by William King
This old manor was strong; a fortified farmhouse with thick walls around it, designed to resist bandit attacks from the forest and the raiding soldiers of neighbouring lords. It was a product of the constant internecine warfare that had long plagued Kharadrea. Yes, it was a strong building.
Sardec just hoped the building was strong enough.
After what seemed like an eternity, the moon emerged from the clouds and shafts of light struck the earth through the foliage. By this time, Rik’s eyes were used to the gloom. The blindness was over. He could see. The woods shimmered in the moonglow. Large mushrooms thrust up through the mulch of leaves. The Barbarian and Weasel were goblin figures ahead of him.
The sound of pursuit came from behind them. Rik felt as if his chest was on fire. The wet clothes chafed his skin. He itched from mosquito bites. A new tone had entered the voices of wyrms. If Rik had not known better he would have said it was fear. He could hear men, trying to lash them on, but for some reason the ripjacks simply would not advance.
“What’s going on?” Rik asked.
“Don’t know,” said the Barbarian.
“There’s something strange about this place,” said Weasel. They stood in a large clearing beside a large almost perfectly circular lake. It was so mathematically symmetrical that Rik suspected it was artificial. Weasel pointed to a path winding its way through the trees.
It was unnaturally quiet here, and the trees had a queer warped twisted look. Mould clung to some of their branches. Old tales of the horrors to be met in woods after midnight leapt into his mind. It seemed they had been driven far from the path they wanted to take and into some place utterly different.
At that moment, the wind shifted and Rik caught the smell.
“What’s that stink?” he asked.
“Smells rotten,” said the Barbarian. Instinctively they moved closer together, forming up in a triangle so they could cover all the lines of approach.
At that moment, a faint glow started about twenty paces away. There was a greenish tinge to it. Rik felt a pricking on his skin.
A large creature stood in the centre of the glow. Rik felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. The thing was as bulky as the Barbarian but not as tall. It was longer and lower to the ground. It resembled nothing so much as a ripjack, but a ripjack with the proportions of a man. Its head was serpent-like. A massive tail rose behind it. Its skin was scaly. Its eyes bulged and were larger by far than a man’s. A long tongue whipped from its mouth and tasted the air. In its hands it held a serrated edged sword as long as a rifle, and vicious looking as hell. Tales of the ghosts of Serpent Men sprang to Rik’s mind.
“What the hell is that?” said the Barbarian. The thing stared at them across the clearing. Rik tensed expecting an attack. He glanced left and right wondering if this was a distraction meant to hold their attention while something else snuck up on them. He saw nothing, and heard nothing save the small night sounds of the forest.
“Who are you?” Rik asked.
“What are you?” The Barbarian sounded as if he were on the edge of berserk fury now. He had all the Northman’s primitive superstitions about the demons of the Elder World. Looking at this thing, Rik did not blame him.
“Serpent Man,” said Weasel. “Must be. Its people once lived in these parts.”
“They died out ages ago,” said Rik.
“Tell that to scaly over there. He’s the one you need to convince.”
“You think it’s a ghost then, Halfbreed?” said the Barbarian. The fear in his voice was even more evident. He sounded like he could not decide whether to charge at the thing or run screaming into the night. He was simply saying what they were all thinking.
“How would I know? It looks real enough.”
“Think my sword would cut it?” The Barbarian asked.
“Want to go over and find out?”
“You think I am scared?”
“I sure as hell am,” Rik replied.
“It’s not moving,” said Weasel. As ever he had managed to keep his wits about him. Now that Rik looked closely he could see the poacher was right. The faint glow surrounding it rippled and gave the impression of movement, but so far the creature had done nothing since it became visible.
“Maybe it’s waiting. Snakes can wait forever without moving,” said the Barbarian.
Now that the immediate rush of fear had passed, Rik was more curious than afraid. He edged slowly closer to the Serpent Man. It appeared to be standing on top of something, a massive block of stone, partially buried in the earth. As Rik approached runes lit up and crawled along its side. He froze immediately but nothing happened.
“Come back, Halfbreed,” the Barbarian called. “Remember what happened in the mines.”
Curiosity and something else niggled at Rik. There was something wrong here. A mystery he was determined to penetrate. Curiosity had always been a fatal weakness of his. He halted almost within touching distance of the Serpent Man.
This close Rik could not help but notice that two long fangs curved down from the corners of its mouth. He wondered if they were poisonous in life. He was close enough now to see that this thing was a statue, standing on top of some sort of plinth. He admired the detail of the workmanship. It was incredibly life like. Looking around, he could see the ground here was irregular. An open area of paved stone lay just beyond the statue. Strange glowing runes crawled over its surface as well.
What was going on here, he wondered? Had their presence triggered something? Was this some sort of sorcerous trap? Or had this nothing to do with them.
“I think this place is haunted, Halfbreed,” said the Barbarian. “Come away.”
“It’s only a statue,” Rik replied. “It’s not a ghost.”
“What about these bloody lights then?”
“Magic of some sort,” said Rik.
There was no denying the sorcery involved in them, but so far it had not seemed to do anything to them. Perhaps this was a place best left alone. His nerves were taut. His senses screamed at him to go. He felt as if at any minute something dreadful might appear.
“I think now we should leave this place,” said Weasel.
Rik nodded. They turned to follow the path once more, and progressed through the night with many an uneasy glance over their shoulders. They could still hear the sounds of their pursuers behind them. Rik understood now why the wyrms would not approach this place.
They were more sensible than men.
Sardec stood on a cold peak looking down on the long road that vanished into darkness. Dozens of figures walked it. They were tall and shrouded in funeral grey. He stroked his chin with the fleshy fingers of his right hand. Surprise shook him. He thought he had lost those fingers. He thought they had been burned away. He could still feel the terrible heat in them. He reached down and found his father’s blade, Moonshade, hanging at his side. That too was funny. He had thought the blade destroyed, lost in the mines beneath Achenar, when he and his soldiers had fought the demon god Uran Ultar.
He remembered what the road was now. He had been here before. It was the road of the dead, which the souls of Terrarchs walked en route to the Place of Judgement. So I’m dead then, he thought. Did the Kharadreans attack in the night? Or had he never walked away from the lair of the Spider God? Had that been some sort of dream? No, he thought, that was wrong. This was the dream.
Even as he thought that, he felt the things scuttling over him. They were small creatures, a cross between a spider and a centipede whose long tails arched scorpion-like over their bodies. They began to clamber over him, stinging him. Where the tails entered, flesh swelled into huge bumps from which more and more of the creatures hatched. Behind him, he heard something big scuttling closer and closer. He writhed in agony, rolling and trying to crush the things, as they swarmed into his clothes, into his mouth, as their stings penetrated his eyes…
Covered in cold sweat, he sat up. The room was empty. The fire was out. He had endured the dream once more. He
wondered if it had any mystical significance or whether it was just a nightmare.
“Ah, the sweet smell of home,” said the Barbarian, taking a lungful of the foul air into his nostrils. He had become more cheerful with every step that put the haunted glade and its strange statue behind them.
They had smelled the camp long before they saw it. The odour of cooking and latrines and wyrms and thousands of unwashed bodies packed close together in damp tents was unmistakable. Now the camp was visible below them, a dark mass of tents and lanterns laid out in regular rows, large fires built far enough from the tents to prevent a blaze, sentries with lanterns moving to and fro through the mobile city. Rik could see the inverted v of the human tents and the vast pavilions of the Terrarch nobles, with tents of all sizes in between. On the far side of the camp from the horses, corralled wyrms bellowed and grunted in their sleep.
They trudged downhill until a sentry challenged them, and they gave their names and their regiments. “Password,” went the sentry.
“We don’t know the bloody password,” said the Barbarian. “We’ve just come back from a battle and we’ve news for the General.”
“If you don’t know the password I have to lock you up. Orders are orders.”
“Is that Corporal Menzel?” Weasel asked.
“Aye, Weasel, is that you?”
“You know it is, and I have the Barbarian and Halfbreed with me.”
“So you do.”
“Let us pass. This is important. The rest of the lads are trapped back there and we need to get a relief column organised.”
“I don’t know anything about. I have my orders and orders is orders.”
The Barbarian sputtered with rage. “If you don’t let us pass I’m going to take this knife and stick it up…”
“What’s going on here?” said another voice. It belonged to a Terrarch. Lieutenant Jazeray emerged from the gloom and began surveying the scene down his long nose.
“We’ve come from Lieutenant Sardec, sir,” said Rik. “He encountered the enemy today, took a stronghold from them but was cut off by enemy reinforcements. He sent us to get help. I appreciate Corporal Menzel here being zealous in his duties but we were instructed to take the word to General Azaar himself.”
“Were you now?” Jazeray asked. “Sardec surrounded you say? How many enemy?”
“Maybe a thousand Blues.”
“I doubt there are that many Blues in a hundred miles.”
“With all respect, sir, perhaps the General should be the one to make that decision. Our lads could be dying back there and…”
Jazeray came to a decision. He nodded. “Of course. But I warn you if this is some sort of hoax…”
“It’s no hoax, sir.”
“Come then, let us go and disturb the General and his half-sister.”
Rik started. As far as he knew Lord Azaar only had one half-sister, the Lady Asea. Once she had promised to teach him sorcery, but she seemed to have forgotten him for the past few months. He wondered why she was back in camp at this time and what tidings she had brought. He wondered if she even remembered who he was.
He shrugged. He would know the answers soon enough.
Chapter Four
Ahead of them a huge pavilion loomed. Glowstones set on staves lit the entrance. More of the magical gems dangled from chandeliers hung from the roof-pole of the interior. Despite the hour, people filled the tent. The smell of incense drifted through the air and a small chamber orchestra played soothing music.
At the central table sat the army’s Terrarch officers. Gold braid garlanded their scarlet coats. Regimental badges pinned to many breasts revealed the ranks of Colonels and Captains. Rik found his gaze drawn magnetically to the table. At one end sat a tall Terrarch, his face obscured by a silver mask of startling beauty. His scarlet coat was severely cut and carried no markings of rank. Leather gauntlets obscured his hands. Despite the heat a red scarf covered his neck. It seemed that General Azaar was determined not to show the slightest trace of flesh to the world. There were terrible rumours concerning why.
At the other end of the table sat a Terrarch woman of startling beauty, tall as a tall man, slender as a willow wand. Her hair was piled high on her head to reveal her sharply pointed ears. Her huge liquid eyes caught the light and reflected it. Rik was stunned. The last time he had seen Lady Asea she had been garbed for war in the magical armour of the First. Now she looked every inch the Lady of court. There was no trace of the martial sorceress who had offered to apprentice him. She gave not the slightest sign of knowing who Rik was. For the sake of his own safety, he decided that he had better take his cue from her.
Lieutenant Jazeray strode forward and whispered something in Colonel Xeno’s ear. That cold-faced officer leaned forward and said something to General Azaar. The General gestured for the three Foragers to come forward. The slow grace of his movement, and the leather covering his hand gave it a sinister quality. Rik did his best not to quail under the General’s bright, mad gaze. He had once seen a hawk with eyes like Azaar's. There was something predatory and fierce and not quite sane about them.
“Speak,” said the General. His voice was low but it carried through the hubbub of the room. Despite all the people present, he felt the General’s attention was focused totally on him. He had to fight to stop himself babbling as he told his tale. Azaar heard him out without interrupting and then asked a few questions about the nature of the enemy troops and their disposition, before raising his hand.
“My Lords,” he said. “Business calls. It seems we have encountered the enemy sooner than we expected. I regret we must turn our attention from this fine food to matters more martial. If the Colonels will join me in my tent, I would be grateful. I suggest that the rest of you get some sleep. There will be battle on the morrow. My sister, I regret we must interrupt this feast of welcome.”
Asea nodded graciously. "Duty must come first."
One by one the Terrarchs rose, bowed to Azaar and Asea and to each other then withdrew.
Azaar looked at the three Foragers. “Hold yourself in readiness here in case I need to question you again. My servants have gone to find you dry clothing. Help yourself to any food you want on the table. Leave the wine alone for now. I want you clear-headed.”
Rik was surprised. Azaar’s speech did not have any of the patronising quality he had come to expect from the Terrarchs. It was not friendly, but it was not contemptuous either, and his manner said that he really did appreciate the dangers they had run to bring him this news and would reward them in time.
A moment later, Azaar swept out of the tent followed by the regimental commanders and their adjutants. The three men found themselves alone with the servants and the Lady Asea. She fanned herself and studied them from the corner of her eye, without seeming to.
The Barbarian eyed her with a frank appreciation that Rik expected to get him hauled off and whipped. Weasel was already at the table, selecting dainties and sticking them in his pockets for later. The mark of an old soldier, Rik thought, was that he never let an opportunity for such plunder pass.
Asea gestured at Rik. At first he was not sure she meant him, but she repeated it and he walked over.
“You look a little bedraggled, soldier,” she said.
“We swam a river tonight, milady” he said.
“And encountered a relic of the Serpent Men,” she said. “That’s a strange omen.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps you will soon.”
She smiled at him and the smile was ravishing, though there was a coldness to it that put him on his guard. “I have not forgotten what we talked of in the mines beneath Achenar. We will talk again when the time is right.” She gestured with her fan to the two soldiers and the servants who had already set to clearing the table. “This is not the time or the place.”
“I appreciate that, milady,” Rik said. His heart raced. It seemed that she really had not forgotten about him, and he had not lost his chance t
o learn sorcery and to rise in the world. Suddenly his old suppressed ambitions returned.
She nodded pleasantly to him, rose and then left the tent. Two maids followed her, and Rik caught sight of one of her dark clad bodyguards moving to join her, silent as a shadow and dangerous as a tiger.
The Barbarian strode over. The nudge of his elbow almost knocked Rik from his feet. “What were you talking about with Her Loveliness?”
Rik gave the big man a sharp look. Was he really smitten with Asea or was this just some sort of crude joke?
“We were talking about the Serpent Man.”
“What did she say?” asked Weasel, around a mouthful of pastry.
“She said it was a strange omen.”
“She would know about such things. Magic is her business.” Weasel looked thoughtful. “They say she spent a lot of time on the southern continent, Xulander, that’s where the last Serpent Men dwell. The Quartermaster claims that she picked up those strange-eyed bodyguards of hers there.”
The Quartermaster was very well informed about all manner of strange things. Rik did not doubt that he would be very well informed about the substance of this conversation after Weasel had a word with him. He resolved to keep his mouth shut about the apprenticeship business. That was not something he wanted babbled around the camp. Nor did Asea, it seemed.
He helped himself to some bread and some preserve. It was very fine, but he did not recognise the taste at all. He asked one of the servants, who looked at him as if he had just crawled out of a sewer. “It is bloodberry jelly preserved in dreamspider venom, sir,” said the man. “It causes elation in humans.” He spoke the words as if humans were a different species from himself.
More servants arrived. They were carrying new uniforms, and greatcoats. They were dark and bore the house mark of Lady Asea.
