Stygia.

Rama-Tut screamed endlessly. There was no sound, but he screamed nonetheless. Not in pain, or fear, but in frustration. Anger.

It had all been so perfect. So beautiful in its simplicity. A plan of soft angles and few complications, other than trust.

In that regard, the Sphinx had been the perfect partner. His needs were few, compared to Rama-Tut’s own complex desires.

A bastion. That was what he’d wanted. Protection from the growing unease of the time-stream. Kang was mobilizing for war. Again. An occurrence that never failed to send the proverbial grave-shiver down the spines of the Conquerer’s various alternate selves…Immortus, the Scarlet Centurion, and, of course, Rama-Tut. Immortus would be interfering, as usual. The Scarlet Centurion-the true one, not that puppy Kang had on his leash-was God alone knew where. And Rama-Tut? The best place to be was outside of time. Protected. Safe.

But not like this.

Not like this!

Rama-Tut screamed.

And Thoth-Amon listened and found the sound soothing, if nothing else. The sorcerer-priest of Stygia gazed at his reflection in the crystal shell that encased the time-traveler and smiled slightly.

He glanced down at the ruby on his finger, but the smallest facet of the much larger stone-what had that foul dwarf called it? The Ka-Stone, yes-and stroked it gently. A thrill of power flared through him.
Images, nightmare swirlings of dream-scrap, punctured his consciousness. A great gray shape, hidden beneath a ragged cloak, brushed aside a guard with one big fist, crimson eyes flaring beneath the hood.

Ah. The time-walker’s companion. Trailing something-what? The stone beneath his finger sparked and Thoth-Amon pulled his hand back, grimacing. The stone, despite being shattered, was not tamed. Thus, it was likely that it was calling its former master on, pulling him towards the weak link in the chain.

Still, it was of no matter. The Cimmerian would be dead, soon enough. And the second stone would be his-

“Don’t you mean ours?”

Thoth-Amon turned slowly, refusing to allow his guest to see that he’d surprised him. A thin smile creased his features.

“Of course, brother. Of course.”

The Dwarf looked more human now than he had when he’d arrived. His grinning, cherubic face was suffused with a sickly light as he ambled forward.

“Glad to hear it. And where is our prize, hmmm?”

“A few hours south of Meroe. Nybastes has men waiting to acquire it once our servants have done their work-”

“If they do their work.”

“You doubt the efficiency of the servants of Set?”

“Let’s just say, I’ve never held snakes in high regard.”

“Blasphemy,” Thoth-Amon said mildly. “Have care, child of Chthon, lest you be struck down.”

“Been there, done that, got the shirt.” The Dwarf smiled, showing his too-sharp teeth. “But thanks for the warning.”

---

South of Meroe.

The shadows were hissing. That was the first thing that struck Zelda DuBois as she crouched behind a wagon, pulling her cloak tight about her. Glaucon coiled protectively around her, yellow eyes watchful. Arrows thunked into the wood with meaty precision and she couldn’t help flinching at the sound of each one.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

And below it, the dull hissing of the shadows.

Ever since childhood, she had been afraid. Afraid of the dark, afraid of men, afraid of everything…everything but snakes. She was a coward and a thief and she was completely out of her element. She wasn’t afraid to admit it that she was afraid.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to go far away from costumes and vampires and barbarians. But to do that, she needed help.

She stretched her neck as much as she dared, searching for Barton, or even that oaf of a barbarian. Glaucon nudged her and she looked at him, then down. Around her hand, the shadows boiled.

“Oh!”

She yanked her hand away. The shadows followed, slithering towards her with obvious intent. “Ohhhh, not good. No, not at all.” She scrambled backwards, staying low. Glaucon followed her, hissing himself. The shadows bubbled towards them, coiling and grasping. And then, with an almost orgasmic movement, they swept over her.

Into her.

Out of her.

It was cold and dark. Empty. She screamed, but no sound came out of her mouth as she clawed at the liquid darkness that suffused her. She couldn’t breath-couldn’t-couldn’t-

Click.

She turned, feeling like she was swimming in oil. The figure in white, lanky, skeletal, moved towards her slowly, the machine gun in its hands rising, a broad-brimmed hat low on its head. She didn’t want to see its face-couldn’t see its face-didn’t dare-

The gun swung up. Fleshless lips moved.

Justice is served.

Lightning scattered the darkness.

Zelda screamed and thrashed and then realized that the darkness had receded. Glaucon rose over here, electricity crackling up and down his scaly form. She grabbed hold of his head and pulled herself up into a crouch. The shadows retreated, hissing and snarling.

“What the hell was that?” She grimaced and shook her head. “You know what? I don’t particularly care. Fry it.” She gestured regally. Glaucon surged forward, and the shadows clenched and shivered. Glaucon slithered after them, under the wagon. Zelda stood and stepped back as the wagon burst into flame and something screamed.

Nearby, Hawkeye picked himself up as the chills faded. Conan stood over him, fending off the slithering tendrils of darkness.

“Up, man! Up!” Conan roared. “I cannot defend you forever!”

Hawkeye didn’t respond. Instead, he reached over his shoulder, digging in his quiver. The shadows curled around his legs and wrist and he grunted, throwing himself out of their reach. He rolled to his feet, arrow in one hand, bow in the other.

He only had three left. Three explosive-headed arrows.

Well, two.

“Move,” he said. Conan whirled and then, with an oath, leaped aside. The arrow hummed as it cut the air. The shadows moved to engulf it, swallowing it. And then, exploded.

Wisps of darkness rained down, as the soggy mass of the shadows reeled. Then, abruptly, it began to reform as quickly as it had been dispersed.

“Crom! This is sorcery!” Conan snarled, climbing to his feet, sword extended before him. Hawkeye began digging for another arrow.

“Yep, looks like.”

“Damn all sorcerers,” Conan grumbled. “They take away a man’s chance to die honorably.”

“Right with you, bud.” Hawkeye blinked. “Wait…what?”

“Where are those blasted horses?” Conan looked around, blue eyes blazing. “If we can’t fight it, we may as well flee-”

“Finally, one of you talks sense,” Zelda said, running towards them, Glaucon slithering just behind. “Running should always be option A!”

“What happened to the bandits?” Hawkeye asked, ignoring Zelda. Conan glanced at him, then away, his eyes scanning the area. He gestured with his sword.

“There, archer. They’re staying out of the way…waiting for the shadows to do us in, I’ll wager.”

“Which implies they’re working for whoever sicc’ed this thing on us.”

“Of course they are,” Conan grunted. “They-” His words were lost as a wave of darkness erupted from beneath him-from his own shadow!-and fell over him like a shroud. Hawkeye cursed as dove for him, but an undulating length of darkness swatted him aside, surprisingly solid suddenly. He came to his feet, looking around wildly. More shadows were gathering. He looked at Zelda.

“Any ideas?”

“We let them eat him and run for the hills.”

“Any other ideas?”

“Yes,” Zelda said, gesturing. Glaucon reared up, electricity sparking off of him, cutting through the gathering motes of darkness.

Conan, meanwhile, fell prey to the same sensations that had afflicted both Clint and Zelda. Darkness chilled him, inside and out and left him feeling weak and disoriented. His sword felt heavy in his slack grip as he fell to his knees.

Conan?

“No,” he whispered. He closed his eyes. “You’re not real, curse you.”

I told you that I would be with you-

“Not. Real.” His teeth ground together as he tried to find his feet. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be-

Look at me, my love…look at me…

“Belit…” he hissed, his eyes beginning to open. Warmth flooded him, uncomfortable and searing. He looked down at the pouch at his waist.

The stone!

It was-

Crimson light exploded around him, driving the darkness back with vicious speed. Conan bellowed and fell to his hands and knees as the darkness was ripped to fluttering rags. Twisting serpentine lengths fell to the ground, slithering away, looking for holes to hide in. The shadows had become nothing more than a tangle of hastily fleeing snakes.

Conan rose to his feet. The Ka Stone, smoldering and humming, dropped through the hole it had burned in the pouch and rolled across the ground.

The Cimmerian hesitated for a moment, then stooped to retrieve it.
Glaucon intercepted him, the serpent’s gaping jaws snapping closed on the stone a half-second before the Cimmerian’s fingers. Conan cursed as the python retreated back towards its mistress. Zelda smiled as the Ka Stone fell into her waiting palm.

“And that is how we do that, Barton.”

“Zelda-” Hawkeye began.

“Woman, unless you hand that stone back, I’ll-” Conan took a step forward, sword raised. Glaucon hissed. Hawkeye groaned.

“You know, we were getting along so nicely-”

“I want to go home, Barton! Home, where I’m not in danger of death every few minutes!” Zelda said, the stone bouncing on her palm. It was warm to the touch, but not unpleasantly so. “Home, H-O-M-E, ho-” Her words twisted into a scream as the arrow slid across her arm, sending her stumbling forward. Conan caught her and whirled her aside none too gently as the momentarily-forgotten bandits charged towards them, whooping and howling. The Cimmerian lunged past her and spitted one of the men through and through.

Hawkeye spun and dropped to one knee, his bowstring humming as he picked off the bow-wielding bandit. A momentary spike of regret punctuated the action, but he shrugged it off. As the man screamed and fell, Hawkeye was already seeking a new target. He fired three arrows in rapid succession, knocking three men sprawling.

Conan kicked the body off of his blade and waited calmly for one of the three men circling him to make a move. One, a slim Gunderman, darted forward, blackened teeth bared in a snarl. Conan stepped back and smoothly lopped the man’s head from his shoulders. Hawkeye’s arrow caught another in the head, even as Glaucon slithered around the third and squeezed him into insensibility.

“That it?” Hawkeye asked, looking around. Conan grunted, flicking blood off of his blade.

“The rest are most likely looting the caravan. We should grab what we can carry and go.”

“I’ve got all I need.”

Zelda stepped forward, holding her wounded arm. In her bloody palm was the Ka Stone. Glaucon released his victim and coiled protectively around

Zelda as Conan turned on her.

“Don’t think your demon-cursed snake is going to save you-”

“Down, boy.” Hawkeye stepped between them. He looked at Conan.

“Earlier, you seemed like you expected this to happen.”

“Aye. Nybastes promised me good gold for that trinket, but knowing its true nature as I now do, I thought he might try and renege on our deal. Sorcerers are not to be trusted.”

“You think this Nybastes sent those…shadow things after us?”

“Undoubtedly.” Conan waggled his sword at Zelda. “Now I intend to take that stone back to him and shove down his fat craw.”

“I think not,” Zelda hissed, cradling the stone. Her eyes flashed, suddenly, and crimson light sparkled in the wound on her arm. Hawkeye reached towards her.

“Oh-ho-kay, Zelda? Z? Maybe you should put down the funky rock, hunh?”

“No,” Zelda said, raising the Ka Stone over her head. “No, I think not. I’m going home, Barton. With you, or without you.”

“Woman-” Conan lunged past Hawkeye. Red lightning sparked and both men were thrown backwards. Zelda grasped the stone in both hands and smiled.

“Home…” she whispered.

And then, with a silent explosion of sanguine light, she and her python were gone.

Hawkeye looked at Conan.

“Crom,” the Cimmerian said.

“You said it,” Hawkeye said. Then, with a sigh, he cradled his head in his hands. “I hate time-travel.”

---

Meroe.

Nybastes shivered as he waddled towards the tavern. The shadows seemed to be following him through the cramped streets. The problem was, he knew that they were, in fact, doing that very thing.

Sweating, he plunged into the smoky interior of the tavern, eyes searching for any sign of the individul he had come to meet. Where was-

Ah.

It was hard to miss that hair. The color of roaring flames, it hung down her back and across her shoulders in thick ringlets. Sitting at the back, her booted feet up on the rough table, Red Sonja grinned as the merchant hurried towards her through the crowd.

“Ho, Nybastes!”

“Quiet, woman, please,” Nybastes pleaded, sitting quickly. His plump hands trembled. “We could have met somewhere safer, more private-”

“But I like this place,” the swordswoman said. She leaned forward, her face twisted in a grin. “Now, you said you had a proposition for me?”

“I do.” Nybastes swallowed, fingers drumming on the tabletop. “I need some swordwork done. Wet work.”

“My blade, as always, is at your service for the right price.”

“I need you to kill a man…”

“Name him, Nybastes.”

“Conan. Conan of Cimmeria.”

 

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TO BE CONTINUED…

 

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Next issue: Back to the 20th Century! Well, kinda…the Whackos face danger in ‘THE SERPENT’S DEN!’

 

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