Lord of the Necropolis by Gene DeWeese

Author:Gene DeWeese [DeWeese, Gene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7869-0660-4
Publisher: Fanversion Publishing
Published: 2016-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Darkon

740, Barovian Calendar (continued)

Darkon had indeed changed.

Whether it was a result of whatever he had or had not accomplished in his fatal encounter with Strahd or was just a whim of his tormentors, Azalin saw that the very geography of his mist-bound prison had been altered. In the east, the southern border of Darkon had shifted southward, bringing hundreds of square miles more of mountains and farms and wilderness that had been Arak within his reach. Closer, directly south of Il Aluk, at the border where G’Henna had slid into existence less than forty years ago. there was a sheer drop into nothing. Did this mean that G’Henna had been returned to wherever it had been stolen from? That in this version of the present, it had never been imprisoned by the mists in the first place? Or that it and its people were somewhere in that seemingly bottomless pit?

Or had the land simply been destroyed, as Hyskosa had predicted all the mist-bound lands would be destroyed?

Whatever had happened to it, people’s memories of it did not appear to have been tampered with, as apparently had been done with memories involving Hyskosa and his so-called prophecy. Probing the mind of a Nartok merchant who had crossed the border from G’Henna only minutes before it vanished, he even found vivid images of the disappearance itself.

The merchant had spent the previous night in the river town of Dervich, barely a mile inside G’Henna. On horseback, he had forded the river just downstream from Dervich and passed through the mists that marked the border only a mile or so farther on. His horse, normally the most placid of animals, had been skittish from the moment the saddle had touched its back that morning, but it had not been bothered in the least by the river, even though its waters were moving with uncharacteristic speed and turbulence. Instead, the animal had seemed almost eager to dash into the river and make its way across. Though it reared and whinnied at even an inoffensive rabbit darting across its path, it needed no urging to plunge into the border mists, and when it emerged, only a strong hand on the reins had kept it from breaking into a gallop.

Little more than a hundred yards along the barely discernible path through the trees, a hissing sound like that of a massive serpent made the merchant turn in his saddle to look back. Moments before, the mists had been calm, little more than the thick fog they so much resembled, but now they were stirring, as if disturbed by a rising wind. At the same time, the horse whinnied and bolted, forcing the man to turn his full attention to staying in the saddle and trying to wrench the animal to a halt.

Even so, it took nearly a quarter mile before the horse, its mouth raw from the bit, finally stopped, allowing the merchant to turn once more toward the G’Henna border. The serpent’s hiss had grown louder,

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