“It’s a process known as spellstitching,” Haldin explained. “The tattoos are patterns of magical energy. I’ve never seen an actual example before.”
“So that’s how he was able to kill all those troops when they tried to help me?” asked Mordan.
Haldin shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Spellstitching is limited in its effects. That spell was far too powerful. He must have had some other source of magic.”
“He must have had another source of strength, too,” observed Tarrel. “He was a lot harder to kill than the other wights.”
“I have a theory about that,” said Haldin, “although it doesn’t explain everything.”
“Care to share it?” asked Tarrel with a wry smile.
Haldin grinned broadly. “What are you offering in return?” he asked.
“Stop it,” said Mordan. “This isn’t a game. That’s my brother there, and I want to know what happened to him. Haldin, you offered me an exchange of information—let’s exchange. Maybe you can make some sense of what we found in the Mournland. Tarrel, what do you say?”
“Brey should be in on this too,” said the Brelander. “She actually saw them in action.”
“Agreed,” said Mordan. “We’ll ask her when she gets up tonight.”
“I shall look forward to it,” said Haldin. “Meanwhile, let’s see what our captive can tell us.”
“You go ahead,” said Mordan. “I’m going to stay here for a while.”
Tarrel and Haldin left him to his musings.
They found the captured wight in the same cell they had occupied only a few hours before. Tarrel’s half-elf guards stood on either side of the door, out of reach of the creature’s hands. Both wore field dressings over a number of minor wounds.
As the gnome and the Brelander approached the cell, the wight hurled itself at the door, reaching out through the bars with a bony arm, its eyes blazing with hate. Tarrel backed away, but Haldin stood just a couple of inches outside its reach. A few minutes went by, with the wight frantically trying to reach the gnome, and the gnome holding his ground with an imperturbable smile. Eventually, the wight gave up.
“That’s better,” said Haldin, as if congratulating a small child on its manners. “Now, I have some questions I’d like you to answer. Truthfully, if you please.”
“Why?” snarled the wight. “You’ll destroy me whatever I say!”
Haldin held up an admonitory finger. “Perhaps,” he said, “or perhaps I’ll recommend that you be sent to the Ministry for further study and evaluation. There might yet be a place for you in the army of Karrnath.”
The wight considered this. Seeing its indecision, Haldin reached into a belt pouch, bringing out something that looked like a severed finger. The wight looked at it curiously, and Haldin moved it in a complex pattern, muttering under his breath.
“Now,” he said amicably, “I’m sure we can come to a suitable arrangement. I am willing to believe that you were not a willing participant in the things that were done to you, and neither, perhaps, were any of the Vedykar Lancers. You did your duty and were betrayed by those you were assigned to protect. Am I right?”
There was a pause. The wight searched his face, meeting nothing but a sympathetic smile.
“What do you want to know?” it rasped.
“There,” Haldin beamed. “You see, this doesn’t have to be difficult or unpleasant. First, let us introduce ourselves. My name is Garro Haldin—what is yours?”
“Rochus Gaebler.”
“Very good.” said Haldin. “I am pleased to meet you. Now, why don’t you tell me everything that happened to you after you were assigned to Unit 61?”
“Well,” said Haldin, after night had fallen and Brey had joined them, “it seems that Dravuliel is a very gifted necromancer indeed. I’m not surprised that he decided to leave the employment of the Ministry and set out on his own account. The accident involving the gateway to Mabar, ironically enough, provided him with an ideal pretext.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Brey.
“The laboratory complex was deserted and heavily damaged when you found it,” Haldin replied. “If anyone had come from the Ministry to find out why communication had stopped, they would probably have concluded that Unit 61 and the Vedykar Lancers were destroyed.”
“But he didn’t know that you’d already lost track of them,” said Mordan.
“Quite so,” Haldin continued, “which is why I became interested when each of you began making enquiries about them.”
“So,” said Tarrel, “we’ve told you everything we know, and so has Gaebler. What do you make of it all—beside the fact that Dravuliel is good at his job?”
“Well,” replied the gnome, “I can tell you that, from the books you recovered, he has unearthed a number of very potent necromantic techniques, some of which were thought to be lost forever. He also seems to have invented some of his own. I’ve already mentioned spellstitching, which he seems to have mastered completely.”
