Age of the Undead, page 15
part #1 of Zombicide Black Plague Series
Vasilescu’s expression grew grim. “The people you led here are not the first to seek refuge in my tower. Including them, I am now the unexpected host of some two hundred people. The greatest single concentration of life in all Singerva. The very success of offering sanctuary to so many threatens that sanctuary. Every hour more zombies are drawn here, lured by their hideous appetite.” He shrugged. “At some point their numbers will be so great that the press will shove those closest into the moat down into the flames. Not a few, but hundreds. Enough to smother the alchemical fire and give them a way across to the tower.”
“Is there nothing that can be done?” Hulmul asked, sickened by the resignation in his mentor’s tone. A man who accepted doom was already beaten. Vasilescu himself had taught him that.
For just a moment, a sparkle came into Vasilescu’s eyes. His gaze swept across the room. “There might be,” he admitted, almost as though afraid to express the hope. “If you feel well enough, I can show you.”
Hulmul swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Even if I don’t,” he insisted.
•••
The depths of the wizard’s tower might have been reared by giants rather than humans, Helchen thought, as they descended into the vaults below the main floors. The blocks were of incredible size and fit together with a precision a dwarf might have envied. They rose in great pillars that met in an arched ceiling some twenty feet overhead. Braziers were placed at the base of each column, rising from mere embers to bright flames as Vasilescu passed them. Their light sent eerie shadows flitting along the walls to keep company with the ghostly echoes of their footsteps.
“I’ve made a study of these creatures since they appeared,” Vasilescu announced, leading the group past a series of what looked to be glass caskets. Helchen saw that each contained a body, corpses in varying stages of decay. However fresh they seemed, there was a foul sense of corruption about them, the tang of black magic. There were a few that had the lean, rabid look she associated with the runners, and one that had the swollen bulk of the hard-to-kill zombies they’d taken to calling brutes.
“It’s not only people who change,” Vasilescu, said as they passed some smaller cases. Helchen saw the carcasses of crows and rats beneath the glass coverings. “Animals that feed on flesh that has been tainted by the plague run a risk of drawing that corruption into themselves.”
“So we’ve learned,” Hulmul replied, scowling as he looked down at the necrotic crows. The wizard leaned on Gaiseric for support. Sometimes, as he moved, Helchen was afforded a glimpse of the rune Vasilescu had put on his arm. It might be precisely what the old wizard claimed it to be, but she couldn’t shake the impression it was something else entirely. She knew the mage’s reputation with the Order, that he was held beyond rebuke, yet she couldn’t stifle a sense of disquiet. This morbid collection only added to her suspicions.
“We’ve seen many scavengers since entering Singerva,” Helchen informed Vasilescu. “Many of them looked like they were still alive. Why didn’t they change?”
Vasilescu paused beside a large glass box, his hand resting on its top. “I cannot say for sure. My research hasn’t gone quite that far. I can only theorize.” He steepled his fingers and smiled at the witch hunter as he lectured. “A human zombie can only pass the infection along to another human. Perhaps a dwarf or an elf could be infected as well, but I’ve seen no proof of it.” He glanced over at Ratbag, studying the orc for a moment. “Your friend is perhaps immune,” he speculated, excitement coloring his voice as he broached the possibility.
“But what about these crows and rats?” Gaiseric reminded Vasilescu. “It’s certain they’ve changed into zombies.”
“To be sure,” Vasilescu said, returning to the topic. “You see, when the undead inflict too much damage on a victim, the body doesn’t rise again to join their ranks. It is merely a corpse.” He raised his finger to emphasize the point. “But a corpse that still burns with the black plague. When scavengers arrive to unwittingly feed on the tainted meat, they run the risk of drawing into themselves too much of that dark power. At some critical level, the magic acts as a poison and kills them only to revive them as zombies.”
Helchen glanced aside at Ratbag and considered the savage way he forced Fang to spit up whatever it had eaten after fighting the undead. Was it possible that an orc had reached the same conclusion by sheer instinct that Vasilescu was still only theorizing?
“And once the first crow becomes a zombie, it can pass the plague to other crows.” Helchen followed Vasilescu’s logic.
“Precisely,” Vasilescu said. “Unless, of course, there are unexpected complications.” He glanced down at the glass box. “This we caught in these very vaults before the moat was ignited. It might demonstrate more eloquently than I can, the severity of our situation.”
Helchen stepped forward along with the others. She felt the icy hand of fear tighten around her heart when she saw what was inside.
“Derez der goon wotz gotta der bulge.” Ratbag shook his head, his lips pulling back to expose his fangs. His wolf bared its teeth and backed away from the box.
The orc had cause to be impressed, Helchen thought. The thing in the box was bigger than an ogre, so immense in scale it made the abomination that had chased her and Gaiseric look like a child. The form wasn’t humanoid, but rather that of a colossal rodent. It was almost completely devoid of fur, exposing its raw, naked hide. The skin was a light gray, mottled with white scars and red sores. The tail was scaly and cut off abruptly after a few feet of its length. The wound where it had been severed was black with decay. The same necrotic erosion was present around the claws on each of its hand-like paws and also around its muzzle. Four enormous orange fangs, chisel-shaped and long as daggers, protruded from its jaws, recalling to the witch hunter travelers’ tales of giant tigers in far off lands.
“You couldn’t pay me enough to even look at that thing if it was still alive,” Gaiseric commented as he backed away.
Helchen tore her eyes away from the verminous carcass. “That’s just the problem. While this plague savages the land, are you sure there aren’t any more like it roaming around?”
The group followed Vasilescu on through the vault. The underground halls seemed to stretch on for miles, though common sense made Helchen appreciate they couldn’t be farther than the foundations of the tower itself. The mage directed them away to the left where two servants were tending a huge mechanism unlike anything Helchen had seen before. It was something like a metal furnace, but even that similarity was scant. A crazed array of pipes rose up from the main body to drive up into the ceiling in every direction. It was like looking at some weird octopus hugging the bottom of the tower.
One of the servants operated a windlass set beside the mechanism, pumping it at a constant, measured pace. The other man took big flasks from racks arrayed all around this part of the vault. There was a reddish liquid inside, but it looked to have a syrupy consistency about it. Helchen was certain it wasn’t wine, or any liquor she’d ever heard of. The man carrying the bottle brought it to the machine. Knocking away the metal stopper with a mallet, he hefted it up and poured its contents into a funnel-like opening. At once, the witch hunter noticed the pipes overhead shiver and realized whatever the substance was, it had been pumped through those tubes.
“The alchemical mixture that feeds my moat,” Vasilescu pronounced, answering Helchen’s unspoken question. The old wizard pointed at the ceiling. “Those pipes will send the mixture out of drains in the walls. While my supplies hold out, the moat will keep the zombies at bay. At least for now.”
Helchen looked across the racks where the flasks were held. Two of them contained only empty bottles.
“How long can you hold?” Alaric asked Vasilescu, the tactical part of his mind already thinking in terms of siege.
“For now, two bottles each hour are enough,” the old wizard answered. “When the horde grows larger, it will take much more of the mixture to burn them before their bodies can smother the flames.”
“Is there a way to make the supply last longer?” Helchen wondered.
Vasilescu turned to her. The smile on his face was withering. “Indeed, I know that the mixture could be strengthened. A simple enough process. If the secret were known.” He pointed an accusing finger at the witch hunter. “Your Order, in its fanatical zeal, has destroyed much knowledge. In your mania to destroy necromancers, you’ve executed many innocent scholars, students of other schools of magic.”
Hulmul drew away from Gaiseric and stepped over to his mentor, trying to temper the elder’s anger. “What has been done is done. There’s no changing it. What we need now is a way to make the tower safe.”
Vasilescu shook his head, snapping free of his rage. He gave Helchen a brief nod of apology. “There was an alchemist, a genius of his profession, who was arrested a few years ago and condemned by your Order. Along with the man himself, the witch hunters confiscated his books.” He turned and let his gaze sweep across each member of the group. “Those books are still held in the Order’s inquisitorial temple. All the arcane tomes they’ve seized are held there, in guarded vaults.” A bitter laugh echoed through the gloom. “Of course, the guards are unlikely to still be at their posts.”
“You need this alchemist’s book?” Drahoslav asked.
“If I am to refine the potency of this mixture, it is essential,” Vasilescu told the duelist.
“Even if the guards are gone, the catacombs will still be protected,” Helchen pointed out, thinking of the temple-forts she’d seen elsewhere. “It is the Order’s policy to never trust to any one safeguard. Guards can be bribed or bewitched, so traps will have been laid to dispose of intruders. Every witch hunter in the temple might be gone, but the traps will remain.”
“So, you understand the dilemma,” Vasilescu said. “It will need brave souls to recover the book.” He tapped his hand against the side of the pump. “Nor can I lend my magic to the effort. I must stay here to manage the level of the moat. If you would do this thing, you must do it on your own.”
Hulmul shook his head. “It seems we have no choice. If something isn’t done, then the tower is doomed.”
“There’s too many survivors to try and move them all safely away from Singerva, even if we knew a safe place to lead them,” Alaric agreed.
Gaiseric paced between them. “I’ve some expertise with breaking into places and evaluating the risks. So I hope you’ll listen to me when I say this is a bad idea. Witch hunters are inventive enough devising tortures to exact confessions, just imagine what they came up with when they didn’t need to worry about keeping their victim alive.”
“On that, at least, you can set your mind to rest,” Vasilescu said. “The traps under the temple were designed and built by dwarfs. Ironshield and Company, the most renowned engineers in Singerva.”
Drahoslav scratched his chin as he considered that bit of information. “Ernst had plenty of dealings with Gilri Ironshield. The dwarf was obsessed with keeping meticulous records. It’s likely he kept track of whatever he built for the witch hunters.”
Helchen nodded. It troubled her, this plan that would ultimately lead to violating the security of her Order, but she saw nothing else that could be done if the people in the tower were to be saved. “Then the first thing we need to do is find Ironshield’s records and see what they can tell us about the traps.”
Chapter Twelve
“The things you talk yourself into,” Gaiseric hissed under his breath as he crept along one of Singerva’s desolate streets. He glanced down at Fang and thought the wolf sympathized with his view. The worst part was that it made sense for him to range out ahead of the main group. He had the sharpest eyes and the keenest ears of any of them, except Fang. But the wolf couldn’t exactly communicate what it spotted, only that it had spotted something. Gaiseric could drift back to the others and let them know exactly what was ahead of them.
“It isn’t that you shouldn’t be here,” the thief reminded himself. “It’s that you should have stayed in the tower and let them handle it.” After ducking several mobs of zombies already, the relative safety of Vasilescu’s fortress was something to pine for.
That option had been lost when Vasilescu arranged a big distraction to draw off the zombies so the drawbridge could be lowered. The moment Gaiseric ran out with the others across the plaza, there was no turning back. He was committed now.
“Loaded dice and marked cards,” he berated himself. “You know you wouldn’t have been able to sit back there either. Not when you know they’ll need somebody who knows how to spot a trap.” Gaiseric wasn’t as confident as Drahoslav that the dwarves had a guide to the traps they’d built for the witch hunters. It just didn’t seem the thing anybody paying to stop thieves would let the builder record, however fanatical Ironshield and Company were about keeping an account of their labor.
Gaiseric recalled the time he was in Karlik and he’d tried to burgle the storehouse of a dwarven weaponsmith. He was much younger and naiver then, cocksure in his innate talent and deaf to the advice of far more experienced thieves. He knew the market value of a dwarf-made sword, and that was enough to make him intent on pilfering the wares. The trap he’d found on the window was contemptuously easy to spot and disarm. It hadn’t dawned on him that it was too obvious. It was naught but a ploy to draw him in. He’d nearly lost his fingers when a steel shutter came slamming down after he tripped a pressure plate just behind the sill. Luck and the swiftness of youth kept him from being maimed. After that he maintained a healthy respect for dwarves.
Turning the next corner, Gaiseric spotted the building Drahoslav had described. It was a broad stone building, only a single floor high, with a flattened roof and no windows. A squared arch, carved extensively with runes, framed a pair of immense bronze doors. A plaque bolted to the side of the building proclaimed, in both dwarfish runes and letters legible to Gaiseric, that this was Ironshield and Company.
The thief was so thrilled at finally reaching the place he didn’t notice that Fang was hanging back a few paces. The wolf’s ears were flattened against the sides of its head, its lips curled to expose sharp teeth. Gaiseric spun around to see what had provoked the animal. The excitement of a moment before became horror as a pack of zombies shambled out of a ruined warehouse. Among them was a creature of unspeakable foulness, its body bloated to such a degree that the folds of fat dripping off its frame were rigid from the pressure inside its body.
Gaiseric scrambled back. “Fang! Here!” he called to the wolf. He didn’t know what kind of monster the bloated zombie was, but it seemed unlike anything he’d yet come across in Singerva. Something about it set off an instinctive warning deep inside him.
Fang didn’t respond. The wolf lunged at one of the walkers as the undead got close, tearing open the zombie’s throat with its teeth and knocking it down with its paws. A second creature grabbed at Fang, impaling its hands on the spiked collar.
And still the bloated zombie was lurching its way nearer. Gaiseric hesitated to go to Fang’s aid seeing that swollen corpse closing in. The wolf, however, ignored his calls. Then he tried a different method. Pulling the sound from the pit of his stomach, he mustered his best approximation of Ratbag’s bellow. “Gitta outta dat, yer simprin’ cur!”
The imitation of the orc was close enough for the wolf. Fang released the walker it had tackled and dashed over toward Gaiseric. The creature with its hands embedded in the collar was dragged along with the animal. Gaiseric finished it with a slash of his sword once Fang brought the zombie within reach.
Across the way, however, the rest of the pack was still active. The zombie Fang had tackled stood up, oblivious to the gory ruin of its throat. The bloated corpse pushed past the others, using its corrupt mass to shove them aside. Its dead eyes stared back at Gaiseric.
Gaiseric grabbed the steel loop at the back of Fang’s collar. There wasn’t any question of forcing the wolf to follow him, it was much too big for that, but he was able to guide the animal. Given direction, Fang wasn’t against hurrying back down the street toward the rest of the group.
“Hold it! That’s Gaiseric!” Helchen’s voice rang out as the thief turned the corner.
Drahoslav lowered the elven bow he’d appropriated. “You came close to…”
Gaiseric waved away the duelist’s reprimand. “Zombies!” he gasped the warning. “A big one with them!” He shook his head when Helchen shot him a worried glance, trying to assure her it wasn’t the abomination they’d faced before. He was too winded to say anything.
Nor was there time to. The thief had just rejoined his companions when the zombies turned the same corner. Immediately, Drahoslav let an arrow fly and dropped one of the walkers. Helchen shattered another undead skull with a bolt from her crossbow.
“The big one,” Gaiseric cautioned as the bloated zombie came into view. It had fallen behind the others, but with living prey again at hand, the creature shoved aside the rest of the pack.
“Derez der bimbo wotz good fer der rumpuz,” Ratbag growled. The orc started forward with his scimitar. Again, that nebulous warning made Gaiseric hold him back. There was something indefinably wrong about the bloated zombie. Something that made him feel it was more dangerous to be near than any of the undead they’d so far seen.
“Don’t get close,” Gaiseric said when Ratbag glared at him angrily.
“Then let’s keep them where they are,” Hulmul said. The wizard drew a scroll from the bag Vasilescu had given him. Quickly he recited the incantation on the parchment and waved his staff at the approaching undead.
At once the air took on a ghastly chill. Gaiseric felt the sweat on his forehead freeze, saw Ratbag’s breath turn to mist. Hulmul’s magic was far more potent where the wizard had actually focused it. The pack of zombies were coated in ice, as though the Queen of the Frost Giants had breathed over them. Two of the walkers at the front of the mob were frozen so solid that they crashed to the ground and shattered into grotesque fragments. The bloated corpse and the others were immobilized by the icy coating that encased them.
