“Your brother,” he said, turning to Mordan, “was another thing entirely. As Tarrel correctly observed, he was much more powerful than a normal wight. More powerful individuals are known to occur from time to time, especially where a person has been unusually violent in life. The records I have seen refer to them by several names, of which the most common is ‘slaughter wight.’ They are extremely rare.”
“Is that what gave him the stronger magic?” asked Mordan.
Haldin shook his head. “No,” he said, “and that is what bothered me at first. But in a few of the books that Tarrel so thoughtfully recovered, I found mentions of a process that, so far as I know, is entirely new to necromancy. It emulates a natural process—if ‘natural’ is the right word in this context—whereby undead creatures sometimes become more powerful as they continue to exist over the centuries. They develop a number of abilities: rapid healing, enhanced strength and force of will, and sometimes the ability to cast one or more spells, even if they knew no magic in their breathing days. Ordinarily, this process takes centuries or millennia, and even then it is far from certain. Dravuliel seems to have found a way to invest a comparatively young undead creature with these abilities. Ancient books refer to this process as ‘evolution,’ and the documents you recovered include descriptions of experiments to bring this about artificially. It is my opinion that your unfortunate brother was chosen to receive these gifts.”
Mordan snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he volunteered,” he said.
“Could he have made more of them?” asked Brey.
Haldin shrugged.
“That’s hard to say,” he replied. “The notes you retrieved are incomplete, and there is every chance that Dravuliel and his team have refined the processes since they vacated that laboratory.”
“What about that ritual with the dead elf on the post?” asked Brey.
“That is another example of lost knowledge that Dravuliel has apparently uncovered,” answered the gnome. “Various ancient manuscripts mention a process called the ritual of crucimigration, and I believe that this is what you discovered. The ritual brings a living subject—who must be willing, the sources claim—to the point of death, whereupon he or she becomes an undead creature—necropolitan is the most common name for such beings—while retaining almost all knowledge and abilities from life. Some see it as a route to eternal life, and others as a means of overcoming the weaknesses of living flesh. In either case, it would allow a scholar to develop knowledge and abilities for decades and centuries, without the need for food or rest, the infirmities of age or the interruption of death.”
“That explains the corpse-elves,” said Brey.
“What about Dravuliel himself?” asked Tarrel. “I only got a glimpse of him on top of the wall, but he didn’t look dead—just very old.”
“He may have some other plan for himself,” replied Haldin. “Perhaps he intends to become a lich, or it could be that he has some reason for wishing to remain alive.”
“I’ll be sure to ask him,” said Brey. “But what you’re saying is, he can still die?”
“What about that airship?” asked Mordan. “Does he have some kind of renegade Lyrandar heir working for him?”
“I think it is unlikely,” replied Haldin, “although I did come across something in one of the books that might explain it. Gaebler was able to provide me with some confirmation, though of course he does not understand the details.”
“What?” asked Brey. “Does he have some kind of flying undead bound to the thing?”
“In a way,” Haldin said. “Have you ever heard of a creature called a necromental?”
They all shook their heads.
“Necromental?” mused Tarrel. “What’s that, some kind of essence-of-death creature?”
“Not exactly,” answered the gnome. “It is a kind of elemental, which has been bound to negative energy instead of the elemental energy of its native plane. Just as natives of this plane can become undead, so can elementals.”
“An undead elemental?” asked Mordan.
“Precisely,” Haldin replied. “It seems that Dravuliel has bound an air or fire necromental to power his airship—and because it is undead, he and his assistants can control it just as easily as a Lyrandar heir might control a living elemental.”
“That reminds me of something,” said Tarrel. “When the hill caved in, the thing that came out looked like an earth elemental …”
“Quite possibly it was an earth necromental,” said Haldin. “It might have been an early experiment on Dravuliel’s part, bound beneath the laboratory complex until Captain ir’Mallon destroyed the altar, or it might have been created spontaneously from years of necromantic energy leaching into the surrounding soil and rock, together with the unpredictable magical effects of the Mournland. It’s hard to say without further investigation.”
“You were right,” said Tarrel, after a pause. “That Dravuliel is a pretty good necromancer.”
