Age of the Undead, page 18
part #1 of Zombicide Black Plague Series
“At least not any we’ve seen,” Helchen warned. “This plague has already created forms of undead not mentioned in any text.”
Alaric’s face took on a vicious quality as he added another thought. “It might also be that someone’s been around to give them instructions.” It was clear he was thinking about the necromancer who’d led the attack on his family’s castle. Much as Hulmul didn’t want to admit it, the notion was entirely possible.
“Necromancers can exert control over all but the most willful undead,” Hulmul stated. “How great that control and over how many at any moment depends on many factors, not the least of which is the knowledge and power of the necromancer.”
“Why take bodies?” Gaiseric asked. “I mean, any zombie killed by someone is finished, isn’t it?”
Hulmul used his staff to tap a grisly object clasping one of the halberds still in the rack. A severed hand, chewed off at the wrist, fell to the floor. “Magic, light and dark, is the realization of possibility. Harnessing arcane formulae to turn imagination into reality. Every wizard experiments with the art he’s learned, trying to turn it down different paths. Evoke it by different methods. Refine and enhance.”
“A typical wizard is constrained by the laws of the Guild,” Helchen added. “Bound by a code that limits how far to go. The morality of the methods used. A necromancer recognizes no such restraint. That is what makes them such a menace.”
Hulmul was surprised to hear Helchen express the matter with such nuance. Perhaps she was disabusing herself of the absolutes she’d been taught. Willing to admit there were wizards who didn’t abuse their powers.
“One thing is certain,” Alaric said. “The removal of the bodies can only be an ill tiding.” He marched back into the corridor. “Let’s find our way down to these vaults and get out of here.”
Hulmul could hear the conflicted note in Alaric’s voice. The knight’s valor urged him to confront danger, but his duty to the people taking shelter in Vasilescu’s tower forced him to turn away from it. He could appreciate the dilemma, torn between what he wanted to do and what he needed to do.
They proceeded through the temple-fort, checking each room they passed. Everywhere were the signs of battle, but always with the absence of bodies. Far from lessening the horror of the situation, Hulmul felt the lack of corpses contributed still another sinister overture. The temple-fort took on an atmosphere not merely of being abandoned, but a feeling of desolation. Here, he felt, the evil that had ravaged Singerva had been far more than mindlessly capricious. Here, in this place, it had focused its full malevolence.
Yet was it as abandoned as it seemed to be? Hulmul noticed that Fang remained agitated, the wolf’s attitude unchanged since they first entered the building. The animal knew something they didn’t. He wished he’d at least dabbled in the sort of magic that could let him read Fang’s mind, but the wolf was far different from a familiar. A familiar like Malicious wasn’t merely an animal, but a part of the wizard himself, an extension of his own being. He still felt an emptiness within his soul where the winged reptile’s presence should be, a psychic wound Vasilescu’s spells might have healed but couldn’t erase.
“Stairs,” Gaiseric reported, jogging back from a bend in the corridor.
The group tensed as they rounded the bend. Ahead the corridor continued onward for forty feet, but one side of it was given over to a staircase with broad marble steps and a carved balustrade. Ursola sighed and said what all of them were thinking. “Those go up, not down. The traps Ironshield and Company built will be under our feet, not over our heads.”
“Take it up with the architect,” Gaiseric said, his tone sour. “I just find ’em, I don’t build ’em.”
“We can ignore the upper floors, for now.” Helchen turned away from the stairs. “What we want shouldn’t be there…”
The witch hunter spun around, her eyes narrowing as she stared back at the stairway. They all heard what had alarmed her. It was the sound of someone on the steps. A lot of people.
“Survivors?” Ursola wondered as some of the sounds resolved themselves into footsteps running down the stairs.
Ratbag stepped to the base of the stairway, a savage grin on his face. “Cadavaz,” he hissed, slapping the flat of his scimitar against his palm.
Helchen raised her crossbow. The first runner that charged down the stairs was knocked back as a bolt slammed into its body. She was visibly relieved that the creature wore the rags of a valet rather than the vestments of a witch hunter. The zombie servant was far from alone. Six more undead townsfolk hurtled toward them, their eyes alight with that terrible, feral hunger.
Drahoslav dropped one of the creatures with an arrow through its skull, then he whipped out his rapier to join the melee at the bottom of the stairs. Ratbag slashed at the first runner to reach him, the strength of the orc’s strike breaking the creature’s spine and nearly cutting it in half. As the runner slid across the floor, it still struggled to claw at its foe. Gaiseric darted in and ended its animation with a chop to its head.
Alaric blocked another zombie with his kite shield, fending it away while he struck at it with his longsword. The runner’s frantic, rabid motions made it difficult for him to strike a telling blow, but he was able to finally chop away enough of its leg to drop the creature. While it was prone, he collapsed its skull with the edge of his shield.
Fang bore another of the zombies to the ground, ripping and tearing at its decayed flesh. Ursola prevented another runner from rounding on the wolf. Her hammer struck it under the chin with such force that its jawbone was driven up through its face.
In the swirl of battle, Hulmul didn’t dare to use his more devastating spells. He instead read from a less intricate incantation and pointed his finger at the zombie Helchen had crippled. A blob of searing blue light leapt from the condemning finger and slammed into the valet as it started back down the stairs. It toppled back again, its face steaming where the arcane bolt struck it.
“Here’s another one for them to carry away,” Drahoslav bragged as he pierced the last runner’s heart and let the zombie drop to the floor. Somehow, he was able to turn himself so that the blood spurting from its chest failed to stain his white vestment.
“Good, because I think they’re here to collect,” Gaiseric quipped, wagging his sword at the stairway. They could all hear the relentless tromp of many feet descending the steps. The runners had merely ranged ahead of a much greater company of undead.
“That answers where all the zombies went,” Alaric said. The knight gave an appraising look to the breadth of the stairway. “This is the nearest thing to a chokepoint we’re apt to find. We can hold them here, if we stand our ground.”
Ursola motioned for Hulmul to hold her hammer and torch. While the wizard tried to manage them and his staff as well, the dwarf reached into her satchel and withdrew one of the firebombs. “I have a better idea,” she said.
Hulmul was impressed by the dwarf’s calm when the zombies turned the bend above them and the size of the horde became apparent. Ursola didn’t care that there were scores of the undead, she just kept watching their progress. He realized she was gauging the distance to the landing above them, the last stop before they would start down to the corridor below. Judging how much time it would take the zombies to reach that point.
“Light the fuse,” Ursola asked Hulmul, holding the bomb towards him. Not without a little anxiety, he dipped the torch towards the weapon. Magic was something he knew and understood, but these dwarfish devices were another thing. For a horrible moment, he expected the bomb to explode in his face. It was almost a pleasant sensation compared to the nausea of watching the fuse burn while Ursola simply held it in her hand, eyes darting from the fuse to the landing. Would the bomb simply spread fire, or would it bring the entire structure down about their heads? The wizard shuddered. Whether they perished in the collapse or by the zombie horde, they’d still be dead.
Throw it! Hulmul could tell he wasn’t the only one who wanted to shout at Ursola. None of them dared, lest they should distract the dwarf from her purpose.
“There,” Ursola said with satisfaction as the foremost of the zombies shambled onto the landing. With a heave she sent the bomb sailing upward. It smashed into the walkers, engulfing them and everything nearby in orange flames.
Hulmul watched in wonder as the zombies collapsed amid the fire, their fearful animation consumed by the flames. Certainly, there were spells that could accomplish such a feat, but better than most, he knew the complexities of wielding such magic. Ursola had achieved the same results with a device that, he imagined, anyone could be taught to make and use. The… casualness… of such power was frightening in its possibilities. He was grateful the dwarves were so protective of their secrets and didn’t share their knowledge with outsiders.
“Der cadavaz naht gonna scarpa,” Ratbag growled. Hulmul thought he understood the orc’s meaning. Unlike the moat around Vasilescu’s tower, the zombies weren’t driven back by the flames. Instead, they continued to march with mindless determination. More of them were consumed by fire, but with each addition to the pile, the fire burned a bit lower.
“We’ll run out of fire before we run out of zombies,” Hulmul declared.
Ursola patted her satchel. “No, we won’t,” she assured him.
At that moment, Helchen cried out. She pointed to a side passage that opened into the corridor. “More of them!”
Hulmul felt a shiver run through him when he saw the second horde plodding toward them. It wasn’t merely the size of the mob, or even the fact that several wore the tattered remains of the Order’s uniform. It was the ghastly thing that was in their lead. In life it had been a middle-aged woman. He couldn’t make out much of her features, for half her face had been eaten away down to the bone. What was distinct, if bloodied, were the robes she wore. The black and crimson robes of the high inquisitor!
“Caught between the anvil and the hammer,” Ursola grumbled. She nodded at the wood that lined the side passage. There was little fear of fire spreading from a marble stairway. The same couldn’t be said for the route the second zombie mob was using.
“More trouble behind us,” Gaiseric cursed. A third pack of zombies could be seen staggering into the temple-fort from the street outside.
“This way!” Alaric shouted, directing them down the corridor beside the stairway. “Before they encircle us completely!”
There wasn’t time to question the knight’s choice. Hulmul ran alongside the others as they hurried down the only avenue left open to them by the converging undead. But as he ran, he couldn’t shake a dark feeling. An impression that they were intended to flee in this direction.
What the wizard’s intuition couldn’t tell him was why.
Chapter Fourteen
“They’re herding us,” Alaric snarled as the group hurried down the corridor. A few runners broke from the pack of zombies following them, charging down the hall. Ratbag and Fang quickly disposed of the creatures.
“They’re witless,” Drahoslav scoffed. “They can’t plan a strategy.” The duelist whipped his rapier at one of the zombies Ratbag slashed with his scimitar. The slender blade pierced the skull. “They’re dead. They’re all–”
“They’re using some sort of strategy.” Alaric cut him off. Two more runners came sprinting toward them. Ratbag chopped one almost in half with his blade while his wolf bore the other down and decapitated it after tearing out its throat. “Or do you have another explanation for their restraint?”
The knight could see that Drahoslav didn’t. Ahead of them, another mob of zombies emerged from a doorway. Again, only a brace of runners broke away from the pack to charge them. Helchen dropped one with a bolt. Alaric met the other, catching it on his shield and using it to pin the creature against the wall. He chopped the top of its skull away with his longsword and the zombie’s dreadful animation was extinguished.
“We can’t get through that,” Hulmul declared, shaking his staff at the mob blocking their path. It looked to be dozens strong, and any time spent hacking a path through them would allow the pursuing horde to close in.
“We’ll have to take this hallway,” Ursola said, pointing at a connecting passage midway between themselves and the zombies ahead.
Alaric nodded and motioned the others to follow his lead. No more runners came at them from the mob in front, though he could hear Ratbag and Fang fending off more of the creatures drawn from the horde behind them. The knight’s uneasiness increased when he noticed that the mob at the end of the corridor appeared to have slowed their already shambling advance. Exactly as if some controlling force had ordered them to. He thought again of Gogol and the way the necromancer had commanded the zombies in the chapel. Let whatever blackguard was leading these undead show themselves for even an instant and he’d bury his sword in their heart!
The knight rounded the corner, almost hoping to see a necromancer waiting for them. Instead, Alaric found only an empty hallway. “Hurry!” he yelled to his companions. “The passage is clear!” He didn’t know how long that last statement would hold true, so he urged the others on, waggling his shield at them.
“I don’t like this,” Helchen commented as she darted past Alaric and into the hall. “It’s like they’re pressing us just enough to keep us moving.”
Alaric nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” He glanced at the mobs of zombies at either end of the main corridor. “But I don’t see there’s anything we can do about it.”
Everyone reached the side passage. A set of runners followed them, but again proved unable to bypass the orc’s blade and the wolf’s teeth.
“If we move fast enough, maybe we can get past whatever they’re driving us towards,” Helchen suggested. “Get there before they’re ready.”
Drahoslav shot a reproving look at the witch hunter. “Zombies can’t devise tactics,” he insisted. Alaric noted that the duelist quickened his pace just the same.
“If they’re trying to trap us, I’ll make sure to take them all with me,” Ursola vowed, one hand slapping the satchel of bombs she carried.
Gaiseric ranged ahead of the group, holding his torch before him to illuminate the passage ahead. Alaric was puzzled that they’d yet to see any doors or hallways connecting to the one they were in. Then the thief stopped and called back to them. “More stairs,” he said. “And this time they do go down.”
Alaric came up beside Gaiseric and found himself staring at a narrow flight of stone steps that plunged into darkness. The thief waited until Hulmul came up with another torch, then tossed his own into the gloom. It sailed downward some thirty feet before crashing onto the floor at the base of the steps. Alaric could make out rough stone walls and a heavy oak door that had been battered off its hinges. Blood as well, though no bodies were visible.
“What we want’s going to be down there,” Helchen said as she joined them. She laughed grimly. “It doesn’t look it now, but that would be the most secure part of the temple-fort.”
“The traps Ironshield designed are down there,” Ursola provided. She pointed to the copper sheaves she had bundled under her belt. “Some of the plans call for more space and stouter anchoring than you’d get above ground. Whatever High Inquisitor Elza was trying to protect, it’ll be down there.”
The sounds of combat were renewed. Alaric turned to see Ratbag and his wolf engaged with another clutch of runners. This time there were four of the rabid zombies. The knight hurried to help, striking down a creature before it could sink its fangs in the orc’s arm.
“Clam yer booshwash, an’ lay inta der cadavaz,” Ratbag snarled, raking his scimitar across the shoulder of another zombie and leaving its arm lying on the floor.
“He says your talk is interesting,” Gaiseric translated as he chopped into a decayed leg and sent a zombie to the ground. Ratbag bared his fangs at the thief. “Or words to that effect,” he added in an apologetic tone.
Alaric took Drahoslav’s torch as the man came up. Leaving him to help finish off the runners, the knight jogged a short distance back down the hallway. He stopped the moment the light he was carrying showed him a file of zombies slowly marching up the corridor. He recognized the ragged robes of the high inquisitor. The horde from before had joined up with the one that had forced them into this passage.
“Only one way to go,” Alaric reported as he ran back. He dashed down the stairs toward the torch Gaiseric had thrown. After all the effort the zombies had shown pushing them this way, he expected an ambush when he reached the bottom. Instead there was only gloom and shadow. Even whoever had bled all over the walls and door was gone.
“It’s all right,” Alaric called up. Helchen and Gaiseric were already halfway down the steps. The others quickly followed. Hulmul, as he descended, paused to lay his torch down to illuminate the top of the stairs.
Not long after they were all at the bottom, Alaric saw several zombies rush into the area illuminated by the wizard’s torch. One fell down the steps, Drahoslav’s arrow in its head. Another was thrown back by a shot from Helchen’s crossbow.
Despite the proof that these were runners, the rest of the pack made no move to descend the steps. Another of Drahoslav’s arrows pierced an undead head and knocked the creature down.
“What are they waiting for?” Gaiseric wondered.
“As long as they stay where they are, I can keep picking them off,” Drahoslav laughed, letting fly with another arrow. Again, the duelist’s precision dropped a zombie.
Helchen grabbed Drahoslav’s arm as he reached for another arrow. “Have you thought what you’ll do when you have no ammunition? Better conserve what we have until we need it.”
Alaric saw Elza’s zombie again, leading the slower walkers. Just like the runners, they stopped at the top of the stairs.
“It’s as if they’re afraid to come down,” Alaric said. He glanced over at Helchen. “Would the Order have some sort of defense to hold back the undead? Keep them from straying down here?”
