Carpathian: An Event Group Thriller (Event Group Thrillers)

by David L. Golemon

THE DACIAN KINGDOM YEAR AD 12

  … The rain was unrelenting. The water refused to soak into the hard scrub of the mountains and the result was that small lakes developed from the massive runoff and all stood in the path of the eighty-eight men of what was left of the expeditionary force of the V Roman Legion. They had been ordered detached from the whole of the legion and sent north from the Danube River thirty-five days hence.

  The men of the Fifth were in ill temper as the deadly attacks had continued against their ranks after moon-fall the past three nights. They would await the coming of the sun, if it chose to show itself at all to the Romans, and then they would tally the dead from the previous night’s horrors. During the darkest hours of the previous night there had been sixteen men butchered and left hanging on the scrubby small trees of the region, a reminder that the Romans, or anyone else for that matter, were trespassing on land that would be defended to the full capability of the local inhabitants of this bleak mountain range.

  Centurion Marcus Paleternus Tapio was the commander of the expedition sent to the unmapped wilds of Dacia to punish the people of that region for their support of co-counsel Pompey Magnus against his onetime friend and brother Gaius Julius Caesar during the four-year civil war that ravaged Rome and its legions. Thus far in two months of campaign they had yet to come across a village or even one single man that had ever heard of Gaius Julius Caesar, or even of the Roman Empire that had invaded their country. The centurion’s conclusion was that the people of the Carpathian region had not been involved in their homeland’s ill-advised alliance with Pompey Magnus. The punishment campaign had been ordered by the legal heir to Caesar’s fortune and power, Octavian, or as he was now known, Augustus Caesar, emperor of the Roman Empire and thus the most powerful man in the world.

  Thus far they had burned over fifty small villages on their trek northward from the Danube. It had been that way until six nights before when they entered the mountainous region known to the locals as the Patinas Pass. The area was situated high in the Carpathian Mountains and was once thought to be controlled by the traitorous Dacian king, Burebista, but they had discovered that the Patinas region in the Carpathians belonged to no one man. The peasants here paid tribute to nothing but the land, the sky, and the animal life that existed in the rough mountainous range. It was in this place that they started to hear the screams of Roman sentries being murdered in the night. No matter the size of the stockade, moat, tangle foot, or sharpened barbs of spear or arrow erected for the night’s camp security, none could keep at bay whatever nightmare was attacking and tearing his men apart.

  Centurion Tapio looked at the list of men he had lost. The expedition was now down from eighty-eight to forty-nine men of the Fifth. The experienced Roman commander knew when it was time to cut and run from the region.

  The centurion looked up at first spear of the cohort and his second in command, Julius Antipas Cricio. The man was well scarred from his many campaigns in support of first, Julius Caesar, and now he murdered in the name of Augustus. The large soldier stood at attention barely Bible in the shadow-inducing tallow-fueled lamp as it spit out its weak light.

  “This campaign ends tomorrow. We burn the stockade at dawn. I want the fires hot enough that every man, woman, and child in the region knows that we are leaving this place of evil. They can have it and take it to hell with them.”

  The first spear centurion looked at his commander. Instead of sending for at least another cohort of legionaries or cavalry detachment, this element of the Fifth would tuck its tail between its legs and run back to the south, defeated, embarrassed, and disgraced among their peers of the Fifth Legion.

  “There are but three or four men in the attacking party. If we are patient we can ambush them as they come in for their nightly attacks. We need not retreat in the face of this thing. We dishonor the eagle standard of the Fifth Legion,” Cricio countered, hoping the thought of the golden eagle’s shame would change his commander’s mind.

  “Then place a wheat sack over the damn eagle as we retreat, First Spear Centurion. I do not care about the honor of the eagle. I want what’s left of my men out of these mountains. There is no honor to be found here.”

  “We run from peasants? The Roman Empire will be chased away by mere men that have a tendency for the dramatic in their way of killing. We can never live this down, Centurion, and I wish my protests to be placed in your report that I do not agree with your decision to retreat. We must stay and fulfill our orders from the Senate, the people of Rome, and Caesar Augustus.”

  “I will not do that, old friend, but I will allow you to take the rearguard action as we leave this pass. With these duties you can try and thwart this evil that has enveloped us since entering these mountains.”

  “I will heed your orders, and if I do manage to thwart these attacks in the night, may I expect a change of those orders?”

  The centurion smiled for the first time in days. “You kill the evil that has befallen us and you will be in command of the expedition, not I. You will have proven your worth to Emperor Augustus.”

  The first spear returned the smile. “How many men am I to have in the rear guard?”

  “Take with you the four Berserkers. We’ll see if the natives of this backward land are as frightened of their legends as we. The Danube Berserkers may be better suited to fight whatever dwells in the night in this devil’s region.”

  “The Berserkers it is.” Antipas Cricio replaced his red cloak against the chill of the damp evening and then before leaving he faced his old friend. “That’s all it is, you know, an old legend that only a fool would believe in. Animals that walk upright?” He laughed against the bitter feeling he was having against his own words of strength. “I think we’ll find five or six old soldiers out there that have learned what it is that frightens the mighty Roman Empire—the unknown. I will be back by dawn. Don’t move the remnants of the cohort too far down the mountainside, as I will bring you our silent enemies’ heads.”

  The centurion only nodded as he turned away from the falling rain with a last look.

  “I will wait until dawn and then I move out with what’s left of my men.” Again he looked his old friend in the eyes. “Bear witness to the night, First Spear Antipas Cricio, for there is something out there that is a silent and swift killer of men. Now leave me to worry this list of my dead soldiers.”

  As Tapio watched his old campaign warrior leave he knew he would never see him again. With a deep breath he called his aide.

  “Sir,” the aide said as he slammed his right fist to his chest.

  “I want the camp broken in less than an hour. We move before the rise of the moon, full equipment, no tents or cooking material.”

  “Sir!” the aide said and then hurriedly left.

  Centurion Tapio watched as the rain began to fall in earnest. Just as he reached for the tent’s flap he heard one of the many wolves that roamed the region loose a howl that sent chills into Tapio’s fragile system.

  “Beware the beast in the night and be afraid for he knows what frightens you.” Tapio shook his head in memory of a local saying that had been passed on to him before he was sent north from the Danube as he pulled the tent flap firmly closed against the chill of the evening. As he thought about the saying another deep-throated howl rent the night sky.

  This time the cacophony was coming from the mountain high above them. The darkest of nights grew closer to the Romans.

  * * *

  The horns and drums had started an hour after he and the four Berserkers had taken up their ambush points. Cricio tried to peer into the blackness of the night to spy the locations of the men from the Danube River region of Dacia. They were known for their fierce bearing and unforgiving way of battle. One man would stake himself in front of an enemy and just wait for them to attack. While that was happening the other three Berserkers would strike from their concealed locations. As he watched he could discern no movement. As he looked on he saw that the rain was finally relinquishin
g its hold on the southern region.

  The horns were blasting the night air somewhere miles up the winding pass of the mountains. As the first spear listened he was reminded of the battle horns used in Syria and Thrace. They were meant to frighten and confuse an enemy, and that meant, at least to his military thinking, that this was not some supernatural or magical event taking place against their men. It was nothing more than an experienced commander that knew how to fight a guerrilla war. He smiled at the thought. If they knew how to fight in that manner, they were mere men and not the devils every legionary had nightmares about. In the end Cricio knew they could be killed.

  Suddenly the rain had ceased and to Cricio’s consternation the moon broke free of the black clouds swirling around the mountains. He had just lost 50 percent of the advantage he had just a moment before. The horns suddenly stopped after a final flurry of drums and cymbals. The night became still.

  Cricio slowly withdrew the gladius at his side. The coldness of the leather-covered hilt felt good in his hand. As the first glint of moonbeam caught the sharpened edge of the sword, Cricio heard sounds that were not natural to the forest. A low growl that seemed to weave its way in and out of the thick woods around them. Suddenly he saw a flash of movement in that same moonlight. One of the Berserkers charged from his hiding place with battleaxe high, breaking the point of being what he was, a Berserker who would wait until the exposed man was molested. Evidently Cricio thought the Berserker must have seen a clear advantage in his attacking posture. The Berserker’s sudden move was swift and silent. There was no scream from the small bundle of muscle and sinew. Cricio heard the loud grunt as the man from the Danube struck out at something Cricio himself could not see in the darkness. There was an animalistic scream and then he heard the man yell something in his native language he didn’t understand.

  As he started to move forward, Cricio saw another of the Berserkers charge through the growing ground fog to strike at the same target. The four Dacian Berserkers were not following their own rules of attack. They were not allowing the ambush to unfold—they were striking fast and hard. Even as these thoughts struck, a third Berserker joined the fray. Cricio charged forward at the sound of heavy battle.

  First Spear Cricio held up by the trunk of a thick tree and listened to the night. The three Berserkers were battling something in the dark that spit and snarled, yelped and growled. Then a sound came that froze his blood. A howl rent the night sky and reverberated through the pass until it dwindled away high in the craggy peaks above them. Then the howl was repeated at least thirty more times in thirty different directions. Cricio lowered his sword as the howls faded into the night. As he entered a small clearing that had been soaked through with the relentless rain, Cricio saw the three Berserkers. One was lying on his back; the other two basically ignored their comrade and were knelt by a dark form. As Cricio approached he saw the injured Berserker as he held his insides in place with both his hands. Blood and gore oozed out with every beat of the crazy man’s heartbeat. His head was shaking wildly and Cricio knew that the man was soon dead and suspected the Berserker knew at least that much himself.

  Cricio kicked away the dying man’s hand grabbing at his boot. As he approached the two Danube men he saw one of the battleaxes embedded deeply into the back of an animal. As Cricio knelt down to examine their, until now, unseen enemy, he was amazed to see one of the enormous paws of the beast. At first the human fist-sized paw looked normal, then when the moon broke free of the encircling clouds Cricio saw that the paw itself was malformed.

  “This is no wolf,” he said as he reached out and lightly touched the massive paw of the dead animal. He looked up as another burst of light from the now exposed moon illuminated the area. He used the tip of a small knife and slid the blade into the folds of the beast’s fingers. As he pried at the malformed shape, his stomach turned over. He lifted, first one clawed finger, and then another. He saw that these were not the normal paw pads of an animal. As he continued to pull at the claw a long and elegant finger uncurled. The top of the clawed finger had a pad, like that of a dog, so when the animal ran the fingers would curl under.

  He heard the sudden jabbering of the Berserkers as they saw the same thing as he.

  “Quiet!” he hissed through clenched jaw. He slowly started to rise from the eight-hundred-pound animal at his feet. He looked around him and saw the Berserkers come rigid. Cricio used his booted foot to turn the animal’s muzzle up until he could see the features. The mouth was open and he could clearly see the animal’s weapons of choice. The teeth were long and curled and the muzzle itself looked as if it could easily slice through the steel of his sword. The ears were long and came to cruel points until they nearly resembled horns. The eyes were half closed and he could see the lifelessness there. As his eyes looked down upon the enemy the claws were clearly seen; eight inches long and as thick as a man’s thumb. He estimated that this particular animal would have stood close to seven feet in height if it didn’t run on all fours.

  “Golia … Estaisasurfas … Golia,” the smaller of the two Berserkers said while looking around the dark forest with wild eyes.

  He had more ancient tales of terror to frighten children? “I think it is just a wolf,” Cricio responded, “a strange wolf to be sure, but just a wolf.” He again withdrew the gladius. “And a wolf that can be killed, so allow us to…”

  The head of the fourth Berserker, whose absence had gone unnoticed until then, flew into the midst of the three men and bounded off the body of the dead animal. The head had been ripped, not sliced, but torn from the Berserker’s body.

  Before anyone could react the beasts were upon them. Cricio ducked just as a clawed hand swiped through the growing fog and ripped free his dark red cloak. He swung blindly. The blade struck something that was rock hard and just as unyielding. He heard a sharp intake of breath, then a short animal grunt of pain and then he found himself airborne. He hit the ground next to the first body of the Berserker who had slid into the afterlife some moments before. As Cricio tried in vain to catch his breath he saw the animal leap from a cluster of trees. As the screams and yells of the Berserkers sounded around him, Cricio knew the beast was going to crush him to death with its weight, and then use claws and teeth.

  Cricio was frozen with fear and just before the massive animal reached him and just as he threw his arms up to protect his face, an arrow thumped into the side of the giant wolf. It yelped and then turned toward its new threat. Suddenly the area was alight with torches and yelling men. Cricio was pulled to his feet as the sound of battle flowed around him.

  “Form circle! Form circle!” came the shouted order of Centurion Tapio as he held his second in command by the arm while waving his sword with the other. The gold helmet and red brush made Cricio realize that his commander had indeed come back for him. As the men of the Fifth surrounded the shaken Cricio and their commander, the forest became alight with heat and flame. “More pitch, more pitch!” Tapio shouted. “Burn it all!”

  Cricio shook off Tapio’s grasp when he suddenly realized what had happened.

  “You used me as bait?”

  In the flames Tapio looked at Cricio and then gestured to the rear. “As you said, old friend, we must not tarnish the gold of the eagle standard of the Fifth. And now I do believe it’s time to make a hasty retreat from this god-awful region.” Tapio suddenly let the stunned Cricio go and he knelt down beside the animal. With a grimace of disgust the centurion studied the features of the beast. Then he removed his sword and started hacking at the thick neck of the wolf. It took six hard blows to sever the head. Tapio removed his red cloak and wrapped the head inside. “No one can fault this cohort of the Fifth for cowardice in the face of this.” He held the dripping cloak up for his men to see.

  The forty-eight men of the Fifth Legion cheered and then went quickly back to work as even more howls started filtering down from the mountains.

  “We’ll need a lot more than just fire to escape this evil place,”
Cricio said, still angered at being used as bait by his old general.

  “I am prepared to burn this whole country if it means a chance of escape. Archers!”

  Ten men stepped forward and ignited their ten arrows. As the howling through the pass became more insistent, the flaming arrows were loosed into the trees beyond their position. They struck the pitch-soaked trees and a burst of flame ignited the woods around them. The howls became more insistent as the flames started running the lengths of the imposing trees that surrounded the legionaries.

  “Form! Form!” Tapio called out loudly.

  Men fell into order and started moving south, down and away from an advancing enemy that in their minds and memories of the real world could not possibly exist.

  The remaining men from the detached element of the Fifth Legion escaped that night of nights and made a fighting retreat to the Danube where the tales of the battle for Patinas Pass would fade from memory just as would the wild tales of animals that stalk their prey upright would fade from Roman history.

  * * *

  Everyone around the table was silent as each conjured their own picture of the event two thousand years ago in a place called the Dacian Kingdom. The actual field report given to the emperor was a document three wide pages long—a meticulous account of the action involving the detached element of the V Legion. They each had their own thoughts after filling in the gaps to the report of Centurion Marcus Paleternus Tapio, future senator of Rome.

  At the specimen case Alice pulled out the eight-by-ten glossy sent from the Vatican. As she did this, Europa placed the same picture on the circular screen. The image of the skull recovered from the Vatican archives was the exact duplicate of the one they were all looking at inside the specimen case. The only difference being in this photo you could see just how lethal this animal would have been if it did truly exist. The teeth were long and sharp. The canines were at minimum six inches long. There was even a chip in one of the larger front teeth. The skull itself as measured by the ruler in the picture was a broad seventeen inches wide.