by William King
“Have we stumbled into Molok’s lair?” Ulrik asked.
“It would be better protected. This must be one of his apprentices.”
“We could wait here until the owner gets back and then interrogate him about Valerius,” Ulrik said.
“We might be waiting here all night.”
“I take it you feel the urge to explore.” Rhea was already working her way through a chest of drawers. The locks on it had no more slowed her down than the ones on the windows. Ulrik strode across to look at the open book.
“Don’t do that,” said Rhea. “Those symbols are wards of some kind. It’s the oldest trick in the wizard’s book to leave a grimoire open like that on a page which will fascinate - or worse - anyone who looks at it.”
“I am starting to suspect that you must have been a better thief than you let on.”
“Working for Valerius is easier.”
“Oh yes. All you have to do is break into a dread sorcerer’s tower, sneak past his thousands of minions and break him out of the wizard’s dungeons. I am not sure I agree with your idea of easy.”
“Every job has its difficult moments. They would be boring otherwise.”
“Right now I would settle for boring.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“It’s outside clinging to one of those gargoyles and whining that it’s afraid of heights.”
“Maybe it would like to remain there until Valerius dies and the demon he implanted in you is freed. That would give it some interesting new experiences.”
“Let’s get on.”
“Maybe we can take some of these robes and disguise ourselves as acolytes.” She gestured to the scarlet robes hanging in the wardrobe. There was a black moon inscribed on the chest. They were the same style as had been worn by the sorcerers who had led the attack on The Pride of Karnak and who had taken Valerius into captivity.
Ulrik was about to say that neither of them looked like much of a sorcerer, but it came to him that they did not look much like tower guards either. He took one set of robes and slipped them on over his own gear. He concealed his scabbarded blade beneath the billowing skirts then, like Rhea, he covered his face with a cowl and followed her through the door.
They found themselves in a long corridor, lined with doorways and lit by dim ancient glowglobes. Strange murals covered the walls, pictures that were probably as ancient as the city itself, depicting scenes from when verdant pastures had surrounded Hydra. Ulrik recognised the outlines of some of the buildings depicted although the lands surrounding them were an uncharacteristic green.
“Which way?” Rhea asked. For the first time she sounded less than certain of herself, and Ulrik realised that she was just as nervous as he was.
“Does it matter? We keep moving till we find someone we can question. Preferably not someone armed.”
“Sound thinking. Although I think we might have some difficulty with the unarmed part.”
She nodded and padded off down the corridor. Walking behind her, Ulrik noticed that she did not move very much like a sorcerer. Not unless that sorcerer was also a courtesan anyway. He feared that she was going to give them away.
Chapter Twenty-One
The air reeked of blood. Screams echoed down the corridors. The floor vibrated beneath Ulrik’s feet, thrumming as if some great engine was constantly at work and making the entire building shake with its power.
In the empty corridors, those who saw them gave them a wide berth. It seemed the robes they wore were known and feared in this place. Ulrik did not want to meet any of their rightful owners.
As they progressed deeper into Molok’s Tower, infernal engines loomed all around them. Robed and masked acolytes were everywhere. All of them wore strange amulets that glowed in the shadows. Many of them had grafts attached to their arms; claws, chitinous armour, long tentacles that wove through the air like serpents. A few of the people were no longer even vaguely human but rather some hybrid of man and demon. One or two of them stopped and said something to Ulrik but he kept his head down and walked on as if deep in thought.
They came to a vast chamber, full of vats filled to the brim with oddly coloured fluid that smelled like curdled milk. Each vat held a creature, foetus-like, that lay curled and growing in its midst. Some of the creatures resembled men, others did not. At the far corner of the chamber, he could see some people, apparently asleep, being lowered into the fluid. In some ways, he was reminded of what Valerius had done to him. That memory did not please him.
There was no way they could interrogate a stranger without that being witnessed and guards being summoned. He doubted that even the limited protection that these robes seemed to give them would be of any use if that happened.
Another fear struck him – what if someone of equal rank decided to speak with them? Then there would be little to do except make a run for it or turn at bay and fight.
Rhea walked along as if engrossed in abstract thought, her hands folded together within the sleeves of her robes as many of the other wizard apprentices were doing. He wondered if those were the ones who were less comfortable with the changes that had been wrought on their bodies. For some, the changes appeared to be a badge of pride. He wondered at the sanity of such individuals. He was not sure that he would have liked to be so altered from basic humanity. He had always preferred to keep his implants invisible.
Perhaps these people were just the most extreme example of what he himself had become. He too had chosen to be modified by fleshgrafters. In the end though, it was all the same process and Valerius had managed to ensure that he was probably even less human than the cultists.
He wondered how these people could bear the noise and the stink. The smell of chemicals in the air made him want to gag. The noise was so low that it seemed to vibrate inside his very bones. The source of the racket was the great machines that pumped fluid through all the vats and ticked away in the background, regular as a metronome.
He looked around for someone who could take them down into the dungeons or give them some clue as to where Valerius was to be found but could see no useful prospects. They should have struck earlier when there were fewer people around. Now there were too many witnesses.
They strode into another long hall. At first, he thought this place was a surgery. It was filled with benches on which people lay surrounded by what appeared to be magicians and chirurgeons.
After a little while he realised that this was the place where the grafts were added. As he watched, a tall, red robed figure sawed off the arm of a screaming woman. She was awake and aware of what was going on. After the bleeding arteries were clamped, the surgeon grafted on an armoured limb. Its skin was made of shiny insect like armour and venom dripped from the sharp stingers that ended each finger. Once the graft was attached, the woman closed her eyes and smiled, looking strangely grateful to the being that had been torturing her.
This then was where the mutated pirates who attacked The Pride of Karnak came from, he guessed. Molok and his minions were building a formidable army using their sorcery. They were acquiring a crew of monsters for the fleet. The question was, what did he plan to do with them, once he had built them? You did not build such fleets and armies without the intention of using them.
What did it matter? Molok would not be the first warlord with empire on his mind. He would not even be the first sorcerer with such dreams. History was full of them, and the wastelands of Urath were littered with their fallen monuments.
Molok had found the perfect recruiting ground in Hydra; a nation who worshipped strength and he had offered to make them stronger; a city state of brutal warriors who lived by plunder and feared neither man nor god, who were prepared to ally themselves with anyone who promised them gain, and to give up anything if it would enable them to augment their power.
Who was better placed to know this than he? He had once been one of them. He would have been one of them now if it were not for the loyalty that Valerius had forced upon him.
And yet, looking at this vast sick ward of people sacrificing limbs and souls to become something other than human, he felt no sympathy for Molok’s cause. It seemed to him that the old wild madness of Hydra was being extinguished by the clammy force of the wizard’s will. Once all of these people would have dreamed of serving themselves, now they wanted only to serve Molok. They were sacrificing their freedom to one who promised them power but who intended only to keep it for himself.
When he looked at this surgery he felt only repulsion. There was nothing here for him. Serving Molok would mean trading only one form of slavery for another.
As they progressed deeper into the tower, Ulrik’s sense of foreboding increased. The air seemed clotted with evil energy. He felt as if he was pushing his way forward through some invisible, amoebic entity that resisted his efforts to move. Was there some sort of strange defensive spell in place against intrusion?
Rhea sensed it too, he could tell. She paused and turned and looked at him and then reached out with her left hand to squeeze his gently before turning away again.
“I don’t like it here,” she said. “I don’t like the way it smells. I don’t like the way it makes my fur rise. It frightens me.”
Ulrik wanted to tell her to be silent. If anyone overheard them speaking in this way, they would surely work out that they were not supposed to be here. He wanted to tell her that something in the atmosphere affected him as well and he found himself talking as much to reassure himself as to reassure her. “This is a bad place. We need to find Valerius and get out quickly. I am sure that it is going to be much worse when Molok completes his ritual.”
The cat-girl nodded. “We need to get somebody alone, lure them into a side corridor and find out where Valerius is being kept if they can tell us.”
Ulrik nodded. Now that they were actually inside the tower and he realised how vast the place was and how full of people, he was not hopeful that they would find anyone with the knowledge they required quickly but he could not see anything else for it but to proceed with the plan that they had already come up with.
“Which way? Rhea asked.
“We may as well keep on the way we are going.”
They stumbled into what Ulrik thought must be one of the central chambers of the palace. It was a mighty circular well, open to the sky and in the centre of it floated a massive gem in which a snarling demonic face was visible. From the gem, lines of fire formed an enormous spider web of light that flowed outwards to touch various runic patterns inscribed on the wall. He had seen something like this before, he realised, in the dream where Valerius confronted Molok.
Huge amounts of magical energy were being unleashed here, flowing outwards into the walls of the palace, saturating everything with potent mystical force. He did not understand what was happening here but he knew that it could not be anything good.
Beneath the gem was a huge altar, carved from one mighty block of basalt and inscribed with glowing runes to look at which hurt the eye. Hundreds of huddled prisoners waited watched over by guards. They must have been drugged for they did not resist as one by one they were dragged to the altar by robed acolytes and sacrificed to whatever entity waited in that floating gem.
As they died, a beam of light licked out from the gem and joined them to the web of energy. As they died, the demon fed on them and then the demon’s energy was passed on into Molok’s creation. The gem sat at the centre of a vast pattern of power. The whole chamber seemed to be part of a great enchanted circle designed for some unguessable purpose.
Rhea tugged at his sleeve. Glancing around he saw their danger. While he had brooded, robed figures had gathered around them, gliding into place until they formed a perfect circle with no way out.
“What are you doing here?” demanded a tall figure, in the most elaborate of robes. “Why are you garbed as one of the Brethren when you do not know the secret signs?”
They were surrounded by sorcerers and guards. The best they could hope for was to sell their lives dearly. Maybe he could hold them up long enough for Rhea to escape. That seemed like the only option.
“Speak. You have been observed ever since you approached the tower. What do you want here? Are you one of those fools who seek to penetrate the secrets of Lord Molok? Don’t worry. You will learn them soon enough.”
“Actually,” said Rhea, “We were looking for the dungeons. Perhaps you could direct us to them.”
“You will see them soon enough,” said the sorcerer. “The torture chambers as well. After Lord Molok decides what to do with you.”
That gave him just the slightest reason not to attack. In the dungeons they would be closer to Valerius. And he had to admit he was curious about Molok.
The guards dragged Ulrik and Rhea through the maze of corridors until they came to a massive throne room with a high vaulted ceiling. Amid the rafters small demonic presences crouched and giggled, their evil tittering echoing all around. Massive pillars of flame illuminated the chamber, reflecting hellishly in the marbled floor. Robed acolytes bowed before a distant throne, raised on a massive ebony dais. Rank upon rank of guardsmen lined the way to the steps at the foot of the throne. Hordes of supplicants filled the chamber.
The guards prodded Ulrik and Rhea forward. As they marched up all the long walkway, eyes turned to look at them with fear, envy, hatred, curiosity. It was an odd mixture. Dread began to churn in Ulrik’s stomach. He smiled then, realising the whole purpose of this vast throne room, of all the guards and all the magic was simply to intimidate anyone who entered the chamber. He was determined not to show the desired response. His smile must have been a particularly evil one, for the people who looked at him gasped in fear.
Seeing the guards marching in, petitioners drew aside. A group of men surrounded the throne, discussing something with the massive figure lounging on it. Many of them he recognised as captains of the Hydran fleets. Others were Molok’s red and black robed acolytes. All of them had the head-bowed look of concentration of small boys being lectured to by a fearsome schoolmaster. They stepped gratefully to one side as Ulrik’s party came up to the throne area.
The guards pushed them down before the huge throne. Ulrik looked up and saw a towering figure robed all in black and red, his face hidden by a mask, his eyes blazing with demonic energy, glaring down at him. The force of that gaze hit him like a blow. It took all his willpower to meet it and not look away.
“What have we here?” The voice was cool and amused and there was a hint of mockery in it.
“It is the intruders, master,” said one of the guards. “The ones who came to Hydra with the wizard Valerius.”
“And they chose tonight of all nights to break into my home. I find that significant.” It seemed to Ulrik that those eyes burned a little brighter now and the voice held some hint of magical compulsion. “What are you doing here? Why have you sought to break into my tower? Surely you must have known that it was madness.”
Ulrik looked at the wizard and for the briefest of moments considering asking for his help removing Valerius’s grafts. A single look into those chilling eyes told him it would be useless. This was not a man who concerned himself with the problems of lesser mortals. This was not a being who helped anybody but himself.
Ulrik spat on the floor. Rhea struggled to rise but the guards held her in place. “Such defiance! At any other time I would burn it out of you with my magic but tonight I have more important things to do. You will tell me all what I need to know and you will do it soon.”
“I don’t think so,” said Ulrik. The wizard shook his head as if in pity.
“Take them to the dungeons! Since they are so desperate to see Valerius let them spend some time with him. They can feed Jolgotha alongside him.”
“As you say, master,” said the guard. “So shall it be.”
Ulrik attempted a desperate lunge at the magician but the guards held him in place and beat him on the side of the head with their weapons until he collapsed and fell into a blac
k pit of darkness.
The last thing he heard was Rhea shouting, “What have you done to him?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ulrik woke in chains. He was not alone in the cell. Valerius was there and so was Rhea. All of them were manacled hand and foot to the walls, their chains sealed with heavy rivets. His head ached from the blow that had driven him into unconsciousness. His mouth held the metallic tang of his own blood. He vaguely remembered hallucinatory dreams in which he had loped on all fours beneath the demonic sun of a strangely familiar alien sky.
“It’s nice that you attempted to rescue me.” Valerius’s tone was sardonic. The wizard had plainly seen better days. He was pale and drawn and looked like he had aged twenty years since the last time Ulrik had seen him.
“How is she?” Ulrik asked, pointing to Rhea. The cat-girl dangled from another massive set of manacles. Her fur was bloody, her head hung at a bad angle.
“Not good. I suspect if she does not get treatment soon she will die. Our captors do not seem too concerned.”
“But you are?” Ulrik could not keep his disbelief from his voice.
“I am not the monster you think I am, Ulrik. In my own way I am fond of her. I would not have her harmed.”
“Not unless it would save your own miserable life.”
“There is that, of course. However, if that last resort does not arise, I would have her live.”
“It won’t matter much what you think unless we get out of here.”