Age of the Undead, page 25
part #1 of Zombicide Black Plague Series
Then Gaiseric saw the dagger in Gogol’s other hand. Viciously the villain drove the blade into Fang’s side, stabbing over and over until the animal’s ferocity ebbed and it fell still.
“Yer gonna get der bump yer rummy piker!” Ratbag raged as he drove toward Gogol. As Gaiseric had feared, before he could reach the necromancer, the walkers attacked. The orc lashed out with his scimitar, hewing limbs from his undead foes and cleaving skulls with each swing. Fast as he decimated them, more zombies shambled over to replace the ones he destroyed.
“Loaded dice and marked cards,” Gaiseric cursed. He managed to pierce one of the runners in the chest, but the zombie remained active so he knew he’d missed its heart. The other creature raked its claws down his side, tearing his skin and drawing blood. He was fortunate that Gogol’s panic had caused the walkers to withdraw, but the rabid pair he still had to deal with were proving more than enough to handle.
Gaiseric forced himself to ignore Ratbag’s plight and concentrate on his own enemies. A dodge to the left caused one of the runners to spring past him. While it was recovering, Gaiseric thrust the point of his sword into the face of the other zombie. The creature’s own momentum drove it further along the blade, deep enough to penetrate to the brain and disrupt the hideous magic animating it.
Gaiseric cried out in pain as the remaining zombie latched itself onto his back, digging its claws in his flesh. He struck out with the heavy pommel of his sword, smashing the runner’s head as it leaned in and tried to bury its teeth in his neck. The blow caved in the side of the skull and foiled the creature’s assault. A second strike expanded the damage and the lifeless zombie slipped to the floor.
“Ratbag,” Gaiseric hissed. He didn’t give himself a moment to recover from his fight, but started back toward the orc.
The ground around Ratbag was strewn with butchered zombies. Only a few more walkers stood between him and Gogol. The necromancer, however, wasn’t inactive. He held the bloodied dagger over Fang’s body and invoked a strange, slithering litany. The words, if words they were, made Gaiseric’s stomach churn.
Suddenly the dead wolf kicked its hind legs. Awkwardly, Fang rose to its feet. Blood dripped from its fur where Gogol had stabbed it, but the animal gave no notice to its wounds. Instead, the zombie wolf turned toward Ratbag.
“Set your cur on me?” Gogol sneered, cradling his mauled arm against his chest. He pointed at Ratbag. “I repay you in your own coin!”
The zombie wolf lunged for its former master, but before it could tear Ratbag with its fangs, the creature was jerked back. To Gaiseric, it seemed as if an invisible leash had been pulled.
“We need the orc alive,” Vasilescu warned Gogol. The traitor stood several yards from the other necromancer, a vicious scowl on his face. “The cabal wants to know how this one resisted the spell.”
It was clear to Gaiseric from the way Gogol deferred to Vasilescu that the duplicitous wizard was the senior member of their partnership. Before the betrayer could issue any further commands, however, he cried out in pain and staggered back, blood streaming from his side.
“Next time you trick a witch hunter, make sure she’s dead,” Helchen jeered, lowering her crossbow. She ducked back behind a pillar before Vasilescu could send a spell sizzling after her.
“And be careful who you betray,” Hulmul cried out. The wizard appeared to have been inspired by Gogol’s talk of being repaid in the same coin. A vicious gale swept down upon Gogol, knocking both him and the zombies back. The wind, however, didn’t so much as stir a hair on Vasilescu’s head. He seemed more worried about another shot from Helchen than Hulmul’s conjuring.
Gaiseric hurried to Ratbag and helped the orc finish off the few walkers that hadn’t been blown back by Hulmul’s spell. “We’ve got to regroup,” he told the orc.
“Dat gink’s head iz mine,” Ratbag snarled.
“You won’t get a crack at him now,” Gaiseric warned, staring at Vasilescu as the traitor took cover behind a pillar. “That scoundrel will burn you down with a spell if you try anything.”
Gaiseric was relieved when Ratbag relented and followed him back across the cellar. The thief had some idea of where Hulmul had called out from. He spotted a big stone bench and dove behind it. True to his guess, the wizard was there.
“Do you think it’s a bad time to ask him about rewarding us for the book?” Gaiseric quipped.
Hulmul gave him a thin smile. His brow was beaded with sweat and he was deathly pale. A glance at the wizard’s shoulder told Gaiseric that it had been dislocated. It was no wonder his spell had missed Vasilescu. The incredible thing was that he could ignore the pain enough to work his magic at all.
“I… don’t…” Hulmul gasped in pain. “This might… have been a bad… idea… coming here.”
Ratbag rounded the bench and ducked down behind it. The orc studied Hulmul for a moment, then gave Gaiseric a questioning look. “Wotz der mummerz beef?”
Gaiseric nodded at Hulmul’s shoulder. “He’s hurt.”
The orc glanced back at the wizard. “Dahtz all?” Without further preamble, he seized Hulmul and in one twist, popped the shoulder. The pain was enough that the wizard collapsed against the bench. “Der mummer gonna blotto,” Ratbag commented.
The entire spectacle shocked Gaiseric. He checked Hulmul, but found the wizard was only stunned. The thief looked back at Ratbag. “If I ever get hurt,” he told the orc, “do one thing for me.”
“Wotz daht?” Ratbag asked.
Gaiseric clutched at his own shoulder. “Absolutely nothing.”
Chapter Nineteen
Helchen set another bolt into the crossbow and cranked back the string, disgusted with herself that she’d only wounded Vasilescu. It was true enough that her main intention had been to keep the treacherous wizard from killing Gaiseric and Ratbag, but if she’d managed to drop the villain their problems would be almost over.
“Instead, they look to be only beginning,” she commented. Peeping from behind the column, she could see more undead shambling out from the catacombs. Few of them were coated in glowing mold, so she knew they hadn’t been there long. The necromancers must have been using the catacombs as a staging area, hiding their obscene army in the murk beneath Singerva. It could be that they’d started long before the black plague descended on the kingdom. Certainly, by his own admission, Vasilescu had been a practitioner of the dark arts for many years.
She watched as Gogol emerged from cover to give commands to the zombies. Helchen debated trying a shot, but the distance was considerable. If she missed, all she would accomplish would be to give away her position.
Besides, Vasilescu represented the greater menace. He’d displayed subtlety and craft, ingratiating himself with the nobility, the clergy, and the Order. He’d covered his tracks well and who could say how many secrets he’d managed to ferret out of those who trusted him? Certainly, someone had told him about the vault under the temple-fort and some of the things locked away there.
“At least that should appease the Order,” Helchen considered. It was clear that the entire collection had been Vasilescu’s objective. The necromancers had been able to slaughter the witch hunters but had been stymied by the traps and fortifications in the dungeons. They’d needed living, thinking agents to clear the way for them, because neither of the fiends was about to jeopardize his own life. And just at the right time, Alaric brought them all to the traitor’s tower. Dupes to be lulled by Vasilescu’s reputation as a stalwart defender of the kingdom.
Helchen eased away from the column, intent on working her way around to where she’d seen Vasilescu last. She knew a wizard needed to focus to cast spells, and the more complicated the magic, the greater the concentration required. With one of her bolts poking his ribs, she didn’t think Vasilescu would be invoking any more illusions. The next time she was ready to bash his skull, she could be certain it was the man himself.
Creeping across the cellar, Helchen realized the grim irony of the situation. Unlike the dungeons under the temple-fort, the vaults below Vasilescu’s tower were well lit by the torches arrayed about the pillars. Instead of lessening the danger, the light made things worse. Though their senses weren’t those of the living, zombies could still see after a fashion and the light would help them spot her. At the same time, if she extinguished the lights, the necromancers would know where she was and redirect the undead accordingly.
Helchen grinned as an idea formed.
The witch hunter looked back at Gogol as he sent his zombies fanning out. He had only the roughest idea where his enemies were. To all intents, he was giving directions blindly and hoping for the best. Helchen decided to give Gogol something more substantial to follow.
Lifting her crossbow, she aimed at a torch only a few columns away. She shot the bolt and snuffed out the brand. The area around the column was instantly plunged into darkness. Gogol at once noticed the occurrence and waved several of the undead in that direction. Helchen hastily reloaded the weapon and cranked back the string. Aiming again, she picked out a column in line with the first but even further away. Unlike the first shot, she didn’t have a clear view of the torch. If she hit it but didn’t snuff it out, the deceit that someone was there would be lost. Worse, if she hit it and only knocked it to the ground, she might arouse Gogol’s suspicions.
“Marduum guide my aim,” Helchen prayed before sending the bolt hurtling across the cellar. She sighed with relief when the torch went out.
Now, certain that someone was there, Gogol sent nearly all the zombies off in that direction. Helchen saw the undead frame of Fang bounding ahead of even the runners, moving with almost as much speed and fluidity as the wolf had when alive. There was an added horror, seeing the animal’s face pulled back in a perpetual snarl, yet making no sound other than the scratch of its claws on the floor.
Confident her ruse had worked, Helchen dashed away in the other direction, ducking behind a marble basin. She froze for a moment, listening for any hint that she’d been spotted before peeking back toward the darkened area she’d decoyed the zombies to. The undead continued their relentless march, unaware that they were chasing shadows.
Helchen turned around and started for a nearby column. She was midway between the basin and her goal when Vasilescu stepped out from behind the pillar. His side was wet with blood and she could see the bolt poking out of his flesh. “Aren’t you clever?” the traitor hissed, lifting his hand.
The witch hunter tried to twist aside and scramble back to the cover offered by the basin. Helchen cried out as a powerful force slammed into her and sent her sliding across the floor. She could tell from the flash of blue light that Vasilescu had sent an arcane bolt into her. She was amazed to still be alive. The mangled wreckage of her crossbow provided the explanation. The spell had hit the weapon and it had absorbed the brunt of the energy.
Helchen scrambled back behind the basin just as Vasilescu sent another blast searing after her. “You’re just delaying the inevitable,” he told her.
Sounds of conflict erupted from across the cellar. Gogol’s panicked shout rang out. “Alaric von Mertz! The others are here!”
The witch hunter smiled. She’d been suspicious of Vasilescu after seeing the strange “healing rune” he’d inked on Hulmul’s arm. She’d expressed her concerns to Alaric, but after losing Gogol, the knight had been in no mood to hear her out. To see him now, hurrying down to help them, almost felt miraculous to her. She didn’t know what had made him change his mind, but she was thankful he had. It gave them a fighting chance.
Helchen decided to play off events as though they’d been planned all along, just to rattle the necromancers.
“I delayed you just as long as I needed to,” she shouted at Vasilescu. “And the only thing inevitable is the judgment you’ve eluded for far too long.”
•••
Alaric brought his longsword shearing through the walker’s cranium. He kicked the zombie free of his blade and used his shield to fend off the attentions of a second creature. Before it could press his defenses, it collapsed with Drahoslav’s rapier through its eye.
“Finesse is more elegant than chopping away like a woodsman,” the duelist declared. He’d swapped his stained raiment for a loud yellow tunic and crimson breeches. Alaric suspected they’d been selected more for their ability to reveal injuries – or the lack thereof – than any other reason.
“Right now, I’m concerned about results rather than technique,” Alaric said. The knight looked across the cellar, trying to spot any of their friends.
“Over there,” Ursola said, gesturing with her hammer. Alaric at once saw what she was pointing to. Amid the litter of smashed coffins stood an assemblage of zombies covered in frost. Clearly Hulmul’s handiwork.
Alaric struck down the last of the walkers close to them and started toward the frozen dead. He was half afraid of what he might find. He hoped the witch hunter and her companions hadn’t become sacrifices to Vasilescu’s treachery.
Nearing the quick-frozen zombies, Alaric spotted the book they’d gone into the Order’s dungeons to find. He took its abandonment as an ominous sign. He looked around, but all he could see were the shattered coffins and the glass sarcophagus where the gigantic rat-beast was entombed.
“Helchen!” Drahoslav called out. Alaric shot him a warning look, but the duelist simply shrugged. “You want to find them, don’t you?”
There was no need to explain his agitation to Drahoslav. At the sound of the warrior’s voice, the flash-frozen zombies began to move. Frost crackled and flaked off their limbs as they turned toward the heroes.
“Make yourself useful and get me a torch,” Ursola snapped at Drahoslav. The duelist shot her a sullen look but hurried to take a brand from one of the pillars. The dwarf used it to ignite the fuse of a firebomb. She waited a moment for it to burn down, then lobbed it into the midst of the zombies as they started in their direction.
Alaric thought the detonation sounded different. Certainly, there was less flame than there had been with her other bombs. Then he realized that what was billowing from the undead bodies wasn’t smoke, but steam.
“Brilliant! You thawed them out!” Drahoslav whipped out his rapier and met the rush of a runner as it charged for them. His blade pierced its heart and he stepped aside as the corpse’s momentum carried it past him. “Finesse,” he declared.
Alaric didn’t have the luxury of being annoyed by Drahoslav’s bravado. The rest of the thawed pack was lurching towards them. He cleft the skull of one creature as it swung at him with its necrotic hands. A second collapsed with its face caved in by a strike from the pommel.
“For Ironshield!” Ursola cried out as she swung her hammer at an obese brute. Alaric knew from experience how difficult it was to land a telling blow on the hulking zombies, but the dwarf connected with such force that even its blubbery bulk couldn’t cushion the blow. The head shattered like an egg, spraying brains and bone in every direction.
“Von Mertz!” The hateful voice of Brunon Gogol struck at Alaric as though it were a physical blow. The knight spun around to see the necromancer once again surrounded by a pack of his zombies. The villain pointed at him with one hand while the other he kept curled close to his chest. “You surprised me last time we met. Now maybe I can surprise you.”
“There won’t be another time,” Alaric promised Gogol.
“No. There won’t.” The necromancer grinned back at him.
From behind the knight the crack of breaking glass sounded. Too late Alaric realized why Gogol had been so bold. The necromancer needed to get close to give commands to the ratbomination!
The gigantic monstrosity erupted from its coffin in an explosion of glass. Alaric felt a sliver embed itself in his cheek as he saw other pieces slice his companions. The pain of their cuts went unnoticed beside the terror that gripped them as the verminous colossus surged into motion. It didn’t climb from its sarcophagus; it simply swayed its weight and collapsed the side outward. The beast’s body rippled with a loathsome, crawling animation, its very skin creeping and squirming as it stalked toward the heroes.
“Die, von Mertz,” Gogol sneered. “Last son of a wretched pedigree.”
The rat-beast turned toward Alaric and slashed at him with its claws. He raised his shield to block the attack, but the enormous talons latched onto it. The monster drew back, shifting its obscene mass. As it did, the knight was drawn back with it. He felt as though his arm was going to be ripped from his shoulder, so strong was the creature’s pull.
Ursola dove in to help Alaric. Her hammer cracked against the beast’s side. The skin split under the impact, peeling away as though it were dry parchment. A foul, putrid odor exuded from the necrotic horror’s innards. From his vantage, Alaric saw the dwarf recoil in disgust, but it was more than a mere stench that repelled her. Out from the mash of exposed organs, a swarm of undead rats emerged. The creatures sprang at Ursola, tearing at her with their claws, snapping at her with their fangs. She staggered back, trying to tear the vermin from her body.
Alaric’s own peril was magnified as he was lifted into the air by the ratbomination. Its dull, lifeless eyes stared at him as it opened its reeking maw. He could see more normal-sized rats crawling at the back of its throat, ready to rip into the fragments he’d be reduced to once those immense jaws bit down on him.
Before the monster could bring him to those jaws, Alaric heard a squeal of fright. He managed to turn his head just enough to see one of Gogol’s zombies drop with an arrow through its brain. Drahoslav cursed as he nocked another arrow to the elven bow. Of all the times for the braggart to miss! Yet by missing, he threw the necromancer into a panic and it was that panic that saved the imperiled knight.
Callously, the ratbomination tossed Alaric aside as it turned toward Gogol. He slammed into the floor, landing on his shield-arm. His body throbbed with anguish, but the knight fought back the pain. He struggled to his feet and looked back toward Drahoslav.
