by William King
“Of course.”
“Then I will see you later. Now, if you will excuse me I have some tasks to perform.”
“I have given the men assigned to be my direct bodyguard leave to see the town,” she said. “They are gathering information on my behalf.”
Knowing those three they were most likely causing trouble and getting drunk. Sardec decided to keep that information to himself.
Rik strode through the streets of Morven, drinking in the feel of a new place. It was something he had come to love. In the first fifteen years of his life he had never strayed far from the streets of the poor quarters of Sorrow. He had possessed no idea of what a pleasure simply being in new surroundings could bring. He found they stimulated the eye and the brain. It did not matter to him whether the changes were small or large, they acted on him like a drug.
The girls here favoured braiding their hair, and many of them used carved wooden clasps to keep it in place. Their features were different from those he was used to; the hair more honey coloured, the noses slightly flatter, the lips thicker, the mouths wider. Many of them had eyes of startling blue. Their dresses were longer and marked with an intricate cross pattern that was local. A serpent motif seemed very common. Everyone was either barefoot or wore clogs save for the richest of merchants. They wore short robes whose hems would not drag in the omnipresent mud.
He noticed other things. The town was not so populous or so prosperous as it had first appeared. Many of the windows were boarded up, many of the doors too. In some places tiled roofs had collapsed, and entire tenements emitted a fusty, unlived in smell. There were the usual beggar swarms and many traders but not much of anybody else. It looked like a lot of people had left town. Given the tales of what Lord Ilmarec was up to, he supposed it was hardly surprising.
As the street reached the river, he noticed there were many bridges and hundreds of small boats. There were barges too, for transporting goods up and down the Mor. Most of them were harnessed to huge river wyrms. They splashed through the river like massive ships, sending ripples of waves behind them as they towed the enormous cargo vessels. The creatures were well trained, ducking their long, snakelike necks as they passed through the arches of the bridges.
“We’ll be heading downriver on those soon, I reckon,” said Weasel. He paused to light his pipe. He used a spill of wood, and a food vendor's brazier and he bought a sausage and some bread in return for the service.
“You think?” asked the Barbarian.
“Use that chunk of meat you call a brain,” said Weasel. “It’s the fastest way into the centre of the country, certainly the quickest way of moving supplies and reinforcements. That river is a wet road leading all the way to Halim, the capital, and then all the way down to the sea at Harven.”
The Barbarian considered this. “Never liked that place.”
“What place?” Rik asked.
“Harven. Passed through it when I first came from the Northlands. Lots of strange temples to the Sea Gods. Elder World demons in the water too. The Quan they were called. Strange things they were, half-man, half-squid. You could see them in the harbour sometimes. They say there is an underwater city full of them just out in the Gulf of Harven. I believe it. There were lights down there as our freighter came in. Sailors kept making elder signs, talked all the time about the Shipbreaker. Some huge demon that'd pull a galleon to the bottom. Take down a dragon in a gulp.” He paused and looked up at the Tower. Its tip vanished into the gathering clouds. Rik guessed there would be rain soon.
“I’m not very keen on Elder World demons,” the Barbarian said eventually.
“Who is?” Rik asked.
“I’m not very keen on those who consort with them either. I don’t know how these people can stand to live in the shadow of that thing. Bloody Serpent Men.”
“Hasn’t been a Serpent Man up there since the start of the New Age,” said Weasel.
“What was that bloody light we saw in the woods then?” the Barbarian asked.
The vendor looked at them. His face paled. It made his massive bushy black moustache look all the more prominent. “You say you saw a light in the woods?” he said.
The Barbarian nodded. “Aye, what of it?”
“Where?” the vendor said. His accent was so thick Rik had to concentrate to understand him.
“Near an abandoned mansion house near a ford, about six leagues south west of here.”
“Out near the old abandoned Abelen Manor?”
“Yes, maybe,” said Weasel. He looked at the man. “What’s so strange about seeing a light out there?”
“The place is haunted. Foresters saw ghosts in the woods near there. Ghosts from the Elder days. Some say they saw them up by the broken towers where the master used the green light too.”
Rik passed the man some money for a sausage. He seemed keen to talk now, and scared. “You say Lord Ilmarec has been using green light.”
“Aye- he’s only doing so to protect his holdings now that civil war has come, but I agree with your big Northern friend there. I don’t hold with Elder World sorcery. It does no good meddling with such things. No good at all.”
“I’m sure Lord Ilmarec knows better than us,” said Weasel.
The vendor touched the wooden elder sign on his breast, then moved his fingers to inscribe its outline on the air. “You’re probably right, sir. You’re probably right but some very strange things has been happening of late and the ghosts of the elder snakes is not the least of it.”
“No?” said Weasel, leading the man on.
“Lock yourself up after dark,” said the trader. He spoke the words with the hint of satisfaction that some people get from imparting bad news.
“Why?”
“People are going missing.”
“Certainly looks that way,” said Rik. “I saw a lot of empty houses as we walked down here.”
The vendor laughed nervously. “Those houses most likely belong to people who left town when Lord Ilmarec started calling on the green light and the runes on the Tower side started to glow. Lot of folk were afraid of it, and the coming war, so they headed out into the country.”
“You said people were going missing though,” said Rik.
“They are. Men walk out of a tavern at night and are never seen again. Never make it to their home or business.”
“Maybe they fell in the river,” said Weasel reasonably. “Man gets drunk, gets to thinking how hard life is, sometimes dark water can be very appealing.”
“A lot of folk have suddenly found life very trying then,” said the vendor. “And some of them seemed happy enough with their lives. Young Pavel’s wife just bore their first baby and he was pleased as punch.”
“What do you think is happening then?” asked Rik.
“Don’t know,” he said, “but it started after those easterners arrived a week or so ago.”
“Did it now? You reckon they are up to some mischief.”
“It would not surprise me,” said the vendor. “Slavery most likely. Easterners use humans as slaves on their estates.”
Rik thought of the superb Lord Jaderac. It was hard to picture such a Terrarch having a sideline in kidnapping drunks from a tavern as part of the slave trade. Maybe this was all just a story. Kharadrean humans did not like the Sardeans and with good reason. They lived in fear of their giant neighbour spreading its rule to their own land for a very long time.
“They might be using them for dark sorcery,” said Weasel with a wink to Rik that the vendor was in no position to see. It would not do any harm to start blackening Jaderac’s reputation, Rik supposed.
“I would not put it past them,” said the vendor with a shudder. “You said you saw a ghost in the woods,” he said, obviously wanting to change the subject.
“We saw one,” said the Barbarian. “Glowing in the dark it was.”
“You saw one? For sure? Up close?”
“Close as we two are now,” said the Barbarian exaggerating somewhat. He proceede
d into a meandering version of their encounter that seemingly held the vendor enthralled. Rik knew that a new chapter would be added to the local tales of the Serpent Men before this day was out.
He gave his attention to the small ships on the river. They were of all kinds from small taxi boats poled by their owners, to sailboats belonging to merchants. It was the massive river wyrms that fascinated him. They towed rafts even in the deepest parts of the flow, their bodies half out of the water, and their long serpentine necks towering almost the height of a house. Rik had heard that these wyrms were the largest of their kind, and needed the water to help support their huge weight. Seeing them he believed it.
Massive as they were though, the Tower made them look small. Its cold shadow covered the town, hinting at the presence of Elder horrors within. Rik told himself it was just his imagination, but he could not help but feel intimidated by the sheer size and scale of the alien structure.
The Barbarian finished his boasting as a fine drizzle began to fall.
“Time for beer,” said Weasel. “Time to get out of this rain.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said the Barbarian. “Although in the northlands we would not call this rain.”
“What would you call it?” said Rik.
“Light summer mist.”
As soon as they came through the Inn’s door, Rik felt as if they were making a mistake. The place was crowded, and it had been the noise that attracted them, but now that he was inside, he could see that a couple of tables were crowded by blond haired men in black uniforms. All of them had the cropped hair, flat noses and high cheekbones he had come to associate with easterners. He looked at Weasel who looked at the Barbarian who shrugged. “I fancy a beer and no ten of these blue-nosed bastards is going to stop me having one,” he said.
Under the circumstances, Rik could not back out and leave his friends, much as he would have liked to. Besides, the bouncers looked big and efficient. There were three of them visible, and one of them had a leather wrapped cosh in his hands. Perhaps things would not come to blows, he thought. He took one look at the Barbarian and he thought, and perhaps pigs will grow wings and fly.
Weasel grinned confidently at the locals, and got them seats at a table. Half a dozen young apprentice lads were already there. Weasel ordered drinks for the whole lot of them, a transparent ploy to the get the townsmen on their side if trouble broke out. Within minutes he and the apprentices were chatting away like old friends, while the Barbarian met the menacing glares from the Easterner’s table with ones of his own.
It was Rik’s first beer in a long time and he took it slowly, savouring the taste and feel of the bubbles on his tongue. The Barbarian leaned forward, pointed a sausage-sized finger at him, licked some froth from his walrus moustache and asked; “So what’s it like, shagging one of the Elder Race?”
Rik looked at him. Was it possible the big man was really jealous? That might prove a dangerous thing if it were the case. He considered for a moment, and said; “None of your business.”
The Barbarian laughed. “Fair enough. Got to hand it to you though, Halfbreed. It did not take you long to get over little Rena. Probably just as well now that she’s moved in with the Lieutenant.”
Rik felt as if someone had just twisted a knife in his gut. “I don’t give a toss,” he lied. “Anyway, I’m not certain she has moved in with him.”
“No- she’s just a few tents away so if old Hookhand fancies a quickie he can nip across. Must have nerves of steel that girl. I don’t fancy doing it with someone with a hook. I shagged a bar-girl in Harven once who had a wooden leg. That was an interesting experience.”
“You might have got woodworm,” said Rik.
“Dangerous when your head's made of oak,” said Weasel.
“Ha-bloody-ha. She was a nice girl, actually. I felt sorry for her.”
“How did she lose the leg?”
“Wyrmbite. Worked for a merchant and one day one of his river wyrms just felt peckish. She was fired.”
“Worse things happen at sea,” said Rik. He did not want to think about all the people whose bad luck he had seen back in Sorrow. It inevitably brought his thoughts back to Rena, who had lost her family in the last plague outbreak.
“You’re a cold bastard sometimes, Halfbreed,” said the Barbarian. “Although you’re right- worse things do happen at sea. I remember when…”
A shadow fell across the table. Rik looked up to see a massive easterner standing there. He was almost as big as the Barbarian and it looked like his nose had been broken and badly set several times. He had a cauliflower ear and his eyes had the puffy quality that bare-knuckle boxers sometimes got.
“You want something?” said the Barbarian. “A knuckle sandwich maybe?”
“I want to propose a toast,” said the Easterner, obviously drunk. “To the Queen-Empress. May she live a thousand years.”
“Well, you’ve done that now,” said the Barbarian. “Maybe you should run back to your friends before they miss you.”
“You will not drink her majesty's health?”
“Certainly,” said Rik. “To Queen Arielle, rightful ruler of the Terrarchy. May she live a thousand years.”
He raised his stein, and then tossed its contents into the Easterner’s face. The Barbarian whacked him in the testicles with his closed fist. As the easterner crumpled, Rik brought his stein down on his head.
“A waste of good beer that,” said the Barbarian, as he picked the fallen man up bodily, lumbered across the room and tossed him at his mates. With a whoop Weasel and the apprentices rose and joined the fight.
The Barbarian hefted a bench, and used it to belabour some of the Easterners. Not a bad idea, Rik thought, picking up another stein to use as a weapon, and wading into the fray. In a moment all was a chaos of blood and beer and broken teeth. Ahead of him he saw a black-clad man. He ducked and lashed out with a kick, catching the man on the shin. While his foe was distracted, he smacked him with the stein. The Easterner went down as if pole-axed.
Rik glanced around and saw that the Sardeans were withdrawing, carrying their unconscious friend's with them as they made a fighting retreat. He helped pick up the man he had just downed, and along with one of the apprentices carried him to the door and threw him out into the mud.
A moment later there was a rousing cry of victory. The Purples were defeated. The Scarlets and the Kharadreans victorious. The Barbarian raised both hands above his head in a prize-fighters gesture of triumph.
“Time for some serious drinking,” said Weasel.
“Let’s hope the bastards don’t return with reinforcements,” said Rik.
“Have a beer,” said the Barbarian. One of the apprentices grabbed Rik by the shoulder and said; “Talorean, Kharadrean, we are brothers, yes?”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Rik. A long evening of boozing stretched ahead of them.
Chapter Twelve
Fharog’s footman announced the presence of Lord Jaderac and Lady Tamara. His master had trained him well. He ushered the pair into the dining room quite as well as any of Sardec’s family retainers. Sardec rose to greet the visitors as they entered. Jaderac was dressed in a new spotless purple-black uniform with silvered epaulettes. His companion wore a blue formal dress that made her look quite stunning.
The Lady Tamara was tall and slender. Her hair was thick, blonde and lustrous, piled high on top of her head to reveal her pointed ears. Several elder signs set in blue fire-jewels glittered on her throat. There were more of them set on rings on her fingers. It seemed that like Jaderac she was a sorcerer, or liked to pretend she was.
Sardec thought he was being unfair- doubtless she was what she seemed to be. The folk of the East spent a lot of time studying the old arts, which was easier for them than it was for westerners because they had held on to most of the old libraries of arcane lore during the Schism. In its way, it was a reminder of exactly what the Taloreans would face in the coming war, and he wondered if that was the point.
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Lady Asea walked forward to meet them. She was clad in a gown of silver metallic from the Old World that was a very definite reminder of exactly who she was. Her only visible sorcerous adjunct was a set of protective runes that glittered on her truesilver necklace.
Sardec stepped forward behind her, suddenly conscious of feeling shabby in his uniform jacket. Lady Tamara looked up at him flirtatiously. He noticed her lips were full and sensual. Her eyes gazed into his measuringly for a moment before she looked away. He and Jaderac exchanged bows and thus began the slow minuet of formalities that would lead them to the table.
The food was good and for the early part of the meal, as was polite, they kept strictly to the expected questions and topics of conversation. It turned out that Lady Tamara was the daughter of Lord Malkior, the former Chancellor of Sardea.
“You are very far from court, milady,” said Sardec. “What brings you to these rough climes?”
“I wanted to see this part of the world, and Lord Jaderac graciously consented to be my guide. In this and many other things.” She gazed adoringly at Jaderac, a thing that did not sit well with her earlier flirtatiousness. He wondered what was really between the pair. Briefly his eyes made contact with Lady Asea’s, and he saw that she too had noticed the gesture and its falseness. Sardec had met many Terrarch girls like Tamara before- seemingly empty headed, flirtatious, constantly in search of new conquests. Once he would have been interested, if only to spite Jaderac, but now she held no real interest for him, and he wondered at how he had changed. He thought of Rena. There was his answer. His pleasures were of a different kind.
“The Tower is one of the wonders of this world,” said Asea. The subtle emphasis on the word this reminded them all that she was the only one present who had gazed on the wonders of another world.
“Indeed,” said Jaderac. “Although I doubt its treasures can compare with those of the Queen-Empress’s palace.”
“I think the Lady Asea referred to the structure itself,” said Sardec lightly, wondering at the urge he felt to bait this dangerous duellist. “Even a Terrarch of the Old Faith must admit that the Elder Races surpassed us in some things.”