Empire Of The Undead (13 page)

Felix scooped the cut reins in his hand and turned the horses. It took an effort that his aching body was not happy to give, but they were well-trained animals and he cut the corner tightly. The dolphin had already dipped down to signify the end of the second lap. He was behind all the racers save the Syrian, who was turning his horses the long way around to get back onto the track.

There were several
aurigae
missing. Two Greens, a Blue, and the German boy were down. That could mean that the Green team was entirely out, no large surprise, as they were consistently the worst team of late. Their faction had dwindled to the smallest of sizes. At any rate, they were all on the other side of the wall, so he did not know if they had all come together in one large shipwreck or if they had crashed in individual skirmishes. He found that he didn’t care if the German teen lived. He had some talent, but knew nothing about Rome and her customs. He was proud of his ignorance, even. Felix had no time for those type of people.But there was no more time to dwell on such matters. He had reached the
spina
and was catching up with the four racers ahead of him. The remaining blue racers were together, their chariots rushing forward together in roaring unison. They were not far behind Pharnaces, who was himself a few lengths behind Italicus.

Felix blinked and looked again. It seemed Italicus could win the race today. That was unthinkable. Pharnaces lost matches but seldom, and he had not ever lost to the Red faction. Fifth place was not glorious, but the fact that he still breathed was no small consolation. It could be a great day for the Red faction.

He took the turn tight and hard. The new chariot was slightly bigger than he was used to, but it handled well. He held the reins in his hand but felt vulnerable without them around his waist. His left leg ached and his stomach pulsed with renewed pain. He felt his consciousness was on the verge of fleeing and prayed to Jupiter to allow time enough to finish the race.

He called out Jupiter’s name again, seconds later. Belatedly, he remembered the sound of the crash and screaming and now he understood why. There was a pile up of broken chariots, broken horses, and broken people. It was strange. Though racing was a dangerous sport, today was unusually bloody. Felix resolved to sacrifice more to the Gods, if he survived. 

The gangly German boy had not. His first high-stakes race would be his last. Felix could see his body being dragged off, head bobbing at an impossible angle. A team of medical slaves stood on the sides, waiting to help with injuries to the Blue, Green, and White Racer.

Another darting glance showed him that Italicus was taking no chances. He was taking the turn as tightly as possible, not willing to risk Pharnaces out-daring him. He could not see, of course, but the Red champion had no such ideas. He was, in fact, taking the turn at a negligently wide angle. That was unusual. He was not the type to give up easily.

There were more immediate concerns, however. Both of the blue racers were skirting around the jumbled shipwreck. Without thinking, Felix lashed out at his horses and drove them toward the wall. There was not enough room for a full cart to get through, but if he didn’t try he would already lose. Pieces of broken chariot stuck out haphazardly and a great black horse whinnied in agony, its reins caught in the wreck of wood and metal.

The horse closest to the wreck stumbled, and Felix shouted at it while he whipped it. He thought about slowing them down and going around it, but there might just be enough room. His own chariot, had he still been in it, could have almost certainly have made it. This larger one, however, was not as sure a thing. Felix dropped to a crouch, his white-knuckled grip grasping the front of the chariot. His knees tensed painfully as he sought balance.

Part of a shattered wheel. That was the only thought he had as the object in question flew over his head. It had come from the stand, and he had only just ducked it. It landed in the back of the chariot, a heavy wooden bludgeon that had just missed. Not content with curse tablets, someone had thrown race debris. There was no end to the escalation of violence this day, it seemed. It only took a few moments for his thought to become prophecy.

There was another loud sound ahead, and he could hear horses screaming. Felix shut out the outside world and concentrated on fitting through the narrow gap. On the wide side, the cold stone wall, several meters high. On the other, a jumbled mess of wreckage. He realized he was holding his breath. This was foolish—there was no way his chariot could fit through there, but there was no turning back now.

He shut his eyes and the horses moved in, so close they were all touching. Sparks flew from the back of the chariot and the right-hand wheel jumped as it ran over … something. The chariot caught for a heart-wrenching moment. Felix could see the crowd above him. A few hurtled curse tablets, wine bottles, or bricks at him, but none had good enough aim to hit.

Then the horses were through. His chariot lurched forward and he rocked back on his heels. He was just able to hang on. He was closing in on the blue, but both of them were just turning around the median.

He could see the Blue
aurigae
, surprise dawning upon his face.   The crowd was really roaring now, and, moments later, someone screamed. There was another gathering of medical slaves, and they looked stupefied.

He did not understand what was happening, but he eased the horses away from the wall. He would have liked to take the turn more tightly, but his uneasy instinct took control and he made the turn sliding away from the wall. As he rose from his crouching position, he watched another tableau of destruction before him.

****

It would take some time to understand what he saw. Not until he talked with the stable-master would he learn all that had happened. After Felix had escaped from the Syrian’s trap, the man had ridden his chariot directly to the blind spot behind the turn. In an act of reckless daring, he had then climbed out of his chariot and left it there. It had evidently been pre-arranged, for Pharnaces had known to take a wide turn without communicating with the man.

At the great speed he was going, Italicus had not had time to react. He had been thrown forward from his chariot, into his horses, which had trampled him unknowingly. Four of his ribs were smashed and his head had caved in two places. Italicus was another Red racer who had not survived the day’s race.

Pharnaces had swung by gracefully, and with a wave of his hand, he acknowledged his faction mate. The Syrian had not lived long to celebrate, however. The Blue racers were close behind, and the inside driver had ridden his horses right over the man. The racer would later claim it was an accident, but all knew what he had done and most approved it.

All of this was yet to be discovered. Felix saw a blur of bodies and raced on. Only one Blue rider and Pharnaces were left. He whipped his horses with reckless frenzy. He didn’t know that Italicus no longer lived, but he no longer raced, and that was enough. Enough to spur him on.

The rest of the race would always be a blur to him. He remembered passing the Blue racer, remembered the man’s startled eyes as Felix’s great horses moved him past. He remembered the penultimate dolphin dipping down, signifying the last lap. He remembered chasing after Pharnaces, seeing the man slowly growing larger as Felix's horses galloped with relentless power. The wrecks were still there, on each side of the track, but Felix weaved around them without a conscious thought. He remembered drawing even with Pharnaces, and the utter dismay that flooded his features. The two had raced, matching stride for stride, through the turn and into the final stretch. By the end, Felix had pulled away just enough. He had won.

He slowed his horses. Perhaps the people were cheering, perhaps the hippodrome was booming with their boisterous applause, perhaps trumpets blasted out triumphant fanfare, but Felix heard none of it. The Emperor was not presiding over this race, but the magistrate stood graciously. He held a palm branch in his right hand and clenched a victory wreath in his left. There would be money, much for the Reds and less for Felix himself, but that would happen later. The magistrate draped the wreath around his neck and handed the palm branch to the battered man. Felix took the palm branch and absently raised it to the heavens. The roars of approval somehow increased in volume, but he still heard nothing save for his own thoughts. Italicus was dead. Pharnaces was defeated. Only he remained. He was Felix, the lucky, and the greatest living
aurigae
in Rome.

CHAPTER XV

Dacia: 88 CE, Winter

Men screamed, elephants died, and the walking dead swarmed as ceaselessly as an army of ants. The battle had turned, and bereft of their leader, even the hardened Roman legion was breaking from the ceaseless tide of death that assailed them. Some of the auxiliaries had already, fled into the dark forest. Others understood that no salvation laid that way and continued to fight on.

The Dacians crept through the battlefield, avoiding the lifeless as they searched for Iullianus’ body. They somewhat knew where he had fallen. Even amidst the chaos, the dead elephant he lay next to was a beacon on the battlefield. The lifeless were thick in this area, but Rowanna went after them with methodical brutality, stabbing them in their eyes or up their groaning mouths until their twitching bodies fell to the cold ground. Even Zuste fended off a few of the more aggressive ones, his arms filled with a strength fueled by fear.

They reached the fallen war elephant, but could not find the red-haired man anywhere. Behind them, the masses of the creatures flowed into the remaining Roman forces. The entire camp was, in fact, quickly becoming a large group of the lifeless monsters.

Rowanna stabbed at a lifeless menace who, until recently, appeared to have been a centurion. The creature had no pupils, but otherwise did not have the corpse-like appearance of the other lifeless. It reached for her throat hungrily and she stabbed it in the hand. It grabbed at her with its other hand, and she pulled her spear out and jabbed it at his chest. The thing still wore armor, and the point bounced off.

It had its hand around her throat, and all around more of the creatures shambled toward her. Rowanna felt a thrill of panic flutter down her back and into her stomach. Her hand reached down to grab her knife and she stabbed at the thing. Her blade sunk deep into its cheek, but it did not stop the thing. Its grip strengthened around her windpipe. The raspy, anguished sound of groaning filled her ears.

“Zuste!” she cried in garbled alarm. The word hadn’t left her lips when the head in front of her split open. The blade was pulled back and the fat alchemist was before her, sweating even in the cold. “There’s too many of them,” he panted. “We’ve got to go.”

She didn’t say anything. She was busy staring behind him.

Zuste shook his head. “Listen to me, woman. Time is running out.”  He grabbed her by the shoulder. “We must leave.”

“Zuste,” she said, “look.”

Zuste whirled in irritation. “Zalmoxis’ balls, will you—”

He fell silent as the creature behind him came into focus. That great height and red hair could only belong to one person, or in this case, one ex-person. The thing that had been Tettius Iullianus moved with a jerky, spasmodic motion toward them. His mouth dripped blood as he noisily chewed on a mouthful of meat. His eyes were ivory windows reflecting hate and hunger.

“I hate this,” Rowanna said in a small voice. Zuste was digging in his bag, brushing away the reaching hands of other lifeless. “Hey,” Rowanna said, “follow me.”  She danced on the edge of the storm away from them.

Zuste followed her heavily, his hand tucked into his cloak around the precious vial. They moved back into the camp, away from the mass of lifeless. Several of the creatures twitchily followed. When they had gotten well into the camp, Rowanna stabbed the lifeless that had followed them. The end of her spear was blunted and it was clear from her shaky arms that she was growing tired, but one after another, the lifeless dropped.

Until there was only one.

“Do it!” Rowanna called. “We don’t have long.”  A great tumult went up as the Roman army, matched by a menace even more impeccable than itself, finally broke. “We really don’t have long.”  Men everywhere were fleeing, and those lucky enough still to be on elephants rode in all directions—some into the forest, others back through the camp. There was no refuge here anymore.

“Hold this,” Zuste said, thrusting the vial into her hands. He charged forward and leaped into the air, straight into a lifeless Iullianus. The big undead man fell to ground with the alchemist on his chest. “Now, Rowanna, now. Pour it in his mouth!”

Zuste tried to pin his opponent, but the other was strong. Iullianus clawed at the bearded man's face and snarled savagely.

He heard her grunt behind him and something heavy fell to the ground. He couldn’t even look, as just then the big Roman’s fingers found his eyes and began to press.

“You lifeless Roman pissbag!”  Zuste yelled, pulling the hands away with all his strength and only half-succeeding. Then he rocked back as the creature beneath him began to rise.

“I’m here,” a voice said beside him. “Make him open his mouth.”

Zuste did not think. He head butted the thing as hard as he could, forehead to forehead.

Crimson pain blossomed in the garden of his mind, and Zuste went reeling, falling off Iullianus completely.

“What are you doing?” Rowanna asked, panicked. Zuste heard her but could not answer. His body was still buried under the petals of pain.

He shook his head and rose, staggering. “That was a bad idea.”

“So is this.” Rowanna said. Iullianus had risen and was before her. She looked so small compared to the big man before her. She still had her spear in her left hand, but the tip was pointed down. She shoved her right hand, the one with the vial, toward the big thing’s mouth.

His jaws clamped down with ferocity, but her hand was even quicker. It pulled back, and the lifeless thing bit only glass and elixir. It chewed on them, still advancing on Rowanna.

“Hey,
caput capitis
!” Zuste called, using the first bit of Latin he'd ever learned. He threw a fallen helmet and hit the thing squarely in the back. It turned and growled at him. Rowanna continued to back away. Iullianus turned and took another step toward her.

Then he fell to the ground. He collapsed as quickly and awkwardly as a marionette with its strings cut.

Zuste walked to Rowanna, who was panting from the effort. He suddenly wondered what it would be like to make her pant from a different kind of excitement. He shook his head, trying to dismiss such thoughts.

“Zuste,” Rowanna said. There was something he didn’t like about her tone. Women were very good at reading those kind of thoughts.

“I’m still here. I’m not too hurt yet, either.” He smiled at her, making sure to look her in the eyes.

“I’ve been wondering. I know you’re an excellent alchemist, but how did you come to have the cure for this?”

He smiled nervously. “I didn’t, really. It’s just a potion to cure warts. When they busted into my shop, I threw everything I had at them, more out of defiance really. That was the only thing that worked.”

Rowanna frowned, but said nothing more.

“Look,” said Zuste, pointing to the big man on the ground. His head still ached but rational thought was returning.

    Iullianus was moving again. The Roman rose slowly, as though he had been sleeping for many years. His joints creaked and his neck was stretched at an awkward angle. He coughed once, harshly, and then gagged as he spat a mouthful of raw meat and broken glass to the ground.

“The strangest thing,” he said. “Am I drunk?  I feel so disoriented. Like a dream—no, it’s gone.”  He spat another mouthful of stringy flesh to the ground. A look of great consternation passed over his face.

“Apologies,” he gasped, before squatting down and voiding his bowels. Chunky feces exploded from his anus. “I’ve never felt a pressure like that before,” he said with an embarrassed smile as he gazed up at them.

Zuste could not look away from the chunks of undigested flesh that fled from the big man’s nether regions. They were bits of his own men, and quite easily could have included bits of the Dacians as well. Did the big man have no memory of it whatsoever?

More lifeless were coming, from everywhere now. Many had until recently been Roman warriors, and still more were coming from the forest. Their rotting flesh, their pupiless eyes, and their shambling gait made Zuste feel ill. Worst were the Romans—they were monsters encased in armor. “You need to finish,” Zuste said.

“Easy for you to say,” Iullianus said. “You don’t have half a dozen weasels fighting from your stomach to your bowels.”  He glanced behind him, and saw the tide of danger flowing toward them. He was standing up a heartbeat later, pulling up his trousers. “It’s a good thing I just shat myself, or I might have just shat myself. Let’s go.”

They moved quickly. With the commander back on his feet, so to speak, a handful of Roman warriors made their way to the little group. There were fallen dead everywhere, and it was easy to scavenge enough spears, blades and shields for everyone. Iullianus returned to his tent and emerged with a battered shovel. "My sword has broken. This is
efossion
, my little friend. It will not break."

They formed a ring, one that was continually spinning whilst moving back into the camp. When one of the lifeless reached them, it was stabbed or clubbed by one of them. For now, the humans were moving faster than the bulk of their enemy.

“Back!” Iullianus said. “We must fall back.”  The lifeless were all around them. “To the watchtower.”

They made their way to the tower with methodically grim precision. More survivors joined them, and they numbered close to two dozen. Iullianus stopped them with a gesture.

“We are too many, now for the tower. Wait here.”  He leaped to the ladder and scaled up it. Halfway up, he lost his grip momentarily before he grabbed the ladder again. He said, audible to those below him, but apparently to himself. “My body doesn’t feel right. What happened?”

Zuste moved to Rowanna. “He doesn’t know?” she asked.

“He appears not to. I wonder if it would be better to leave him in the dark. Those memories would be a burden for any man.”

“Perhaps,” said Rowanna. “Though if ever a man could bear the burden of every truth, it would be that one.”

“At any rate, we don’t need to distract him now,” Zuste said. “If we survive this, we can decide what to do later.”

Rowanna nodded her agreement as Iullianus climbed back down.

“It’s grim,” he said. “Our chances are the same as pulling wool from an ass, but we’ll take as many of those bastards with us as we can.”

“Commander,” one of his troops barked, “we saw you fall. How did you survive?”

“I blacked out. They must have thought I was already dead, until these two found me. Now, there will be time for catch up later, but until then, the best place is the elephant pens. They might be gone, but it’s got high walls and flowing water. We might hold out there for some time.”

Again, they formed the circle, and again they made their way through the camp. The lifeless were growing denser, and the light was fading. The sound of moaning filled their ears, though it was difficult to tell if it came from wounded men or hungry lifeless. Probably both, Zuste thought. He was not the warrior any of them were, but with a sharp enough spear, he could fend off single attackers. The lifeless were numerous, bloodthirsty and vicious, and it was only their slowness that gave the remaining humans a chance at survival.

They reached the elephant camp and closed the great gates. Two riders had managed to return, so they had two of the great grey beasts. They were clearly agitated, stomping, and trumpeting. One was bleeding from his flanks and it snorted with pain.

Iullianus immediately sent men to the top of the walls. They scaled up like monkeys, climbing with purpose and agility.   Others he sent to the river to collect stones—they had many bows but fewer arrows. Stones made for primitive, last resort missile weapons. He sent more to wash the elephants and remove their war gear.

It was only then that he turned to the Dacians, who were standing behind him. “What a smell,” he said. Even amidst the smoke, blood, and death of the day, the stink of the elephants was palpable. It was a strong smell, but not unpleasant. It smelled earthier than human feces, Zuste thought. “The things are like great cows,” Iullianus apologized. “Their stink can become overwhelming.”

“Now, we should be safe, however much that word means now,” the Roman commander told them. “I am going to have a short sleep. I don’t mean to sleep the entire night, but I am so tired.”

“Are you sure we can sleep?” Zuste asked. “Shouldn’t we work on an escape plan?”

“Look around, friend. Mountains at our back, eyeless bastards at our front. I picked this area because it could contain elephants.”  The big man yawned broadly. “I am sorry, but I just can’t keep my eyes open anymore.”

He lay down in the mud and was almost instantly asleep.

“I shall join him,” Rowanna said, lying down on some relatively dry grass. “Wake me up if we are about to die.”

“How can you sleep at a time like this?” Zuste asked. “We should plan. We are not safe here.”

“Soon, soon,” Rowanna said, her eyes already closed. Zuste looked around him, but the other Romans were all busy with their tasks. He was quite hungry, he realized. He wondered if he could make anything appetizing out of elephant food.

Soon, a small fire was crackling and Zuste roasted some nuts he had found. It wasn’t much, but it helped settle his stomach. He was so nervous that even his appetite was hampered. From outside, he could hear the groans and clanging of the lifeless. There seemed to be more every moment. The great gate seemed too massive for them to tear down, but he wouldn’t dismiss the idea for certain. They really didn’t know anything about the lifeless and what they could or couldn’t do. More problematically, it would be equally difficult for the living to get out.