The Serpent Tower

Chapter Four

Ahead of them a huge pavilion loomed. Glowstones set on staves lit the entrance. More of the magical gems dangled from chandeliers hung from the roof-pole of the interior. Despite the hour, people filled the tent. The smell of incense drifted through the air and a small chamber orchestra played soothing music.

At the central table sat the army’s Terrarch officers. Gold braid garlanded their scarlet coats. Regimental badges pinned to many breasts revealed the ranks of Colonels and Captains. Rik found his gaze drawn magnetically to the table. At one end sat a tall Terrarch, his face obscured by a silver mask of startling beauty. His scarlet coat was severely cut and carried no markings of rank. Leather gauntlets obscured his hands. Despite the heat a red scarf covered his neck. It seemed that General Azaar was determined not to show the slightest trace of flesh to the world. There were terrible rumours concerning why.

At the other end of the table sat a Terrarch woman of startling beauty, tall as a tall man, slender as a willow wand. Her hair was piled high on her head to reveal her sharply pointed ears. Her huge liquid eyes caught the light and reflected it. Rik was stunned. The last time he had seen Lady Asea she had been garbed for war in the magical armour of the First. Now she looked every inch the Lady of court. There was no trace of the martial sorceress who had offered to apprentice him. She gave not the slightest sign of knowing who Rik was. For the sake of his own safety, he decided that he had better take his cue from her.

Lieutenant Jazeray strode forward and whispered something in Colonel Xeno’s ear. That cold-faced officer leaned forward and said something to General Azaar. The General gestured for the three Foragers to come forward. The slow grace of his movement, and the leather covering his hand gave it a sinister quality. Rik did his best not to quail under the General’s bright, mad gaze. He had once seen a hawk with eyes like Azaar's. There was something predatory and fierce and not quite sane about them.

“Speak,” said the General. His voice was low but it carried through the hubbub of the room. Despite all the people present, he felt the General’s attention was focused totally on him. He had to fight to stop himself babbling as he told his tale. Azaar heard him out without interrupting and then asked a few questions about the nature of the enemy troops and their disposition, before raising his hand.

“My Lords,” he said. “Business calls. It seems we have encountered the enemy sooner than we expected. I regret we must turn our attention from this fine food to matters more martial. If the Colonels will join me in my tent, I would be grateful. I suggest that the rest of you get some sleep. There will be battle on the morrow. My sister, I regret we must interrupt this feast of welcome.”

Asea nodded graciously. "Duty must come first."

One by one the Terrarchs rose, bowed to Azaar and Asea and to each other then withdrew.

Azaar looked at the three Foragers. “Hold yourself in readiness here in case I need to question you again. My servants have gone to find you dry clothing. Help yourself to any food you want on the table. Leave the wine alone for now. I want you clear-headed.”

Rik was surprised. Azaar’s speech did not have any of the patronising quality he had come to expect from the Terrarchs. It was not friendly, but it was not contemptuous either, and his manner said that he really did appreciate the dangers they had run to bring him this news and would reward them in time.

A moment later, Azaar swept out of the tent followed by the regimental commanders and their adjutants. The three men found themselves alone with the servants and the Lady Asea. She fanned herself and studied them from the corner of her eye, without seeming to.

The Barbarian eyed her with a frank appreciation that Rik expected to get him hauled off and whipped. Weasel was already at the table, selecting dainties and sticking them in his pockets for later. The mark of an old soldier, Rik thought, was that he never let an opportunity for such plunder pass.

Asea gestured at Rik. At first he was not sure she meant him, but she repeated it and he walked over.

“You look a little bedraggled, soldier,” she said.

“We swam a river tonight, milady” he said.

“And encountered a relic of the Serpent Men,” she said. “That’s a strange omen.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps you will soon.”

She smiled at him and the smile was ravishing, though there was a coldness to it that put him on his guard. “I have not forgotten what we talked of in the mines beneath Achenar. We will talk again when the time is right.” She gestured with her fan to the two soldiers and the servants who had already set to clearing the table. “This is not the time or the place.”

“I appreciate that, milady,” Rik said. His heart raced. It seemed that she really had not forgotten about him, and he had not lost his chance to learn sorcery and to rise in the world. Suddenly his old suppressed ambitions returned.

She nodded pleasantly to him, rose and then left the tent. Two maids followed her, and Rik caught sight of one of her dark clad bodyguards moving to join her, silent as a shadow and dangerous as a tiger.

The Barbarian strode over. The nudge of his elbow almost knocked Rik from his feet. “What were you talking about with Her Loveliness?”

Rik gave the big man a sharp look. Was he really smitten with Asea or was this just some sort of crude joke?

“We were talking about the Serpent Man.”

“What did she say?” asked Weasel, around a mouthful of pastry.

“She said it was a strange omen.”

“She would know about such things. Magic is her business.” Weasel looked thoughtful. “They say she spent a lot of time on the southern continent, Xulander, that’s where the last Serpent Men dwell. The Quartermaster claims that she picked up those strange-eyed bodyguards of hers there.”

The Quartermaster was very well informed about all manner of strange things. Rik did not doubt that he would be very well informed about the substance of this conversation after Weasel had a word with him. He resolved to keep his mouth shut about the apprenticeship business. That was not something he wanted babbled around the camp. Nor did Asea, it seemed.

He helped himself to some bread and some preserve. It was very fine, but he did not recognise the taste at all. He asked one of the servants, who looked at him as if he had just crawled out of a sewer. “It is bloodberry jelly preserved in dreamspider venom, sir,” said the man. “It causes elation in humans.” He spoke the words as if humans were a different species from himself.

More servants arrived. They were carrying new uniforms, and greatcoats. They were dark and bore the house mark of Lady Asea.

“The Lady has asked Lord Azaar to be allowed to have the heroes of Achenar be her bodyguards on the morrow. His Lordship had kindly granted permission,” said the chief servant who had brought the clothes.

Rik changed right there and then, grateful for the moment to be dry and well-fed. As he rested he heard couriers being dispatched with messages. It looked like Lord Azaar had some plans for the morrow.

Rik woke early the next day. His head lay on a rolled up cloak. Someone had covered him in a greatcoat. The Barbarian lay nearby. Weasel lay on one elbow, smoking a pipe. He winked when he saw Rik was awake. They were still in the great pavilion. No one had come to ask them any more questions in the night. They seemed to have been forgotten. Rik remembered sleeping uneasily, constantly awakening to the shouts of men, the clatter of carts, the passing of horses and wyrms. He sniffed. The air smelled of sour wine and stale incense.

“Morning, Halfbreed,” said Weasel. “Breakfast?”

He offered a crumbled pastry from the pocket of his greatcoat. Rik shook his head and rose. The table had been cleared during the night, but someone had thought to leave some cold meat and some half-stale bread. Rik was surprised to find the servants so thoughtful. Perhaps they had been given orders.

“What’s it like outside?” he asked.

“Stick your head out the door and take a look. I’ve not been out myself.”

The sun was bright. The pavilion sat on a rise. The standards of the army flapped in a light breeze nearby. He looked down on a camp buzzing with activity, an anthill poked with a stick. Units of men moved in controlled chaos. Massive, long-necked bridgebacks, big as houses, headed off towards the east. Units of cavalry followed them. Scarlet-coated Terrarch officers bustled over the hill, coming and going, doubtless getting final instructions.

Asea’s black clad bodyguard approached. The cowl of his tunic covered his hair; a scarf was wrapped around the lower part of his face. Only his eerie animal-like eyes and the swarthy skin of his forehead was visible.

“Good,” he said, his accent foreign. “You are up. The mistress commands you to her presence. In the absence of my brothers, she requires bodyguards and she seems to think you three are worthy.”

The rest of Asea’s black-clad protectors had died in the hellhole beneath Achenar. Rik wondered how this man felt about that. Had the men been his kin or part of his religion or was there some other reason for his calling the dead men brothers.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said, hoping to draw the man out.

“Do not be. They died performing their duty. It is what they wished. There is no greater honour.” Rik could think of a few but now did not seem to be the time to point this out.

“I am Rik.”

“Karim is my name.”

He glanced inside to see that Weasel had already woken the Barbarian. They were eating away merrily.

“Time to go,” he said. “The Lady Asea commands our presence.”

Sardec rose. He was tired but he could not sleep and he wanted to check the sentries. He found most of the men already awake, readying their weapons, preparing to fight. He strode up onto the wall and saw that mist covered the land below them. It was quite common at this time of year in these woods, but it would not help their cause any. The enemy could get almost to the walls without being shot at. He wondered why they had not tried that already. It was what he would have done. He prayed to the Light for the sun to rise and blow the stuff away. They had little enough chance in this fight already. The mist would only work to their enemy’s advantage.

He wondered once more whether the messengers had made it through. It was all too easy to imagine the things that could have gone wrong. The men could have been captured or got lost. The high command might not believe them. Sardec shook his head and tried to ignore the pain at the end of his stump. There was no sense about worrying about such things now. They were outside of his control. He would deal with the things that he had some sway over.

It looked like Sergeant Hef had already done a good job of preparing the men. Half of them were already on the walls, crouching down out of sight so that no random shot could get them. All of them had loaded weapons near at hand, and bayonets ready. They were going to be needed, Sardec guessed. Sergeant Hef saw his approach, rose and saluted.

“Good work, Sergeant,” Sardec said.

“I’ve got a few men in the old mansion house preparing a field surgery, sir. The rest of the lads are down below having breakfast. I thought it best to get them fed before the fight starts. Who knows when they’ll next have a chance? One thing gets me, sir.”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Why have they not attacked yet?”

“I don’t know, Sergeant but perhaps we’ll get a chance to ask them.” He pointed with his good hand. A group of Terrarchs emerged from the mist below. One of them held a stick with a bit of white cloth on it. It was obvious they wanted to parlay.

“Do you accept the flag?” shouted the leader. Sardec raised the spyglass to his eye, and fumbled with the hook to adjust it. He studied the speaker carefully. He was a tall Terrarch wearing a long blue frock coat and a half-face mask of archaic style. A waterfall of pure white hair descended from below a tricorne hat.

“Aye,” said Sardec. “To whom do I have the honour of speaking?”

“I am Esteril of House Morven. May I ask the favour of knowing your own name?”

“I am Sardec of House Harke.”

“A good name. I knew your father.”

“Then our acquaintance is doubly welcome. I will mention you to him when I next write home.”

“Do remind him of the day we routed the Lords of Valastne together.” Sardec remembered his father speaking of the day. He recalled also what he said of Lord Esteril: a Terrarch of great courage and honour but unburdened by high intellect. If he was in charge down there, that would certainly explain the slackness.

“It will be my pleasure.”

“I regret to inform you that you are surrounded.”

“I had noticed this,” said Sardec.

“It would do me great honour if you would accept my protection.”

“That is as gentile a surrender request as I am ever likely to hear, but I regret I must decline it.”

“Surely you can see that you are greatly outnumbered.”

“I can, but I hold the superior position.”

Esteril laughed. “I like your spirit, lad, but you know that if I order the attack there can only be one outcome.” Sardec decided to play to the elder Terrarch’s sporting instincts.

“Surely you cannot expect me to leave my command without a shot being fired.” Again Esteril laughed. It was the sort of laugh that would not have been out of place around his father’s table after a hunt, the laugh of the sort of warrior to whom war was another form of sport, like hunting or shooting game.

“Nay, lad. I respect your gumption. Let us try your lads against mine, and see whose humans are better.”

“Very well, Lord Esteril. Let us have some sport.” Sardec turned to Sergeant Hef. “Be prepared to give milord’s men a warm welcome. I have a mind to hold our position for as long as there is a chance of Lord Azaar relieving us.”

“Very good, sir,” said Sergeant Hef. “After seeing what happened to Kalmek I doubt the lads are in any mood to down arms.”

Sardec could have told him that things would be different now with a Terrarch like Esteril in command. Such a one would no more torture men who had surrendered than he would mistreat a dog. At least Sardec hoped that was the way of it. In any case, he saw no need to share this information with the men. He wanted them to fight as hard as they could.

Briefly he felt a surge of guilt about condemning some of them to death. It occurred to him that he might be condemning himself to death as well. This was the sort of bloodsport in which accidents happened all too easily.

A line of soldiers emerged from the mist. “Give the bastards hell!” he shouted. Musket fire erupted all around him. He stood firm even as musket balls took chunks out of the palisade before him.

“This is the way to travel,” said the Barbarian. They sat at the back of the howdah of Asea’s bridgeback. The enormous quadrupedal wyrm strode through the forest, picking its way through the trees and over the rough ground with surprising delicacy. Asea sat at the front, just behind the mahout. She was garbed in the odd sorcerous armour she had worn beneath Achenar. It was made of leather strips that seemed to hug her figure without support and flowed sinuously with her slightest movement. A cowl of the same leather emerged from the shoulders to cover her head. A mask of living silver covered her face, turning her into a mysterious goddess.

Branches scratched along the awning that shaded the howdah. It looked like silk but it must be made of something tougher to resist the constant abuse.

The ground here was rough and unsteady. The earth had the contours of a scrap of parchment crumpled by an angry scribe. The mountains were close. At this early hour, mist still hung over the woods giving the morning a faint wet chill. Rik stifled a yawn. He realised that he had managed only a few hours sleep. Excitement warred with fatigue.

All around them soldiers moved through the woods. Most of the companies moved in column along the narrow path. Long lines of light infantry threaded their way through the trees on either side. Rik knew that there were more scouts up ahead and watching the rear behind. There were a number of great wyrms. On their backs sat high Terrarch officers, the greatest of whom was Azaar. Most of the army’s battle wyrms and artillery were not present though. They had headed east with the cavalry before first light. Clearly the General had a plan, but Rik was not entirely certain what it was. He guessed there were enough infantry present to match the enemy force he had seen last night, probably more.

He hoped they would be in time to relieve the Foragers