Darking Forest lay on the other side of the Hallow Hills, a region that was infested with the tunnels of the Khi-Mo, a vicious race of diminutive humanoids who laid traps and ambushes for passing travellers whom they then took great delight in torturing to death. Tak expected to see something of them while he was passing through and he wasn't disappointed.

     It was early afternoon of the next day when the ground on either side of him burst open to release a dozen of the naked, green skinned creatures, but Tak was ready for them and their tiny arrows, tipped with the tranquilising sap of local plants, bounced harmlessly from the shield of magical force he'd erected around himself. Instead of falling, paralysed, from his horse to be bound up and carried away, therefore, he reached out his hand and crimson streamers leapt from his fingertips to wrap themselves around the astonished humanoids and leave them writhing on the ground, struggling furiously.

     Curious, Tak dismounted and approached one of the creatures and spent a few minutes examining it, studying especially its delicate, nimble hands and large brained head. If they weren't so nasty, he thought, they could probably build quite a civilisation for themselves, but then the same could probably be said of humanity. Smiling at the thought, he mounted his horse again and rode off, knowing that the crimson ribbons would evaporate an hour or so later. Someone else might have killed the nasty, spiteful creatures, but Tak preferred to spare anyone or anything that wasn't a direct threat to him. That made him unusual for his time.

     He reached Darking Forest towards evening of the next day, and after an hour or so of searching he came across the road from the city that led to Cuthbert's stronghold. He rehearsed in his mind what he was going to say when he saw the zombie master; that Khalkedon wanted him to learn how to raise zombies himself so that he'd be of more use to him on the battlefield. It would have been a clumsy lie under other circumstances, as Cuthbert would have checked it with the rak King at the first opportunity, but it only needed to get him in through the outer gates. Then he could say that he'd give him more details in the morning. Cuthbert would never get the chance to check the story because, hopefully, he would be dead.

     When he finally caught sight of the gaunt, grey stone castle, though, his heart leapt into his throat in sheer terror when he saw the one thing he'd never expected, as if the Gods Themselves had set out to scupper all their plans. The gates were open, and inside he could see a troop of soldiers, handing their horses over to one of Cuthbert's zombie grooms. The man they'd been escorting was nearby, talking to the master of the stronghold, and Tak nearly fell off his horse in terror and despair as he watched Cuthbert and Gal-Gowan chatting like old friends as they moved towards the inner keep.

     He thought about turning his horse around and hiding in the woods, remaining there until he'd had a chance to sort the situation out in his mind and decide upon a new strategy, but it was too late. Some of the soldiers had spotted him and Gal-Gowan had followed their gaze, wondering what had attracted their attention. Tak knew that his only chance was to ride in as though he had every right to do so, to just bluff it out. Above all, he couldn't be seen to hesitate, and so he urged his horse on and trotted in through the gates as both the other wizards turned to look at him.

     "Tak Eweela," said the ginger prince as the younger wizard dismounted, handing the reins to a zombie that he tried very hard not to look at. "What are you doing here? You have no business here."

     "I have business with Cuthbert," said Tak, who then made the mistake of looking the other wizard full in the face. The zombie master had become hideous to behold. Even the sight that had so shocked them at the victory feast was nothing compared to what he'd become now. He'd lost all his remaining hair, his nose was nothing more than a gaping, empty hole in the middle of his face and the blotched, discoloured skin of his scalp and cheeks hung in loose, flapping folds as if the very bones of his skull were crumbling beneath. His mouth was wider than that of any normal human being and his tongue looked like a fat worm writhing at the back of his throat. Despite himself, Tak had to back away a step, hating himself for his lack of self control.

     "Yesss?" hissed Cuthbert, lurching forward, and now Tak saw that his whole body was the same, just skin flapping and flopping from his bones like an empty wineskin. His fingers had nails over an inch long, yellow and cracked at the ends. "What bussinesss brings you to me, my young friend?"

     "No legitimate business," said Gal-Gowan firmly. "I would have known if Khalkedon had ordered him here. Why are you here, Tak? Some little scheme of your own, was it? You were surprised to find me here, weren't you? Did you think I hadn't noticed?" He strode across to the younger wizard, his hands clenched into fists. "Tell me, you little idiot, or I'll..."

     Gal-Gowan's mistake was in thinking of Tak as his inferior in the magical arts. He had forgotten Tak's rapid advancement of earlier years, which had continued in the years he'd been away, and he'd forgotten that he himself was no longer quite the wizard he'd once been. Even at his peak, though, he would have been no match for the man standing before him now. Gal-Gowan's value to Khalkedon had always been his loyalty and his love for the power the rak King gave him. Power that he would have been unable to achieve on his own.

     Gal-Gowan had forgotten that the others didn't fear him for himself. They feared him for the influence he had with Khalkedon. When Tak, terrified, acting on sheer instinct, cast his spell, therefore, Gal-Gowan never stood a chance. The spell, one of those he'd taken from Gannlow's spellbook, tore through the elder wizard's defences as though they were so much tissue paper. Gal-Gowan was literally blasted apart, his chest ripped open as if by the claws of some monstrous, invisible demon, and Tak stared in sheerest horror as blood and tissues sprayed out, drenching him in gore. Then the wizard's body fell, collapsing to the hard ground with a thump that lived with Tak in his dreams for years to come.

     Cuthbert was equally stunned for a moment, but then he was running for the safety of the keep, calling for his zombies to protect him. Tak could only stare after him in shock, hardly able to believe what had happened in such a short time, but then he snapped back to his senses as he imagined Cuthbert making straight for his crystal ball to report the incident to Khalkedon. Tak had to stop him, and fast, before their whole plan was ruined!

     He started after the zombie master, but then Gal-Gowan's escort, finally overcoming their own shock and surprise, drew their swords and ran at him. They knew they stood no chance against a wizard capable of killing their master, but they were more afraid of the rak King if they failed in their duty. Tak swept them aside with a muttered word and a sweep of his hand, the blast of magical force thus generated throwing them back and pinning them helplessly to the ground. He wasn't consciously trying to do them no harm but simply using the first spell that occurred to him. If it had been a lethal spell, he wouldn't have allowed himself to grieve over their unnecessary deaths until the crisis was over.

     The zombies who poured out of the castle like ants from a stirred up nest were another matter, though. He cast spell after spell at them, destroying wave after wave of the hideously decomposing creatures, gagging and retching as the reek of putrefaction swept over him, but no matter how many he killed there were always more to take their place. He was forced to a standstill as they climbed over the bodies of their fallen comrades to get at him, and he was conscious of his rapidly declining reservoir of magic as they moved around to encircle him. Soon his retreat had been cut off, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they overcame him by sheer weight of numbers; their rotting hands seizing hold of him, pulling him down, fastening around his throat and squeezing the life out of him. His last conscious thought one of paralysing, soul freezing terror...

     Then the zombies beside him exploded in showers of obscenely gelatinous putrefaction, startling the wizard out of his desperation. The zombies, of course, were unmoved by the destruction of so many of their fellows and continued their attack, but then others were being destroyed by sheets of fire and blasts of freezing cold that shattered them to fragments when they fell to the hard ground.

     "Tak!" he heard a man calling, and he realised it was Barl, come to his rescue. "I don't think there's many left! We can take them!"

     Encouraged, Tak returned to the battle with renewed vigour, and a few minutes later none of the undead warriors were left intact. Tak stepped carefully across the piles of still twitching body parts, grimacing with disgust, his whole body dripping with gore and nameless filth.

     "Gal-Gowan's here," cried Barl, coming forward but keeping his distance from his filthy and foul smelling comrade.

     "He's dead," said Tak, "but Cuthbert isn't. We've got to stop him warning Khalkedon."

     "You got any magic left?"

     "A bit. Not much."

     "It'll have to do. We're dead either way if we can't stop him. Come on!"

     They ran through the still open gate into the castle, where they were met by a pair of zombies set there as guards. Not wanting to waste any more precious spells they dodged past the lumbering corpses, shuddering with horror as reaching undead fingers brushed them; dry, cracked fingernails tearing away as they tried to catch hold of their clothing. "Which way?" gasped Tak. "Have you ever been here before?"

     "No," replied Barl, "but it'll either be up or down. The towers or the dungeons. But which? Which?"

     "We could split up..." suggested Tak.

     Barl dismissed the idea immediately. "We stay together!" he insisted. "I'd say down. He's a necromancer, after all. It's natural for him to look down into the ground rather than up into the sky."

     He ran forward, looking for the staircase, guessing that it would be far from the hall and reception areas. Towards the back of the castle, that's where it would be! Tak ran after him, glancing nervously back at where the zombies were staggering after them. The living could outrun them easily, so long as they didn't get trapped in a dead end. Dead end, that's exactly what it'd be, the wizard thought, seeing other guard zombies joining their pursuers. There might be dozens of them scattered around this place. If they get us cornered...

     Barl ran from room to room, getting more frustrated and desperate at each failure. "Must be somewhere!" he gasped over and over to himself. "Must be somewhere!" He looked through a door and a cold, dead hand closed around his throat; the hard, sharp fingernails digging deep into his skin, drawing blood. He pulled himself back out into the corridor, dragging the zombie with him, and he saw with horror that it held a rusty dagger in its other hand. The hand closing his windpipe stopped him from saying any magic words and he could only grab the zombie's knife hand and try to hold it away with sheer brute strength.