Book 3 - The White Rose Read Online Free PDF Page B

each other long enough to do without the
cat-and-mouse?”
    “I enjoy it, Bo.” Besand trailed him to the
overgrown hummock. “Going to have to clear this out. Just
can’t keep up anymore. No; enough men, not enough
money.”
    “Could you get it right away? That’s where I want to
dig, I think. Poison ivy.”
    “Oh, ’ware poison ivy, Bo.” Besand snickered.
Each summer Bomanz cursed his way through numerous botanical
afflictions. “About
Tokar . . . ”
    “I don’t deal with people who want to break the law.
That’s been my rule forever. Nobody bothers me
anymore.”
    “Oblique but acceptable.”
    Bomanz’s wand twitched. “I’ll be dipped in
sheep shit. Right in the middle.”
    “Sure?”
    “Look at it jump. Must’ve buried them in one big
hole.”
    “About Tokar . . . ”
    “What about him, dammit? You want to hang him, go ahead.
Just give me time to hook up with somebody else who can handle my
business as good.”
    “I don’t want to hang anybody, Bo. I just want to
warn you. There’s a rumor out of Oar that says he’s a
Resurrectionist. “
    Bomanz dropped his rod. He gobbled air. “Really? A
Resurrectionist?”
    The Monitor scrutinized him intently. “Just a rumor. I
hear all kinds. Thought you might want to know. We’re as
close as two men get around here.”
    Bomanz accepted the olive branch. “Yeah. Honestly,
he’s never dropped a hint. Whew! That’s a load to drop
on a man.” A load which deserved some heavy thinking.
“Don’t tell anybody what I found. That thief Men
fu . . . ”
    Besand laughed yet again. His mirth had a sephulchral
quality.
    “You enjoy your work, don’t you? I mean, harassing
people who don’t dare fight back.”
    “Careful, Bo. I could drag you in for questioning.”
Besand spun, stalked away.
    Bomanz sneered at his back. Of course Besand enjoyed his job. It
let him play dictator. He could do anything to anyone without
having to answer for it.
    Once the Dominator and his minions fell and were buried in their
mounds behind barriers wrought of the finest magicks of their day,
the White Rose decreed that an eternal guard be posted. A guard
beholden to none, charged with preventing the resurrection of the
undead evil beneath the mounds. The White Rose understood human
nature. Always there would be those who would see profit in using
or following the Dominator. Always there would be worshippers of
evil who wished their champion freed.
    The Resurrectionists appeared almost before the grass sprouted
on the barrows.
    Tokar a Resurrectionist? Bomanz thought. Don’t I have
enough trouble? Besand will pitch his tent in my pocket now.
    Bomanz had no interest in reviving the old evils. He merely
wanted to make contact with one of them so as to illuminate several
ancient mysteries.
    Besand was out of sight. He should stomp all the way back to his
quarters. There would be time for a few forbidden observations.
Bomanz realigned his transit.
    The Barrowland did not have the look of great evil, only of
neglect. Four hundred years of vegetation and weather had
restructured that once marvelous work. The barrows and mystical
landscaping were all but lost amidst the brush covering them. The
Eternal Guard no longer had the wherewithal to perform adequate
upkeep. Monitor Besand was fighting a desperate rearguard action
against time itself.
    Nothing grew well on the Barrowland. The vegetation was twisted
and stunted. Still, the shapes of the mounds, and the menhirs and
fetishes which bound the Taken, were often concealed.
    Bomanz had spent a lifetime sorting out which mound was which,
who lay where, and where each menhir and fetish stood. His master
chart, his silken treasure, was nearly complete. He could, almost,
thread the maze. He was so close he was tempted to try before he
was truly ready. But he was no fool. He meant to try nursing sweet
milk from the blackest of cows. He dared make no mistake. He had
Besand on the one hand, the poisonous old wickedness on the