice whispering to me. What… who… has led me here?”

“Surely you know who it is you serve,” replied the dead. “Who entered your dreams? Who drove you to seek us out in this place of decay and hate?”

“My dreams,” answered Gothra, holding her head in her hands. “They drove me to free the albino. They drove me to come here. But they were only dreams. I… I am going mad.”

“Perhaps,” said the dead. “But your madness has a name. Say it, Gothra.”

A long pause hung in the air. Kari held her breath. She knew what was coming. She knew what Gothra would say.

“Vorik Seth. My master is Vorik Seth.”

“Vorik Seth.” The name from the lips of the dead sounded like a hiss.

“But… but what are you?”

“We… I…am the new master of this tomb. I… we… I… control these creatures now. My power is vast. I lend it the tomb. To the curse. They… we… are no longer confined to this place. We… will march upon the living. In the service of Vorik Seth.”

“To… to what end?” asked Gothra, her voice trembling.

“It is not your concern. You serve a different purpose.”

“Purpose? I have failed in my purpose. I thought I was here to be punished. I… I am no longer worthy of the Seth’s attention.”

Kari almost lost her concentration, almost lost the thread of her Shaping, when the undead hissed together in what seemed like amusement. “Nor was Salin Urdrokk,” they chortled. “He was an overconfident fool. Powerful, yes.” The dead paused, and their heads lowered in a synchronized motion. Kari thought they looked troubled by some thought or memory. “Very powerful. Yet he is gone, and I survive. He is dead, but he served his purpose… as you will serve yours.”

“I… I would serve the Seth as I served Salin. I would redeem myself in his eyes. If only… if only I knew how.”

“We will teach you, Gothra,” hissed the dead, moving to surround her. “I will teach you.”

“What is this?” whispered Naroth, leaning close to Kari’s ear. “What are they doing?”
“I have no idea,” she said.

Kari turned to look at Jinn. For once, he seemed to be taking no pleasure in what others found disturbing.

The creatures from the tomb leapt at Gothra and pulled her down. For a moment she struggled, but then she fell still, as if accepting her fate. Some of the dead held her arms and legs, kept her flat on the ground, while others stood around them, quietly observing.

Two more creatures emerged from the tomb. One was a tall, slender skeleton, and in its hands it held a long, glittering dagger. The other was taller still, broad in the shoulders and dressed in silver robes. A gold crown rested upon its mummified skull. This creature was different from the others, better preserved, and it emanated a strength that Kari could perceive. But it moved stiffly, just like the others, and the light in its eyes pulsed in the same steady rhythm. Whatever foul spirit used the lesser undead as puppets also controlled this one.

In its hands, the mummy carried a long, heavy chain with thick links of black metal. Something about the chain made Kari feel ill. To her Shaper’s senses, it emanated something unclean. She could taste it: metallic, slick, oily, and altogether foul. But it was powerful. It was immensely powerful.

The tall skeleton and the mummy walked to Gothra’s prone form. Then, without ceremony, the skeleton plunged its dagger into her chest. Kari flinched as Gothra’s screams lanced the air. The skeleton drew the knife down Gothra’s stomach, and blood welled from the cut in pulsating bursts. Other dead creatures reached into the cut and pulled her organs out, throwing them to the ground where they landed with wet, splattering sounds.

“Oh, gods,” whispered Kari. “Why…?”

“What madness is this?” exclaimed Naroth.

Jinn watched, entranced, but made no comment.

Gothra was still screaming. Her insides were practically hollowed out, but still she went on screaming. How was it possible?

By the One, Kari thought, she should be dead. She must be dead!

But Gothra went on thrashing and howling. When the dead moved away from her, she pushed herself to her knees and looked down at her ruined stomach, at her hollow chest. Kari heard the anguish and despair in Gothra’s screams, saw the horror in her bulging eyes.

“The Sorcerer’s Chain,” said the undead as the mummy let his burden clatter to the ground in front of her. “You must carry it inside you. You must carry it to Eglak.”

Screaming, she reached out with a blood-covered hand and grabbed the chain. With its links grasped in her fist, she reached into the torn cavity had had been her stomach and began to coil the chain around her spine. Kari, in horrified silence, watched the woman work.

“By the Seth!” screamed Gothra. Agony and pleasure fought for dominance on the dark woman’s face. “Is this what power is? Is this what life is?” Her words degenerated to gibberish, and laughter punctuated her screams and sobs.

The chain was long, but somehow it all fit inside her. Its weight pulled her down to the ground. She was laughing maniacally now, unable to move, unable to control herself.

“Enough!” roared the dead. As if calmed by some spell, the dark Fairy fell silent. “Be at peace, Gothra. By rights you should be dead, but the mercy of the Seth grants you life, after a fashion. The chain’s power will heal and sustain you. When you are whole, you will carry the chain within you to the land of Eglak. You will go before the High King and speak to him a message from Vorik Seth.”

“What… what message?”

Instead of answering, the dead paused. Together, their heads swiveled toward the forest. Kari froze. They were looking directly at her.

“You have been followed.”

“I know,” said Gothra.

“No matter,” said the dead. “No matter at all.”

A flurry of movement from above drew Kari’s attention. Branches snapped and leaves tore free as shadowy figures dropped from perches high in the trees. Skeletal claws reached toward Kari and her companions. She barely had time to shout a warning before the shadow-things landed upon the ground and sprung forward to attack.

Kari’s sword leapt from its sheath, glittering in the sunlight. The arcing blade severed the nearest creature’s arm, but the thing continued to approach, undaunted. She slashed at it a second time and sent its head tumbling to the ground. It fell, but two more stood behind it, ready to take its place.

She could hear Naroth and his companions behind her, shouting and drawing steel. From the heavy footfalls and crunching leaves, she guessed a dozen or more of the shadow-things surrounded them.

She lunged forward and plunged her sword into an undead chest. The thing moaned and stumbled backwards until it slid free of her blade, but it did not fall. Her second attacker raked its claws across her chest, cutting through the hard leather armor that should have protected her. Blood welled through the cuts. She screamed and fell back.

More horrors closed in, surrounding her. She took a deep breath and focused her mind, calling on her years of training to remain calm in the midst of chaos. Kari Shaped. Leaves whipped through the air, carried by the hurricane force of her will. She pushed outward, and her assailants tumbled away in the raging wind.

Kari had won a moment to catch her breath, but that was all. Already the undead were regaining their feet. Beyond them, her companions fought bravely, but one of the dark Fairies had already fallen. Naroth stood back-to-back with his remaining soldier, swinging at the walking corpses. Jinn sprung from one undead to the next, tearing open their necks with his sharp fangs or raking them with his long claws. Yet it was a losing battle. The undead, even when slashed or dismembered or eviscerated, kept clawing their way back into the battle.

Kari looked to the corpse she had beheaded. It lay still.

They can be destroyed. Without their heads, they cannot…

The leaves crunched behind her. She twisted, swinging her blade in a wide arc. The sword cut deeply into an undead chest, but the creature’s red eyes did not dim. A dark, misty shadow surrounded it, and when Kari pulled her sword from its rotted chest, the shadow swirled round the cut, knitting it back together. The thing lurched toward her again, its claws raking the air.

What dark magic is this?

Alec had not mentioned this shadowy aura when he had spoken of his encounters with these creatures. Some power was protecting them now, healing them, granting them strength. They could leave the tomb. They could recover from almost any wound. What else could these unholy revenants do?

Kari did not wish to find out. As they leapt at her, she raised her sword and shouted. She slashed time and again, aiming each blow at an undead neck. Heads flew, and fallen corpses piled around her. North of her, she caught a glimpse of Naroth fighting alone, his last companion dead at his feet. He was surrounded and desperate, but she could do nothing for him. She heard Jinn laughing somewhere in the chaos, but she could not see him.

Kari was breathing heavily now, and her heart was thundering too quickly beneath her breast. She danced through a wave of revenants, felling one after another, but she was nearly at the end of her endurance. She churned the wind into a gale, forcing her attackers back. But her magic could only hold them at bay for a moment, and her sword was becoming too heavy to lift.

The dead surrounded her, but instead of pressing their advantage, they paused. Into their midst walked Gothra l’Uarach, her steel eyes locked on Kari. The dark Fairy strode toward the tracker, her chin raised and her expression dire. She bore no wound and did not seem to be in pain. Had she really been cut open moments before? Had her apparent evisceration been some sort of a trick?

“You are in my way, woman,” she said. “Stand aside.”

“You… you should be dead!” Kari gasped.

“I am dead.” Her voice, icy as her eyes, rooted Kari to the spot. “But that will not stop me from delivering my message to the High King of Eglak.”

The dark woman had a power of command Kari could not resist. Terrified, she moved to the side and stood immobile as Gothra strode by her. In a moment, Gothra was gone, and the undead, as if waking up, closed inward.

Kari, able to move again, lashed out with blade and magic, her unrelenting determination carrying her past the point of exhaustion. Corpses, relieved of their heads, fell around her as she battered still others with funnels of wind. But at last she fell to her knees, unable to do anything but wait for the killing blow.

A feral cry cut the air, and Jinn, his body twisted into his terrible battle-shape, leapt upon the back of the creature nearest Kari. With tooth and claw he tore the thing’s head from its body and tossed it into the air. Then he jumped to Kari’s side, gore dripping from his long fangs.

“Be heartened, milady!” he cried. “There be plenty for both of us!”

His presence lifted her spirits, and she almost smiled as she rose to her full height. As he leapt left, she struck right, and the undead gave way before them. She heard the sprite’s gleeful laughter, heard his claws ripping through flesh and shattering brittle bone. She kept her back to him, widening the circle around them. Another minute to two they fought, an eternity to her battle-tuned senses, but at last they had cleared a path northward, away from the tomb.

“Jinn! Follow!”

Without turning to make sure he was there, Kari ran as fast as her exhaustion allowed. Her breath came in heaving gulps. The footfalls of a dozen or so pursuers echoed behind her. Fatigue had nearly overwhelmed her, and soon her flight slowed to a plodding gait. She thought of the horses, but knew she could not reach them before the undead caught her. Knowing she could not escape, she turned to face her pursuers.

A cluster of corpses ran at her. She tried to Shape, but she could not muster the will. She lifted her sword, accepting her fate with cold determination.

“Run, milady!”

Leaping through the air from somewhere behind the small horde, Jinn landed among the creatures. They turned to surround him, bending over him and clawing at his small form.

“Jinn!”

By the One… he will be torn apart!

“Go!” he cried. “Warn them! Warn Faerie!”

She heard him fighting for his life, saw the occasional flash of claw or fang. She should help him, but—

More revenants were coming through the trees. If she tried to save him, they would both be killed. Naroth was probably already dead. There would be no one left to warn Faerie about the undead. No one left to stop Gothra.

“Oh, Jinn!”

“Go!” His last command was strangled and forced.

She ran northward. Behind her, she heard the sprite choke on a final, chilling scream. She raced ahead, her iron heart breaking and her eyes filling with tears.

Keep going, Kari. They must be told. They must be warned!

With the undead at her heels, Kari ran.