by J. E. Gurley
Finally, even the mighty Apollo could go no farther. Carrying two men taxed the valiant Andalusian warhorse’s great strength. Through a break in the veil of sand, Gaius spotted a small copse of palm trees over a small rise and urged Apollo toward it.
The leeward side of a tall crescent sand dune blocked most of the wind and sand. To Gaius’ disappointment, he found no pool of water or spring. Any water remained deep in the ground near the trees’ roots. He dismounted, slid Rashid from Apollo’s back, and laid him on the ground. The injured Berber roused for a moment and gazed at Gaius with unfocused eyes.
“Where …?”
Guessing at his question, Gaius pressed the amulet into Rashid’s hands. “Here it is my friend. We are safe for now. Are you badly injured?”
He lifted Rashid’s upper body from the sand. Rashid grunted in pain, “Ad uri tggrt! Do not touch me. I think a have broken ribs.”
Gaius nodded. “I will bind them,” he said, but Rashid had already slipped back into unconsciousness.
Ripping a strip of cloth from the bottom of his tunic, Gaius wrapped Rashid’s chest, pulling the binding tight to force the cracked ribs back into place. The Berber moaned from the pain but did not awaken. A water skin tied to Apollo’s saddle held just enough water for a few sips each. He poured some of the precious liquid into his palm for Apollo. Without him, they would surely die in the desert. The horse licked the moisture from his palm gratefully, and then whinnied for more.
“Sorry, old warrior. There is no more save a sip for Rashid and myself. I would give you his share, but I might need him still.” He brushed his parched dusty lips with a few drops of water.
Gaius wasn’t sure where they were, but the sun lay to his right. They were heading north. He hoped the horse could carry them both to Castra-Augustus, though what they would do when they reached the abandoned fort he wasn’t certain. He had left a small cache of water and food for any of Sevilius’ men who might have survived and wandered in after their departure for Hamad Rus, but Marzuq was three day’s hard ride from the fort and at least another twenty to Leptis Magna. Bearing news of Tribune Sevilius’ death would not stand him in good stead with the garrison at Marzuq, but he couldn’t bypass the city. It sat at the edge of the Great Sand Sea and only a well-organized caravan could reach the coast. He had arrived in Marzuq in just such a caravan and well understood the dangers the journey presented.
What could he tell them when he arrived? Could he tell them the Emperor’s chosen had gone mad and tried to kill him? In the full light of day, the last moments inside the horrid warren seemed like a nightmare. Had he really seen a grotesque monster arise from the pit of Hades? It had to be so. There could be no other explanation for what occurred in the temple. He had seen the groping tentacles thrusting upwards from the floor, had seen the half-mad Sevilius ripped apart by them. He had stared into the primordial blood-red eyes of Nergal and felt his enmity to humans, perhaps all life.
If Sevilius were half-mad, then surely he was completely mad. How could he ever again watch a sunset and not dread what might lurk beyond the reach of the light? The thought sent chills coursing through his body in spite of the heat. He shuddered. Night would come all too soon, and with it the blood-hungry Inyosh. The amulet was no good without Rashid to control it, and Rashid hovered near death.
The ride through the storm had exhausted him. He removed Apollo’s saddle and laid it on the sand. Then, his strength depleted, he sagged to the ground and slept.
§
He awoke with the sun stabbing his eyes. The sandstorm had passed. He shaded his eyes with his hand and noticed a bunch of dates hanging from one of the palms. He hadn’t eaten for over a day, but he was more interested in their moisture to quench his thirst. He climbed up on Apollo’s back and hacked off the limb off with his sword. Shoving one of the dates in his mouth, he bit down on it, realizing too late that the dates were not quite ripe. His gnawing hunger demanded some offering, some small token to appease it. He chewed on the unripe fruit and swallowed the bitter date seeds and all. The stringent sour juice puckered his swollen lips but eased the burn in his parched throat.
Rashid’s eyes fluttered for a moment, and then opened. He looked around in confusion. Then his eyes settled on the bunch of dates Gaius had laid on the ground beside him. Rashid picked one up, sucked the moisture and flavor from the unripe date, and spat out the bitter pulp. Gaius poured the last of the water into his mouth.
“What is your plan, Roman?” he asked. His voice was weak but steady.
“We ride to Leptis Magna and warn the governor of the danger.”
“You may go to Leptis Magna, but I may not. The creature will follow the amulet. It is aware of it now. I will not lead it into the midst of an unwary population of my people.”
Gaius noticed the Berber made no mention of the Romans living in the city. “What do you propose?”
“That we march deep into the desert away from people. We lead Nergal and his dark army away from civilization. In this manner we do not increase the numbers of the creatures.”
Gaius was disappointed. He had hoped the Rashid had a real plan. “That’s it? March into the desert and die.” He waved his arms around. “Why not die here in the comfort of this beautiful oasis?”
Rashid remained silent for a moment. “Perhaps we can lead Nergal and his minions back to the warren beneath the mountain at Hamad Rus.”
Gaius choked on a bitter date seed. “Are you truly mad?” he shouted. “We barely escaped that foul place with our lives. Now, you propose we return.”
“Hear me out, Roman. There are words my grandfather taught me when I was young but warned me against using. He did not explain, but I believe they summon a greater power from the amulet. If so, it might mean my death, but it may be sufficient to seal the creature inside the mountain. I would trade my life for my people.” He stared at Gaius. “I am too weak to make the journey alone.” He paused before adding, “It would probably mean your death as well, Centurion.”
Gaius suspected as much. If what the Berber said were true, sacrificing their lives to stop the creatures would be the proper thing to do, but he had seen the sinister living shadows, had seen Nergal. He had sacrificed his entire Shadow Legion to obtain the information he now had. He had led them to their deaths with the promise that what they were acting for the honor of Rome. Rashid was a fool. Two men alone, especially a half-mad Centurion and a half-dead Berber prince, could not defeat the creature. What he proposed bordered on suicide, a futile gesture.
“No,” he answered.
Rashid glared at him. “You refuse?”
“Yes, I refuse,” Gaius snapped. He didn’t like Rashid’s accusatory tone. Let the Berber think him a coward if he wished. “Some mystical words your grandfather taught you that might increase the amulet’s power; might, mind you, not will … I will not throw away my life on some tale from your childhood. Your amulet can kill the shadow creatures, but I harbor no such hope against Nergal.
“Look at you. Your pitiful appearance puts doubt to your claim of powerful savior. You can barely sit, much less ride. You might not live out the day.” He fought back a sob, remembering the screams of his slaughtered men. “I have watched my men die all around me, and yet I survive. If the gods have saved me for anything, it is to bring warning to Leptis Magna so that more Legions can be brought to bear on this new enemy.”
“You do not trust me,” Rashid said.
“No, I do not trust you,” Gaius shouted. The Berber had struck at the heart of the matter. “You care nothing for Romans, and your people are dead; therefore, why would you throw away your life? To save more Roman lives?”
He shook his head and began pacing in the sand. His nervous anger bothered Apollo, who raised and dipped his head while snorting. Gaius stopped and rested his hand on the horse’s neck, but sensing his master’s agitation, he remained wary.
Rashid grimaced as he moved his body slightly to see Gaius’ face hidden behind Apollo’s neck. �
�Can your legions with all their shining brass armor, sharp weapons, their trumpets sounding, and their banners held high stop Nergal? Send a thousand men, and the dark army would increase by that thousand. Neither Roman siege engines nor frontal attack by armored cavalry will defeat the Inyosh god. He is arcane power manifest and only such power can affect him. You are a fool to think your army can do what armies through the centuries have been unable to achieve.”
Exhausted by his speech, he fell back gasping for breath.
Gaius eyed the Berber with suspicion. “What do you mean the creatures would increase? We killed hundreds in the caverns. Surely there is a limit to their number.”
A deep rumble that might have been laughter rose in Rashid’s throat. “Do you not see it yet, Roman?” he barked. “The creatures replenish their numbers from our living ranks. The spirits of the dead they kill become the undead. Their useless flesh, blood, and bones become an offering to their god.” He began coughing, sending a spasm of pain wracking his body. When the coughs subsided, he continued, “Why do you think I am so tortured, Centurion Gaius Marcus Linneus? Each creature I see I must wonder if it is the shade of my beloved wife or children.”
Speaking brought a renewed spasm of pain to him. He doubled over and held his ribs, coughing into his hand. The Berber’s words stunned Gaius. He had not considered what fate had befallen his men beyond their deaths. Would he now face the shade of Flavius or the ghost of demented Sevilius in the form of a deadly shadow? How could they defeat an enemy that increased its ranks by assimilating the shades of the dead?
“Why did you not tell me this sooner?” Gaius demanded.
“What would you have done, Centurion? Would you have ended your mad quest to defeat another enemy and return to Rome as conquering hero?”
As he spoke, Rashid dabbed at spots of blood dotting his lips. More blood stained the hand he had used to cover his cough. He sucked in air like a furnace bellows heating iron for sword making. Gaius had seen such symptoms before. One of Rashid’s fractured ribs had punctured a lung. Such wounds more often than not meant a slow death as blood filled the lungs.
“Very well,” he said, “raise your Berber army. Feed them to the creatures if you must. You cannot survive without me, and I ride to Marzuq, and then on to Leptis Magna. We will depart as soon as you are able.”
Rashid attempted to rise to his feet. The color drained from his face and he fell back onto the sand, clenching his teeth against the pain and gasping for breath at the effort. Gaius looked at the Berber and shook his head, marveling at his determination.
“You might not live to leave this oasis.”
“I will make it. By the shades of my dead wife and child, I will make it, and I will return with my people to end this monster’s reign.”
“First, we must reach Marzuq,” Gaius reminded him. He stepped to the Berber’s side, wondering why he bothered keeping him alive. “I must rearrange your bandage or you will die. You might die anyway. I have rendered aid on the battlefield, but I am no physician.”
Rashid didn’t protest as he loosened the bandage and moved it higher up Rashid’s chest, but when he began knotting it beneath Rashid’s first rib, he howled in pain.
“Perhaps you should pray to your god, if praying to a Roman god distresses you.”
“You Romans stole your gods from the Greeks, as you do everything you desire.”
In reply, Gaius jerked the bandage tight and finished the knot, extracting another yelp of pain from Rashid. “That might help,” he said.
Rashid didn’t answer. The pain had been too much. He had lapsed into unconsciousness. Gaius hoped the additional pressure would pull the rib away from the lung. He could do nothing for the wound itself. It would seal in due course, or Rashid would die. It was in the gods’ hands. As is my fate.
With nothing better to do, Gaius lay down in the shade of a date palm and slept.
§
When he awoke, the sun had traversed over half the sky. His shade had migrated away from his place of rest, and the sun’s rays beat down on him with a fury only a dedicated enemy should possess, not a disinterested celestial orb. His sleep had been fitful, but he had no dreams of Nergal or his dark minions. A demon thirst possessed his body. He would have killed for a single sip of water or a taste of wine. He looked at Rashid to check his condition. The Berber still lived, and his breathing had improved. Gaius had mixed emotions about that. The Berber prince was a thorn in his side, a conscience he didn’t need, but fate had thrown them together for a purpose, and he felt more lay in store for them.
He shook Rashid awake. “Come. We must go, Berber.”
Rashid’s eyes flickered open. At first, he stared at the face above him without recognition; then, as his mind cleared, he frowned. “It is you, Roman. I thought you might have left me for the tamdda to devour.”
Gaius glanced up at the vultures that had been circling the oasis since the storm passed. “It was a thought. Can you ride?”
“We shall see,” Rashid replied and pushed up from the sand with his arms.
With Gaius’ aid, he rose to stand, leaning against the tree. Gaius brought Apollo to him, laced his fingers to support Rashid’s foot, and boosted him up on Apollo’s back. He grabbed the saddle, and leaped onto the horse’s back. Once astraddle the horse, Rashid’s strength failed him. He swooned, falling back unconscious into Gaius’ arms. Gaius patted Apollo’s neck affectionately. It would be a difficult journey for the horse, double-burdened as he was.
“One more trip, old friend, and I will release you from my service. You have been faithful and loyal.”
The horse snickered and stamped his front hooves in the sand. Gaius thought once more of his family and his home in Italy, doubting he would ever see either again, and then dismissed them to concentrate on reaching Marzuq.
They rode north throughout the remainder of the day without stopping for rest. Gaius kept Apollo’s pace to a slow walk, detesting the pace that would add hours to their journey, but necessary to conserve the horse’s strength. Reeling with heat exhaustion, his mind wandered to far places – His home, Rome, Parthia, dreaded Hamad Rus. Only when an image so grotesque, so real popped into his mind that it frightened him, did he jerk awake. He opened his eyes expecting to see Nergal standing before him, ready to devour him. Instead, Apollo stood on the crest of a dune stamping his right hoof in the sand trying to get his attention.
Gaius starred down into a small basin below the crest of the dune upon a sight than warmed his heart – a Roman eagle flying atop a standard. The golden eagle did not travel before a legion; only nine men on horses rode beneath it, but that didn’t matter to Gaius. One of the men was Tesserarius Marcellus Quintus. Another was Sesquiplecarus Dracus Armis. Four of Sevilius’ men accompanied them, as well as the surviving Tebu auxilia leading two packhorses. Marcellus recognized Apollo and waved his sword in the air. Gaius urged Apollo down the dune’s steep slope. The shifting sands made the horse’s footing treacherous. Gaius clasped Rashid to him to prevent him toppling from Apollo’s back.
Marcellus rode forward to meet them.
“Ho, Centurion Gaius Linneus,” he called out. “I thought you dead with the others.” He eyed the unconscious Berber with undisguised suspicion.
“Marcellus, help Rashid from my horse. Be careful of his broken ribs.”
Marcellus dropped from his horse and directed the three Tebu to help Rashid down, while Dracus held Apollo steady.
“How did you escape Hamad Rus?” Gaius asked.
“We waited for your return, but when the earth began to tremble, most of the Tebu scattered in terror. Only these three remained. Shortly afterwards, a lone legionnaire, badly injured, emerged from the cavern with a tale of death and destruction before dying in my arms. I wanted to enter and find you, but I remembered your order and set out for Marzuq to warn them of what we had discovered.” He stood at attention and saluted with his clenched fist across his chest. “Your orders, Centurion.”
Gaius smiled at Marcellus’ stoicism. He suspected the grizzled veteran had dozens of questions he wished to ask, but had set them aside as information unnecessary for the completion of his duty. Gaius was glad. He couldn’t yet bring himself to describe what he had witnessed in the bowels of the earth. The horrors too fresh, he feared the recounting of events still unclear in his own mind would make him sound insane to his tesserarius who had not seen them. He faced Sesquiplecarus Dracus.
“Dracus Armis. I want you, two of the legionnaires, and the three Tebu to ride ahead to Marzuq and report to the commander, Sunio Atticus, the destruction of our garrison at Castra-Augustus and the death of Tribune Sevilius and his centuriae. Warn them that Rome now faces a new enemy, more steadfast and deadly than the Garamnates or the Numidians. We now face a shadow army immune to any weapon save fire. They will not believe you, but report it anyway. I will write a letter and affix my seal. That should save you from reprisal from the disbelief of Praetor Augustus.”
“Sir,” Dracus said with a pained expression, “I would ride with you.” He waved his hand at Antonius Cossus. “Let this man deliver your message.”
“Antonius is a good legionnaire, but he is a mere foot soldier without rank. No one would believe these barbarians bearing such a tale. Only a Roman officer can deliver this report. A single sword, regardless of how skillfully you wield it, will not help us in our endeavor to reach Marzuq. I will keep Antonius and one other with me. If we fail, Rome must have warning.”
Dracus nodded. “I will report as ordered.” He backed away to converse with the three auxilia.
“Marcellus, my veteran friend, we enter the lion’s den with this journey.” He stared Marcellus directly in his eyes. “It will likely mean our deaths.”
