by James Somers
Hours later a gray sky had taken control of the heavens. A cold drizzle fell upon the wagons, leaving dry only those riding within. Charles and the other men, as well as their horses, looked quite miserable. It was difficult to tell how close to sundown it was, as we had been driving in a state of twilight for some time now. Still we journeyed on in the hope of at least crossing the Black River before we had to make camp.
One of the children poked me on the cheek, asking, “Miss, what’s that up ahead?”
I looked out the front of the wagon and saw something I had never seen before. Huge buildings rose up before us on either side of a cracked and weed infested paved road; only now revealed as we drove on through a thick veil of fog. The wagon wheel noise suddenly changed timbre as we left the packed earth and started up onto the ancient road. The skeletal forms of ancient vehicles lay dead and rotting; rust covered husks, some with trees growing through them.
I had seen some of these before during my limited travels. I had no idea how they ever managed to get around. They were made of heavy hunks of metal and other materials unknown to me. Looking now, I wondered how they ever could have hooked a horse up to them.
Our stunted wagon train snaked through building debris and the remnants of things none of us had any recollection for. I listened in as Charles spoke with his wife. “The bridge is about a mile from here,” he said. “It’s very high over the river and made of metal, so it should not have washed away like the other one.”
I looked out the back of the wagon, hoping to take in as much as I could while I had this rare opportunity. I would have loved the chance to stop and actually explore the place. The large concrete buildings towered over us and went back into the trees and fog as far as I could see.
I had often wondered what the old world had been like: what the people had worn, the lost technologies they employed and their social customs. Driving through this ancient place had me almost as excited as the day I stood before the Council of the High Guard receiving my new appointment to their ranks.
I noticed something peculiar in passing. The smell of death should have gone from this place centuries ago, but there was something out there; something indistinct that disturbed my senses more than I would have liked. I noticed the absence of sound. Even animal sounds, that should have been present, were strangely missing.
On a hunch, I reached for the gifts, enhancing my hearing, sight and sense of smell. The stench of rotting flesh and foul body odor assaulted me almost immediately. To anyone else it would have seemed faint at best, if they detected it at all. Still, I saw nothing obviously wrong among the dilapidated structures.
However, when I listened at a higher capacity, scratching and shuffling emanated from the ruined buildings around us. As I tried to discern whether the noise might be animal in origin, heavy labored breathing became apparent. The sounds were too human to be anything else.
I turned to Agnes. My expression startled her. “What is it?” she asked.
“Things…out in the ruins,” I said. “I think they may be human.”
No sooner had the words left my mouth, than something moved fast through my peripheral vision. I turned my head in time to see an emaciated human form slam into the team of horses pulling two wagons back from us. The animals screamed in panic as they were knocked sideways to the ground, falling on top of one another.
More of the creatures descended upon us from the ruins. I heard Charles yelling in the front of the wagon, his wife and the horses screaming. “Death walkers!” Agnes cried.
I had never seen a death walker before, but I had heard the tales. Their appearance was horrific and true to the name. They looked like corpses, barely alive, savage and bloodthirsty. One of the fiends crashed into the canvas covering our wagon as the two children of Charles and Carla began to scream.
The death walker clawed through the canvas in seconds. I turned and lunged for the creature. We both fell away from the wagon, one of my fighting knives whipping across its throat before we had hit the ground. Behind me our wagon capsized as the horse team went wild. Half a dozen death walkers tore into the animal with inhuman strength. Everything inside the wagon was scattered across the road including the children and Agnes.
She was on her feet instantly, fending off the creatures with a sword and knife. My enhanced senses tingled with activity. Behind me two death walkers came at me, their eyes black as night, devoid of souls. I fell into my training. There was no such thing as fear or retreat. I flew into them, calling upon the gifts for strength and agility. With my right hand I retrieved my sword from beneath my cloak. My left held the dagger I had used on the first death walker.
The creatures cared nothing for weapons; neither using them or fleeing from them. I hacked through limbs, but they didn’t regard the wounds. Relentlessly they attacked, driven by forces unknown to me.
As fearsome as the creatures were, I did not cower before them. I was a wraith dancer; one of the most deadly warriors known to man. As ferocious as they were, these fiends fell like wheat before my blades. But things were going far worse for the refugees in the wagons.
Still, Agnes was hard at work killing the creatures, trying to keep our group alive. Some of the refugees had been killed already, but we had to arrive at Thorn Mountain in their company if we were ever to get to Ezekiah and complete our mission.
A scream pierced through me. One of the children had been grabbed up by a death walker that was fleeing back into one of the buildings. I caught sight of them just before the fiend disappeared inside. Clara was crying after the child; her daughter Jessica.
Immediately, I ran after the creature. Agnes had just slain one of the last near the wagons. She grabbed a lamp from one of the wagons and took up pursuit hot on my heels. We entered the building. I used enhanced eyesight and hearing to track the creature. Jessica was still screaming as well, making it easy to find where the fiend had taken her.
The death walker was heading underground by way of a set of concrete stairs. We followed, now having to rely completely on the lamp as the light filtering in from outside was unable to penetrate this far into the structure. Jessica’s crying echoed from up ahead. We ran toward her, and then heard an earsplitting scream come from the girl. Something had happened. Her voice was cut off.
Agnes threw the lamp toward the place where we last heard her. The oil bell smashed on the ground catching light as the fuel spread across the ground. A horrific sight was illuminated before us. A dozen more death walkers were tearing the girl apart as the flame erupted behind them.
I had never witnessed anything so gruesome in my entire life. Something snapped inside of me. I flew into a rage and charged the creatures. Smelling blood and showing no fear, the beasts charged toward us as well. Our blades met sickly gangrenous flesh, slashing and hacking through the death walkers in concert.
Some of the death walkers fell upon Agnes from pipes running along the ceiling. I heard her cry out, but was unable to get to her. Her sword fell to the concrete with a loud clang, her hand still attached to it where one of the creatures had bit through her forearm.
Agnes was shrieking now. The horrid emaciated forms of death walkers, painted orange by the splatter of flame on the floor, were everywhere. I had been clawed several times and bitten at least once. The creatures breached my defenses by sheer numbers alone. I lost sight of Agnes among their forms. A pack of lions would not have been more ferocious in their work.
I leaped away, over several heads, realizing I could not kill them fast enough before they overwhelmed me. They cared not for their lives, but I still wanted mine. I replaced my sword and began throwing daggers in every direction, wherever a new creature approached. I sent them right into their faces, knowing that the brain must be killed to stop a death walker. In moments I was out of steel with the fire reaching for my back.
The half dozen that remained came for me. In a last ditch effort, I plunged deep into the power of the gifts. My hands shot behind my back, caught flam
e in each and threw it toward my attackers. Over and over I reached for the fire, flinging it at the rotting bodies of the death walkers. Their tattered clothing caught light instantly. In seconds I was staring at half a dozen pillars of fire running hopelessly in every direction. The flames took them in moments, leaving me the only living thing left standing.
With the fire now scattering light all over the cavernous underground chamber, I soon found Agnes’ body among the dismembered death walkers. Her left hand was missing. All over her body hunks of flesh had been torn away by inhumanly powerful jaws. One particularly grievous bite had torn away much of her throat; likely the killing wound.
There was nothing I could do for her now. Belial would watch over her spirit, as he did all of his children who pass from this world. The flames cast eerie shadows that danced upon the ground, ceiling and far off walls. I couldn’t bear the thought of remaining in this place any longer. I drew my sword and left my other weapons in the corpses of my victims. There was no telling if more of the creatures might be on their way to have their share of blood.
I climbed the dim stairway back to the first floor of the building; my eyes darting into every dark place, examining every wayward shadow. No more death walkers came for me. As I emerged from the building, the living remnant of our group was only just beginning to pull themselves back together. The women were crying over the bodies of dead husbands and children. The few men were trying to make sense of what had happened and what they might salvage for a fast retreat. We still had to get over the bridge and night would soon be upon us.
Charles and Clara had managed to survive along with their son, Jason. Upon seeing me emerge from the building, Clara had run to me, searching for Jessica. She quickly realized that neither the child or Agnes had come out with me. Clara fell to her knees in the street, weeping uncontrollably.
I could feel the inevitable low coming upon me after having delved so deeply into the Gifts of Transcendence. I stopped and stared at Clara, suddenly realizing that I could not feel the kind of pain she was feeling. I would never have a husband. I would never have children to weep for.
Still, despite my warrior’s hard heart, I felt tears rolling unrestrained down my cheeks. Agnes had been a friend. Her death had been senseless. All of these lives had been wasted. Only in the back of my mind, did I wonder how these creatures, created by the Serpent Kings, had come to be such a threat. Why had they been together hunting as a group?
The little I knew of death walkers told me they were solitary scavengers only. Never had I heard of such an attack as this taking place. Perhaps, someone coming upon one of the creatures wandering in the wilderness might be in danger, but there had never been a massacre carried out by a pack of death walkers. What was happening to the world?
I came to Clara, still wailing for her child. I scooped her up by the shoulders. “We have to get out of her before more death walkers come,” I said, urging her to come to what senses she had left. I had no reason to suspect that more death walkers would come. But I had never expected them to do what had already been done either.
I delivered Clara into her husband’s arms. Their son ran to his mother’s skirts crying for his sister. I looked into the bewildered faces of the remaining men. “We have to get the survivors into the wagons we have left and get over that bridge before nightfall,” I said.
They were probably not used to receiving orders from a woman, but it only took them a moment to realize that the danger was still very real in this place. The men and women snapped to action, gathering the wounded into the two remaining wagons with horses. Another team of horses had been spared, but the wagon had been overturned. They were cut free from their harnesses and saddled by two of the men for riding.
In minutes, we had salvaged what we could and were making our way quickly through the street. Everyone remained on alert, weapons at the ready, just in case more death walkers came. For whatever reason, they did not. As darkness fell we made our way across the steel bridge still littered with the rusting hulks of ancient machines.
We left the ruins behind us in the thickening fog. I lamented leaving Agnes’ body in such a terrible place, but there was nothing that could be done. I had no choice but to go on. There was still a mission to fulfill. By the time we reached the other side of the Black River, night had fully come. Nearly thirty refugees, on their way to Thorn Mountain, had been reduced to half that number.
ASSASSINATION
Varen’s caravan wound its way along the packed earth of the Western Road heading toward the Urtah Mountains in the distance. Another few hours would bring them to the place where they would divert from the road in order to ride into the mountains rather than going on to the city of Urth.
The Rebellion leader was riding in the comfort of a private carriage, escorted by a dozen of his most loyal soldiers. Nordin sat across from him, smoking his pipe as usual, taking in the scenery through one of the windows. The old man had been wary of crossing Ezekiah while they were still on Thorn Mountain. However, since coming away from the castle without any trouble, Nordin had been full of praise for his leader.
Varen smiled as he looked over the map again. “It’s uncanny,” he said.
Nordin puffed on his pipe and blew the smoke across the carriage with a weathered smile. “To think we’ve practically been sitting upon such a treasure this whole time.”
“Not only do we have the map,” Varen said, gloating, “We have proximity. There’s no way Ezekiah can march his people to the cave in time to beat us there.”
Nordin leaned toward him. “Indeed, which makes little sense,” he said. “Why keep the weapons at so great a distance?”
“Ezekiah has always been overconfident,” Varen said, dismissively.
“Perhaps,” Nordin said, “but we’ve never known him to be unwise.”
Varen grinned. “He had the map. No one was expected to find it. So far underground, they probably never would have. Besides, he didn’t need them close if he never intended to use them. You heard him spouting off at that meeting. He wouldn’t join our war against the Serpent Kings.”
Nordin hunched his shoulders, conceding the argument as he drew from his pipe again.
Varen rolled the parchment up again and placed it in its protective cylinder. “You have to admit,” he said, grinning, “Jillian really came through for us. She executed her part precisely.”
Nordin sat back against the cushioned bench, puffing smoke. Finally his bearded mouth turned upward into a smile. “All right, Varen, I will admit it. The girl has done well. She might not be Moloch’s spy after all.”
Varen arched an eyebrow and waited.
“All right,” Nordin said. “I give up. The girl loves you. She isn’t a spy. I’m now quite certain of it.”
Varen smiled broadly, slapping a hand across the old man’s leg. “As you should be,” he said. Varen tucked the map cylinder back into the lock-box he had brought with him and fastened it shut with a twist of the iron key he kept on a cord around his neck.
Four of Varen’s soldiers rode ahead of his carriage, each man wearing a steel-plated leather shield across his back, sword at his side and bow and quiver slung behind on their saddles. The road followed the tree line of a pine forest on the left side with a field of yellow grasses spreading out to the hills on the right. The Urtah Mountains rose before them, each of its peaks bearing a cap of white snow.
Two feather-fletched, hardwood shafts split the air, piercing the breastbones of both leading soldiers. Their breath was stolen away before they could cry out. But the soldiers behind sounded the alarm, even as the dead soldiers slid out of their saddles to the road.
The carriage driver stopped his team. The other soldiers called to one another, their shields brought forward as they moved their horses forward in order to surround their leader’s carriage. Nothing moved in the wood. Only the wind stirred among the grasses.
Varen called up to the carriage driver through the vent at the man’s feet. “What
’s happening? Why have we stopped?”
The driver leaned down to the vent. “We’re under attack, Lord Varen. Two of our men have been—”
His words were cut short as another arrow drove through the driver’s head, pinning him to the carriage. Varen grabbed his sword immediately. He reached for the door handle, but Nordin tried to intercept him. Varen opened the door and began to step down as Nordin grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him back inside. “No, Varen!”
Varen’s left hand was still on the handle inside the carriage door when another hardwood shaft shot through the door and his hand. Varen cried out for pain, trying to pull his hand back to his body, only to bring the door slamming shut with it.
“Get back inside, you fool!” Nordin scolded. “You’re the one they want!”
As if to punctuate Nordin’s point, several more arrows slammed into the window frame of the carriage, one right on top of the other; precision grouping.
“My hand is pinned to the door,” Varen groaned.
Nordin grabbed the arrowhead. “Hold on,” he said. “You won’t like this.” Nordin suddenly yanked the arrow through the door and Varen’s palm. The feathers came last stained with blood.
“Sir,” one of the soldiers called, “what should we do? I can’t see who’s attacking us.”
Again, the man who had spoken was run through with an arrow; this time through his leg. He reacted, dropping his shield low in order to grab his wounded leg. A second arrow passed over his shield, slamming into his heart. He slumped sideways, falling out of his saddle.
Varen pushed Nordin back into the floor of the carriage. “Get down, old man!”
The horsemen regrouped, trying to close the gap left by their dead comrade. Suddenly a tightly wrapped cylinder flew out of the blowing yellow grass and bounced across the road. A hissing fuse burned quickly away as it landed under one of the horses guarding the carriage.
“Dynamite!” one of the soldiers cried, just before it exploded. Horses and men went flying in all directions. The right facing wall of the carriage shattered and the carriage itself flipped over toward the ditch on the left side of the road. A cloud of smoke and dust hung heavy in the air.
Gradually, men began to recover from the blast. The charge hadn’t produced that big of an explosion, but it had been enough to kill several soldiers and their horses. Out of a dozen battle-hardened soldiers escorting Varen’s carriage, only six were now left standing and ready to fight.
Varen and Nordin crawled out of the wrecked carriage together, the younger man helping support the older whose face had streaks of blood running across it. They stumbled together toward the surviving soldiers. Four of the men grabbed their swords and shields from the road. The other two soldiers nocked arrows, searching the fields ahead.
“The dynamite definitely came from among the grasses, Lord Varen,” one of the soldiers reported.
Varen stared across the rolling plain. He could not see anyone there. But seven corpses did not lie. “Three of you go and beat the grasses; flush them out,” Varen commanded. “And be careful.”
Three of the swordsmen hefted their shields, stepping across the road and into the field. They spread themselves at arms length, beating the grasses with their swords as they proceeded forward. Nerves on edge, they were ready for almost anything…almost.
Two women rose from the grasses ahead and began to walk toward them. Instantly recognizable in the robes worn only by wraith dancers, their sudden appearance struck fear into the hearts of the men. One of the women carried a bow slung across her breast and a quiver of arrows on her back. The other wore a narrow sword across her back. They walked together confidently toward Varen’s men.
The soldiers readied their shields, and then charged toward the women. The wraith dancer with the bow fell behind the other quickly then hopped to her shoulders. The men were startled, but did not halt their charge.
Just as the swordsmen got to them, the archer leaped over them, tumbling through the air to land behind Varen’s soldiers. The wraith dancer with the sword then drew her weapon and attacked. The archer never looked back, obviously trusting her companion’s ability to deal with the soldiers at her back.
Varen ordered his own archer forward. “Kill her!” he commanded.
His archers homed in on their target quickly and loosed their arrows. The wraith dancer pulled her bow free. She dodged one arrow, and then smashed the other from the air with her bow. As Varen’s men tried to fire another volley, she whipped two arrows to her bowstring and released in one fluid blur. Both of Varen’s archers fell to the road with arrows driven through their breastbones.
Varen and Nordin both watched the assassins work with stunned expressions on their faces. The wraith dancer with the sword darted around the soldier’s shields, managing to remain aloof as the three swordsmen fought desperately to slay her. In seconds, all three soldiers lay dead.
Varen’s remaining swordsman charged toward the archer; his shield ready and broadsword raised. She fired an arrow that passed over the man’s shoulder toward Nordin. Varen realizing the altered trajectory then moved without hesitation, taking the shaft in his shoulder as he knocked Nordin aside. Both men fell to the ground.
The last swordsmen continued his charge, feeling fortunate that the arrow had missed him. He was too close for her to fire again. Instead, the female archer whipped her bow under his shield, throwing it so that his legs became entangled. He stumbled and fell upon his shield practically at her feet.
The soldier managed only to rise to one knee before her fingers drove into the side of his neck. The force of the Touch shattered his cervical vertebrae, damaging spinal cord and brain stem beyond repair. He fell over dead without a sound.
