“An abomination,” said Brey, “that’s what he is. That’s bad enough, but if he’s outside the control of the Karrnathi government . ..”
“He is a danger to the nation, if not the whole continent,” Haldin finished her thought.
“Did Gaebler tell you where he’s based now?” asked Mordan.
“Yes,” the gnome replied, “and that is perhaps the most surprising thing. He is in the heart of the Nightwood—away from prying eyes, yet only a few hours’ flight from Korth, Karrlakton, and Atur.”
“Dol Arrah,” breathed Mordan. “He could do anything from there.”
“No doubt he has plans,” said Haldin, “and no doubt he already suspects that we have questioned Gaebler and discovered his location. We must act quickly before he has a chance to move elsewhere.”
Mordan leaned against the rail of the airship and watched Karrnath pass beneath him. The southern flatlands around Fort Zombie gave way to lines of low hills fringing the floodplain of the Cyre River. From the air, the mist of the Mournland seemed almost like a cloud, rising from the banks of the river to around a hundred feet, covering the blighted land like a shroud. His heart skipped a beat as the airship altered course to fly over the mist, but the skies above it were clear and peaceful, giving no hint of what lay below.
The hop across the Mournland took only a couple of hours, cutting across a bend in the river. Away to the port side, Mordan could see Karrlakton in the distance, a smudge of brown among the green farmland and the dark blue-gray of the river. Even in Decker’s mechanical boat, it had taken them days to cover that distance.
The airship was nearly a hundred feet long, built of Aerenal soarwood. She looked very much like a sea vessel, except for the observation dome in the underside of the hull and the four great struts that held the blazing ring of elemental fire around the ship’s waist. Mordan had seen airships before, both in war and peace, and this one seemed built for the former purpose. Her construction was plain and functional, lacking the lavish ornamentation and luxurious furnishings of the private sky-yachts and the Lyrandar liners. At each end, on a raised platform, a heavy ballista stood ready beneath a canvas tarpaulin, and each of the side-rails was fitted with swivel mounts for heavy repeating crossbows. While the ship wasn’t equipped for dealing death from above, she was well able to take care of herself.
Haldin lorded it over the ship’s crew, providing more evidence of his high status within the Ministry. Mordan wondered if he had met the Minister personally—the gregarious gnome certainly had the charm to move in such exalted circles—and what he was like. Stories were told of the reclusive Count Vedim ir’Omrik and his grisly work. It was said that he had been the first to discover the means of creating the enhanced skeletons and zombies used by the Karrnathi military, and had personally overseen the training of the first bone knights. He had fallen from prominence since the end of the War, as Karrnath tried to downplay its necromantic prowess for diplomatic reasons, and it was rumored that the King had instructed him not to appear at court. Some said that he had a secret laboratory hidden somewhere in the kingdom, where—according to who was doing the telling—he worked tirelessly to create ever more powerful undead protectors for Karrnath, or he engaged in ever more vile and insane experiments.
Rumor was vague about the location of his lair. Some accounts placed it in a secret labyrinth beneath the huge Crimson Monastery in the dread city of Atur, while others maintained that the Count had moved into the Mournland to study the new and strange necromantic phenomena that took place there. At least one account claimed the Count’s secret laboratory was hidden deep within the Nightwood, and Mordan wondered if that was true. He also wondered if that was where they were going.
As Karrlakton receded on the southern horizon, the edge of the Nightwood loomed to the north. Somehow, it looked bigger from the air; it stretched out of sight in every direction, a dark green carpet covering the land. The small farming villages that nestled on its southern flank belied the dark tales told of the interior. The outer fringes of the great forest were safe enough for hunters and woodsmen—safe enough, in fact, for much of their extent to be declared a royal hunting-park—but terrible stories were told of the dark depths of the forest, and of those who had ventured into them and never returned.
It was late afternoon when Tarrel joined Mordan at the ship’s rail.
“So that’s the famous Nightwood,” he said. “How big is it?”
“About three hundred miles from east to west, and one to two hundred from north to south,” he replied.
Tarrel grinned. “Oh, the King’s Forest is twice that size,” he said. “It goes all the way from Sharn to Wroat.”
