Age of the Undead, page 6
part #1 of Zombicide Black Plague Series
Scar-Face laughed at the thief. “You can’t scare us with that kind of talk. After what we’ve seen, we’re not afraid of kings or gods. None of them rule these lands anymore.”
“There’s only one law now,” a pot-bellied matron carrying a club snarled. “Everyone for themselves.”
From the vantage of his familiar, Hulmul could see that the situation was rapidly worsening. The ambushers weren’t going to have things entirely their own way, but he didn’t see how Alaric’s group was going to survive unless they surrendered.
The knight put paid to that idea. “Brigands,” he named the ambushers. “You’ll take no plunder from us.”
Gaiseric stepped forward, again making placating motions with his hands. “Let’s not be hasty. We’re on their road after all. They’re entitled to compensation.” His hands dug into the pockets of his coat and tunic, spilling an assortment of coins and jewelry onto the ground. “I’m sure there’s enough here…”
Scar-Face spat on the glimmering gold and waved his hammer at Gaiseric. The thief simply blinked at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend anyone who wasn’t interested in gold. “We want your armor, your weapons, and whatever food you’re carrying.” The statement brought sullen nods from the others.
The thief stirred from his stunned incredulity and gave the brigands a dumbfounded look. “Well, if you won’t be reasonable and take the gold…” Quick as a flash, Gaiseric had a dagger in his hand and lunged at the scarred blacksmith. Catching hold of the man, he spun him around and brought the dagger to his throat. “Tell your people to leave,” he ordered Scar-Face.
The captive chuckled. “You think they care about me? Kill me and there’s just one less mouth to feed.”
Hulmul could feel the situation about to explode. Capturing their leader had been the best chance for the travelers to extricate themselves. Now they would need help.
The wizard withdrew all but the last speck of his mind from Malicious. He unslung the pack he wore and hastily rummaged through its contents. Hulmul quickly unrolled a vellum scroll, his eyes roving across the cabalistic writing. He mouthed the incantation and pointed his staff to the spot where he desired the magic to manifest.
Hulmul hesitated. Once he acted, there was no turning back. These were the first people he’d seen going to Singerva, but one of them was a witch hunter. Even when conjured to render them aid, some witch hunters couldn’t set aside their hatred of magic. Instead of welcoming the wizard’s help, they might look at him as a worse menace than the ambushers.
“I’ll take the chance,” Hulmul decided, making the final gesture to work his magic.
A few yards from the ambushers, an enraged bellow sounded. The next instant, the bushes parted and a colossal figure charged onto the road. Twice as tall as a human, its muscular frame covered in black fur, enormous horns jutting from its bovine head, the minotaur stamped its hooves in the dirt. Each ambusher felt the burn of the monster’s beady red eyes as it swept its gaze over them.
Fear gripped the attackers. The moment the minotaur started forward they were in retreat. Scar-Face twisted about, squirming free of Gaiseric’s grip and joining the others in flight. The monster roared again, its predatory instincts roused by the sight of its fleeing prey.
As the beast hurtled after the ambushers, Helchen loosed a bolt at it. “Foul abomination!” she cursed the minotaur. Her eyes went wide with shock as the bolt passed harmlessly through the monster. It didn’t so much as glance at her before it plunged into the bushes in pursuit of its initial targets.
“Maybe it won’t shrug off cold steel,” Alaric said as he started to chase after the beast.
“I can assure you it will,” Hulmul called out to the knight. Alaric and his companions swung around, stunned to see the wizard calmly walking down the road toward them. The distance was great enough that he was forced to employ a cantrip to project his voice to them, but it was a minor conjuration beside the spell he’d just invoked.
“A crude illusion,” the wizard continued, almost apologetic in his tone. “A more nuanced one would appear to react to anything that happened to it. This one was a bit hasty, real enough to frighten someone, but it wouldn’t convince anyone who paused for a closer look.”
Helchen reloaded her crossbow and started to crank back the string. Alaric motioned for her to lower the weapon. “We’re grateful for your assistance, friend wizard, but you’ll forgive us for being suspicious.”
“Caution is ever its own justification,” Hulmul said as he drew closer. He locked eyes with Helchen and added, “Though it’s sometimes expected to be given the benefit of the doubt.”
“Happy is the village that hangs its wizard,” she returned.
“So, you’ve read The Sword of Sorcerers,” Hulmul mused. He was gratified to see that Helchen was surprised he was familiar with the infamous witch hunting handbook. He pressed that momentary advantage. “I’ve recently seen several villages without wizards. None of them looked very happy.”
The knight motioned for Helchen to desist. “Which direction did you come from?” Alaric asked. He nodded to Helchen and Gaiseric. “Between us we’ve traveled from south and north.”
“And I came from the west,” Hulmul provided. He held up his hand. “I know what you’d ask. The plague is at work there as well. Lifeless villages infested with zombies.”
“But you were able to stay alive,” Helchen interjected, her voice barely above a growl. “About what could be expected of a wizard, to save his own skin.”
Hulmul shook his head. “I could say the same about you. All of you are alive when many are not.” His face took on a sour expression. “I know it’s an ugly fact your Order likes to ignore, but the Wizards’ Guild is just as eager to root out and destroy necromancers as you are. We’re just a bit more judicious about when we act. Accuse the wrong person and the real culprit is apt to sneak away in the confusion.”
Alaric intervened again before the argument could go further. “Real or illusion, your spell was most timely. It would have gone hard with us if we’d fought those brigands.”
“Yes, it was lucky you drove them off,” Gaiseric agreed. The thief was down on his knees collecting the treasure he’d dumped on the ground. Hulmul noted a brooch that carried the same design as Alaric’s coat of arms. It didn’t need a leap of logic to know where Gaiseric had come by his wealth.
“Not entirely luck,” Hulmul said. He tapped his shoulder and summoned Malicious to him. The reptile flew from its perch and soared past the knight’s head before landing on the wizard. The effect would have been more impressive had his familiar not decided to nip at his ear once it was settled. Hulmul had to brush away the lizard’s teeth.
“You’ve had a demon spying on us,” Helchen snapped.
“My familiar has been watching you,” Hulmul corrected her. “Keeping me advised if you got into trouble so I could intervene. Rather effectively, you must admit.” He pointed to a few weapons the ambushers had dropped when they fled.
Alaric stared at the wizard, studying him carefully. “Why the interest in us?” he finally asked.
“I thought you could help me reach Singerva,” Hulmul said. He shook his staff at the road. “This path leads to the town, so I presumed you were going there.” He decided it would be unwise to reveal the full extent of his familiar’s spying.
“What business do you have in Singerva?” Helchen demanded.
“Business even a witch hunter would endorse,” Hulmul countered. “I’m going to consult my old mentor, Vasilescu.” He smiled when he saw surprise on Helchen’s face again. “Ah, you recognize that name. He’s helped your Order many times in the past. He’s far wiser and more learned than I am. I hope Vasilescu will have some understanding of this zombie plague that is scourging the land. Maybe he’ll know a way that the undead threat can be contained and countered.”
“Whatever your reasons for going there, you’re welcome to join us,” Gaiseric quipped as he finished stuffing his pockets. “You’d be mighty handy to have around if we run into more brigands.”
Hulmul leaned on his staff and gave the thief an indulgent smile. “Oh, those weren’t brigands. Did you ever hear of a brigand, however hungry, who turned his nose up at gold?”
A wary look entered Alaric’s eyes. “If they weren’t brigands, who were they?”
“Didn’t you guess?” the wizard replied. “They’re refugees. Refugees from Singerva.”
Chapter Five
Gaiseric had once been bed ridden by Red Fever, unable to ingest anything more substantial than broth and scarce able to keep even that down. Yet, he could honestly say that his first sight of Singerva when they crested a nearby hill was the sickest he’d ever felt in his life.
“So much for a safe haven,” the thief muttered, as he tried to reconcile himself to the grim reality before him. The great walls, those ramparts that had resisted orc hordes and rebel barons in the past, were as robust and mighty as ever, but what use were even the strongest walls when the gates hung open and unguarded? Plumes of smoke billowed up from the town itself, rolling across the gable roofs, too thick to merely be the product of chimneys. He could only just make out the spire of Singerva’s cathedral above the veil. The road leading into the West Gate was strewn with debris, an assortment of carts and wagons littered the sides of the path. The bodies of horses and humans lay bloating under the sun, crows and dogs picking at the carrion.
“Even Singerva has fallen,” Helchen groaned, a pained light in her eyes. “The town garrison numbered into the hundreds. My Order maintained a temple-fort here with dozens of witch hunters…”
“And you might reckon on the men-at-arms and knights who served the noble families,” Hulmul said, ticking off factions on his fingers. “The guards of the mercantile guilds, all the mercenaries and sellswords lurking about seeking work… Singerva probably had over a thousand fighters to draw upon, yet still it wasn’t enough.” His expression darkened. “The bigger the community, the bigger the graveyard. More bodies for this profane plague to raise as zombies.”
Gaiseric spun around, clutching the wizard’s sleeve. Of them all, Hulmul seemed to have the best grasp of what was going on. “Do you think the town’s abandoned, or are there still people alive down there?”
“You can be certain that there’ll be people who preferred to hole up than run away,” Alaric stated. “The question isn’t if there are people there, but rather how long they can hold out.”
“Some places will be easy to defend,” Hulmul added. “At least against such undead as we’ve seen.” He nodded to Helchen. “I’m confident the temple-fort of your Order would be able to hold out for quite some time, though I wonder how much help they’d provide anybody else.”
Helchen shot the wizard an icy glare, but surprisingly didn’t argue his point.
“There’ll be other strongpoints.” Alaric focused on the watch towers that were scattered along the exterior walls and the immense gate house that straddled the West Gate. “Just because we can’t see anyone on the parapets doesn’t mean nobody got inside and barricaded themselves in.” The knight paused, clenching his jaw. Gaiseric could tell he was thinking of his family’s castle and how its defenses had been overcome.
“We might still rally some help,” Gaiseric suggested. “Castle von Mertz would be easier to defend than some tower in the middle of a destroyed town.” He smiled and jangled one of his overstuffed pockets. “If there’s any mercenaries still looking for work, we can certainly pay them.”
Alaric seemed to take some solace from Gaiseric’s speech. “Let’s see if there’s anything here to salvage,” the knight declared. His gaze swept across each of his companions. “Whatever we find, remember I’m only interested in getting back home and making Brunon Gogol pay for his crimes.”
Gaiseric plucked a gold ring from one of his pockets and sighed. “I imagine all the fences have closed up shop anyway.” He flipped the ring and caught it in his other hand before returning it to his pocket. He turned and clapped Hulmul on the shoulder, almost knocking over the wizard. “Since you seem to know Singerva better than any of us, maybe you should lead the way.”
Hulmul shook his head. “I saw little enough of the town. Just my master’s tower.”
“Well, that’s a starting place at least,” Gaiseric said. He frowned when the wizard’s familiar leaned forward and stared at him, its little tongue flicking from between its scaly jaws. “Do you think your mentor is still there?”
“Oh, of that I’m certain,” Hulmul replied. “Vasilescu would never abandon his library. He’d die before letting that happen.” Gaiseric noted a certain uneasiness in his tone. So did Helchen.
“There’s something you’re not telling us,” the witch hunter accused Hulmul.
Hulmul bowed his head in contrition. “Nobody cares to have a wizard living near them. The Order has made our kind undesirable…”
“Your obscene magic has made you undesirable,” Helchen interjected.
“Maybe we could save the hostility for the undead,” Gaiseric suggested, darting the witch hunter a dark look before encouraging Hulmul to continue his explanation. “Is there something wrong with Vasilescu’s tower?”
“Only where he was forced to have it built,” Hulmul said, his voice uncomfortable. “You see, the town elders made Vasilescu take a plot nobody else wanted. His tower, you understand, is right next to Singerva’s oldest graveyard.”
“Oldest… graveyard?” Gaiseric sputtered, that sick feeling growing in his stomach again.
“Aye,” Hulmul confirmed, his familiar letting out a low hiss. “The town’s oldest graveyard… and its largest.”
•••
It was easy enough to gain entry to Singerva. The gates were both open and unguarded. Alaric could find no hint of life stirring in the fortified gatehouse, the iron shutters of its windows closed tight against the gray stone of its fortifications. The knight warily made his way down the covered gate, anxiously aware of the arrow slits in the walls to either side and the sinister murder holes above his head. He breathed a good deal easier once he stepped out into the square on the other side. A stable ran along one side of the square, its empty stalls open to the street. The fire-blackened bricks of a large warehouse were close by, its doors reduced to soot by the flames that had ravaged the interior. Alaric could make out the town’s coat-of-arms amid the debris, a dripping axe set above the fanged heads of a mystical ettin. Clearly the warehouse had been used by the authorities to hold goods confiscated from those passing through the gate.
Nearby, Alaric spotted an overturned table and chair poised in the very shadow of the gate. A big wooden box lay beside the furnishings, its side smashed in, and a litter of coins strewn about it in the mud. The sight sent a chill through him. Nothing could better relate the speed with which disaster had fallen on Singerva than the obvious swiftness with which the exciseman had deserted his post… and that nobody had availed themselves of the abandoned taxes.
At least not until Gaiseric caught the glint of silver twinkling in the mud. “So easy it’s shameful,” the thief quipped as he ran over and started scooping up coins.
The knight tapped Gaiseric on the shoulder. “You might wonder why nobody else took advantage,” he suggested, directing a meaningful look at the towers to either side of the gate. Alaric saw the thief blanch when he looked up at the windows and the arrow slits in their shutters. Hurriedly, he backed away from the broken box.
“You think someone’s in there?” Helchen asked as she and Hulmul joined them.
“Only one way to find out,” Alaric said. He prevailed on her to check the other tower while he tried the door at the base of the one closest to him. They found both barred from the inside. The knight started to call out to anyone within, but Hulmul quickly dissuaded him from trying.
“I dare say you’ve seen by now that zombies are attracted by noise,” the wizard cautioned. He shook his staff at the gatehouse. “Anyone still in there can see us from the windows. If they had any interest in communicating, they’d have done so by now.”
“A poor showing for soldiers.” Alaric scowled at the towers.
“Disaster exposes everyone’s true quality,” Helchen told him. “A prince proves to be a coward and a peasant is revealed to be a hero.” She used her mace to poke what looked like a pile of rags beside the gatehouse. It crumbled apart into the gnawed remnants of a body. “Anyone in there didn’t come out to stop this. They won’t come out now.”
The knight nodded in agreement and motioned for Hulmul to lead the way. “We’ll try for your mentor’s tower.”
“You did hear what he said?” Gaiseric objected, dropping the emptied tax-box on the ground. “You know, the part about being next to the graveyard?”
“Take comfort in that, burglar,” Helchen said. “The graveyard is where the zombies would start from. They won’t be there now. They’d have spread to where they could find victims.”
“Well, there’s just a chance a bunch of them felt lazy,” Gaiseric protested. “Or maybe some of them started getting homesick and went back.”
“I don’t think that’s likely,” Hulmul assured the thief, oblivious to his sarcasm. “Besides, unless they caught him completely by surprise, Vasilescu knows how to protect his tower from worse things than zombies.” He darted a cold look at Helchen.
Alaric waved them forwards. The animosity between wizard and witch hunter was understandable, but hardly productive. The odds against them were long enough without adding internal strife into the mix as well. Like a military unit, to survive they all had to work together. He wondered if he could get this rag-tag group to understand that.
The devastation to the town was greater the further they got from the West Gate. Debris was strewn about the streets. Gaiseric was forever lagging behind as he inspected valuables abandoned by the townsfolk as they fled the undead hordes. Some buildings they passed were partially collapsed from carts and wagons that had slammed into their walls, their plaster and timber construction unequal to such violence. Fire, untended and unchallenged, had wrought even more destruction. They passed many structures that had been reduced to charred husks, smoke rising from the glowing embers. Thicker plumes helped to steer them away from areas where fires continued to rage. The crackle of flames and the croak of carrion crows mingled as a consistent background noise.
