Mordan vaulted into the saddle of a riderless undead horse, wrapping the reins around his left arm and kicking the beast in the ribs. It lurched forward through a gap in the defenders’ line, riding down one wight as he plunged his rapier into the chest of another, lifting it off the ground and hurling it back. Seeing him recovered from his duel, the defenders nearest him cheered and redoubled their efforts. From the corner of his eye he saw Brey cutting a swath of destruction through the attackers, breaking backs and tearing off heads in a frenzy. An undead steed reared, as if to trample her—but like a zombie in northern Cyre three years ago, she caught its hooves in her hands and twisted, throwing it aside with inhuman strength. Its rider tried to leap clear, but she slammed into the wight in mid-air, landing with its chest between her feet and the hard ground of the courtyard. There was a crunch, and it stopped moving.
Tarrel made his way to the parapet, to give him a better view of the battle and enable him to place the fireballs from his wand without harming any of his allies. Intent on the struggle below, he didn’t hear stealthy feet behind him. A searing cold stabbed through his chest; turning in pain and surprise, he saw a robed elf standing just a few paces away. Without thinking, the half-elf raised his wand and loosed a fireball at his attacker, lighting up the whole parapet in a welter of flame.
A crossbow bolt slammed into the elf’s chest, interrupting the casting of his next spell. The half-elf raised his wand for another fireball. Pulling the bolt from his ribs, the necromancer launched himself backward over the parapet; the fireball missed him, exploding harmlessly more than a hundred yards away.
Tarrel saw the elf pull a feather from his belt as he fell, howling a magical phrase; an invisible force buoyed him up before he hit the ground, and he sped off through the air, back to the dark wood.
In the courtyard, the few remaining bone knights had formed up; led by Brey and Mordan, they were beating the wights back. Some had been turned and were fleeing through the open gates, while others fought on with unrelenting savagery. Running to join the fray. Haldin added his power to the turning, and another half-dozen of the creatures turned and fled. The rest of them wavered for a moment, and then followed their escaping comrades. With a great cheer, the defenders of Fort Zombie went on the attack.
Mordan was first through the gates, his undead steed flying like a Valenar purebred. Whatever else these monsters had done, he thought, they had certainly improved the horses. Close behind him was a small wedge of bone knights, some on skeletal steeds that they too had commandeered from the attackers, and some lagging behind on the fort’s own mounts. Beside them, a huge red-brown wolf loped in pursuit of the fleeing wights, its eyes burning with an unnatural red glow.
Dawn was beginning to break on the horizon when they reached a dark wood about a half-mile away from the fort. They had overtaken the wights who had escaped on foot, leaving them to the other defenders as they tried to catch the remaining lancers. They were almost at the wood when a huge black shape lifted into the air, surrounded by a crackling ring of dark energy. It pointed its nose northward, and climbed rapidly as it sped away.
The riders pulled up short, unable to do anything except watch it go. Mordan gestured at the wolf, indicating the light on the eastern horizon.
“Brey,” he shouted, “get under cover!” The animal glanced at the sky and headed back to the fort at a run.
“The rest of you,” Mordan shouted, holding up his rapier, “follow me!” Wheeling his horse round, he led them back to where the few stragglers from the attacking force were struggling to stay ahead of their pursuers.
Their attack was on a smaller scale than the last charge of the Vedykar Lancers, but its effect was similar. Attacked from all sides, abandoned by their master, the wights had nowhere to go, and nothing to do but die.
One of them, wearing the tattered remnants of a Lancers uniform, managed to fight his way free and run. Riding out of the melee, Mordan chased the fugitive down, felling him with a pommel-stroke. Before the wight could do more than get to his knees, the tip of Mordan’s enchanted rapier was tickling the pit of his throat.
“You’re not going anywhere,” grated the Karrn, “until you’ve answered a few questions.”
Chapter 19
The Trail of the Dead
The commander of Fort Zombie was not happy. Mordan. Tarrel, and Haldin sat in the office while the Captain of Corpses paced back and forth behind his desk.
“You know why the fort was attacked.” he said as he paced, “and you did nothing to warn me?”
Haldin cleared his throat diplomatically. “My dear Captain,” he said, “I assure you that if we had known in advance, we would certainly have brought the danger to your attention. But the fact is, we were taken as much by surprise as you were. It is simply that, once the attack was under way, we recognized some of the attackers, and we believe we understand their motive.”
“Motive?” echoed the Captain. “Well, I must admit to a certain curiosity regarding why I just lost more than half the fort’s fighting strength!” He paused to catch his breath, towering over the seated gnome.
Haldin looked up at him with a polite but neutral expression.
“Well,” the Captain said, a little calmer, “let’s have it. I’ll have to put something in my report.”
“As you will no doubt recall,” said Haldin, “I was sent here to follow up on certain information that has come to the Ministry’s attention. It seems that a ring of smugglers has been—shall we say, diverting—zombies that pass through the fort on their way to demobilization, and selling them as laborers on the black market.”
The Captain looked puzzled.
“So what’s the connection,” he asked, “between a gang of zombie smugglers and an undead army descending on my fort?”
“A very fair question,” observed Haldin. “We believe they were intent on putting the smugglers out of business, just as we were. It seems that one of the gang’s key members had information about them, and they wanted that information suppressed. Like us, they were not sure exactly who was involved; unlike us, they apparently decided on the simple expedient of wiping out the fort’s entire population.”
“The cavalry were once members of the Vedykar Lancers,” Mordan put in. “The smuggler’s main agent at Karrlakton was a former Vedykar Lancer named Berend Hintram. Our guess is that he deserted before the Lancers turned undead.”
“We have information that associates the Vedykar Lancers with a secret undead development project,” Haldin continued. “Initially their mission was to provide security, but it seems that they became subjects in some of the experiments. Regrettably, the project cut off communications with the Ministry shortly before the end of the War, despite our best efforts to locate them.”
“We also have a witness,” Tarrel interjected, “who saw necromantic experiments this renegade unit carried out on live prisoners from Thrane, in direct violation of the Articles of War.”
“So as you can see, Captain,” Haldin said, “it is of the utmost importance that we trace last night’s attackers and bring those responsible to justice—and on behalf of the Ministry, I can assure you of our full cooperation. I shall make it clear in my own report that the attack could not possibly have been foreseen, and that the fort’s garrison acted with great heroism in the face of enormous danger.”