Lucius, still staring at Ariazate, nodded. “Yes. When Syphax and I received our mission from the imperator, his pater patrum said there were evil spirits assaulting a temple of Mithras, but I can’t imagine they meant this one…” He finally pulled his eyes away from Ariazate’s frightened face and looked around. “It doesn’t make sense. We weren’t told to go to Gorneae by the priests.”
“What do priests know of accurate predictions?” the optio replied.
Lucius held his hand up to halt the optio. “Let me think, Venextos.” He brooded, the hobnails on the soles of his caligae clicking crisply as he paced back and forth. They’d been sent here by Selene, but could she have seen into the future to the death of these priests? Or were her directions merely a path to take on the way to their destination in the eastern mountains? For whatever reason, they’d been sent here, and he’d found the monsters. He stopped to look out the door into the growing darkness as true night set in. “Where’s that cursed medic?”
“It’s too late for the medic, Centurio. He’s gone.” The optio set down the dead man’s head gently, laying his hands on his chest.
A series of screams shattered the silence outside.
“What now…” Lucius’s hand drifted down to his gladius.
As he got closer, he realized the screams weren’t entirely human. Whinnying horses joined the growing disturbances outside. When he broached the door, sword in hand, he was met with a scene of pure chaos. Several of his men had been dragged from their mounts, a few of the horses taken down with them, thrashing weakly on the ground as they bled out. His men were trying to find order from the chaos but were struggling with their attackers, who in most cases didn’t have weapons and were dragging the men down with their hands.
He blinked hard, trying to make the scene make sense. They moved too fast, pulled too hard, lifted too easily. They were overwhelming his men.
“Zati, stay behind me.”
She nodded, her head wobbly from the terror of her monsters coming alive.
“To me!” Lucius bellowed, hefting his shield.
The men who’d been with him in the temple snapped into position, providing a line of flesh, steel, and shield to protect the young woman. Noticing a new threat, a couple of the… He could only call them monsters, even though they looked human enough. Regular humans didn’t move the way they did.
He almost missed his first strike, underestimating the speed and power of the creature. Plunging his gladius in deep, he did his best to keep the creature from getting to his vitals while Venextos came to his aid and helped him hack the thing to pieces. Before they could recover, they leaped after one who’d brought one of their comrades to the ground. As the creature tried to claw through the legionnaire’s shield, they shoved their blades through its back. Lucius hacked its head off before kicking the body off the man on the ground. His face was covered in blood from a couple of deep gashes. They helped him to his feet and let him wipe the blood from his eyes, then advanced forward.
“Form ranks on the temple!” Lucius yelled, trying to cut through the cacophony.
The men who could, made for the temple. One of them brought Lucius’s horse on a lead. Leaping into the saddle, he reached down and pulled Ariazate up behind him. With more men around him, he advanced. His horse, despite the terror, responded to his commands.
Wading in, he cut and slashed and stabbed, the pony kicking and biting while Ariazate held on tightly around his waist. The rest of his men had formed a ring and were doing their best to protect the pater and Tigran. He couldn’t see the pater’s men, but he had bigger concerns. He wished he’d left the gladius instead of the spatha—Ariazate had given it to Tigran before she came in. The reach of the spatha would be welcome. Once Lucius merged his group with the other, the creatures broke off and sprinted into the night nearly faster than his eye could track until only he and his men were left, along with the three Armenians.
“What the fuck happened out here?” Lucius barked.
“I don’t know, Centurio. One moment we were waiting here quietly, then they flew out of the darkness,” Tesserarius Ramses said, his chest heaving from the intense fight.
“Why didn’t our scouts give us any warning?” Lucius turned his horse around, trying to keep an eye out in every direction.
“As fast they came up on us… Centurio, they’re probably dead,” Venextos said. “Should I send someone to check the men we left at the gates?”
“No, we’ll be leaving shortly, and I don’t want to split our men.” Lucius looked around at the carnage of wounded and dead men and horses. They’d have to be careful leaving the fort. The creatures could be hiding in ambush anywhere.
Ariazate slipped off the horse and ran to her brother, making sure he was OK.
“Check for wounded and dead,” Lucius ordered then pointed his sword toward the pater. “This is your country, Pater. What were those things? The priest inside called them Nhang before he died.”
The old man shivered in his saddle, his eyes wide in terror. His mouth worked like a fish out of water. Once he regained his composure, he addressed the Centurion. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it before. They’re horrors.”
“Centurio,” Venextos interrupted, waving Lucius closer.
Lowering his ear toward his friend, he waited for the news bad enough it had to be kept quiet.
“Of the men downed, most are dead. Five are still clinging to life, but I doubt they have any chance at pulling through.” Venextos exhaled heavily, frowning.
They both looked up at the distant sound of an unholy screech.
“Fuck, they’re gathering again,” Venextos mumbled.
“No chance of surviving?” Lucius asked.
The optio shook his head.
Lucius closed his eyes and nodded. “Ease their passing and grab their signaculum. Organize a party to put down the wounded horses and strip what we can of the gear. Prioritize food and survival equipment.”
Venextos, his eyes matching the sadness and terror in Lucius’s, nodded and started barking orders. Lucius turned back to Tiridat, looking for his men.
“Pater, what happened to your men?”
The pater shook himself out of his stupor. “Dead. All dead…”
“Mylitos, stick with the pater and do what you can to keep him moving,” Lucius ordered, nudging his horse toward Ariazate and Tigran.
The boy had tear streaks smudging his face, though he seemed alert and ready. His sister hovered near him.
“You two, find weapons. Take whatever you can use from the dead. Their armor will be too big for either of you. Take a couple packs and load up on food, then stick close to me. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but don’t get lost.” He held eye contact with Ariazate.
She nodded. “Tigi, go find a pair of swords, then see if you can find arrows and a couple bows.”
Tigran slid out of his saddle and walked reluctantly toward where the men were stripping the usable supplies from the bodies of the men and horses. One of the legionnaires handed him two swords, which he brought back to Ariazate. When Tigran turned back, the legionnaire had found a couple of bow and arrow cases. Sliding down from her horse, Ariazate took the sword and bow case and arranged them to her liking, then helped her brother settle the sword’s baldric under his belt. As soon as they remounted, Lucius saw to the organization of the rest of his men. They’d be leaving the temple with just over sixty men. The horses, though they were as terrified as the legionnaires, had fared better, leaving plenty of spares if they had to ride hard and switch mounts.
