Page 102 of Grave Situation

Hearne’s gaze flicks quickly to her and then away, an unsettled expression on his face. There are some horses that are comfortable around dragons, but the concept of a horse so comfortable—and so protective of her rider—that she’d pull up her picket and walk into a pyre ceremony has spooked him somewhat.

I can’t say I understand it myself, especially given the war between me and Sweetie, but it seems we’re in the midst of a ceasefire, and I’m eternally grateful for her support.

“I’ll keep in contact with you,” Master assures me. “Watch your back. The pyre would have been seen for miles, and it was a clear indication of where you are. There will likely be another attack soon.”And you’re down a fighteris left unsaid.

“We’ll be ready.”

Sweetie and I retreat off the road, and the riders mount their dragons, Hearne helping Master up into a saddle between Weise’s shoulders. I’ve never seen anything like that before, but I suppose it makes sense. How else would a non-rider ride a dragon?

Suddenly I wish I’d asked Tia more questions about the technical aspects of riding a dragon. It never interested me, but now that she’s gone, it’s information I’ll never have.

“You could ask.”

I don’t reply, but not just because I’m ignoring him. Master’s stopped. He says something to Hearne and then cocks his head the way he does when he’s talking to someone telepathically. His expression changes.

Turds.

I start toward Weise, then stop. Approaching a dragon without permission is a good way to meet the gods early. Before I can decide if it’s worth asking Leicht to intervene for me, Master’s straightening and speaking to Hearne.

I hear the rider master’s curses from here.

A moment later, they’re both back on the ground, and Master is striding toward me.

“What?” I demand. “What is it?”

“Mages in Terebyl report that corpses stored for the winter have gone missing in large numbers,” he says without preliminary. “And a patrol in Meswyn found a village… what was left of a village. At first they thought it was abandoned, but the livestock was still there, all people’s belongings. Then they found an arm—a forearm… It was…”

“I know what it was doing,” I say when it seems he’s struggling to finish the sentence. “Someone tried to defend themselves, but it likely didn’t help.” I inhale deeply. The stone told us that there were zombies loose, that they’d harmed innocents. I just didn’t want to think about it too much. “Maybe some of them managed to escape.” The ones that didn’t were clearly raised as zombies.

As for the stolen dead in Terebyl… we should have anticipated something like this. It’s damn cold there in winter, colder than any of the other northern countries for reasons I never paid attention to, and the ground freezes too hard for graves to be dug. It’s customary for them to store their recently dead in cold cellars until the spring thaw. That must be like a buffet for a necromancer.

“What now?” I ask Master, though I know what. It’s even more imperative than ever that I find the godsdamned champion and end this disaster.

“I don’t know,” he says. “The combined councils are meeting. We’re not going to be able to keep this secret anymore, and that’s going to cause turmoil. At the very least, the rulers of each country are going to need to increase patrols.”

Not that those patrols will be able to defend themselves or anyone else from zombies.

Master’s thinking the same thing, I can tell by the way his lips tighten. “I must return,” he says. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”

I nod, and on impulse embrace him. “You fight your battles so I can fight mine,” I mutter, and he squeezes me wordlessly.

Minutes later, the two dragons launch, the backdraft from their wings blowing dust from the remnants of the pyre everywhere, and I watch as they gain altitude and then bank toward the coast. Part of me hopes that whatever they see at theso-called sanctuary is so awful, they have justification to raze it with fire.

Unlikely.

This will be a scenario where politics are the weapon of choice, not dragon fire.

Sighing, I turn toward the remains of the camp. Jaimin and Coryn are as efficient as ever; the tents and other supplies are already loaded onto the packhorses, and they’re dousing the remnants of the campfire. We’ll be able to leave in minutes.

~No~

As much as I’d like to ignore that, too, I know I can’t. Before we can leave, Arimen needs to meet the stone.

He needs to know what we’re really up against.

I look around and spot him hovering beside an unfamiliar horse—his, presumably. He still seems a little shaken after the ceremony, which would be understandable if I wanted to have any compassion for him.

Which I don’t.

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