He turned to the scouts that had made it back to him. According to the reports, many hadn’t.
“Tell me again, how many are coming?”
“Sir, I waited as long as I could before I turned to bring the news. The grounds outside the walls of the city were full of the undead, sir. My guess would be over seventy thousand.” one of the scouts said. He was a man who looked close to retirement had there been anywhere safe for him to retire to.
“Tell me exactly what you saw,” he demanded.
“Sir, we had just brought the base of the walls in sight. We were setting ourselves up a lookout post when the first Risen of them came over the walls, in small numbers to start with, then more. Soon there was no space on the walls for the creatures climbing out of the city. They began to form up, filling the fields outside Rome. Then a group of them headed straight for us and we had to turn and run.”
Otho had been walking back and forth in front of the three scouts, listening as he walked, now he turned to the man who gave the report.
“They began to form up? What exactly do you mean by that?” he asked, fear filling him at the answer that might be returned to him. His worst fears soon sounded on the scout's lips.
“Sir, they lined up in ranks. I would not have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”
“And you think they are heading this way?” he queried, even though he had already heard the answer once.
“Sir, I turned and the last thing I saw was the whole lot of them starting this way,” the scout would venture no more but after hearing that this mindless undead horde had begun to act like a reasonably well drilled army, the emperor was in no doubt about what was happening.
“Sound the signal to form up outside the camp,” he said to one of his aides, and the man ran from the tent.
Otho turned to Numarius and Ursus. The two men had remained silent while their emperor questioned the scouts. "My friends, it would appear that this is our moment.”
Both men, good men, nodded and saluted Otho. He nodded back and swept back into the tent.
Garic ran to where he had left his shield before visiting the legate’s tent. The new recruits did not have the same armour as the regular legionaries, the legions simply did not carry that many spare items. They did, however, carry shields and gladius, the same as their legion mates, enabling them to form a shield wall.
Turning to centurion Firminho, the men waited to be given instructions and units were rushing to the walls but they had standing room for very few men.
The centurion pulled a man to him and sent him running toward the command tent, trying to get information that might allow him to give orders to his men. His face was calm, his dark eyes scanning the camp, looking to see what his fellow officers were doing. Garic marvelled at the way he kept his head while so much panic was happening around him.
More notes sounded from the cornicen, Garic had no idea what the order was but Firminho was soon shouting for his men to follow him out of the gate and to form up on the grass plain outside.
He and Hakor kept close to each other as a rush of men tried to leave the camp. Garic tried to keep his eye on any of the men from his own century, not knowing if he would find his place on the field if he did not. Eventually, they cleared the gate, keeping Centurion Firminho in sight and formed up with the rest of the legions.
Fear prickled down his spine as he stood, watching the back of the head of the man in front. Waiting to hear instructions and hoping that he would not let himself down and he realised that in all the excitement that he had forgotten to relieve his bladder. Now he looked around him for a place to go, seeing only a sea of nervous and anxious faces. As if he had read Garic’s mind a legionary in the rank in front of his began to urinate onto the grass at his feet. Garic took his cue and did the same. With his bladder empty, his fear somehow felt diminished. He felt the hilt of his sword on his belt and sent up a prayer to the gods.
Hakor placed a heavy hand on Garic’s shoulder and the Roman turned to see the big man was holding out his other hand.
“It’s been good knowing you, my friend,” the Egyptian said grimly.
He shook the offered hand and pulled the big man to him in a tight hug. “It’s been an honour,” was all he could say.
Chapter Twenty Six
Lucia chafed at the pace the legionaries were setting. She felt like she could run all the way. Yet at the end of each day when the soldiers dug their marching camp, she had to admit that she too needed rest as she slumped down on a bedroll and rubbed her aching feet. They were days out of camp and there was still no sign of Regulus. Fear and doubt kept creeping into her mind that they had somehow missed him on the road or that he had seen them coming and hidden until they had moved on. Worse still, he may be hurt and unable to call for help and they could have walked straight past him.
Up ahead a deep pine forest stretched for miles, climbing the low slopes of the mountains beyond. There was no more than a few miles to go before they came to the edge of the trees, and then what? Did they venture in, not knowing where they should be heading or even if they were in the right place?
Two hundred men had left the camp which was all the men the army could spare while still leaving the estate defended. The two legions who had been the first to encounter the Risen were now no more than a desperate band of survivors.
The undead they had encountered on the road had been put down without even stopping. Each time they had come up behind one of the shambling creatures, one of the legionaries had stepped out of line and dropped it to the ground with a thrust or swing of his sword. A trail of dead lay behind them, but it was no preparation for what wait ahead.
In the end it was not Lucia, but one of the young legionaries who spotted Regulus. He was on the far side of a golden, grassy plain that lay at the edge of the forest of firs. Regulus was just reaching the trees when the man at the front shouted that he had seen him.
She felt the previous days of fear and panic overwhelm her and she began to run toward Regulus, heedless of the shouts and warnings of the men around her. She almost got away from them, but a strong pair of hands grabbed her around the waist and she struggled to free herself.
Vitus ran toward her and the man who held her, gesturing for the legionary to put her down. He took her by the shoulders and shook her a little, forcing her to look at him.
“He’s going in there alone,” she said, trying to deny the tears as they welled up.
“We are going in after him,” Vitus said, “but we can’t just rush in there, though.”
“We have to hurry, or we’ll lose him,” she argued.
“Lucia, stop and think. He has been heading in a straight line since he left your estate, and it looks like he’s still heading in the same direction.” he waited until she relaxed in his grip, and then turned to the men around them.
“I can’t force you all to go in there. If the lad we're chasing is right, we are heading straight to the source of all this trouble. I have no idea what is waiting for us, but it seems to be the place all the Risen have been heading toward.” He waited for a response but none came. These men were survivors and they had been dealing with the Risen longer than anyone, but he could not do more than ask for their help.
“Any man who does not wish to join us is free to head back to camp, and there will be no shame or punishment for doing so. If you wish to carry on, we are going in now. Every volunteer, step forward,” the centurion said and smiled as every man before him stepped toward him, as if in formation.
“Good. We go in quiet, and we spread out. Be ready to be attacked, those undead bastards have to be somewhere in there!”
Vitus drew his sword and waited until each man had done the same. Lucia saw Gallus slapping the flat of his blade against the palm of his hand, grinning manically. They crossed the field at a jog feeling the grass brush against their legs and she felt cold sweat prickle on her spine at the edge of the woods, where there seemed to be a gloom that the sinking sun could not pe
netrate.
They slowed down and crept into the forest - the silence was stifling, nothing was moving in front of them. Lucia saw Vitus spread his arms, signalling his men to space themselves. It would not do to be caught in a tight group in such a confined space, as each man would need room to swing a sword. The trees and the undead enemy would make the usual tight formation less effective than a free moving, looser group.
A low mist lay on the ground, heavy and damp. Lucia could feel the cold biting at her feet as they moved further into the forest, checking each blind turn and tree for hidden enemies. Even birds or small mammals could be heard, and the forest seemed dead.
After a few minutes the mist seemed to get thicker and it was becoming harder to see where they were going. She looked around her, trying to gain some comfort from the armoured men. The two hundred strong unit had seemed so big while they had been on the road. Now she realised she could see no more than half a dozen men, including Vitus.
Two things happened at the same time, instantly causing chaos and dividing the force of living men. A Risen appeared out of the fog in front of Lucia and an unseen legionary screamed. She reacted out of instinct, dropping to one knee and allowing the lunging arms to grasp at the now empty air above her head. She twisted out of its path and hacked at the back of its leg. The creature dropped away from her, unable to stand on its destroyed limb.
Other men were crying out, some in pain and others in fear and the sound of fighting could be heard all around them. Vitus stepped over the prone creature and ended it swiftly. He turned only to be attacked by a second, his reactions saving him as he stepped to one side and sliced his sword across the Risen’s forehead.
“Legionaries, to me,” Vitus called into the mist. Only Gallus and no more than ten other men appeared like spectres in the eerie haze. “Form a guard around Lucia. We move in this direction, and we move fast. Take out anything that attacks but if it’s down, we leave it.”
The men formed a tight square around Lucia. Far from feeling safe, she felt caught in a trap. She had grown to be quite proficient with her sword in the past few months and she wanted her arm free to wield the blade. These men were veterans, however, and she allowed them to do what they did best.
Out in the fog more men shouted out, calling to friends and crying in pain. The Risen seemed to be everywhere, appearing and then disappearing. Lucia saw an elderly woman with green mould growing down one side of her ruined face, flit in and out of sight. Her eyes were vague and dead, but her teeth were bared and her arms outstretched, ready to attack.
A man behind Lucia in the formation fell away, his cry lost in the fog. The men to either side of him closed the space and kept moving. A Risen attacked one of the sides of the moving square and one of the legionaries kicked out, sending the undead tumbling into the darkness as the formation moved on.
A man voice cried, “stand, hold your line!” out of the mist. Despite their loses, the legionaries soldiers were fighting back against the unseen enemy. The Risen had managed to drawn them in and cut them down. It was frightening in its simplicity and terrifying in calculation. These were not the mindless beasts who had first attacked the legions all those months ago.
Vitus dropped to one knee, letting an undead jump at him. Two swords met the leaping creature and both found a home, one in its shoulder and the second in its temple. One of the blades was Lucia’s and she withdrew it and hurriedly stepped over the corpse.
Time lost all meaning in the darkness. The dense canopy of trees let in almost no light and mist continued to shroud the enemy, hiding them from sight. Distances were unfathomable; what might be a mile, could also be a few yards. Lucia felt terror gripping at her, choking the breath from her lungs.
In a rush, a number of Risen came out of the fog and crashed into the group. The young woman was thrown to the floor, tumbling and rolling, not knowing where she was or whether the bodies around her were those of friend or foe. She lay still for a moment, paralysed by fear and unable to get to her feet through anticipation that she might feel hands or teeth on her flesh.
A hand took hold of hers and a voice she knew said, “Get up and run, keep hold of me.” Vitus dragged her to her feet, pulling her along behind him. She had no idea where she was or where they were going. Out of the fog a voice screamed in terror. A splash of blood split the mist to her right, a fountain of crimson that was immediately lost in their headlong rush.
They twisted and turned blindly in the darkness, around them living men and undead fell in a bloody cacophony of shouts and screams.
Then without warning Vitus stopped. He pulled her close to him, glancing around wildly. They had lost sight of every living man, and the shouts and screams seemed to be further away than they had been since the first Risen had attacked. Suddenly the forest around them was still.
Up ahead was a clearing, standing in the middle was a hut that both of them had heard described more than once. It was a twisted rotten thing that brought to mind decomposing flesh. Animal skins hung from the eves, matted and bloody.
In the centre of the clearing a hooded figure was moving toward the door of the hut. He did not see them and before Lucia could cry out, Regulus was lost from sight.
It was the forest of his dreams. From the first moment he stepped into the wood, Regulus knew he had found his destination. The pulling, sucking sensation that had drawn him to this place was stronger than ever but now had a pleasant, welcoming feel behind it. As if something were at once eager for him to get to the temple of blood, and relieved that he had made it this far.
The floor of the forest was damp and thick with fallen fir needles, and the mist seemed to be drawn from the ground rather than sit above it, like steam from a simmering pot. The trees were dark, oppressive and reaching, making him feel claustrophobic.
Moving deeper into the trees a path opened up, seemingly for Regulus’ benefit. The trees near the edge of the path seemed to withdraw rather than reach for him. It was the path he had walked a hundred times in his dreams.
In those dreams his feet had been bare, he had felt the undergrowth and fallen needles - now he wore hobnailed boots. He moved slowly, leaning on his staff.
The first Risen he encountered was standing at the side of the path. He appeared to him out of the thickening mist. He stepped backwards, assuming he would be attacked but the undead did not react to his presence. Slowly he stepped in front of the creature, ready to slip away if he made any kind of move towards him.
The Risen was a young man, not much older than Regulus himself. His once olive complexion had turned a darker grey than most Risen, and black streaks showed under the skin on his face. His eyes seemed aware, darting from side to side as if looking for something in the fog, but not seeing the young man who stood before him.
It did not feel like the Risen was ignoring him. His eyes did not avoid him, rather they seemed to look straight through. There was no tensing of muscles or twitching like an undead who had sensed prey, this one did not even seem to know that he was not alone.
Regulus moved further along the path. This was the place he had first visited in his dreams where he had followed a unit of legionaries to a clearing, there they had found a hut and met their end. It had been the start of the apocalypse, the beginning of the whole mess.
A female Risen was standing, almost leaning against a tree a few yards off the path. The fog thickened, hiding the woman from view but she showed no more sign of seeing Regulus than had the first undead. He watched her, ignoring the gnawing pull in his stomach that told him to hurry, to run to the hut.
Away, back toward the south, Regulus heard the sounds of fighting begin. It meant little to him, as if it was happening in another world, another universe, and maybe it was. He felt detached from reality, as if he was existing in a space parallel to the one he had always known. Maybe that was why the undead were not seeing him.
The path meandered through the forest, so familiar to Regulus, and yet so unreal - as if he was visiting a pla
ce he had only ever seen in a temple mural. Then out of the gloom, the hut appeared in the clearing at the end of the path. It seemed to suck the dull light out of the air and spoil the very breath in his lungs.
Behind him screams rent the air, leaving violent, muttered curses in their wake. The sounds of fighting seemed so far away but the suffering it caused seemed to be pulled toward the hut, feeding it, making it grow.
Regulus felt himself drawn to the hut and yet a powerful force seemed to be pushing against him. He tried to move his feet but the very ground was dragging at them, making them impossible to move. He had been here before in his visions, and he had been locked out of the temple for the longest time, too weak to break through this invisible wall.
The sounds of chaos continued behind him but he closed his eyes and concentrated all his will on the task at hand. He pushed with his mind, forcing the barrier backward toward the hut.
The walls of the hut began to bleed. Not the crimson of his vision but the thick, black oily tar that passed for blood in the undead. It oozed out from under the roof and ran down the windows, forming in tarry puddles on the ground around its base.
The animal skins began to twitch, turning their heads in jerking, flexing spasms. The wolf skin began to howl until Regulus held out a hand and the noise stopped. The cries of the dying men did not stop, however, and the screams grew in volume, terror and panic in each outburst.
Eventually Regulus was at the door of the hut. He had wished himself here, in this place, night after night. Now he finally was where he wanted to be, fear made him wish to be anywhere else.
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