Tale From the Back Line, A Necromancer's Account of the Battle of Tesso

Neverlin sidled inside the town grounds and quickly found a hiding place from which he could observe the town well.  His mission was clear, and he waited from early morning to nearly dusk for his targets to appear. His patience was sorely tired, but the thought of leaving was unsupportable, so he remained.  Then, at last they arrived. His throat dried and heart beat faster as the two women sauntered down the grey stone walkway giggling whimsically to themselves.  He peered down from his hiding spot as Mandisa and Sharon glided down the path towards the town well. Mandisa was a statuesque, polished woman with smooth dark-brown skin, lustrous black hair, and deep brown eyes. Sharon had long black hair, thick and rich which contrasted perfectly with her silken white skin.  She had intelligent sapphire eyes and a sensual, full-lipped mouth.  They reached the pool to draw pails of water, then began taking off each other’s clothes to wash. 

Neverlin leered stupidly at Sharon.  Her soft, proud breasts moved teasingly as she lifted her arms to rub soap into her long raven hair.  He turned his attention to Mandisa and watched her nipples pucker delightfully when she splashed cold water on herself.  The two beauties laughed and playfully sprayed water on one another.  But Neverlin’s private viewing ceased suddenly when Mandisa looked directly into his eyes.  Neverlin went white with fear as he locked gazes with the bathing woman.  How could he spy on a Tempest of Set in such a puerile manner and expect to live?  What awful punishment awaited him for this dastardly deed?  But to his relief a thin knowing smile crossed Mandisa’s lips and she beckoned him with a flick of her lithe wrist.

Sharon now also smiled devilishly at Neverlin.  She eyed his hard body and moaned softly. Her full red lips mouth the words “Take them from behind.” These words enflamed Neverlin’s desires, yet he felt the Sorceress’s suggestion oddly phrased. He smiled back and offered slyly “Don’t you mean take me from behind?”  Sharon shot him an angry scowl sinking Neverlin’s mood and replied hoarsely “NO! I mean we’re taking them from behind!”

It was Sontlux’s brusque voice that snapped Neverlin out of his splendid reverie. The brash ranger chastised “By Set Man! What the hell is wrong with you anyway? You think this is funny? A joke?  Pay attention man!” Sontlux shook his head incredulously and turned his attention back to the mission.  Neverlin gave Sontlux a look of quite understanding, but from under the concealment of a black silk hood he bit his bottom lip attempting to stem the growing anger.  Sontlux was a bumbling cur.  A pitiable wayfarer who would not dare address Neverlin in this manner had he known who Neverlin really was.  As Lord of House Ko’Bakar, Neverlin would have servants stripped, flayed, and made to carry the ribbons of their own flesh a day’s journey to the Great Temple for less than Sontlux’s remark.

But now was not the time to reveal such things or hand out punishments.

No, there would be time to unleash his anger soon enough.  The brothers of Nox Eternus had spent the better part of the afternoon hidden in a thick grove just off the main road to Tesso.  The band waited as a pack of wolves stalking sheep as the imminent battle between the King’s Guard and The Order was about to unfold.  The details of whatever squabble these two petty guilds shared mattered little to Neverlin.  This two tin town was far from Stygia and ownership of it matter little.  Neverlin only hoped there would be corpses.  Yes, lots of strong spirited bodies to practice his art on.

Neverlin slowly parted the bushy patch of green leaves concealing his position to better view the parley taking place about 100 paces away on the stone road to town.  The harangue was now into its second hour and the troops gathered on both sides seemed bored with it all.  It seemed obvious enough that Amunsol, leader of the Order, felt himself a very important man.  His incessant drivel about fighting for the poor who starved under Conan’s rule was trite and rather unconvincing.  Amunsol was no better than other trivial tyrants claiming such false aspirations for their own aggrandizement.

The commander of King’s Guard was a stocky looking woman named Chadda.  Her back was turned to the Neverlin thus it was difficult to make out much of what she said.  One amongst the mob proclaimed her a whore, which was probably not far off the mark.

Neverlin then noticed Amunsol casually step back towards his men….this was the signal.  Neverlin looked across the lush green fields blooming in the late afternoon.  A wry grin slipped across his lips, it would soon be crimson with gore.  The thought suddenly vanished at he heard the grating voice of Amunsol bellow out over the fields “CHARGE!”  In an instant swords were drawn on both sides and arrows blackened the sky.  The ringing of steel on steel echoed across the plain as battle ensued.

Bodies began to fall.

Sontlux raised a clenched fist silently, a hand signal indicating that the party should hold its position, but prepare to strike.  Nox Eternus had been assigned the important task of cutting off the Guard’s escape and capturing Chadda if possible.  Neverlin watched the battle intensely.  The dead and dying litter the stone road and the combatants began to lose their footing in the blood of their fallen.  Neverlin’s throat became dry and his pulse quickened. 

The Order had the initiative and began to push the soldiers of the King’s Guard back towards the city.  It was not a rout, but the Guard was defiantly loosing ground.  “Now” hissed Sontlux just audible enough for the ambush party.  Immediately arrows whistled into the ranks of the retreating Guard cutting scores of their members down.  Neverlin slowly rose from his position eyeing the battlefield with venomous malice.  He stretched forth his hand thrusting it forward while spreading his fingers wide. 

The first body he chose belonged to a fully armored guardian.  A hammer or some other blunt force had crushed the dead warrior’s skull beyond recognition.  It stood lazily but obediently at Neverlin’s command.  Blood continued to leak from its face and down onto the warrior’s silver plate mail as it awaited new orders.  Other corpses began to rise in close proximity to the knight.  Some leaped to their feet more than willing to serve their new master and continue the blood shed.  Others seemed to strain and oppose being awakened from their eternal sleep.  None could resist him; Neverlin was a god among mortals.

The master necromancer eyed the melee for a victim.  About a stones throw away, he spotted a young archer sniping members of the Order from the safety of a waist high hedge.  Her sandy blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail and her hands quivered noticeably each time she pulled back the string.  She was probably a screamer Neverlin mused.  Perfect. 

With a mere thought the corpses trotted up the hill towards the hedge.  The fallen warriors moved surprisingly quick and approached at and angle behind the girl.  The first crashed into her with such force it knocked the fine bow from her grip and she went sprawling to the ground.  The ravenous undead were unrelenting and leaped on top of her tearing her soft white flesh to shreds with their bony hands and teeth.  The girl screamed in pain and horror, Neverlin was not disappointed.

Neverlin watched his pets rend the girl to pieces from the safety of the hedge.  He laughed as blood spurt onto her face from fresh wounds torn in her neck, but his victory was cut short.  A sharp pain erupted between his shoulder blades and knocked him to his knees.  The battlefield spun in circles as he shook his head to clear the pain.  He turned around and instinctively brought his hands up to cover his face just as a second strike nearly cleared his head from his shoulders.  The merciless blow knocked him prone to the ground and a mighty barbarian stood astride him wielding a huge two handed sword above his head ready to finish Neverlin.

In agony, Neverlin realized his hand felt as if on fire.  He looked to his fingers and saw a bloody mangled mess.  He gritted his teeth and shot them both forward hissing “shar’rah.”  His hand instantly cooled as a frosty blast of ice escaped from his finger tips and slammed into the barbarian incasing the giant man in a miniature iceberg.   It would not hold long, so Neverlin had to get out of there fast. Scrambling to his feet he took a parting look at the brute frozen as a statue before him.  He noticed a tattoo on the barbarian’s bicep indicating he was an Invitican.  So, the Guard had stooped to hiring mercenaries had they?  Conan is more desperate them we calculated.

Pondering this new development, Neverlin staggered to the lake side cradling his swelling hands.  The wound in his back was deep and he could feel the blood coagulating to his silk tunic.  He ducked as an arrow whistled over his head.  Another buried deep into the muddy water near his heel and he knew he was coming under fire.  Calling upon his last reserves of strength he made a dash for the lake and dove under the water. 

The sounds of the battle instantly vanished.  He enjoyed the eerie silence and forgot the pain in his hands and back.  Diving deeper, Neverlin swam until he figured he was in the center of the lagoon.  His retreat was not exactly courageous, but courage was often a virtue of the dead.

Neverlin surfaced just before he felt his lungs would burst.  Treading water in the center of the lake he surveyed the battlefield.  The Inviticans swarmed the Order troops like locusts and it was clear the Order would fall to the sheer number of paid soldiers.  He smiled when he saw the undead reeked chaos across the battle lines as they madly attacked both friend and foe.  While they were no longer under his control the corpses would attack anything in the hope of finding peace.

Then Neverlin saw an arrow coming straight for him.

It sailed at him impossibly slow, yet he had no strength or means to dodge it.  He traced the flight path of the arrow back towards the hedge where the young female ranger had fallen.  She lay in the sun with soiled scarlet entrails wrapped about her yellow hair her eyes fixed on nothing in particular.  But her bow was back in her hand. 

The steel barbed arrow sunk into his neck and he fell back under the water.  He knew he would die.  He sank into the murky depths and watched a hazy cloud of red slowly blot out the sun above him.  Would a fellow necromancer raise him as he had raised countless others?  As darkness began to consume him Neverlin wondered what that sensation would be like

But he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Neverlin willed his eyes open and locked gazes with the beautiful visage of Mandisa through the cloudy water.  She pulled him towards the surface and he felt the wounds in his neck and back begin to seal supernaturally.  From under the water he saw Sharon in her sweeping purple robe calling down demonic fire providing cover for the daring rescue.

Neverlin would not taste death this day….unless of course he was dreaming again.