Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the area around the temple and its impressive painted basalt columns. It wasn’t the largest such structure he’d seen, but it was lovely and majestic and entirely too dark and silent.
He set his left hand on the end of the spatha strapped to his saddle, squeezing the round pommel tightly. Seeing the direction of his hand, his men gripped the hilts of their weapons, their alertness taking another step into the hyper range. Tigran seemed to be the only one not paying attention to the increase in tension as he gawked at the temple he might barely remember from his distant early childhood. Ariazate, who’d slid to the outside of Tigran, noticed and used her horse to herd her brother away from the edge of the group in toward Lucius.
“Zati,” Tigran pointed to the top of the temple, “look—”
“Tigran, hush up,” she hissed.
“What?”
She gave him a sharp look and covered her mouth with her hand. Tigran’s eyes went wide as his head snapped to attention, eyes darting around to tense men gripping their weapons. Assured that Ariazate had her brother in check, Lucius turned his attention back to the temple and his legionnaires. With a couple quick hand signals, he sent three men each to the left and the right and a pair back to rest of the cohort to update them and ensure they were on the way. Sliding off his saddle, he tugged the tall and narrow hexagonal cavalry shield around. Looking at his spatha, he pulled it and handed it over to Ariazate, hilt first. She took it and rested the blade across the two front saddle horns holding her thighs into the saddle.
Lucius left three men to watch the Armenians and hold the horses until the rest of their unit could join them. He waved the remaining four men to follow. Finally, he drew his gladius from its scabbard. A quick glance over the side with Selene’s moon and stars engraved in it settled him as he took his first step toward the temple.
If he wanted to get to the stairs, he’d have to step off the grassy ground onto the paved path leading up to the main entrance of the temple. When he set his foot down on the stone, the hobnails in his caligae would sound loud and crisp. Sneaking wouldn’t work.
He signaled his plan, then took off at a low run until he reached the stairs and stormed up, sliding around a column and up to the wall near the door, his back flat against the cold basalt. The sun, halfway behind the mountains on the other side of the temple cast long shadows and rich oranges and pinks. Eyes flicking to the door, he saw a dark spot. Unsure of what it might be, he leaned his sword against the stone frame of the door, point down.
Poking his tongue out to wet his lips, he rubbed his hand over the shadow, then held his fingers in front of his face. Shadows didn’t wipe off stone. Blood. Wiping his fingers off on his tunic, he snatched the gladius up and lifted his shield. He made eye contact with each of his men, then nodded.
In pairs, the four men swept through the door, Lucius hot on their tail. They formed a five-man wedge with each side scanning the walls while he covered the front. The lack of motion or visible enemies didn’t inspire him to lower his arms, and what he saw caused him to tighten his grip as he clenched his fists around the handle of the shield and the handle of the sword.
Blood was smeared across the walls and floor, and a well-dressed man, likely a priest, sprawled motionless in the center of the aisle. The metallic scent of blood saturated the air. When they swept through to the back of the small temple, only finding blood and bodies, he sent his men to the front to hold the door while he looked for something he could light. With the temple facing to the northwest, the setting sun had nearly rendered it pitch black. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out his steel and flint.
When he found an unbroken oil lamp, he set it clear of any spilled oil and attempted to light its wick. Once he got it lit, he lifted it above his head to cast as much light as he could with the poor, underpowered flame.
Even with that, the carnage became far more graphic. The priests had been slaughtered. The bright reds of the frescoes contrasted against the shiny, almost black of the congealing blood. Squatting down, he stuck his fingers into a pool of blood. Cold. It hadn’t happened in the last few hours.
A young woman’s scream startled him. He whipped around. Ariazate stared in horror at the blood and bodies strewn about. At the sound, a couple of Lucius’s men poked their heads in. Why hadn’t the fools stopped her? Lucius, careful not to spill the oil from the lamp, stepped in front of Ariazate, blocking the view with his body, and wrapped his other arm around her. He rubbed her back while making soothing sounds as she shook and cried. A few minutes later, the optio and a couple other men stepped into the temple.
The optio stopped nearby. “What happened here, Centurio?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had much of a chance to figure it out yet.” Lucius gestured with his head toward Ariazate.
She pushed back from Lucius, wiping her eyes. “I’ll be fine now.”
“You should wait outside.”
She shook her head tightly. “No. We need to find out what happened.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Optio, please have someone ensure the boy stays outside, and tell Pater Tiridat what happened in here. He can join us if he wishes, though I don’t know if he’ll be able to do anything except comfort the dead.”
“Right, I’ll be right back.” The optio turned to leave.
“Centurio! This one’s still alive,” a legionnaire called.
“Better grab a medic too,” Lucius said, closing the distance to the legionnaire squatting next to a body.
The man, probably in his late fifties or early sixties, wore blood-soaked robes. His thick silvery beard was stained pink in spots while in others, thicker black blood had coagulated, matting the hair in clumps. His chest rose and fell shallowly. As his head lolled to the side, Lucius saw it—the grievous wound in his neck—teeth marks.
Lucius’s vision darkened around the edges as his breathing grew quick and hoarse. He’d seen a similar wound just over ten years ago in the hills outside of Sarmizegetusa. The face of his best friend Cassius, pale from blood loss, filled his mind as Lucius relived his friend’s final moments, gasping out his life, a teeth marks in his neck. Pressure on his shoulder brought him back into the room. Looking up, he nodded at Ariazate in thanks.
“Grah…”
The sudden sound accompanied by a weak jerk from the wounded man startled Lucius, sending him tumbling onto his butt. The old man appeared to be trying to form words, though they weren’t familiar to Lucius.
“Can you understand what he’s trying to say, Ariazate?” Lucius asked, getting back to his feet.
The hand Ariazate had returned to his shoulder shook. He checked on his young friend. Her eyes had gone wide, her face pale as the blood drained from it.
“What is it, Zati?”
“He keeps repeating the same name. Nhang. Nhang. Nhang.” She took a step back, placing Lucius between herself and the old man.
“What does it mean?” Lucius looked back and forth between Ariazate and the old man as he mumbled the same word repeatedly.
She shook her head but kept her stare locked on the old man’s lips as he repeated the sound, each time getting weaker. “We…we must go. We won’t find anything here but evil.”
“We can’t go yet. He needs our help.” Lucius stood up.
“He’s beyond help. We have to go.” She pleaded with Lucius, trying to pour her urgency into her eyes. “Please.”
He reached out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, the lamp light flicking shadows around her face. “What is a Nhang? I can’t protect everyone if I don’t know what I’m fighting.”
“They’re monsters. Sometimes they look like a serpent or a seal. Sometimes they pose as a woman to lure men in, then drink their blood. Though I don’t know what they’re doing this far from water… They’re foul, evil demons.”
Lucius’s mouth dropped open as his eyes widened. “The di inferi…”
“Do you know what she’s talking about, Centurio?” Venextos asked.
