Blood and Honor
- Автор: Davis Graeme
- Серия: The War-Torn #4
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: Wizards of the Coast
- ISBN: 9780786940691
- Жанр: Фэнтези
Электронная книга - «Blood and Honor». Краткое содержание книги:
The daughter of a noble family has gone missing. A proud and ancient house has fallen to ruin. Even the dead are disappearing.
A disgraced exile may be the only one who can save them.
“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.”
Brey snorted. “He’s smart,” she said, raising her arms. They were still bound by the silver shackles. “I don’t know where he got these things, but I can’t do anything with them on. I can’t bend the bars, change shape, or anything.”
“He’s also powerful, behind that friendly face,” said Mordan, “or that’s what he wants us to think—I can’t decide which.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Brey.
“He didn’t try to intimidate us,” Tarrel interjected. “He wants us to think he doesn’t need to. I was wondering about that myself.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“Still,” said Tarrel, “we learned a few things from him.”
“He told us a few things,” countered Brey. “We don’t know if they’re true or not.”
“They’re plausible, at least,” said Mordan. “The Lancers were clearly sent on some secret mission when they dropped off the record—why shouldn’t they have been assigned to this Unit 61?”
“Which somehow corrupts them, severs contact with the Ministry, and goes renegade?” asked Tarrel. “I don’t know.”
“Whether it’s true or not,” Brey put in, “I’m sure that’s the story they’ll tell if the truth ever comes out. Even in Thrane, we’ve heard of plausible deniability.”
“It puts us in an interesting position, though,” Mordan reflected. “If the Ministry decides to cover the thing up, we’d be very inconvenient to have around.”
Brey looked up sharply. “Did you hear that?”
Sitting astride his undead steed, Dravuliel watched the lancers disembark from the ship. She hovered just a few feet above the ground, with a loading-ramp lowered. The horsemen formed up by a small wood as the ship rose back into the air, quickly becoming lost against the night sky.
“Take your position, Captain,” he said to their leader, “and wait for my signal.”
The rider dipped his lance in acknowledgment and galloped away with his troops following him in ranks of three. Dravuliel watched them go, permitting himself a moment of satisfaction. They were fine troops, and their skeletal mounts were almost as fast as the prized Valenar horses, but completely tireless like their riders. They would have served Karrnath well if the War had continued. Now, they would serve him. He struck his heels against his mount’s exposed ribs and galloped off after them.
It was less than an hour’s ride to the fort. The necromancer dismounted half a mile away, hiding his steed in a small copse. He pulled an amulet from his robe—a piece of red gold worked onto the demon-faced symbol of the Blood of Vol—and cast a spell on himself. Then, keeping to the shadows, he approached the fort. The zombies on the parapets appeared not to notice him, which was good—but the spell did not hide him from the eyes of the living.
He quickly reached an area of deep shadows at the foot of a tower. He could sense that he was close to his goal. Hanging the unholy symbol of Vol around his neck, he knelt for a few moments in muttered prayer. Had anyone been watching, they would have seen him fade like the memory of a dream, becoming pale and translucent until he was barely visible. The prayer complete, he turned to face the base of the tower and walked right through it.
Within a few minutes he had found the barracks where the off-duty zombies were kept. Like the sentinels on the parapet, they did not react when he appeared through the wall. He dropped the spell with a word, and they turned to face him as he raised the gold demon-mask in front of him, but they made no move to attack.
“Go outside,” he said softly. One of the zombies opened the door, and the others filed out into the passage. Within a few minutes, almost a score of zombies were assembled.
“Now,” said the necromancer, “seek out and destroy all the other zombies in the fort. If anyone tries to stop you, kill them.”
Chapter 17
The Last Charge of the Vedykar Lancers