The Serpent Tower

Chapter Seventeen

“What is it?” Lady Asea asked, seeing his grim expression as Rik entered the chamber. He told her what the gang boss had said about Jaderac’s sorcery. She listened intently and said; “I suppose it’s only to be expected.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

“There is not a great deal more I can do,” she said. “There are already wards and sentries in place. I have prepared my weapons and armour.” She gestured towards her travelling chests.

He noticed how tired she looked, and also a little hopeless, truth be told. He wondered what was wrong with her. He had never seen her like this before. He asked.

“It is the Tower, Rik,” she said. “It is possessed of a dark magic that oppresses me.”

“You could leave here.”

“And go back to the army?”

“Yes.”

“That would leave Jaderac in possession of the field and in a position to do what he wants unopposed. Besides, I am not without sorcerous resources myself.”

“All this talk of murderous magic unsettles me,” Rik said.

“That is understandable. However there is something else I want you to think about.”

“What would that be?”

She produced a set of maps from within one of her travelling chests. “These are maps of the interior of the Serpent Tower. Can you memorise them?”

Rik had memorised the plans of many mansions when he had been a burglar back in Sorrow. These were more complex than any he had committed to memory back then, but he knew that, if he was to have any chance of survival, he was going to need to learn them.

“I can try,” he said.

She gestured with her hand. “You can begin now.”

He looked at the maps. There were certain areas that indicated doorways, but there was nothing marked on the map beyond them.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“They were sealed ways. Ancient runes marked with Serpent Man Elder Signs blocked the way. It was thought that they could not be opened…”

“Thought?”

“I suspect Ilmarec found the key. It may have something to do with his new found power.”

“But you have no idea what was within?”

“We always suspected something was buried there.”

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 bayonet 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.