CHAPTER SIX

“Sigmar’s Beard!” Alaric cried out when he saw the first skeleton pull itself out of the ground, an unfamiliar breastplate over its decayed torso and a few tatters of yellow cloth clinging to its ancient, yellowed bones. His heart was pounding and his breath came in short gasps as he stared at the walking bones. He wanted to cower, to run and hide, to curl up somewhere small and dark and pray that the long-dead warriors did not come for him, but somehow he knew that running was not an option. These creatures would never tire, never stumble and never lose focus. Once they began to pursue him they would chase him forever.

The only way to deal with them was to destroy them.

The first skeleton was making straight for Dietz, who stood frozen as it approached, knife still in his hand. Four more had emerged behind the first, and Alaric slipped around a boulder to get a clear line on the rearmost. “Sigmar preserve us,” he prayed as he moved, hoping against hope that the god might be listening for once. He ran forwards, deciding speed was more important than caution, and stabbed, a clean lunge that took his rapier’s point through the warrior’s chest and out the other side, sliding neatly between two ribs.

“Damn!” Of course the sword would be useless, he thought, cursing his own stupidity. These creatures had no flesh to pierce and no blood to let, and his rapier was useless for hacking. He needed something heavier, something more like—

The straps of his new pack cut into his shoulders as he turned, and he glanced up to see the handle of the hammer he had bartered for in the village. Perfect!

Alaric tugged the hammer free. “Dietz, here!” he shouted, and lobbed it at the older man.

Fortunately Dietz’s reflexes kicked in. He looked up at the sound of his name, caught the hammer instinctively, and used its thick wooden handle to block the sword the lead skeleton swung at him. Then he knocked the blade aside and used the heavy iron hammer to bash in the creature’s face. It staggered back and he swung again, this time at its neck. Alaric could hear the crunch of bone giving way and the skeleton’s head tumbled from its body, which collapsed in a heap at Dietz’s feet. His friend’s lips were moving and Alaric thought he saw the name “Ulric” on them. Of course his friend would be praying to the Winter Wolf, guardian of Middenheim and its people, and here, in these cold grey mountains, Ulric might even pay attention.

He was distracted from watching further when the skeleton he had stabbed before attacked him in turn. Alaric barely managed to sidestep the undead creature’s mace, idly noting the fine workmanship as he did. Unfortunately he had given his hammer to Dietz, leaving him nothing but the rapier that he had already demonstrated was useless against these creatures.

His friend had come to the same conclusion. “Alaric, catch!” He glanced up in time to see the hammer flying towards him even as Dietz pulled the second from his own pack. Alaric fumbled at the hammer and barely caught it. Then he staggered back from the skeleton’s second attack while he shifted the weapon into a proper grip. He swung with it but the hammer was very different from his rapier and he misjudged the balance, missing the creature by a narrow margin. It swung again, a clumsy enough blow that Alaric easily dodged, and this time his own return strike was better aimed, connecting with the skeleton’s upper left arm. The limb shattered and the lower portion fell to the ground and lay still.

It had been clutching the mace with both hands and the loss of one, which lingered on the grip a moment before dropping free, unbalanced it. Alaric took advantage and struck again, this time collapsing the creature’s chest. He almost lost his weapon to the tangle of bones and had to wrench it free, taking a weak blow from the mace as punishment. Then he attacked its right arm and destroyed that limb as well, leaving the skeleton unarmed both literally and figuratively. That allowed Alaric to take careful aim and demolish its neck, leaving nothing but a scattered pile of bones on the ground.

Glancing back over at Dietz, he saw his friend was more than holding his own. Dietz had his knife in one hand and the hammer in the other, and was using the blade to fend off skeletal attacks while the hammer made short work of limbs, necks, and even heads. One of Dietz’s preferred weapons was the axe and this hammer was similar in shape and heft so he was proving very proficient in its use. In the time it took Alaric to destroy a second skeleton, Dietz had put down two more, until at last the two men faced each other over a mound of bones, weapons and armour.

“What in Ulric’s name—” Dietz started. Alaric simply shook his head, letting his hammer drop to the ground now that the attack was apparently over.

“I have no idea,” he admitted, sinking down onto a nearby boulder. He was having trouble getting his mind to focus on what had happened. Pull yourself together, he told himself roughly. You’ve faced a daemon, for Sigmar’s sake! This should be nothing to you!

But daemons were not of this world. These creatures had been. They had been human, once, and somehow that made it worse.

Finally he realised that Dietz was still standing, staring at nothing, and roused himself enough to reply further. “I’ve heard stories of the walking dead but I’ve never seen such things myself, not until now.” He glanced over at the remains. “I know one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“These are not recent bodies.” Alaric stepped over to the first skeleton he’d destroyed and crouched beside it, forcing his mind to focus on the immediate details and thus force back the horror of their recent experience. “See this?” He pointed to a ring around one finger, the band blackened by age. Shapes were visible beneath the tarnish, geometric forms representing stylised suns, moons, and animals. “That sun, the way it’s carved, that is Nehekharan.” He glanced up and grinned. “I’d say we’re close indeed, close enough for someone to send out a welcoming party.”

“It’s a tomb,” Dietz growled at him, kicking the pile of bones out of his way. “They’re all supposed to be dead!”

“They are,” Alaric pointed out. “They’re just still moving.” The idea horrified him too, of course, as did the fact they had just fought several men who were literally nothing but animated bones. But they had been easy enough to defeat once he and Dietz had recovered from their initial fear, and the fact that they were near their goal was exciting enough for him to overcome the terror lurking just below his skin.

“You’re saying there may be more?” Dietz asked, his voice huskier than usual, and Alaric shuddered, suddenly imagining a small army of walking corpses waiting for them deep underground. He forced himself to consider the problem from an academic perspective.

“The Nehekharans buried their kings with servants and warriors,” he explained, calling up the memory of those old lectures at the university. “That way, the king would still have warriors to protect him and servants to wait on him in the next life, thus demonstrating his importance. This king will likely have a sizeable retinue. So yes, if some dark magic awakened these skeletons from the tomb, it may have awakened all the bodies there. We could be facing dozens, scores, even hundreds more like these.”

“We can’t fight that many,” Dietz pointed out.

“We don’t have to,” Alaric replied. He managed a weak smile. “All we have to do is get in and get out. I’ve heard how these tombs are traditionally built, all narrow corridors and winding paths. We shouldn’t have to face more than a handful at a time. We did that here and took care of them easily enough.”

That made Dietz pause and consider the combat they’d just survived. “They’re clumsy,” he said finally, “and slow, all except that one.” He pointed at the first body, the one that had led the charge. Alaric had barely noticed details at the time, but now he saw the breastplate, the sword, and the other accoutrements. In an instant he was kneeling by the remains and eagerly examining the items.

“This must have been magnificent!” he said, lifting the breastplate free to study it in the light. “Look at the workmanship! The detailing!” He poured a little water on the armour and used a sleeve to wipe some of the dirt away, revealing the markings beneath, and traced a flattened oblong shape set into the piece’s upper corner, upon the left shoulder. “This would have been a cartouche, a word-box, a signpost. It probably tells the owner’s name, and this one,” he indicated a similar box on the other shoulder, “most likely tells his rank and perhaps any military decorations he had received.” He studied the gem set just below the centre of the breastplate’s ringed collar. It was a glossy black stone, onyx perhaps, and carved in the form of a winged beetle. “A black scarab,” he whispered, more to himself than to Dietz. He thought back, trying to remember if he’d heard anything about such a symbol. “Scarabs are for protection,” he said out loud, remembering, “powerful figures granting strength, defence, wisdom, magic, a whole host of attributes, but a black one suggests death, protective death? Killing others to spare you?”

Alaric set aside the breastplate for the moment to pick up the helm, a matching piece inscribed with runes and Nehekharan hieroglyphs. Another black scarab was placed just above the nose. Bracers and greaves completed the set, all encrusted with centuries of dirt and rust but still showing hints of their former glory.

The creature’s sword was also amazing. It was longer than most blades Alaric had seen and as wide as a longsword but thicker, with a small round guard, a circular pommel and a blade that curved like a question mark. The sword was bronze and rusty but still serviceable, although the guard and pommel were covered in grimy but otherwise intact gold and the handle was wrapped in treated leather that had long since turned black and brittle. The sword’s tip hooked back slightly, forming a nasty barb.

“Strange shape,” Alaric mused, hefting it experimentally. “I’ve seen a few Nehekharan reliefs and the warriors were holding something that looked almost like a flattened sickle. I wonder if this is what the artists meant. It seems it would be good for both chopping and slashing.” He set it aside. If they did encounter more skeletons he might do better with that blade than with the hammer.

Each of the skeletons had jewellery, they discovered upon checking. Most had simple rings and bracelets and necklaces, tin and bronze with stones they recognised as only moderately valuable. The first skeleton had items of silver and even gold, and the gems on his jewellery seemed more valuable, amethysts and citrines instead of agates and marbles. Most of the items were rusted or corroded or tarnished and some of the gems had cracked from time and exposure.

“This one was definitely a warrior,” Alaric finally confirmed, indicating the first skeleton. “These others were servants, not soldiers. That’s why they were weaker, slower. One real soldier and a handful of servants sent to pretend.”

“Great, skeletal hierarchies,” Dietz muttered just loud enough to be heard, and Alaric laughed.

“It’s a good sign for us,” he pointed out. “If they had enough warriors to send a full patrol of them, why not do so? This suggests whoever commands them has only limited troops. He’s padding his army with servants to make his forces look bigger.”

Then he hauled himself to his feet.

“Well, we’re close now,” he announced, clapping his hands together. “I doubt those things range far from home, especially on a lovely morning like this. Most likely they patrol right around the tomb to keep away any unwanted visitors.”

Alaric glanced over at Dietz, who nodded and scooped up their packs. They took a moment adjusting their gear again, and then Alaric picked up the skeletal warrior’s sword and turned to his friend. “Well?” he asked with a grin, “What are we waiting for?”