Empire Of The Undead (16 page)

Iullianus called two men to him. To the first he said, “Grab the supplies we prepared. Make sure they are watertight.”  To the second he said, “The thing we discussed. Do it.”   The man had a very sharp, very long spike at his side. Iullianus knew that he himself should have done this duty, but it was too hard. He’d been through too much with the noble beasts, and he couldn’t kill them himself. But even worse was to leave them here alive to be devoured by the lifeless and possibly face their corpses again.

“Fall back,” he said. “Prepare to get wet.”

He heard splashing, much more than one man could possibly make. He whirled, braced to see lifeless emerging from the frozen stream. Then he stopped, suddenly uncertain. There were many figures climbing from the water, it was true. They were dressed in rags and looked wild, as though they’d been sleeping in trees or caves, but they moved with grace and precision, and he could hear them talking. The man he’d sent to check on the supplies had been overwhelmed and had a knife at his throat. A tall man emerged, and the others seemed to defer to him.

Iullianus strode up to him. They were nearly the same height—it had been a while since he’d talked to anyone his own size. “I am the Legate Tettius Iullianus. Release my man at once,” he said, “and explain what you are doing here.”

“We came,” said the other man. He had sharp features and blue eyes, and a large wolf pendant hung around his neck. “To kill some of the baleful.”  His Latin had the same accent as Zuste. The Dacian man waved to his men and they released their Roman prisoner.

“Then we will have time enough for talking later,” Iullianus said. He yelled to the man who had reached the elephants and motioned for him to stop. It was surprising at how much relief he felt.

More and more men emerged from the river. They looked cold, but they had skins covered in animal fat that seemed to help. Within moments, there were two hundred Dacians behind them. By Iullianus’ estimation, they were all warriors, though they had the lean look of men who had been skipping meals for too long.

The Dacians had bows with them, and they quickly strung them. At the same time, men with axes, swords, and spears, ran to the line of fire and reinforced the handful of Romans who fought there. When the fires began to die down again, Zuste ran up and down the line, throwing vials that exploded with intense heat. He had seen the man playing with potions for the last several days, but hadn't any idea just how useful an alchemist could be.

Iullianus waved to his men on the gates. He could not hear them over the battle, but they gestured to him. They seemed to be pleased, or at least less dour than they’d been since climbing up there.

“It’s a clever thing, these fires,” said a voice beside him. The tall Dacian was suddenly next to him. The man looked familiar and his bearing was unmistakably noble. He held an old sword that looked to have already seen some use that day.

“One of your kind thought of it,” Iullianus admitted, stabbing the face of a lifeless soldier whose armor had burned into its skin.

“I had heard there were Dacians here, from those who escaped in the dawn. It was they who alerted me. I admire a commander that values humanity and life over obedience.”

“I admire anyone who risks their life to save mine. If you brought beer, we can be best friends,” the red-haired man replied. Just then, a horde of burning corpses emerged from the fires and there was no longer any time for talking.

Iullianus realized how much the rules had changed. An army of men would not charge into a raging fire, and when they lost half their forces, they would break. Many armies, in fact, would break from far fewer losses. These things would fight until the last of them was killed. He wondered if there was a way to use their single-mindedness against them.

The fires roared again, surging forward and there was time to breathe. Many of his soldiers had fallen, along with several of the Dacian warriors. He realized suddenly the terrible menace that was represented. There was no time to check for life. A wound in this battle was a death sentence. He called some men to him and soon, they were beheading their own dead.

“What are you doing?” The Dacian leader asked, suddenly beside him.

“They will rise again,” Iullianus said, swinging a borrowed sword down on a groaning Dacian. It didn’t cut through the neck entirely and he raised it again. “You must know that.”

“I do,” the man said, “but such a solution had not occurred to me.”

“If you have a better idea,” Iullianus said, “I’m willing to hear it.”  The blade came down and the wounded man’s head rolled away.

“It is difficult for me to see Romans butchering my men, whatever their reasons. Let me take care of them.”

Iullianus gestured to the battlefield. “Have at it.”  He turned to confront the last of the wounded soldiers. It was the man he had sent to the water, bleeding from a dozen small wounds.

“Please,” the man said. Iullianus drove his blade into the man’s throat, filled with anger. How dare that man plead?  He knew the circumstances, knew that there could be no chances. He was furious that he felt his eyes moisten. Anger was a short-lived madness, but he needed to stoke it, to embrace it. He needed anger to survive the world.

It was then that the monstrous elephant lumbered through. It was coated in flames. Quicker than a heartbeat, it snatched up a Dacian spearman with its trunk. The man’s body crumpled in that strong mouth and he disappeared down the thing’s throat.

It was nearly too much. Dacian and Roman warrior alike backed away from the terrible burning beast. Undead humans were frightening enough, but these men did not know how to fight the burning beast before them. Iullianus glanced at the three elephants that were still alive, but they would be no help. They were afraid of flames and if one fell, it would be on the wrong side of the fires when it came back.

Suddenly, the Dacian leader was before the beast, a long spear in his hand. The elephant lowered its head and stabbed with its tusks. The man leaped away, dropping his spear. The beast was a bit slower and stupider than when it had been alive. It scanned the area ponderously with gleaming white eyes.

The tall Dacian man regained his feet almost instantly. He went from run to crouch to run so quickly it was almost impossible to see the spear he had reclaimed. He was far too close when the elephant saw him and with a leap, he drove the point deep into the thing’s eye.

Nothing happened. The elephant-thing didn’t seem to notice. Its trunk grabbed at the tall man and once again he dropped to the ground, just avoiding the grasping limb. The elephant charged forward but the man rolled away and sprang up. He either had a flair for the dramatic, or was very lucky.

“Archers, fire!” Iullianus called.

Several bowmen aimed shots at it, but the arrows burned, bounced off, or went unnoticed.
“Lead it back to the fire,” Iullianus called to the Dacian leader, hoping it was a good idea. At any rate, he didn’t want that thing anywhere near the remaining elephants. They were nervous enough as it was. The man made no sign that he had heard. Indeed, he began dancing back toward the stream. He kept himself in the beast’s sight the entire time.

Groaning alerted him to more lifeless emerging through the fires. Some were not burning much at all. Where was Zuste?  Iullianus killed three of them in thrice that many seconds and glanced back. The Dacian man pulled his spear from the elephant's right eye and plunged it into the left. It was blinded, but still moved with lumbering power.

Iullianus felt his mind shatter, just a little, as he contemplated the enormity of the task. Beheading worked well for human lifeless, but there was no blade in the world sharp enough to cut through an elephant. A hundred men wouldn’t be strong enough to strike, even if such a blade existed.

He left the line and found Zuste, collapsed on the cold earth.

“Are you hurt,” he asked the alchemist.

“Exhausted. Not wounded,” he said, his face coated in smoke and grime, “but I have no more elixirs. The fire is on its own.”  Iullianus found it hard to listen to him. Something about Zuste and his potions jogged his memories.

“There’s no time to rest. Grab a sword and kill them that way,” he said, but it was only half-hearted.

The elephant had stumbled into the line of warriors at the fire and knocked them aside.

Immediately, undead monsters stumbled through the dying fire. Iullianus sprang away, his blade whirling in his hand. He motioned toward the elephants and the man immediately set about untying them. It didn’t take long, mere moments, but for Iullianus and the others battling the deathless creatures, it took a lifetime.

****

It was over. Hours had passed and day was reigning. The sun shone somewhere behind the clouds. The lifeless were dead. The undead elephant had crashed back into the flames and melted into bones and flesh. The last three living elephants were no more, two had been chewed to death by lifeless, and the third had panicked and charged away, into the camp, but the lifeless were no more. Thousands of them had burned, and the others had been stabbed, hacked, or speared to death. Only twenty of Iullianus’ men remained alive, including the two who had climbed the gates. Seven more had survived the battle, but they had been injured and subsequently beheaded. It had been hard for the men who were only slightly wounded, but this was a matter that could not be taken seriously enough. The Dacians had lost more men—just shy of a hundred of them would not rise again, in life or unlife. It was sometimes hard to tell which had died as men, and which had died as monsters, but the lifeless were no more.

Zuste was exhausted. Though he had done little fighting, his elixirs had kept the fire burning hot and bright for most of the battle. He’d hardly slept and had done more sprinting today than perhaps the rest of his life put together. His stomach alerted him to the fact that he was starving, but there was little food to be had.

Rowanna limped to Zuste and hugged him with exuberance. “Your plan,” she said, “your plan and your fire, it gave us a chance.”  She was half-covered in blood, had deep bruises along her wrists and arms, and bits of brain clung to her disheveled hair. She had never looked more beautiful.

“I was lucky to have made so many, though I would have given much for more. Even yesterday, I thought I had a supply that would last long. I never would have thought so much fire could be needed.”

“It was,” Rowanna said, “and I thank the gods that you were here.”

That one hurt him, deep in his gut. He was saved as Iullianus approached. Though he was streaked with smoke and gore, he appeared to be largely unhurt. Of course, that was the point, and any who had been wounded in the slightest were no longer alive. The red-haired Roman treated them to a great conspiratorial grin. “That was a good trick, alchemist. It wouldn’t have mattered were I not such a fell warrior, but it was good nonetheless.”

“Neither of our efforts would have mattered had not a small army shown up,” Zuste pointed out.

“Indeed,” Iullianus said, “the enemy of my enemy, as you know.”

“What now?” Rowanna asked.

“Not what.” Iullianus said. “Where, and where else but Rome?”

CHAPTER XVIII

Rome: 88 CE, Winter

The Senator and his newly purchased
servus
arrived at the training quarters in the Subura some time later. It was not far from the center of town, but even the short ride had caused Felix to sit in the litter uncomfortably. He shook his head, slightly rueful. The man who was so comfortable racing chariots was almost comically leery of the luxury and conspicuousness offered by a Senator’s litter.

“Go forth,” the Senator urged, “I will speak with you when after you have seen it all.”

Felix climbed out of the litter and stared at the building before him. It was old, perhaps pre-dating the building reforms of Augustus, but it was big and it was sturdy. The building had already survived earthquakes, fires, and civil wars, and it looked capable of surviving many more.

They walked into the building, past two bulky guards in the former tavernae. The big man was waiting for him there, trying to suppress a huge grin and failing.

“Hyacinthus, old friend,” Felix said, “I doubted that I would ever see you again. Why did you not come to my games?”

“Felix,” he cried, enclosing the boy in a mammoth hug. Felix realized how long it had been since he had seen his friend as he tightly hugged back. The man’s hair was sparse and gray, new lines clung to his face, and he was fatter than ever. It was a mild shock to think that Felix now was almost the age that Hyacinthus had been when they had first met. “Look at you. From skinny
servus
to champion
aurigae,
with all of Rome singing your praises. Though, such games are not for me, they are too dramatic, too full of bloodshed for this learned man.”

The two men caught up as Hyacinthus showed Felix around the complex. Everywhere were caches of weapons, men training, and ever vigilant guards. Finally, with evident excitement, Hyacinthus brought him into a large room toward the back of the building.

The room was full of vials and bubbling liquids. Felix had seen such places indicated in plays and understood where he was at once. “This is a place of science,” he said. “Your dream has come true.”

The boy glanced behind him, making sure they were alone. “Tell me, what is this all for?”

Hyacinthus shook his head slowly, admonishingly. “I haven’t asked, and I won’t, but it’s not hard for an intelligent man to guess. It shouldn’t be difficult for a brash boy like yourself too either,” he added.

Felix smiled reflexively, but his mind was distracted by the thought that he was owned by a Senator who clearly aimed to be the next Emperor.

They sat and talked. Hyacinthus had gone to a few competitions, back when Felix was still with the Red faction. He also admired Felix’s hair, which was still worn in the long Greek style. Felix told him of his first major victory, and of how hard it had been to leave the Red faction.

“In the end, I was the only good racer left alive. I had to leave if I wanted to make something out of my career,” he explained.

“Seen everything?” Rufus interrupted from behind them. “Good. We have some research to do. Let’s go.”

****

“Attend with me,” the Senator says, “we will watch from my box.”  Felix looked in surprise to Hyacinthus, who did his best with a shift of his eyes to imply that this was unusual to him as well. They were at the Flavian amphitheater, where a match unlike any other had been promised.

Felix, along with most of Rome, had heard rumors of trouble toward the eastern fringes of the Empire. Everyone in the city knew that an entire legion had been lost last year, but now, there were stories of something stranger, something darker in the forest of Dacia. Felix chalked it up to the usual nonsense, but it was true that the stories were more persistent than usual.

“What I have heard,” Hyacinthus had told him, “is that the Emperor Domitian has captured some sort of monster they found there. One of the creatures that has been making so much trouble. It is supposed to be massive, heavily muscled, with sharp teeth and keen eyesight. A monster straight out of Virgil.”

Now they stood behind the Senator in a luxury neither had ever suspected existed. They could actually see the Emperor, and the great man sat on the Imperial platform only a few hundred feet away. There was food, including expensive delicacies like roasted snails and truffle stuffed quail that he had never even tried. The wine was three times as good, stronger than anything Felix had ever tasted. He had to add extra water to make it more palatable. When they had arrived, there had been a host of servants in attendance, but Senator Rufus had banished them all with a gesture.

“Imagine,” the Senator said, “that you are going to war, and you need the strongest, bravest men in the world. Who would you add?”

“You already know my first choice,” Hyacinthus said. “I imagine there are men of the legion who would fit this description. I know the famous ones, the soldiers Rome sings of, but the Senator would know better than I.”

“Let’s speak of men not in the army,” the Senator said. “Who else?”

“There is a warrior I met when I was a boy,” Felix said, “from Africa. He became a great gladiator. I saw him from time to time but he left Rome some years ago, and I do not know if he still survives.”

Hyacinthus made a few notes in Greek, it appeared. “What was his name?” 

“I do not remember,” Felix said. “In truth, it was a long time ago.”

Hyacinthus narrowed his eyes. “This will go better if you think before you talk, boy.”

“Who else?” said the Senator.

“Carpophorus would have been the best,” Felix said. “He was the best
bestiarius
this city has seen. He died a youth, however, before he was twenty. Killed by a fucking rabid dog in Ostia.”

“There’s Pharnaces,” Felix continued, “but he is old, almost thirty, and he has not won a major race in years.”  Felix realized suddenly that most of the people he had ever known were already dead. That was a strange and discomforting thought. Were his days likewise numbered?

A roar from the crowd brought their attention to the gates. Torquatus and Sophus strode in. They were two of the most popular and successful gladiators in Rome. Torquatus was a Thracian, and Sophus was a Gaul. The two had fought once, in an Emperor’s exhibition and Sophus had won—but it had been a close thing, and a legendary fight. Domitian had spared Torquatus’ life and the two had become fast friends.

Felix nodded appreciatively. Either of the two men constituted a formidable foe—together, they represented a challenge that few could survive. Though, who could say what was needed to confront a mighty monster?

The opposing gate rose. Felix, like many at the amphitheatre, stood to get a better view. He squinted, trying to make sure that his eyes did not lie. Hyacinthus beside him hadn’t bothered rising. “Your eyesight is far keener than mine. What do you see?”

Felix frowned. “A man, just a man. I think he’s drunk.”

He couldn’t believe it, but it was true. The man was so inebriated that he could barely walk. Instead, he shambled forward jerkily, with a lurching gait. There was a slim blade strapped to his waist. Torquatus and Sophus exchanged looks with one another.

“A drunken man,” Hyacinthus repeated with surprise, “what jest is this?”

“Watch carefully. You’ll find it is no trick.” Rufus said from behind them.

“It must be,” Felix said, “or someone who wandered in by mistake,” he added, though he knew how improbable that was. “I expect the real creature to appear any time.”  Something odd about the drunken man caught Felix’s attention.

“His eyes,” he said, “they’re all white, with no pupils.”

Hyacinthus looked slightly interested, as if someone had told him the rain that day had been purple. Felix had a caught a glimpse of Rufus’ expression as he too looked down at the drunk man. Felix could discern an emotion in an instant—he knew when rival charioteers would break before they themselves did. Felix knew that, for just a moment, the Senator had been deathly afraid.

Torquatus and Sophus began sparring with each other. “What are they doing?” Felix wondered aloud. Even as he said it, he guessed. “They fight for the chance to avoid killing the man.”

“Indeed,” said Hyacinthus, “they must have insulted someone powerful. The first blooded will have the ignominy of killing his drunken opponent. There is no glory here, only mocking revenge.”

“Don’t be so sure,” the Senator said. “Withhold your opinion until the fight is finished.”

“How can there be any doubt?” Felix asked, but the Senator said nothing.

The stumbling man slowly advanced on the gladiators. He had been dressed in armor and had a sword at his hip that he did not draw. The two gladiators were evenly matched, and neither drew blood. The drunken man was only a few feet away when Sophus finally cut the arm of Torquatus. It was a shallow cut, but it meant that Torquatus had lost to him again.

He turned to face the drunken man, who still had not touched his blade.

Torquatus turned to the condemned man and raised his sword high, saluting him. A drop of blood fell from the cut he had received. The shambling man acted with ungainly speed, reaching for the raised arm with both his hands. Before anyone could react, the drunken man had pulled the gladiator’s arm to his mouth. He immediately began chewing on it. Torquatus' sword fell to the ground.

“Is he trying to eat him?” Felix asked.

“I’ve seen many of disturbing sights in my time,” Hyacinthus said, shaking his head, “but that’s a new one.”

“It’s slightly disturbing,” Felix agreed, “but is he here because he is a cannibal?  Or are we still waiting for the real monster?”

With his free hand, Torquatus slammed his fist into the other man’s forehead. It didn’t seem to affect him. The gladiator was panicking a bit now, and he slammed his fist into the drunken man’s head a dozen times, with little to show for his efforts.

The crowd was as quiet as Felix could ever remember hearing it. Everyone was standing, staring at this new kind of entertainment. The drunken man continued to chew on the bloody mangled arm. Quite a lot of blood was falling now, coating the drunken man’s face and chest. Sophus could be heard laughing at his rival’s misfortune. Torquatus’ hand slipped to a dagger at his side. Quick as a cat, he plunged the dagger into the man’s colorless eye.

The man didn’t fall. He chewed, swallowed, and chewed away at the flesh on Torquatus’ arm. The panicked gladiator leaped into the man before him. They came crashing down to the ground and Torquatus was on his feet. He scooped up his sword with his left hand—his right arm was a mangled mess. The man was still on the ground, protected by armor. There was a gap, though, between his stomach and his waist. Torquatus screamed triumphantly as he plunged the blade into the man beneath him. The sharp blade sunk to its hilt, point emerging wetly through the man’s stomach.

Torquatus turned and screamed a primal victory scream to the audience. Loud, belated cheers resounded throughout the amphitheatre. Sophus was suddenly beside him, borrowing some glory as he too preened before the crowd.

“That was unexpectedly interesting. Yet, I don’t know that I have learned the lesson you wished to teach,” Hyacinthus said to the Senator.

“Continue to watch,” Rufus said, his voice was tight, “this is not yet finished.”

Felix scanned the amphitheatre grounds. The drunken man was squirming. He rose with awkward slowness to his feet. The dagger remained in his eye, and the sword still poked through his stomach. Nothing poured from either of his wounds, though his face was a scarlet sunset of smeared blood.

Something about the sight was utterly wrong. Felix felt something shift inside him and he felt as though he was going to be sick. Bile filled his mouth.

“I don’t like this anymore,” he said quietly.

“Good. That means you are learning,” said Rufus. “Continue to watch. Pay attention. For now, the real show begins.”

The thing—for Felix could not think of it as a man any longer—stumbled into Sophus. It grabbed onto his shoulders and its mouth sank into the back of the man’s neck. The two collapsed to the ground, their armor clanking heavily. The thing bit savagely at the man beneath him. With three great rending chomps, it swallowed mouthfuls of flesh and muscle. After the second bite, the man beneath him stopped struggling.

Torquatus had no sword. With seconds, however, he had whirled behind the monster and pulled out its small blade. The creature was so intensely devouring the man beneath him that it didn’t seem to notice. The roars of the crowd had dwindled to a murmur, as all watched in fascination.

The sword rose into the air. Felix watched with fascination and dread as it seemed to hover in the air for eternity. Then, with a whoosh, it swung down and separated the thing’s head from its body. The head tumbled away in the dust, and its body instantly collapsed, twitching, onto the corpse that until recently had been a gladiator.

There was scattered cheering, but it was decidedly understated. Guards ran in to drag away the bodies, and Torquatus wearily stumbled back to the gate. The medical slaves were already coming to meet him, stretcher at the ready.

The Senator’s box was quiet for a few moments. Then Rufus spoke. His voice was somber, grave. “That thing. There are many more like it. Thousands, maybe, or more, and I want you both, and all of my guards, to learn to kill them.”