The Bones of the Earth (The Dark Age)

by Scott Bury

  Then there was a blur as something else landed on the ground. It grunted, yelled, and moved, and Javor realized it was Antonio. He had thrown himself from his horse when he saw Javor topple. He landed on his feet with his short sword drawn and stabbed at something shadowy. The pressure on Javor’s neck ceased and the two men heard something rustle into the underbrush.

  Javor scrambled to his feet and fumbled for his dagger. “Did you see it?”

  “No. Just a shadow. It’s gone, now.” The legionnaire put his hand behind Javor’s shoulders and pushed him to the deer-path. “Let’s go before it comes back!” They ran for the clearing at the end of the path. Javor ran as fast as he thought he could with the weight of armour and weapons, but the shorter legionnaire was running faster, so he stretched his stride and willed his feet to move faster.

  Is there something behind me? He daren’t look but drew past the legionnaire, who spurred himself on and caught up just as they burst into a clearing. The rest of the troop had formed a protective circle of armoured men and horses, face-guards down and spears up. Two horses parted and Javor and Antonio entered the ring, momentarily safe.

  There were forty legionnaires left; inside the ring were Valgus and Photius, still on their mounts, Valgus still holding the Legion’s standard, as well as seven empty horses. Crouching on the ground were Zdravko and Volos.

  Antonio jumped back astride his horse and took a position in the ring. Javor recognized his own mount and pulled himself awkwardly into the saddle, then loosened his sword and looked around.

  This was no natural clearing; it was a flattish spot on the mountain side where nothing had lived for a very, very long time. Where the trees stopped, the branches that stretched into the clearing looked sickly. Bare rock, creased and blackened, stretched to the sheer cliffs. There was not a blade of grass nor the greyest piece of lichen or moss—just bare rock, cracked, fading to a scree of pebbles that fell down to a lost river. The troop had paused for breath on a wide, grey rock, divided by deep cracks and strewn with boulders. Above, the sky was even darker. Javor could see heavy black clouds moving and roiling. A dry wind scoured their faces with dust, carrying an odour of ash and something sour. Thunder rumbled so deep Javor felt it more than heard it. It seemed almost to be coming up from the ground.

  The troop waited for something to happen. Several of the men crossed themselves and kissed gold crosses that hung from their necks.

  At a word from Valgus, the formation started moving slowly across the slope, gradually rounding a shoulder of the mountain. The men at the rear rode with their bodies twisted around, trying to look around them, and Meridius seemed to be looking in all directions at once. But other than the thunder, there was no sound at all.

  “Look there!” Photius shouted, pointing with his staff up the mountain, and at the same moment, one of the legionnaires at the back called “Look out!”

  Javor looked up the slope and saw a white human form splayed out against the cliff—Danisa!—then whirled back. Two legionnaires were pointing back the way they had come, and others were fitting arrows to longbows.

  Down the slope, near the tree line, stood a group of figures that must have been human, once. They were emaciated, as thin as the vampire-witches on the other side of the mountains. What was left of their clothing hung in rags and strips around them, useless for warmth or modesty. What was left of their hair hung down as raggedly, limp, grey, but most of their scalps were grey or red, creased with tears and rents. They shambled forward, low moans coming from their lips, their eyes dead.

  “Don’t let them near you! I’ve seen them before. They’ll try to eat you!” Javor shouted. The archers aimed their arrows, but waited for orders.

  “They may be the dragon’s victims,” said a soldier.

  “Hold,” said Meridius. “No one shoots until he gets an order!”

  “Don’t wait!” Javor screamed. “They’re not alive!” But at the same time, Zdravko and Volos started calling “Veca! Veca!”

  One of the shambling ruins of a human being came up to the troop, moaning, hands out, palms up in supplication. It touched the leg of a wide-eyed Legionnaire, leaned forward and bared its teeth. A short Roman sword swept down, decapitating the thing. No blood spurted as the body collapsed.

  The other ruins ran toward the troop. Valgus shouted “Shoot!” Arrows flew, each striking one of the apparitions. Some fell back from the impact, but did not die; the rest kept on coming. “Spears!” Meridius shouted, and twelve legionnaires lowered their long spears. “Advance!” he called and the twelve moved forward, skewering the walking corpses. They still didn’t die; sickeningly, they kept grasping forward, trying to get at the legionnaires. They only stopped moving when their heads were severed from their wasted bodies.

  Zdravko and Volos kept calling “Veca! Veca!” They had recognized the human form against the cliff as the young girl, their headman’s daughter, kidnapped two nights earlier.

  No, thought Javor. It’s Danisa. It has to be Danisa.

  She didn’t answer, and for all that Javor could tell, she was as dead as the walking corpses. She seemed to be standing, but she hadn’t moved. Still, her compatriots were alternately calling her and begging Valgus to go get her, or let them do it. But the ring of horses stayed shut. If Veca is there, where is Danisa?

  When the last of the undead forms had collapsed, Meridius ordered the troops to regroup. They began to trot back to their comrades when there was a sudden rumble and a sharp crack! All around them, a flash of light and a burned smell. A Legionnaire screamed as he was enveloped in smoke, then he and his horse collapsed onto the rock. Both bodies were blackened and smoking.

  “Andronicus!” another legionnaire called, spurring his horse to his fallen comrade. “Hold!” Meridius shouted. “Back in formation!” Reluctantly, the man obeyed, eyes full of tears. He made a large crossing motion in Andronicus’ direction. Other soldiers murmured prayers. “This is an accursed place,” someone said, “Even more accursed than the rest of this land.”

  Photius spoke up. “By the cliff, Legate Valgus, is the Sklavenic girl who was taken. She seems to be bound, naked. Doubtless she is bait for a trap. The dragon or someone else wants you to try to take her.”

  “Of course,” Valgus growled, eyes scanning all around. “We cannot—” His words were cut off by several things at once: horses reared and screamed, men shouted and three legionnaires fell from their mounts at once. Javor saw something sliding along the ground and recognized it immediately. “Snake!” He jumped off his horse, drew his dagger and ran for the thing. It was slithering under the horses’ hooves, upsetting them, looping around legionnaires and dragging them down.

  Javor slashed with his dagger in an underhand grip. Gobs of black blood splattered his arm, and he hacked again until he had divided the long body into two madly twisting halves. legionnaires all around him were hacking away and he realized there was more than one big snake. They were dragging limp legionnaires away to the trees or toward the cliffs, disappearing into great rents that had opened in the rock. But when a sword cut them, they slithered away, impossibly fast, disappearing in the deepening gloom.

  And it was getting darker. Even though it was before noon, the light was failing. Thunder grumbled and lightning flashed, and the legionnaires hunkered together in concentric rings, with Zdravko and Volos in the centre, then Valgus, Photius and Javor and two wounded horsemen, surrounded by a ring of mounted men holding their spears pointed outward, and all of them surrounded by a nightmare landscape of black rock, ash, dead legionnaires and horses and the sickening dismembered corpses of the once-humans who had first attacked them.

  “We’ve lost half our men, sir!” Meridius reported. “We’re down to twenty-five.”

  “Valgus, go back home. We don’t stand a chance!” Javor begged.

  “We cannot. It is my destiny.”

  “Listen to me, Valgus. I’ve been in this exact situation before, not three months ago! Your men will all die! I’m the
only one with any chance of surviving this!”

  It was too late for warnings. An unnatural wind blew dust into their eyes from all directions at once. Photius knew what it meant. “The dragon! Scatter, seek shelter where you can!” Horses screamed as the legionnaires dug their heels into their sides. Javor’s horse bucked and he fell heavily to the rock, the second time in one day.

  Then the dragon was among them, huge and terrible. In a blast of wind and fury it landed square on a legionnaire, toppling the horse and snapping its neck. The legionnaire, Tullus, hacked at a claw uselessly until the dragon crushed him.

  Javor hid against a boulder. He looked for his horse but only saw its hooves as it tumbled down the slope.

  Meridius rounded up enough men who were still in their saddles to charge the dragon. Spears bounced off its scales and legionnaires catapulted from their saddles until only Meridius remained. He drew his sword and challenged the beast, which strangely didn’t move. It just looked at Meridius, who met its eyes in challenge …

  “Don’t look at its eyes!” Javor and Photius yelled at the same time. “It will take you into its spell!” Photius continued. Meridius was frozen. Only his horse shied away from the dragon as it extended its long neck, reaching for the centurion.

  Valgus charged to Meridius’ side, grabbed his horse’s bridle and pulled man and mount away from the dragon as it lazily opened its jaws. The two men and two horses scrambled away, just out of reach, but the dragon was only toying with them.

  “Archers!” Valgus yelled. “Aim for the eyes!” There were a few archers left and arrows flew at the dragon’s head, but not one of the darts found their target. The dragon took one archer in its jaws before the man could even scream. Blood flowed down its jaws. Another volley of arrows came, but the dragon swept its tail and knocked down three horses at once, snapping their legs with a sound like timbers splintering.

  The dragon roared in triumph as more arrows and spears bounced off it. Drool hit the rock with a hissing sound.

  Valgus brought Meridius to the rock where Javor hid, then pulled him down from his horse, pulled off the centurion’s helmet and began slapping him on the cheeks. Meridius seemed to sleep with his eyes open, unresponsive, mouth slack. He shook his head and sputtered. “I—I am sorry, commander. I seemed to go somewhere, a voice was speaking to me …”

  “That’s fine, soldier, just don’t look in its eye again,” said Valgus with sorrow in his voice. There was a loud crashing and screaming—the dragon had knocked down more horses and was chewing on one. Men scrambled behind boulders or looked for any other shelter they could find.

  Javor saw Zdravko running up the slope toward Veca. The dragon saw it, too, and went after him. Valgus took that moment to put his strategy into motion. “Spears!” he called. “Go for the base of the neck! Photius! Go!”

  Photius spread his arms and raised his staff, which was glowing red. “Arach!” he cried. The dragon halted and turned toward him. “Aman arach, nan go tharab,” he intoned. The dragon looked puzzled, if anyone could ascribe any expression to such a face. Javor could see the deep scar he had given it.

  Photius’ staff flashed an angry red, and a beam of light seemed to strike the dragon in the face. It blinked, momentarily blinded. Four legionnaires, each with a spear, charged forward at that moment. The dragon saw them, reared up and brought its horrible claws down on two. But one of the remaining spears drove home to the little hollow at the spot where its neck met its body. The tip of the spear bit into the flesh and stayed there. The dragon roared in anger and pain and reared back. This made the spear fly upward, flinging the spearman up.

  What happened next was amazing and horrifying: the Legionnaire let go of his spear and arced through the air; the dragon’s long neck reached out gracefully and the monster caught the man in its jaws, slicing him into three bloody sections.

  But Valgus’ strategy wasn’t finished, yet. Two more legionnaires sprang forward, each carrying a long sword, and while the monster chewed on their comrade, they slashed at its exposed belly. Long and sharp as the swords were, however, they only made shallow cuts into the hide.

  Still, it was the first success the men had had that day, and they took heart as black blood spurted from the dragon’s underside. Its roar changed pitch and it slapped at itself, perhaps to stanch the flow. The two legionnaires ran to relative safety behind a rock.

  The dragon flapped its wings, causing storms of dust and pebbles, and lifted itself off the ground. It turned toward Zdravko, who had almost reached the bound girl, and spat. Zdravko screamed and fell as he was covered in burning phlegm.

  The dragon flapped until it had gained enough altitude, then swooped down on the legionnaires. Passing near the ground it grabbed one in its jaws and one in its claw, flew up high again as arrows missed it, then dropped them, screaming, to break on the barren ground below.

  The dragon dove again, but the men below threw themselves under overhanging boulders or into deep cracks in the rock, and the dragon missed. As it flapped upward, Photius stood up and his voice rang out as his staff flashed red again.

  The spells only annoyed the dragon. It fixed its red eyes on Photius and swooped toward him. At the last second, the old wizard jumped into a deep crevasse which reached across the rocky plain into a dry gully.

  “We’ve got to get that dragon back on the ground!” said Valgus. His plan was falling apart, but Javor knew what he had to do. Standing, he stepped away from his sheltering boulder, drew his dagger and held it up high.

  “Dragon! Monster! You can see me now! Come and get me!” He knew his words sounded brave, but it was all he could do at that moment not to foul himself.

  The dragon noticed him, but it appeared to have learned caution from its last encounter with the dagger. It settled on the ground a full twenty paces from Javor and his knife, its back to the cliff-face, regarding him carefully.

  Photius’ staff flashed again and another group of legionnaires charged forward. With a swipe of its tail and a slash of its claw, it killed all six without even looking at them.

  Javor looked at the dragon, too, careful not to look it in the eye. He noticed, though, a legionnaire climbing the cliff behind it, trying not to make any noise: Antonio. He climbed until he was on a level with the dragon’s head. Then four more legionnaires charged, spears and swords out, past Javor, dodging its claws. Two spear-points dug into the neck. The dragon shook one out, but all the legionnaires grabbed onto either the remaining spear or onto other legionnaires and held it in.

  The dragon roared terribly, angrier than ever, but it couldn’t pull the spear out. Black blood seeped down the shaft and the legionnaires pushed it in harder. Then Antonio leapt, landing on his feet on the dragon’s back. He slipped, then drove his short sword into the scales and it caught on something. The dragon roared again and tried in vain to reach its back. It thrashed, pinned by the spear in its neck, tormented by Antonio’s sword.

  Antonio drew out a knife and started hacking at the dragon’s back. Photius’s staff blasted another flash at the monster, and this seemed to enrage it even more. Now I’ve got you. With the dragon’s attention diverted, Javor ran forward.

  The dragon flapped its wings again, knocking the four legionnaires in front of it down. It shook its neck and back like a wet dog, and Antonio tumbled onto the rocks. The spear in its neck clattered to the ground. The dragon lunged its head forward, snapping toward Photius, but missed, and then faster than a snake it snapped at two legionnaires, killing them instantly. The others scrambled away. Javor couldn’t see Antonio.

  Valgus charged, a spear in one hand and a short sword in the other. Meridius was right behind him. Valgus planted his feet firmly and launched the spear. It flew straight and dug into the dragon’s fresh wound, replacing the previous spear. The dragon slashed a claw and Valgus only survived because Meridius knocked him down.

  But the claw caught Meridius in the side, and one talon tore through his steel armour as if it were parchment. The c
enturion made a choking sound and died, eyes open, before he hit the ground.

  Javor dragged Valgus into the gully to join Photius. “This is useless!” he whispered. His knees were shaking. “Valgus! You’ve only got about seven men left! You and they have to get out of here! I’m the only one who can kill this dragon!”

  But Valgus shook his head. “No, Javor. This is my fate. I must face the dragon. Either I will kill it, or it will kill me.”

  “That’s nonsense! You and your men have to get back to the fortress and bring reinforcements. I have the only weapon that can kill this thing!”

  Valgus smiled sadly. His face was covered with dirt and other men’s blood. “No, Javor, there will be no reinforcements. The fort is empty by now, if my orders have been obeyed.”

  “What about the fresh troops from Drobeta?”

  “There will be no more Roman lives wasted in this damned region. I did not send that messenger yesterday to ask for reinforcements; I sent him to ask for forgiveness for the cohort, that they might be accepted back within the Imperial borders and civilization.

  “And I am redeeming myself for my pride and my folly. I have sacrificed myself to the power of Hell, that my men might enjoy the true light of God again.”

  “But what about the men who you brought here?”

  Valgus smiled again. “All volunteers. All knew they had no chance of surviving.” He took a spear. “But the strategy is sound, Javor. Get your knife ready. Legion! One last charge! One more time!”

  Valgus picked up a spear and jumped out of the gully. On the rock, six men were left, including, incredibly, Antonio; they ran and danced back and forth in front of the dragon, which seemed content to hit them occasionally like a cat playing with a mouse. The men fell, got up again and taunted the dragon.

  Javor climbed out of the gully, hoping the dragon would not notice him. Photius delivered another red blast at the dragon, which spat at him. Photius dodged the poison.

  Valgus yelled a war cry and charged again, driving the spear again into the dragon’s wounded neck. It roared again, but it was ready for the Legate. It neatly plunged a long claw in from the back, bursting through Valgus’ front in a spray of torn metal and blood. Valgus’ eyes bulged out and blood came out of his mouth, and he was dead.