Free Empire of Night by Kelley Armstrong Page B

would appear . . . that is to say . . .” He turned to Ashyn as they walked. “The bells have rung again.”
    â€œThe bells . . . ?”
    â€œInside the boxes. The boxes were sealed and yet the bells ring. Even when the horses are at rest.”
    Dread crept into Ashyn’s gut, but she forced it from her voice. “You say, then, that you believe the men within the boxes live.”
    â€œYes, as impossible as that is.”
    â€œIt’s not impossible at all,” Simeon said. “There are ailments that make the victim appear dead, unconscious sometimes for days. Coupled with the mediocre diagnostic skills of the average village healer, it is not surprising that many cultures haveincorporated certain checks and balances in their funerary customs, such as laying out the corpse for three nights or—”
    â€œJust say it’s possible,” Ronan said. “I’d like to get this over with before dawn.”
    â€œThe young scholar is correct,” the monk said. “That is why we do not seal the box as soon as the bell stops ringing. These are not men who perished a few days ago. The newest stopped ringing his bell a moon past. And the oldest stopped last summer.”
    â€œIt is not possible that they live,” Simeon said. “There is a malfunction of the bells. Perhaps earth tremors.”
    â€œIt is . . . more than the bells,” the monk said carefully.
    His gaze flitted toward the camp. Beside Ashyn, Tova growled. When she strained to listen, she could catch the sound . . .
    Scratching. She heard a dry, rustling scratching. Then a thump.
    She glanced at Ronan and saw his face pale. Simeon continued to insist that what the monk feared was, quite simply, impossible. The dead did not wake. At least, not the long dead.
    Simeon knew nothing of what had transpired in Edgewood. To those in the convoy, it had been explained that Ashyn’s village had been beset by a fatal outbreak of illness, which may have spread to Fairview and may not have been a natural occurrence.
    Ashyn turned to Simeon. “I must investigate these claims. However, I fear they arise from duplicity. Not the monks, of course. But someone may be tricking them for nefarious purposes, and this ought to be brought to the attention of PrinceTyrus. I need you to go to him now and tell him what has happened.”
    â€œYou wish me to wake the prince?”
    â€œYou have nothing to fear from Tyrus. Tell him and my sister what has happened and have them come back here with you.”
    â€œShould I not ask a warrior to rouse him?”
    â€œAre you questioning the Seeker?” Ronan snapped.
    â€œThe young man is correct,” the monk said. “To question her will is to question the will of the spirits themselves. It is akin to blasphemy.”
    â€œPlease,” Ashyn said.
    That plea worked. He left after she enjoined him to speak to no one else of this. “There are many superstitious folks in the empire,” she said. “I’d not wish to start outrageous rumors of resurrected mummies.”
    Once he was gone, they continued down the hill. Soon it was impossible not to hear the sounds from the boxes—the scrapes and scratches and thuds and bumps.
    â€œI fear their bodies have been possessed by evil spirits,” the monk said. “Though I’ve not heard of such a thing outside of nannies’ tales.”
    As they reached camp, the men at the fire rose, and their monk hurried forward to explain, leaving Ashyn and Ronan staring at the boxes.
    â€œThey’re moving,” Ashyn whispered.
    â€œHmm.” Ronan moved closer and lowered his lips to her ear. “Shadow stalkers?”
    â€œI . . . I don’t think so. Shadow stalkers take the form ofthat dark smoke to enter bodies, and they can leave it the same way. Why stay in those boxes?”
    â€œHoping someone will open them?”
    â€œBut no one has.”
    â€œAnd we’ll not do it