Death of a Darklord by Laurell K. Hamilton Page B

his voice, he was lost.”
    ”The beast had a spark of life to it,” Blaine said.
    ”Thordin said it was a ghost. Ghosts are shades of the dead.” ”The ghost had once been part of a living being,” Blaine continued, finishing Thordin’s story for him. ”I could feel its life-force, faint, but there. It wasn’t just some evil conjuration.”
    ”Had an evil conjurer died recently?”
    Thordin grinned again. ”Not exactly. You might say it was the evil person who lived.”
    Jonathan shook his head. ”It grows too late for riddles, Thordin. Just tell me.”
    He did not like Blaine’s talk of living ghosts and conjurations. ”It seems the meistersinger had poisoned his last rival, not to kill him, but to steal his voice, to close off his throat on the day of the challenge. It worked. He became leader of the city soon after the old meistersinger died of apparently natural causes.
    The poison had worked too well. Soon after his death, the beast appeared.”
    ”Justice beyond the grave,” Jonathan said.
    ”Yes.”
    ”How did you banish the creature?”
    ”We got the meistersinger to confess what he had done in the public square. Once the truth was known, the beast never appeared again.” ”Is he still meistersinger of Chebney?”
    Thordin nodded. ”Yes. There are no rules about how you win your challenge in Chebney. Even though he cheated, he is still their leader.” ”It isn’t fair,” Blaine said.
    Jonathan looked at the boy. ”Life in Kartakass is not fair.”
    ”Life anywhere,” Thordin said.
    Jonathan acknowledged that with a nod. ”How did you meet the man that died?”
    ”He came to the inn where we were staying,” Blaine said.
    ”You were not housed by the meistersinger?”
    Thordin gave an abrupt snort of laughter. ”After we humiliated him—hardly.”
    ”He turned you out into the streets?” Jonathan asked.
    ”No, but it was made clear we were not welcome.” ”The next time the meistersinger of Chebney needs our help, perhaps we shall not give it?”
    ”We destroyed his beast,” Blaine said. ”He won’t need our help again.” ”Evil, ambitious men make the same mistakes over and over, Blaine. If he attracted evil to him once, he’ll do so again.” Thordin nodded.
    ”He has a beautiful voice, but he is not very bright. I doubt he’s learned his lesson.”
    ”What drove this man Tallyrand out into the winter night to find you?”
    ”His village has been struck with a terrible plague,” Thordin said.
    ”The dead walk the streets at night,” Blaine added.
    ”Truly, or just tales to frighten children?”
    Thordin shrugged. ”You know how it is, Jonathan. A plague hits, and people are too hastily buried. They come awake in the ground, shout for help, and are thought to be fiends in the ground. It could be something as simple, and as awful, as that.”
    ”He said the zombies didn’t smell bad. He seemed surprised at that. The walking dead don’t stink in the cold because they don’t rot. If Pegin had made it up, the dead would have stunk, perhaps breathed fire.”
    Blaine leaned forward, wincing as his leg took more weight. ”The story would have been embellished more. You know how stories grow.”
    ”The man was very blunt and matter-of-fact. He didn’t seem to be an imaginative sort. He talked of burying his own daughter, and a week later she was at his window trying to get inside.”
    ”Was he sure she was truly dead?”
    ”Yes, of that he was sure.”
    ”How many people have died of this plague?”
    ”Over half the village,” Thordin said.
    Jonathan shook his head. ”Why did he not send for help before?” ”He heard a bard singing of your defeat of the beast of Mandriel. When the bard told him you were living and not some legend, the town decided to send for you.” ”If half of them are taken, it is a serious problem, indeed, but I have had a missive from Calum. He has given us a new assignment. I can’t put that off.” ”I will go back to Pegin’s