Age of the Undead, page 12
part #1 of Zombicide Black Plague Series
“When… I say… take to the streets,” Hulmul muttered as Alaric and Drahoslav rejoined him. He didn’t dare risk withdrawing too much of his awareness from Malicious. The moment he did, the reptile would stop screeching and might lose the attention of the crows. The best chance any of them had of reaching Vasilescu’s tower was to draw the murderous birds as far away as possible.
Down narrow streets, darting around corners, diving beneath archways, Malicious led the crows on a desperate chase. Left to its own, the reptile could have easily outpaced its pursuers, losing them in the confused warren of Singerva’s alleyways. Hulmul, however, didn’t allow his familiar that luxury. Always there was that compulsion to give its raucous cry and prevent the birds from losing its trail.
Other crows took to the sky as Malicious drew near to them. The original swarms were increased as other flocks joined the hunt. It was these lurking zombies that gave Hulmul the most concern, for there was no telling where and when they would suddenly appear.
Malicious flew onward. Now the great cathedral of Wotun was visible, an imposing edifice of white marble that stood upon a small hill. Hulmul shuddered when a veritable cloud of crows rose up from the spires and sped towards his familiar. There was nothing more to be done. He’d given the survivors as much opportunity as possible.
The reptile stifled its cry the instant Hulmul permitted it to. The dewlap folded back against its throat and it dove for the chimney of a bakery to seek refuge. Before Malicious could reach safety, it was struck from the side. One of the crows had found it and torn the leathery wing with its beak. The wizard screamed in pain and crumpled to the floor, feeling as though someone had slashed his arm.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Alaric demanded, hovering over the gasping wizard.
“Get… everyone out…” Hulmul stammered between agonized grunts. He was trying to draw his awareness out of Malicious, but the pain made it difficult to concentrate. Too much of himself was still within the reptile as it crashed to the roof of the bakery. He felt the delicate bones of its wings snap with the impact.
Then the crows were diving down on him. Hulmul shrieked, feeling the beaks tearing into his body, stabbing out his eyes, ripping away his flesh.
“They… they have… Malicious,” Hulmul groaned as his mind snapped back into his own body. With his familiar’s destruction, there was nowhere else for his consciousness to be.
Alaric lifted him off the floor. “Can you walk?”
Hulmul gave a brief shake of his head. “Someone… must help… me.” He knew he couldn’t explain to this knight, or indeed any of them, what it cost a wizard to lose his familiar in such a manner. A portion of his very life force had been stripped away, a wound to the soul itself far more debilitating than the cut of a sword or the thrust of a spear. At the moment, he couldn’t tell the severity of his injury, or whether it would heal at all.
“Get moving,” Drahoslav ordered the townsfolk. The survivors awkwardly moved away the barricade and started into the street. “Be quick about it, before those crows come back.”
If Hulmul had the energy, he could have reassured the people on that last point. Zombies, however frenzied they might be, lacked the comprehension for memory. The crows wouldn’t remember the people hiding in the money-lender’s. They’d linger around the cathedral now, fanning out from its vicinity only by the most gradual degrees unless some new stimulus attracted their attention and excited their predatory instincts.
No, the crows wouldn’t be back. As Alaric helped Hulmul out into the street, the wizard had to wonder about his own state. Would he recover? Would he be back?
Chapter Ten
Helchen kept looking up at the narrow ribbon of sky she could glimpse from the street. The buildings had grown closer together after crossing the grand thoroughfare and created a more confined atmosphere. She preferred such a route. It felt much less exposed. A witch hunter was always wary of who might be watching.
At the moment, she was hoping for an arcane observer. When Hulmul’s scaly familiar had circled them, it was obvious the creature wanted them to follow. The winged reptile offered the only way of finding Alaric and the wizard again. She still had her suspicions about Hulmul, but she was pragmatic enough to know the presence of a former pupil would make Vasilescu more likely to lend his aid. If, of course, the mage was still alive.
“Naht lampin’ der slinkie-bat,” Ratbag gruffed. The orc held a hand up to shield his eyes as he followed Helchen’s example and tried to spot Malicious.
“He says–” Gaiseric started to translate.
“I figured it out,” Helchen cut the thief off. She gave him a sharp look. “I thought you were going to keep herd on those students?”
Gaiseric glanced back at the group they’d rescued from the leatherworks. They were keeping close together, staying in the middle of the street. “Oh, none of them are going to wander off,” he assured her. It had been a recurrent problem that as they moved through the town, one student or another would want to go away to check on their family when they passed near their home. “I just told them about that abomination that chased us away from the guildhall. I don’t think any of them wants to risk running into that monster.” The thief was thoughtful for a moment. “For that matter, neither do I.”
“Be bulgin’ rumpuz,” Ratbag said, slapping his hand against the heft of his maul.
“I think that’s one fight even you wouldn’t be walking away from,” Gaiseric warned the orc. “I’m still praying it didn’t manage to dig itself out the way you did. I’m much happier thinking that thing is buried under a pile of rubble.”
Helchen shook her head. “I doubt that abomination is still on our trail. Out of sight, out of mind. Or at least such mind as a zombie still has.” She frowned as she considered that last point. While she wouldn’t really define the look in the abomination’s eyes as intelligence, there had certainly been an awareness there far in excess of the other undead they’d encountered.
The witch hunter shrugged away that worry and instead expressed a different one. “Out of sight out of mind seems to apply to the wizard’s familiar as well.” She removed her hat and ran her hand through her hair. “I’d have expected the thing to come back by now, at least to let us know we’re still on the right track.”
“Maybe Hulmul doesn’t want it roaming around,” Gaiseric suggested. “I’ve always heard that it’s serious business if a wizard’s familiar dies.”
“A wizard binds a fragment of his own soul into his familiar,” Helchen told him. “A dangerous and abominable practice. It’s always been theorized that when they do so, a part of the animal is likewise absorbed into their own spirit. That makes their thoughts… abnormal. A wizard who makes a rat his familiar develops the verminous morality of a rat, that sort of thing.” She replaced her hat and looked back at the sky. “At least such is the theory. What is undeniable is that a wizard’s vitality is impacted if his familiar dies. It can leave him weakened for months or years, sometimes even cripple mind and body permanently. It’s one reason witch hunters always try to unmask whatever familiar a renegade sorcerer might be employing. If it can be destroyed, the enemy is much easier to defeat. Or have you never wondered why so few of those charged with heresy use their magic to escape the Order’s dungeons?”
Gaiseric gave her an uncomfortable look. “To be honest, I always figured it was because they didn’t have a good set of lockpicks.”
Helchen couldn’t tell if Gaiseric was being flippant or combative. He was a difficult character to evaluate, and frustratingly it seemed the longer she was around him the more enigmatic he became. Almost like he was the one reading her and figuring out how to conceal things from her. It was a pity he was so contemptuous of authority. His kind of skills would be useful to the Order.
Ratbag’s wolf was loping up ahead, still sniffing for any lurking zombies. Fang went on alert, its tail straightening and its ears perking up. Helchen noticed that the animal wasn’t snarling and its fur didn’t bristle as it had before when it came across the undead.
“Wez gotta der quik wunz, nah cadavaz,” Ratbag told them before marching over to join Fang.
“Ratbag says whoever Fang smells isn’t a zombie,” Gaiseric translated. “At least not yet.”
“Doesn’t look much like he cares,” Helchen said. “He’s spoiling for a fight.” She looked back at the students. A few of them had armed themselves with clubs and bits of debris they’d found in the streets. Even with proper weapons, she didn’t know how good they’d be in a fight. “Keep back a bit,” she advised. “At least until we know what’s happening.”
Helchen checked her crossbow and kept it at the ready as she and Gaiseric walked up to Ratbag and Fang. The wolf was watching a side street at the next intersection. Clearly it had caught the scent before there was anything to see. “You hold back too,” she told the orc. “Let me see who they are.”
“Yer gotta der buddafly bootz,” Ratbag grunted at her. “Whatcha noodlin’? Deyz goofz, goonz, er bimboz.” He gave his mattock a meaningful pat. “Ready ta rumpuz.”
“He’s of the opinion anybody still alive around here is going to be crazy, bad, or both,” Gaiseric said. “Ratbag might be right. We don’t know what kind of people they might be.”
Helchen nodded. She pointed to an overturned tun across the way. “Get around there and wait for my signal.” She snapped her fingers to get Ratbag’s attention and waved him over to a cart someone had abandoned at the corner. It was just large enough to hide the orc’s bulk if he crouched down. “Wait until I give the signal,” she emphasized.
“Yer der darb,” Ratbag said. Fang trotted off with him as he took up his position.
The witch hunter found a spot behind a divan some looter had dumped in the street. She didn’t think it was sturdy enough to provide cover, but at least it would afford concealment. She took off her hat and set it on the ground beside her. The crossbow she leaned against the back of the divan within easy reach. Keeping just her eyes above the splintered back of the furnishing, she watched the side street.
Helchen’s vigilance was soon rewarded when a man appeared. He moved too warily to be one of the undead, and she doubted a zombie would have been able to keep the white vestments he wore as pristine as he’d managed. Still, as Ratbag had warned, just because the fellow was alive didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat. There was a villainous stamp about his visage, something that marked him as not only someone accustomed to killing, but someone who enjoyed it. Helchen reached for her crossbow and started to lift it. When she shot, it would give Gaiseric and Ratbag leave to spring into action.
She hesitated when she saw the people following behind the man in white. They seemed just ordinary people, not some band of ruffians scavenging the ruins. Then again, in desperate situations, what would be unthinkable to someone in better times could quickly become necessity. The group might yet be a band of robbers and killers.
Only when she saw the figure at the back of the ragged procession did the witch hunter begin to relax. “Alaric!” she called to the knight, stepping out from her place of concealment.
Her sudden appearance startled the unknown man in white at the procession’s front, whose hand flew to the hilt of the sword he wore. Alaric turned in her direction, a smile drawing at his features. Helchen saw now that the knight was supporting – all but carrying – Hulmul. The wizard was pale, his entire being had a withered appearance. It was a symptom she could recognize even from a distance, and it explained why Malicious had failed to reappear.
The swordsman in white was tense when he saw Helchen appear, and had his rapier drawn when Gaiseric stepped into view, but Alaric’s assurances that the thief and the witch hunter were friends kept him restrained. The real crisis was when Ratbag came into view. The townsfolk recoiled from the orc and his wolf. Alaric sprang away from Hulmul, leaving the wizard to support himself with his staff. The knight unstrapped his shield from his back and curled his fingers around the grip. Sword drawn, he advanced on Ratbag.
“Stop!” Helchen called out to Alaric. “He’s not an enemy! He helped us against the zombies!” The witch hunter dashed toward the two warriors, but she could see she’d be too late. Neither knight nor orc was going to give ground. They seemed determined to fight.
Gaiseric was closer than Helchen and ran over to prevent the fray. He grabbed the edge of Alaric’s surcoat and pulled him back. “That’s brilliant!” the thief snapped. “Let’s just kill each other and save the zombies the trouble!”
“That’s an orc,” Alaric growled at Gaiseric.
“Now’s not really the time or place where you can pick your friends,” the thief told him. He twisted around and shook his fist at Ratbag. “And you can calm down too. If he can’t stab you, you can’t bash him with that over-sized hammer either!”
“Giffer der frosh der turn ta lamp wotz wotz,” Ratbag bared his fangs at Alaric. The wolf snarled and started to circle the knight.
Helchen let the bolt from her crossbow slam into the cobblestones between the antagonists. Both of them turned towards her. Under their gaze, she loaded another bolt and started to crank back the string. “Gaiseric told you how things stand. You two want to kill each other, how about you let it wait until we’ve gotten these people to safety?” She saw the point she raised was one that punctured Alaric’s stance. Whatever animosity he held for orcs, it wasn’t greater than his sense of duty.
“A little fight now, or a big one later,” Gaiseric addressed Ratbag. The orc was more impressed with that line of reasoning. He took a step back.
“They’re killers,” Alaric said, wagging his sword at Ratbag. “Monsters without honor or decency.”
“Sounds like someone damn helpful to have around in the current circumstances,” Helchen stated.
Alaric pointed at the steel plate Ratbag wore on his arm. “Ask him where he got that! I’ll tell you. He stripped it from a fallen knight before a bunch of orcs hacked up the body and roasted it over their campfires.”
Ratbag scowled at Alaric’s speech. “Hooey. Der glad ragz iz upanup. Kale fer lampin’ ginkz fer bullz.”
“He says that was a reward for scouting,” Gaiseric explained.
The knight’s expression only soured more. “A renegade,” he spat. “Spying on his own people to make gold. You’re going to trust that?”
“I hardly think the zombies are going to try to bribe him,” Helchen told Alaric.
“Naht stuckon wotz ginkz be noodlin’, naht stuckon wotz der frosh be noodlin’.” Ratbag hefted his broad shoulders in a rude approximation of a shrug.
“He doesn’t care what other orcs think, why should he care what… well, you think?” Gaiseric translated.
Alaric glowered at Ratbag. “Just keep him away from me,” he said, before stalking off.
Helchen watched him cross the street, then glanced over at Ratbag. The orc was tapping the pommel of his scimitar with one finger, a vicious gleam in his eyes. “As though I needed more problems,” she grumbled.
“Sorry to add… another.” Hulmul coughed, each word intoned as though he had to dredge it up from deep inside. “But… I need help… just now.” He rapped the staff on which he was leaning.
The wizard swept an anxious gaze along the street. “I’d rather… not be… stuck here… when some zombies… decide to investigate all that racket.”
Helchen looked over at the white swordsman, but it was clear from his haughty expression that he’d no intention of helping the wizard. She didn’t know if she could trust the townsfolk or students not to abandon Hulmul if they were attacked by zombies. For that matter, Ratbag was a poor prospect, though in the orc’s case he’d be running toward, not away from the enemy.
“Gaiseric, lend your shoulder to Hulmul,” Helchen said as she finished cranking her crossbow. “Let’s hope your teacher’s tower isn’t too far off, wizard.”
•••
“I suppose it would be a stupid question to ask if that’s the place?” Gaiseric said to Hulmul as they crouched down within the stalls of an abandoned stable.
There were wide gaps in the slats of the wall to ease the flow of air within the stables. They also afforded an easy view of the imposing structure across the way. Colossal was the only way Gaiseric could describe the tower. It was hundreds of feet high, taller than the castle back at Mertz, even including the promontory on which it stood. Enormous buttresses anchored the foundations and stretched up along much of the facade. They seemed too thin to actually support the immense construction, and Gaiseric felt his skin crawl when he considered that it was Vasilescu’s magic that made such architecture possible.
Away from the tower, as Hulmul had warned, there stretched a vast graveyard, so overcrowded with markers and monuments that, at a distance, it looked like a big jumble of stone. Nearer at hand, only a hundred yards from the stables, was the broad ditch that surrounded the tower, and it was this feature that truly troubled the thief. Flames crackled all along the moat. Fire where a mundane fortress would employ water!
The flames were needed. All about the tower zombies had gathered. Gaiseric thought there must be hundreds of the undead. The creatures moved with the same mindless lurch they’d seen before, but whenever they got too near the moat, the heat would cause them to divert and turn back.
“Looks like a secure place,” the swordsman Drahoslav said. “But how are we supposed to get in there?”
“That should be your specialty,” Alaric told Gaiseric.
The thief shot the knight a dirty look. “If I was considering that place from a professional angle, I’d abandon the idea the moment I knew a wizard lived there.” He nodded in apology to Hulmul, just in case the dazed man was following the conversation.
“But if you did decide to tackle it?” Helchen pressed him.
Gaiseric gave the tower a closer study. “If I wasn’t worried about some spell giving me away or turning me into a newt, I’d think about getting onto that roof over there.” He pointed to a funerary chapel several dozen yards to the left of the stables. Though dwarfed by the tower, it was a large building with a belltower about fifty feet off the ground. “I’d try to shoot an arrow – with a rope attached, naturally – into that window.” He indicated a narrow opening that was roughly at the same level as the steeple.
