Marching Dead

by Lee Battersby

  “Oh, good gods.”

  “What is it?”

  “A stone.” Marius stared up at it, slow realisation creeping upon him. “It’s a standing stone. Dug into the wall.”

  There was a hollow in the stone at eye height. Sharp lines radiated outwards to the edges left and right of it, with two more running downwards each corner of the base. Marius stared at it, his finger tracing the lines.

  “There’s something wrong with this.”

  “It’s a body.”

  “What?”

  “A skeleton. Look.” Gerd pushed past and ran his index finger along several of the branching lines. “Arms, spine, legs. These would be ribs. Fingers and feet there and there. It’s highly stylised, but…” He shrugged. “The hollow would be the skull.”

  “No.” Marius shook his head. “You’re right, but no.” He looked at his young friend. “The hollow isn’t the skull. It holds the skull.”

  “There’s another one here!” Fellipan had wandered further down the wall. Now she called Marius over.

  “And here.” Keth, further on again. Marius ran from stone to stone, his followers gathering behind him as he went. He described a full circle, came back to the first standing stone with his entire army at his heels.

  “A cromlech,” he said in wonder. “Underground.” He stalked back to the centre of the circle and jumped up onto the stone: not fallen, he realised, but laid lengthwise, like a tablet, or…

  “A sacrificial stone.” He gazed down at it, then turned and took in the immense structure around him. “A dozen pillars. Figures carved… Guardians? Overlooking… defending? What?”

  “I don’t like it.” Granny was at his feet, looking around pensively. “Not one little bit.”

  “Neither do I.” Marius sat down cross-legged and leaned towards her. “Why is that?”

  “There’s something wrong here. Something ain’t right.”

  “No, it’s not.” He glanced beneath his feet, tilted his head. “This stone.”

  “What about it?”

  He ran his hand across the surface, cupped the edge in his fingers. “It’s smooth.”

  “Yes?”

  “Smooth, as in not weathered. As in new.” He jumped down, bent close to the carvings. “These designs. Look at them.”

  Granny leaned in. Marius was aware of another presence: Fellipan, pushing past him to run gloved fingers along the clean-cut lines.

  “No degradation,” she said quietly. “They’re sharp. Marius, this carving…”

  “Wasn’t done a thousand years ago.”

  She shook her head. Marius straightened. “Regroup,” he said softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The army was shuffling together, forming back into those platoons in which they had started their journey. Keth was already in her litter and, Marius noted, waving to Fellipan to join her. Those troops at the rear were pushing up against those in front as they struggled to see what was going on ahead. Arnobew was striding up and down the lines, bellowing at his troops, shoving them into place. Marius jumped back up onto the stone.

  “Drenthe,” he shouted. “Find us a passage out of here.”

  He waited. There was no response. He looked out across the heads of his troops. “Drenthe!”

  “I don’t see him.” Gerd was walking round the stone, staring into as many corners as he could.

  “What the hell is he playing at? Drenthe!” Marius projected with as much will as he could muster. He saw those about him reach for their heads, as if staggered by the sudden volume. “Gerd, find him.”

  Gerd had taken no more than three steps when the dark at the far end of the chamber opened up and the Gelders fell upon them.

  They came screaming into the chamber, perhaps five hundred in total: white-fleshed gargoyles with hunched backs and tattered hair, whirling thighbones and maces made from skulls and tree roots. Marius lost several precious seconds to shock, and before he could regather himself they were in amongst the vanguard of his troops. The first line went down under the weight of the attackers. Marius’ mind was suddenly awash with screams that broke off jaggedly as bone met bone and crushed the semblance of life into dust. The sound snapped him back into awareness. Before he knew it he had drawn his father’s sword and was swinging it around his head like a torch.

  “Into them!”

  He dove from the altar and smashed an attacker across the bridge of their nose with his first stroke. The Gelder staggered. Marius raised his sword and drove the pommel against his victim’s face, again and again, until the flesh split and fell away, and the Gelder stumbled to fall against one of his compatriots. Marius spun. His own troops had closed with the enemy, and organised thought had immediately disappeared. It was nothing more than a melee now, vicious hand-to-hand fighting where only the desire to kill counted: no rules, no fanfare, just brutal, eye-gouging, biting, throat-punching street combat. Marius screamed, an ululation of animal rage. He drove the hilt of his sword into the eye of another enemy, twisting so the quillon plunged point first into the socket and snapped the orbital ridge as he pulled back. A Gelder bone struck him on the shoulder. He stumbled forward and fell to one knee. There was a crunch, and he looked up to see Arnobew, a femur in one hand, throwing away the ragged body of the Gelder who had attacked him.

  “Get up, boy!” he shouted, connecting with another assailant as Marius stared at the fallen Gelder for a short moment.

  “Alive,” he said, then, louder. “They’re alive!”

  “Not for long!” Arnobew strode past him, bone connecting with another face and crushing it. Marius looked from side to side as he rose. Gelders were falling, their disorganised attacks slowly but surely beaten back by the well-drilled soldiers of Marius’ army. The nuns and tubmen were drawing up into lines, allowing Brys’ bastards to slip past the end as the elders threw themselves forwards, and wreak havoc and general bastardry upon those at the rear. Marius watched the dead Gelder get back up and slip back towards the entrance at the far end of the chamber, where they disappeared into the corridor beyond. A solitary figure was standing at the entrance, ushering them on as they lurched their broken and lifeless bodies past him.

  “Drenthe!”

  The soldier turned towards Marius. For a moment, Marius could see the mirth that rocked his shoulders. Then a cry of victory went up around him as the last few Gelders broke and ran back towards the corridor. Marius watched as they reached Drenthe, saw him slip a knife from his belt and slide it into the belly of each remaining attacker as they came to him. Then they ran on. The cheers died out as Marius’ army slowly focussed on what he was watching. He leaped from the altar and ran towards Drenthe. His nemesis raised a hand in a mocking salute, then stepped back into the dark.

  “After him!”

  A dozen nuns broke ranks and flashed past. They disappeared into the corridor in an instant. The army waited. If they’d had any breath to hold, they would have done so. As it was, Marius was aware of Keth’s slightness of breath: she alone, of three thousand bodies pressed into the space, made enough noise to be noticed. Presently the nuns returned, walking past Marius in silence to take their place behind Arnobew. Marius heard him mutter to them at the base of his mind, warm words of support and pride. Then he approached Marius and sketched a sort of bow.

  “They lost him, I’m afraid.”

  Marius nodded, deep in thought.

  “Don’t be blaming them, lad. They’re as good as I could ask for. Mighty gals, each and every one of them. Don’t be reflecting on it as a failure–”

  “What?” Marius snapped out of his reverie. “Oh, no. No, not at all.” He shook himself to full attention. “No, Warbone. You tell your girls good job from me, difficult circumstances and all that. Not disappointed at all. Pats on back all round.”

  Arnobew smiled. “You’re a lying shit. But thank you.” He retreated to gee-up his girls and spread the word of their leader’s gratitude. Marius fell back into thought. Presently he felt a warm hand on his shoulde
r. He looked up, into the concerned eyes of Keth.

  “Marius?”

  “Why, Keth?” he asked. “Why lead us here? Why abandon us? I can’t work it out. First he’s my enemy, then I find out he’s not – he’s no friend to me, that’s certain, but some sort of ally, and then he’s on my side but I’m doing what he wants…” He threw up his hands. “Then this…”

  Keth took his hands, drew them back to his sides, held on to them. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It really doesn’t.”

  “But–”

  “You never followed him.”

  “I…” Marius stopped. “No, I did, but only because he made me, and then it was to hunt him.”

  “You see?” she smiled. “Nothing’s changed. If you catch him, it’s what you intended all along. Nobody ever swore allegiance to him. And everyone here…” She indicated the army around them: silent, patient, waiting to be instructed. “They all wear your colours.”

  Marius followed her gaze, saw the troops – his troops – looking at him in quiet expectation, and felt a sudden, savage glow of happiness. He squeezed her hands hard enough to make her wince, and laughed.

  “Okay.” He nodded, raised an arm, and brought it down to point at the tunnel ahead of them. “Come on then, you dead and rotting scum,” he shouted. “Let’s go and save the world!”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  This time there were no diversions, no delays. They made straight for Scorby City at a flat run, carving their way through cross-tunnels and obstructions with barely a moment lost. Within two days Marius could sense the weight of Scorbus’ army above them: the anticipation of a hundred thousand dead souls awaiting the command to attack ahead. Marius called a halt and left his troops behind to stalk forward into the dark spaces below the invaders: head tilted, eyes closed, like a bat hunting insects through the dark with no more than the invisible sounds of movement to guide him. He had gone less than a hundred steps when he became aware of a presence at his shoulder – Gerd, watching him with a puzzled expression.

  “What are you doing?” he projected.

  Marius waved his hands in a shushing motion, then leaned in so that their heads almost touched.

  “Voices only,” he whispered, pointing above them.

  Gerd mouth an “Oh,” then held his head in imitation of his friend. “So what are we doing?”

  “Searching.”

  “For a sore neck?”

  “For Scorbus.”

  “What are we going to do? Climb up and surprise him?”

  Marius shuffled forward, Gerd in his wake. “Something like that.” He stopped suddenly, stumbling when Gerd lurched into his back. “Here.”

  “Here? He’s here?”

  “Just about.”

  Gerd eyed the rough dirt above them. “How can you tell?”

  Marius wiggled his fingers in a ta-da motion. “Magic.”

  “Oh, I see. Bullshit.”

  Marius scrunched his face up in mock anger. “No,” he said. “Listen.” He closed his eyes, and waved for Gerd to do the same. The young swineherd complied. “What do you hear?”

  Gerd shrugged. “Granny telling dirty jokes to Keth. Fellipan deliberately ignoring them. Arnobew…” He shuddered. “Eww.” Then his face cleared. “Ah.”

  “Got it?”

  “Got it.” Gerd pointed around them. “Nothing all around…”

  “Foot soldiers, lined up and waiting. No noise because no movement.”

  “And here.”

  “Movement.”

  “Could be a draft animal?”

  Marius shook his head. “Remember Fellipan’s horses?” He drew a finger across the side of his neck.

  “Dead as well.”

  “Right.”

  “So…”

  “An invading king, expecting action, wondering why the tactics that worked so well before are having no effect now.”

  “Pacing, consulting with his generals, being busy.”

  “Making noise.” He pointed back towards his own troops, waiting in the same silence as those above. Gerd nodded and they made their way to the vanguard, crammed into the narrow space. He backed them down the tunnel a hundred yards, then set them to work as quietly as possible, clearing a space large enough for troop movements back and forth from the rear to be accomplished without fuss. Gerd pulled him aside as he was supervising the work.

  “Won’t…” he pointed overhead, “hear?”

  Marius shook his head. “He’s not listening. And anybody who might hear is standing in line with all their fellow soldiers, commanded not to speak or lose position.”

  “You hope.”

  Marius tapped his temple. “I know.”

  “Oooh. Bullshit!” he mocked, and then let out a cry of “Ow!” as Marius flicked his ear.

  “Stop that. It didn’t hurt.”

  Gerd rubbed his ear. “It should.”

  Marius watched the clearing of earth. “There’s nothing more I need to do here. Find Keth and Brys. We need to move on to the next phase.”

  Gerd raised an eyebrow but did as he was bid. When the four of them were gathered, Marius turned to Brys.

  “Finish this off,” he said. “Then wait for me to return. I want the troops in the order we discussed earlier, ready to go on my command.”

  Brys nodded. “How long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “By your command.” She grinned. “Lover.”

  Marius grimaced, and turned his attention to Gerd and Keth.

  “Now, we–”

  “Before we go any further.” The look on Keth’s face could have boiled water. Marius groaned inwardly.

  “Yes, my love?”

  “Am I?” She jerked a thumb behind her. “Tell me. Is there anyone in this army you haven’t slept with behind my back?”

  Marius had never been so innocent. Innocence itself would have looked like a leering, sheep-fondling pervert next to Marius. Marius could have out-innocented an entire orphanage of dewy-eyed moppets.

  “Granny,” he said. “Arnobew. The nuns, Gerd…”

  “There was that one time–” Gerd started, snickering.

  “Not helping.”

  “Well?” Keth wasn’t playing any innocent games. Water was in the past – now her expression could boil metal. Marius suddenly knew that anything short of utter honesty would be seen through and held against him in disastrous fashion. He sighed.

  “Brys is an old story,” he said. “The pages closed on that one years ago.”

  “How many?”

  “What?”

  “How many years ago?”

  Marius performed innumerable mental calculations in the time it took to blink. He’d first met Keth a dozen years ago, first lied to her a dozen years ago, first bedded her a decade ago, met Brys…even numbers should be divisible. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t make them stack up.

  “Eight years,” he said. Keth nodded.

  “And Madam Bignorks?”

  Marius stared at her for seconds that stretched out as interminably as a violin lesson. His mind wheeled and flew, desperately seeking freedom. He wanted very much to speak, to comfort his lover, to wave words in front of her like a magician waving his hands, to hide all his falsehoods and prestidigitations and leave her cooing in delight at a bunch of flowers that appeared from nowhere. Instead, his voice, filthy betrayer that it was, spoke three words.

  “About five weeks.”

  “I see.” The light in her eyes retreated, to a spot where Marius knew he would never again find it. “Before or after I went missing?”

  Before. Say before. As bad as that will be it’s nothing compared to the other option. For all that’s unholy, he screamed at his tongue, just this once say before.

  “After.”

  Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, his survival instinct climbed into its burrow and pulled the entrance down upon itself. “We thought you were dead,” he continued, “We were trying to track Drenthe down…”

&nbs
p; But Keth was no longer listening. She was inside her own mind, performing her own calculations, and all Marius could do was lapse into silence and wait until she finished. Gerd was no help, so absorbed in his study of the wall opposite he might be sitting for a doctorate in dirt. Slowly, Keth returned from wherever her inner thoughts had taken her. She looked at Gerd, and the tunnel around them, looked through the earth to the world of corpses stretching underneath the face of the planet: anywhere but at Marius.

  “What is it you want me for?” she asked, eventually. Marius felt his shoulders loosen in relief.

  “Scorbus is waiting for the city to sally forth. We need to get into the palace and stop them from sending out their troops. But I can’t just walk in looking like–”

  “No.” She held up a hand, stopped him flat. “What do you want me for?”

  He may have gibbered for a moment. He wasn’t sure. But when he realised what she was saying, what she was asking, he found words he should have found a long time before.

  “I love you,” he said. “Like I’ve never loved anybody, like I don’t love myself. I’ve loved you since I first saw you dancing in that shitty little tavern, with those grabby sailors flipping ten-penny pieces trying to get them down your top, and you flicking them with the hem of your dress so you could snatch them out of midair, and… I’ve only ever come back for you, Keth. No matter where I’ve gone, it’s always been away, because coming back to you was coming back, even when…” He ran down, and hung his head. It didn’t matter. Words were not what she had ever needed. He was too good with words. They cost him too little to give away. “Even when I was failing you.”

  “Oh, gods.” She tilted her head back. Marius could see the twin streaks down her face, tiny rivulets against the grey of her skin. He cursed the dead man’s sight that let him see everywhere, but washed the meaning out of everything he saw. “And it would all make sense to you, wouldn’t it?” She wiped the heels of her hand across her cheeks, smearing the bright tracks of her tears over her face. “You always make so much sense,” she said, sniffing. “I wish I didn’t understand you when you did that.”