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fell to the ground.
"Timon was always easily distracted," the witch said. She turned her horse and
rode away.
Jonathan wanted to yell after her. What he would have yelled, he did not know.
His father came home that night. He made a sort of quest of trying to find a
wizard to cure mother, to change her back, but it was no use. No one had the
power, so in the end, Father set out to find the red-haired witch. He did, and
she killed him. Mother was run over by a cart like any common house cat.
Seven years later, Jonathan Ambrose had slain his first wizard.
The elf was very quiet behind him. Silvanus did not ask him to share his
confidence again. It was rare to find someone who respected silences, though
the few elves Jonathan had met before had all seemed more than able to keep
their own counsel. Perhaps it was an elven trait to understand silences. Few
humans did.
Tereza knew of his past, and that was all. It was enough.
Cortton lay in darkness. Lamps shone at second-story windows. Light gleamed
between the cracks of shutters on the ground floors. Jonathan had never seen
such a waste of lamp oil. It was almost as if they thought the light alone
would keep them safe.
Childish. But it was hard to give up that love of light, the hope that light
alone can banish monsters.
The main street was wide enough for a wagon to drive through. Snow had been
shoveled to either side and piled in man-high drifts by the doors. The frozen
earth was rock hard under their horses' hooves.
They could have ridden two abreast, but Konrad did not wait. He led the way
down the dark street not looking back to see if anyone followed. Jonathan
wondered if Konrad would even notice if they all stopped and let him go alone.
He had been going alone since Beatrice died. He still did his job, so
Jonathan had nothing specific to complain about, but the spirit in which he
worked was soured.
If Tereza had been killed, Jonathan was not sure he would be doing as well as
the younger man.
Konrad pulled his horse up sharply. A narrower street bisected the main road.
There was something about the way he sat his horse, a tenseness that made
Jonathan kick his own horse forward.
"What's wrong?" Silvanus asked.
"I'm not sure," Jonathan said. They drew up beside Konrad, who was staring to
the right. He seemed mesmerized by something down that black narrow passage,
more an alley than a street. The dark ribbon of road was overshadowed by the
eaves of the buildings on either side, so the black of night was the color of
coal, and just as penetrable.
"What did you see, Konrad?" Jonathan asked.
"I'm not sure. I saw something move." His hand was on his sword hilt. Jonathan
could feel the tension radiating from the man, like the cold air itself.
Jonathan peered into the blackness, straining until white spots danced in the
darkness before his eyes. "I
see nothing."
"Nor I," Silvanus said.
Tereza rode up beside them. Averil sat behind her.
"Why are we stopped?" Tereza asked.
"Konrad thought he saw something down that alley."
"I did see something," Konrad said.
"Whatever it was, it seems to have gone. Let us ride on to the inn," Jonathan
said. He kicked his horse forward. Tereza followed him. Konrad stayed behind,
staring into the darkness.
Jonathan glanced back to find that everyone else was following. Only Konrad
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remained, stubbornly staring into the alley. He could have seen a stray cat or
dog hunting for a warm place on this bitter night.
But then again . . . Jonathan found himself searching the darkness.
Another narrow street crossed the road. Jonathan stared down both sides of the
new street, and saw only thick blackness winding away from them.
A sign hung half into the road. A gust of wind roared down the street like an
icy chimney. The sign creaked. The sign showed a white bird winging skyward,
pierced by an arrow. Painted blood traced the bird's chest. In small letters
the sign read: The Bloody Dove.
Not a cheerful name, but Jonathan had seen worse. His least favorite had been
the Lustful Fiend Inn. Its sign had been positively offensive.
"Jonathan," Tereza said. Her voice had a note of quiet panic that made the
hair on Jonathan's neck try to march down his spine.
He turned back to her, but she was looking past him, down the wide street.
Elaine's face, behind Tereza, was wide-eyed with fear.
It was like a thousand nightmares. Jonathan turned slowly round to face the
street. A half-dozen shapes were shambling toward them, man-sized, but moving
like drunken puppets. Jonathan had seen enough walking dead to know what they
were.
"Zombies," he said softly.
The sound of horse hooves made him glance behind. Konrad was riding toward
them at a fast pace. He was motioning for Blaine and Elaine to move. Blaine
hesitated for a heartbeat. It was enough. Deadmen poured out of the alley that
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