The newcomer had the same wiry build and fierce eyes as the assassin Rolund, but he wore half-plate armor over a faded Karrnathi uniform. On his shoulder was a badge bearing a letter V with two crossed lances, surrounded by a wreath—the insignia of the Vedykar Lancers. His features were those of a typical Karrn, but paler. His hair was the color of ivory, and his eyes were almost completely white, with only a trace of blue. His skin, where it could be seen, was the color of parchment, and covered with tattooed symbols in dark ink.
“What of the vampire?” he asked. His master shrugged casually.
“There will be time for her later,” he said. “We may yet hear from Rolund—and if not, she will continue with her quest to find us. After tonight’s business is concluded, we can make sure she succeeds.”
“Are your … men ready?” he asked, after a moment’s silence.
The captain nodded. “We are always ready.”
“That is good,” said Dravuliel, “but you must be sure to wait until the gates are open. I would hate to see you incur any unnecessary casualties.”
The captain grinned savagely. His teeth were white and sharp, like those of a great shark. “We are not afraid,” he said proudly.
The necromancer smiled. “Of course not,” he replied. “You have no reason to be. My motives are entirely selfish. I wish to save myself the trouble of re-animating too many of you after the battle.”
“And we are free to kill?” asked the captain.
Dravuliel nodded. “I shall deal with the undead, but the living are entirely yours. Our objective is to wipe out the smugglers, and with them anyone who had contact with our prodigal comrade Hintram. Killing them all is easier than finding out who is a smuggler and who is not. And of course, if you see any suitable candidates for recruitment …”
The captain nodded. “We will make spawn of them.” he said.
Brey looked down at the silver manacles that secured her to the chair. She tensed one arm experimentally.
“Those chains are enchanted to resist even your strength,” said the gnome behind the desk. “These precautions are unpleasant, but necessary. I do hope you will understand.”
Brey gave him a thin smile. “What do you want?” she demanded. “If you’re going to destroy me, just do it!”
“My dear young lady,” replied the gnome, “I assure you that nothing could be further from my mind. If you will forgive me for saying so, Karrnath is more forgiving about these things than Thrane. That is your nationality, is it not?”
“It was,” said Brey bitterly, “before this happened to me.”
The gnome smiled sympathetically. “My name is Garro Haldin,” he continued, “and I serve the Ministry of the Dead, which is part of the government of Karrnath. May I request the privilege of knowing your name?”
“Captain the Honorable Brey ir’Mallon, of the Inmistil Rangers,” Brey said stiffly.
The gnome half-bowed.
“An honor, my lady,” he said politely. “I have heard much of your illustrious father.”
Brey clenched her jaw, and a tear of blood stole down her cheek.
“Please forgive my thoughtlessness,” said Haldin solicitously. “I had no wish to distress you.”
“Customarily my next question would be to ask what brings you to our country,” he went on, “but I am aware that you have been enquiring after two of our military units. Given that Karrnath is still under martial law, it is my duty to ask you why.” He looked at her expectantly.
“Because,” grated Brey, “they made me what I am.”
Haldin looked genuinely shocked for a moment, but quickly restored his expression of polite deference. “Then you were captured?” he asked.
“My whole troop was captured,” she said. “Two of our casualties were turned into zombies. I never saw the others again.”
“I see,” said the gnome. “This is a very serious matter.”
Brey laughed bitterly.
“I can imagine what you think, my lady,” Haldin went on, “and I am aware of the vile propaganda spread by our enemies regarding our efforts in the development of undead troops. But I beg you to believe me when I say that all of our military was—and remains—bound by the Articles of War. What was done to you and your unfortunate comrades is unforgivable, and you have my personal guarantee that those responsible will be made to account for their actions.” He looked directly into Brey’s eyes as he spoke—something very few people had done recently. “To which end, I must ask you to tell me everything that happened. I will not insult you by compelling you to speak, but if that should become necessary …” He patted the blue dragon figurine that stood before him on the desk—the same one with which he had held her at bay in the guest-house.
Mordan and Brey looked up as Tarrel came back to the cells, flanked by two half-elf guards. The cell door clanged shut behind him.
“Pleasant little fellow, isn’t he?” said Tarrel. “Likes to hear himself talk, though. Still, I’ve been interrogated by worse.”
“What did he ask you?” asked Mordan.
“Not much,” said Tarrel. “A few questions to check your stories, did I know anything else about this place in the Mournland, things like that.”
