The Serpent Tower

Chapter Nineteen

Rik lay on his pallet in the barracks and stared at the ceiling. He was not able to concentrate on the maps he had memorised. He had been restless all night; his sleep constantly interrupted by images of what he had seen when the Nerghul had been cut open. It had been like slicing an apple and seeing worms and rot inside. The thing had looked human but it was not, and it was one of those things that made him wonder. He sometimes had the sense that reality was but a thin skin over the horrible truth of the universe. This night's encounter reinforced that idea.

He had always thought himself human, or at least half-human in every sense that mattered, but if what Asea had told him was true, that was not the case. He, too, was something that looked human but was not. He was a killer descended from a race of killers.

The worst of it was that he did not have any trouble believing it was so. He had always felt different from those around him, had always known he was colder and more calculating. Now it seemed that there might have been a reason for that. He was different. He was intended to be so, to be something monstrous.

He told himself that he was just trying to distract himself from deeper worries. He could so easily have been killed last night. His bruised ribs told him so. Other people had died, and if he had been just a fraction slower, he might have joined them in death. Asea could have died. His friends could have died too.

And the thing that had done the killing was still at large. It would come back looking for him soon. Perhaps it was waiting out there now. No. Asea had told him that by daylight he was safe; such creatures could not bear the light of the sun. After nightfall, though, it would be a different matter.

What sort of person would make a creature like the Nerghul, he wondered? Who could have stood aside and watched such a thing come into being. Who would deliberately set out to create one?

In a way, the answer was obvious; the sorcerers of the Dark Empire. But it was one thing to think such a thing; it was another entirely to encounter such deadly evidence of it at first hand. Nerghuls really existed. They were not figments of a diseased imagination or inhabitants of some cheap chapbook story. They walked this earth.

And somewhere out there was the person who had created the creature, and used it to try and kill Asea and himself and the other people he knew. He had his suspicions that Tamara was involved. He did not like to believe that he was so stupid that he could have been taken in by a pretty face a third time- but why not? Sabena had made an idiot out of him. Rena had made a fool of him. Tamara could easily be the third in a set of three. At least Rena had not conspired to have him killed, as the other two had done.

His head spun when he thought about it. Tamara had told him Asea was a traitor to her people. She had asked him to kill Asea. Asea had said that Tamara was a deadly enemy of the kingdom where he had grown up, and oppressor to all his kind. She had wanted him to kill Tamara.

Somewhere in all their words was perhaps a kernel of truth, or perhaps it was all a lie. The question he had to answer for himself was not who to believe, for he believed they were all lying to him, but what he was going to do about it. He needed to get to a place where he had some control over his life, and that was going to be as difficult as scaling the slippery walls of the Tower of the Serpent.

It appeared that Tamara may have wanted him dead all along. Why? It did not make sense. If she had wanted him dead she could have managed it back in the Snake’s Head. He supposed there would have been witnesses. She might have got caught. He might have been able to stop her. This way there was no risk to her.

As so often with him, anger flared alongside the fear. He felt the urge to seek out the sorcerer and kill him before he could strike again. He told himself that his thoughts were insane, that such a course of action would lead to his own destruction, but he could not help his feelings or prevent the idea from entering his mind that perhaps, in some ways, he was not sane. Perhaps a murderous insanity had been bred into his bones.

What a world it was, he thought. What kind of god would create a place like this? Certainly not the god he had been taught to believe in at the orphanage. That stern, just, loving god would not have made this strange sick place his creation. The thought made him angry. He had been lied to all his life, starting back before he was in any position to realise it. He was being lied to still, by people who had their own good reasons for wanting to keep him from the truth.

Perhaps, after all, the best thing he could do was desert, slip away into the night, and get as far from this place as he could. But then again, the Nerghul would be waiting for him, and that was not something he wanted to face on his own. With the whole company and Lady Asea around him he had only just survived. He would have had no chance on his own. Staying looked like his only option but staying meant doing what Asea wanted and sneaking into the Serpent Tower.

He laughed cynically. Under the circumstances it really might just be the best place for him. At least the Nerghul would not be able to get him there. Such was his horror of the thing, that the thought seemed almost sensible. Almost he would prefer certain death in the Tower to facing the Nerghul again.

There were other things to consider. Stealing into the Tower and doing what Asea asked there might — just might — bring him an enormous reward. It was a gamble against very long odds, but it was one he found himself increasingly willing to take.

What use was his life to anybody, least of all himself? All he had to look forward to as a soldier was a short career that would most likely end with him as a crippled beggar. If he ran and became a thief, the chances were that eventually he would end up the same way at best, and dangling from the end of a rope at worst. There was no one who would miss him for longer than it took to drink the toast at his wake. He was getting self-pitying, he knew, which he hated so he pushed those thoughts aside.

He considered the Tower. It was a challenge to his skill, one that would most likely prove beyond it, but that appealed to his vanity in a strange way. If he walked away now, he would never know what he was capable of, whether he could defy the power of an ancient race and one of the greatest sorcerers of the Terrarchs. This was his chance to become a wealthy hero. It meant risking his life but then he did that on the battlefield whenever the regiment marched to war. He could be killed by a stray bullet in the street tomorrow, or in his bed by a Nerghul tonight, if the creature returned.

He knew then, as that thought sidled into his head, that his mind was made up. He would risk the Tower, and rescue the Princess if he could. Weasel and the Barbarian loomed over him.

“We’re off to see our friendly local fence,” said Weasel. “We’re to make sure everything you need is ready. Her Ladyship wants to see you. Looks like tonight’s the night for whatever she is planning.”

Rik’s heart skipped a beat. Too soon, he thought. Too soon.

Sardec drank his morning tea. He was angry and not a little shocked. Jaderac, and he was sure it was Jaderac, had dared to use the foulest of sorcery against the person he was supposed to protect. The Nerghul was a creature of the vilest kind, created by the darkest magic. He had not needed Asea’s explanations to realise that. He had seen the thing with his own eyes.

It had killed two of his men, and some of the camp followers within the walls of this very townhouse. It has almost killed him and Asea and the others. He felt like storming off to Jaderac’s mansion, spitting in his face and challenging him to a duel, but he had no proof. Jaderac could simply deny the charge and there was nothing he could do about it except be killed in a duel in which the Easterner would have choice of weapons. That would not keep Asea safe or let him perform his duty. He swore to the Light that if he got the chance he would get even with Jaderac though.

He wondered if Lord Azaar had got his letter yet, telling of the power of the green light. Doubtless that would cause a sensation in the camp. His next missive concerning the Nerghul would cause a greater stir. It was the first evidence of what they had all suspected, that the Easterners were prepared to use the most despicable of magic in the pursuit of their goals.

For the first time he paused to consider that Talorea really might lose this war. He believed with some certainty that the Scarlet armies were better trained, better motivated and better equipped than their Purple opponents, but that was only part of the story. Such magic as the Easterners possessed might well tip the battle in their favour. If they were prepared to use necromancy, then they would be able to send Nerghul assassins and field regiments of the walking dead against the armies of the West. Would his own men stand their ground in the face of such things?

Sardec believed the answer was yes. They had held their ground beneath Deep Achenar in the face of Elder World horrors. They had stood firm in the face of the Nerghul last night. In both cases they had bought victory with their own blood, and his people were not without their own magic. Who knew what Asea was capable of when she put her mind to it?

None of this was getting him anywhere and there were matters at hand that needed his fullest attention. He needed to make sure the defences were reinforced, that the sentries were redoubled. He had sent Corporal Toby off to find a supply of truesilver bullets. They would be handed out to every man. The money would have to come from his own pocket, but it would be worth it. He intended to see that they were properly prepared if another creature of darkness came at them out of the night.

He glanced up at the Tower. A greenish glow flowed through its walls, dimly visible even in the daylight. Its ominous spire glared down at them; reminding him that there was nothing at all he could do, if Ilmarec decided to sweep them from the face of the earth. Something was going to have to be done about that but for the life of him, he could not think what.

Rik looked up from the maps. He was sick and tired of studying them, of running over all the details of the preparations for the attempt on the Tower. And he was nervous now that the event was almost on top of them. Weasel and the Barbarian had been dispatched to finalise the preparations with Black Tomar. If all went well, he would be making the attempt on the Tower today. It seemed too soon, but they had run out of time. None of his arguments swayed Asea. She feared the build-up of power within the Tower. The effort had to be made now, before Ilmarec got a chance to carry out his threat against Azaar’s army.

Asea had chosen to entrust Weasel and the Barbarian with some of the secrets of the mission. Even though she had made it clear to them that the threat of the Inquisition hung over their heads too, Rik was not sure he liked that. He told himself that they were reliable, that it was just his ingrained habit of secrecy that made him nervous about it, but it did not help. His nerves were badly on edge. He wanted a distraction, any distraction.

“What was that thing last night — really?” Rik asked Asea. He was still troubled by what he had seen, and that made him curious.

“It was a Nerghul,” she said, staring at the collection of items that lay on top of a silk sheet in front of her.

“That helps,” he said. “I already knew the name. If only I knew what a Nerghul was, I would be fully informed.”

“Curiosity about such things is an error,” she said. He considered this. He was tired, and he was short tempered, but it would not do to forget himself in her presence.

“Please indulge me, milady. I want to understand a little about the thing that almost killed me.”

“You would do better to concentrate on those maps, and the nature of the compounds I have provided you with.”

“If I do not know these things by now, I never will.”

She sighed. “Nerghul are creations of the darkest sort of necromantic sorcery. Grown from the tissue of corpses, mingled with essences drained from certain demons and the blood of humans and Terrarch. They grow in vats of alchemicals, saturated with energies created by sorcerous engines.”

He asked the question that was on his mind. “How do you kill it?”

“You can’t. It’s already dead.”

“How would I stop it then, end its existence?”

“Very strong magic. Enormous amounts of damage. Fire usually harms things of darkness, particularly those that cannot stand the light. Truesilver would help. It would disrupt the flow of necromantic energy through its body. The truth is, though, that Nerghuls are very difficult to stop.”

“There must be some way.”

“Some grimoires, Pusad’s Treatise on the Hounds of Shadow, for one, claim you could stop them by sawing off their heads. It would not break the enchantment, but since the intelligence is in the brain, it would leave the body a mindless animated thing.”

“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 somewhat 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.