20 We Hold The Line

ATTACKS THROUGHOUT the city of Icarthya continued, the Medicary filling up - a new building had to be requisitioned to house the injured.

Order had begun to break down. There were reports of riots in the Muck and Pleth Quarters and attacks on the city’s food stores. For now, the Actaeon Guard managed to control the situation, but Artorius knew it would get worse.

As for the dead, he had ordered the bodies burned in all instances, no exceptions. No funerals, no weeping relatives, at least not in view of the pyres. The sight of bloated bodies, with some still moving, no matter that they were wrapped in muslin shrouds, would have driven some relatives to madness. There were times when Artorius felt he stood on the edge of sanity himself with a chasm on the other side, not least in part because he hadn’t been sleeping.

He’d returned home earlier, and found his wife gone. His daughter too. At least he knew Silv would be in good hands with Clip and her people, but his wife? The imperatrix was the most protected person in the imperium and as long as Morla stayed close to her, there was no better place. He needed to believe that, though the incident at the church had unnerved him.

He marched through one of the city parks in the Pleth Quarter with three dozen greencloaks, and a dozen mages paired off in twos. None of his soldiers went anywhere without several virals in tow. He knew none of the living could fight against these creatures, but he also knew they couldn’t sit on their hands and wait for the undead to do something either. At least, he couldn’t.

‘Right in there,’ pointed the merchant who had guided them to the warehouse beyond the park, which was nestled between a merchant house and the Travius Market. It was a sprawling collection of buildings with side entrances to the street and a large courtyard at their centre.

The warehouse itself had been used to store grain from Ewsann, and so sat within fifty feet of the river. Lately, though, many such warehouses lay empty. A lot of the grain had simply rotted to nothing within hours as though afflicted by disease. Starvation in the imperium, never mind just the capital, seemed a real possibility.

The bastards are trying to wear us down, he decided. Bleeding us until we’re too weak, too broken to do anything about it. Then they’ll come. What he said aloud to the merchant however, was, ‘Thank you, sir. You’ve done a great service to the imperium.’

‘The Grim piss on the imperium,’ the merchant spat, with a wary glance for the undead. ‘Just get rid of those things in there. I can’t take any more of my wife’s screeching, you hear? Enough to drive any decent man to madness.’

Artorius had nothing to say to that, letting the man go his way. In Markus Olen’s time, such negativity towards the imperium might have led to his arrest, or at the very least a hefty fine.

Sarscha Todralan was different. She believed in letting people air their views freely. At least, within reason. She was no fool. Even so, the imperial marshal wasn’t convinced it was a good strategy. It seemed more likely to him that people would air their views to the point of revolt.

The building was a massive stone structure designed to keep the grain cool and dry, and it had an upper level with a balcony and offices for the grain merchants. No doubt those offices contained a lot of paperwork, which if investigated would reveal plenty of corruption. Money lining the pockets of merchants as the price of grain soared, no doubt. Well, that was a problem for yesterday, and it had never been his job anyway. Today’s problems were far worse.

They entered the warehouse through a thick wooden door. It stank of old grain and a damp musty smell of rot. He couldn’t see much, the interior shrouded in gloom. One of the greencloaks lit a torch, and then used it to light two more. The floor was littered with rotting grain, black and mouldy, along with pieces of papyrus and bits of old furniture, several dead lizards, rats, and pigeons. He heard a kecc’s whine as it bolted in fright out the rear of the building.

The mages spread out, not needing torchlight to see. Their talents amazed him, but they frightened him too. That the living needed the undead to protect them should have frightened anybody in his book. It terrified him no end.

‘Doesn’t look as though anybody’s about,’ Captain Lazar noted. She was absently rubbing her right hip, where he knew she’d taken a wound like his. They were both on borrowed time, but all they could do was as the imperatrix ordered. Hold the line.

As though to contradict the captain, a shadow detached from a far wall, and the mages began to gather towards it. It lumbered to the edge of the light.

Artorius grabbed one of the torches and marched forward, some instinct biting at him. It turned out he was right, but he wished he hadn’t been.

The baker’s wife, who had lain dead outside of her husband’s shop with her body blackened, lurched like an insane drunk. She was mostly naked apart from a few scraps of clothing, and her body had blackened considerably more since. Enough of her upper face remained to identify her.

She leapt at the nearest mage so fast the others had no time to react. One of their counterattacks went wild, striking the wall of the warehouse instead, sending chunks of stone and dust flying, and soldiers ducking.

The baker’s wife was ripping into the hapless viral with her teeth. The other mages gathered around her and raising their hands worked their mysterious power.

Artorius didn’t see exactly what they did, but the woman, or what used to be a woman, exploded. Pieces of wet rotting flesh flew everywhere. The viral she’d attacked lay still, his neck eaten away to the point his spinal cord was showing.

‘I didn’t think virals died so easily,’ muttered Lazar, licking her lips, ‘if you could call it dying. I mean, do they die if they’re not alive in the first place?’ She looked to the other virals as though waiting for an answer, though none was forthcoming. For what it was worth, they looked shaken too.

The implication of the viral’s demise wasn’t lost on Artorius either. If they could die like this, then what chance had anyone else?

‘I don’t think it usually happens this easily,’ Artorius eventually said. ‘Whatever infected the woman was magical, and it seems it can kill the undead too.’

‘Doesn’t seem to make a difference though, does it,’ muttered one of the greencloaks, a corporal by the name of, Deel. ‘They die, we die. All the same.’

The captain glanced at Deel and then back to Artorius, her face grim. ‘He’s got a point. Guess we know what’s in store for us, eh?’

‘Didn’t I order all bodies burned,’ the imperial marshal snapped, ignoring the fact this one had obviously gotten up and walked off before anyone could get to it.

‘There’s been a lot of them to take care of,’ noted the captain. ‘We gather them, feed the pyres, but the numbers are growing.’

For a long moment, Artorius watched the mages examine their fallen companion, and the pieces of strewn flesh. The virals would take care of their own. He walked away a few paces with a nod for the captain to follow him. He spoke low so they wouldn’t be overheard. The other soldiers were inspecting the rest of the warehouse.

‘This is only going to get worse,’ he said. ‘Soon enough half the city will be trying to eat the other half. I guess that’s their plan.’

‘Uh, who is they exactly?’

‘The sorceress, the Darkness, those nightmare creatures, does it bloody matter?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘We do everything we can to stop it, and if we die doing it, all the better. I’d rather not turn into her, if possible, however. I imagine you feel the same way?’

Lazar nodded, but said nothing, turning about and barking orders at the other soldiers. The city of Icarthya didn’t have much time left, it seemed.

Threadfin Todder, the imperial marshal thought, you’d better come through for us, or you’ll have no city to come back home to. And you’d better do it soon.

‡

Over the following two days, the killings worsened. Bodies were discovered with throats ripped out, or faces chewed off. None of these corpses bore the same signs of infection, but Artorius repeated his order to burn all bodies anyway.

Within two days of the baker’s wife encounter, many more pyres sprang up throughout Icarthya. Imperial messengers arrived bringing harrowing reports from Frayle, Lame, the borderlands, Tystria, Paldan, Ancyra, Hatava, and from Byrsa too. All with their own terrible tales of dark creatures and countless deaths.

The imperatrix stood beside him on the balcony of the Tower of Wept facing southwest, overlooking the Black Palace below and the docks beyond. On their left to the east was the Adalcis Ocean. Dawn had spread its red glare across the city, and it lit half of Sarscha’s face aglow, as though she was some sort of ancient goddess, or perhaps an angel. More than one of those had resided in the palace at one point or another. Paladin Raziel had seemed so human most of the time, that Artorius had struggled to believe it.

With the threat of those nightmares everywhere, not to mention their victims rising to commit countless murders, Artorius had insisted the imperatrix move into Threadfin’s Tower. It wasn’t as if the mage himself was going to be using it anytime soon.

‘He’d have a fit if he knew we were up here, you know,’ she said as though reading his mind. ‘Very territorial is my brother. A good man though, if a little rough around the edges.’

Artorius glanced down and picked out some of the four score imperial guardians who stood watch around the tower’s base. He’d spotted Morla among them, but he’d ignored her this time. In truth, he still struggled with her decision. Surely her first place was with their daughter?

There was another two score greencloaks at the base of the stone stairs leading up to the top of the hill. Sarscha had complained about the number of soldiers, but he was taking no chances. He’d even thrown a few viral mages into the mix, several of them hidden from sight.

A small figure joined them on the balcony with a silver tray and two silver cups of watered wine. The goblets were ornate, inlaid with rubies. The marshal declined, but the imperatrix accepted.

‘Thank you, Nipper,’ she began and then paused, staring at the ornate silver cup. ‘Are these my ...’ When she looked down again, Nipper had vanished. ‘You know, I gave them their freedom, but that one still hangs about here. I didn’t even ask for anything, but he seemed to know. I don’t know what Threadfin is always complaining about. That mongrel is a very good servant.’ She sighed. ‘Well, at least I got one of my priceless goblets back.’

Artorius grinned, and then Sarscha burst out with a laugh, which sounded so wrong with everything that was happening. Yet it felt good. ‘Threadfin warned me about them, alright. They have ... how did he put it again? Sticky fingers. Yes, that was it.’

‘Although from what he told us of Volcanus’ end,’ said Artorius, ‘I can’t see why they still would have the need to take anything.’

She nodded at the goblet. ‘Well, it does look like he’s returning some of it.’ Sarscha drained her cup and then dropping it from the balcony, she watched it bounce on the rocks below. ‘Our city will soon be overrun, and yet here I skulk.’ Her tone was quiet and bitter. ‘I don’t like this, Art. I understand why, but I do not like it.’

‘You said yourself, we hold the line, but we can’t do it without you. You’re our leader. If you fall, then we all do.’

She shook her head. ‘Maybe I used to be that leader, Art, but it seems a long time ago.’

For a long moment, the imperial marshal remained silent. ‘What did you say to me once, in the palace library? Remember?’

She turned towards him, eyeing him with suspicion as though worried what words of hers he might use against her.

‘You said, “We’re stuck in the swamp, up to our necks in it, but we’re stuck together.” I can never be the imperial marshal you were. Your legend is far greater than the woman who stands beside me. Use that legend, and they will rally to you. We have a fight on our hands the likes of which we’ve never seen before. We will need everyone, but you most of all.’

Sarscha shook her head with a wry smile. ‘Funny, but someone else, a person very dear to me, once told me much the same thing.’ She laughed. ‘I guess I’m becoming a complaining old fool. You are right, but—’ The smile froze along with her words.

Artorius followed her gaze and felt the hairs on the nape of his neck lift. To the east, backlit by the rising sun, massive shapes appeared on a shimmering horizon. At first, he couldn’t tell what they were. They didn’t look like ships, but slowly, inevitably, they neared. Warning bells tolled across Icarthya as mayhem ensued below. It seemed at odds, the distant organised panic, with the peace of the old Tower of Wept.

‘We are under attack,’ he managed, knowing he was stating the obvious, but unable to think of anything else.

‘I think we’ve been under attack for a while,’ replied the imperatrix dryly. ‘This is simply another wave, marshal.’

He nodded, turned, and headed down the tower steps, and back outside. He headed straight for the stone stairs leading back down to the city. When he noticed she had followed him, he halted and turned. ‘No! Imperatrix, you must remain here.’

She approached him with a sad smile, and laid a hand on his armoured shoulder. ‘My dear Art, what is it you just said I should do? Use the legend of my name and reputation. I can’t do that from up here. Besides, this fight will need everyone. You said that too.’

He bit back a curse, one he dared not utter in front of the imperatrix, no matter that she was known for a sharper tongue. He’d meant what he’d said, but he hadn’t meant that Sarscha get right into the thick of it, especially this fast. Besides, Morla would likely go wherever the imperatrix did.

He gestured at the guardians near the tower. ‘All of you,’ he instructed the several dozen soldiers, most of them veterans, ‘remain with the imperatrix. No exceptions, no matter what she says. You are her last line of defence.’ He added that last with a final glance for his wife. Morla just smiled in return. Did she not understand what she’d gotten herself into? Both women would give him heart failure before this was over.

He turned and swept down the stairs as fast as safety would allow. He knew that by the time he reached the bottom the strange otherworldly ships would be closer. They were under attack alright, from both within and without, and Artorius Agrippa knew it was his job to hold the line.

Threadfin Todder, he thought, you feckless, irritating undead mage, you’d better come through for us all, and do it fast.