What was it?
Hmm.
Well, for one thing, Tuanne was overdue to arrive. Perhaps he should check upon her progress.
He sent his mind searching for hers. Ah, there it was, quite close by. Give me your eyes, he commanded.
What he then saw made no sense. It seemed to be a blank wall, dimly lit, and practically featureless. After a moment he realized that it was not a wall, but a ceiling.
How could this be? Was she standing still and staring at a ceiling? That was impossible, since he had commanded her to attend him here. She might move slowly, but move she must.
Close your eyes, he said mentally.
Nothing happened. The ceiling stayed where it was.
Now that he observed it more closely, he could see that the height of it was more than usual. Were it in his castle, as indeed it must be, then Tuanne must be squatting, or even lying upon her back. And unable-certainly not unwilling-to close her eyes. The only way that could happen would be if she were under some sort of counterspell. A spell laid by another, more powerful wizard, or witch, perhaps? Or maybe just something as simple as a paralyzing solution of salt, none of which was allowed in the castle, save what Neg personally controlled.
Whatever the cause, it boded ill. This was a fly in the ointment, and it must be dealt with, immediately.
He broke his contact with Tuanne. Where was Skeer?
Never mind. He was of no importance. He clapped his hands, and two of his priests, still living (he would have to attend to that soon too), appeared. "Go and find Tuanne. Bring her here."
The priests bowed, and hurried out.
Still, the invisible itch persisted. Something more. And where had Skeer gotten to? Perhaps he should see what the ex-thief was up to . . . ?
Later, he decided.
The Disguise Master walked in tandem with Brute. They had been among the lucky ones admitted to the inner sanctum of Neg's castle. Brute now had his arm back. That had been interesting, watching the arm drag itself along by finger and wrist action, seeking its owner as might a crippled dog. Brute had bent and picked it up, then simply stuck it back where it belonged. It had healed within a matter of hours.
As had the cut in the Disguise Master's own head. Sealed over like a puddle of water in a winter storm. To all appearances, he looked no different than when he was alive. True, some of the zombies looked far worse than did he. Some wounds took much longer to heal, and where large portions of flesh or bone were missing, total repair did not occur. It made for some interesting scarring, and unbelievable locomotion, people stumping around on bare bones, in some cases.
Ah, well. It was not his to reason how or why. Even though he was in thrall to the necromancer, he had a kind of freedom. Better walking dead than rotting in the ground dead.
Tuanne lay on Conan's cloak, a prisoner within her own salt-frozen body. Neg had touched her mind, and had seen that she lay unmoving. Little doubt he would wonder about that, and no doubt that he would do something about it. Her only hope lay with Conan and Elashi.
As the dawn rose, a caravan of notarii performers journeying southward toward Koth began to break camp. One of the men striking his tent happened to glance at the next ridge over. He gasped, and quickly made the sign against evil in the chilly morning air before he began yelling the alert. "Zhombeya! Zhombeya!" he screamed.
The camp responded quickly. As the thousands of silent figures walked and slid down the face of the ridge, anything that could not be packed and carried rapidly was left behind. Before the approaching horde reached the site, the campers were long gone, moving at historically proper right angles to the zombies' march.
The notarii knew how to deal with Zhombeya, and the way of it was simple: Run. And run fast.
In their return from the dead, Neg's minions had apparently gained no more perception than they had when alive. As Conan and his two companions passed the third group of zombies, led by Skeer, they did so for the third time without questions. Either the patrolling groups thought Skeer in control, or they did not care. While Skeer had nodded at one death-brother he seemed to know, he had not needed to speak his prepared remarks: "These are my prisoners. I am taking them to Neg."
That was what he was ready to state, but as yet, no one had seemed particularly interested in them.
These perverted creatures were not very observant. Conan still wore his sword, as did Elashi. This was going to be easier than Conan had thought.
"Conan!" came the yell that destroyed Conan's smugness.
He turned, to see the Disguise Master and Brute, both none the less for his having slain them.
"Best we move, fast!" Conan said.
The three of them broke into a run, away from the Disguise Master.
"After them! They are Neg's enemies!"
Those words were apparently the correct ones, for the dozen or so zombies in the hall began to chase them.
Conan drew his sword, but did not slow his pace. His pursuers were already dead, and while he could cut them down, he could not hope to disable a dozen of them quickly enough to win the victory. A wise man, his father had told him, knew when to run and when to fight. It was time to run.
They pounded around another bend in the corridor, to face another group of ten of the walking dead. Conan would have slashed a path through them, but Elashi's wit was quicker than his blade.
"Behind us!" she called. "Neg's enemies pursue us!"
"Neg's enemies" was definitely a triggering phrase. The ten were galvanized into action. They leaped to defend their master, no doubt mindlessly obeying his injunction to do just that, at any cost.
Conan, Elashi, and Skeer kept running, leaving the two groups to sort it out. Doubtless they would in short order, but Conan had no plans to stay and find out.
Enemies in his castle! How they had come to be there he could determine later; meanwhile, they had to be captured or destroyed!
Neg tugged at his mustache, twirling one end in nervousness. He would fill the castle with his enthralled; there would be no place for an enemy to hide!
He sent the call.
In a few moments, five hundred more of his nightwalkers would stalk the halls!
Skeer, trailing spiders, led Conan and Elashi down a flight of steep stone stairs. There were fewer of his creatures dogging him now, since Conan's large feet had flattened several in their flight, but those that remained stuck grimly and gamely on their path.
Behind them, pursuit thundered along the flagstones. No one came down the stairs, however.
Skeer said, "This way leads to the dungeon."
"What of the talisman?" Conan asked.
"Halfway around the castle. But we can cover a great part of the way by going under it."
"Lead on, then."
The last of Skeer's spiders, perhaps sixteen or eighteen of them, moved to one side, keeping well clear of Conan's footsteps.
Neg faced the one who called himself the Disguise Master. "Speak," he said.
"He is called 'Conan,' lord. An outland barbarian. He was the one who . . . slew me. He travels with a woman, though there was another woman with them earlier, a zombie-"
"What? Describe this zombie woman!"
The Disguise Master did.
Tuanne! Ah!
"We had scores to settle-"
"I am not interested in your petty arguments. Tell me more about this barbarian and woman."
"There was a third one with them, one of your enthralled."
"Really? Describe this one!"
"He has a face that would grace a sainted holy man. And a collection of spiders follows him-"
"Skeer! By Set's Black Coils! I shall grind his bones into powder! No, that would be too good for him. I shall have him rendered armless and legless and used as a footstool!"
Lost completely in a maze of hallways they were, and suddenly Skeer stopped. "Oh, no! He calls me."
If such a thing was possible, Skeer turned even whiter than he already was.
"He-he kn
ows!"
"The Disguise Master," Elashi said.
"Aye," Conan agreed. "Use the salt solution."
The desert woman unstoppered the liquid and sprayed it at Skeer. The zombie went rigid, and Conan caught his stiffened form and lowered him to the floor next to the wall.
The remaining spiders formed a semi-circle around Skeer.
"We are on our own," Conan said. "Let us go and find this guarded room."
Elashi nodded. "I shall follow you."
Tuanne had regained some movement by the time the two Men With No Eyes finished carrying her to Neg's inner sanctum. The necromancer wore a smile that might have graced a demon contemplating some particularly hellish deed.
"Ah, the lovely Tuanne! We have much to discuss, you and I."
The priests set the zombie woman onto her feet. She swayed slightly, but managed to remain standing. She was lost, and there seemed no point in hoping any longer.
"What is the intent of this lout of whom I have only recently learned, this Conan?"
Though she tried to hold back the words, Neg's gaze compelled her to speak. "He-he seeks your death."
"My death? Ha! Thousands have desired such and thousands have failed to achieve it. Most of them found for themselves that which they would wish for me."
"And yet, he is inside your castle, is he not?"
Neg frowned. "You have learned insolence. I cannot permit this." He waved, and pointed one finger at Tuanne.
Pain seared her, as if a hot needle had been thrust into her tender breast. She gasped, bent, then managed to straighten.
"Is this all this man wishes?"
She could not lie, she knew, but perhaps she could shade the truth. Conan no doubt wished many things, and certainly she did not know them all.
"I do not know all that he wishes." That was the truth; she had not lied to him-he had not asked what else Conan had planned. If he asked, she would have to tell him, but without that compulsion she had some small amount of control.
The necromancer tugged at his mustache. He twirled it and smiled. "No matter," he said. "Within a few moments the entire castle will swarm with my nightwalkers. Your hero will be captured and brought here for my amusement. Perhaps the two of you can perform certain . . . dances together for me."
Tuanne stood silently. Perhaps he was through with her for now. Hope stirred slightly, a nearly extinct hope, but not extinguished totally. Conan and Elashi were resourceful. Perhaps there was some small chance yet left.
"Is this Conan alone?"
The word came hard, but it came. "No."
"Ah. Who is with him?"
"Elashi, a woman of the desert."
"Ah." The demonic smile replayed. "The more the merrier. And would she have me dead, as well?"
"Yes."
He shook his head. "Yet another fool to join my army. Ah, well, with two women and one barbarian, I am sure I can devise some entertainment that will amuse me for a few moments."
Tuanne said nothing, but the small hope she held wavered. Neg was too powerful now, she could feel the energies radiate from him like heat from a bonfire. With a wave of his hand he could slay both Conan and Elashi, with no more effort than swatting a bothersome insect. Their only chance lay in finding the Source of Light and disrupting the power Neg now enjoyed.
At best, the odds were overwhelming.
Chapter Twenty-two
Conan began to feel like a butcher. He and Elashi had given up all pretense of secrecy. They ran along the corridors of the massive castle, twisting and turning, using their blades to clear a path when needed. The zombies could not die of sharp steel, but a sufficiently skilled and powerful stroke would slow them considerably. A man hopping on one leg moved much slower than the desert woman and Cimmerian. And heads were also good. A body without a head could not see to follow, until it had fetched that lopped off extremity, and that took time.
They ran, until finally they found by accident that which they sought. Six robed figures stood arrayed along the corridor with a door behind them. This must be the place, Conan thought.
The unarmed priests launched themselves at the two interlopers. They were fast, the Men With No Eyes, but the corridor was narrow enough so that they could not easily encircle Conan and Elashi.
Conan wove a deadly tapestry with his blade, cold blue iron dancing through warm flesh. He cut and slashed, leaped and pivoted, and quickly downed two of the attackers.
Elashi, behind him, kept one of the priests at bay with her blade, scoring on him with mostly shallow cuts, but enough to hold him at bay.
The remaining three danced and dodged, and kept Conan hopping to avoid being caught. He had the sword and great strength, but they were faster. And, he recalled, one of them was already dead. He had to take care not to allow that one-which was he?-to grasp his blade and pinion it while the others moved on him.
A snap kick caught Conan in the ribs on the left side. He grunted and chopped downward with his weapon. The sword bit into a thigh, but no blood welled. Ah, the zombie!
The undead priest snatched at the bloody blade, but Conan jerked it back, slicing off two of the zombie's fingers in the process. He wouldn't lose track of that one, at least.
Another of the blind men spun in, his right arm extended, fist doubled tightly. The whirling strike, aimed at Conan's temple, bounced, instead, off the muscular shoulder the Cimmerian hunched up at the final instant. Even though the meat of Conan's arm was both thick and hard, he felt the power of the punch vibrate him deeply.
Behind him, Elashi yelled, "Conan! Down the corridor!"
Conan lunged at the spinning priest and lanced the man's belly open with a surgical stab. As the priest fell, blocking his brothers for a moment, Conan took the time to look at Elashi's concern.
Crom! More of the undead shambled toward them. They had only a few seconds before they would be buried in attackers.
"The door!" Conan yelled.
He bounded over the fallen priest, slashed at the blind zombie, severing a hand, then turned toward the door.
Locked, of course.
Elashi managed to skewer her man. She jumped to aid Conan against the final pair.
The approaching zombie horde neared.
Conan leaped across the corridor, buried his sword in the gut of the living priest with a backhand slash, then threw his body against the locked door.
The mechanism of the lock had never been intended to withstand the weight of a Cimmerian giant at full force. The metal screeched and surrendered, and the door slammed open, Conan flying through the doorway. Elashi slipped in behind him. Before the nearest zombie could reach the entrance, Conan slammed the door shut and braced his hands against it.
"There it is!" Elashi said.
The muscles in Conan's arms and shoulders rippled as the zombies outside pounded and shoved against the door. "Well, fetch it!" he said, leaning against the wood. It moved open half an inch, then held. "And hurry!"
Conan looked over his shoulder as Elashi ran to the crystal stand. She hesitated, her hand over the talisman.
"It glows," she said.
"I care not if it sings and dances! Collect it!"
She snatched the talisman up. "I have it."
"Good. Stand next to the door. On this side."
She moved to obey.
"Stand ready," he ordered. With that, Conan leaped away from the door and in front of Elashi.
The door burst open and four zombies fell into the room. Conan grabbed Elashi and jumped over the sprawled bodies into the corridor.
Perhaps fifty of the undead had gathered there.
Well. He would meet Crom with arms sore from swinging a sword, Conan thought. He raised his blade.
Elashi said, "Wait!"
He looked at her. She held the talisman-it was glowing, a kind of greenish light coming from it-out in front of her.
The zombies backed away from her, as though in fear.
Quickly, she jumped forward and touched one of them with the t
alisman. He fell, and as he did, shriveled as a leaf dropped into fire.
"She bears the True Death!" somebody said.
At this, half of the zombies turned and ran. The others moved toward Conan and Elashi, but no longer threatening. They smiled.
"Me," one said, "touch me first!"
"And then me," another said. "Bless you!"
Conan was puzzled for a moment.
"They wish to die," Elashi said quietly. "The talisman's touch will free them to return to the Gray Lands."
Conan nodded. "Touch them. Then let us find Neg and touch him-with this." Conan shook his sword.
A small village in the middle of nowhere waited for destruction. They had heard of the zombie march, of the thousands who killed all before them, and those who had not fled knew there was no hope.
But, as the killers approached, a strange thing happened: they stopped. They moved not, but simply stood and stared, as if seeing something a thousand miles away.
It was, the villagers later said, as if they had run out of intent.
Neg's anger filled the room.
"The talisman! It has been moved! My power wanes!"
Still in thrall, Tuanne managed a smile. He controlled her, and many of the others in the castle, but outside of that, the magic that fueled Neg's power would fall off dramatically.
The necromancer spun and faced Tuanne. "You! Your barbarian did this!"
"I hope so," she said.
"Bitch! You will twist for this!" He stabbed a finger at her, but Tuanne felt no stabbing fire this time. Her smile continued unabated.
"I shall deal with you later!" He turned and stalked from the room.
The solution of saltwater Elashi had used upon him must have either been weak or in insufficient quantity, Skeer realized. Movement returned to his limbs much sooner than he would have thought. He stood, and the ever-present spiders scuttled back a little. He sighed. Neg's punishment for his transgressions would be most unpleasant, of that he was certain. But-wait-the compulsion was gone! What had happened? He felt for the undeniable command, but Neg must be occupied elsewhere, for he could not sense any presence. Odd.
Skeer had never been one to look a gift's origins over too closely. He had to get to the talisman.
The Conan Compendium Page 45
