The necromancer was still whistling, so I presumed he hadn’t heard the death cry of his servant. And if he’d smelled the burning wood, he hadn’t attributed it to Tiburon’s demise. He’d probably come to the safe conclusion that the shambling mound had crushed me.
I loaded a bolt of fire into my crossbow and entered the laboratory slowly and silently. I watched Zuvil as he leaned over the motionless naga, and after a few more steps, I could see every lock of his flawlessly coiffed hair.
I took a deep breath and reviewed the three parts of my plan. Then I aimed the jeweled sight of the crossbow at the necromancer's head. I was only going to get one shot.
“Hello,” I said softly.
As I’d expected, Zuvil spun around and started chanting a spell. His magic might have blinded me, paralyzed me, or killed me outright, but I had no intention of letting him complete the incantation. As soon as I saw smoke emerge from his mouth, I used my new Called Shot ability.
“Mouth,” I said.
The bolt of fire flew into the necromancer’s mouth, and the magical smoke caught fire. Tears poured from Zuvil’s eyes as he clutched at his throat, which had now turned bright red. My shot had only reduced his health by a fifth, so I started the second part of my plan. Setting down my crossbow, I put on the Cursed Ring of Nalkak, whose surface transformed into the face of an angry gnoll.
“You are not Nalkak!”
The ring bit into my finger, but I barely noticed. As strength coursed through my body, I tackled the choking necromancer and threw him to the ground. To prevent him from casting spells, I unsheathed Ebonclaw and cut off his right hand at the wrist. I did the same for the left, and then to be absolutely certain, I sliced off both feet at the ankles. Thanks to my augmented strength, cutting through Zuvil’s bones was as easy as slicing through tree branches.
My breath caught in my throat as I watched the black fluid that oozed out of the necromancer’s wounds. Zuvil looked like a pale, dark-haired human, but he clearly wasn’t a creature of regular flesh and blood.
Now I put the last part of my plan into motion. I cast Remove Curse and took the cursed ring off my finger. Then I loaded another bolt of fire and waited for Zuvil to stop choking. His wounds closed shut, but his hands and feet didn’t grow back, which meant his days of spellcasting were over.
Lying on the floor of his laboratory, the necromancer looked up at me with an annoyed expression. He spoke in the same arrogant tone he’d used to command Tiburon.
“A fine shot. But why haven’t you killed me? Surely that noxious hag paid you to get rid of me.”
“Phioren doesn’t want you dead... yet. She wants to transform you into a tree to serve as a warning to other necromancers. She wants to humiliate you for centuries.”
Zuvil’s eyes widened as he swallowed my lie. “But you’re not taking me to her. Does this mean you’ll consider an arrangement?”
“I might. Answer my questions and I’ll kill you quickly.”
“But I have wealth! Power! If you let me live, I’ll—”
“Not interested. I’ll give you a swift death in return for answers. Otherwise, you can take your chances with Phioren.”
The necromancer glared at me, his jaw quivering. Then he sighed.
“I don’t mind answering your questions, but I can’t divulge Dhok’kor’s plans. My master’s punishment is far worse than anything that hag could conceive of.”
I nodded toward the body on the stone table. “What are you doing with the dead naga?”
“Trying to raise him from the dead. No necromancer has ever created a naga construct, and I hoped to be the first.”
“Why would you want to create naga zombies?”
Instead of responding, Zuvil turned his head and pressed his lips shut. I considered a different topic. I struggled to remember the name of the prince attacking Raven’s Rest.
“What do you know about Prince Galliel?”
“He died at the Battle of Vindon, but Dhok’kor raised him from the dead as part of a pact with King Thamenor.”
“So he's a zombie?”
“No. The Lord of Death created a reconstructed body for the prince, and then returned Galliel’s entire soul. Prince Galliel is as alive as I am. That’s all I can say.”
I looked around the cave and tried to think of a way to loosen the wizard’s tongue. Would he care if I threatened to burn his books? Probably not.
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Adjacent to the luxurious bed, a crystal goblet rested on a mahogany table next to three familiar-looking bottles. I took a closer look and smiled. Setting down my crossbow, I went to the table and returned with the goblet and one of the bottles.
“Lennadoc Ale!” I held out the bottle to Zuvil. “Before we part company, would you like a drink?”
The necromancer's eyes watered as he looked up at me. The arrogance vanished from his voice.
“Oh yes. Please.”
I lowered a goblet of ale to his lips, and he drank as though he’d been dying of thirst.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve been thinking about leaving Motiacca and becoming a necromancer. What made you choose to worship Dhok’kor?”
The necromancer sniffed. “Knowledge. Power. The idiots at the Enclave understand the physical world, but we know the inner workings of life and death. Guess how old I am.”
I studied the necromancer’s face, and I was surprised by how handsome he was. Dark eyes, patrician nose, and a strong jaw. Like Cary Grant with paper-white skin.
“36?”
“I'll turn 647 next year. Thanks to Dhok'kor's magic, I constructed this body from bones and skin taken from other creatures. My only original parts are my brain and soul.”
“That’s not your real face?”
“Not even close! I took this from a knight who tried to rescue the princess I’d kidnapped.”
Zuvil saw my surprise and laughed heartily. The ale was doing its work, and he regarded me with a glint in his eye.
“Want to hear a funny story?”
I didn’t want to know what necromancers found funny, but at the same time, I needed to keep him talking.
“I’d love to.”
“About 200 years ago, priests of Theris captured me and planned to banish me to the Abyss. But before we reached their temple, I became friendly with one of the priestesses.”
“What happened?”
“I gave her the brooding, melancholy act, and told her that I wasn’t really evil. Just misunderstood. I said she was special and beautiful, and that she was the only woman I'd ever truly loved. I even promised to devote my soul to Theris if she’d set me free.”
“And she freed you?”
“She did! And by Dhok’kor’s bones, she was the happiest of mortals before I turned her into a zombie. More ale.”
I wanted to kill the necromancer and set fire to his unholy laboratory. But I was sure he had more information I could use. So I refilled the goblet and held it to his lips.
“If you’ve lived so long, what drives you to keep going?”
“Ambition. I’d hoped to be the greatest necromancer in the two kingdoms, but Zenithir, that scoundrel, surpassed everyone. His darkwalkers are the strongest constructs in the history of necromancy. Dhok’kor was so pleased that he made Zenithir his High Priest.”
“Is that why you’re experimenting on nagas? To compete with Zenithir?”
Zuvil nodded. “I’d hoped to create constructs for Odriana that were just as powerful as the darkwalkers.”
Now I knew what Odriana had been referring to when she’d promised to transform her nagas into unstoppable warriors. She was planning to form an army of the undead.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “The nagas would lay down their lives for Odriana. Why turn them into zombies?”
The necromancer laughed. “Undead soldiers are always better than the living. They don’t eat or sleep, they always obey orders, and they can only be harmed by enchanted weapons. With an army of undead nagas, Odriana could take over Encelas by herself.”
“Could an undead naga beat a darkwalker?”
“I’ve never heard of anything beating a darkwalker. That’s why Galliel is going to take over the world. More ale, if you please.”
I filled the goblet and poured it all into Zuvil’s mouth. My next question was important.
“Have you heard of Darnok?” I asked. “Or a Medallion of Darnok?”
“Doesn’t sound familiar.” The necromancer narrowed his eyes. “But there’s an artifact with an inscription no one can riddle out. Even Dhok’kor has no idea what it means. It’s possible that the glyphs of the inscription form the word Darnok.”
Using Ebonclaw, I carved DARNOK on the stone table supporting the dead naga. “Does that look familiar?”
Zuvil’s voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s…that’s it! A perfect rendering. By all that’s unholy, what is Darnok?”
“That's not your concern. Tell me about this artifact. Is it a medallion?"
Zuvil closed his eyes. “No, it's a key. King Thamenor found it during an expedition to the Southern Wastes, and he gave it to Dhok’kor. Now the Lord of Death is obsessed with finding the door that the key unlocks. That’s why he’s doing everything he can to help Galliel take over the two kingdoms.”
I blinked, taking this in. Finally, I’d learned something about the main quest.
“Where can I find this key?”
“The High Temple of Dhok’kor. Far to the south, deep in the kingdom of Norburne. That’s where Zenithir lives.”
I checked my Global Map and saw a skull-shaped marker at the far end of the continent. Its label read High Temple of Dhok’kor.
A message scrolled across the bottom of my field of view. QUEST ADDED: FIND THE KEY OF DARNOK IN THE HIGH TEMPLE OF DHOK’KOR.
“So let me get this straight. The Key of Darnok is in the High Temple of Dhok’kor, which is the residence of Zenithir, the god’s High Priest and the creator of the darkwalkers. Right?”
“Correct in every detail.”
I couldn’t think of any more questions, so I decided that I’d squeezed enough information out of the drunk necromancer. I lowered my voice.
“If there’s nothing more you want to say, I’m ready to fulfill my part of the bargain.”
“One more goblet?”
“Fine.”
I poured another goblet of ale into Zuvil’s mouth. Then I turned him onto his back and looked for the circled crosshairs. It took four backstabs to kill the necromancer, and then the +2,000 XP! message appeared.
A message scrolled along the bottom of my field of view. QUEST COMPLETED: EXPEL ZUVIL THE NECROMANCER FROM THE BAILDRIL. +1,000 XP!