Dick followed the deserted corridor into the Banquet Hall.
Medivh had made many alterations to the Wizard's Tower, whose interior was astonishingly spacious. The magical lights overhead, for instance, worked just like the motion-activated lights Dick had seen before: whenever someone approached, they switched on automatically, dispelling the darkness.
Medivh also seemed very fond of purple, which meant that when all the lights came on, it looked as though everything were bathed in ultraviolet light.
This gave Dick something of a sense of disorientation, until he entered the quiet Banquet Hall. Moroes sat in the chair at the head of the hall, his back to him. With no one around, the old undead, who cared more about Med'an than the entire world, had let his back stoop, sitting as quietly as a block of wood.
Dick was very familiar with this. On the battlefields of the Northern Frontier, he had seen undead like this more than once. It was a special state they entered when memories clashed with reality, and it indirectly revealed one thing:
Unlike those simple-minded, bizarre undead, Moroes understood his present condition perfectly. He knew he had become undead, and he knew exactly what had happened to him.
As Dick approached, Moroes's hoarse voice rang out.
"I was there when the master died... Mr. Lothar, the traitor Khadgar, and that female orc killed him. It wasn't that we didn't want to save him, but the master ordered us not to stop those murderers. I knew he was fighting that dark voice. He knew his being alive was a sin. I knew he had sought his own death."
"But without the master, what meaning was there in our existence? Do you know, Knight Dick? During that time, every servant in Karazhan was like a lost soul. Every day,