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Fiction
 
The Dolmen
 
(Spring 2004)

It is easy to go down into Hell;
Night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide;
but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air-
there's the rub, the task.
-Virgil, The Aeneid.

        Tanistrae eyed the brooding dolmen as she rode toward the city walls. It rose like a dark scar upon the otherwise verdant landscape. An ancient, waist-high stone wall surrounded the base of the rise. It was so old however, that it had all but crumbled into something more akin to a hump in the ground than an actual barrier. Beyond that, the artificial hill itself was strewn with broken stone monuments and fallen mausoleums. There was no evidence of flowers or other offerings left anywhere, while its sparse grass grew wild, and only a few stumps revealed the former presence of trees. It did not look at all inviting. Then again, the Ionian woman considered, few graveyards ever do.
       It was odd that the locals leave it in such disrepair though. She thought. They had even stripped it of its trees. Perhaps they had a newer graveyard somewhere else, and there were none left alive to remember those buried here?
       Bah! The broad-shouldered woman snorted and turned her gaze back to the city ahead. Let Kronus and Hekate worry over the dead, she thought. She still had things to do while she drew breath.
       Tanistrae nudged Narses to a quicker trot, and the bay Ionian quarter-horse was happy to comply. He liked to run. It was in his blood. After all, his breed was named for the quarter mile races they dominated.
       The white-washed walls of Erithri rose before her. Not very imposing really. Enough to keep the nomads from riding straight over them, but not really good for much else, Tanistrae thought. Erithri was not a large enough town for serious defenses. Those lay in the imposing fortifications of her parent city of Plataea, some miles away to the west.
       No, Erithri was just a frontier town, Tanistrae meditated. The nexus of dozens of nearby villages, it was also a brief stopover for caravans heading to and from the plains. As well as a place where individual nomads came to civilization to trade, and Ionian merchants looked for better prices on those nomad's goods than in the big city of Plataea.
       Precisely why Tanistrae had come herself, she thought, glancing back at the bundle behind her saddle. The swords and armor in there should fetch a good price among the nomads, who knew little metal-working of their own aside from cold-forging.
       "What is your name and business in our town, stranger?"
       The guardsman's query caught her attention. She was going through what passed for a gate in Erithri. Just a pair of large, iron-bound doors really. A single man lingered nearby, wearing  armor of the new linothorax type, a cuirass that was made of several layers linen, glued together into a stiff tunic. She imagined that the body shield, helmet, and spear propped up against the wall nearby belonged to him as well. Other than the infantryman's short sword at his hip, he bore no real sign of authority.
       "My name is Tanistrae," she declared "and my business is trade."
       She did not slow or look back at the man as she trotted by. He made no other sound, so she imagined he was satisfied. Or at least too lazy to chase after her.
       Erithri lay before her, at least what there was of it. She could see that the single, wide street she followed led deep into the heart of the town. White-washed brick buildings crowded to either side, their red-tiled rooftops standing in sharp contrast to their ivory walls. Narrow, winding alleys separated the haphazardly placed buildings, while here and there actual streets ran off from either side of the main road.
       People were everywhere. Dressed in warm, bright, springtime clothing, men and women moved about doing their business or just lingered here and there to rest in the shade or drink from the cisterns. Dogs yapped, children played, life went on in an average Ionian town.
       Tanistrae slowed Narses to an easy walk so as not to trample someone by accident. Even at her slow pace, she reached the agora in only a few minutes. It was not that large of a town, after all, so the area was not very far from the gates. The marketplace was small but crowded, as one would expect in mid-afternoon. Merchant's stalls were scattered all throughout the wide, open area, while permanent shops lined the edges of the clearing. Clothing, glassware, grain, jewelry, tools, all manner of goods were bought and sold here. The sound of metal rhythmically pounding against metal betrayed the presence of a metalworker, while the strumming of a lyre did the same for a poet. The smell of cooked lamb came to Tanistrae's nostrils, and her stomach rumbled with desire. A gyro would be so wonderful now, she thought…
       But she had business to take care of. First, she had nomads to find and a horse to buy, then she needed to find a place to board it and Narses, and give them both a good grooming and feeding. Then she could think of feeding herself.
       Her stomach growled again.
       Well, maybe a quick snack first, she mused. Trading on an empty stomach was bad for business, or so it was said. She always wondered if it had been sausage salesman who coined that phrase...
       She found a merchant who was selling gyros nearby and purchased one for herself. Naturally she did not even consider leaving her saddle. Instead she bent down far enough to toss the merchant a few coins and take one of his creations in return. Straightening in the saddle, she gingerly bit into the folded piece of flatbread. It was hot. But the savory taste of the lamb and onions within was just what her stomach wanted.
       Narses nickered beneath her. Clearly, he was thinking about food himself.
       "In a little while big boy." Tanistrae promised him softly as she chewed around a mouthful. She rubbed his neck with one hand, and balanced the gyro in the other. "I will have some tasty green hay for you in a little bit. Maybe even some corn meal. Then a nice, long massage."
       Sometimes she wondered if she would rather have been born a horse.
       Turning back to her food, she lazily scanned the agora. Astride the big gelding, she had a good view of the town square and the people within it. She did not see any nomads yet. However, her keen eye did note someone rather out of place.
       She was red-haired, like many of the highlanders from the northern mountains of Kalmar. While she wore a blue skirt and white chemise of Ionian fashion, the skirt was curiously slit along the front, back and sides. Really more a set of wide cloth strips rather than a proper dress, it revealed a pair of tight, white leggings beneath. Probably due to the slight chill in the air, the Ionian horsewoman considered. She did not have a hint of a weapon upon her. Not unusual, since unlike Tanistrae, few women went armed in Ionia. But she could not be a local, and did not appear to be with anyone else. A barbarian woman, traveling alone and unarmed. Interesting, Tanistrae thought, very interesting.
       She was looking over bolts of cloth in front of a merchant's stall, picking through colors and materials. She lingered over a bolt of pink silk, but turned from that to examine a simpler length of white linen. Running it through her fingers, she held the material up to the light. Then she looked dissatisfied and set it down, turning to another bolt of cloth instead.
       That is when a large Ionian man bumped into her from behind. In spite of there being more than enough space for him to have walked around her. He did not even pause to say a word of apology, but simply continued on through the market place. Tanistrae knew what was coming next, and wished she could warn the poor highlander while she still had the coins in her purse.
       The second thief came from the opposite direction, while the highland woman was still straightening herself from his partner's buffet. Tanistrae saw his hand flash toward her waist, sunlight glinting off the steel of the small blade that his type used to slit purse-strings.
       What happened next amazed the Ionian horsewoman. The red-haired highlander somehow spun around the cut-purse's hand. Almost as if her body had become water. One of her hands locked upon his wrist, and a moment later she had his arm twisted behind him. He fell to his knees, facing away from her, and furiously strained against her grip. Then Tanistrae heard him cry out in pain, even from where she sat upon Narses, and she saw the knife fall to the dirt.
       Others heard too, and turned to look at the commotion. The red-headed woman ignored them, and the thief was too preoccupied to pay attention to anything but his immediate predicament. She leaned close to him, apparently whispering something into his ear. He nodded quickly and ceased his struggles. A moment later she released him.
       He climbed to his feet, gingerly cradling his wrist. Then she loosed a firm kick to his rump, sending him sprawling directly into a puddle of mud several yards away. The crowd roared in laughter, and cast jeers at the unfortunate thief as he scrambled to his feet and ran off.
       But Tanistrae was watching the highlander with a growing sense of respect and amazement. How had she done that? The Ionian wondered. Not even in the wrestling competitions of the Elean Games had she ever seen anything like the way she avoided the second man's strike at her purse-strings.
       Clearly, this woman was not someone to take for granted. Tanistrae mused. A woman after her own heart. Perhaps she could find her later, and ask the source of her amazing skill with an empty hand. It was not a very large town, with probably only the one inn. So finding her later should not be too difficult.
       Things in the market place went back to normal in moments, and the last Tanistrae saw of the red-haired woman, she was going into a clothier's shop on the edge of the agora. Then a group of copper-skinned nomads leading a chain of shaggy steppe horses caught her eye, and a smile crested Tanistrae's features.
       Finished with her gyro, she clucked Narses into motion and went to talk to the men about their horses.
 

 
       Amalia put down her sewing long enough to drink the last of her milk. She savored the cool, thick liquid as it swirled around her tongue. The wine these Ionian lowlanders drank was far too sweet and syrupy for her plain mountain tastes. The ale was not so bad, but she still had not forgotten what had happened the last time she had indulged in too much of that pleasure.
       The inn bustled around her with patrons. The common room had been nice and quiet when she had come in. Of course, that was not long after her mid-afternoon excursion in the marketplace. She supposed the Ionians had all been about their work then. They certainly were not anymore, and every table in the hostel was occupied with patrons. She had seen other ale-shops in the town, yet none that served food and offered rooms. Being the only such place in the settlement, Amalia was not too surprised at how busy it was.
       She saw a group of men with long, raven-hair and copper-skin hunched over a table in the far corner, quietly speaking amongst themselves. Amalia wondered if they were the plains-folk she had heard of. They were dressed in leather and buskins, and wore long, curved swords at their hips. Propped up against the wall behind them were several short, curiously recurved bows of bone and sinew, now unstrung and looking quite odd in their equaly curious cases, which also doubled as quivers. Like nothing Amalia had ever seen in either Kalmara or Ionia.
       The rest of the patrons were not nearly so exotic. Dark-haired and fair-skinned, they were typical Ionians in look. Some were more prosperous than most, judging by their clothing and jewelry, and Amalia took those for merchants. Most, however, had the look of farmers and workmen. Dusty and sore after a long day of labor.
       They were noisy and boisterous, downing flagons of the thick, pale ale the Ionians preferred, while the merchants sipped wine. Some from rather expensive-looking goblets, which the Kalmaran took to be their own, rather than those provided by the inn.
       The barmaid sauntered past Amalia to the table next to hers, where a group of workmen sat drinking. She was slender, possessing wide hips and generous breasts. A pretty face was framed by her long, wavy black hair, quite the picture of feminine beauty. She set down a platter of roasted chicken pieces, covered in sauce and almonds, along with a loaf of bread and a small bowl of olive oil for dipping. Amalia could smell the garlic from where she sat.
       Amalia was not so concerned with the barmaid, as with the food she had brought to the other table. It looked good, and she thought about ordering something to eat. She had not had anything since that gyro she had eaten in late-morning, and her stomach was starting to awaken with the savory odors wafting from the kitchen. The lamb had been good, but those onions had been too much for her. Too spicy. She could not see how these Ionians could stand to eat them. She had to pick them out to eat it.
       The barmaid walked away from her charges, who zestfully began to dig into their meal. Behind her, Amalia saw that a new person had entered the inn's common room. Apparently she came from a door somewhere further back in the building, rather than from the front entrance. For Amalia had a clear view of the main door, as she always made a point of doing, and had not seen her enter that way.
       The newcomer had long dark hair and fair skin, and was taller than most lowland women. However, unlike most Ionian women, her shoulders were broad and her frame appeared well-muscled. While her bodice and chemise betrayed an ample bosom, she also wore a pair of leather breeches and riding boots. Over one shoulder she carried a pair of saddle bags that was fairly bursting, and a long, straight cavalry sword hung at her hip. A short, unstrung bow rode in a case at her other hip, of the same curious variety possessed by the copper-skinned men in the corner.
       Amalia returned her attention to her needlework. She was making a new dress from the linen she had bought in the market. Something light, more suited to the hot Ionian summers that she was told were approaching. She had already blocked out the bolt of cloth with one of her patterns, pinned it, outlined it in chalk, and cut out the basic shape. Now she was doing the hard part. The long, slow work of stitching the seams.
       Or at least, she pretended to turn her mind back to her needle-work. In reality, she continued watching the strange woman from the corners of her eyes. So she was not surprised when the dark-haired archer came to her table.
       "Is there room for two goodwoman?" The newcomer asked. "There are no empty places."
       "Of course." Amalia replied graciously, indicating the other chair near her small table. "Please sit and take rest."
       "It is good to see another woman in this place." The archer declared, setting down her bags. Her bowcase and quiver followed a moment later, and she sat down with a look of relief. "At least one who is not a member of the staff."
       "My name is Tanistrae." The newcomer continued in introduction, and offered her hand, palm-flattened outward in Ionian fashion, facing the red-haired woman.
       "I am Amalia." She replied, extending her hand likewise to touch the Ionian's empty palm with her own.
       "You have big hands," Tanistrae observed, her brown eyes meeting Amalia's green orbs. "I rarely meet a woman with hands larger than my own."
       Amalia shrugged, drawing her hand back and putting away her sewing project. "Well, you have something else quite large too." She remarked with a wry smile, nodding towards the Ionian's sizeable breasts. "Two somethings in fact!"
       Tanistrae lilted her head back and laughed,  really seeming to mean it. Enough so that a few other patrons stared for a moment before returning to their food and drinks.
       "You speak Ionian like you were born here." Tanistrae observed. "How long have you been in our lands?"
       "Oh, I just came here." The Kalmaran answered. "Well, here in particular that is. I have been in your country since last autumn."
       "You speak very well." Tanistrae complimented her, looking surprised. "That is not much time at all to learn the language."
       "Oh, my mother was Ionian." Amalia explained. "I learned your tongue from her when I was a child."
       "You must take after your father then, physically at least." Tanistrae contended. "You do not look at all Ionian."
       "I do not take after anyone in my family." Amalia shrugged again. "I have often wondered if I am a changeling."
       Just then the barmaid sauntered over and looked down upon the pair.
       "More milk?" She asked Amalia, clearly unimpressed with the highlander, then turned to the archer. "And how about yourself… miss?"
       "Ale." The dark-haired Ionian woman replied quickly. "A loaf of bread, and some meat. More of that chicken, if you have it, dear maiden."
       "I would like some of the same to eat as well." Amalia echoed before the barmaid could answer. "And yes, more milk please."
       Without a word, the woman walked off. Amalia thought she put an extra sway to her hips as she did. To impress them, or the other patrons, the Kalmaran was not sure.
       "Bloody stuck up little prima donna." Tanistrae muttered. "We cannot all be perfect little princesses after all. Or want to be."
       Now Amalia grinned.
       "Meow. She is probably just feeling insecure." The highlander went on with a chuckle. "She may be a so-called perfect specimen of womanhood, but do you think she has ever galloped upon a horse's back, free as the summer wind? Or held a sword in her hand, or an arrow to her cheek?"
       "Or locked a man's arm behind his back, and kicked him into the mud?" Tanistrae smiled back.
       "Oh, that… I did not mean to hurt him." Amalia blushed a deep crimson. "I did not know what was happening. I just reacted. If he had not fought the hold, his wrist would not have sprained."
       "Oh, I think he got quite what he deserved." The Ionian declared. "Probably not nearly enough. He and his partner likely make quite a living cutting the purses of unsuspecting travelers."
       "So he is not a friend of yours then?" Amalia ventured cautiously.
       "Never seen him before he tried to rob you." Tanistrae declared as the barmaid brought them their drinks, plunking them loudly upon the table between the two women.
       They ignored her, and picked up their beverages.
       "In fact, I like your style Amalia." The raven-haired woman stated. "So do not worry, I am not here to exact vengeance."
       "I always worry." Amalia explained. "I am a stranger here, as anyone can plainly see. I am still not quite used to your lowland ways, and I have no one to speak on my behalf to whatever passes for the local authorities."
       "Well, your caution is wise, I will give you that." Tanistrae conceded, then smiled devilishly. "I am afraid I never quite learned to be so careful."
       "So I guess" Amalia agreed with an answering smile.
       "So how is your horse?" The red-haired woman continued. "Groomed and well-fed by now?"
       "My horse?" Tanistrae wondered. "How-?"
      Amalia tapped her nose and smiled.
       "Oh." The Ionian archer blushed sheepishly. "Well, I was hungry, so I thought I would bathe after I ate."
       "That is ok." Amalia said with a wistful look. "I like the smell of horses. It reminds me of good things. I could take care of that for you though. Cleanliness is a simple work of magic, one I use often."
       "Magic?" Tanistrae wondered. "You are a magus?"
       "I am a Priestess of Vanadis." Amalia explained, fingering the rose pendant she wore. Carved from rose quartz, it hung from her throat by a simple rawhide cord "And yes, I practice seidhr, what your folk call magic."
       "Gah!" Tanistrae slapped her forehead with her open palm. "The triple-moon pin you have. I should have guessed. I thought it was just for show. I have never met a Kalmaran priestess before. I am sorry."
       "Oh… yes, the triple-moon." Amalia said, glancing down upon the silver pin attached to the top of her dress. It was in the form of a full moon joined to a pair of crescent moons to either side, their horns curling outward. "Do not feel bad. Few of your folk recognize that."
       "I have spent some time with a few mercenary pikemen from your country." Tanistrae explained with a sly grin, then looked at the pendant Amalia was holding with interest. "So what is that rose you wear? It is simple, but rather striking. Is it a symbol of your Goddess as well?"
       "Sort of." Amalia said as lightly as she could manage, considering how nervous that subject tended to make her. "Some of us wear them."
       "I have been told that your folk have different magic for each sex?" Tanistrae wondered. "Is that so?"
       "Oh yes." Amalia replied more confidently. "Magic is the gift of the Vala, the gods. Men's magic is Vanalfar's gift, and is based upon leadership, judgment, craftsmanship and the building of things, physical prowess, hunting, and war."
       "Women's magic is granted us by Vanadis, and revolves around health and living, growing things. Be they people or animals or crops. Creation and possibility are also the woman's realm, as is inspiration. The same with wise counsel, for it is the crone who illuminates the darkness of ignorance. Some priestesses have even been said to have the gift of prophecy, but that has always been rare."
       "That seems to odd." Tanistrae said, seeming genuinely engrossed. "Here the magicians are not so divided by sex. Though different collegiums have their areas of expertise. Like the damned nekromanters, who spend all their time with their spirits and corpses."
       "I have only heard rumors of your nekromanters." Amalia replied. "They are real then? I have met several of your magi, but none of their kind."
       "Oh yes, quite real." Tanistrae scowled. "I have run afoul of them before. Never trust one. They have more love for the dead I think, than the living."
       "Our people have little to do with spirits or the dead." Amalia replied. "Then only mostly with nature spirits, not human souls. It is dangerous to dabble with the fate of the soul after it has begun its journey in the afterlife. One must be careful to avoid doing irreparable harm. Few of my folk practice such magic, and then only when absolutely necessary."
       "So is that men's magic or women's?" Tanistrae asked.
       "Both." Declared Amalia, glancing down at her rose pendant. "And neither. It is… complicated. You seem to know quite a bit about magic, for someone without the Talent yourself."
       "Hah!" Tanistrae chuckled. "I suppose I do. My father saw to it I had a well-rounded education. One of my tutors was a magus as well as an advisor to my father. I learned a lot from him, about a great many things besides magical theory."
       "Your father must have been quite wealthy." Amalia contended. "Was he a merchant? Or are you hiding an aristocratic bloodline under those breeches?"
       "Hmmmm." The Ionian hummed, and began to stare at something across the room.
       Amalia turned to look, and saw a young girl, no more than eight winters at most, standing in the middle of the common room. She had copper skin like the men at the corner table, and was dressed in colorful silks. Her eyes were dark, and brightly colored ribbons tied back her straight, raven-black hair. A curious pendant hung from a silver chain around her neck, appearing to Amalia to be a palm-sized hemisphere of ivory, encased in a delicate lattice of gold.
       She looked lost and very alone. When she saw the men of her race, she tentatively walked to their table. But they ignored her, and after a few moments she walked away. The other patrons seemed to pay her no heed as well, not even sparing a glance in her direction. She moved from table to table, seeming to just look at the people seated there. None of them paid her any attention.
       Odd, Amalia thought, very odd.
       She stepped up to their table, and Amalia felt it. A wave of Power emanated from her. It washed over her like a gentle tide. Soft, but with great strength behind it. This girl had the Talent, and quite a bit of it.
       "Well, hello there little girl." Tanistrae said kindly. "What is you name?"
       "Are you looking for someone? Or are you lost?" Amalia asked.
       Her face seemed to light up, and Amalia felt the Power stir within her. She was potent indeed, and the priestess wondered if she was even aware of her ability.
       "My name is Dyani, and I need your help!" She gasped in a strangely accented version of Ionian. "My father Mingan, he is… Quickly, we need you!"
       She turned and ran a few paces toward the door. Her eyes were wild, and her lower lip trembled. Her entire body trembled in fact, with fear or pent up energy Amalia could not tell. Perhaps with both. She looked excited, frightened, anxious, and above all else, in a hurry.
       "Come, please!" The little girl entreated them from the center of the common room. "My father, all of them, they need you! Before it is too late!"
       "We had better follow her." Amalia said with urgency, rising to her feet and looking to Tanistrae. "She is magi. Powerful too. Something is very wrong here."
       "Damn." Tanistrae breathed quietly, gathering up her gear. "Looks like dinner will be late…"
 

 
       Tanistrae opened her bags and quickly pulled out her mail shirt and its thick under-tunic. There was no time to put either on. Not without completely losing sight of Dyani, who was just about to go out the door. But somehow the Ionian sensed that this would be no social call. The look of desperation in the girl's eye appeared too great, and Amalia's declaration of her being magi did not bode well either.
       If the girl did have Power, like the red-haired Kalmaran had said, then what would frighten her so? It must not be trivial, the archer reasoned.
       The Ionian gathered up her mail and its thick under-tunic in one hand and slung her bow and case over her shoulder with the other. Then she raced for the door, reaching it just behind Amalia.
       She hoped that no one stole her saddle bags, and everything within them, before they returned.
       Outside she saw Dyani was already down the street and Amalia was making a good effort to catch up. But the girl ran fast. Awfully fast for one her age. Tanistrae did her best to keep up. But riding boots were not made for running in, and the mail shirt in her arms was heavy. She did the best she could under the circumstances, and cursed herself for lagging behind.
       She found herself coming to the city's east gate. The same that she had entered earlier in the afternoon. She saw the very same watchman lounging there too, now gathering up his gear. Another three men came ambling out of what Tanistrae imagined was a guardhouse, likewise pulling on their helmets and armor as they walked.
       Dyani ran through the open gate without the guard sparing her a second glance. Amalia followed moments later, and he finally looked up from under his heavy, full-faced helmet to see what was happening around him.
       "Hey!" He exclaimed in confusion. "Where are you going?"
       Tanistrae sped past him, offering him a wry smile as she went, but saving her breath for her running.
        "We shut the gates in a few minutes!" The guard shouted after her. "Unless you make it fast, you are spending the night outside!"
        They jogged down the road, then veered off into the grassy fields. Toward the dolmen.
        Now, why on earth is a little girl leading them to a graveyard? Let alone one that does not appear to have been used in at least a century?
        Yet that was exactly where she went. Through a wide break in the crumbling stone wall and right up the slopes of the artificial hill. Without a moment's hesitation she proceeded directly to the doorway of a large mausoleum. The actual door of the crumbling stone edifice was missing, and ivy grew over its decorative columns. Clearly no one had been here in a long time. Except them.
        Then Dyani was out of sight. Amalia had paused for a moment at the doorway, looking at Tanistrae as she came running up. Waiting for her.
       "Did she go inside?" The Ionian asked.
       "Yes." The Kalmaran replied. "She is small, but moves like quicksilver."
       The red-haired woman plunged into the darkened building. Tanistrae followed, and they found themselves in a small foyer. Beyond that was a larger chamber, where they discovered several sarcophagi with their lids carelessly tossed aside upon the stone flagstones beneath their feet.
       "Where are the bodies?" Amalia wondered.
       "Damn grave-robbers." Tanistrae swore. "Now where did that girl go?"
       She cast their eyes around the chamber, looking for any sign of the plainsgirl. Yet there was none. Just a silent and empty tomb. Then she noticed another portal in the room, across from the one they had entered. Tanistrae raised her hand to point it out even as she noticed Amalia doing the same.
       "There!" They proclaimed in unison.
       Tanistrae looked at Amalia. The other woman looked back at her. A smile broke out on both their features.
       Before Amalia could move, Tanistrae pulled off her bow case and quiver, and handed it to her.
       "Hold this." She said.
       A moment later she had her sword belt unbuckled, and handed it to the Kalmaran as well. Fingers moving quickly, she loosened the strings of her bodice just enough for her to pull it off and toss it to the floor along with her chemise, leaving her stark naked from the waist up. The highlander watched with a growing redness in her cheeks, but did not say a word. Rather than try to explain Tanistrae simply pulled on her thick tunic and then wriggled into the mail shirt. Her years of experience allowing her to do so in just a few moments. Something she was very thankful for.
    Moving quickly, she settled the shirt of mail links onto her muscular frame. Like all Ionian mail, it bore an extra pair of padded and mailed straps over each shoulder, running from front to back that she had to buckle down to her chest. Its skirt hung down to her mid-thigh, and was slit along the front and back, giving her legs freedom to move. A moment later she buckled the sword back around her waist, drawing the belt tight to take some of the weight of the mail. Attaching her bow-case to her belt, she drew forth the bow, and expertly strung it with a string from a small compartment within the case. Setting an arrow upon the nock, she noticed the other woman staring in fascination at her bow. The highlander must have never seen a nomad's compound bow, Tanistrae reasoned. Well, there was no time explain it to her now, she mused.
    Instead she nodded to the other woman and led the way through the other doorway.  A circular stone stair led down into inky darkness. Tanistrae began to dig into one of her pouches for her lightstone, hoping she had not left it in her saddle. Before she could find it, Amalia whispered something in her people's tongue, and gestured before her with her hand. A moment later a small globe of soft, warm light appeared in the air above the two women.
       "There, that should give us enough light to see by." Amalia explained. "I know it might give us away, but we need to see."
       Tanistrae nodded, and was thankful for the highlander's presence. How was the little plainsgirl able to see down here? She wondered. Assuming she had not fallen down the stairs and broken her neck.
       Using Amalia's magical light to guide her steps, Tanistrae ventured down the round staircase with the highlander close behind. The Ionian archer listened intently for any sound that might signal Dyani's presence. She was answered by nothing but silence however. Tanistrae never even considered calling out to the little girl. Something was clearly amiss. Eight year old girls do not lead strangers into ancient tombs at nightfall.
       The Ionian was glad to see that the highland woman had realized the same thing, and was keeping as silent as she could. Much quieter in fact, than Tanistrae herself. With her mail shirt there was no hope of her being truly silent. Nor with the hard-soled and heeled riding boots she wore.
       Curses, Tanistrae thought. I am mucking this up already and it has not even started. Whatever this was.
       The spiraling stair disgorged into a rough-hewn hallway. Unlike the smooth bricks of the mausoleum above, the hall was constructed from rough, unmortared stones. It looked centuries old, while its slightly twisting path and unfinished look gave it an almost organic feel.
       There was still no sign of Dyani at the bottom. No sign of her anywhere.
       Tanistrae paused, setting aside her bow for a moment to free her hands. Reaching up, she drew her hair into a long ponytail, which she then wrapped around her neck and tied together at her throat.
       "It is an old plains war custom." She explained to Amalia, who stared in puzzlement. "It helps protect the throat. That is why they wear their hair long."
       Next she reached into her bowcase, and drew forth a leather bracer that she strapped onto her left forearm, followed by a leather glove for her right hand. Picking up her bow, Tanistrae moved cautiously forward again, and noticed that long, horizontal niches were carved into the walls upon either side. Long and deep enough for a grown man to lay in, they stretched all the way down the hallway, and were stacked three high for each section of wall. They were in a catacomb.
       "Where are the bodies?" Amalia pondered, looking into the empty niches.
       Exactly what Tanistrae was wondering. She paused a moment, and the red-haired priestess waited silently behind her. She cocked an ear to one side and then the other, straining to listen for any clue as to what was going on here.
       "I think I hear something ahead." Tanistrae finally breathed. "Something like metal on stone, and something else…"
       Tanistrae moved forward again. This time walking slowly, trying to be as silent as possible in her boots and armor. She only hoped that things were not as bad as she suspected they were. Amalia might be a priestess and magician, but she was not sure if she could protect her if things came to a fight. Even if it were only grave-robbers in this abandoned tomb.
       "This place looks ancient." Amalia whispered. "Why would thieves come here to plunder? I mean, would not any valuables have been stolen or corroded long ago?"
       Tanistrae had considered that already. But someone must be down here.
       They reached the end of the hall and found themselves in a circular chamber lined with more burial niches. Again, all of which were empty. Several passageways loomed around the chamber. The two women looked down one and another, and finally the inhabitants stirred.
       It was the sound of shuffling feet that came to Tanistrae's ears first. Nearby. She turned to one of the new passages, and saw a man come shambling out. He was tall, and wore bronze armor that had turned green with age and was literally rotting off him. His long hair was gray and unkempt, and what remained of his flesh was dried to the consistency of leather and was stretched tightly over his dusty bones. He raised a bronze sword in one hand. An old, Imperial fashion kopis, the sword curved inward, its single-edged blade thicker toward the point, and narrowest just beneath the guard.
       "Undead!" Tanistrae hissed. In one smooth motion she drew her bow to its full extent, feeling the fletchings of her arrow resting upon her cheek. A heartbeat later she loosed, and the arrow drove through the zombie's helmet as if it did not exist. The once-human creature's skull disintegrated beneath the force of the shot, and her arrow continued into the darkness down the passage behind it.
       The headless zombie tottered on its skeletal feet. Then righted itself, and stepped drunkenly toward the archer. More undead shuffled out of the passage behind it, as well as the other tunnels. Like the first, they were armed and armored with relics that must have been at least half a millennia old, practically falling to pieces from age.
       Much to the Ionian's amazement, Amalia stepped in front of her. The highlander held her hands out to the undead soldiers, as if to bar their approach.
       "By the Vala, I command thee to return to thy rest!" The priestess declared forcefully, her voice ringing off the rough stones of the chamber. "Your time is over. Begone from this world!"
       Tanistrae felt a chill run down her spine. It was as if something, some force she could not describe, had washed out from the priestess and passed through her, continuing to the zombies beyond. A pink light sprang up around Amalia, and Tanistrae could almost swear that the air seemed to shimmer as if from heat haze on a hot summer day.
       The undead came to a sudden halt. They seemed to strain against the force emanating from Amalia, as if it were an invisible wave that thrust them back. The red-haired Kalmaran strained as well. Tanistrae could see the veins standing forth upon her forehead, and her arms begin to tremble with the effort.
       Then a green light seemed to flare in the deep recesses of the zombie's eye-sockets, and another, more powerful force seemed to sweep through the chamber, smothering Amalia's Power like a candle flame. The pink glow around the highlander vanished, and just as quickly as it had come, that strange energy that had emanated from her was gone as well.
       Then the undead moved in for the kill once more, and Tanistrae thought she heard the faint sound of laughter in her ears.
       By reflex, she drew another arrow and fired into the zombie nearest Amalia. It pierced his mouldering breastplate, ribcage, and exited his back. Only to embed itself in the armor of the zombie behind it.
       Then a kopis was falling towards her. There was no time to draw her sword. All she could do was twist aside as best she could. The crooked-bladed weapon fell upon into her shoulder, where the mail was doubly reinforced by the extra strip of armor. Tanistrae grunted, and the sword shattered from the impact. Shards of bronze from the zombie's kopis rained about, now green with verdigris rather than the healthy copper shade of good metal. One nicked a thin, crimson line across the Ionian's cheek.
       Without pause, the monster reached out with its hands to claw at Tanistrae's throat. She dropped her bow and reached for her sword, but knew she would be too late. Then from out of nowhere, a kick from Amalia shattered the zombie's outstretched limbs. For a moment, Tanistrae almost imagined that she saw a red light around the priestess' foot. But only for a moment. Then Tanistrae had her cavarlyman's longsword in hand, and carved the skeleton in two with a long chop from head to toe. Its remains dropped to the floor and did not stir.
       The Ionian glanced over at the priestess, and was amazed at what she saw. The red-haired Kalmaran was moving with amazing speed, ducking under, around, and even in front of the zombie's striking blades. Surrounded on three sides, there seemed nowhere for the tall woman to go. Yet somehow, go she did, and she managed to avoid the skeletons clumsy blows. If she did not know better, Tanistrae would have sworn it was choreographed, like a sword fight in a play.
       Then came a blow the mountain woman could not avoid. A hooked sword fell upon her forearm, which she had raised up to protect her face. Tanistrae gritted her teeth for the amputation, the fountain of blood, and the terrible scream she knew would follow.
       Another red glow sprang up from Amalia's arm, and when the zombie's sword hit home, the clash of metal striking metal came to Tanistrae's ears. Miraculously the zombie's kopis shattered into fragments, and then the red light was gone. Leaving the Ionian to wonder if it had ever really been there to begin with. The sleeve of the Kalmaran's dress was torn, and Tanistrae glimpsed her bare flesh beneath, neither bloodied nor blemished.
       The Ionian did not have time to question this puzzling sight. Another zombie was fast upon her, and more of its compatriots were just steps away. Tanistrae saw its sword chop at her waist. Gritting her teeth, she braced for the impact even as she used both hands to drive her own double-bladed sword down into the crook between the monster's neck and shoulders.
       The zombie's ancient sword stuck her below the ribs. But her mail held against the aging bronze, as she expected it would. The zombie's own armor might as well have been butter for all the resistance it gave the steel of her own long blade.
       The Ionian turned and dispatched the next zombie in similar fashion. The undead had the numbers, but they could not stand up to her steel. Nor were their own weapons of use against her armor. They seemed to lack the intelligence to strike at her head or arms, except by accident. Even then, they were far too slow to land a blow there. Tanistrae could always dodge just enough so that their attacks fell upon her armor or missed entirely.
       She moved up beside the unarmed Kalmaran, and once again marveled at the woman. She was holding her own against the creatures. Holding her own, and more, she was taking the fight to them.
       She seemed to have a knack of using their own attacks to defeat the monsters. A zombie came at her with a downward chop, and the Kalmaran nimbly danced out of the path of its strike, just as she had when the thief had struck at her in the agora. Catching its as she dodged, arm, Amalia continued her motion and used the force of its own blow to send it catapulting over her own back, smashing its skull directly into the stone floor. The zombie's head and shoulders shattered from the impact, and one stomp from the woman's crimson-glowing foot made quick work of the creature's ribs a moment later.
       Tanistrae swatted aside a zombie's blade with her own longsword, and then cut it in two at the waist seconds later. Skeletal hands grabbed at her legs, and she glanced down to see its torso and arms reaching for her. She lashed out with her boot, making quick work of the creature's breastbone.
       Side-stepping a blow that would have chopped her head from crown to teeth, Tanistrae lopped off that zombie's arm, then dug through its ribs with the back swing. It crumpled to the floor, only to be replaced by another undead soldier that raised its sword at her.
       She grunted as its blow landed upon her shoulder. But the reinforced mail links held again, and she would have nothing but a bruise to show for it tomorrow. The zombie did not fare so well when she replied with her own sword, and another undead warrior fell to the flagstones.
       Then there were no more skeletons before Tanistrae. She turned to see Amalia catch the sword of the last zombie in her hand, which now glowed with red light. Sparks flew off her palm where the blade slid along her skin, and the sound of metal upon metal grated in Tanistrae's ears. With an effortless twist of her wrist, the Kalmaran priestess yanked the kopis from the skeleton's grip and casually tossed it aside.
       A moment later she had it on the ground, and Tanistrae's sword sliced it in two.
 

 
       Amalia was breathing hard as she looked across to Tanistrae, who was staring back at her and catching her own breath. The red light was gone from Amalia's fist. Vanished just as quickly as the other times it had erupted in time to meet a blow, or make one of her own. Amalia wondered how soon the Ionian would start to ask about that.
       "Are you hurt?" Tanistrae asked her instead.
       The priestess shook her head, and looked closely at Tanistrae. Searching for any injuries of her own. The Ionian's mail seemed to have protected her from the zombie's swords however, and Amalia was glad the other woman had the foresight to bring it. Her only injury appeared to be a long but shallow cut along her cheek. Nothing serious, it was not even bleeding anymore. The Kalmaran guessed that in time it would probably heal without a scar.
       "Never begin a job without the proper tools, my father used to say." Amalia heard Tanistrae murmur quietly, looking down upon her own armored frame. Then she looked back at Amalia, and the highlander could see that she was comparing how they were dressed. She in armor, and herself in nothing but linen.
       "We are dealing with a nekromanter." Amalia declared, hoping to deflect the questions she could see forming on the horsewoman's features. "I felt his power when I tried to dispel the undead. He is much stronger than I am."
       Tanistrae seemed to chew on that. It was rather obvious after all, Amalia reflected.
       The Ionian woman knelt down to pick up her bow and return it to the case at her hip. She did not unstring it however. Then she turned to more closely examine the now truly dead bodies strewn about the chamber.
       "These bodies are from the Imperial era." The other woman observed. "Over five hundred years old. Look at these swords. They stopped making this style decades before the Empire fell. The are all bronze too. No one makes bronze weapons anymore."
       "The armor is the same." Tanistrae continued. "As the helmets are. No shields. They were probably wooden, and rotted away by now. It is wet and humid here in the summer after all, they would not have lasted for long."
       "Could Dyani have done this?" Tanistrae wondered out loud.
       "I do not think so." Amalia replied easily. "Her magic felt… different. The nekromanteia I felt was darker, colder, harder. Malignant. I felt nothing of that in Dyani. Her magic was hard, but warm and protective. Almost like a coccoon. Although I think it may have been spirit-magic as well. I am sorry, like I said, we rarely dabble in nekromanteia in the mountains. So I am not sure."
       "However, I do not think whoever animated them called back their spirits into their bodies, and made them eidolons." Amalia went on, trying to remember back to Mistress Käthe's teachings on spirits as she gazed down upon the shattered corpses. "If the nekromanter had, the zombies would have been faster, smarter. Much more powerful. He could not be strong enough for that though. These bodies are too long dead. Their souls much too far distant in the after-realms to call them back. I have never heard of it being done for anyone more than a few decades gone."
       "So he was just using his power to animate the flesh instead." Tanistrae ventured. "Using his own will to direct them. Even though the end result is much less effective."
       "Yes, that is the sum of it." Amalia agreed. This Ionian was much smarter and well-schooled than a common mercenary or merchant had any right to be. There is much more to her than meets the eye, Amalia mused.
       She smiled at the thought. It was only fair that they both had secrets to keep.
       "I do not see Dyani's body anywhere here." Tanistrae observed quietly, sounding as if she were talking about a sack of grain rather than an eight year old girl. "She must have gotten past the zombies. The guards that is."
       "Perhaps her magic protected her." Amalia considered. "It must have."
       The Ionian hummed in thought and listened at the openings. To Amalia they each looked much the same as the other. Meandering corridors stretching away into darkness, faced with rough stones, cut with empty funereal niches. Amalia waited quietly. The Ionian seemed to have better hearing than her. She would wait to see what Tanistrae discovered.
       "This one." The archer said confidently. "I can hear something down there. Sounds like workmen. Like digging."
       "The nekromanter is looking for something?" Amalia thought aloud.
       "Or someone." Tanistrae finished.
       "I do not suppose there is any point in going back to Erithri to seek aid." Amalia frowned. "They would probably not let us back in the town after dark, and might think we were crazy."
       "That would also leave the girl in here all by herself." Tanistrae pointed out. "And yeah, they probably would ignore us, at least until morning. Or think we were outlaws trying to lead them into a trap."
       "Come on, lets go." The Ionian declared, a grim set to her face. "Whatever that nekromanter is here for, it is not good. This son of a bitch needs killing."
       Amalia nodded, feeling much the same, and worried for Dyani. Whatever magic the girl possessed, whatever her own reasons for being here, she could not remain safe from the Power Amalia had felt when she had contended with the nekromanter. She had never felt magic so strong.
       Not that she had often tested the magic of others.
       Goddess help us, she prayed. Let your daughters see this through.
       Tanistrae led the way along the catacomb, her sword before her. Amalia followed close behind, her magical light floating above her head and revealing their way with its soft white glow. She hoped that the illumination it cast would not be too much of a detriment. But their only other option was to blunder around in the dark. That would certainly get them killed quickly, the Kalmaran thought. As it was, Tanistrae's hard-soled riding boots clomped regularly upon the stone floor, announcing their presence in advance.
       Then the sound of the other woman's boots vanished, and Amalia felt soft earth beneath her own feet. She saw that they had entered an even rougher passage of simple dirt. Occasional beams of wood buttressed the ceiling, the bark still upon their frames and looking woefully inadequate in the dim light. The tunnel was narrow, and twisted and turned as the two women went along.
       "They are digging new tunnels." Amalia observed.
       They came out into another rough stone chamber. Again several passages ran away in different directions. The walls in this one were not of the rough stones as the other. Rather these were cut bricks that were mortared into place. A large stone sarcophagus sat in the center of the room, its lid tossed carelessly on the floor beside it. While man-sized vertical niches lined the walls.
       The two women approached cautiously, watching for another attack. But none came. Amalia found the coffin to be empty as she approached it. As were the niches. She looked at Tanistrae.
       "Looks like a noble's burial chamber." The Ionian woman explained. "Someone wealthy enough for the extra effort of the masonry. The wall spaces would have been used to place gifts for the deceased within. Food, clothing, jewelry, weapons and armor. Whatever his relatives thought he would need in the afterlife. Grave robbers probably stole those long ago."
        Amalia shook her head. Why on earth did these Ionians bury valuables with their dead? It was not as if they could use them in the afterlife. A shroud to wrap their bodies in for the funeral made sense. But weapons, armor, jewels? Those were needed by the living. The Ionians must be so wealthy that they could afford to just throw such things away out of sentiment. The hard realities of the Kalmar Mountains had taught her folk to be more pragmatic.
       Amalia moved quietly to the other side of the chamber, and heard Tanistrae's boots clomping on the stone floor behind her. Listening intently, this time she too heard something from down one of the other passages. The sound of metal clinking on rock, and something rattling. Perhaps bones…
       Tanistrae nodded to her, and led the way down the same corridor. Soon the walls gave way to the older rough stones, and once again burial niches appeared in the walls to either side. Empty, as before.
       The passage debouched into another chamber. Yet this one was almost entirely filled with earth and rock. The gaping hole in the ceiling told where it had come from. A cave-in, Amalia thought, and wondered how much of the rest of the necropolis was safe to traverse.
       There was enough clear space remaining to reach one other hallway off the room. Tanistrae carefully made her way across the broken stones littering the floor and entered. Amalia followed a moment later.
       More winding and twisting passages lay before them. Some of rough stones, some of finished masonry, and some just plain dirt tunnels. They went up and down slopes, and turned this way and that. It was a maze, and Amalia was becoming quickly disoriented.
       Finally, the noise of the working became much louder, and Amalia could discern a light from the end of the rough, earth passage that they crept along. She doused her own illumination, hoping that it had not yet given them away, and was thankful for the soft dirt beneath their now quiet feet.
       Tanistrae moved to one side of the tunnel, which widened as they neared the end. Amalia took up a position along the other wall, and the two sneaked carefully along. They came to another side passage, from which a soft breeze issued. Amalia listened carefully at the entrance, but heard nothing. Tanistrae shook her head, and motioned for them to continue down the corridor.
       Amalia felt her heart beating wildly in her chest. Calm, she told herself, concentrating on the image of the Goddess. Be calm and at peace, she thought. Let the God and Goddess' power flow through her. Focus on the energy. Be the river through which the Vala flow.
       They came to the end of the tunnel, and looked upon a large, earthen chamber buttressed with very fresh-looking timber beams. A ball of light glowed in the center of the ceiling, just hanging in mid air with no means of support or fuel. Mounds of discarded dirt and rocks rose in several places in the room, and other loose stones were strewn hither and thither. Small piles of detritus kept the dirt and rock company, other than several skeletons of what were clearly horses, most of the wreckage was so decayed that their original shapes could rarely be discerned.
       Moving amongst the wreckage was a small army of skeletons. They carried rather new and quite serviceable picks and shovels, and were busily digging away in several pits in the rocky floor of the room. More undead armed with swords lurked around the edges of the chamber.
       In one pit, a group of the loathsome creatures dropped their tools and drew a stone coffin from the depths of the earth. Working in unison, the undead laborers raised the sarcophagus from the bottom of the hole they had dug and onto the floor above.
       "Excellent." A thin voice cracked. "The Soul Egg is close now, I can feel it."
       The author issued from the darkness near the opposite wall. A man, he was thin and dressed in a flowing robe. Hood pulled up over his head, all that could be seen of his face was a pale splash of flesh. As he stepped closer to the coffin, Amalia could see that the red material of his robe seemed to somehow shift. Not from his movements, but rather of its own accord, as if it were somehow alive. Lumps seemed to form within it and take distinctly oval shapes. Shapes like a human faces…
       Amalia felt revulsion roll through her. Revulsion and anger. A soft red glow began to emanate from her clenched fists.
       "Those are souls." She hissed. Tanistrae was right, she thought, this son of a bitch had to die.
       As they watched, the skeletons lifted the cover from the sarcophagus while the nekromanter looked within. Drawing back his hood with both hands, he said something quietly while he gazed intently within the grave.
       Amalia saw that his stringy, unkempt hair was long and black, and his pale features were pocked with sores. Beady, onyx eyes glittered as he spoke to whatever lay within the coffin, and a green light sprang from his forehead.
       It came from an iron crown that spanned the nekromanter's head. More specifically, from the small, ivory horn that jutted from the center of the crown. Cased in a whorled lattice of gold, the horn possessed an odd, rounded end, and seemed more like a lump than anything else.
       The horn flared with brighter light, and the nekromanter flung his open hand down to the coffin. The light traveled down his arm, leapt from his fingers, and filled the coffin. A moment later it was gone, and the magician stood back with satisfaction.
       Out of the corner of her eye, Amalia noticed Tanistrae jam her longsword into the dirt, point down, and draw forth her bow.
       Then a man rose up from the coffin. He was dressed in a pair of disintegrating black trousers that clung to his legs in scraps. A ragged mess of some brightly-colored cloth hung over his muscular torso, while gold and jewels decorated his frame. He held a composite bow similar to Tanistrae's, only his was also inlaid with pieces of bronze that looked like a row of armored scales running from the central grip to the tips. His hair was long and raven-black, and his skin the same copper shade as both Dyani and the other men Amalia had seen at the inn.
       That was when Amalia noticed that he did not look dead, like the other rotting zombies that filled the room. No, his flesh appeared quite intact and unblemished. As if this were the same day he was lain to rest in his grave. Only his clothing bore the weight of the centuries he must have seen in the earth. Except for his bow. That appeared fresh and new as well.
       This was no ordinary zombie. Amalia realized. The nekromanter had called back the nomad's soul to the body. An Eidolon!
       "Bow down to Sabatus!" The nekromanter declared haughtily. "I am your master now!"
       Amalia was about to warn Tanistrae about the danger of the eidolon, when she heard the creak of her bow flexing.
       The eidolon jerked his head from the nekromanter and stared directly at the two women. A moment later Amalia heard the thwap of Tanistrae's bow being released, and saw the dark blur of her arrow in flight.
       Warned by the eidolon's sudden motion, the nekromanter had turned to face the two women as well. He was just quick enough to raise his arm to shield his face before Tanistrae's arrow struck it, rather than his head. The steel-headed arrow sank deeply into the red cloth of the magician's robe. Yet he made no sound of pain or even discomfort.
       Amalia watched as a lumpy oval formed around the jutting shaft of the arrow. A face took shape there, straining as if in pain. Slowly, the arrow rose from the cloth of the robe, as if it were somehow being pushed out from the inside. Until finally the arrow fell, unbloodied, to the dirt floor at the nekromanter's feet.
       The nekromanter laughed and gestured at the two women.
       "Kill them!"
       The eidolon reached down to the bowcase at his feet, drawing forth an arrow of his own from the quiver that was built into it. Setting it to the nock, he drew, aimed, and shot in one fluid motion.
       Or he tried to at least. While his bronze composite bow was quite serviceable, his centuries-old arrow was not. It disintegrated as soon as the string was loosed, erupting into a cloud of dust and shards of rotten wood.
       The eidolon looked perplexed.
       The other undead did not pause to contemplate however. Instead they clambered from their workplaces, hefted their tools or weapons, and immediately rushed upon the two women.
       They were the same as the previous zombies they had encountered, attacking directly, with no skill or natural talent in their actions. Amalia let Vanalfar's energy flow through her, filling her with the god's martial prowess. The red light of war sprang from her flesh, and she moved through the udnead like mercury.
       Here a crimson-glowing punch destroyed a skeleton's ribcage, there a kick shattered another's skull. Letting them come upon her, she effortlessly side-stepped their clumsy strikes. Then, using their own momentum, she grasped hold of them and flung them into the ground or one another. From time to time one of them was able to land a blow, but a flash of red light turned Amalia's flesh to steel, and warded them away.
       Yet in spite of her martial skills, she was forced back down into the tunnel along with Tanistrae. The sheer numbers of the creatures made up for their lack of ability or equipment, and for every zombie that they destroyed, there was always another take its place.
       In the confined space of the tunnel, Amalia found it harder to dodge their attacks. Their numbers crowded her. Their blows fell more often, and she was forced to ward off more and more of them with the god's magic. Vanalfar's Hauberk, it was called, and for once Amalia was glad for her ability to wield male as well as female magic.
       Tanistrae appeared to be in much the same situation. Her mail shirt warded off their blows, splintering the decrepit bronze swords the zombie guards employed. However, the much newer shovels clearly battered her, and Amalia wondered what a pick might do to her if it hit her. It would not pierce the mail, she was certain. But it would probably shatter her bones underneath.
       Clearly, it was time to retreat, and make a new plan.
       The darkness of the tunnel prompted her to summon the women's magic within her as well. With a thought and simple prayer to the goddess, Her white glow sprang to life in the air above Amalia. Giving her and Tanistrae the light they needed to fight by.
       She felt a cool breeze at her back, and realized that they had been forced into the side passage off the tunnel they had entered. Damn! She silently cursed. They had no idea where that led, no way of telling where they might be herded into.
       She spared a glance behind her, and saw nothing but empty space. Another large chamber, she imagined. Then she realized that the floor vanished but a few feet from where they stood. Even though it was well within her sphere of illumination.
       She did not have time to ponder that, and turned her head just quickly enough to slide away from a pick that would have split her skull in two. Instead it thudded down hard upon her shoulder, and even though Vanalfar's Hauberk protected her, she felt her entire body shiver beneath the blow. She could swear that she had actually been driven into the ground nearly an inch by its force.
       Amalia's reply came without thought, and the skeleton's head vanished beneath her fist.
       Then the zombies slowed their assault, and a moment later halted altogether. Amalia took a step back, and spared a quick look about to see what was happening. Was something creeping up behind them? She wondered.
       She noticed Tanistrae doing likewise, and realized at the same time as her that they were standing on the edge of cliff. That was why Vanadis' Light had not revealed anything. There was nothing to see within its radius!
       Looking back, Amalia saw the curtain of undead part slightly. Revealing the nekromanter Sabatus and his eidolon standing at the other end of the passageway. He had raised his hood to cover his face, and all that could be discerned from within was an ominous green light. The only part of his flesh that could be seen were his hands as he thrust his arms toward the two women.
       A sickly green flame sprang from them and swept out down the tunnel before him. It swelled outwards, filling the entire passage as it rushed forward. Amalia saw the zombies disintegrate as they were engulfed in the inferno. Their withered flesh and dusty bones literally annihilated by the spectral fire, while their weapons and clothing seemed untouched while they fell to the ground.
       It was impossible. Amalia marveled. Simply impossible. No magician could wield such power.
       Yet there it was, and there were only seconds left before the flames washed over them. Amalia acted immediately and turned to Tanistrae. Folding her arms around the Ionian woman, she pulled her away from the fire and leapt into the abyss.
       May the Vala protect us, she prayed.
 

 
       One moment Tanistrae was standing in the tunnel, watching the spectral fire bearing down upon her. The next thing she knew Amalia was lifting her in her arms and they were falling in space.
       What in Erebus was she doing! The Ionian woman screamed inside her head.
       Then she felt a sudden jolt run through both her and Amalia as they struck an outcropping of rock. It was like slamming into a wall, and Tanistrae's head spun from the shock as her body jerked like a rag doll. The screech of rock on metal came to her ears, along with the scream of tearing cloth. Red light bathed her and the Kalmaran woman, and a moment later they were falling again.
       That was not me. Tanistrae realized. It had been Amalia whom had hit the rock.
       The impact spun them in the empty air, sending them tumbling away in a pinwheel of entwined arms and legs. Tanistrae felt Amalia moving beneath her. She was not flailing, but rather acted with a purpose. She was twisting them, turning them in space. Pulling Tanistrae's arms from her own waist and holding them above her own body.
       She was turning to completely take the fall with her own body.
       That is when they struck bottom. It came as a jolt even sharper than the previous one. Crimson light flared around her, and a metallic-sounding thud reverberated through Tanistrae's bones. Her teeth smashed together, almost cutting her tongue in half, while pain flared through every inch of her body. The red light was gone a moment later, only to be replaced by bright multi-colored spots that danced in front of the Ionian woman's eyes.
       Amalia's magical illumination winked out, plunging them into darkness. Except for the light that danced in Tanistrae's vision of course.
       The Ionian spent a few moments just breathing, her entire body aching from head to toe. Was she really still alive? She wondered. How far had they fallen?
       Amalia. She thought with rising fear. Oh Damn! Amalia!
       The Kalmaran woman lay silent and motionless beneath her. Tanistrae gingerly probed her body with her fingers. The priestess' skin was soft and warm beneath her hands. She felt the Kalmaran's small but firm breasts beneath her fingertips, and moved across her ribs. They seemed fine, until she gently turned Amalia sideways, and felt along her back. There the smooth contours of her ribs were broken, literally, and Tanistrae felt blood seep upon her fingers.
       No! She screamed in silence. Damnit, it was not right! She could not allow this woman to die for her. By all the Kalmaran gods and Ionian titans, she could not die!
       Tanistrae carefully laid Amalia back down, and her hands moved up to her throat. Fumbling along the side of her neck, she laid two fingers on her skin there and held her breath. Dreading what she expected to find there.
       Tanistrae felt the other woman's blood pulsing beneath her fingers. It was not very strong, but a steady beating nonetheless.
       The Ionian breathed again, and carefully lifted herself from the other woman's supine form. Her head spun, and the lights blossomed in front of her eyes. The hard, jagged rock beneath Tanistrae's hands and feet seemed to roll like the deck of a ship. She sat down hard, feeling a lump of stone jutting into one of her legs, and tried to hold still while the dizziness passed.
       Whoa, Tanistrae thought. Amalia may have protected her from the fall with her own body, but not entirely. Her head and jaw ached. Her tongue felt like it was on fire where she had bit it, and for some reason her left arm was starting to hurt more and more. The rest of her body merely ached as if a herd of wild ponies had stampeded over her.
       She glanced up toward the ledge they had fallen from. There was nothing but inky darkness above them. No sign of the nekromanter's own mage light. Nor of his ethereal fire. Nothing but dark rock and silence. Satisfied the nekromanter was not watching from above, she reached down under her mail skirt and into one of the pouches sewn into her trousers, and withdrew a fist-sized piece of quartz. Clear, white light spilled from the lightstone, and Tanistrae held it aloft to get a better view of her predicament.  
       She looked back to Amalia and moved closer, wondering if she should try to bind her ribs. Yet what Tanistrae did not know of healing could fill the Southern Sea. Damn! She cursed. She would probably do more harm than good by trying.
       "Wake up my dear." Tanistrae breathed quietly. "Wake up. You have to heal yourself."
        It was the magic of Amalia's that had saved them from the fall, Tanistrae knew. That magic which made a red light when she used it. Unlike the other magic she used that made a white light.
       Were they really different energies, as she suspected? Or was the light just an accident? Or a deliberate show of finesse. The Ionian knew that some magi intentionally wove patterns of light and sound into their spells to simply impress onlookers.
       Somehow Tanistrae did not think that the Kalmaran priestess was interested in wowing the crowds.
       Amalia and other Kalmarans Tanistrae had spoken to all said that their folk's magic was divided amongst men and women. Healing, growth, wisdom and the like for women. War, building, justice, leadership for the men.
       The light that she created, that had to be women's magic. Tanistrae reasoned. "The crone illuminates the darkness of ignorance." Amalia had said. Obviously the healing she had suggested was female magic as well.
       Yet the magical blows she was able to land, or the way she seemed to make her flesh hard as steel when struck, those could not be women's magic. That was physical prowess, war.
       Clearly, that had to be men's magic.
       Then there was spirit magic, which Amalia had said was both men's and women's magic, and neither. Yet Tanistrae had seen her wield it in their first encounter with the undead. Furthermore, when she had done so, it had made a pink light around her. Or perhaps more precisely, a combination of red and white illumination.
       Somehow Amalia must be both a woman and man. Tanistrae deduced. Both and neither.
       But her body… Tanistrae pondered. Her body was quite female. Her face showed no hint of a beard. During her impromptu examination moments before, Tanistrae had felt the other woman's breasts, her narrow waist, and her wide hips. All were entirely female and all entirely real. The same with her skin, which was too soft for a man's. From all that Tanistrae had seen, Amalia had to female.
       Yet she was tall. The Ionian considered. Awfully tall for a woman. Tall as any man in fact. Her face was not truly round like a woman's. It was her bobbed hairstyle that made it seem that way. If you took that away, and one could see it was more angular and square, with a strong chin, cheekbones, and brows, like a man's. Her hands were large as well. Man-hands, some might say. Then there was her throat, which had an adam's apple that appeared awfully large for a woman's.
       What else had she not seen, her gaze moving to the spot between the Kalmaran's hips?
       It would be easy enough to find out for certain, Tanistrae considered. Amalia was unconscious and not likely to wake anytime soon. A simple matter of moving her already torn clothing aside. Just one little look…
       No. Tanistrae recoiled at her own thoughts. That was not right. The woman saved my life. She thought. If she was indeed a woman that is. The least Tanistrae owed her was some dignity.
       With that thought the spots had receded from her vision, and the pounding in her skull had subsided to a mere ache. The rest of her body was still sore as well, but somehow, her left arm was starting to throb worse and worse.
       She felt along her forearm with her other hand. Cautiously probing with her fingers. Suddenly a lance of pain shot through her arm as she touched a tender area, and she had to bite down a gasp of agony.
       Broken, she realized. Curse it!
       Tanistrae searched about her, desperately trying to avoid the despair that was threatening to overwhelm her. There must be something, she thought, something that could help them. Some way out of this mess.
       She gingerly climbed back to her feet, taking it as a good sign that the walls did not spin around her. Going very carefully along the rocky floor, she explored the pit they had fallen into. It was not very big. Really just a long, narrow crack between the earth and stone walls to either side. She found a tiny stream running the length of the fissure, springing from a high, narrow crack at one end, and vanishing down a similar hole at the other end. Barely the width of her hand, there would be no escape along the stream.
       Her short and fruitless search over, Tanistrae moved back to Amalia and knelt beside her. Cradling the northerner's head in her hands, she found herself actually praying to the Titans for help.
       "Thank the Goddess." She heard Amalia gasp, the other woman's body suddenly erupting into motion beneath her. The Kalmaran tried to sit up, but after a strangled cry of pain, she slumped back into Tanistrae's arms.
       "Easy." Tanistrae breathed, hope surging within her breast. "Do not try to move. You are hurt pretty badly there."
       "Really?" Amalia half smiled, half grimaced. "I never would have guessed!"
       For some reason Tanistrae wanted to stick her aching tongue out at the other woman. The other woman, she insisted. At least for now.
       Instead she gave Amalia a cross look.
       "You almost killed yourself doing that stunt!" She declared strongly, then without meaning to, her voice softened and she found herself adding. "Thank you."
       "I am a priestess, helping women, protecting women, is what I do." The Kalmaran answered with the same pained smile as before.
       "Your arm is broken." Amalia said a moment later, the smile draining from her features. "Let me see."
       Tanistrae stared at the woman in amazement. How could she know that? The woman could not even stand!
       "My arm will keep." Tanistrae chided softly. "You need to think of yourself first. Your ribs, they are broken. Much worse than my arm. You are bleeding, I think some of the broken ends are poking out from the skin."
       Amalia closed her eyes and sighed, muttering something in her own language that Tanistrae could not understand. Then she opened her eyes again, and looked up to the Ionian woman.
       "I will need you to help me." She explained. "I am going to do something for the pain, then look at it. But I need to conserve my energy, so there is only so much it will help right now."
       She said something in her native tongue once more, and a soft, white glow began to emanate from her flesh, adding to the luminance of Tanistrae's lightstone.
       "Now turn me over." Said Amalia. "Carefully."
       Tanistrae complied, cautiously rolling the other woman on her side, then on her back. Her arm throbbed with the effort. With the added illumination from Amalia's sorcery, she could clearly see the broken ends of several ribs jutting from the back of her blood-stained clothing.
       The northerner cautiously reached back with one hand, slowly feeling along her back. Tanistrae reached out and gently took Amalia's hand in her own, guiding it along her body until she had explored every inch of that side. Then when Amalia switched arms, she did the same for the other side of her back.
       Finally Amalia rested, her head laying on one cheek so she could look up at Tanistrae with the other eye.
       "Six of my ribs are broken." She stated matter-of-factly, as if she were talking about cloth in the marketplace. "So are both my legs. There is also a great deal of bleeding and damaged tissue."
       "You will have to help me set the bones." Amalia explained. "I cannot do it myself, not right now."
       "Oh." Tanistrae stared in amazement. "My... What do I do?"
       Amalia coached Tanistrae as the Ionian cut away the fabric of her dress, exposing her bloody skin underneath. One at a time, Tanistrae took the broken ends of her ribs and carefully pushed them back into their rightful places. She could feel the broken ends grinding against one another as she slid them together. The feeling made her shudder, like the sound of fingernails scraping against a rough metal. Then she would hold one of Amalia's hands against the wound while the Kalmaran used her healing magic.
       Tanistrae could feel Amalia's body tremble and strain beneath her as she did so, and she could see the edge of the Kalmaran's face screwed up in agony. The priestess' words came through clenched teeth, but were clear and precise. Obviously the pain-killing magic she had worked was not very effective, or she was not using it to its fullest potential to conserve her energy. Either way, Tanistrae wondered how much of it the Kalmaran could endure.
       When it came, the healing was like a flow of warmth that seemed to emanate from Amalia's hand and pour into the wound. The white light appeared to intensify when she did so. First around her hand, then also moving to the area of the wound. Tanistrae watched as first the exposed bones would grow together, and then the torn muscle and skin would close over them.
       When she had finished with her back, Amalia had Tanistrae turn her over once more, and help her up into a sitting position. Then she directed Tanistrae to do the same as before with each of her legs. This proved to be much more difficult, as the bones were larger. Tanistrae had to exert all of her strength, making her arm ache with pain. Now Tanistrae could see that not only Amalia's hand glowed when she used her healing magic, but her rose quartz pendant as well. It must be a magical reservoir, Tanistrae thought, that the Kalmaran could tap for more energy.
       When she was finished, Amalia silently took Tanistrae's left arm in her hands, and carefully studied it with her fingers. When she touched the sore spot, Tanistrae could not suppress the urge to wince.
       "It is not a bad break." Amalia explained. "It feels very clean, no surrounding tissue damage."
       "Now lay your arm down on my leg here." Amalia directed. "I just want to look at one more thing."
       Tanistrae did as asked, bending down to brace her arm against one of Amalia's legs. The northern woman took her arm in a strong grip, and without another word she clicked the ends of the break into place.
       Tanistrae yelped in sudden agony, and it took every ounce of her will to avoid jerking her arm away. She gave the other woman a dark glance.
       "You are an evil woman…" She half growled, half chuckled.
       "It is better if it comes when you do not expect it." Amalia explained. "Anticipation just makes the pain worse. If I had more energy, I would have anesthetized your arm. But that is a luxury we cannot afford right now."
       Then Tanistrae saw the light brighten around Amalia's hands, and felt warmth flow into her arm. It felt good. That was the only way she could describe it. A comforting ease that spread through her flesh. When Amalia was finished, the pain was gone, except for an uncertain afterthought that Tanistrae fancied might be all in her mind.
       "That is incredible." Tanistrae marveled, raising her arm and feeling along where it had been broken with her right hand. "That is only the second time I have had magical healing."
       "When was the other?" Amalia wondered aloud.
       "When I was a little girl, I tried to ride my first horse bareback." Tanistrae explained, a far-away smile coming to her features. "Her name was Briar Patch, and she was such a great horse. Patient, forgiving, she took every stupid thing I did in stride. That time she just stared at me like I was an idiot when I fell off. I broke my wrist trying to stop my fall."
       "How old were you?" Amalia asked.
       "Oh, about three." She replied easily, helping Amalia to her feet.
       "Riding when you were three…" Amalia muttered in amazement, trying to rearrange her torn clothing into some semblance of a covering. Tanistrae helped, tearing away what was left of the Kalmaran's skirts and tying them around her torso.
       "Good thing I started working on a new outfit." The priestess sighed. "This is ruined."
       "Are you going to be ok?" Tanistrae asked, carefully watching the other woman for any signs of infirmity.
       "I will be fine." The Kalmaran assured. "The Goddess is kind, she is always here for her daughters and sons."
       "Well, I have never seen a priest or priestess act like you do, but you certainly talk like one." Tanistrae muttered with a smile.
        Amalia shrugged, crouching over the little stream to wash her hands of blood. "Now, what next?"
       "Well, this hole does not go anywhere." Tanistrae explained, looking up the cliff they had fallen from. With the added light from Amalia, she could clearly see its rough surface, pitted with holes and studded with jutting spurs. It should not be too difficult to climb, she thought. Well, not too difficult if she were not wearing armor.
       "We go up that." Tanistrae declared. "Then finish what we started."
       Amalia nodded. Stepping beside the Ionian woman, she followed her gaze up the cliff-face.
       "That does not look like much." She stated easily. "I climbed real mountains when I was younger. Can you make it in your mail?"
       "I will have to." Tanistrae stated, wondering if the Kalmaran was serious about climbing mountains. Well, she would learn soon enough, she ruminated. "I will need it once we get up there."
       "I notice you are still glowing white." Tanistrae added, looking back at Amalia.
       "If I relax the pain-killer, I do not think I will be able to stand." The priestess explained. "Even magic has its limits. Some things only time and rest can heal."
       Tanistrae nodded, and wondered how long the other woman could keep that up.
       With time in mind, she picked what looked like a good spot and started climbing. Going one hand and foot at a time, she slowly drew herself up the rough cliff. She saw Amalia move beside her, then quickly overtake and rise above her. The Kalmaran scaled the wall with practiced ease. Much more ease then Tanistrae did. Apparently she was telling the truth about the mountain climbing, the Ionian concluded. Well, what could one expect from a highlander after all?
       Tanistrae had to be slower and more careful with the extra weight of her armor. Holds that would bear Amalia might not support her. So she had to move slowly, testing each hand and foothold to see how strong they were. Her caution was rewarded when more than once the rock broke away beneath her and she was able to remain aloft by the firm grips of her three other limbs.
       Eventually she reached the top, Amalia drawing her up the last few feet with a proffered arm. The two women found themselves standing amidst the wreckage of the undead host. Artifacts of ancient bronze littered the floor: helmets, breastplates, hooked swords, and more. Along with the iron heads of very new shovels and picks, which were curiously missing their wooden hafts. Small clouds of dust kicked up around their ankles as they stepped through the mess, moving towards the main passage.
       "That spell of his destroyed everything living, or once living, but did not harm the metals." Amalia quietly observed, halting at the entrance to the main corridor. "I have never seen anything so powerful, nor heard of anyone who could cast such a spell. A smaller effect, perhaps upon one individual yes. But that great wave of death? It simply is not possible."
       "Well, he did it anyhow." Tanistrae pointed out in a whisper. "We need a plan. The nekromanter thinks we are dead. So he will not be on guard anymore. That will give us an edge. Plus, he does not have nearly as many guards as he used to."
       "He said his name was Sabatus." Amalia offered. "Have you ever heard of him?"
       "No." Tanistrae shook her head. "Yet whoever he is, we know he is much more powerful than a normal magician. Did you see how that robe of his stopped my arrow? I could pin a man to a wall at that range. It did nothing to him at all. That robe of his is magically warded."
       "By the souls of those imprisoned within it." Amalia spat with disgust. "I have heard of that, but only in legends. He is strong, too strong. He has far too many zombies. No one can raise and maintain that many. It is impossible, like that spell he cast. Then that man we saw him raise, that was an eidolon. A soul drawn back to its own body. How old do you think he was?"
       "I would guess about five hundred years, like most everything else down here." Tanistrae ruminated. "From the time of the Empire's fall. He is a plainsman. A sachen I think, a chieftain. Did you see that bow he had? That is not nomad make. They do not use bronze for decoration. That was made by Ionians. Except Ionians do not use compound bows. It was in perfect condition too, when everything else of his was decayed. It was strung when he pulled it from its case too. There is no way a normal bow sat five hundred years on its string."
       "It is enchanted." Amalia deduced. "Good thing he does not have similar arrows."
       "I wonder if he was one of the last wave of nomads to invade." Tanistrae considered. "The Empire eventually defeated them at Plataea, just a few miles from here in fact. But the nomads had already settled in the area, and there was not enough left of the Imperial army to really drive them out. To be honest, all they actually did was stop them from moving deeper into the Empire."
       "Those nomads remained in power in the area for decades after the Empire fell, ruling over their own little clan-states. Eventually they were just absorbed into Ionian culture over time. The eidolon may have been the leader of one, and the bow tribute paid to him by Ionians. Ionian magicians that is. Perhaps there was a sorcerous collegium under his domain?"
       "Nomads do not bury their dead in stone coffins either. They are just lain in the earth, along with the things they will need in the afterlife, such as horses, weapons, clothing, etc… Him being in a coffin shows Ionian influence, as the manufacture of the bow does. "
       "He will be powerful." Amalia warned. "If he has not been warped by the summoning, then he will possess all his previous memories and skills. The magic of the animation will also make him immune to pain, and very difficult to destroy. Not like the other undead, who are easily disrupted. From the way he tried to fire that bow, I think his spirit is whole."
       "That nekromanter cannot be doing this on his own." Amalia went on. "That is far too old a soul to call back. Even a century is too old. He must have some kind of help."
       "Yet we saw no one else." Tanistrae pointed out. "Could he have a pact with some hidden daimon for greater strength?"
       Amalia shook her head.
       "That sort of thing is highly exaggerated," she explained, "and still not nearly powerful enough. No, it is something else."
       "What then?" Tanistrae asked. "He said something about finding a Soul Egg."
       "That horn around his forehead!" The Kalmaran hissed. "Of course! It is enchanted, like the bow. Only much more powerful. It must be what is giving him all this power. Have you ever heard of such a thing? The scope of its power is honestly beyond anything my people could ever manufacture. The iron band that holds it seemed odd, compared to the finely worked gold and ivory of the horn itself. As if it may have been added later by someone far less skilled than the original maker."
       "Well, I have never heard of it. Never heard of such powerful magics even during the Imperial Age." Tanistrae confessed. "But there are legends that the Western Deserts were once a green and verdant land as Ionia is now. It was said that great wizards lived there, near to the Titans in power, and that they destroyed their civilization in a terrible war that laid the land to utter waste. Perhaps it comes from there?"
       "But what is this nektomanter doing in a half-millennia old graveyard, and why did he make the chief an eidolon, and not just another zombie?" The Ionian wondered.
       "He must need the sachen's memories to find that Soul Egg. Or the sachen's abilities." Amalia mused. "Eidolon's are powerful, but dangerous even to the one who summons them. If their will is strong they can resist their master. Even kill them."
       "Dyani is a nomad too." Tanistrae thought with a flash of inspiration. "Did you see how she was dressed? In silk, from Altai. No simple plainsgirl wears silk."
       "She is the chief's daughter!" Amalia insisted, finishing Tanistrae's thought. "They were digging in his grave. She came to us to protect him!"
       "But that is impossible." Tanistrae argued. "Dyani is... By all the titans in Elysium and Erebus, she is dead too!"
       "I suspected it." Said Amalia. "That is why she can see in the dark. Why she walks without making a sound. Why she could get past the zombies. That is why everyone ignored her at the inn. I still do not know why we were able to see her ourselves. She is spirit, not flesh."
       "Well, you are magi yourself, so maybe that is why you could see her." Tanistrae offered with a frown. "Yet I am not, so…"
       "You and I were the only women in the room." The Ionian realized. "The barmaid had gone into the back when Dyani came in. Maybe she is shy around strange men. Maybe she only trusts women."
       If Amalia really was a woman that is, Tanistrae thought.
       "She has Power you say." Tanistrae went on. "Power enough to resist the nekromanter, it seems. But not enough to stop him."
       "She has Power…" Amalia considered. "I am not sure if it is hers though. She could be a nekromanter who bound her own soul to her body with the energy of her own death. But she is awfully young to have amassed the kind of magical strength and knowledge necessary for that."
       "Well, Sabatus surely did not send her to find us!" Tanistrae declared.
       "He is looking for that Egg." Amalia thought. "Maybe she has it. Something that maintains her even after five hundred years of death."
       "So we have to find her before Sabatus does." Tanistrae declared.
       "If she is the chief's daughter indeed, then would they not bury her near him?" Amalia asked.
       "Yes, they would." Tanistrae affirmed. "So we have to hurry."
       Then a smile slowly crept across the Ionian's features.
       "I have an idea…
 

 
       Amalia followed as Tanistrae crept along the earth and rock passage, hoping the Ionian woman's plan would work. Otherwise they were both certain to die in this place. It did not occur to her that she could simply walk the other way and escape the necropolis. Sabatus had to be stopped. More than that, whatever artifact he possessed had to be destroyed, lest others use it for worse things than he had already.
       Tanistrae came to the edge of the burial chamber. Falling into a crouch, she hugged the wall of the tunnel. Amalia followed, peering over her shoulder. She hoped that the light of her anesthetic magic did not give them away. However, she saw that the chamber was still lit by the nekromanter's own magical illumination and breathed a sigh of relief. Her much softer glow would not be noticed amidst the brightness of that.
       Amalia saw that there were not nearly as many zombies as before. Obviously she and Tanistrae had thinned their ranks out rather well. Not to mention the nekromanter himself. Good, she thought, that would make things much easier.
       It appeared to the Kalmaran that Tanistrae was also correct in believing that the nekromanter had assumed they were dead. For he had left none of his minions as guards. Instead all of them toiled with shovels and picks in the stony ground, while others labored with chisels and sledgehammers to break up particularly large boulders. A group of them had pulled a small stone coffin from a pit near the eidolon's, and Amalia saw that both he and his master Sabatus were standing over it.
       Tanistrae glanced back at her and nodded, then quickly scampered across the passage. She slinked into the chamber a moment later, hugging the wall and moving away from Amalia.
       That was her cue. Now Amalia crept into the chamber as well, again moving along the edge of the wall, but in the opposite direction from the Tanistrae. She remained in a crouch, doing her best to hide behind the mounds of dug up earth and detritus.
       She saw the undead nomad easily slide the stone lid from the coffin. His master eagerly stepped beside him, reaching toward the coffin with shaking hands.
       That is when an arrow thunked loudly into one of the nekromanter's exposed hands. The steel head went directly through the flesh of his palm, only stopping when it struck the stone rim of the coffin. The nekromanter's shriek filled the room as he raised his bloody hand aloft in shock. Then he looked from his hand to the other side of the room, where he saw Tanistrae readying another arrow.
       "Whoo Hoo!" She taunted with a devilish grin. "Did you miss me boys?"
       "How many times do I have to kill that bitch before she stays dead!" The nekromanter snarled through clenched teeth.
       "Kill her already!" He commanded, gesturing with his unwounded hand.
       His undead minions, who had halted their labors at their master's original cry of pain, now began scrambling from their pits and mounds. All the while moving in Tanistrae's direction with the slow but steady pace that characterized them. The eidolon moved much quicker however, and though Amalia saw he still retained his bronze bow in its case at his hip, he now lifted a very serviceable pick from the ground. Moving through the mindless servants of the nekromanter with ease, he was the first to near the Ionian archer.
       But not before Amalia saw one, two, then three of Tanistrae's arrows embed themselves in his frame. Dropping his pick, he paused to draw the last of them from his forehead. Smiling back at Tanistrae, he drew forth his own bow and set the very same arrow to the nock.
       "Thank you Ionian." He growled in the same oddly-accented Ionian that Dyani had spoken in. "That is just what I needed."
       He raised his bow and fired in one smooth motion. At the same moment Tanistrae ducked and rolled forward, anticipating his attack. The nomad's arrow flew harmlessly over her head, and she sprang to her feet with her own bow ready. Drawing and shooting just as quickly as the chieftain, she fired low instead. Her arrow pierced his foot and sank deeply into the earth underneath.
       "Where is your daughter Mingan?" Amalia heard Tanistrae ask, dropping her bow and drawing forth her longsword. "What is that bastard going to do to your daughter?"
       She rushed upon the eidolon, who furiously tugged at his trapped foot. Then she was upon him, and rather than emulate Tanistrae and lift his pick, he raised his bow to parry her slash. The steel of her long blade met the bronze plating of the compound bow and glanced away with a shower of sparks.
       Amalia was stunned. That should not have happened! Tanistrae's sword should have hacked right through it. The decorative bronze scales along its arms notwithstanding. The enchantment of the bow, she realized, must give it unnatural strength.
       Amalia spared no more time to watch and crept nearer to the center of the room, which was now clear of the zombie workmen. Now she moved her gaze to the nekromanter, and watched as he snapped the head from the arrow that had impaled his palm, and with a grimace of pain drew forth the shaft from the opposite end.
       "Hekate curse the bitch." She heard him mutter. "I will make her mine in death. All will be mine."
       Amalia dashed up behind one of the straggling zombies and smashed a crimson-glowing fist into the center of its shoulder-blades. It literally shattered about her fist, collapsing to the floor. Grabbing up the huge hammer it carried, she saw that another zombie had turned to face her. One moment later she put its hard iron head to use upon its skull.
       She turned back to the nekromanter, and saw him reaching into the coffin once more. A moment later he drew forth an odd piece of ivory, shaped like a slightly elongated hemisphere, whose surface was encased in a delicate latticework of gold. Amalia recognized it as the same odd pendant that she had seen Dyani wearing at the inn.
       It was also just like the horn that sat upon the nekromanter's iron crown, Amalia realized.
       The Soul Egg! Now the Kalmaran understood. The horn and the pendant, both were halves of the Soul Egg. Somehow split into two.
       However, one half of it was still clutched within the skeletal hand of the coffin's resident. As Sabatus lifted the artifact, he pulled the corpse's arm with it. It was a small arm, Amalia noticed. The size of a child's.
       Now the ivory pendant began to glow a deep, sickly green color. A similar glow came from the ivory piece on the nekromanter's brow. As if the two halves were calling out to one another.
       Sabatus tried to shake the child's bony fingers from the other half of the artifact. Yet they would not budge. That is when the corpse sat up in the coffin and looked directly at the nekromanter.
       "No!" It cried in a little girl's thin voice. "You cannot have it! My father gave it to me!"
       It was Dyani, the Kalmaran realized. It was her buried corpse, and the artifact must indeed be what kept her spirit on earth all this time
       Amalia spared a glance across the room at Tanistrae. The undead chieftain had freed his foot, and as she watched, the eidolon suddenly halted and turned to Sabatus, then began to purposely move back across the chamber toward him. In the meantime Tanistrae was inundated with zombies, but appeared to be holding her own with her sword in one hand, and a discarded pick in the other that she used to parry with by clutching it around the base of its iron head.
       With all of the zombies busy with Tanistrae, Amalia moved to the nearest support beam. The strength of Vanalfar filled her sinews, and a crimson glow spilled from her limbs. Then she raised the sledgehammer and drove it directly into the column. It shuddered, and a deep fissure erupted along the length of the aging timber, even as slivers of wood cracked off from beneath the iron head of the hammer. Dust, stones, and clumps of dirt rained down upon Amalia from the ceiling above, and she readied herself for another blow.
       A flash of green light caught her attention, and she jerked her head to look back at the nekromanter. She saw him gesturing at Dyani's corpse with his free hand, and the same emerald fire she had seen in the passage before now bathed the plainsgirl. Yet it seemed to have no effect at all. When the flames died away Dyani was still there sitting up in her coffin, utterly unscathed by the sorcerous attack.
       Well, Dyani's half of the artifact obviously protects its wielder from nekromanteia, Amalia thought. As well as maintaining the spirit on earth after death. Now she could see why Sabatus desired it so. With the two pieces, he would be immortal and practically invulnerable, and wield power like no other magician in the world.
        No wonder it had been divided into two and hidden away. She thought. It was far too powerful for any human to be allowed to wield.
        She wondered if the chief had any idea what it was when he gave it to his daughter centuries ago. Probably not, the priestess reasoned. He most likely would have kept it for himself.
        "Give me the damn Egg!" The nekromanter's snarl jerked Amalia from her pattern of thought. Now he simply backhanded the girl's corpse across the face, so that she jerked back in her coffin. Then he mashed her hand down upon the rim of the stone container. Once, twice, and three times. Until finally her bony fingers fell open, and he scooped up the glowing artifact into his free hand.
       The eidolon stopped only a few feet from Amalia. She looked at him.
       "You daughter needs you Mingan!" The priestess entreated.
        The eidolon spared a momentary glance at her, then looked to his sorcerous master. Slowly, with what appeared to be a great effort of will, he drew one of Tanistrae's arrows from his chest, and set it to his bow.
        In the meantime, the nektromanter reached up with his bloody hand, and in a single violent jerk he tore the horn from his crown, which itself fell heedlessly to the earth and rock floor. Holding the two pieces in the air, Sabatus turned them so their flat sides faced one another, and slowly brought them toward one another. The emerald glow intensified as they neared, and Amalia could see that they were indeed two halves of the same, egg-shaped artifact.
        Sabatus brought their flat ends together in the air before him. There was a bright flash of green light, and the two sections appeared to fuse into one, with only a thick band of gold across the center of the newly formed egg to show it had ever been separated.
        In that one moment Sabatus held near unimaginable Power in his grasp, Amalia thought forlornly.
        Then it was gone.
        The eidolon's arrow struck the mystic egg, sending it spinning from the nekromanter's grasp into the farthest corner of the room, even as more of his blood splattered the dirt below.
        Sabatus looked back at his creation, face warped into something inhuman. Spitting out something too low for Amalia to hear, he gestured to the chieftain with his bloody hand. The undead nomad stopped then, even as he was drawing forth Tanistrae's final arrow from his chest. Amalia heard a creaking sound issuing from his frame. Rather like old leather or wooden beams as they shifted.
        She did not wait around to see what would happen next. Instead, she gathered up Vanalfar's strength, so that her arms and shoulders glowed bright red, and once more drove the hammer into the support column in front of her. It shattered under the impact, and she had to quickly dart aside as huge chunks of dirt and loose rocks fell down into the chamber.
       Amalia sped from the cloud of dust erupting from the small collapse, and ran to the other support beam on the same side of the room. The one nearest to the nekromanter and the mystic egg he so coveted. She saw no sign of the undead chieftain behind her. For all she knew, he may have been buried in the small avalanche. Though she doubted that. There had not been that much falling material, not yet at least.
       She watched as the nekromanter darted ahead of her and into the corner, reaching for the egg. While out of the edge of her vision Amalia glimpsed Dyani climb from her coffin and begin to move toward her.
       "Don't let him hurt my father!" The dried and ancient corpse pleaded with her.
       Another time and place, and that probably would have disturbed Amalia. But at the moment, it seemed perfectly natural to the Kalmaran priestess that the dead girl would be afraid for her equally dead father.
       "Stay behind me." Amalia cautioned the girl, sweeping her away with one arm. "This is going to be bad."
       Amalia took the hammer back into both her hands, the might of Vanalfar swelling within her frame. Even as she saw the nekromanter lift his prized artifact by his crimson-stained fingers, she drove the sledge directly into the support column. It cracked and shivered, and a loud rumble issued from the roof above. For a moment it appeared that it would hold, and as Amalia readied herself for another blow, Sabatus looked up in amazement. That is when the column snapped in two, and the entire roof collapsed.
       Hard clumps of dirt and stones that ranged from the size of fists to that of boulders came raining down. Amalia had to use all the mystic energy she had left, praying that both Vanadis and Vanalfar would grant her enough strength to escape. She had a brief glimpse of Dyani in the falling earth, and scooped the girl's corpse up in her arms as she fled the wreck.
       All around her crashed the stone and earth, making her head ring and shoulders ache as the deluge showered down upon her. Yet she did not waver, and did her best to shelter Dyani in her arms beneath her. With a final leap, she tried to clear the avalanche just as a wall of boulders the size of ox-carts came crashing down behind her. Then came darkness, smothering her in a blanket of immeasurable weight.
 

 
       Tanistrae watched in amazement as half the room collapsed before her eyes in a shower of dirt and stones. It was as if a great brown curtain had been just dropped across the chamber, and everything on the other side just vanished. The floor shook, the ceiling rumbled, and a huge cloud of choking dust rose up everywhere.
       With it came darkness. Total, inky blackness. Tanistrae ducked by reflex, throwing up her sword to ward off any blows that might come at her. Yet none did. Nor was there the sound of footsteps, nor the clattering of bones, or the scraping of armor. It was as silent and still as it was dark.
       Fumbling for the lightstone in her pocket, she drew it forth in a moment and held the glowing gem up before her. She saw that the zombies she had been fighting had simply collapsed to the ground. As if they were marionettes whose strings had been cut. She stared uncertainly at their now inanimate forms. Were they really dead this time? She wondered. Was the magic animating them gone?
       It must be, she reasoned, for they did not move, and Tanistrae carefully worked her way through the wreck of their bones to the other side of the burial chamber. Even with the lightstone, the dust made it hard to see more than a few feet in front of her and choked her throat. Lifting one of her mail skirts, she cut away a long strip of cloth from her under-tunic and bound it around her face.
       That helped her to breathe, and she carefully picked her way forward to the edge of the collapse. Amalia had been in there, she knew. Amalia, the nekromanter, Dyani, and perhaps even the sachen Mingan as well.
       The dust began to settle, and Tanistrae saw that a solid wall of earth and stones filled the other half of the chamber. Nothing could have survived that, she concluded. Nothing. The nekromanter was dead indeed. That was why his minions had fallen. And Amalia…
       "Where are you woman?" She cursed. "Damnit, don't you do this to me! Not twice in one night."
       Why did she have to be the heroine? Tanistrae pondered. Why?
       It was my plan, Tanistrae thought. It should have been me with the hammer, not Amalia. But the other woman's logic was inescapable. With her bow and arrows, Tanistrae could best distract the zombies from the other end of the chamber, drawing them away from the support beams near the nekromanter. With her ability to draw upon sorcerous might, Amalia had been the natural choice to wield the hammer.
       "Curse me for not thinking of a better plan." Tanistrae murmured. "Curse me for what I have done."
       She moved to the edge of the cave-in and began to search the wreck for any signs of Amalia. A hand, a foot, a scrap of cloth, anything that might betray her presence. She saw nothing in the thick layer of dust that blanketed the ground. Nothing but earth.
       Stepping on an oddly shaped rock, Tanistrae looked down, only to discover it was not a rock at all. It was the bronze-faced bow of the chieftain. Still strung, with one of Tanistrae's own arrows laying beside it. Searching around the wreckage, the Ionian soon found what remained of the sachen Mingan. Nothing but bones with dried bits of leathery flesh stretched over them, his corpse showed its full half-millennia of age, and betrayed no signs of continued animation.
       "Over here!" The sound of a child's voice snapped the archer's head about in sudden alertness.
       There, near the end of the room furthest from the entrance, was Dyani. She stood unscathed amidst the rubble, without even a mote of dust to mar her soft flesh. Exactly as she had appeared at the inn, dressed in her fine silks, with bright ribbons holding back her raven hair.
       "She is here!" Dyani cried, pointing down to the ground at her feet. The ground that Tanistrae now noticed ran directly into and through the girl's feet, covering them entirely. As if she were standing ankle deep within it.
       "Hurry!" Dyani pleaded. "She needs you." The girl turned to face the wall of the cave-in, and Tanistrae noticed that her feet and ankles moved effortlessly through the dirt floor, not disturbing its surface. As if the earth were not there. Or as if she were not really there…
       Not pausing for a moment's reflection on that, the Ionian sprang forward. Bounding across the room as quickly as she could, she fell to her knees before Dyani, fell through Dyani, and began to furiously claw at the earth with her bare hands.
       She thought of using a shovel, but decided against it a moment later. She might kill the other woman with the edge. So with all the strength in her limbs, she grabbed handfuls of dirt and rocks and flung them aside. Until finally she came upon a patch of red. Red hair. Digging even more ferociously, Tanistrae cleared away the rubble around it, exposing Amalia's head and shoulders.
       She only paused long enough to make sure the buried woman's face was clear enough for her to breathe, if indeed she still did draw breath, then Tanistrae did go and find herself a shovel. Using it, she cleared away the lion's share of earth and small rocks around the Kalmaran, but not too close to her actual limbs. Then finally she cast it aside, and pulled the larger woman from the earth that had nearly been her tomb.
       Tanistrae found a small body clutched in Amalia's arms, shielded from the avalanche by the Kalmaran's frame. It was the corpse of a child, centuries old. Its clothing was a tattered mess, but its long raven tresses were still evident, as was the silver chain around its neck.
       Tanistrae glanced up at Dyani, who stood looking down on the three of them. The Ionian could see the wall behind the plainsgirl. See directly through her body. Tanistrae could even see motes of airborne dust floating aimlessly through the girl's body.
       Tanistrae blinked at that, then turned back to Amalia. The soft white glow that had suffused her before, deadening her pain, was now gone, and the other woman lay still and silent.
       The Ionian laid two fingers down upon the side of the Kalmaran's neck, directly beneath the jawbone. Holding her breath, she feared the worst.
       Amalia's pulse beat strongly under her fingers. She was alive!
       The Ionian woman grinned, and felt a tear form in one eye.
       "Is she okay?" Dyani asked beside her.
       "Yes." Tanistrae smiled back at the ghost above her. "She is going to be alright."
       "Thank you." The ethereal plainsgirl replied, seeming to become even more insubstantial. "Thank you both."
       "Is the bad man gone?" Dyani asked, lower lip trembling slightly in fright.
       "Yes he is Dyani." Tanistrae said in a quiet, reassuring voice "He is gone forever."
       "But where is my daddy?" The girl implored. "I miss him, and my mommy."
       "He is resting girl." Tanistrae replied softly, glancing over toward where she had found Mingan's corpse. Feeling more tears well up in her eyes, she wondered how old her own daughter must be now. Wondered where she might be. Damn...
       "It is time for you to rest too dear." Tanistrae crooned soothingly. She was not going to let her thoughts go down that other path. "Time to go to sleep. Your father will be there to meet you."
       The Ionian woman looked down to where Amalia lay unconscious at her feet, Dyani's five hundred year old corpse held tightly in her arms.
       "Mother is there for you too." Tanistrae breathed. "For all her daughters and sons."
       Tanistrae looked up and Dyani was gone.