Legion Of The Undead_Rise and Fall

by Michael Whitehead

  “There were once gods so old that the gods of Greece and Rome had never even heard of them. So malevolent were they that they saw men and vowed to wipe them from the face of the world. They tried to remove the souls of men, in order to force their dead bodies to walk the world in permanent torment.

  “Viddus was the only god who saw these old gods, and knew what they were. He sacrificed himself to become their jailer. He built a gateway between the realm of the gods and the realm of the Old Ones. This gateway was a temple made of black glass and blood. He vowed to spend eternity in this temple in order to hold back the Old Ones, and their yearning to destroy the realm of men.

  “The legend does not end there. The story goes that the job of keeping back the Old Ones is too much for even a god. That the Old Ones are so powerful that they eventually corrupt the guardian of the temple. Viddus’ mind is eventually destroyed and his mission is forgotten to him. Every millennium, Viddus sends out what is left of his spirit to find himself the means to replace himself. To become whole again.”

  The priest stopped talking and looked at Regulus, waiting for a reaction.

  “This is just a legend though? You can’t mean that I have whatever it takes to refresh this god? That this whole mess, the Risen, is all the doing of a bunch of gods called the Old Ones and the god who is trying to stop it needs something I have?”

  “I don’t think he is after something you have, I think he is in need of something you are. I think, for whatever reason, you are being called for by Viddus,” the priest said.

  “You’re crazy!” Regulus almost shouted. “I’m a soldier, not even a good one of those, truth be told. What can I do to help one of the gods?”

  “I wish I knew,” the priest answered. “What you saw was a vision from a god. I have no doubt in my mind about that. The details you describe are too accurate. You say you think you know where this hut and forest are? I urge you to go there. Find out what is required of you. The world may depend on it.”

  Regulus stood up with the use of his stick. “You say Viddus needs my help? The old man I saw was hostile toward me.”

  “He is losing his mind, the legend says as much.” The priest was also on his feet.

  “I don’t believe this. It can’t be true. No god ever needed the help of a man like me,” Regulus said as he hobbled toward the exit. The priest made no move to stop him or even follow.

  “A god needs you now,” he said to Regulus’ back as the boy left the temple.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Sir, the equite units are having a lot of success. They are thinning the numbers before the wall without hindrance from inside the city.” Tribune Fabius reported to the seated Titus. The tent in which his Emperor was encamped was dominated by a large table that was covered in maps and other papers, the biggest and most detailed of which was a large-scale map of the city.

  “Otho would be insane to order an attack on us until we have rid the city of the external threat. Do we have numbers?” Titus asked.

  “Our losses are negligible. The undead, however, are harder to quantify. Their numbers are uncountable and as well as we have done today, the wall is still under extreme pressure from the numbers that are left.”

  “We keep going the way we are then, tribune. If we can continue to thin the numbers with little loss of troops then that’s what I intend to do. Otho knows where we are and at the moment he has no way of getting to us. I’m happy to make him wait,” Titus said, leaning back in his chair and taking a drink from a silver goblet.

  “Have you paid any more thought to the reports sent in by Benefiarius Sergius, sir? The message he sent regarding the undead in Ostia?” the tribune asked.

  Titus gestured to the wine jug on a table in the corner and Fabius moved to help himself to a goblet. “I have scouts moving around the area, if Otho tries to throw an undead army at us I’m sure we will be well prepared to cope with it. I’m intrigued to see how he intends to move that many of them.” Titus seemed to lapse into a moment of contemplation before adding, “No sign of Sergius then?”

  “No, sir. I will have him sent to you when he returns, if you wish?” the tribune asked.

  “That would be fine, thank you, Fabius,” Titus replied. His manner seemed to soften a little as he spoke again, and Fabius took it as a signal to be at ease. “Is it not a joy to have the city before us, my friend?”

  “It has been too long. I just wish it were in better circumstances,” Fabius acknowledged.

  “With my father gone there will always be a hole. I aim to try filling it with memories of Otho’s suffering. Nothing will bring me peace like knowing the murderer is dead.” Titus gripped the goblet and slammed its base down hard on the arm of the chair in which he sat.

  There was a knock on the tent post and, after being admitted, a small man in plain clothes entered the tent.

  “Ah, Anguis. Good of you to join us,” Fabius said with a look of barely hidden disdain on his face. The grubby little man could be useful, in fact he was very useful, but just having him in their presence made the whole meeting seem sordid.

  “I hope it wasn’t too difficult extricating yourself from the city, what news do you bring?” Titus asked.

  Anguis was the leader of what was best thought of as a street gang. To give it any other title gave the thing a legitimacy it did not warrant. He was, however, one of those men who knew what was going on beneath the water. The city was a swan, gliding along and still on the surface, men like Anguis knew how frantically the feet were kicking below the water line.

  The man spoke in a reedy voice. “Caesar, I’m honoured that you asked to see me,” the grubby man said, the grovelling so obvious it made Fabius cringe, Titus did not react.

  “Otho has done his reputation a great deal of damage with his treatment of Fascallus. The people were not happy to see him made sport of.”

  “By all reports they were happy enough to see him punished, though?” Fabius asked.

  Anguis nodded slowly, “It is true Caesar, the pretender did enjoy a measure of goodwill, after the Praetorian Guard cleared the Risen from the city.”

  Titus shook his head, he had given up trying to fathom the thinking of the mob in Rome. Feed them and they find cause to complain that the food is not enough, starve them and they thank you for it.

  “Carry on, what else?” Fabius interjected.

  “Otho was using citizens on the walls, to protect from the undead. It was, against my prediction, a popular policy.” The little man shrugged. “This practice has stopped since your illustrious legions have appeared before the walls. The talk is that Otho is happy to wait until The Risen have been destroyed before mounting any sort of attack from the walls.”

  Not that he could, if he wanted to, thought Titus. He had neither the man power nor the weaponry to mount an attack of any significance from the walls, not while the undead formed a natural barrier. He had barricaded himself into his own prison. If Titus was of a mind to allow it, he could sit back and wait until Otho starved himself into submission. If the Empire wasn’t crumbling to the ground he would happily do so. He nodded at the man in front of him to continue.

  Anguis wiped his nose on his tunic sleeve in a display of unsophistication that both Fabius and Titus knew was all show. The man was, in his way, almost as powerful as the men to whom he reported.

  “The last thing is pure rumour, Caesar. I would dismiss it as fallacy, except it keeps being repeated and it is my experience that such rumours are ignored at peril.”

  Titus waved his hand, inviting the man to speak further.

  “The rumours are that Otho has increased the undead army he holds. The figures vary but no-one is talking about numbers less than ten thousand.” He waited for a reaction but Titus was stone faced. “The talk is of a tunnel that has been dug from Ostia all the way under Rome. They say Otho intends to let the creatures free behind your legions, Caesar.”

  This last information was entirely new to Titus but his years as a politician
meant that his face didn’t betray a flicker of emotion. He waited to see if Anguis would add anything further before sitting forward in his seat.

  “You’ve done well, Anguis. I thank you, Rome thanks you.” He looked toward the tent entrance. “My clerks will see you well paid before you leave the camp. In the meantime, I will have my cook provide you with a meal and drink.” The message was clear, Titus had finished with the informant. The little man bowed low and turned to leave without another word.

  “How much do you believe of what he said, Fabius?” Titus asked.

  “Most of it confirms reports I already have,” the Tribune answered. “The news about the undead army is unsettling because it mirrors the rumour that Sergius heard. The tunnel seems almost fantastical but I would put no level of deviousness past Otho.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I have to admit, if this turns out to be true I will have to congratulate Otho for his ambition. I think we should treat this threat as viable even if it turns out to be nothing. Move the camp back by a mile and have scouts out looking for the tunnel opening.”

  Fabius nodded his confirmation of the orders and began moving toward the tent entrance. He was about to open the flap when Titus spoke again.

  “One last thing, Fabius. I will not have the snake making reports back to Otho. Make sure the man has an accident before he leaves camp. Something nice and quiet, I don’t wish to burn any bridges with my other informants.”

  The Tribune nodded without turning back toward Titus, he opened the tent flap and walked into the bright sunlight with a narrow smile on his face.

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  Priscus felt a deeper wave of dizziness pass over him than he had experienced since his shoulder injury. The white waves that passed behind his eyes took an age to recover from. The pain in his shoulder had been replaced by a permanent coldness. He was unaware that he had fallen until he heard the woman, Leda, calling his name.

  “You’re badly hurt,” she said, it wasn’t a question.

  “I fear I may be,” he answered.

  He pulled himself up onto shaking legs, his injured arm now completely useless. He tried to move it but it didn’t respond at all. Sickness hit his stomach and he fought hard not to lose whatever it held.

  He scrabbled around Leda’s feet until he found his knife and returned to the job at hand. The bolt that held the ring was almost free. It wobbled like a child’s loose tooth, Priscus couldn’t see how it was still holding onto the wooden beam.

  “Let me take a turn,” Leda said.

  Priscus shook his head before sense made him realise it was dark and the woman couldn’t see him.

  “The work is keeping me from passing out,” he informed her and continued to dig into the wood with the tip of the blade.

  After a few more minutes, Priscus felt himself drifting back toward the whiteness of unconsciousness. He stopped and passed the blade to Leda, she took it and Priscus heard her take over the work. A cold film of sweat itched on his face as he sat, taking deeper and deeper breaths.

  Suddenly the noise of the knife stopped and Leda whispered, “Did you hear that?” They both fell silent and in the distance, far down the tunnel came the sound of a man screaming. The noise lasted for a moment or two and was silenced. Priscus released the breath he was holding and reached for the knife.

  “You pull the chain and I will dig at the bolt. Hurry!” he said to her, panic flooding in and replacing the pain and sickness.

  The two of them worked in the darkness, trying to save each other's life. Priscus knew that without this woman he had no chance of getting out of the tunnel alive. He was saving her as much for himself as he was for her, he was no hero. Would he be running now if he could? He hoped not but in his heart he knew he could not be sure.

  There was a second, louder scream, still far off but nearer than the last time. The two began to work in a frenzy, Priscus heard the effort with which she pulled the chains, then suddenly it came free. Leda was thrown back onto the sandy tunnel floor, Priscus felt another wave of faintness and fought it back with all his will.

  “Are you okay?” he heard himself ask from a thousand miles away.

  “Yes, take my hand we need to run,” Leda replied from the ground. Priscus reached for her until they found each other in the darkness. They ran, as fast as they dared, Priscus, made his way to this point in the darkness, Leda had been led here in torchlight. Both knew there were small rocks on the sandy ground but the noises from the tunnel were growing louder. There was a muffled rumble of thousands of running feet, an unknowable distance away.

  Priscus fell, the shock of hitting the ground sending spikes of pain through his whole body. When he was younger he had suffered from a fever so bad that his mother had been sure he would die. It had made is bones ache and his skin prickle if he was touched. He felt the same way now. The world was a dark hell from which there seemed no escape.

  “Get up, now!” Leda hissed at him. He felt her grabbing hands and for a moment was sure the undead had caught them and he was about to die. He flailed at her hands until she took hold of him and dragged him to his feet.

  The third scream seemed to be right on top of them when it happened. The echoing sounds of human suffering bounced off the walls of the tunnel and seemed to saturate the air around them. It froze the two of them for a moment, before sense prevailed and they turned once more and ran.

  Had they met a solid wall Priscus would have been knocked cold, unable as he was to raise his injured arm, or indeed feel it now, he still felt the need to hold Leda’s hand. He clung to her, this woman he had only seen for the briefest of instances as she was chained, and left for dead.

  His mind was a hot swirl of fever, he knew before he went down for the last time that he would not get back up. A spinning, sickening, sensation gripped him and his mind failed in its fight to hold on to reality. His legs buckled and the ground came up to meet him with the force of a battering ram.

  Faintly, distantly, he heard Leda screaming at him to get up but she may as well have been in a different world. He was aware of the rough, sandy ground beneath his cheek as she tried frantically to drag him to his feet one last time but his body would not respond. Blood loss, exhaustion and lack of food had finally defeated him.

  He told her to go, but wasn’t even sure if he spoke the words or just thought them. Eventually she must have understood, there was silence for the shortest time. Priscus lay, in the dark, face in the earth and waited for his time to come.

  When the first bite came it tore him from unconsciousness, as the teeth tore his flesh from his body. Pain did what his will to survive had not, it dragged him back to reality. The blackened teeth tore at him in the dark and he knew he wanted to live. His body had told him it was time to die but his mind screamed otherwise. Blood poured from wounds all over his body and the weight of the undead forced the life from him. His death was quick, but not quick enough. His last breath was a mist of fine red droplets, a thing of beauty, if there had only been light to see it.

  Leda heard Priscus die and sent up a silent prayer for his soul. This man who she had never seen had saved her life and paid the highest price for it. Surely there was a place in Elysium for such a man as him.

  She sprinted in the dark, her fear of what was ahead overcome by her fear of what came after her. The chains on her wrists felt so heavy as she ran, had she been able to, she might have cut off her own hands to free herself of their weight. Her heart beat so hard and fast that her ears heard nothing for a time but the pulse of blood.

  So complete was the dark that when she saw the chink of light she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. Just a sliver of faint yellow, not enough to see by, just enough to know it was there. She stopped running, breath burning in her chest and moved to the side of the tunnel. Wooden boards had been roughly nailed in place and beyond was a light that might be sunlight. She tried frantically to find a finger hold and found none. Panic gripped her as she t
ried to see how far behind her the undead were but the darkness hid them.

  In desperation she reached up and her hand found the top of the board. She gripped it and pulled, nothing moved. The plank was a finger's width taller than those around it and in desperation she hooked the chain over the top of the board and braced her feet against its neighbours. Hanging out over what might have been a black abyss she levered her body and felt the board bend and then spring free of its mounting. A weak light showed down a rough sandstone, round walled, tunnel that was unlike the regular square tunnel she was in. The light gave her hope and increased her fear that she could be seen.

  The noise of her pursuers told her that they had finished with Priscus and were in search of more prey. The rumbling, rolling sound of thousands of feet carried toward her. As close as she was to freedom, death still stalked her.

  Panic gave her strength as she pulled at the wooden boards next to the gap. One more and she would be able to slide through, toward the light that almost mocked her with its promise of safety. She pulled and shook at it but it was stronger than the first had been.

  It almost didn’t occur to her to try the other side until it was too late. Tears filled her eyes and she was resigning herself to her fate when her eyes saw the board she had not tested. She gripped it with both hands and almost toppled backward as the nails holding the board slipped from their moorings with almost no effort. The board didn’t come free but hinged on the remaining nails.

  She wept with thanks as she slid herself through the narrow gap. The tears wet her cheeks and blinded her eyes and her sobs dulled her hearing. This was the reason she didn’t know the Risen had her until she felt their hands on her.

  First one and then more grabbed her from behind, tearing at her clothes. She struggled and almost slipped free of her slave's tunic but it was too late. Tearing cloth became tearing flesh. She fought and kicked at them in panic and fury but they were on her. She died with the promise of sunlight in her eyes.