The Bane of the Dead

We left the main castle path after a time and followed a narrow trail that wound toward the western quarter of the city.

The stench of death thickened as we advanced, guiding us like some foul beacon.

We crept toward the former barricades that had once sealed the northern edge of the western quarter.

What remained of them looked as ruinous as the others: splintered beams, shattered furniture, and whole sections still aflame.

In the red blaze of the burning timbers we heard the groaning of the dead.

Some lay trapped beneath collapsed woodwork, clawing feebly with crushed hands.

Others wandered past us, burning and stinking, drawn eastward by the great blood-scent drifting from camp and tross.

But not all the figures stumbling there were risen.

Some were the defenders themselves, left where they had fallen.

Brave men who had tried to hold their ground before the Hellish Fähnlein betrayed them, now skewered upon linstocks, leaning over silent cannon, pierced by crossbow bolts.

We slipped as near to the ruins as we dared.

Only a handful of dead lingered there and every few minutes a solitary corpse drifted from the western quarter.

Ida raised her crossbow.

“Those few won’t hinder us, if we move swiftly,” she said. “I keep the side street. See to the barricade.”

I nodded and drew my blade, judging cold steel the wiser choice while bolts were few.

We had scarcely taken five steps when the first creature saw us.

Its head twisted our way, half the jaw missing so that bare teeth stared through a charred hole.

With a long, miserable moan it lurched forward, only for Ida’s bolt to strike it square in the skull.

More turned at the sound.

Before they could close a circle around us, I charged.

Steel bit into rotted heads, and each corpse fell limp at once.

I forced my way to the barricade and cut down what still twitched, while behind me Ida kept our flanks clear with well-placed shots.

Through the smoking remnants of wardrobes and tables I saw the narrow lane beyond, leading deeper toward the townhall square.

“Can we pass?” Ida called.

“Yes,” I answered. “The way is mostly clear. Beyond that I cannot tell.”

“That suffices. This lane runs straight to the square. Had more of them gathered there, they would have moved east already.”

Once we had dispatched every Wiedergänger within reach, we climbed over the broken barricade and entered the western quarter.

The alley ran without side streets, no fear of an ambush from left or right, but the sight did little to comfort me.

Blood slicked the stones.

Limbs and organs lay scattered like refuse.

Clothing torn and soaked.

And above all the sound, the wet chewing.

Not from the dead.

It was the rats.

Swarms of them had come out from their holes, feasting openly upon human remains.

The dead were far too slow to catch them, thus the vermin fed without worry.

We passed them quickly and soon the alley opened onto the townhall square.

I knew the place well.

Many times had I accompanied my father to the Kontor ¹ or to some council errand.

Once, the square had been handsome.

Now it lay drowned in a dark red sea of blood and ash.

Fire from the eastern quarter rolled clouds of smoke and ember-red sparks across the paving stones.

And the square was not empty:

It was filled with the risen, scores upon scores of them, standing before the town hall. 

Packed together like a crowd awaiting proclamation from their mayor.

Ida and I froze.

Our eyes met, shocked, yet not panicked.

The center of the square lay clear, and the path beyond as well.

Only the space before the town hall teemed with the dead.

If we kept close to the right-hand wall, we might yet pass unseen.

With a few brief gestures we settled our plan and edged forward.

The dovecote was already in sight beyond the marketplace, only a few streets more.

We had almost reached the far end of the square when we heard voices.

Human voices.

From inside the town hall.

The shouting grew louder, resolving into furious argument.

The dead at the doors stirred.

Now we knew why they had gathered.

We exchanged a troubled glance.

A shot.

Then something fell from an upper window.

A body.

It struck the stones with a sickening crack, and the living corpses hurled themselves upon it, tearing it to pieces.

Another figure appeared at the window, a man holding a smoking pistol.

After a moment I recognized him.

“Father Gerlach!?” I breathed.

So the inquisitor still lived.

And some others with him, no doubt.

How they had survived this long was a question for another time.

“Come,” Ida whispered. “We owe them nothing.”

“But the council,” I whispered back. “Some of them may yet...”

She seized my arm.

“If we tarry for them, we shall never reach the dovecote,” she hissed. “You mourn the dead already lost. But if we turn back now, their deaths will truly be for nothing.”

She was right, though the truth sat ill with me.

A rescue attempt was madness.

“All right,” I murmured. “We go.”

Ida nodded.

We had barely taken three steps when a voice shouted behind us.

“Ho! You there!”

Gerlach had seen us.

“Wait! You must help us! There are survivors here, by God, stop!”

We halted, torn.

Ida shifted in irritation.

“For pity’s sake,” she muttered. “The man just cast someone to the dead. Leave him.”

“I know,” I said softly.

We moved on.

Then Gerlach’s tone changed, pleading to fury in an instant.

“What do you think you are doing?” he roared. “Come back here! I am a servant of God! Obey, or you shall burn in Hell!”

His curses carried no weight with me, and even less with Ida.

But his spite proved sharper than his piety.

“You will not slip me so easily!” he bellowed.

He vanished from the window.

A heartbeat later he reappeared at the entrance and hurled something with all his strength.

Only a stool.

Yet enough.

It struck the stones between us and the main mass of dead and the noise echoed across the square.

Every milky eye turned our way.

“That cursed fool,” Ida hissed.

The dead began to shuffle toward us.

Without thinking I shoved her.

“Run!”

We sprinted toward the marketplace.

But we were too exposed.

Too loud.

Every stray corpse joined the chase.

Ahead, the street to the market roared with groans and dragging feet.

“We’ll never pass!” Ida gasped. “This way!”

We doubled back into a narrow side alley.

For a few blessed paces it was clear.

Then toppled crates and a burning cart blocked the exit.

A dead end.

We turned again, several creatures already entering behind us.

We cut them down and rushed back into the square, only to find no path open.

We were surrounded.

The ring closed, step by dragging step.

“What now?” Ida asked, her voice tighter than usual.

“I do not know,” I answered. “That wretched inquisitor has sealed our fate.”

“May I remind you,” she snapped, “that he saw us only because of your hesitation?”

“This is hardly the hour for blame!”

I cast a glance toward the town hall.

The doors stood open.

Gerlach himself was gone.

“The coward used us!” I growled. “Look, he slipped through while they turned toward us.”

None of the dead blocked the entrance now, they were all drifting our way.

“If we could reach the hall…” Ida murmured.

“But how?”

I raised my crossbow.

If there was ever a time for the weapon to prove itself, it was now.

I cranked it, set a bolt, and fired into the densest cluster.

Four corpses fell at once.

The bolt had torn through skull, then the skull behind it, then a third beyond and even another.

Rotten flesh offered no resistance and the dead stood so tightly packed that one strike felled many.

I reloaded, fired, reloaded again.

Each shot blasted open decayed faces.

The press began to thin.

“I can cut us a path!” I shouted. “Keep them from our sides!”

Ida nodded, tense but steady.

I laid bolt upon bolt into the mass, carving a narrow corridor.

“Now!” I cried, and dragged her with me.

We forced our way through the gap, stumbling past spilled entrails and collapsed bodies.

We were nearly free when one of the dead seized Ida’s forearm.

She screamed.

The creature lunged.

I rammed a loose bolt straight into its temple.

It crumpled.

I hauled Ida forward and together we dashed up the steps of the town hall.

Inside at last, Ida dropped the bar across the door while I swept the ground floor in frantic haste.

No stragglers.

When I returned, she leaned against the door, trembling, pale.

I slid down beside her.

“That was close,” I murmured.

“Close?” she repeated, still breathless. “By rights, we should both be among the dead now...”

She hesitated, then added with reluctance:

“You handled yourself… better than I expected.”

It was a compliment, though it hardly sounded like one.

I looked down at the blood-spattered crossbow in my hands.

“Thank this thing,” I said. “It’s the very bane of the dead.”

Ida considered that, then nodded.

“Deadbane,” she said quietly. “A fitting name.”

I smiled faintly.

“Deadbane it is. She has earned it, and will earn more yet.”

That pleased her.

A grin flickered across her face.

“Then let us see she gets her chances.”

We helped each other to our feet.

Beyond the barred doors, the dead clawed and moaned, their weight already pressing against the wood.

The town hall trembled faintly.

But whatever shelter we had found here, it would not last forever.

Glossary

1) A Kontor was a major trading post of the Hanseatic League in foreign cities with a certain degree of legal autonomy.