by William King
“So all I have to do is ask it to lie down while I saw off its head? That sounds easy enough.”
“By implication, massive damage to the head might have a similar effect. It would have to almost destroy the skull, I would guess and even then it might not work.”
“Why?”
“Other grimoires claim the animation is provided by a dark spirit trapped in the corpse. If that’s the case, then beheading the creature would have very little effect at all.”
“Wonderful,” said Rik. “Those old books don’t seem terribly helpful.”
She smiled. “It’s often the way with such things. Sorcerers fumble in the dark, and write down as certainties what are, at best, theories.”
“So you’re saying that chopping off the head might have no effect whatsoever?”
She considered this. “The animating spirit would still be present but it would lose any mortal senses the head might provide.”
“It would be blind.”
“In one way, yes.”
“In another way, no. Am I right?”
“I have already told you, Rik, that demons see with other senses than the physical. They sense spirit and the flows of power.”
“But I might be invisible to that, if the rest of what you told me is true.”
“Very good, Rik. I see you have worked out a solution.”
“Only if I can convince a near invulnerable demon to lie down and let me perform surgery on it. It does not seem likely, does it?”
“No.”
“Who would create such a thing? How did they come to be? They strike me as being things that the Inquisition would forbid.”
“They are forbidden, Rik, at least in the West. They were originally created in the darkest period of Terrarch history, in the dying days of our civilization on Al’Terra when some of our sorcerers sought to use the methods of the Princes of Shadow against them.”
He considered this. It was information that was never mentioned in the scriptures or testaments, never taught in the schools, never mentioned in books, but he saw no reason to doubt her. She was, after all, the expert in such things.
“Even to me that does not seem the cleverest of plans,” he said, hoping to draw her out. Her hand toyed with one of the trinkets in front of her. She gazed into the mid-distance, remembering.
“It was not. Some of those who tried it were desperate, others merely wanted power and would do anything required to grasp it. There are always such ones in any time, but an age of chaos provides them with the excuse they need, and reasons they could not find in less dark times.”
Rik thought if that were the case, such men would be crawling out of the woodwork now. He supposed they were.
“Many sorcerers experimented with the darkest of arts, trying to find a way to overcome the Princes of Shadow. They created things like the Nerghuls and armies of the living dead to fight their wars for them. Some of them ended up joining their enemies, and became Princes themselves. But there were many who remained loyal to the Queen-Empress and still used their lore in evil ways, to fight fire with fire, they said. Such knowledge was preserved by them and their students and found its way to this world when we passed through the Eye of the Dragon. In the East there are many remote estates where the Lords can practise sorcery and no one asks any questions. Jaderac has just such an estate. I fear this and other forbidden lore will find its way to the battlefield in the coming war.”
“Why?” Rik asked.
“Because the world has changed. Gunpowder and alchemy have altered the old balance of power between man and Terrarch. In order to secure their rule in the new age, some Terrarchs will draw on ever more potent wells of forbidden lore. Even in the West I have had heard voices calling for it. In the East…they will have no qualms whatsoever about using whatever means necessary to secure their power.”
Rik considered her words. They contained a truth but it was not one he could ever imagine any Terrarch enunciating. He said as much.
“We are not fools, Rik. We are arrogant and used to power but we can tell from which direction the wind blows. Some of us can see that sooner or later we are going to have to reach a new accommodation with the race of man that recognises the way the balance of power has shifted. A new, more democratic age will come whether we like it or not. It is best to acknowledge that fact.”
“It seems that the Purples do not agree with that assessment.”
“You would be surprised, Rik. You would be very surprised. Many of them agree with almost everything I have said.”
“What do you mean?”
“They agree with my diagnosis but not my cure. They think that the best way to deal with the threat that men represent is to use all our power, and all our forbidden knowledge to enslave them now. I think before the end, the Purples will decide that the preservation of Terrarch civilisation justifies the use of powers we would not dare use otherwise.”
Rik studied her, trying to work out how much she was attempting to manipulate him, but as always he could not tell. She appeared to believe what she was saying, and he could understand the sense of it.
Of course, the rich and the powerful would attempt to hold onto power by whatever means necessary. He would do the same if he were in their position. The question was whether he would use something like the Nerghul.
He simply did not have the experience to say. He had not enjoyed centuries of privilege, and he was in no great danger of losing such privilege, for he had never had it. He did not find it difficult to believe that the Terrarchs would stoop to using whatever tools were needed to hold power. They had shown themselves willing enough to do so in the past. The thing that truly surprised him was that Asea considered their position so vulnerable.
All his life Terrarch rule has simply been there, a fact, a thing as omnipresent as the air he breathed. The evidence was everywhere: their monumental palaces, their mighty fortresses, the statues of their heroes and wizards and dragons that surrounded him.
Perhaps, after all, those were a symbol of their weakness, not their strength, an attempt to intimidate as much by symbolic power as by real power. Even as part of him considered it ludicrous, another part of him was excited by the concept that it might be true. He thought of the vast military parades, the shows of sorcery, the preachings of priests, the flights of dragons. All of them were designed to remind humanity of the source of Terrarch power, and yet why were such reminders constantly necessary?
Possibly because by reminding the populace of their power, the Terrarchs ensured they did not need to use it. Their subjects were too intimidated to rebel. Even so, rebellions happened. Rik had fought against the Clockmaker and his followers. Was it possible, as Asea was suggesting, that the world was on the verge of a huge change, that man and Terrarch might really find their relative positions realigned? She looked at him and smiled subtly as if she could read the thoughts racing in his mind.
“There is something else you need to consider, Rik.”
“What’s that?”
“The Dark Empire actually possesses the power to enslave your people. The cost would be terrible, but they might manage it.”
“You really think they will try?”
“Desperate people do desperate things, Rik.” He had enough experience of the hardships of life to know exactly how true that was. So, it seemed, had she.
“Where are your friends?” she asked. “They should be back from seeing the thief king by now?”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. The question simply forced itself from his lips.
“I need your help,” she said. It sounded like an honest answer, but once again, he was certain it was not all of the truth. The desperation in her eyes and in her voice seemed real but…
Rik could see the sense of that, and something of its cynical pragmatism appealed to him. “I am just one more tool to you then?”
“As I am to you, Rik. I prefer to think of us as allies.”
“The balance of power makes it a som
ewhat one-sided alliance.”
“It’s often the way with alliances, Rik. Talorea has alliances with many of the nobles of Kharadrea. Our armies are far larger than theirs and Talorea is a far greater power, but yet such alliances are necessary, and in some places the balance of power may be tipped far in the favour of the one who seems the lesser power.”
Rik saw immediately what she was getting at. “As with Lord Ilmarec, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“Why not offer him whatever he wants?”
“Don’t you think I have already tried, Rik. I suspect that what he wants is beyond our power to give.”
“But the Sardeans can offer it?”
“I doubt they can either, to be honest.”
“Why? What is it he wants?”
“You might be surprised to learn that he wants to be left alone. He wants the same for his country.”
“Is that all?” Rik was surprised. He could not imagine that was all any Terrarch would ask for, if he held the balance of power between two great nations.
“It’s more than either side can allow, Rik. We need Kathea. Without her, our entire Kharadrean strategy collapses. She is the legitimate Queen, as well as the one who would support us. Justice is on our side.”
Rik stared at her. “Please spare me the platitudes.”
“It may be a platitude, Rik, but it’s also the truth. And a greater truth is that unless we win the coming war, life will become very harsh indeed for your people.”
Rik wondered if at first she had made a miscalculation reminding him of his human heritage. She had been promising him acceptance from the Terrarchs. Perhaps it was a threat, that without her help the humans would always be his people.
Or perhaps she simply knew him better than he realised, for he suspected that even if he was accepted into a Terrarch clan, the humans would always be his people, to the Terrarchs and more importantly to himself. His sympathies would always lie on that side of the fence. Or maybe she meant something else entirely. Maybe she was simply referring to the nation of Talorea and its people. Things would not go well for them, he realised, if they were conquered by the Dark Empire.
A question he had to ask himself was, did he care? His upbringing on the streets of Sorrow told him the best thing was simply to look out for himself, to grab what he could get, and pay only as much attention as was profitable to the upcoming struggle.
He was surprised to find within himself not just rage, but a rage for justice. Part of him was concerned with the greater situation, even if it was only to resent the Terrarch dominance of the world. Even there, he suspected, he might be doing himself a disservice. A part of him wanted a better world, a fairer world, and not just for himself.
He smiled. Maybe it was just that he realised that without a better world for all, a better world for himself was unlikely. In this world, wherever he went, whatever he did, he was always going to be an outsider. He was never going to be safe or secure. Things would have to change, and he would have to do his part to change them.
“When will you start teaching me how to use magic?”
“If you survive your trip to the Tower.”
“Don’t you think teaching me something before then might help me survive?”
“It would if I could, Rik, but magic is not something you can learn in a few minutes like the words of a song, or the name of a thing. It takes months to even begin to understand the basic principles and that is an amount of time we don’t have.”
“What do we have?”
“We have these maps of the inside of the Tower — have you memorised them?”
He looked at the papers she indicated with one long, perfectly manicured finger, at the small maps of the Tower’s interior, segmented by level. These were much more beautiful than the sorts of sketch maps he had become used to as a burglar, but they were the same sort of thing. He was sick of the question and let his weariness show in his reply. “Yes.”
“Is there anything else you think you will need?”
“The livery of one of the Tower servants might be useful, or the uniform of a Tower Guard.”
Asea nodded thoughtfully. “That should not be too difficult to procure.”
He considered. “Weapons, a spidersilk line and a grapnel, preferably one warded by concealment spells. I own one, it’s in my gear.”
“You are obviously the right man for this job.”
“Let us hope so. I doubt we will be getting a second chance.”
“It might be best to avoid anything ensorcelled,” said Asea. “The Watchers on the gates are extraordinarily sensitive to magic, and if the spells are not good enough…”
She did not need to finish that sentence.
Rik left Asea’s chamber dissatisfied. He was going to be putting his life on the line, and soon. Granted he was going to be doing something he had done before, breaking into a heavily guarded location, but he could not help but think he had never attempted a theft as daring as this one, or gone into a place so well protected.
What was Asea not telling him about it? There were too many secrets here, and too much danger. Surely there must be something the Realm could offer Ilmarec. Even a sorcerer so mighty could not be mad enough to believe he could defy the Queen’s will forever, could he?
Perhaps he could. Queen Arielle could ill afford to expend the manpower needed to take the Serpent Tower by storm, if that were even possible. But without control of the Tower, and of Morven and Princess Kathea, the war was lost. If worst came to the worst Azaar might have no other option but to attempt to storm the place or to return home. Rik could not see the famous General expending his troops on so mad a venture as that. And without Kathea they had no figurehead to rally the Kharadrean nobles behind. Khaldarus would get his throne by default.
It was certainly a puzzle. He considered again his own options. His life was at risk, but if Asea kept her promise, from his point of view the rewards would be commensurate with the stake. The thought that he was missing something important nagged away at him. There must be something he could do to move the odds in his favour. There must be some advantage he could gain. Surely there must be an easier way to get himself inside the Tower.
He glanced up at the awful structure, with its glass-smooth walls and its aura of Elder world horror. How could he set himself against that and its master. How could he succeed where countless others had failed? The words of his one-time master, Koralyn, came back to him. There is no such thing as impregnable mansion, boy. There’s always a path between a thief and a treasure. You just have to find it. Of course the old master thief had been caught and hanged.
Just then Weasel and the Barbarian entered the courtyard. Weasel lifted his hand in the Thieves Sign that told him everything was arranged. It looked like he would be going in today. It would be best that way, less time for anyone else to discover their plans. He wondered at the wisdom of letting those two know even part of the plan but there had been no way around it. They knew Tomar and he knew them, and there had been just too many things for him to do himself.
Fear grabbed his guts and twisted and no matter how hard he tried, it simply would not let go.
Chapter Twenty
Rik lay in the secret area of the cart beneath the piles of salted beef carcasses. The smell of meat filled his nostrils. It felt as if fatty residues were clinging to his skin and hair. He held his breath for as long as he could and then breathed shallowly to try and avoid taking in the overpowering stink.
In his mind’s eye it was difficult not to picture the Tower looming closer and the gaze of the strange gargoyles about to fall on him. He tried to keep calm, to avoid thoughts of what would happen to him if he was caught. The best he could hope for if he was found out was to be shot as a spy, the worst was torture and bizarre sorcery.
He cursed his own folly for agreeing to do this. All the reasons that had seemed so clear and strong earlier now simply seemed like folly; his anger with Rena, his fear of Asea and the Nerghul, his
lust for wealth and position, his desire to prove himself. The only thing he was about to prove was that he was an idiot. He stifled the surge of self-pity.
It was not too late to change his mind, he told himself. All he had to do was tell the drivers he could not go through with it. He could run off down the hill and hope no one on the wall would shoot him. Of course, then he would have to deal with Asea’s vengeance and the consequences of his previous actions at Achenar, and he would need to elude the Nerghul too.
Every turn of the wheel, every bump in the road, took him closer to those glassy walls and the sentries on them. Worse, it took him closer to being within the tower itself. Those walls were the jaws of the trap. Once inside, he was committed irrevocably. He was doomed if he was caught and he was entirely on his own. There would be peril at every step.
As ever, he felt fear, but the old excitement had started to flow too. He would be inside the Tower, where it would be death if he was caught. What of it, the thief of Sorrow thought? That was the way it had always been. The penalties had never been any less when he burgled the mansions of the rich. The reward of the captured thief was always the same. He was doing something he had done for much of his life, and something he was very good at.
His heart raced, but now it was as much with the thrill of the coming escapade as with outright terror. It was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. He knew then, as the ghosts of old emotions gripped his soul, that he was going to go through with this. If he lived to tell the tale he would be a hero, and if he failed, then he failed. He would be too dead to care.
He was whistling in the dark. It would be better to concentrate on his preparations. They had timed this correctly. It was late in the afternoon. Darkness would fall shortly after they were inside. This would be among the last carts of the day to enter the Tower. He would lower himself into the courtyard and join the porters there. He would do his best to keep out of sight and then he would make his way within the building and see what he could see.