70

As Irina rode back through town in the carriage under darkening skies, she wondered whether an alliance with the imprisoned Captain Reyes would be of any help. It seemed unlikely, but it had cost her very little to propose. She wasn’t sure that she could convince the empress to improve the truly intolerable conditions of the Raízians on her own, but perhaps she could interest Ambassador Boz in getting involved. It seemed like her sort of meddling.

Then the carriage jerked to a halt so abruptly that Irina had to put her hands out to stop from smashing her face into the front panel.

“What on earth is going on?” she demanded as she fixed her tousled white hair.

“Apologies, my lady,” said the driver from his perch in the front. “Someone’s stepped out into the road.”

Irina leaned out the window and saw a lone figure trudging across the road. They were just entering the Silver Ring again, where pedestrians were uncommon, so the person’s mere presence was unusual. They wore a thick hooded cloak that concealed them almost completely from view, and walked with a stiff, unsteady gait.

“You there!” the driver shouted to them. “Get out of the way or I’ll run you over!”

The figure continued their slow, laborious walk without responding.

The driver looked back at her. “What should I do, my lady? I gave fair warning, so we’re within our rights to trample right over him.”

“I’ve seen enough awfulness for one day,” said Irina. “They might be drunk or feeble-minded. Just go down and push them aside.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The driver climbed down from the carriage and hurried over to the shambling figure.

“Listen, friend. Her ladyship has a kind heart, so rather than crush you under the wheel, she asked me to move you over to the…”

As the driver took hold of the figure’s shoulder, the cloak slid to the ground. Underneath was not a person at all. At least, not anymore.

A gray, desiccated corpse with patchy strands of dingy hair was dressed in a ragged brown tunic. It stopped and slowly turned its head to look at the driver with yellow, bloodshot eyes.

The driver stood as if frozen. His mouth worked open and closed, but only a whimper escaped.

With surprising speed, the undead drew a rusty short sword and stabbed him in the chest.

The Uaine are here, thought Irina as she reached through the small window of the carriage to grab the horse’s reins. They were not merely laying siege to the city, but already within the walls. She had no idea how that was possible, but it was a mystery to be solved later. Her only option at present was to flee to the palace. Even if the city was overrun, the palace had its own defenses.

She snapped the reins. The horse gave a shrill whinny, then charged forward, crushing both the undead and the now dead driver under its hooves.

It was difficult for Irina to steer the semi-panicked horse by reaching through the window while it raced up the road. And worse, she saw more of the cloaked, shambling figures ahead. At first only one or two, but as she got closer to the palace, more and more. Were they already converging? If so, going to the palace might not be the best option. In fact, if the city was truly being overtaken already, her best bet might be to return to the brig and free the Viajero, perhaps the only people in the city powerful enough to defeat an army of the dead head-on.

But just as she began coaxing the horse to slow down so that they could turn around, a cold, gray hand grabbed her arm through the side window.

It was the undead from before, fixing her with its lidless eyes. Apparently when she’d run it over, it had latched on to the underside of the carriage and slowly climbed up to reach her.

She instinctively yanked her arm out of its grasp, but in doing so, also jerked the reins suddenly. The horse tried to turn sharply and staggered, neighing loudly in alarm. That brought the attention of more undead, who quickly converged on the horse.

As the carriage careened wildly through the Silver Ring, Irina opened the door and kicked furiously at the undead clinging to it. The thing was heedless of pain, and she was not strong enough to dislodge it by force. Even when she jammed the toe of her shoe in its eye, puncturing the orb so that fetid goop ran down its cheek, it did not stop, or even hesitate.

The horse shrieked in terror as a mass of undead grabbed it. It twisted wildly about, tipping over the carriage and bringing horse, carriage, undead, and Irina crashing to the ground.

Irina lay dazed amid the wreckage of the carriage. Her head and right arm throbbed painfully and it was difficult to see with the blood pouring into her eyes from the gash on her forehead. She struggled to rise, but then a gray hand shot out of the rubble and grabbed her by the throat. Her right arm was clearly broken and flailed uselessly, but her intact left hand scrabbled just as ineffectively to free her throat.

She watched with dimming vision as the undead, still throttling her, rose from the wreckage. Its other hand had been completely severed, and half its face crushed, but it did not seem to notice. Its sole focus in that moment was on ending Irina’s life.

“Stop.”

The voice was feminine, neither loud, nor particularly forceful, but the undead let go immediately.

“Move along,” commanded the voice.

The undead stood, even though one leg was grotesquely twisted, and began limping away, joining others of its kind as they spread out through the Silver Ring.

Irina turned to see a young woman dressed in brown robes. Her hair was as white as Irina’s and her skin even more so. She stared down at Irina, her brow knitted together and her mouth open, as though she wished to say something. But then she turned and followed after her undead charges.

Irina lay there for a moment, alternating between desperate gasps and violent coughs. Her broken arm throbbed and her head still felt muddy, most likely from a concussion. But she knew she couldn’t stay out in the open. She needed to find shelter somewhere. The problem was, she didn’t know where. Go back to the town? Return to the palace? She had no way of knowing which was less dangerous.

She forced herself to her feet, gritting her teeth against the pain and fighting off the urge to faint. She winced as she put her weight on her right ankle. Not broken, but at least injured. She looked around and saw that while the previous undead had moved on, there were more coming, both from the direction of the palace and the town. Had they already infested all of Magna Alto? Was the fight over before she even knew it had begun?

Perhaps if she’d been clearheaded enough at the time, she could have surrendered to that strange, brown-robed woman. But now the only thing around her were the glassy-eyed undead, and she doubted they would even understand her.

She spotted a nearby manor with an open door. Perhaps she could hide there? Unless the undead were inside, of course. But even so, it was better than standing stupidly in the middle of the road among the wreckage of her carriage.

The undead hadn’t been paying much attention to her before, but once she began moving toward the manor, they took notice. There were five of them, and they weren’t especially fast, but neither was she.

She hobbled along as best she could, but the undead seemed attracted to her increasingly desperate movements. She stopped, hoping they might lose interest, but now that she had their attention, they continued toward her.

“Lady Portinari!”

Irina looked up to see Captain Aguta and Hexenmeister Cloos riding down the road from the palace. They charged fearlessly into the crowd of undead. Aguta slashed about with a sword, which he used to lop off arms and legs, leaving a helpless, writhing head and torso on the ground. Cloos held a long halberd, which he used to keep the undead at a safe distance so that Aguta could make his way over to Irina.

He grinned as he held out his hand to her.

“My lady, care to accompany me back to the palace?”

She forced a tight smile as she accepted his offer. “I’ve been waiting for you to sweep me off my feet.”

He pulled her up behind him and wheeled his horse around.

“Cloos!” he called. “Time to go!”

The Kantesian nodded tersely, and they headed back up the hill with as much speed as they could wring from their horses.

“Is the palace safe?” she asked Aguta as she clung to his waist with her good arm.

“So far they’ve been completely ignoring it,” said the Aukbontaren. “We seem to be safe there.”

“For now,” said Irina.

Aguta nodded grimly. “For now. But at this point, now is all we have.”