Shadow Legion

by J. E. Gurley

  “Ready!” he yelled.

  The wraiths appeared from the darkness, unfolding from the night, a wall of black creatures so deep he could not count their number. When they were within range of the catapults, he signaled the optio in charge. Men ignited the oil-soaked cloth-covered rocks cradled in the spoon-like depressions of the heavy timber throwing arms. The artillerymen hammered out the firing pins, releasing the tightly wound ropes tensioning the arms. The arms slammed into the padded frames with a resounding thud that reverberated through the night. Even as their blazing payloads arced high through the air, men turned the windlasses preparing the onagers for their next projectile.

  The projectiles traveled a distance of 300 yards, landing among the advancing horde of creatures, and bouncing a path of flaming destruction through their tightly massed ranks. Seeing the results, a cheer went up from the onlookers. It quickly faded as the gaps filled with more of the creatures as quickly as water rushes to fill a void in a pail.

  The onagers were effective but slow to reload. They continued to punch holes in the attackers, while Gaius readied the ballistae. At 200 hundred yards, they hurled their bolts through the lines of wraiths like the thrust of a flaming sword. More scores of the creatures fell with each bolt, exploding into black dust, and yet Gaius could detect no reduction in their number. At 100 yards, the sagittarii loosed their arrows, firing as quickly as they could notch another arrow in their bows. Now, the leading edges of the Inyosh army slowly withered. For the first time, Gaius sensed hesitation in their attack.

  That indecisive lull lasted only for a few minutes, long enough to give the defenders heart, but not long enough to turn the tide of battle. A commotion at the rear of their ranks sent a surge of creatures forward, forcing the others closer to the walls of the fort. The flames around the bases of the other three walls held them at bay, but they began to infiltrate the gaps Gaius had left in the Southern wall of flame to entice them into range of the arrows. The creatures that survived the flights of flaming projectiles met scores of hurled spears and javelins, each a tiny speck of burning light falling among the enemy.

  They withered under the barrage. The flames of the arrows, javelins, and spears illuminated the battlefield. Buildings and tents of the city of Marzuq became burning pyres, forcing the flood of shadows to part. They milled about, daunted by the fires and the flaming projectiles. For millennia, no one had opposed the creatures. Now, they had encountered the Roman Legion and felt doubt.

  Then, the earth shuddered as if a mountain had fallen. Buildings collapsed. The walls of the castra shook. Deep cracks appeared in the stressed stone, running along the top of the wall and down the sides. The shaking wall tossed men from it like a dog shedding ringing water from its fur. Those who landed inside the fort suffered broken bones. A few died. Those who fell outside the wall disappeared into the black cloud of death encircling the fort. A tremendous keening rent the night. Most manning the walls saw only the wraiths pausing. Gaius, whom the amulet had touched, saw their features through their dark shrouds, saw their blood-demon eyes turn and stare south in fear. He saw their deadly maws open obscenely wide as they wailed to greet their god. Nergal had arrived.

  The ground beyond the edge of the city erupted as if birthing a volcano. Sand, soil, and rock flew through the air, but instead of hot lava, a cold ebony blackness spilled from the crater and flowed through the city, crashing against the wall of the fort. Something else rose from the newly opened pit, a gigantic parody of a human with an elongated head with tentacles surrounding the enormous maw. Twin red slits gazed over the city as if searching. When Nergal’s gaze focused on the fort, Gaius felt as if the creature stared directly at him. He wasn’t. Instead, the eyes darted to an azure glow growing steadily brighter atop the wall – Rashid.

  The ground trembled as Nergal surged forward on his massive tangle of lower tentacles. His upper tentacles snapped out to pluck roofs from buildings tumble walls. Gaius felt the familiar tingling in his chest as the amulet’s power grew in intensity under Rashid’s chanting. An azure wall of energy exploded from the amulet and swept through the fort. Every weapon and every piece of iron burst into blue flames. The edge of the azure wall touched the front ranks of the dark army. They tried to flee before it, but it traveled deep into their formation before dissipating, leaving nothing behind. The creatures it touched vanished.

  The brilliant glow of the stone in the amulet faded. Rashid swooned and collapsed atop the wall. That the affected weapons continued to glow offered the only evidence that he still lived.

  The creatures, more frightened of their god to their rear than the enemy in front of them, scampered up the stone walls, their claws digging into the solid rock for purchase. Gaius’ men met them at the top of the wall with swords, spears, and pikes all doused with burning oil and suffused with the blue glow of ancient magic. The few that evaded a flaming death launched themselves on the nearest soldiers, enveloping them in their ebony cloaks, but they, too, met death on the swords of his second line of defense.

  A runner raced up to him across the top of the wall out of breath. “The creatures are gaining ground on eastern end of the wall. Sesquiplecarus Armis asks you send men to his aid.”

  Gaius saw a swarm of black shapes pouring over the wall near Dracus. He motioned a reserve squad of twenty tirones waiting on the ground below the wall and watched newly appointed Tesserarius Antonius Cossus lead them up the steps. They spread out along the wall to reinforce Dracus Armis’ beleaguered squads. The half-trained recruits performed well. Antonius moved among them, barking orders and slashing at wraiths with his blazing sword. They held the wall, but at great cost. Half of Antonius’ men disappeared within minutes, taken by an ebony wall of creatures.

  Dracus went down with two of the creatures on him. One, he killed with a thrust of his glowing gladius, but the other ripped into his chest with its claws and yanked out his still beating heart. A flaming crossbow bolt fired by one of the archers stationed on a roof adjacent to the wall passed through the heart and the wraith, exploding it. Young Dracus’ heart fell to the ground beside his body. More bolts erupted from the rooftop and swept the wall clean of creatures. Antonius quickly assumed command and rallied the men, but for every creature they dispatched, a dozen more scampered up the wall.

  Nergal continued his rampage, shattering buildings like clay pots, and flinging debris that rained down on the men on the walls. Gaius had clay pots of his own. He signaled the onagers to hurl their urns filled with flaming embers. Each onager fired five urns at a time. The urns broke apart upon impact, sending hundreds of shards slicing through the ranks of creatures like flaming shrapnel. To his dismay, the urns that struck Nergal bounced off and broke apart on the ground, setting more buildings aflame.

  “Send jugs of oil!” he yelled at the loaders.

  A barrage of jugs of oil fed the blazes higher. Now, a line of burning buildings formed a flaming barricade. Gaius hoped it slowed the creature long enough to rally his disheartened troops.

  Nergal spoke. His voice was the deep, sonorous trumpeting of a thousand war elephants that shook the ground. Gaius covered his ears with his hands, but could not shut out the powerful voice. Gaius sensed words in the horrifying sound, alien and unintelligible, but a language nevertheless. Whatever the command, the creatures responded to their master. Thousand of them, a sea of black, hurled themselves into the flaming city, using their dying bodies to smother the flames and clear a path for their god. With the fire extinguished, they resumed their assault on the fort. Though greatly reduced in number at the whim of their god, they still out numbered the garrison. Singly, and then in small groups, they evaded the defenders atop the wall and dropped into the fort, quickly spreading out to cause destruction.

  He watched several of the creatures overwhelm the guards stationed outside Praefectus Calidus’ apartments and enter. Seconds later, the agonized screams of the Praefectus split the night. Gaius hoped they developed a venereal disease from Titilus Calidus’
disease-ridden body.

  Nergal drew nearer the fort with each ponderous step. Gaius knew they could not stop him. Wraiths surged over the walls in a dozen spots. He ordered the squads he had assigned to protect the interior of the fort to engage the wraiths, but when the fires died, they would overwhelm the fort. If Rashid’s plan was to work, they had to leave now. He left a young optio in charge and went to Rashid. The Berber appeared dangerously weak, leaning against the wall for support. He saw Gaius approaching and struggled to stand, tottering as if he would fall.

  “It is time, Roman. Your part in this battle has run its course. If you wish to save these men, we must lure Nergal back south away from the city.”

  Gaius knew Rashid was right; nevertheless, abandoning his command left a vile taste in his mouth. The word coward haunted his thoughts.

  “I know, Berber,” he snapped. “Let us do it before I change my mind.”

  He motioned for Marcellus. Marcellus raced to his side.

  “It is time to leave.”

  “I know. Nine horses await us beyond the stables near the rear gate.”

  “Nine?” Gaius said in surprise.

  “I will accompany you to this last fight. The battle here will be won or lost by individual soldiers fighting for their lives and not by the commands of an officer. Tesserarius Antonius or any of the optios can serve as well as me. If what we do draws some of the enemy away, they stand a chance. If no one goes, we all die.”

  Gaius nodded. “Very well, Tesserarius. We ride.”

  Two soldiers stood beside the rear gate holding nine unsaddled horse, Apollo among them. Gaius would save his war steed for the last leg of the journey. He would not use him up and discard him as he had his legionnaires. The three men slipped satchels of food and filled water skins over their shoulders, and mounted their horses’ back, blankets only. They each held the reins of their two spare mounts in their hands.

  “Open the gates,” Gaius called to the guards. “Close them when we exit.”

  As soon as the gates swung open, Rashid sent a burst of azure flame ahead of them. Only a few creatures barred their passage, but those few disintegrated. Gaius glanced back to see the gates close once again. Burning timbers tossed from the wall barred the gate. He kicked his horse in its flanks and headed it south toward Hamad Rus.

  16

  At dawn, they stopped long enough to rest the horses and drink wine laced with honey to fortify them for the journey; then, mounted their horses and rode south. Gaius held no thoughts of victory or of glory. Death seemed a certain and just reward for a leader who had three times sacrificed men under his command. He could honor them best by helping the Berber return Nergal to its eternal tomb. He tried not to dwell on Marzuq and Castra-Flacco or if the dawn found the men he had left behind alive or dead. Rashid assured him that Nergal followed them. He had no choice but to believe the Berber. They had saved the fort that unwinnable battle at least.

  They rode into the afternoon until their mounts began stumbling in the sand, and then mounted their second horse. The leagues passed but he paid them no heed. His mind, rather than lingering on any one thought, refused to consider any thoughts for fear they would lead to doubts about his purpose. If his purpose was false, then he had sacrificed his men needlessly. He rode in a daze.

  They couldn’t stop for sleep, though it felt like days since Gaius had last closed his eyes. Each idle minute allowed Nergal to gain ground on them. Rashid could sense the creature’s presence, as Nergal could sense his. They moved just slightly faster than the creature could travel underground. They would arrive in Hamad Rus barely minutes before the creature.

  As night approached, Gaius felt none of the apprehension he had once felt. If the shadow wraiths attacked, he was certain Rashid could repel them, at least for as long as the Berber’s strength held out. He held tightly to the belief that the creatures would not assault them, that they would wait for their master to deal with the humans. That would give them a slightly improved chance to reach the warren and perform their task. After that, it didn’t matter. He could never return to Rome. Death in the desert was preferable to a dishonorable end at the hands of Emperor Marcus Aurelius.

  That Marcellus showed little curiosity about what he and Rashid intended to do surprised Gaius. The veteran had fought the creatures, knew firsthand of their abilities, and yet showed no fear. Marcellus offered him his complete trust, never doubting him. Such was the loyalty of a true Roman Legionnaire. Gaius hoped he did not lead Marcellus to his death, but knew the likelihood high.

  They rode through the night and the next day with only brief stops for rest and water. Before dusk, they switched to their last mounts. Apollo was eager for the weight of his master upon his back. He had refused to trail Gaius on his leash as Gaius used up the other two horses, instead running beside him. Gaius wished the horse wasn’t so trusting. It would make their parting less painful for both of them

  Even before Hamad Rus came into view, Gaius felt the chill of the dead city reaching out to him, a frigid hand inside his body squeezing the strength from his heart and the determination from his soul; while outside, the sun continued to bake his skin as it gasped out its last searing breath nightfall. He didn’t know if he was the only member of the party to feel the death lying in wait for them in that dire city, but Apollo did. The horse whinnied and struggled to free the bit from his mouth. Never in their long history together had the warhorse shied away from a battle.

  The distant low rumble coming from the city became a ground-shaking roar as they approached. A cloud of dust hung in the air, obscuring the heart of the city. A foul, fetid odor like the bowels of hell assaulted them. Rashid raised the scarf around his neck and wrapped it across his face to cover his nose. Gaius fought down the bile rising in his throat and forced Apollo forward.

  “We need not enter the accursed city where the Inyosh dance to welcome their god’s return,” he called loudly so that Marcellus could hear him over the din. “It is to the cavern we must ride.”

  Marcellus nodded and prodded his horse. The horse reared and tried to throw him. Marcellus fought the horse, pulling sharply on his reins, but it would go no farther. He stared at Gaius for instruction. Gaius suspected the horses sensed the evil surrounding them, and that their animal intelligence shouted for them to flee. He wished he could listen to the same voice in his head.

  “We will set the horses free here and continue on foot.”

  Gaius slid off Apollo’s back. The horse nuzzled his side as if in apology. Gaius rubbed the horse’s snout, and then removed the blanket and bridle. He buried his face in the horse’s neck, inhaling the familiar tang of sweat. “Run free, my old friend,” he whispered.

  Apollo snickered and raced away. He stopped at the top of a dune and waited until Marcellus and Rashid had freed their mounts. Then, he led the other horses over the dune and out of sight of Hamad Rus. The loss of his horse saddened Gaius more than the deaths of his men. Apollo had been his constant friend and companion for fifteen years, longer than he had known any of the men under his command, longer than he had known his wife. During that period, he had spent more time in the company of Apollo than he had his family. Gaius hoped that Apollo survived. Someone should come through the ordeal alive, and it seemed unlikely that he would.

  As he stood at the entrance to the cavern, staring into its inky black depths, Gaius hesitated. The stench of death was strong, and he swore he could hear the screams of his dying men echoing from within the solid rock. He had hoped to find the cavern blocked by the landslide, but as Rashid had predicted, the creatures had cleared the entrance of rubble.

  “It will be dark soon,” Marcellus noted, staring at the sky. His ancient eyes squinted as he looked up at the sun, drinking in its radiance, as if its strength could help dispel the darkness within the mountain.

  “It matters not,” Gaius reminded him. “We journey into perpetual night.”

  Beside him, Rashid mumbled quietly with closed eyes. The amulet began
to glow softly. The azure light looked pure and holy. He opened his eyes and stared at Gaius.

  “The amulet will guide our steps to the dark tower, but I fear we may have to return in darkness.”

  Gaius understood the meaning behind the Berber’s words. He intended to leave the amulet to ward Nergal’s prison after they lured the creature inside. If they survived, they would have no torches, no burning oil to guide them through the warren of dark tunnels.

  He nodded. “It seems I have always stumbled blindly in darkness. One more such journey will make little difference.”

  He glanced to the north. Less than a league away, the sand undulated like water from the prow of a boat with the hissing of a thousand serpents. Nergal was almost upon them. Taking his last breath of fresh air, he followed Rashid into the tunnel.

  They met no resistance. He feared that more than fighting his way inside. The creatures were too busy either worshipping their dark god, or luring them deeper inside the black abyss to offer them as sacrifice. Gaius tried not to gaze at the discarded pieces of armor and weaponry scattered throughout the tunnel, refused to dwell on the soldier who wore the armor or carried the sword. If, as Rashid thought, the souls of the dead became wraiths, it was his responsibility and duty, perhaps his last, to free their tortured souls.

  As they delved deeper into the mountain, the amulet shone more brightly. Its light bathed the walls of the tunnel in soft cerulean radiance and dispelled the gloom. Soon, tremors beneath their feet became stronger and more rhythmic – Nergal was on his way.

  Marcellus held his sword in a two-fisted death grip. His gaze darted around the tunnel in agonized wariness. Though he could not see them, his veteran senses told him the enemy neared. Gaius realized Marcellus vacillated between doing his duty and fleeing for his life. Gaius feared that if the wizened old soldier fled, he would follow. He had faced fierce enemies from many lands, but he had never before challenged a nightmare.