“I reckon eight or nine hundred, Captain,” ventured one man.
“We must have killed more than I thought,” I said to him.
“They’re nothing we can’t handle,” said Sinnar. “The fact that we’ve killed them once means we can kill them again.”
“I wonder where Callian’s men are,” Ploster said.
“Probably camped somewhere close, but not so close that they are forced to watch their dead friends and comrades,” I guessed. “I think you’re right Lieutenant – there’s nothing there that we can’t smash through.”
As if to make me out as a fool, we became aware of a cracking sound from somewhere in the trees. It reached us faintly, yet with enough detail for us to realise that there was something massive out there.
“The Hungerer. It’s staying out of sight,” said Ploster.
“I’m not sure I like the odds now,” I said with good humour. When there was nothing I could do about something, I didn’t like to grumble.
The Flesh Shaper drew his horse to a halt and dismounted. His dead slaves parted to allow him to pass and he came closer to the wards around the tower. The death sorcerer stopped just short of the perimeter, as though he was too proud to let us see him defeated by the magic which protected us. I felt a whispering sensation through the warp and weft as Jarod Terrax tested the wards. The distance was great, but I felt that he’d been rebuffed and violently. He didn’t show any sign of it externally – the death sorcerers weren’t weaklings to be put off at the first sign of challenge. I felt him try again.
“He’s trying to break through,” I said.
“These wards have stood for a long time,” replied Ploster.
I called Shooter from downstairs. He arrived looking keen, with his black wood bow in his hand. It didn’t take a genius to guess what I was going to ask him to do. Moments later, I saw Terrax stumble to one side when an arrow took him square in the chest. I heard cheering from downstairs and I felt the death sorcerer’s probing efforts at the wards fade. He stepped away and his dead soldiers filled the gap, preventing a second shot.
“Keep at him,” I said to Shooter. “Don’t give him time to rest.”
“Aye, Captain,” he said. “I’ll get to the top floor – not so many distractions.” He left the room.
“Will he break through, Captain?” asked Sinnar. He wasn’t well-versed in sorcery.
“I don’t know, Lieutenant. Possibly. Probably. All I want is some time for the men to heal and then we’ll be on our way, no matter what we have to do.”
“Do you think they’ll try and wait us out?” asked Ploster.
“We can’t afford to wait and neither can they,” I said. “I think we’ll have to make the first move. It just won’t be today.”
I didn’t like waiting. There again, there were lots of things I didn’t like doing, but I’d trained myself to put up with them. The Flesh Shaper kept up his efforts, gathering his minions in close proximity to stop Shooter getting a clear view of him. The death sorcerer’s efforts were partially successful – our archer landed another couple of arrows into the black-robed figure and slowed him down significantly. Terrax was persistent, but there again he had a lot to lose. The Hungerer stayed out of sight. Though we occasionally caught a glimpse of a great shape beyond the treeline, it never emerged into the clearing. I was sure that it would have an even more detrimental effect on the morale of any human soldiers who were left. I wished I knew more about where they were, since they were the only unknown. Part of me hoped they’d been recalled, but another part realised that if they’d gone elsewhere, it wouldn’t be good news for the Saviour.
By the middle of the second day, Shooter had run out of arrows, having used up all of his own as well as those of the incapacitated Eagle. Terrax soon realised that we had nothing left to fire at him and he was able to focus his efforts on picking away at the protections around our walls. Ploster was unable to sense the death sorcerer’s workings, but for some reason I got a clear picture of each effort that Terrax made. Whoever had built this tower, they’d defended it well and I could sense the Flesh Shaper’s growing anger and frustration that his efforts were not immediately successful.
“What was here before the Emperor came?” I asked Ploster later that afternoon. I didn’t expect him to know, yet he was as good a bet as anyone.
“I am not a great student of history,” he said. “Except where it pertains to the places I’ve been.”
“There must be a body of knowledge that sorcerers rely on?” I asked, trying to prod his memory.
He laughed. “There is no school or university where they teach sorcery! You’re either born with it or you are not. Those of us who have the power test it and experiment with it, to see where it leads. Those who can’t harness the power or who reach too far are often reduced to empty shells, with their minds adrift in the void. Most of the lost never find a way back.”
“What happens when the body dies?”
He shrugged. “I expect the mind dies with it, dispersed across the tapestry and amongst the threads. To be woven anew and placed into a new vessel when their time comes again.”
“Do you believe in that?” I asked. I had seen things when I had helped unite the life essence of Gagnol with the Saviour’s dead body. I’d not come to a definite conclusion about what I believed.
“A man must believe in something,” he said noncommittally. “You either die and are reduced to nothingness, or a part of you continues to exist in order to be re-used for another life or another purpose. The latter gives me a greater feeling of comfort, so I choose to believe that death isn’t final. However, I am not so certain that I will argue my cause with zeal.”
“I think we die and we’re gone,” I said, wondering how the conversation had ended up travelling this road. “That idea is what gives me the greater feeling of comfort. If every man thought that he had infinite chances of life, he would meander through his existence, never pushing himself to greatness, nor striving to be the best he can be.”
“Or that man might instead choose to take risks, knowing that a failure is not the end. Without risks, we will none of us achieve anything worthwhile.”
I laughed. “A discussion without a possible resolution. Let us put off further exploration on the topic. You have still not answered my original question!”
“I am not aware of anything which might have built this tower many thousands of years ago,” he confirmed. “All I see from these walls is that nothing much has changed in the design or the materials used.”
I didn’t know why, but his words shot an idea into my mind, making me jerk upright. I called Lieutenant Craddock across and asked if we’d done a complete inspection of the tower yet. He looked alarmed as if I was berating him for an omission. I told him not to worry – it was an idea that we should have all had and acted on.
“I want the men to search the ground floor – every inch of it!” I said. “If you have to move the wounded, then do so!”
The men set to their orders. They looked for gaps and cracks between the grey blocks – anything that was different to the stone around it. The task took over an hour, since even during the day the light was poor.
“I think I’ve got something, Captain,” said Harts. I followed him into the furthest corner of one room. “There!” he said, pointing at the floor. A cluster of men loitered nearby, watching me expectantly. I peered at the area he’d indicated. It looked exactly the same as all the others. He noticed my lack of understanding, so he pulled out his sword and banged hard on the flagstones with the pommel.
“Hollow,” I said, realising what he’d found.
“That’s what I reckon,” he said, nodding.
Now that we’d found what I was looking for, I examined the area closely. There was a tiny space between two of the flagstones where the gap was a little bit larger – as if it had been designed to have a tool of some sort pushed into it. I didn’t have such a tool, so dug the blade of my sword into the gap and pulle
d hard. The flagstones were more than a yard square and very thick, so I had to put my back into it. Slowly at first, I levered the stone up. Then, when I’d managed to get it proud of the floor, the other men were able to assist with their own swords. With many eager hands to help, we pulled the stone slab away and looked at what we’d found.
“An escape passage,” said one man.
“Or a cellar,” said another.
This was exactly what I’d hoped to find. Almost every fortified location had some way for the occupants to enter or leave without being seen and I was pleased to find the ancient architects of this one were no exception. There was a hole in the ground, square and lined with the same stone as the rest of the tower. A faint draught rustled outwards, convincing me that it wasn’t in fact a cellar as someone had just said. There was a wooden ladder attached to one of the walls – it looked impossibly old and worn, as did the metal fixings which tied it to the wall.
“How long does wood last?” asked Limpet. I nodded at him to suggest that he should find out. He sat on the rim of the hole and pressed one foot onto the first rung. I expected it to disintegrate into a shower of particles, but it did not. He pressed again, harder this time. I saw and heard fragments of rusted iron fall away from the fixings. The ladder itself stayed in place.
“Looks like it’s still usable,” I said. “We got any wood left to make torches?” We’d kept a few burning last night, but there were none lit now. The light from outside was just enough that we didn’t need to waste what precious resources we might have. Within five minutes, most of the First Cohort were crammed into the room and several of the men held torches. There was a susurration of curious excitement – this was something new and unexpected that had the chance to turn our current situation on its head.
I picked four men, including Lieutenant Sinnar and Corporal Ploster. “Let’s go down and have a look, shall we?”
“I don’t expect to come back and find that some of you have accidentally killed yourselves in our absence,” said Sinnar. There were some muttered comments at that – distinctly rude, though spoken in good humour. More than one man suggested that it would be a shame if Sinnar himself were to meet his unfortunate demise somewhere at the bottom of the hole.
There was no sound at all from the depths. I decided to lead by example and took a torch offered by one of the soldiers. I weighed enough in normal clothes. In full armour and carrying a sword, I likely weighed almost as much as two of most other men. Therefore, I was particularly cautious when I put my foot on the first rung. I heard more muttering about the possibility that I was about to take a fall. Someone offered odds and another man immediately took him up on them. I shook my head and told them exactly what they could do with their odds.
The descent was awkward, if not excessively so. I had to hold the torch in one hand and use my other hand and my feet to hold onto the rungs. I had to feel my way downwards with an outstretched foot, since I wasn’t sure the rungs would be where they should be and age had its way of breaking things. It was cramped in the shaft and I was glad I wasn’t fearful of confined spaces.
It felt as if I had climbed for a long time when I began to notice a change in the atmosphere. I didn’t have the exact words to describe it – the feeling of great age was stronger and was accompanied by something else – it was as if there were something nearby which was aware of my intrusion. I could sense it in the same way that I could sense magic. It was strange and I didn’t know if I was accepted or hated for my presence.
What I found at the bottom was not what I’d expected. I’d thought I might find myself in a small room or a passage. Instead, the ladder deposited me into a large chamber, clad in more stone and with the ceiling supported by strong pillars. I estimated it to be at least twenty yards to a side and I could hardly see the far walls. The ceiling was many feet above the top of my head. The light from my torch kept many of the details secret, but even so, I looked around in wonder, since this room represented a huge expenditure of effort. In the centre of the floor was a stone bier – five feet in height and covered in carvings. I couldn’t make out what they represented.
I heard a noise, which pulled me from my staring. I realised that it had been Lieutenant Sinnar calling my name in order to see if it was safe for the next man to come. I waved my torch at the bottom of the shaft so that he would know I was ready for him. Seconds later, a shower of rust rattled quietly off the metal of my armour, letting me know that Sinnar had started down. He was even heavier than me, so if the ladder held his weight, I’d have no fear about the rest of the Cohort.
I left him to it and made my way towards the centre of the room. The bier in the centre was over eight feet long and five wide. The carvings were of mountains and valleys, done with a skill I couldn’t recall witnessing before. It struck me then that this wasn’t a bier, so much as it was a coffin. I crouched and looked closely. The stoneworking was almost perfect, but I could still make out the thinnest of seams which separated the lid of the coffin from the side walls. I stood and looked around the rest of the room. The walls were plain, as were the four supporting columns for the ceiling. There were three exit passageways – one from the middle of each of three walls. These corridors were at least ten feet wide and tall. Each one continued in a straight line, one to the north and two others to east and west. I must confess that the possibilities of the unknown excited me. I’d expected to find nothing more than a narrow passage which would have taken us out through a hidden opening a quarter of a mile into the woods, from which we could have made our escape. I was already beginning to think that we’d stumbled across something much more.
Sinnar joined me and gave a low whistle when he saw what we’d found. A few minutes later, Ploster arrived, followed by Beamer and Weevil.
“What’s all this, then?” asked Weevil. “I don’t think my grandfather’s grandfather was a gleam in his grandfather’s eye when this lot was built.”
“Can you feel anything?” I asked Ploster.
“Nothing but the age,” he said. I looked at him closely and got the impression he was keeping something to himself.
“What is it?” I asked with urgency.
“It’s got the same atmosphere as when we were in Nightingale,” he said.
“Are the Northmen here?” asked Sinnar.
“That’s not what I meant, Lieutenant,” said Ploster. “I can feel their magic. It’s not the same, though there’s something about it that feels similar. I don’t know what else to say.”
“I can feel it too,” I said. “It’s strange. Something completely different to us.” I felt my feet drawn to the stone coffin. “We need to look in here.”
I wasn’t in the habit of digging up graves, or disturbing that which had been laid to rest, but I couldn’t resist the need to look into this coffin. The lid was enormously heavy and it took all five of us to lever it to one side in order that we could see within.
“Shit,” said Sinnar, speaking for all of us.
“What is it?” asked Weevil. “Tell me that isn’t what I think it is?”
“I reckon it is,” said Beamer.
We leaned over. The coffin lid was canted to one side, allowing us only a partial view of the remains. All that was left was a skeleton – humanoid in appearance and more than seven feet tall. It was broad across the shoulders and the bones looked thick and dense as if the creature had been heavily muscled in life. Its ribs were thick and its chest cavity huge. We could all see that it wasn’t human – the skull was flatter and the jawbone much thicker than on any human skeleton we’d seen. I noted that it had an extra two pairs of ribs and that its fingers were surprisingly long in comparison to the hands. There were similarities, but the overall effect was of something completely alien. There were objects within the coffin – I saw the hilts of what I took to be two swords, their blades still hidden underneath the partially-removed slab. There was something else – something that glowed with a faint blue that was cold and pure.
�
�A Northman,” whispered Ploster, reaching out to brush his fingers across the ancient skull.
8
I was sure Ploster was right - what we’d discovered was either a Northman or from the same race which had become them. There was something eerie about the skeleton and I was not a man who easily succumbed to feelings of unease. I reached into the coffin and pulled out the first of the swords – it was almost six feet long, with a functional cross-guard and hilt. The pommel was nothing but an ugly ball of metal. The blade, on the other hand, was marked with an intricate pattern of lines and spirals along the top third of its length. It felt heavy in my hand, yet strangely alluring to hold.
“Could do some damage with that,” said Beamer, looking closely.
“It’s not a normal weapon,” I said with certainty. I handed it to Sinnar for a look. He held it two-handed and mimed an attack against an invisible foe.
Ploster dragged out the second sword and put it to one side. He leaned over the edge of the coffin and stretched out for something. When he stood, he held a circlet in his hand, made from a dull silver metal. There was nothing about it to catch the eye, except for the blue gem which had been set into it at the centre. It was about the size of a coin, with many facets. It glowed softly.
“Any idea what it is?” I asked, reaching out to take hold of it. The circlet felt cold in my hand and the gemstone was icy when I pressed my thumb onto it.
“No idea,” said Ploster. “There’s something about it that makes me think we should keep it.”
“I agree,” I said, examining it closely. There were no inscriptions and the circlet was too large to fit onto a human head. I gave it back to him and he stowed it away somewhere on his person.
I put the matter of the swords to one side for the time being and looked along each of the exit passages in turn. I walked a hundred yards into each, only to find them equally featureless and giving no clues as to their destinations. I returned to the room.
Death's Chosen (First Cohort Book 3) Page 8