Death's Angels tc-1

by William King

  Sardec could see where this was going. “That is hardly a matter of life or death, sir.”

  “Don’t be so naive, Lieutenant. We both know influence is the currency of our class. Humans commit crimes for money. Terrarchs commit crimes for power.”

  “I am aware of the saying, sir. I do not see the connection with Lady Asea.”

  “There is something going on here, Lieutenant. I am not sure what, but I would be willing to bet that whatever it is, it is connected with some Scarlet scheme to worm their way back into the Queen’s favour.”

  “I am not sure I follow you, sir.”

  “You want me to be more specific.”

  “That might prove felicitous, sir.”

  “She seems very keen to poke her nose into this business at Achenar.”

  “Sir?”

  “I would like to know why.”

  “Would it be naive of me to suggest that you ask her, sir?”

  “And she would tell me, of course.”

  “You think she may be up to something sinister, sir.”

  “I would not like to take that chance. Keep a very close eye on her, Lieutenant.”

  “And should her motives prove to be…sinister, sir?”

  “Just keep a close watch on her. If she finds anything that might be valuable, report it.”

  Sardec could not but feel that he was being asked to do something dishonourable, spying on a Lady of the First.

  “And don’t let anything happen to her, Lieutenant. Scarlet or not, none of us would look very good if something were to befall a Lady of her eminence.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

  “Very good, Lieutenant. You look quite tired. I think you’d best get some sleep tonight. You have an early start tomorrow if you are going to be at the Lady’s mansion by dawn. It would not do to be late for such an appointment.”

  Xeno gave Sardec a smirk that let the Lieutenant know that he knew exactly what Sardec had been up to last night.

  “This cannot be true,” said the Barbarian.

  “Unfortunately, it is,” said Sergeant Hef, glancing around the inside of Mama Horne’s with some distaste. From his prim appearance, you would have thought he had never been inside such a place before. Rik shoved the new girl, Eva, from his knee, and was pleased by the look of daggers Rena shot him across the room. He was showing her, he thought.

  “We’re to assemble back at the camp right away,” said Leon. “But we have a written authorisation from the Quartermaster valid for…”

  “Take it up with the Colonel,” said Hef. “I am sure he will be delighted to explain his decision to you.”

  “Anybody know what this is about? Have the hill-men gone on the rampage? Are we being invaded by the Dark Empire?” Weasel was obviously keen to know, despite his sardonic tone. Through his hangover haze so was Rik. He was keen for anything that would help him block out the memories of the previous evening. His bandaged hands stung. He would need to see a healer when he got back to camp.

  “I don’t know,” said the Sergeant. “Rumour has it that hill-men are going nuts and we’re being sent out to stop it.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” said the Barbarian.

  “And when you can spot that, it really must be true,” said the Sergeant. “Right lads — kiss the girls goodbye. It’s time to get back to business.”

  Rik groaned as he picked himself up from the couch. He slipped some coins into Eva’s hand, looked around to see if Rena had noticed, but she was already gone. Although he was not quite sure why, he felt bad about the whole business. Slowly, as his thoughts came back into focus, he realised that he had other problems. If what he had heard in the warehouse last night was true, they all had. The question was, what was he going to do about it?

  As they walked through the streets of the Pit, things had an oddly deserted look. Small solace prayer flags still fluttered in the wind. Families still slept in doorways, beggars still coughed and extended their hands for money, but the streets seemed empty after the revels of last night. Occasionally he caught the whiff of gunpowder from the fireworks. As they moved on, he saw Corporal Toby and a few of the other Foragers moving to join them. It looked like they had all been rousted out of whatever nests they had found for themselves.

  Rik looked over at Weasel and the Barbarian. The Barbarian looked quite sick, as if he had drunk too much for even his iron constitution. His pupils were shrunk to pinpricks in his pale purple eyes. He chewed the edges of his moustache reflectively. As Rik watched he bent over and slipped something that glinted like gold into the hand of a ragged woman sleeping in a doorway. She had two children as ragged as she under her arms. Weasel was red-eyed and miserable looking. He had probably lost a lot of money gambling last night. Rik slowly edged over towards them. Abruptly, he came to a decision.

  “We are in big trouble,” he said quietly through the side of his mouth.

  “It’s not that bad,” said Weasel. “They probably only want us to go on patrol again.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean exactly?”

  “I found out what was in those books.” Weasel did a double take.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Never mind.”

  Weasel laughed out loud. “You went and stole them back, didn’t you?”

  “How did you work that out?”

  “Anybody could see those books made you itchy as a booze-hound looking at a bottle.”

  The Barbarian joined in the laughter. “You went and stole them back? Halfbreed, you genius! Now we can sell them all over again.”

  Rik saw no sense in denying the charges against him. “I tried to get them back. I didn’t succeed. I did hear Bertragh discussing what they were for with Zarahel though.”

  “You saw the two of them together, the factor and the Prophet?” Weasel sounded astonished.

  “Not exactly but I heard them. They were in Bertragh’s office in the warehouse and I was outside the door.”

  “By the Light, how did you get in?” asked the Barbarian. “That place was better guarded than the Amber Palace.”

  “Trade secret. The thing is I did. Are either of you interested in knowing what I found out? It might only save your lives.”

  “No need to get peevish, lad,” said the Barbarian.

  “Just because your girl went off with his high and mightiness,” added Weasel. Rik winced. He had vague memories of whining drunkenly and at great length to Weasel about the whole business last night.

  “You want to hear or not?”

  “If you think it’s important.”

  Rik looked around once more, just to make sure. They were almost at the walls now, and there was no one within view, looked like everybody was inside sleeping off their hangovers. You could never be too careful though.

  “They are going to summon more of those demons we fought.” He heard both Weasel and the Barbarian gasp.

  “Why the fuck would they do that?” the Barbarian asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the demon can grant them wishes just like in a fairy story but frankly it sounded more like they were planning on getting an army of those things.”

  “One of them was bad enough,” said the Barbarian.

  “An army of hill-men spearheaded by a company of demons,” said Weasel. “I could see how that would appeal to Zarahel. He hates the Terrarchs like poison. Of course, I don’t see what this has to do with us.”

  “You don’t?”

  “For one thing, they might want to summon those demons, but who says they can? Only Terrarchs are capable of that sort of magic.”

  “Zarahel didn’t think so.”

  “Doesn’t make him right, Halfbreed.”

  “I sincerely hope for all our sakes that you are right.”

  “What could we do if I am wrong? Go chasing after him and get the books back?”

  “Maybe.”

  “For one thing, I would not give a monkey’s shit fo
r our chances of getting out of the hills alive, just the three of us. For another, if Zarahel can do magic, do you really want to face him? And for another, our beloved regimental commander might object to us legging it over the horizon in search of magicians when there is a war just about to happen…”

  “That will be the least of our worries if Zarahel and his buddies come out of those mountains with a bunch of those spider demons.”

  “You’re not suggesting that we run away?” Weasel’s tone made it clear that he thought this was the first half-sensible thing Rik had said all day.

  “It beats being dead.”

  “Halfbreed, use your brain. If we’re stuck in the middle of a hill-man uprising and a plague of demons, the safest place for us is with the army.”

  Rik thought about that. Weasel was probably right. He had been in enough war-torn regions to know that the best place to be under such circumstances was where there were plenty of armed men willing to give you their support.

  “And it might all be just talk,” said the Barbarian. His tone made it clear that he was just whistling in the dark. Like Rik he was prepared for the worst.

  Rik went back to his hangover. He did not know what bothered him most; the business with Zarahel or the business with Rena. Both made him feel sick.

  Back at the camp, Sardec was waiting for them. “Get powder and field rations from the magazine,” he told them. “We’re heading back into the mountains tomorrow.”

  “May I be permitted to ask why, sir?” asked Sergeant Hef. He knew it was a question that was on everybody’s mind.

  “We are providing an escort for a Terrarch lady.”

  “That’s all I bloody well need,” muttered the Barbarian. “A flower picking expedition.”

  “Get to bed early tonight, men,” said Sardec. “We’re off before dawn.”

  Rik stared at him and thought of Rena, willing the Terrarch officer to die. If sheer willpower could have managed it, Sardec would have been a corpse, but he stubbornly refused to fall down.

  “Word is we are heading back to the mine,” Weasel said, strolling up and squatting down by the fire. A group of Foragers studied the sorcerous lights burning in the night sky over the town. Some big magic was being brewed down there, Rik thought.

  “How do you know?” Rik asked, taking another pull on the wine flask.

  “Just been talking to the Quartermaster. Seems the mahouts have been given orders to prepare the bridgebacks for a trip into the mountains. And Lieutenant Sardec just put in a requisition for two dozen storm-lanterns to be sent with the wyrms. Doesn’t that sound like they are planning on heading somewhere dark?”

  “The mine?”

  “Of course.”

  “Other sources say Lady Asea wants to see our discovery for herself.”

  “Other sources? You mean Lieutenant Jazeray?”

  “Go ask the Quartermaster. I’m sure he’ll tell you.”

  Rik knew what Weasel was thinking. He was putting together what Rik had heard in the warehouse with this sudden expedition. Had the Exalted got word of Zarahel’s plans? It was possible; they had their own sources. Perhaps it was what all that magic being brewed down in the city was about. He shivered, not wanting to think about what might be waiting at the mine.

  He got up and made off into the darkness.

  “Where are you going, Rik? I was only joking about the Quartermaster.”

  “Off to make some preparations of my own,” he said.

  Weasel followed him for a short while into the gloom. “I heard another rumour today.”

  “What?”

  “Seems Bertragh’s warehouse was burgled the other night. A dead hill-man was found there. The factor himself has disappeared.”

  “I think we can both guess where.” Weasel nodded and headed back to the fire, a set of dice had appeared in his hand.

  Rik lurched off in the direction of Karl’s billet. The Wyrm Hunter might sell him some of his special weapons if he asked nicely. He had never been known to do so in the past, but no one had ever offered him gold regals before either. Rik had a particular desire to get some truesilver bullets. They were the only thing he had ever heard of that were universally effective against demons. He hoped Karl would be willing to part with some.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The next morning when the Lady Asea strode through the gateway of her mansion to inspect the troops drawn up in the courtyard, Sardec was surprised. She did not look like a spoiled noblewoman any more. Flanked by two black robed servants, she looked like a Terrarch warlord from the Elder Times. In spite of himself, he was impressed. There was no doubt that here indeed was one of the First, and one accoutred for battle.

  On her face Asea wore a mask of liquid metal. It covered everything save her eyes and her teeth. There were two holes for her nostrils. It was moulded to her features and moved with them, smiling when she smiled, frowning when she frowned. In the middle of the mask’s forehead rested a black jewel, miniature elder signs inscribed on every facet.

  Her body was wrapped in strips of what looked like studded leather, like the cerements of a mummy. Like the mask, they clung to her flesh sorcerously and followed her every movement. There was no doubt she was armoured, but it was armour that allowed her as much flexibility as if she were clad in silk.

  On her right wrist were three golden bands, each marked by runes, and each bearing a glowing gem: one red, one purple, one green. Sardec thought he recognised two of them. The green was the master control ring for a Leash, used to bind wyrms and other creatures to the wearer’s will. The red bore a strong resemblance to something his father had shown him as a boy. It was a control torque for one of the ancient weapons. A rune of Warding pulsed on it. He could not begin to guess what the third armlet was for. On her belt hung the holster of a Lash and the scabbard of a blade. A host of Elder signs dangled from a truesilver chain around her neck.

  She might have stepped out of one of the sagas of Elder Days. All her equipment had the smooth, potent look of the Old Magic. Behind the two black clad servants came a house servant bearing a large rune-covered flask.

  “At least you are punctual,” she said. “So few youths are these days. Come! I would have some words with your troops.”

  “As you wish,” said Sardec. Unconsciously he fell into step behind her. He lengthened his stride so that they walked together like equals. The two servants, their faces masked and veiled so that only a thin strip of dark skin was visible around the eyes, fell in behind them. The Foragers were drawn up in ranks a short distance from the great wyrms that would carry them. They stood smartly to attention as Asea appeared, much more smartly than they normally would have for him, he thought sourly. It seemed that they too were impressed.

  Asea passed along the line pausing to look into the faces of men here and there, searching their faces as if looking for something. Most men paled under that cold scrutiny, but a few met her eye, and he sensed that in some indefinable way she was pleased. When she had passed along the entire line, she turned and took up a position a few strides in front of the troops.

  “We are going into the mountains,” she said. Her voice carried well, although by some sorcerer’s trick she did not seem to have raised it above the conversational level. “We are going back to a place you have visited previously. You are to be my bodyguards. I can see that I will be in safe hands!

  “When I return to my home unharmed you will be well rewarded. There will be gold crown for each of you…perhaps more if things should prove a little dangerous.”

  There was cheering at this. She turned away and spoke soft urgent words to the servants carrying the flask.

  “Be very careful with that,” she said. “Should the seal break we face death. Aye, and worse than death.”

  What was going on here? Sardec wondered, as he gave the orders to mount.

  “Here we go again,” said the Barbarian, as they scrambled over the side of the howdah. Rik wondered if it was the same wyrm as they had rid
den on previously. There was something about the blotched pattern of its neck scales that seemed familiar.

  The wyrm lurched upright and let out a bellow of suppressed fear and rage. From the gate of Asea’s tower came the sound of hissing and a peculiar reptilian squealing. “What now?” the Barbarian muttered as they all stood up to look over the howdah’s side.

  Through the gate emerged a pack of about a dozen huge ripjacks. They raced forward swirling around Sardec, lean bi-pedal wyrms with long snake-like necks and lashing tails. From tip of nose, to end of tail they were probably nine feet long, and stood four foot high. Massive slashing claws emerged from their toes. Their teeth were razor sharp and wicked intelligence shone in their eyes.

  It was the sight and most likely the smell of these predators that had upset the great bridgebacks. They swivelled to keep them in view despite the best efforts of their mahouts. Rik felt something almost like admiration for Sardec. He knew that it would have been impossible for him to stand there as calm as the Lieutenant did with those killers milling around him. At the same time, it would have given him the greatest satisfaction to see them tear Sardec limb from limb and feast on his remains.

  Looking closer, Rik could see that each had a small collar with a gleaming stone upon its neck. Sorcery controlled the ripjacks. Noticing the massive jet black wyrm emerging through an inner gate of the Palace, Rik knew who was doing the controlling. It looked like Lady Asea was serious about her hunting.

  He took a long breath and settled down, clutching his weapons for reassurance. He had not liked the way the Lady Asea had looked at him at all. It had made him feel as if she was looking right down into the blackest depths of his soul and seeing things there that amused her. He hoped it was not the case, for if she could, she would have found out all about his dealings with Bertragh.

  Briefly Rik wondered if he should go to her and tell her what he knew, in return for a pardon for his acts. Surely one of the First, a Terrarch sorceress would know what to do about the Ultari. As quickly as the thought entered his mind, he suppressed it. There would be no pardon for him and the others. The best he could hope for was a quick death if his role in all of this was found out.