The Serpent Tower

Chapter Two

Silently the Foragers moved through the dim forest.

Ahead Rik heard screaming and the cheers of men and the flow of water. He slapped a mosquito on his hand, splattering it in a bubble of red blood. Sweat stained his clothes. His heart raced. His mouth felt dry and he was aware of every speck of dust drifting in the columns of sunlight between the trees. He tasted the odd rich air of the woods. Moist fern fronds brushed his legs. He felt truly and utterly alive, as he always did when he knew that he might soon be dead. His whole life had shrunk into a narrow tunnel. Ahead of him lay violence and bloodletting and a terrible place he would need to pass through to get to any future he might have.

A small animal part of his mind gibbered that he could still turn and flee, run off into the woods and wait for the eye of the coming storm of violence to pass over him. Another equally animal part lusted to run forward and plunge his bayonet into warm living flesh. His true self hung suspended between the two poles.

He was not going to run. Not while his whole unit advanced. He was not scared so much of the Sergeant’s boot or the lash that waited for cowards as he was of letting down his comrades, of the shame he would feel if he ran off now in plain sight of them before things had even started. Every man around him felt the same way. He had seen forces of hardened veterans flee once the first man turned tail and ran, but no one wanted to be that first man.

He scuttled up the last ridge, threw himself flat on his belly and looked down on the enemy. Most of them stood around a large tree in a clearing by a slow-flowing river. They were not well organised, more like bandits than soldiers. There were few sentries. A bloody figure was tied to the bole of the oak, head slumped to one side, shirt torn from chest. It howled. There was another figure nearby who had stopped moving altogether.

The men below laughed too loudly and shouted too enthusiastically. There were several broached barrels of blood-red liquid sitting in the middle of the clearing. Some of the enemy soldiers ladled the wine into wooden goblets and swilled it down.

“The bastards are drunk,” the Barbarian muttered. “I am not going to stand by and watch enemies of the Queen be drunk when I am not.”

Rik cast his eye down to the ford. The Mor was wide here and its bed was paved with stones. Beyond was a large walled building on a slight rise. It dominated the whole area. From its walls, a small group of men could stand off an army while supplies held out.

Rik glanced in the direction of the Lieutenant and could see that he was not the only one who had noticed this. Already Sardec was giving orders to Sergeant Hef and Corporal Toby. A moment later the big, blonde, ruddy-faced Corporal slid into the position where Rik, Weasel and the Barbarian lay.

“Once the shooting starts we’re going to cross the ford and attack the manor house,” Toby said. “Over there — the overhanging trees will give us some shadow and some cover. The bastards have left the gate open so we’re going to grab it if we can.”

Rik measured the distance. It seemed like madness to try and sweep by a large group of armed men and take the building, particularly when there were sentries on the wall. Sardec had thought of this too.

“Weasel, reckon you can pick off those sentries?” Weasel sucked his teeth as he considered.

“Yup. If the Barbarian and Halfbreed leave me their muskets I reckon I can get them one after the other, before the wankers know what’s going on. If one of this pair will reload for me I can pick off anybody else that sticks their head above the battlement.”

“I don’t want to be your bloody loader,” said the Barbarian. “I want to fight.”

“Give it a couple of minutes and there will be enough fighting to go round,” said Weasel. The Barbarian shook his head and laid a massive hand on the hilt of his hill-man fighting knife. “There’s killing to be done and I want to do it.”

Corporal Toby looked at the pair of them. His blue eyes were cold. He did not have time for arguments. “You’ll get to use your shortsword, northman. Leave your musket here and join the assault party. Rik will do all the reloading. You don’t have any objections do you, Halfbreed?”

His tone told Rik that he’d better not have. Rik nodded. It was a job that needed to be done and Weasel was the man to do it. He had been the runner up in the regimental shooting championship, and would have won it if he had not placed a bunch of secret bets on himself to lose.

“Good,” Toby scuttled off along the ridgeline to gather the assault group. The Barbarian went with him, long- knife bare in his fist. Rik took out his cartridges, unclipped the ramrod from beneath the barrel of his musket and made ready.

Weasel gave him a wink. “Spearing carp in a barrel,” he said. He raised his long gun to his shoulder and waited.

A moment later, with a rumble like summer thunder, the Foragers opened fire. The densely packed band of men round the torture tree shrieked as musket balls ripped through them. Some fell, some turned, some threw themselves flat and were trampled. Drunk and surprised they had absolutely no idea what was going on. A very few, with some remaining presence of mind, reached for their muskets. The others milled and bleated like sheep in the pen of an abattoir.

There was a loud bang and a puff of smoke from nearby. The sulphurous smell of powder smoke assaulted Rik’s nostrils. A man on the battlements fell. He handed his own loaded musket to Weasel, and held the Barbarian’s ready. There was another bang, and another man fell. He passed the third musket to Weasel and began to reload the first. There was another bang and the last sentry on the battlements fell.

While this was going on, Corporal Toby and his assault group stormed round the enemy flank and headed for the river. The Foragers in the wood kept up a steady stream of fire. One man in the centre of the swirl of bodies began to bellow orders, and get the troops into some semblance of order. Weasel took the musket from Rik’s hands, twisted and fired. The would-be leader dropped.

For the men under attack it was the last straw. Some dived for the undergrowth, some fled towards the river, some stuck their hands in the air and howled about surrender. The relentless barrage of fire from the woods continued, unabated, swift and professional. The Foragers were good shots and the enemy had no idea how many men attacked them. Right now, it would not have mattered. The enemy were in a panic, and had lost all discipline. Under the circumstances if they had outnumbered the Foragers ten to one they would not have stood their ground.

Looking back at the building, Rik could see Corporal Toby and his men disappear through its gates. From inside came the sound of firing and the howls of the Barbarian’s battle cry. Weasel had transferred his gaze back to the structure’s walls.

“Those men were idiots, Halfbreed,” he said. “They could have interrogated Kalmek in the building, and had walls around them. Instead they made a barbecue out of it. If the rest of the Kharadreans are like this, just the company of us could take this whole bloody country.”

“I doubt the rest of the country will be,” said Rik.

“I can dream, can’t I?”

“I’d much rather know what’s going on here. This province was supposed to be friendly. Now we find it up in arms against us, even if it is in the most half-assed way possible.”

“There was nothing half-assed about the ambushes we’ve waded through…” The rest of Weasel’s sentence was drowned out by the rolling thunder of musketry and the screams of the dying. A moment later the Barbarian appeared on the battlements and waved. Weasel flinched.

“Almost blew the big, stupid bastard's brains out.”

“They’re so small I'd be surprised you could hit them.”

“I can shoot the bollocks off a blue-arsed fly, Halfbreed, so I just might be able to hit them. Might.”

Other Foragers appeared on the battlements. They levelled their rifles at the mass of men in the water and opened fire. Weasel accepted another rifle from Rik and joined in. Soon it was all over. Corpses sprawled flat out on the grass. The river was dyed red with blood. Sergeant Hef emerged from the woods and cut down Kalmek. Rik watched as the Foragers checked the survivors, bayoneting any who were too wounded to walk.

After watching a comrade being tortured, they were in no mood to be merciful.

Rik stood on the battlements on the far side of the captured manor house, looking down on the lands beyond. A short distance north the forest opened out onto rolling hillocks, small copses and open fields. Some of the hills were covered in long furrowed strips. They had a neglected overgrown look that told him war had once again overtaken agriculture in this part of the world. In the distance, if he strained, he thought he could make out the very tip of the Tower of Serpents, although he told himself that might just have been his imagination.

Behind and beneath him he could hear the sound of drunken revelry. It was obvious now why they had beaten their enemies so easily. The men had found a secret store of wine bricked up in the cellar. There was still plenty of it to go around. Despite the efforts of Sardec, and the Sergeant and Corporal, many of the Foragers were getting just as drunk as the men they had beaten, taking secret swigs when there was no one around to watch them. Rik had taken sentry duty up on the wall because he knew somebody had to, if they were not going to be taken in the same way as their late foes.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Sergeant Hef’s head rise into view. The little monkey faced man grinned at him. “Nice to see someone has kept their head,” he said.

“I’m not in the mood,” Rik said.

“You’ve not been on the tear since the mountain,” said the Sergeant. He had the wary tone in his voice that all of them got when they discussed Achenar. None of them would ever forget the horrors they had faced there.

“Saving my pennies,” Rik said. He thought he saw movement on the nearest ridge. He pointed it out to the Sergeant. Hef raised a spyglass to his eyes.

“By the Light,” he said, passing the glass to Rik. Rik looked through the eyepiece and made a few adjustments and saw what had upset the Sergeant. There were men there, a lot of them. Moments later he heard the beat of a distant drum and an enemy force came into view. There were hundreds of them, cavalry and infantrymen. Forget hundreds, he thought, there were maybe thousands of them. It was a whole army, complete with blue-coated Terrarch officers. Banners fluttered in the breeze.

“Shit,” said Rik. “Better tell the lads to leg it.”

The army was heading this way. He wondered if they would make it before the outriders reached them.

From the speed at which the cavalry were moving, he guessed the answer was no.

Down in the courtyard the Foragers swiftly took up their weapons and headed to the walls. Sardec joined them, shouting instructions to close the gates and block them with anything that could be found. Toadface and the Barbarian rolled an old cart into place. It was obvious that they could not escape. Destrier-mounted dragoons were already within striking distance. Packs of scaly, razor-toothed ripjack wyrms fanned out ahead of them. Anyone who tried to break for the wood would be ridden down or torn to pieces by the ripjacks. The bi-pedal wyrm's massive jaws would strip a man’s flesh to the bone in seconds.

“What now, sir?” Sergeant Hef asked the Lieutenant.

Sardec considered for a moment. Rik knew that every man in the unit was listening closely and would take his cue from the Terrarch. If Sardec panicked, they all would. If Sardec stood firm so would they, even though it looked like a Blue army was out there. At least a thousand men lined the ridge-tops. Rik gave thanks for small mercies. At least there were no bridgebacks. Those huge wyrms could have smashed through the gate easily. And as far as he could see there were no cannons. The only question was whether there was a mage present. If there was, things would go very badly for the Foragers.

“We can hold out here for as long as we have powder,” said Sardec. “They don’t have artillery and they don’t have any great wyrms. If they had dragons, we would know all about it by now.”

Corporal Toby and Sergeant Hef nodded encouragingly but Rik could tell what they were thinking. Under normal circumstances, a force as outnumbered as theirs would surrender. Having seen what had happened to Kalmek and his companions none of them really trusted the parole of the enemy. At least for now, they would try to stand and fight.

“This evening we can try and slip away once it’s dark. Tonight will be cloudy.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Sergeant Hef, “but those ripjacks will catch our scent if we try to slip out. And sentries might spot us. If we’re caught on the open ground or in the ford we will be torn to bits.”

The old Sardec would have lashed out at Hef for contradicting him. Now he merely nodded and said; “Of course, you are right, Sergeant. However, Lord Azaar must be informed of this threat to his flank. Perhaps a few picked men can be slipped over the wall and through the enemy lines. They can reach our army. Once word is brought to them, a relief force can easily be organised. It’s only a couple of leagues. They can be here by morning if we can hold out.”

And he managed to put that together all by himself, thought Rik sourly. Hef nodded.

“Pick as many men as you think necessary, Sergeant,” said Sardec. “The best men for the job.”

Rik was not surprised when Hef picked Weasel and the Barbarian. He was when the Sergeant chose him. Hef obviously noticed his startled look.

“You have got the nightsight and you’ve got a brain, Halfbreed,” he said. “And you have nerve. We saw that in those hell mines. Keep those two out of trouble. Get them to the camp. We’re all counting on you. Go and get some rest now. You’ll need your wits about you tonight.”

In the distance Rik could hear the shouts and laughter of the enemy. How was he ever going to get some sleep with that racket reminding him of what was outside the walls?

An earthquake rocked Rik. His eyes felt gummy. When he forced them open he saw it was only the Barbarian shaking him awake. “Rise and shine,” he said. “It’s time to show those Bluecoat bastards what stealth is.”

“If that’s your intention you should keep your voice down to below a bellow,” said Weasel.

“What’s new?” Rik asked, just to steady his nerves. His tongue felt thick, his limbs weak. He had used to feel this way back before a big burglary during the old days in Sorrow.

“Not so good,” said Weasel. “They’ve surrounded us. Moved some troops down by the ford. Got ripjacks there as well.”

“Any more good news?”

“Well, the Lieutenant has talked to some of the prisoners. Says they are turncoats. They used to be part of Princess — ahem — Queen Kathea’s army, now they’ve turned blue.”

“Any idea why?”

“You’ll love this, and so will Lord Azaar,” said Weasel. “They say Ilmarec has changed sides. He’s holding the Princess — I mean Queen — in the Tower of Serpents. These men say if their liege lord has sided with the Blues so will they.”

“Great. Nothing so touching as loyalty is there.”

“It gets better. The Legion of Exiles is in Morven.”

“Khaldarus’s pet killers?” Rik shivered. The Legion had the worst of reputations. Their leaders were Terrarchs so depraved they had been banished by the Dark Empire and now fought as mercenaries for Prince Khaldarus. They used the darkest of magic too.

“None other. We’re to report all this to the General in person. We’re also to fill him in on the situation. I’m telling you this now in case we get separated. When we see Sardec in a few minutes he’ll doubtless tell you the same, but he’ll be more long winded about it. You know how Terrarchs are.”

“Got any plans for getting us out of here.”

“I thought we might try and drop into the river below the ford, let the current carry us downstream a bit and then double back to pick up the path to camp.”

Rik nodded. It made sense. Using the stream would keep the ripjacks from picking up their scent.

“It will be bloody cold,” he said. “The water I mean.”

“We’re not going for a picnic, Halfbreed. There’s men out there will kill us if they catch us.”

“Hot knives up your bunghole will soon warm you up if you are too cold,” said the Barbarian. He was nervous, his truculent manner always increased in direct proportion to his nerves.

Weasel just grinned like a dog whose belly was being scratched. Rik thought then, and not for the first time, that the former poacher was mad. It was not right for any man to be so fearless. Still, if he was going to risk his life, he was glad he was doing it in their company. He had never known anybody better suited for this kind of work.

“Let’s get on with it,” he said. “Soonest done, soonest home.”