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They had traveled through a long series of passages and rooms. Ted had never passed these ways before. They'd not been found when he had last been home. Mikhel led them, and it was all that Ted could do to keep the pace.
His old friend was silent and haunted, he'd barely said a word. The transformation always left Ted shaken and jumpy. Mikhel's silence might just be his reaction, but Ted didn't think it so. Something felt wrong.
Mikhel appeared uninjured, though Ted well knew that most mortal blows were passing things for their kind. His clothes were torn and filthy, his hair was matted and his smell was rank. So different from the joyful, merry friend that Ted had left behind.
They entered a room of pools and long dead flower beds. Its roof was high and from its peak a stream of water fell in a sparkling cascade. The falling stream struck a large, round pond rimmed with a crystal wall. The water rippled gently as if the speeding flow was stilled, growing slower as it neared the surface of the pool.
Mikhel quickly walked by this marvel without a glance. They wove in and out through a dozen rooms, sometimes leaving through an arch or door but often Mikhel pushed aside a secret panel or drew open a shelf that concealed a hidden way. He moved in haste and passed by a library of scrolls and tomes, a storage room filled with wooden chests, an armory lined with pikes, swords and blades of steel hung unused upon dusty walls, and many more, most empty but some filled with things of mystery or wonder. They passed them by.
Finally a doorway opened up into a place that Ted knew well. The eastern guardroom whose blocked door had kept Emiel from entering. Mikhel had found another way to come and go. The passage ran along the room's lower edge, a doorway where the western guardroom had a row of shelves. They slowly walked past wooden bunks, then Mikhel turned and stretched out his arms as if to point out some work of art or craft, a source of pride, a smile on his face.
"What's this?" Ted asked confused, then looking where Mikhel's pointing arms directed, he gave a gasp and blanched, his face turned white as snow.
Each bed was filled, a body laid out with tender care, arms crossed and cleanly dressed, but lacking heads. A row of decapitated dead.
Ted stepped back, a nauseous rush welled up inside, he gulped and felt a terror freeze his spine. "Mikhel, please no." he cried.
The smile fell from Mikhel's face. It slid away in shock. He ran toward Ted and as he did Ted dropped onto his knees and with upraised hands he pleaded for his life.
"No,no,no,no,no...." Mikhel stammered out to his kneeling friend, "Not me! Not me! I didn't do this..." he waved an arm at the nearest bunk. Tears welled up in his eyes and left muddy trails down his unwashed face, and crying now he sobbed. "Wasn't me. I didn't, no, no. I moved them yes, but it wasn't me!"
Ted's spine unfroze. He stood and roughly grabbed his sobbing, incoherent friend, then shook him by his shoulders. A sudden, angry rush ran through him. He flushed, embarrassed at his craven fear, then with first the front, then back of hand, he slapped Mikhel across the face. The blows cracked like a teamster's whip and snapped Mikhel's head from side to side.
"What happened!" Ted commanded. "You'll tell me now! What happened here!"
* * *
The map room was littered with bodies, parts of bodies and other parts of bodies. At one point, five hands, some with arms attached, some without, had a grip somewhere on Ragnar. One was pulling itself back up his leg even as he dismembered another of the cursed living-dead.
Each archway, five in all, disgorged a flow of gray-fleshed, orange-eyed creatures. No longer just reanimated men, but bugbears, gnolls, orcs and goblins as well. A centaur had forced its way through the crowd. Ragnar had taken its forelimbs with one stroke, but it rose on hind legs like some show horse performing a circus trick and with ponderous steps came on. Severing another leg had sent it crashing to the ground, crushing several goblins and kobolds which had followed it from who-knows-where in this maze of corridors.
Emiel and Ragnar had hewed till a carpet of twisting flesh layered the shifting images of the floor. With weary limbs they fought on, no longer searching for their lost friend but just to stem the tide and retreat back the way they had come.
***
From the alcoves they had fought their way forward to the map rooms spiked-open door, then they'd made a dash down a side passage hoping to find some trace of Ted.
Ragnar had wanted to make a try for his misplaced cats-head staff but Emiel had pulled him away, insisting that they find Ted first. Reluctantly Ragnar agreed.
The northern passage had seemed the most likely, but before they had traveled a hundred feet it opened up into a great pillared hall. A ballroom with massive crystal chandeliers, half-rotted tapestries hanging in shreds. The floor a granite swirl of black, white and grey, and a long set of stairs leading to a dusty throne. A dozen arches lined each wall, a dozen more overlooked the hall from a balcony that stretched from side to side above the empty floor.
Awed at the impressive sight, both Ragnar and Emiel walked slowly toward the center of the cavernous room. They turned, one left the other right, then a voice called to them.
"Salvi! Salvi!" it cried.
Ahead, up the rise of steps, a translucent form waved a ghostly hand, a long dead King or Wizard-Prince, sitting on his throne. "Obitu-Xpecta! Salvi!"
"That," Ragnar said to Emiel without turning his head, "I don't like."
"Ah-oh." Emiel replied and gave Ragnar a nudge. From each archway a body had stepped. The wizard's guardsmen once, now a battered remnant, armor, chest plate, helm and shield, gashed, dented and well-hacked. The guardsmen were the same. A score at least came from either side and behind them the dark shadowy shapes of dozens more.
"Trus-dar." The voice called out. "Trus-dar!" and then it began a spectral laugh that echoed from the walls.
"Time to go." Emiel declared, and both of them turned and ran.
They fought past a pair of long-dead guards who blocked their way with rusted halberds crossed across their path. Ragnar sent a weaponhead spinning. Its haft severed in one swift blow. Emiel ducked under a jabbing point, slashed away a knee and calf, then pulled the corpse aside. Ragnar grabbed the headless haft, first pulled, then drove the firm-gripped wooden pole into the wielder's chest. He pushed the guardsman back, feet scraping on the stony floor, then Emiel chopped behind both knees, a skilled hamstringing cut that felled the guard face forward to the ground. Ragnar ran across the squirming form, stepping on its back and hastily followed Emiel in headlong flight down the long passageway.
The map room lay ahead further down the passage.
* * *
(To Be Continued)