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?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next valley over was empty, a mere cleft in the surrounding cliffs, but the one past that was larger and rounded, circular save for a bulge to the west. The path wound down into the valley, and Dietz was surprised to see sand below, pale sand that belonged in a desert or on a beach, not here in these grey mountains.
Alaric ignored everything else, of course.
“Look there!” he shouted, pointing. “The way that side bulges then flattens in front. That must be the entrance! Look, those are columns on either side!” All Dietz saw were ridges in the cliff face, but he knew his young friend’s eyes were sharp and also trained to notice such details. Besides, he’d been distracted.
Instead of studying the rock walls, as Alaric had, Dietz had focused on the people.
He saw five of them. They were clustered in the valley centre, one of them kneeling while the others stood arrayed in a half-circle. From here Dietz thought they looked like flesh and blood rather than skeletons. Certainly their clothing and armour was more familiar than the antiques the undead warrior had worn.
That didn’t mean they were friendly though.
“Careful,” he cautioned as Alaric started down the path as fast as possible. “We don’t know them.”
“Hmm?” Typically the nobleman had been so fixated on finding the tomb he had barely noticed the strangers. “Oh, right.” He slowed his descent slightly and turned the rusty bronze sword so its blade was low and in front as he reached the valley floor. Dietz was right behind him. He’d taken a heavy mace from the remains. Its engraved brass was rusty but still good and solid in his grip, and he kept it at his side, ready to use it if necessary.
The people below had seen them approaching, of course—Dietz was sure they’d been nicely silhouetted against the sun as they’d topped the rise and started down—and clustered together, one man stepping forwards slightly. Dietz could see the man was around his own age, perhaps forty, with thinning hair fading from black to grey at the temples and a short beard covering a weak chin. The man wore leathers and carried a short sword and a hand axe, the sword in his hand but the axe still hanging at his belt. Behind him stood three other men, one of them big and burly, one slight and stooped, and the third of average height and wiry. A dwarf stood there as well, hefting an impressive pickaxe in his massive hands. The figure on its knees proved to be a woman, judging from the long red hair.
“State your name and business, friend,” the first man called out while still several paces away, raising his sword slightly to indicate they should stop where they were.
“Alaric von Jungfreud,” Alaric replied, sweeping into a bow, “and my associate, Dietz Froebel, and yourselves?”
“That’s yer names,” the dwarf rumbled, glaring at them under his heavy brows. “What o’yer business?”
“We seek knowledge and occasionally fortune,” Alaric replied easily. He glanced at the leader again, “And your names, good sir?”
The man hesitated, and then nodded, apparently swayed by Alaric’s friendly smile and good manners. “Aye, fair enough,” he said. “I am Woldred, Woldred Adelof. These are Goran, Ehrl and Johann.” He indicated the burly man, the stooped one, and the wiry one in turn. “That is—”
“Thorgrek Bellison,” the dwarf interrupted, “of the Thunderstone clan from beneath the Black Mountains.” He glowered as if daring them to contradict him. Alaric merely bowed again.
“And the lady?” he inquired politely.
“That is Therese,” Woldred replied with a smile. “She’d greet you herself but she’s busy.”
“So I see,” Alaric said. Dietz could hear the woman chanting something and noticed a small bundle of some sort spread out before her. Was she a priestess? Or a witch? It was hard to say from here, although her clothing seemed too normal and too patched for a religious figure. In the Empire, of course, only those trained by the Colleges were allowed to practise magic, but Dietz had heard stories that the Border Princes were less controlled and that random people practised hedge magic and other strangeness. Was this woman one of them?
“We were here first,” Thorgrek growled, raising his pickaxe so its long point caught the afternoon light. “Whatever lies within is ours!”
“Now, let us not be so hasty, good sir,” Alaric replied calmly. “We all stand here together, and there is nought to be lost by a little polite conversation.”
The big man, Goran, stepped forwards. He was Dietz’s height but considerably broader and his bulk looked to be all muscle. He moved easily despite the mail shirt and leather jack he wore, and carried a longsword in one hand and a shield upon the other arm, although the handle and pommel of a larger blade poked up from behind one shoulder. His blond hair was cut short and his features were not unpleasant, even though they were set in a fierce scowl.
“You want I should run ’em off?” he asked Woldred, raising his sword so they could not mistake his meaning.
Woldred, clearly the leader, considered for a moment. “We do have the prior claim,” he pointed out to Alaric casually.
“Perhaps,” Alaric agreed. “You certainly arrived first, but we have been seeking this tomb—if it is the one we seek—for months. Surely that counts for something.”
“Intent is not sufficient,” said the stooped man, Ehrl. He had narrow features and lank brown hair. “Possession alone is important.”
“Yet you have not entered,” Alaric replied. “So you do not possess it yet. No one does. We stand before the entrance, all together. Does that not make us all equal owners in whatever lies within?”
“You only stopped because you saw us here,” Oran said, his hand tightening on the sword grip.
“Not so,” Alaric replied. “We have been seeking this very place.” He pulled out his map and held it up long enough for them to notice a few details, and then tucked it away again. “So as you can see, we already possessed this valley and its contents because we held the map to guide us here.”
“A map is not a place,” Woldred replied, although he seemed almost amused by Alaric’s argument.
“It details the place and defines it,” Alaric argued. “By holding the map I hold the details, and what is a place but its details? Therefore I own the place as well.”
Dietz stood back and kept quiet, admiring yet again his employer’s quick mind. Alaric could be a scatter-brained young man at times, but when he wanted something he was as sharp as any merchant or trader Dietz had met, and his good manners hid a keen eye and a clever wit.
“A pretty argument,” Woldred admitted, “but it means little. We are already here and we outnumber you. We could kill you or run you off easily.” He was kind enough not to point out that he and his band were properly equipped and provisioned, while Alaric and Dietz had only their packs and their weapons. Dietz saw all that in the man’s look, however, and understood. If the situation had been reversed he would have considered them mere ruffians or wanderers, certainly not rivals.
“Perhaps,” Alaric admitted, “but what would that gain you?”
“Fewer hands to grab our gold,” Thorgrek said sharply.
“Why should we cut you in?” Woldred asked. Dietz took it as a good sign the man had not yet ordered his companions to attack. He was certainly right about the numbers, and Dietz didn’t doubt Goran alone could take both him and Alaric on, but so far Woldred seemed content to discuss the matter sensibly.
“Because we are experts,” Alaric answered. “My friend and I have searched many a tomb and catacomb. We have a great deal of experience that could help you.” He tilted his head to one side, “Unless you’re already an expert on Nehekharan tombs, of course.”
“Nehekharan?” Ehrl cut in, eyes wide. “How do you know?”
Alaric gestured towards the wall he had noticed from above. “Those are the front gates, are they not?” He didn’t bother to wait for confirmation before continuing. “A set of double doors, unless I’m mistaken. There should be five steps leading up to them.” Now Dietz could see a crack starting partway down the cliff face and running to its base. It was too smooth and too perfectly vertical to be anything but manmade. Running his eyes along it Dietz could just make out another crack at the top and one at the bottom, both running to the left. It was a door and it was partially open.
Alaric had moved on. He gestured towards the columns he had mentioned to Dietz before. From this close Dietz could see that the young nobleman had been right about them, although they were worn almost smooth by years of sand, wind, and rain. “The columns flanking them would have been covered by reliefs originally, showing scenes from the king’s life. There should be a cartouche over the door there, bearing his name and titles.”
“I see nothing,” Ehrl replied. The haughtiness in his tone told Dietz at once that Alaric had met a fellow scholar, and one thing he knew from their time together was that scholars hated to be proven wrong.
“Most of it has been worn away,” Alaric admitted. He stepped closer, holding up both hands to show he meant no harm, the bronze sword dangling blade-down from his waist. Woldred stepped away and the others followed suit, swivelling to keep both Alaric and Dietz in clear sight. Alaric ignored them and concentrated on the cliff face instead. “Ah, here,” he said after a moment. He used the long bronze sword to indicate a spot on the wall between the column’s curve and the crack that might be a door. Dietz could just make out a shape, roughly rectangular although the top and bottom were curved.
Ehrl stepped up beside Alaric and stared at the spot. “A cartouche!” he whispered, dropping to his knees for a better look.
“Yes, most tombs had one to the left and right of the door,” Alaric explained, clearly pleased with his discovery. “The one on the right tells of the curse anyone desecrating the tomb would suffer. This one simply warns that the tomb is not to be disturbed.”
[Daemon Gates 02] - Night of the Daemon Page 8