The Serpent Tower

by William King

  Rik thought of Uran Ultar and his people lodged deep in the darkness beneath Achenar.

  “It’s a strange coincidence that Ilmarec should find the key to that even as the Spider God woke,” said Rik.

  “It may be no coincidence.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think we are entering a new age of the world, Rik. I think old powers are stirring.”

  “Why now?”

  “I would give a lot to know the answer to that myself.”

  Tonight was the night, Jaderac thought. The signal had come from his agent in the House of Three Swans. The half-breed youth had returned from the taverns and was in Asea’s chambers. There could be no mistake about that. His agent knew too well the price of failure. Tonight, once and for all, he would rid the Empire of one of its most dangerous enemies, and he would do it with her own weapon: with sorcery. Tonight Lady Asea of the First would die.

  It would not be easy. Jaderac knew better than to delude himself about that. The Witch of the West was an even more formidable sorcerer than old Ilmarec and that was saying something. Most of the younger generation thought the First were merely second-rate wizards with first-rate reputations. Jaderac was not one to make that mistake. He knew exactly how competent Asea was. Fortunately she had not realised how far his own studies had come on since their last meeting. He was her equal now, perhaps even her superior- as tonight would prove.

  He glanced around the laboratory. Tamara watched him like a cat, lazily but with a concealed, dangerous attention.

  “I would not go out tonight if I were you. The streets will be dangerous.”

  “You are ready to perform your ritual then.”

  “The signal has been given. Tonight Lady Asea will die.”

  “You seem very certain of that.”

  “I have reason to be.” He gestured at the intricate mass of pipes and necro-mechanical arcanery, part flesh, part glass, part metal. Red blood pumped through the tubing connecting the flaccid still-living bodies to the great sarcophagus. Inside the coffin his creation stirred. He could feel it.

  Tamara smiled at him. “You’ve really done it?”

  He nodded. “It is ready to emerge from its chrysophagus.”

  He untightened the screws that held the metal lid in place and slid it off to reveal the creature within. It looked like a very large man, hairless, grey-skinned. Its face was noseless like a skull. Instead of fingernails, it had talons. When its eyes opened they were a startling bloody red. The thing threw itself forward but the spells and the metal restraints held it — just. It opened its mouth and let out a hiss. Long fangs showed in its mouth. The blood from the kidnapped men continued to pump into its flesh. It seemed to grow larger and stronger as it did so, like a wineskin slowly being filled with fluid.

  “A Nerghul,” she whispered.

  “A Nerghul,” he said, savouring the word. The creature was as strong as ten men and all but invulnerable to magic or mortal weapons. It could rip a man apart with those talons, or tear off his head with its hands. It could run faster than the swiftest horse, and kill a bloodwyrm with its bare hands. It could see in the dark, and move so silently a cat could not hear it. It was an unholy hybrid of demon and animated corpse, a homunculus animated by a drachm of his own blood, and unholy rites performed during the dark of the moon.

  “I confess I was not certain you could do this,” she said. Her voice was husky and her eyes held new respect. “Only a master of the dark arts can create these things.”

  Jaderac had not been entirely certain of success when he had set out to do this. The creation of the creature within demanded the greatest of skill in his art. And there was still the matter of being able to control it when it emerged. Such a creature was incredibly dangerous even to its summoner.

  “Lady Asea will die tonight,” he said. “Not all her sorcery can save her.”

  He opened the containment jar and thin hair it contained. He waved it in front of the open hole where the Nerghul’s nose should have been, letting it catch the scent of its prey. A long tongue flickered out and pulled the hair into its mouth. It swallowed. It was ready. Its task had been set. The creature’s growling diminished. Something like a smile played across its face. It knew its purpose now. It would soon be time to release it.

  “I would advise you to leave this chamber, Tamara,” Jaderac said.

  “No,” she replied. “I want to watch this. I never realised anything could be so beautiful.”

  Then you are even sicker than I suspected, thought Jaderac, then gave his full attention to the spells of compulsion he had woven into the creature’s brain. It would take all of his willpower to bind it, and then set it, like a hunting hawk, to seek its prey.

  In the green-lit darkness, a thing of darkness walked. It moved like a man but there was nothing human left in it. It was dead but it was something more than an animated corpse. Dark energy saturated it, and it had a will of its own, and a desire. That desire was to kill. The scent, and something more than scent, of the one it was intended to slay filled what was left of its mind. Its desire was hunger and thirst and lust and love to it. It gave it purpose. It was its religion. The prey was to die and everyone with it. These were its commandments, given to it by its dark god.

  It moved through the shadows swiftly, bounding over walls, moving along the branches of trees in gardens, crossing streets so swiftly that those who saw it doubted their senses. It was garbed in black and grey and it was easy to imagine that it was only a shadow.

  It passed the fires where tired city watchmen sat sentry, and no one noticed it. It moved past the kennels of dogs that caught its scent and whimpered in their sleep. Once a massive hound, hungry and tormented by the scent of a passing cat, caught sight of it and sprang. The dark figure caught the dog in mid-leap, and twisted its neck, snapping it without breaking stride, and passed on.

  It was getting closer to its goal. The scent both psychic and physical was stronger. It knew this was a sign of its prey’s presence, as simply and instinctually as a wolf knows it’s on the trail of deer. Ahead it sensed the presence of magic.

  It lurked in the shadows of a doorway and studied the thick walls of the House of Three Swans. The gates were closed, but that did not matter, it would find a way in. With ears far keener than any mortal’s, it could hear the voices of sentries beyond the thick wooden gates.

  It was not foolish. It knew the best way to reach its prey was not a headlong assault. It wanted to achieve its goal with a single-mindedness of purpose that any lover would have recognised and perhaps envied. It studied all the means of access to the house. It could see drain-pipes clinging to the side like ivy on an oak. In the street was a cart. That would be simplest.

  For the Nerghul to think was to act. It raced forward across the street, silent as a stalking panther, swift as the cold breeze from the north. It leapt onto the back of the vehicle and sprang, leaping far higher than any mortal man could, easily reaching the bars attached to the second story window frame. It clung there for a moment, bent iron out of shape, and then it punched the shutters. Wood splintered. Such was the force of its blow that the shutters gave way despite being barred on the inside.

  With an awful fluidity of motion the creature pulled itself up and in. As it crossed the threshold, pain, or what passed for pain in its world, took hold of it. Its skin burned and its senses reeled as it encountered a powerful sorcerous barrier. For a moment, it tottered, its mind on fire, its senses overloaded, but then it fell forward and through whatever magic threatened to stop it.

  It was inside.

  It was not alone. In a large four-poster bed were two soldiers and three servant girls bundled together and naked. One of the soldiers shouted something and reached beside the bed. It raced forward and broke a woman’s neck with a swift blow. Another it caught up and hurled clean across the room and through the window. Her scream ended in an abrupt crunching of bones as she hit the ground below.

  One of the men had a bayone
t in his hand. He stabbed swiftly. The creature caught the weapon, ignoring the way the blade sliced its flesh. Its punch snapped the man’s neck. The second soldier brought a pistol to bear and pulled the trigger. Smoke billowed and sparks flew. A bullet buried itself in the Nerghul’s flesh. The force of the impact almost jolted it from its feet but with super-human agility it managed to maintain its balance.

  It brought down the bayonet and smashed the man across the face with the pommel. He fell as if pole-axed. The remaining woman had rolled from the bed and was trying to get herself under it. The creature stamped down, breaking her spine, and moved on.

  It sensed the nearness of its prey. The scent was much stronger now. It still had the advantage of surprise. It would have to move swiftly to accomplish its goal. It felt no sense of urgency, no fear, no panic. It was close to consummation of its purpose. It need only proceed. The smell of burning reached it. An oil lamp had overturned and the hangings on the bed had caught fire. That did not matter. In the dim part of its mind that made calculations, it realised that the fire might aid it by spreading panic and confusion.

  It turned the handle of the door and stepped out into the empty corridor. The scent grew stronger still.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “What was that?” Asea asked. To Rik’s ear the sound of shutters being forced and a window being broken in was unmistakable.

  “We’re under attack,” said Rik. “Someone’s breaking in.” Then the screams started. There was the sound of a shot. Rik wondered who in hell would be mad enough to try and burgle a place like this, for that’s what this had to be, some second story man making an entrance.

  “Stand away from the door,” Asea said. After Rik obeyed, she stepped forward and muttered a charm of some sort. Nothing appeared different, but Rik felt the hairs lift on the back of his neck. She finished and stepped backwards, studying the door like an artisan contemplating his handiwork.

  “What did you do?”

  “A binding spell. Something just came through the wards, something very powerful.”

  “A demon?”

  “Perhaps a demon bound in mortal form. If Jaderac is behind this, his technique has improved greatly.”

  “Could it be Ilmarec?” Rik asked.

  “If he wanted us dead he would just turn the green light on this mansion. He knows where we are.”

  “Perhaps he wants to put the blame on someone else?”

  “I see you are starting to think like a Terrarch,” she said.

  “Like a Sorrow thief,” he said and added quietly. “There may be less difference than you would think.”

  He checked his weapons. He still had his pistol and his bayonet strapped to his leg. They felt inadequate compared to the magnitude of the threat that might be out there. His experience with demons in Deep Achenar told him that.

  Asea touched the lock of a chest and it flicked open, revealing something leathery. She pulled it out and Rik recognised her armour. He remembered the complexity of it, and wondered how she was going to get it on. She merely stepped into the one-piece leather suit, pulled it up, put her arms into the sleeves and spoke a word of command. The thing unfurled around her, snapping into place and leaving no sign of buttons or fasteners. That was a useful property, he thought.

  She pulled her rune-embossed blade from the trunk as well, and strapped it on. Finally she took out a crystal globe. It glowed blue and something flickered inside its transparent shell like captured lightning.

  “Don’t come between me and the door,” she said. Rik strode to the other side of the room and checked his pistol.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

  The Nerghul stepped out into the corridor and found itself confronted by two soldiers. They carried muskets. One of them raised his weapon and prepared to fire. Before he could pull the trigger, the undead creature seized the barrel of the weapon and tore it from his grasp. It reversed the motion and smashed the butt into his face. The soldier screamed as his nose broke and his teeth splintered.

  His fellow pulled the trigger, but the Nerghul sprang to one side and the bullet tore down the hallway. It took the musket it held and poked him with the barrel. The metal ruptured flesh and smashed through internal organs till it came out the other side, the muzzle full of meat and blood.

  The Nerghul felt strong sorcery flicker into existence near it and knew in the very core of its being that it was within reach of what it sought. The magic came from the same direction as the scent of its prey. It did not care. No barrier could stand between it and its target now.

  Sardec heard the shots ring out and dropped his book. An attack? Now? This had come from inside the building. He reached for his pistol. The most likely possibility was treachery, someone had either been paid to let strangers into the house or they had infiltrated the place in the guise of a servant.

  He opened his door and stepped out into the corridor. Already more of the Foragers were moving past. Sergeant Hef, the Barbarian and Weasel were there. The Barbarian had his hill-man knife out. Weasel had a throwing knife in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  “What’s going on, Sergeant?” Sardec asked.

  “No idea, sir, but whatever it is, it’s on this floor.”

  Sardec did the calculations in his mind. He was not being attacked, and he was not the most likely target anyway.

  “To the Lady Asea’s chambers,” he said. “I think we have an assassin in our midst.”

  No one asked any questions, they simply fell into step behind him. He was suddenly very glad to have such men there.

  Rik heard nothing until the door started to bulge inwards and that frightened him. His ears were keen and he knew how stealthy someone would have to be to baffle them. He pointed his pistol towards the door and kept his finger on the trigger.

  The way the door bent was unnatural. Wood should not have distended like that and still held together. It should have splintered apart long ago. The thing pushing against it must be unbelievably strong. A man could not be doing this. Images of demons danced through Rik’s mind. He tried unsuccessfully to force them away.

  The cowl of Asea’s armour had now covered her head. Part of it covered her lower face too. Only the upper part of her face was visible and it was covered by a silver mask and looked almost as demonic as the things he imagined. The crystal sphere seemed to be rotating in her hand.

  “I do not think my spell is going to hold much stronger. Azella’s Tears! This beast is strong.” The note of fear in her voice frightened Rik more than the images in his head.

  The Nerghul pushed against the door and the spell that thwarted it. The power held it at bay far more than the flimsy material itself but only one more push was needed. The tingling in its palms where it felt the flow of energy merely encouraged it to greater efforts. The door began to give way.

  Sardec came round the corner and halted at once. He saw a tall humanoid figure dressed in black and grey. Blood dyed part of its clothing. Gobbets of flesh stuck to its body. A strange smell of blood and death filled the air. It lunged at the doorway. Beyond the monster, Karim sprang into the corridor. A bright blade glittered in his hand.

  Rik watched the door break apart. It splintered into a thousand pieces, all exploding outwards. A large dark figure filled the doorway and before he could react, it was through, moving with eye-blurring speed towards Asea. He brought the pistol to bear and pulled the trigger. More by luck than judgement, the bullet hit the thing, knocking its leap off-course.

  Asea hurled the glittering crystal in her hand, catching the creature on the breast. The sphere exploded in a cloud of ozone and brilliant unchained power. It flickered all around the attacker and penetrated its flesh. The unleashed energy hurtled it towards the ceiling, elevated by a ladder of lightning. The intruder dropped to the floor, stinking of burning flesh.

  For a moment Rik thought it was all over, but then the thing started to move again, like a creature in a nightmare, hoisting itself upwards on two hands, rising to its
feet and moving towards Asea. It had a skeletal, noseless face that swung to and fro. He heard it sniff, as if trying to catch a scent.

  Patches of its clothing had burned away, and bits of skin with it, revealing not flesh but a strange amalgam of bone and burned, blackened tissue along with something else, that looked like nothing he had ever seen before. It resembled the innards of a machine, a watch or clock perhaps, if those mechanisms had been carved from bone and powered by valves and ligaments of rotting flesh. There was no blood, only strange blackish pus.

  As the creature rose, Karim came into the room. He was a blur of motion, impossibly swift. His blade passed right through the creature, pinning it to the floor. With an awful wheezing sound, as if air was being forced from dead lungs, the creature pushed itself upright again, lashing out at the bodyguard. Karim ducked, ripped his blade free and struck again, slashing the thing’s chest. It ignored the strike and lashed back. Blows blurred the air between them, so swift that Rik could barely follow them. Then suddenly it was over. A claw connected and Karim dropped in his tracks.

  Asea lunged forward, slamming her own runeblade into the thing’s chest. The razor edge parted rotting flesh. The intruder reached for Asea and got its hands round her neck. The armour there went rigid as if taking an awful strain. The Elder signs on her throat pulsed to life. Smoke emerged from the thing’s fingers. Rik hurled himself at the creature, aiming his bayonet at a spot in its back that would carry the blade through to the heart if the creature had one. He was not sure that would make the slightest difference. He suspected the thing was already dead.

  The Nerghul felt a weight land on its back, knocking it off balance. The scent of its prey was overwhelming. It loosened one hand from the witch’s throat and reached backward. It felt resistance of a strange subtle sort. It turned its head instinctively but could not see. The blazing light from the witch’s sphere still dazzled its eyes.