Isle of the Undead, page 23
part #2 of Zombicide Black Plague Series
“Now I know where to strike,” the necromancer laughed to himself. “Make for shore,” he commanded his zombies. Exerting his will, Gogol prodded the creatures to greater effort, putting on more sail so they would hurtle toward the quay. He wasn’t concerned about stoving in the hull on unseen rocks or a submerged reef. His crew couldn’t drown and there would be plenty of time to repair the ship.
Once Alaric von Mertz was dead.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alaric led the way back down through the spire. An inexplicable sense of urgency gripped him as he encouraged his companions to greater haste. Flamefang may have been disposed of, but there was still the threat of Skargash’s orcish zombies to worry about. Even this, however, didn’t explain the premonition of crisis that spurred him on.
Then, as he turned a corner in the winding stairway, Alaric was afforded a clear view of the bay by one of the holes Flamefang had made. He could see Gogol’s ghost ship, only now the vessel was right up on the shore. He could see movement and knew the necromancer was disembarking his zombies. Soon the island would be infested with spectral walkers.
“Gogol’s here,” Alaric said, a note of defeat slipping into his voice. “His zombies are already moving for the castle.” He pointed to the file of undead marching through the harbor buildings and into the forest.
“Maybe they’re just normal zombies,” Ursola suggested as she studied the scene. From this distance it was impossible to make out the eerie glow the spectral walkers emitted.
Doran shook his head. “That’s too much to wish for,” he stated. “I’ve met unsavory wizards with the same sort of personality as this Brunon Gogol. That kind lacks full confidence in their own abilities, so when they exert themselves, they do so with all the force they can muster. Overwhelming force if it’s available. No, we know he has command over spectral walkers, so that’s what he will set against us.”
Alaric ground his teeth in frustration. He was thankful he’d let Gaiseric keep Cryptblade and sent the thief along with Helchen. The enchanted sword should be potent against the spectral walkers. Between it and the magic the witch hunter had gleaned from Hulmul’s books, it at least gave their party a chance if they ran into Gogol’s zombies. They’d need that edge. Unlike Alaric’s group, Helchen’s might not even be aware the necromancer had followed them to the island.
The knight frowned as he looked at the sword of the von Mertzes that he carried. Unlike Cryptblade, he’d already seen for himself that his own weapon couldn’t harm spectral walkers. He looked over at Doran. “Maybe your magic can make the difference.”
The battlemage bore a dour expression as he measured his answer. “Magic takes a toll upon those who wield it. My spells can affect the spectral walkers, but I can only do so much for so long.” He gestured at the undead as they continued to leave the ghost ship. “I think by sheer numbers, there are too many for my powers to destroy. At least in a straight fight.” Doran perked up as an idea came to him. Alaric was reminded that the man was not only a wizard, but something of a soldier as well. “We might try hit and run tactics. Whittle down Gogol’s horde bit by bit.”
Sylvia came forward. “Maybe I think too much like a pirate,” she said, “but if we can get around the zombies, we might not need to fight at all.” She turned an inquiring look on Alaric. “This Gogol, do you think he’d have sense enough to leave a guard on his ship?”
“What are you suggesting?” Alaric asked.
Sylvia shared an eager smile with her buccaneers. “Isn’t it obvious? The necromancer wants us to fight his zombies, but we don’t have to accommodate him. It’s like when the King’s Navy is trying to catch you out. They want a fight. You don’t. So, when you see an opportunity to avoid meeting them, you take it.”
Ursola gave the pirate a bewildered look. “I’m sure you’ve some scheme you’re hatching, but by my ancestors, I can’t see it.”
“It’s simple,” Sylvia explained. “Even with the necromancer goading them on, the zombies are slow on the march. We go through the forest, slip past them, and steal their ship!” The pirate seemed proud of her devious plan.
Alaric shook his head. “Well and good… if we could leave now.” The knight jabbed his thumb at the floor, indicating the citadel beneath them. “We’ve still got to find Mournshroud and rejoin Helchen’s group. We can’t just leave them behind.”
From the expression on Sylvia’s face, it seemed like she would have argued the last point, but recovering the relic was still the paramount concern. “It was a good idea,” she said, “and maybe we’ll still get our chance.” She thrust her cutlass at the distant vessel. “That’s our way off the island now that Mendoza’s stolen The Demoness. Whatever else happens, we’re going to have to make a play to take that ship from Gogol… and hope the blasted scow is seaworthy enough to get us to the mainland.”
Alaric conceded Sylvia’s point. They would have to take Gogol’s ship, whether that meant sneaking past his zombies or fighting their way through the horde.
But first they had to find Mournshroud. And their friends. Allowing that any of them were still alive.
•••
“Der bimbo not goin’ bellyup!” Ratbag’s angry bellow echoed through the halls. His scimitar was buried up to the grip in the chest of the biggest zombie orc Gaiseric had seen yet. It was an enormous monster that made even Ratbag look like a runt by comparison. The thing’s arms were thicker around than the thief’s leg and each of its fingers ended in a claw that could gut a bear with one swing.
The thief swung Cryptblade, withering a goblin runner that was trying in its frantic way to sink its teeth in his throat. Though Skargash was gone, the castle corridors remained infested with mobs of the necromancer’s monstrous zombies. This pack was the third they’d encountered since recovering Mournshroud and it was by far the most formidable. Helchen and the buccaneers had all they could cope with in fending off the orcish walkers and brutes that surrounded them. With their backs to the wall, they plied sword and mace in a desperate defense. Gaiseric had been similarly trapped, but Cryptblade’s deathly enchantment was far more lethal against orcs and goblins than it had been against the zombie troll. He was able to extricate himself quickly after the monsters burst into the hallway.
Of course, Gaiseric felt there was another reason he’d been able to slip away. For every zombie that converged upon the rest of them, it seemed like three had gone after Ratbag. Maybe, in some dim way, they knew the orc had killed Skargash, but Gaiseric thought it was the drum strapped to the warrior’s back. Ratbag was the only one among them big and strong enough to carry Mournshroud, so the gruesome relic had been lashed to his back. Somehow, he felt, the zombies knew the power it possessed and so were striving to destroy both it and the renegade carrying it before the drum could be used against them. Helchen had tried a few times to reach Ratbag only to find her way blocked by zombies.
When this mob of zombies emerged from the shambles of a sitting room, it struck Gaiseric that most of them made straight for Ratbag, cutting the orc off from the rest of them… and making it impossible for anyone to reach the drum. He was giving a good enough account of himself but pushed back against the wall and now menaced by this freakishly huge abomination, Gaiseric didn’t see how Ratbag could survive without help.
“You’ve really got to stop doing this kind of thing,” Gaiseric scolded himself. Ignoring the remaining zombies near him, the rogue hurdled the corpses sprawled on the floor and ran toward Ratbag. He felt the claws of a zombie rake against his armor, heard his cloak tearing as one of the undead snatched at him as he sped past.
Then he was through and hacking away at the creatures surrounding Ratbag. The first few walkers fell before they were even aware of his sword slashing into their rotten flesh. The orcish walkers wilted to the floor, their bodies rapidly withering as the animating force was extinguished. A massive brute, its swollen gut drooping over its loins, swung around to meet this new attacker. Gaiseric brought Crytblade sweeping across its face, cutting away its lower jaw. Behind the mutilating wound, the zombie’s leathery hide took on a desiccated texture. Soon its prodigious flab of green skin was shrunken back against its bones and the creature collapsed at his feet.
“Ratbag! I’m here!” Gaiseric shouted. He thought the cry might distract the abomination the renegade was fighting, but the monster stuck to its enemy with the mindless fixation of most zombies. A huge, clawed hand whipped across Ratbag’s body, shredding his armor and sending torn rings of chain dancing across the hall. Bleeding, the orc stumbled back, losing his grip on his scimitar.
“I said ‘I’m here’!” Gaiseric howled as he lunged at the abomination. Cryptblade caught the orc monster just beneath the elbow, biting deep into the green flesh. Much like the troll, it didn’t seem the sword’s enchantment was enough to destroy the monster outright. He watched as the skin drew taut and withered about the underlying bone. The stricken arm fell limp at the creature’s side, but otherwise the beast retained its abominable vitality.
The orc abomination rounded on Gaiseric, slashing at him with the claws of its other hand. The thief narrowly ducked the deadly assault and a retaliatory swing of Cryptblade merely trimmed the tips from the monster’s talons.
Gaiseric dodged a zombie walker as it grabbed at him, then spun about and brought his sword’s edge cleaving into the abomination’s face, splitting its nose and ruining one eye. The withering enchantment caused half of the beast’s face to curl close to its skull, lending it an almost mummified look.
The abomination glared down at Gaiseric. “It was worth a try,” the rogue quipped as the monster brought its hand sweeping down. The trimmed claws flashed only inches from Gaiseric’s face as he jumped back.
Powerful arms closed around him, crushing the breath from his body. From the corner of his eye, Gaiseric could see an orc zombie leaning forward to bite his throat. Hurriedly he reversed his grip on Cryptblade and drove its point into the undead behind him. He could actually feel the strength evaporate from the grappling arms as the creature withered. When he looked up, he saw that the brute’s attack had done enough damage in any event. The orc abomination loomed over him and this time he wouldn’t have the chance to avoid its claws.
Just as he gritted his teeth and braced himself for annihilation, Gaiseric heard the dull, booming notes of Mournshroud reverberating through the hall. The abomination froze in place, a flicker of awareness in its remaining eye as its undead flesh began to putrefy and drip from its bones in a stream of necrotic ooze. He turned his head to see Ratbag crouched on the floor with Helchen behind him, beating the drum with her bare hands. The witch hunter’s steely gaze shifted from the dissolving abomination to take in the rest of the zombie horde.
“Luck,” Gaiseric muttered, crossing his fingers. He rose and hurried away from the pool of putrid slush that had been the orc abomination. He joined his comrades, helping the buccaneers stave off the few zombies that had yet to feel Mournshroud’s power.
When the last zombie in the hall had been dealt with and Helchen stopped sounding the drum, Ratbag rose to his feet. The big orc ignored the dark blood oozing from his torn skin. His attention was fixed on the scimitar lying in the abomination’s remains. “Dat’s der dandy,” he spat as he retrieved his weapon. “Need der edge fer der rumpuz.”
Gaiseric fumbled for words to express his gratitude to Helchen, but she waved away his overtures. “You put yourself into that fix to help the orc,” she said. “I’d like to think you’d do the same for me.” There was just a hint of severity in the way she said it. Helchen was a perceptive woman and well aware that witch hunters were far from popular. The disruption of the Order’s authority meant, in turn, that her own authority wasn’t as absolute as it had once been.
Gaiseric felt uneasy. He considered Helchen a friend. He also considered her vocation a menace, perhaps not as overwhelming as that of the Black Plague, but for anyone who fell within the Order’s purview, every bit as deadly. Rather than respond, he decided to shift the conversation. “If there was any doubt that Mournshroud could destroy the undead, I think we’ve done enough work with it now to put those questions to rest.”
Helchen nodded. “Still, it would be best not to tempt fate too far.” She indicated the decaying corpses all around them. “I think it is too much to believe our run-ins with these zombies are mere accident.” She locked eyes with Gaiseric and expressed one of the rogue’s own fears. “The orcs who made Mournshroud, I believe, made its power two-fold. It not only destroys the undead, but it also attracts them.”
“Orcs do love a fight and don’t always have the patience to wait for one,” Gaiseric said, looking over at Ratbag as the warrior dabbed at his cut chest with an old rag. “They’d probably see that as a winning combination.”
“For us, it means we have to be careful about using it,” Helchen said. “The more we sound the drum, the better the zombies will be able to converge on us.”
A feeling of frustration swelled within Gaiseric. “Then all of this has been for nothing!” he snapped. “A relic that destroys zombies but also draws them to you isn’t going to do much good for Korbara.” He sent a dark look Ratbag’s way, wondering if the orc had known about this aspect of the relic when they set out from the monastery to find it.
“It’s a dangerous combination,” Helchen admitted. “Against spectral walkers, it might be the only option. Better than standing helpless while they slaughter everyone, at least.”
Gaiseric examined the torn edges of his cloak. It had been a fine garment. Now it was just a ratty rag, stained with zombie putrescence. Annoyed, he pulled it free, tucking its golden clasp into a pouch on his belt. He could feel the buccaneers’ eyes on him, almost smell the greed rolling off them. It didn’t matter how much loot they’d already found, there was a common sentiment among all thieves, whether on land or sea. ‘Enough’ was always ‘just a little bit more’.
“We should be moving,” Gaiseric said, doing his best to ignore the covetous pirates. “There’s always the possibility this mob had a few stragglers limping after it.” He nodded at the decimated zombies.
“We need to find Alaric and the others,” the witch hunter stated. “Now that we’ve found Mournshroud, the sooner we leave Yandryl’s island, the better.”
“That,” Gaiseric told her, “is the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
•••
The best chance for finding the others, Helchen decided, was to head back toward the spire where Doran thought the dragontaming crystal was kept. The battlemage had warned that if it wasn’t there, they’d have to investigate the other towers, but at the very least it was a place to start.
A few straggler zombies disturbed them as the witch hunter led her group back through the lavish halls of Yandryl’s apartments, but nothing like the mobs they’d encountered before. Helchen was beginning to think that perhaps they’d exterminated all the orcs and goblins Skargash brought to the island. She was a bit unnerved when Ratbag chopped down a human zombie, for it suggested the Black Plague could be passed from the orcish undead to humans. The reason they hadn’t encountered any before, she realized, was because of how destructive the orcs were. When they killed a human, they usually didn’t leave enough to be reanimated by the necromantic plague.
Ratbag, anxious as ever for a fight, rejected Helchen’s efforts to keep him in the middle of their entourage. The orc wasn’t sympathetic to her argument that they needed to protect Mournshroud. She needed the renegade’s brawn to manage the relic, however. It would take three of the humans to cart the drum around while the orc could just about carry it without even noticing the strain. Against her better judgment, she had to indulge Ratbag, mitigating his recklessness by keeping herself and Gaiseric close to him. At least if another big pack of zombies showed up, the warrior wouldn’t be caught alone.
The orc was just a step or so ahead of her when Helchen saw a flash of steel strike out from the doorway he was approaching. Ratbag blocked the stroke with his scimitar. With his free hand he caught the wrist behind the blade. Snarling, he dragged his attacker from concealment. “Ratbag ain’t no cadava,” he warned.
“My mistake,” the attacker said. Sylvia dangled from Ratbag’s hand as though she were nothing but a child. Her eyes had widened with fright, so large they looked to completely fill the sockets of the skull inked across her face.
“Been a while since we saw a living orc,” Ursola grumbled as she stepped into view. “You can understand how someone might make a mistake.”
Ratbag gave the dwarf a stern glance, but did release his hold on Sylvia. “Get ya sum cheatas,” he growled, tapping his eye.
Alaric and Doran appeared behind the dwarf, the other buccaneers from The Demoness following behind them. The knight had doffed his helm, his face bearing a look of relief when he saw Helchen. “Is this everyone?”
Helchen nodded. “I’m sorry, but we lost Korsgaard,” she said, turning to Sylvia.
The pirate captain simply shrugged. “Sooner or later, we’d have had to cross swords, so whatever happened to him, maybe it’s better that it did.” Sylvia gave a questioning look at the corsairs with Helchen. “Whatever you found, we divvy up by shares,” she said, her finger tapping the blade of her cutlass. The men returned eager nods of agreement.
“Ratbag killed Skargash,” Gaiseric told the knight. He coaxed the big orc to turn around, displaying the hideous drum lashed to his back. “We also found Mournshroud.”
“Which means we can leave, if you dealt with the dragon,” Helchen stated. She didn’t like the somber look Alaric and Doran exchanged.
