"There's an easy way," one particularly weaselly-looking Engineer said. "Let's give her to them."
"If the Undead kill me, I will become a wraith. I have seen it happen to others of my people. And when I become a wraith, I will haunt the place where I died and destroy all who live there. None of you would survive."
"A wraith!" the Engineer scoffed. "Only necromancers become wraiths."
"Yes-yes. A necromancer being someone who prolongs his life with magic," Thanquol observed. "Though it be against her will, there is no doubt Kyasha's life has been prolonged by magic. She tells of things in the past a wanderer-turned-slave would not know."
"That is not evidence!" a Packmaster challenged. "I want evidence!"
"I have died many times," Kyasha said. "But still I live."
"Necromancy would not keep life in your body! Your flesh would decay," the Engineer countered.
"I can't believe you take the word of some snivelling human girl who would say anything to save her neck," the Packmaster chimmed in. "What evidence do you have that you have died many times?" he demanded again.
"I--I have little pieces of memories," Kyasha said, looking to Thanquol for help. But the Grey Seer would give her none. While he seemed to believe what she said, his only interest was in protecting his people--no, protecting himself. His only reason for bringing her here was to find a way to stave off the zombies, not to free her from the curse that had made her long life miserable. If the others convinced him that she was not telling the truth, he'd throw her to the zombies himself!
"Memories! That's not evidence."
She stood there looking stupidly at the rats, trying to think of a way to explain her experiences to them when she couldn't even adequately explain them to herself. Whether she died or became Undead hinged on whether she convinced them. Adding to her nervousness was one smallish rat who kept touching her with his filthy paws, examining the talisman and finally trying to chip away a piece of it. It hurt terribly, but when she protested he had cast her a murderous look and continued chipping.
"Exactly what are you suggesting we do with this girl?" the Engineer snarled.
The smallish rat, who appeared to be some sort of warlock apprentice, was starting to make progress after switching to tools commonly used to work with Warpstone. It felt as if the rat was chipping away at Kyasha's bones, but she held it in. Crying out would do her no good. These giant vermin felt no pity.
"I have a feeling she is telling the truth about the Undead," Thanquol said. He need not justify this statement. They had all learned to trust the Grey Seer's intuition. Still, on a matter concerning the Undead, something even the scoffing Skaven dreaded, a few would harbor unspoken doubts.
The chip gave way and fell to the ground. Thanquol reached down to pick it up just as a dark beam like a black light emanated from the hollow in the gem. The beam struck the rat standing behind Thanquol, tossing the unfortunate rodent to the ground where he writhed and screeched until the flesh bubbled from his bones, matting his fur, and melted away to a heap of bones that smelled of sulfur. The Grey Seer was unmoved. It was commonly whispered that the Horned Rat himself had bestowed his blessing upon Thanquol, and here was but more evidence. As the Grey Seer stood, careful to avoid the reach of the beam, it subsided.
Thanquol gazed into the hollow in the gem, which still held tight in the girl's flesh. His beady black eyes took on a glassy, faraway look, as though he looked a upon something distant.
Sands. Burning light.
A young lord with a wicked soul. Nagash.
A young girl in a palace.
Living death in Nehekara.
Survivors fleeing. No rest for the refugees.
Black gems...
Blackened bones--alive.
Black gems...
The black skeleton closing in.
Black gems...
"Arkhan!"
The girl's scream startled Thanquol out of his vision. Blinking, he struggled to regain his orientation. The girl, however, seemed to have fallen into a vision of her own, and had not yet returned to reality.
"He's coming!" she whispered frantically, her eyes holding a terrified gaze fixed on empty air. "We must run!" Her breath was coming in gasps. Sweat trickled down her forehead. "No..." she groaned futilly. "No..."
She woke to clawed hands shaking her shoulders and found herself looking into the eyes of an enormous rat. She started before remembering where she was.
"Arkhan. Arkhan put this thing in me," she said in explanation.
"Who is Arkhan?" asked one of the younger warlocks.
"Arkhan the Black," Thanquol said dreamily, as if still in his vision. "One of Nagash's favorites. This girl is thousands of years old, and barely escaped Nagash's devastation of Nehekara. I can only assume he sent Arkhan to place these gems in those who escaped as some sort of punishment for daring to defy him."
"Which would," the Packmaster said slowly, "be why the stone draws the Undead?"
"I expect so."
"That's all very good and well," said the weaselly Engineer, "but what do we do about it?"
Fikit stood behind the secured tunnel door and waited nervously. He was exhausted, having rounded up Thanquol's minions, outfitting them, and reinforcing them as much as possible. He had done the best he could to provide the nervous slaves with strong leaders, short of leading them himself. Fikit had heared Thanquol's orders for what they were: lock the defenders outside with the enemy. Fikit was no fool.
He shivered, thinking of what must be happening in the swamp outside. Fikit cared nothing for the rats that would fall in battle. Most of them were dull-witted slaves he despised. It was what became of the rats after they fell that Fikit feared. That was the thing about the Undead--they tended to recruit those they had slain.
He heard the sounds of battle, groans of the fallen, sqeaks of the terrified, and hoarse battle cries of the advancing enemy. He could not be certain how the battle was faring, but from the sound it seemed the Skaven were falling. He scurried down the tunnel to find more slaves.