[Marienburg 02] - A Massacre in Marienburg

by David Bishop - (ebook by Undead)

  “Sweet Shallya,” the captain whispered as he stared death in the face.

  It was de Graaf who reacted first, drawing his sword and running towards the oncoming horde. He cut down the leading corpse, and hacked limbs from the second, before the third and fourth overwhelmed him. They tore the sergeant apart, one of them feasting on his flesh while the other plucked off his limbs. Wout lost control of his bowels as he watched de Graaf die. More of the risen dead were pouring into the station, spilling over the sea wall like an infestation of insects. “Forgive me,” Wout murmured.

  * * *

  Screams reverberated from atop the battlements, silencing the cohort’s efforts to get the gates open. A body was flung down from above, smashing feet first into the cobbles in front of the station. Such was the impact, the legs were driven up into the corpse’s torso, knees punching through the chest, splaying out the rib bones like spindly fingers. Only the head remained intact. The frightened face of Captain Zachirias Wout screamed silently at the cohort. His body tried to get up, but such was the damage his corpse could not rise from the ground. “So much for sanctuary,” Ganz observed, bracing for the coming onslaught of relentless corpses lurching towards him and the others.

  “All brilliant suggestions welcomed,” Kurt said, shaking his head in frustration.

  “Captain, over here!” Holismus shouted. He pointed at the north of the gates, where a narrow pathway crept out round the side of the station. It kept going where the rest of Tempelwijk stopped, disappearing out of sight. “Not sure where that leads, but it’s got to be better than staying here, right?”

  “Any other ideas?” Kurt asked. When nobody responded, he shoved Potts and Bescheiden towards the pathway. “Go with Holismus, find out where that leads.” The captain moved so he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Ganz, and Auteuil came to join them, flanked by the two surviving militiamen. The five of them created a semi-circle around the pathway, blocking the undead from getting to it.

  The onslaught of corpses hit with savage force, driving the five men backwards. Kurt and the others lashed out with their blades, slicing away arms and clasping hands, severing heads and cutting open torsos. But no matter how many of the enemy they slaughtered, there were always more. It was a hopeless situation, with exhaustion and death the only certainties. Ganz broke his blade on one of the living dead, and had to turn the crossbow slung over his shoulder into an impromptu club, beating back the undead with the heavy wooden stock. “Taal’s teeth, what I would give for some more bolts now!”

  The words snarled through gritted teeth shook loose a memory from the depths of Kurt’s mind. Bolts, he still had some bolts in a pouch hooked over his back, the ones that Belladonna had given him before he left on this ill-fated mission south of the Rijksweg.

  Potts reappeared from round the bend in the pathway. “Captain, it’s a dead end! The path goes round the outside of the station, but stops short of halfway.”

  The others cursed at this news, but Kurt was already reaching for his pouch. “Are there rocks beneath the pathway, or could a boat get in close to the wall?”

  “There’s a mooring buoy, so boats must stop there sometimes,” the recruit said.

  “Good! Get back round there, we’ll be with you soon,” Kurt commanded. He offered Ganz his sword. “Swap you this for the crossbow.”

  The watchman smacked aside one of the undead before replying. “Why?”

  “I’ve got a fistful of bolts inside my pouch.”

  “We’ll need five hundred bolts to get us out of this!”

  “I’m hoping five will be enough,” Kurt said.

  “Whatever you say,” Ganz replied, snatching the blade from his captain’s hand and replacing it with the crossbow. “But I’d rather put my trust in a sword any day.”

  Kurt took a step back, leaving the other four to fight their attackers while he unslung his pouch. Inside was the wrapped bundle, the handful of bolts within it, all still bearing their purple coating. Kurt scraped the sharpened end of one bolt against the station wall, and sparks flew from the end. As he watched the bolt began to glow with unearthly intensity and brightness. Closing his eyes to stop himself being blinded, Kurt slotted the bolt into place on the borrowed crossbow, before firing directly into the sky.

  Ganz saw what the captain was doing. “Are you mad? You should be firing those at the living dead, not at the damn clouds!”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Kurt insisted as he fired a second dazzling bolt into the air overhead. By now the first had reached its apogee, the blazing tip creating a magical purple glow among the clouds. Another followed, and another, until Kurt had exhausted the supply Belladonna had given him. Now all he could do was hope she had seen the signal, and was close enough to respond. Otherwise they were dead men for certain.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Belladonna and Nathaniel had spent the night sailing back and forth on the Rijksweg, searching for survivors and bodies from the River Watch’s failed blockade of Suiddock. In truth they had found no more than a handful, but all were alive. When the Black Caps had pulled Belladonna from the river at Paleisbuurt, the water was awash with corpses. But all those bodies had vanished, no doubt claimed by Farrak’s necromancy.

  Belladonna and the witch hunter returned to the Paleisbuurt jetty at dawn so Nathaniel could gather reports on Farrak’s most recent manoeuvres. Belladonna was keen to head back out into open waters as soon as possible, but Nathaniel refused to let her leave. He pointed at an ominous row of witch hunters standing on the Hoogbrug, looking down on them. “I must speak with my brethren. You must not go without me.” Nathaniel stalked away, not bothering to wait for her reply.

  “It’s not like I have much choice,” Belladonna called after him. “Takes two people to keep this thing on the water!” She watched the witch hunters leave the bridge to meet with Nathaniel. Another man joined the group, but he wasn’t wearing usual witch hunter garb. Belladonna couldn’t see his face, but there was something familiar about him.

  “It’s Captain Sandler,” a friendly voice said. Belladonna was startled by the unexpected words, but happy to see who had spoken them.

  “Scheusal? What are you doing here?” she asked. The sergeant was standing on the jetty, arms folded across his broad chest, a smile on his warm features.

  “Sandler borrowed me from Captain Schnell, with a few of the other watchmen from Suiddock. We’re stationed in Goudberg now.”

  Belladonna nodded her head towards Sandler, Nathaniel and his brethren. “You know what that’s all about? Looks like he’s giving them orders.”

  “He probably is,” the sergeant agreed.

  “A watch captain, telling witch hunters what to do?”

  “There’s a lot more to Sandler than meets the eye.”

  “There’d have to be,” Belladonna replied. The nearby meeting broke up, with the other witch hunters vanishing into the early light of day. Nathaniel returned to the boat, accompanied by Sandler. The captain nodded to Scheusal before addressing Belladonna.

  “I have something for you to carry,” he said.

  Perplexed, Belladonna held out a hand, and Sandler pressed an amulet into her palm. She studied the small piece of jewellery. A translucent gem was lodged inside the sliver of metal, the stone’s interior flawless but for a tiny fleck of glimmering black at its heart. “This doesn’t mean we’re engaged, does it?”

  The captain dismissed her attempt at levity with a withering look. “When the time comes, you will know to whom you should give this.” He strode away, beckoning for Scheusal to follow. The sergeant gave Belladonna a quick wave before running after him.

  “Events are accelerating,” Nathaniel announced once the two Black Caps had gone. “We should sail immediately, while we still have the chance.”

  “Not until I get some answers. You can start by telling me what’s going on.”

  “I’ll explain everything once we’re on the water.” The witch hunter grabbed her hands, and cupped them i
n his. “Please, you’ve got to trust me. We must leave. Now.” Belladonna did as he asked, taking them out past the most easterly point of Suiddock.

  “Hard to believe this all started with a boat ramming into Riddra,” she said, before throwing the anchor overboard. “Time for answers, Nathaniel. We’re not moving from here until you tell me what I want to know.”

  “I can’t tell you anything,” he replied, “not yet. Too many lives are at stake.”

  “Spare me the cryptic sanctimony,” Belladonna snarled. “I want the truth!”

  At that moment the clouds overhead turned purple.

  “The signal,” Belladonna gasped. “Kurt—Captain Schnell—he’s in trouble!”

  “The sky changes from blue to purple and the cobbles run red with blood,” Nathaniel whispered. “The endgame is upon us. The massacre has come.”

  She watched the horizon as fresh streaks of blazing purple light flashed upwards. “That’s coming from Tempelwijk district. What’s he doing there?”

  “From the places of temples an avenger shall arise,” the witch hunter intoned.

  “Stop talking in riddles, and help me pull up this anchor,” Belladonna said. The truth would have to wait; Kurt and the others needed help.

  As the last purple bolt faded, Kurt ordered Ganz, Auteuil and the other two militiamen to retreat along the narrow ledge. “You’re mad,” Ganz spat. “There’s no way back from there. Once we go out on that, we’re trapped there.”

  “Once we’re out on that ledge, only one of the undead can attack us at a time. It’s much easier fighting one of Farrak’s fiends than it is trying to fend off dozens all at once.” No sooner had the words left Kurt’s mouth than a militiaman fell victim to the undead, slipping on the blood-soaked cobbles and tumbling forwards into their clutches. Within moments he was borne away, his life extinguished as quickly as his screams. That was enough for Auteuil and the other survivor of the hundred-strong force Kurt had led across the Rijksweg. They ran for the ledge, leaving the captain and Ganz behind.

  The two ex-soldiers were driven backwards to the ledge, sheer weight of numbers forcing Ganz to obey the Kurt’s orders. As they reached the narrow shelf of stone, Ganz pushed the captain onto it first. “You go,” he snarled. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Kurt insisted. He pointed at a boat approaching the station. “That’s Belladonna coming for us. We can still make it away from Tempelwijk.”

  Ganz shook his head. “I owe this to you and your brother.”

  “What do you mean? What’s this got to do with Karl?”

  Ganz shoved Kurt away. “Just go, damn you—before I come to my senses!”

  The captain made his way round the narrow ledge, his back pressed against the station wall, hands gripping the damp stone for support. Twice his boots nearly slipped out from under him, the ledge made slippery by water and green slime. As he rounded the corner, Kurt risked one last look back at his former brother-in-arms. Ganz was flailing at the undead with Kurt’s blade, hacking and slicing and slashing, blood spattering his face. But the warrior did not notice the barnacle-encrusted hands reaching up from the water below until they clasped hold of his boots and tipped him into the water. “Damn you!” Ganz cried out, before disappearing beneath the surface.

  Kurt looked away. He’d never know what Ganz had meant, never know the truth about what had happened to Karl on that battlefield years earlier. Right now, it did not matter. That war was long over; the war for Marienburg was still being fought. The captain resumed edging round the ledge, until he could see Belladonna tying her boat to the mooring buoy. Nathaniel was encouraging the cohort’s survivors to leap across the water. The craft pitched about erratically, defying all those intent on reaching it safely.

  Holismus was first to jump, landing feet first on the deck. Bescheiden went next, catching his feet on the side and almost falling backwards into the water before Nathaniel dragged him on board. Holismus shouted at Potts to jump but the raw recruit shook his head, fear etched into his young face. Auteuil had no such qualms, flinging himself across the divide. The other militiaman took two deep breaths and jumped—but a heavy wave swirled the boat away while he was still in the air. The militiaman lunged into the sea, his terrified cry swallowed as he sank below the surface. He did not reappear.

  That just left Kurt and Potts. The captain could hear the undead coming round the ledge after him, the bones from their rotting fingers and feet scraping against the stone. It was now or never. He edged his way along to Potts, and slid an arm round the recruit’s shoulders. Potts was shaking so much his hands were a blur of movement. “You can do this,” the captain said, keeping his voice low and calm.

  “I c-can’t,” Potts stammered.

  “You can,” Kurt insisted. “We’ll jump together.”

  “I can’t!” Potts shoved the captain away, the push so hard Kurt almost fell off the ledge into the seething waters below. Somehow he regained his balance and leaned back against the wall. The undead were almost upon him, just three paces away now. Those already on the boat were screaming at them to jump, begging them to leap across.

  Kurt shot out a hand and grabbed hold of Potts’ tunic. “You’re coming with me. Either we make it into the boat or we drown in the sea, but you’re coming with me. I made a promise to your uncle I’d keep you alive and I never break a promise.” Taking a deep breath, Kurt hurled himself and Potts off the ledge, moments before the undead reached them. The two watchmen flew through the air, towards the boat. We’re going to make it, Kurt thought, we’re going to make it. Then a cruel wave bounced back off the wall and pushed the craft further away from them.

  The captain and Potts slammed into the side of the boat, before tumbling into the water. They sank in the inky black waters, grabbing hands clawing at their clothes and skin from below. But those on board had boat hooks already over the side of the vessel. Kurt saw one of the staves stab through the water nearby, and grabbed it. His other hand clung to Potts. Kurt tugged the staff and was pulled up, dragging the recruit with him.

  It took the combined strength of everybody on board to haul the captain and his charge into the boat from the bone-chilling water. Once that was achieved, Belladonna ran to the mooring buoy and cast off the boat. The swirling tide swept them away from Tempelwijk. They drifted out into the Rijksweg, safe for the moment on the grand canal, while Farrak’s undead army was left behind on dry land, frustrated and impotent.

  Once he’d recovered his breath, Kurt joined Belladonna and Nathaniel at the prow. They watched Tempelwijk as it became ever more distant. “It’s all his now,” Kurt said. “The necromancer controls every part of Marienburg south of the Rijksweg.”

  “All it took was a few days and an army of corpses,” Belladonna observed, with a shiver of dread. “How long before Farrak controls the rest of the city? How long before his army marches east?” Before anyone could answer, a flash of light blazed across the sky, followed a moment later by the sound of a massive explosion. Everyone on the boat looked to the east where a fireball was mushrooming up into the sky.

  “The Hoogbrug,” Kurt said. “They blew up the bridge.”

  “Too little, too late,” Nathaniel sighed. “Farrak’s forces have already moved into positions all around the northern districts. The city will die today, unless we stop this evil at its source, unless we defeat the necromancer.”

  “Defeat Farrak? Look around,” Belladonna said. “We can’t even slow him down.”

  “There is a way,” the witch hunter maintained. “But it will be dangerous, it will be costly, and the price will be blood; our blood.”

  Cornelius Bloom was the man who blew up Marienburg’s most important bridge. Leader of the Black Caps for Paleisbuurt, it was Bloom’s responsibility to ensure none of the undead army made it across the Hoogbrug from Suiddock into the city’s northern districts. The pompous captain had personally supervised the placement of barrels laden with gunpowder round the
bridge, selecting the mighty arch’s apogee as its vulnerable point. Bloom kept watchmen standing guard over the charges day and night once the barrels were put in place, confident he could ensure not one of the ghouls, wights, wraiths or skeletons could cross the Hoogbrug. Marienburg’s southern archipelago might have succumbed to the necromancer’s dark magic, but the captain was determined he would get the credit for stopping the taint of dark magic dead in its tracks.

  He was standing at the Paleisbuurt end of the bridge when the undead rose up from the waterways that honeycombed the northern districts. Bloom could hear the screaming of unwary citizens confronted by the dead emerging from cuts and canals, intent on finding flesh for feasting. Farrak’s army had lain underwater for hours upon hours, waiting. Now they were hungry, now they were ready. The slaughter was swift and merciless, the brutality beyond measure in Marienburg’s long history. In the first few minutes hundreds of citizens died in Rijkspoort, Noordmuur and Schattinwaard. The undead invaded Guilderveld and Paleisbuurt, Ostmuur and Luigistad. It was a massacre.

  The captain listened to the nearby screaming, heard the terror, but was unable to comprehend its meaning. How could the enemy have got past him? He had been vigilant beyond reproach, done everything that was asked of him and more. Stood in his finery by the Hoogbrug, Bloom felt a cold fear grip his heart like some unseen, frozen fist. He heard the sound of someone running towards him across the bridge, and drew his flintlock pistol, ready to fight for his life. But the lone figure was that of his sergeant, Jacobs. “They’re coming, they’re coming!” he shouted, waving both arms in the air.

  “They’re already here,” Bloom called back. “Listen!”

  The sergeant’s pace slowed as he heard the screams of dying citizens in the distance, getting louder and closer by the moment. “Sweet Shallya,” he gasped on reaching the detonation controls where Bloom was standing. “It’s started?”