sniffing the air. Without thinking, I closed the shroud in front of my face, cutting off my human vision in favor of darksight and added concealment.
“They smell the blood of the living,” said Kelos. “Dammit! Into Devin’s cell, quickly.” I heard the lock pop, and a dark blot of shadows slipped inside, dropping down behind Devin. Faran and I followed a moment later, closing the gate behind us with a sharp click. “Quiet now. They can’t see well under the best of circumstances and, hopefully, Devin and Zass’s presence will mask ours where it comes to whatever other senses they have. He might as well be of some use to somebody for once.”
Within a matter of minutes the dead were outside the cell. About half the pack dropped to hands and knees in front of the door and began sniffing along the floor. Most of those quickly moved off into the galleries beyond, heading for the side away from the sun. After several very long seconds, one of those that remained rose and looked in at us. Its rotting hands went to the bars of the gate and shook it gently. But the gate had locked behind us, and it didn’t open. The risen pressed its face to one of the gaps and sniffed deeply. Then, shaking its head, it began to turn away . . . only to freeze an instant later.
I don’t know how to describe what happened next. One beat, the risen at the gate seemed much of a kind with its brethren, all mindless malice and inhuman horror. The next, it became something more. Inhabited, if you will, filled with presence and purpose. Its milky eyes took on a sort of unholy glow that was clearly visible in darksight when it pressed its face once again to the bars. I could sense the Son of Heaven looking for us through them. . . .
23
The Son of Heaven spoke with the voice of the dead. It was a horrible, rasping, impossible sound—words forced up a rotten windpipe by the bellows action of a pair of dry and blackened lungs, the whole modulated with vocal cords and tongue the consistency of jerky left too long in the sun.
“Is there someone in there with you, Devin? I think there might be. Perhaps some of your little Blade friends. I can’t see anyone, but I smell more life than I should, both human and . . . that other. Come on, out with it, lad. . . . Oh, wait, you’re tongue-tied, aren’t you?”
The risen laughed then, a sound like nothing I had ever heard or hope to again—a jackal coughing up its own heart, perhaps. “Should I loosen that knot, do you think? Or should I make you choke on it? It’s funny watching a man choke to death on his own tongue. Truly.”
Chomarr’s voice sounded from the next cell then, but heavily muffled and completely senseless as the gag kept the Hand from conveying anything useful. The risen glanced that way, but stayed where it was and turned back to our cell.
Drawing a rasping breath, it nodded at Devin. “Well, come on then, speak. I command you by the—”
The thing’s head came apart like a rotten melon then as a rope of thick black night struck it full in the face. The attack came from the shadows on Devin’s farther side where Kelos stood—a burst of congealed magic, like liquid smoke or lightning turned inside out, with a weird, dark, purplish spell-light accompanying it. The five remaining risen all whipped around as one, facing the cell. Kelos killed two more in the next instant with that same dark magic.
I was surprised by his mode of attack, because I had never seen anyone but Siri use the technique, and the first time I’d asked her to teach it to me, she’d flat refused, implying it was too dangerous for me. Later, when I tried again, she refused me again, citing the unstable marriage of elemental powers and the possibility of draining your soul away if you used it too much. That didn’t keep me from wishing I could manage the trick. It was more effective than even the most powerful magelightning and it produced none of the Shade-poisoning light that came with that more common magic. Perhaps if Kelos and I both lived through the next few hours . . .
But that would all have to wait for after . . . if there was an after. I moved