knew that the man was screaming, knew that the gathered To-gai-ru were screaming, but he didn't really hear any of it. He was trapped by the vision before him, locked by horror and sheer amazement.
"Now," he at last heard from the side, and realized that Yatol Grysh, who was motioning for him to follow to the coach, had likely called to him sev-eral times.
Carwan spun away and sprinted to the stairs, guiding his master up, then retracting the stairs and leaping into the coach, eager to close the door on the gruesome scene.
"Do as you will," Yatol Grysh said to Wan Atenn, then ordered his driver to be off.
They all left then, except for the twenty warriors and their fierce Chezhou-Lei leader. For a long, long time, Carwan Pestle sat in the quiet coach, determined not to look back. Eventually, though, he did peek out.
The encampment was not in view, lost behind the sloping ridgeline, but several lines of smoke rose into the pale air. Not thin gray smoke, as from the campfires, but evil black snaking lines.
Carwan shuddered and fell back into his seat, trying hard not to throw up.
PART 1 TO THE EDGE OF DARKNESS Chapter 7 Tymwyvenne
Belli'mar Juraviel was surprised indeed when he opened his eyes to look upon a strange, almost preternatural scene. A thick fog blan-keted the ground, with dark patches of moss and muddy mounds showing sporadically. He was in a copse of trees, but they were all dead, black-armed, empty things, their crooked limbs snaking out like the last desperate limb-waving pleas of a doomed man. At first the elf saw no signs of life, but then he heard a groan, and managed with great effort to roll over.
Brynn stood there, or at least, hung there, her arms up high above her head, tied at the wrists to a thick, dead branch. Her head lolled about her shoulders and she kept trying to stand up straight - to take the painful pressure off of her arms, Belli'mar reasoned. Her legs would not support her, though, and she kept sagging, often uttering a groan as her arms straightened.
"Brynn," Juraviel whispered. ?Waken, ranger."
She didn't answer, so Juraviel repeated his words, more loudly and insistently.
Still no answer.
Not from Brynn. However, at the second call, forms rose up out of the fog. Hulking, stiff-limbed forms, rising silently and moving deliberately toward the pair.
Shaken by the gruesome image, Juraviel tried to stand, only to find that he was strapped down tightly to his makeshift cot, another dead limb, by a series of looped cords.
"Brynn!" he cried out. ?Wake up, girl!"
The zombies moved methodically about the woman. One grabbed her about the ribs, and with seemingly no effort at all, lifted her into the air. A second zombie grabbed the woman's arms and hoisted them back up straight, lifting the loop of the rope over the peg that was holding it.
Brynn started, suddenly awake, and her initial thrash broke her free of the zombies. But again, her legs would not support her, and she tumbled down into the mist, and as she tried to scramble away, the zombies fell over her, grabbing her, punching her.
Belli'mar Juraviel cried out to her repeatedly and thrashed about, to no avail. A few moments later, one of the zombies lifted the limp form of the young ranger into its arms, cradling her under the knees and shoulders, and started away on its stiff legs.
Juraviel continued to thrash, thinking that the undead creatures would come for him next. But to his surprise, they all continued away, a solemn and gruesome procession.
Juraviel fought hard to suppress his revulsion and collect his wits. What was going on here? As he settled, he realized that there had to be a higher intelligence about other than the zombies; they seemed unthinking creatures. But why, then, had both Juraviel and Brynn been tied up? Why hadn't the creatures simply battered them both into the realm of death?
It made no sense to Juraviel, but how could it, after all? He had never seen an animated corpse before, had never even heard of such a thing!
The zombies and their captive disappeared into the fog, and Juraviel heard Brynn utter a plaintive cry, helpless and hopeless.
The elf sagged back, staring up into the dark sky. He noted only then, and curiously, that his perch had been made somewhat comfortable. A thick blanket was under him, between him and the gnarly branch. He craned his neck, trying to find some clues, but he