The Fall of Aldermark - Chapter Three: The Spy of Karlsburg

Valeria put her shoulder to the door of the church of Mattiar and shoved with everything she had. Arun and the twins joined her and inch by painstaking inch the old wood began to give way. She could make out the sound of benches and chairs protesting against the church's stone floor, someone had barricaded the entrance, hoping to find sanctuary with the Aldermani god. Valeria could have laughed at the irony of it, she was about to die because someone had fortified themselves against the dead.

“You have three days,” Commander Blas had told them in his sparse tent. Valeria and the rest of the Ghost Owls were there, along with Marshal Viltorovna and the Star Vipers. “Shreya has reported a signal from Karlsburg, from the spire of the church of Mattiar. One of the Karl’s spies has survived, and he has been gathering intel on our enemy in the city.”

The Ghost Owls squeezed their way into the church one by one, the gap they made barely large enough to fit them in their armor. Wails of the dead echoed through the streets behind them. Valeria suppressed a cough. The inferno consuming the city had yet to reach the church, but it wouldn’t be long. Valeria took stock. The church could have seated hundreds in the main hall, lined with stained glass that showed the various deeds of the twin gods of the Aldermani, Mattiar the smith and Gerholtz the hunter. Buren and Fulon knelt between the pews and said a brief prayer. 

“Ghost Owls, you will leave with the Star Vipers for Karlsburg at first light. Once you cross the Tigeria, you will exfiltrate the spy from the city. Star Vipers, you will perform troop reconnaissance in the area. Find out who is sacking Karlsburg, who survived the battle of Ettenmark, and what they intend. You will both meet at the Tigeria at dawn on the third day and then meet us here.”

Behind the pews was a raised lectern and a functioning smithy that doubled as a shrine to the crafter god. Two doors were set into the back wall of the church hall, flanking the smithy. 

“There,” Buren pointed at the left door. “That one goes up to the spire.” Her voice echoed in the empty church, despite the sounds of collapsing buildings in the distance. 

“The other leads to the offices and rectory,” Fulon added. Arun shushed them. Fulon looked at him and frowned, “Maybe someone survived, there’s--”

A hiss answered her. The right door opened and a priest clad in sacraments stumbled out. Green and black ichor flowed from his gaping mouth and a wound in his chest. Half a dozen more stood up from between the pews, a few more stumbled after the undead priest.

“They survived alright,” Arun drew his sword. “Forward, don’t let them surround us!”

Valeria and the twins closed ranks, forcing the rotters to awkwardly file in between the pews or stumble over them. The first four fell to the Owls’ blades quickly, but the next wave got in close, their blood splashed on Valeria’s arm and the twins’ faces as they were stabbed through.

“Fuck!” Buren screamed.

“It burns!” said her twin.

“These rotters are fresh, full of alchemicals,” said Valeria through gritted teeth as she tried to shake the zombie’s blood from her arm.

Buren yelled and charged the last two rotters, pinning them to a pew with her shield and jabbing around it with her sword until they stopped moving. Arun looked at Valeria, clearly impressed. Then the church shook as something slammed into the doors they had squeezed through. Several arms were reaching through the gap, burned so badly Valeria could see through to their bones. Above the manifold arms a burned head with several faces and screaming mouths was trying to force its way through.

“Fuck,” she said.

“The fucker from the bridge. Weyers!” Arun shouted and ran at the door, throwing himself against it. The twins followed behind him, pushing against the door and the pews supporting it, stabbing at the groping arms as best they could.

“Go!” Arun shouted to Valeria. “You get him, we’ll hold this thing off. Hurry!” 

Valeria turned and ran for the stairs, slamming open the door and bolting down the short hallway that ended in a spiral staircase that lined the church’s spire. Above her she could see gaps for windows and holes from the brief siege. She had several stories to climb, and she could still hear Arun and the twins struggling. Something wooden snapped and the horror groaned. 

Hanging in the air  above her, about half way up the spire, Valeria could see a wooden platform suspended from four ropes that met in one strand. The strand disappeared somewhere at the top of the spire, and appeared to come back down to the base a foot away from her, tied down into a system of pulleys that ended in a crank, stopped by a metal lever. There was a small pile of stones and a bucket of partially used mortar nearby. Someone had been repairing the tower before the city fell.

Valeria quickly stripped her musket, soldier’s kit, ammunition, everything else she carried until she had only her armor and her sword. She yanked at the rope, it was heavy but there wasn’t as much resistance as she would have liked. She whispered a quick prayer to the Maker, the Shaper, and the Builder, and kicked at the lever.

The elevation was quicker than she thought. Her arm strained and she worried she would lose her grip, but in mere moments she had ascended the spire, awkwardly smashed into the pulley system atop it, and landed on her face on a wooden platform just below it. 

Valeria turned over. Above her were massive bells suspended by chains, she could see black smoke rising into the sky outside. The fire was getting closer. 

When she stood up she was face to face with a ghost pointing a bow and arrow at her. He had pale white skin streaked with dirt and ash. His hair was also white along with his beard, all greasy and unkempt. His ashen clothes stuck to him. Behind him was a nest, a collection of books and papers, a thin wool blanket, a bucket, and a few cushions Valeria recognized from the pews downstairs. 

“Show me your skin,” he whispered.

“What?” Valeria’s head was still ringing from the impact. She coughed.

“Your skin!” His voice was raspy and coarse, as if from sickness. Maybe from too much smoke, she thought. His eyes kept darted down the stairs below them. “Not getting fooled again. Need to see the marks. No marks and I don’t kill you. Understand?”

Valeria put up her hands. “I’m from the Legion, we saw your signal.” The wind changed and she coughed again. “I’m here to escort your from the city. Please, we have to--”

“Skin!” He shouted, stepping closer. Valeria had nowhere to go. Another step backward and she would be at the bottom faster than she got here. She didn’t understand what the albino was saying but she knew that if they didn’t leave soon it wouldn’t matter. The two of them didn’t stand a chance.

“Listen to me! We don’t have time for this. I don’t know what you’re talking about but I am not a fucking rotter. My squad is downstairs holding back a fucking horror. If you don’t want to come with me, fine. But I’m not letting them die down there!” Valeria put her hands down and stepped towards the stairs. The man’s arrow followed her. Blood pooled in one of his eyes and fell down his cheek, leaving a crimson trail.

Valeria blinked and took another step back. So he wasn’t an albino with a lung infection. “You’re from Dar.”

The stranger sighed, relaxed the bow, and grabbed a pack hidden beneath his blanket. “Good enough,” he rasped and ran past her down the stairs. Vlaeria joined him. 

When they got to the church hall Arun, Buren, and Fulon were still pinning the door shut. The horror had still only forced its arm and head through. The Owls’ blades slashed at the arms and grasping hands as they tried to get a grip on them. 

The pale stranger took a knee next to the lectern and opened his bag.

‘What are you doing?” Valeria asked.

“Hey!” screamed Arun from the door. “Is that him?”

“Rotters outside the door. Gathering outside. Need to block it.” The spy took a polished wooden box from his pack. 

Valeria stared at him, “How do you...” she watched as he opened the box. Inside were three glass cylinders full of black liquid, each packed into the wooden container with straw and leather. A single metal sphere floated inside each. Black shot. Aldermark’s miracle. The bullets that were meant to turn the tide. Each member of the Legion had been given a few shots at Ettenmark. Valeria remembered the first line of undead falling amidst explosions of green fire. But there had been so many more behind them. 

“It’s big enough,” he nodded to the horror in the door. “Get one of them over here.”

“What?” Valeria was having trouble paying attention.

“What the fuck!” Buren screamed.

“Yeah, help!” Fulon added.

The man from Dar drew an arrow from the pack. The head was capped with a similar glass cylinder, sealed with black wax at one end and an iron arrowhead at the other. He looked at Valeria as he strung his bow. “My name is Gada Royota,” he whispered. “They don’t know me. They know you. And we are running out of time.” He looked at her, an odd calm had settled on him since they had descended the stairs.

Valeria took up her rifle and carefully grabbed one of the black shot charges. “Buren! Here!”

“What?!” Buren cried.

“Get over here so we can shoot this fucking thing! Now!” Valeria slowly slid the shot down the barrel with her ramrod. Buren looked at Fulon, who nodded and took her place as she sprinted from the door. The horror filled the church with howling moans as the door advanced a few inches. Valeria held the black shot for Buren as she readied her rifle. Gada aimed his recurve bow at the door.

Valeria could hear Arun’s prayers under the horror’s wailing. He was clutching his reliquary to his chest. The door slid forward again.

“Ready,” Gada rasped. Valeria and Buren cocked their rifles.

At the camp at the Western front, after the Commander had briefed them, Buren had asked,

“What if it takes more than three days?”

“Yeah,” Fulon had added, much to Valeria’s chagrin. “What happens after three days?” The Commander had given one of his brief grins.

“Aim.” Valeria sighted the horror’s burnt head. This is for you Rakash, she thought.

“We leave you behind,” Commander Blas had replied.

“Fire.” Arun threw his reliquary into the gap in the door. White fire erupted and burnt the horror’s manifold arm. Three spouts of green fire erupted from the horror’s head as the black shots hit. The thing screamed and thrashed against the door. Arun and Fulon held their ground. Gada drew another black shot arrow, and they all watched as the horror went still and slumped forward, smoke rising from it’s corpse.

Satisfied, Arun and Fulon joined them at the lectern.

“I hope it fucking stays dead this time,” Arun panted. Buren and Fulon embraced each other. Gada gave a dry chuckle and unstrung his bow. With the horror silenced they could hear the moans of rotters beyond the church.

“Follow me,” he whispered. “There is a tunnel in the rectory. Passage out of the city.” 

Arun looked at Valeria quizzically. Valeria shrugged and grabbed her kit.

“Oh,” Gada added, “and I will need to see everyone’s skin. Later.”