Severed Souls by Terry Goodkind Page A

knew that illusion of safety was a mistake.
    A group of younger men, their sleeves rolled up from being at their work, emerged from between the buildings. They were big men, well muscled and young enough not to be easily intimidated. Most had fought in the war and were more accustomed to trouble.
    Now they had gathered into a home guard to protect their town. They all carried weapons of some sort. A couple had clubs that they smacked in their free hand as an open threat. A few held axes or knives while a good number of them had swords.
    Because of the rise behind, none of these men could see the vast numbers amassing behind Gerald just outside Insley.
    One of the bigger men, one of the young men who had been with the D’Haran army in the war with the Old World, gripped a sword in his meaty fist as he stepped out in front of the others. It was a sword he had brought home with him from the war. The young man had used it to save his life in the past.
    â€œGravedigger, what is it these people with you want?”
    Lord Arc stepped in front of Gerald before he could say anything. When he came into full view, some of the people in doorways shrank back a little. Some vanished entirely.
    â€œThe people of Insley have failed to welcome me as their new ruler,” Lord Arc said. “They have failed to welcome me on bended knee. That is an intolerable offense.”
    â€œThis is Lord Arc,” Gerald hurriedly put in, hoping the men would realize who they were dealing with.
    The young man nodded and then motioned to those with him. They followed his lead and all went to a knee. “Welcome, Bishop Arc. There, if it pleases you to see us kneel before you, then you have what you came for.”
    â€œNot yet,” Lord Arc said with a grim smile. “But I shall.”
    The young man swiped his sweaty hair back from his eyes as he returned to his feet, the rest of the men rising with him. “We meant no offense and want no trouble. Now leave us and be on your way. We mean you no harm.” He swept his sword around to point behind. “Go around our peaceful town and be on your way.”
    Watching with wide eyes, townspeople in doorways, those standing along the side of the street with their backs pressed up against shops, and those peering out from behind buildings all started melting back into the shadows, leaving the trouble to their young home guard to handle.
    With a look behind him, Lord Arc met the gaze of the spirit king. “I think it’s time to show them what they face.”
    A small smile seemed to be the spirit king’s only command. With that small smile, the corpses freshly pulled up from their graves, and up until then out of sight among the closely packed, chalky figures, pushed their way out from behind and trundled forward. One of them bumped into Gerald on the way by, knocking him aside.
    The young men looked as shocked as everyone else to see the corpses with glowing red eyes approaching, but they stood their ground and met them with the kind of fury and confidence that only invincible youth and simple ignorance could muster.
    The young man in command who had spoken for the others drove his sword through the chest of the first of the walking dead to reach him, a putrefied corpse that smelled bad enough to gag half the men waiting to stop him. The sword jutted from the back of the dead man. The corpse twisted, yanking the hilt of the sword embedded through his chest from the young man’s grip.
    With surprising speed, the dead man seized the leader by the throat with one hand. With his other hand, he grabbed the young man’s muscular arm and with a mighty twist tore it off at the shoulder.
    Everyone, including Gerald, flinched in disbelief. It was an act of occult strength that no living man could perform.
    Without delay, other men charged forward and drove their swords through the dead man still holding his victim. He soon had half a dozen more blades stuck through his chest