AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The rebels were walking nearer, though, along the length of the train.
Wendel reached into his coat and drew the black dagger. With a hissing whisper, tendrils of smoke crawled from Amarant and curled around his arm, his body, his face. His outline faded to nothing more than a shadow.
My breath snagged in my throat. I had never seen such dark magic.
Nearly invisible, the necromancer stole along the edge of the trees. I lost sight of him, and followed his footprints in the snow.He circled around behind the rebels and crept nearer through the forest.
What was he doing? Did he think he could outmatch seven men with guns?
7
Itightened my grip on Chun Yi, ready to fight or flee if the rebels tried to corner me. Flashlights swung in my direction. I flattened myself against the cold steel of the train, holding my breath so it wouldn’t steam the air.
Wendel lurked behind a rebel man with two pistols. The rebel turned his head. In one sweeping lunge, Wendel smothered the rebel’s mouth and slit his throat. Blood spurted from the rebel’s neck and splattered the snow. He collapsed. Wendel knelt, never lifting his hand from the rebel’s mouth.
Shadows from the black dagger swarmed thick and dark over Wendel’s skin.
He raised the man from the dead.
The corpse staggered to his feet. Blood slicked his chest. His pistols thudded in the snow. Wendel snatched both guns, then vanished into the shadows. The dead man stood waiting for his command.
The Prince of the Undying.
The name suited Wendel. He fought with such elegant brutality it took my breath away.
The rebel captain shouted in Romanian, and it took me a moment to understand. “Search the train! Take no prisoners.”
Maybe they didn’t know about Konstantin, and only wanted to send a message to Austria-Hungary at the cost of innocent lives.
“Ardis.” Wendel’s footsteps crunched the snow behind me. “Are you a good shot?”
“I’m American, remember?”
Cloaked in unnatural shadows, his smile had a sinister beauty. He tossed me a pistol. I caught it and sheathed my sword.
“Only six rebels left,” Wendel said, “now that one of them is mine.”
“We’re still outnumbered.”
“They won’t see us if you stay close to me.”
A rebel raised a lantern in the face of the dead man. Light revealed red on white, blood dripping into snow.
The rebel stumbled back. “Captain! Luca is hurt!”
Wendel let out his breath.
The dead man—Luca—swung his arm at the rebel and knocked him off his feet. The rebel flew back, skidding across the snow, and the lantern flickered out. The five other rebels ran to his side.
“Keep back,” their captain commanded. “Luca isn’t hurt. He’s dead. Walking dead.”
Luca swayed on his feet, then charged the rebel captain. Three gunshots to the chest didn’t stop the undead man. He plowed onward as the rebels shouted and scrambled out of his way. At last, the captain had the idea to unsheathe a brutish saber. Without ceremony, he severed Luca’s spine.
The dead man thudded on the ground.
“Necromancy,” said the captain.
I hefted the pistol in my hand and judged the distance to the rebels. They clustered together now, their guns cocked and loaded.
