“But now,” he said, “to return to the matter at hand. I had the opportunity to speak with your unfortunate friend Falko—after his demise, sadly, which was most inconvenient. He was good enough to tell me that you were the source of a certain badge, which he showed to one of my colleagues in Karrlakton. May I ask where you got it?”
“From the young lady,” Mordan replied.
The gnome’s smile brightened. “Ah,” he said, “how interesting! I must remember to ask her about it. I am looking forward very much to speaking with her.”
“Another thing I learned,” he continued, “is that you recognized the smuggler who sold him the swords belonging to the stolen zombies. He said that this individual was a former member of the Vedykar Lancers. I take it that you are sure of this?”
Mordan nodded.
“Unfortunately, Falko was unable to provide me with the name of this person. Do you happen to know it?”
Mordan thought for a moment. He was reluctant to give away what he knew, but he had also heard rumors about what happened to those who fell foul of the Ministry of the Dead. He decided to cooperate for now.
“His name was Berend Hintram,” he said. “He graduated from Rekkenmark in the same class as Galifar ir’Dramon.”
Haldin nodded and made a note. “Thank you,” he said, with an ingratiating smile. “Now, for reasons that you will no doubt appreciate, the Ministry is anxious to find both the Vedykar Lancers and the other unit. So anxious, in fact, that I am authorized to offer you an exchange of information—subject to the preservation of state secrets, of course.”
He noticed Mordan’s look of surprise and made a small shrug of helplessness.
“It is all really most awkward,” he went on, “but the unexpected death of a certain official has had an unintended and extremely inconvenient side-effect. This official was privy to certain information of a sensitive nature, which for reasons of security was never recorded. Among this information, which died with the unfortunate official, is the whereabouts of these two units.”
Mordan’s jaw dropped. “You
“I know,” said Haldin, with an apologetic smile, “it really is most unfortunate. And of course, I need not remind you that this is a state secret, revealed to you in strictest confidence, under penalty of treason. But since you have been so helpful in the matter of Berend Hintram, I feel it is the least I can do.”
“So the story about the Lancers being lost on the Day of Mourning was a lie?”
The gnome’s smile changed, from one of apology to one of amusement.
“Come now,” he said. “I’m sure you already knew that. Although for what it’s worth, only a very few people were ever privy to that knowledge.”
“What about the undead smugglers?” asked Mordan. “Are there more Lancers involved?”
“I’m afraid that the investigation is not yet complete,” Haldin replied, “although a few individuals are assisting the Ministry with its enquiries. So far, none of them has any known connection with the Vedykar Lancers. Based on what we have been able to discover so far, it appears that the smugglers are all members of the Order of the Emerald Claw.”
Mordan thought for a moment. “I thought the King had the Emerald Claw disbanded.” he said.
“You are quite correct,” Haldin replied, “although you will forgive me if I do not go into details. However, we have been aware for some time that the order is still active, in defiance of the King’s decree. It has gone underground, as you might say, and is involved in a variety of criminal activities. The theft and smuggling of military undead is only one such operation.”
“So Hintram was a member of the Emerald Claw?”
“We have yet to establish that for certain, but it seems likely.”
High above the Cyre River, a patch of deeper darkness crossed the night sky. Its shape was indistinct, and it moved swiftly. No one on the ground would have noticed anything more than the momentary shadowing of stars as it passed, as if by a small and fast-moving cloud.
Marbulin Dravuliel gazed out over the rail of the flying ship, his keen elf eyes watching the countryside slip away below him. Build of darkwood, the vessel was more than a hundred feet long, her sleek lines broken only by the four great binding struts holding the ring of dark energy that girdled the vessel. Behind him on the afterdeck, one of his cadaverous servants manned a great wheel of wood and black iron, steering the ship through the night.
At his master’s signal, the helmsman swung the wheel to the left, turning away from the dark river and the pale mist of the Mournland. Before long, the bluish flare of a lightning rail carriage could be seen on the ground far below; the ship turned south to follow it, keeping pace easily.
“How much longer?”
The necromancer turned to the tall figure beside him, and smiled indulgently.
“Patience, Captain,” he said. “Your warriors will be in action soon enough.”
