Empire Of The Undead (9 page)

Rufus leaped back to the board and lifted it. Gods-be-damned, this was the worst plan for survival he had ever had. He swung around the two lifeless and ran, hoping they could not catch him from behind. He sprinted as fast as he ever had. The cruel-featured creature gnawing on Plautius' intestines did not look up until the Senator was three steps away. With both hands and all his strength, Rufus swung the board into the thing's head. He couldn't hurt it, but he hoped to knock it down.

He was aiming for the forehead, but the thing started to rise. It connected with the lower jaw, tearing it away. Flames licked at the things face. The force threw it sideways into the dirt. Rufus stopped, drew his sword, and looked at the wreck of Plautius' body. He paused briefly.

“You deserved better,” he said, before lopping the head off. The neck was half-severed already, and it took no great force. The jawless creature was awkwardly rising, and the other two were catching up. Rufus leaped onto the back of his horse, cutting the reins connecting it to the hitching post with his sword. He held Plautius' head by the hair in his left hand.

He turned his horse away and galloped west, into the night. It did not even surprise him a half-hour later, when he passed four dead men and an abandoned litter on the road. He stopped here, and it didn't take long to cut off their heads, either. Those he left there, lying on the dusty road.

He rode on into the night, nodding in his sleep and mind blank, for once, of ambition and schemes. When the sun had risen and he was almost within sight of Rome, he flung the head of Plautius away. It landed in a stream and floated gently away.

CHAPTER XI

Dacia: 88 CE, Autumn

Rowanna crouched next to Zuste and held her breath. They were wrapped in fog, and hidden behind brown-green bushes as dozens of men thundered past them, up the muddy goat track that led into the mountains and ultimately to Tapae. From where she knelt, she could only see their legs as they marched past.

The two Dacians had heard them and hid moments before the centurions came into view. Tucked behind knee-high bushes, and nestled in the wet, dew-covered grasses, they were well-hidden from Roman eyes. Still, with so many soldiers, they both knelt nervously.

There was a panicked movement to the men running up the hill. Very little of the famous order and discipline of the Roman legions was on show. It took a few moments for Rowanna to realize: these men were running for their lives.

Rowanna leaned in as close as she could to the alchemist. “What are they running from?" she whispered. She had a pretty good idea, but seeing an entire army routed put the menace on an entirely different scale.

He turned his head and leaned in just as close. “I think we both know the only thing that can break a Roman legion.”  This wasn't true, entirely, as both of course knew of the Dacian victory over the Romans that had happened only a year ago. The Romans had fled from that battle with similar speed, but the only army now on the valley floor was made of lifeless monsters, not Dacian warriors. “Now, hush and be quiet,” he whispered. There weren't many soldiers now, but the slow and the straggling auxiliaries were slowly following their fleeter compatriots.

It was the third day since they'd left the apple tree. As they climbed out of the valley and into the mountains, it grew colder but they hadn't dared build a fire. The lifeless were everywhere and seemed intelligent enough to track them down by scent, even without lighting signal fires. They'd left behind the beeches, hornbeams, oaks, lindens, and maples, and had climbed into forests of pine and silver fir. It was slow going. Rowanna's ankle had gotten worse and their progress was continually slowing. Zuste said he knew half a dozen herbs that would help, but as winter drew closer it was more difficult to find them, and he didn't want to go too far from Rowanna's protection.

The lifeless were everywhere. The pair had to travel carefully, sticking to game trails in the forest when they could. Every night, her eyes watering from the pain in her swollen ankle, Rowanna stood watch, holding her spear with grim force. Every day, she killed half a dozen more lifeless that wandered too close to them.  

Three hundred or more men had passed them by the time it grew quiet. By mutual assent, Rowanna and the alchemist both rose and quietly slipped back onto the path.

“There might be more,” he whispered. She was limping badly. She carried a spear as a crutch, and the rest she had made were strapped to her back. They'd made a strap for his leather case, and he carried it slung to his back.

“There might be,” she agreed. “We can't hide forever. I don't even know who our enemies are anymore.”

“Don't say that,” Zuste said. “Romans will always be our enemies. They are opposed to the existence of the entire world, unless and until they can control it.”

“Perhaps,” Rowanna said. “Perhaps they were. No longer. The Romans killed my husband, and I will never forget that, or him, but they aren't our true enemies. Not anymore.”

Zuste said nothing. They moved up the trail as quickly as possible. It had been churned by the pounding feet of the centurions, and before long, both were ankle-deep in the brown earthy mud. The pine forest was silent as they walked up the steep trail. Rowanna was alarmed at the lack of wildlife. Even in the wet mist, there should have been birds singing or insects chirping. The silence was eerie.

Rowanna noticed Zuste looking at her with concern. She wished he wouldn't. She tried not to grimace too much, but it was impossible to hide her pain completely. She did not complain, and Zuste wouldn't get too far ahead of her. When they did see lifeless, it was still up to her to kill them. Zuste had one more vial of the elixir that seemed to return life to the monsters, but he had not wanted to waste it. The ingredients were forbiddingly expensive, as well as difficult to find. In addition, they ran into many lone monsters each day—simply changing one more creature into a human would not help them in the long run. So it was up to her and her spear. She aimed for their eyes, now, and could kill them without much difficulty.

The sky above them rumbled opened and a massive deluge of rain fell. It was miserably cold and the mud trail beneath them began to run with water. They walked to the side of the trail, but often sunk into mud. It was bad enough for Zuste, but when Rowanna's sprained ankle was caught in the earth, blinding pain wracked her body. Both of them shivered from the cold.

After two hours, the Dacian woman had to stop. They hadn't caught up with the Romans, and hadn't seen a sign of them since they'd crawled from the bushes. Zuste was rewrapping the bandage around her ankle when she spied them.

“Zuste,” she hissed, “look.”

Below them, meandering through the mists, were dozens of lifeless. Some were crawling, others shambling, but all crept through the rain, slowly shuffling up the mountainside.

“Zalmoxis' balls,” Zuste said, “they're everywhere. I didn't realize they were so close.”

The decision came to Rowanna instantly. “We need to catch up to the Romans.”  She stood stiffly and began to hobble away. Her bandage was still half-wrapped, and it trailed behind her into the mud.

“Out of the question,” said Zuste, catching up with her. “We need to avoid all perils, be it the monsters behind us or the monsters ahead of us.”

“The worse thing the Romans will do to us is take us prisoner. A week ago, I would have died before I allowed that, and I would have killed as many of them as I could. Now, it sounds much better than the alternatives.”

“Well,” said Zuste, hard rain dripping into his face, “we can decide that later. For now, let's just get up this trail as fast as we can.”

“You can decide. I already have. I can't make it to Tapae now, not without rest. I will tell the Romans how to kill these monsters and perhaps they will help me get to Tapae,” Rowanna said firmly. She did not like having to turn to the Romans to protect her, but she liked far less the niggling doubts that they might not be able to.

“I'll stick with you,” Zuste said. “I have my misgivings, but if I can leave you safely with the Romans, I can perhaps make it to Tapae myself and get help.”

Rowanna grunted assent but said nothing. The spears on her back felt heavier than ever as she labored up the mountain. She lost track of all thoughts save for a consciousness of effort.

“Tell me,” she said at last, “did you lose anyone?  When our city was destroyed?”

“Friends aplenty,” he answered, pausing for breath. “That is not what you are asking though. No, I am unmarried or married to my craft, mayhaps.”

She remained silent, her lips pressed together.

“And you?”

“I am not married either. Not for many years.”

“Did you lose anyone?” he asked. His voice shook a little.

“Brasus, my husband, died fighting the Romans long ago. I did not realize then what a gift he received—to have died before this insanity!  I lost my son, Dapyx. He was all that I had.”

She stopped, sure that she was about to confess to his death. Strangely, no tears hung in her eyes. Zuste had a strange look in his eyes as he reached into a deep trouser pocket. When his hand emerged, it held a bulging bag of coins in his hand.

“Where did you get that?” asked Rowanna.

The bearded man seemed taken aback. “I’m an alchemist. We don’t come cheap.”

She nodded. No one in her town had been that rich. It took some getting used to.

The alchemist hurled the full purse deep into the woods.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“Do you really think there is anyone left alive who will take our money?” he asked. “All that bag is to me is weight and noise—and I am plenty enough heavy and loud on my own.”

The rain continued to pour from the sky, gradually growing harder until it turned to hail. Those stinging ice balls hurt like hornets but the pair did not dare stop to find cover. The lifeless were no longer visible, but both Dacians knew they were closing in on them through the mist. The pair draped their cloaks over their heads and walked, slowly, grimly, and forcefully up the mountain. In time, just as the mountain flattened out and they found themselves no longer climbing, the hail subsided and left only more of the cold rain.

As soon as they reached flat ground, evidence of the Romans was manifest. The first thing they saw was spikes. Behind them lay a massive camp where they could see watchtowers soaring into the clouds. Initially, it was the spikes that drew their notice. Long wooden shafts stretched at thirty degree angles in all directions. Behind the wooden spears was an earthen rampart and beneath it was a large ditch. Guards armed with spears patrolled the perimeter in great numbers. It would be horribly difficult for the lifeless to enter the camp.

“Every Roman camp is built the same way, Diurpaneus once told me. It's the law of their Caesar. Makes it easier to raid them, he said.” Zuste told Rowanna. “But this one is the largest I have ever heard of.”

There was a gate before them. It was a rough wooden swinging barrier still under construction. A sodden centurion met them, blade in hand. “Faces up,” he commanded. The two Dacians raised their faces into the rain.

“Names?” the man asked. The pair told him, and the man was visibly relieved. “You can talk, and you have pupils. I think you're still human, and you're in luck—our commander has ordered us to protect all the natives that we can. Head in to the
praetorium
, it's at the center of the camp. Try to find some dry clothes, and don't get in the way of the soldiers.”

The pair exchanged a disbelieving glance as they entered the colossal camp. Even in the rain, there were thousands of Romans. They all moved in such orderly groups. Many were digging trenches, latrines, and deep pits. Others were cutting spiked poles as long as two men. It looked like the army was planning on staying here permanently.

“It's nearly as big as Sarmizegetusa,” Rowanna said. It wasn't as large and it certainly didn't have the amenities—the Dacian city was modern and comfortable. It had workshops, storage buildings, agricultural processing areas, even ceramic pipes that filtered in fresh drinking water. This place was certainly bigger and more orderly than either of them had ever seen in a temporary camp.

They stopped a tribune and asked where they could find the commander. He pointed away, back into the camp. “He's is deeper in the camp, that way. Between the isolation hospital and the center camp cook fires. You'll also see the tents of the
contubernia
. Follow this road.”

In the heavy rain, few bothered them. All of the troops wore hauberks and sandals, though many had covered up with cloaks. The men were orderly and efficient, but there was an underlying panic that permeated the camp. Much of the camp appeared hastily constructed or half-built. The Roman tents, made of treated leather, were surprisingly waterproof even in this damp mountain storm.

“They're afraid,” she said softly to Zuste.

“Of course they are,” the man said. “We all are.”

“But they are Romans. They are strong. It's an unusual sight.”

“I've been getting used to unusual sights for some time now,” Zuste said, somewhat stiffly.

The rain softened as they walked deeper into the camp. They were already as wet as they could possibly be. Rowanna's hair was dripping wet and hanging in her face. Her sodden clothes couldn't have held any more moisture and her very bones felt wet and cold. Zuste was, of course, just as wet beside her.

They smelled the cook fires before they saw them. Huge pots filled with soup boiled away, and even in the rain the Romans were roasting meat on the open fire. The good smell assaulted them and Rowanna realized she was starving.

“Can we get food?” she asked.

Zuste frowned. “We'll need a chit or a token of some sort, I suspect. Let's talk to the commander first.”

They could see the isolation hospital. Between it and the campfires were a handful of tents. One of them was larger than the others were, but not by a large amount.

“Is this it?” Rowanna asked. “It's where they said it would be.”

“No,” said Zuste, who spoke as though he had some experience in these matters. “The commander’s tent is always bigger by ten than the commoner's tent. He must have moved.”  The portly alchemist looked around. “It could take hours to find it in this weather.”

“I'm going to ask,” Rowanna said. She walked up to the tent.

A big man wearing armor sat at the back of the tent. His long red hair was damp from the rain. He held a large drinking vessel in one hand and stared at a table before him.

“Pardon, centurion,” Rowanna said. She felt Zuste reach her side as she spoke. “We have just arrived at camp and we are looking for the commander.”

“We bear vital information for the Roman commander,” the bearded man said. “I am Zuste the alchemist, late of Sarmizegetusa. She is Rowanna, from the same place. We come peacefully, fleeing the lifeless monsters.” Zuste said.