The Serpent Tower (terrarch chronicles) Read online

  He rose from the bed, and threw open the windows. In the courtyard, men sprawled around the well, cleaning their weapons, patching their clothes, gossiping and chatting. Servants came and went through the open doors, bringing food and washing. A peddler sold pies from a basket. Sergeant Hef chatted with Corporal Toby in the early morning sun. It all looked normal and reassuring and not at all like his apocalyptic dreams.

  He called for a servant to help him dress. So far no word had come from the Tower as to whether Ilmarec would see them. The old wizard liked to make things dramatic. Lord Azaar must be fuming with impatience. The Tower bestraddled the Mor; his main line of attack into central Kharadrea had been cut off. He could always march along the Serpent Road that wound through the hills but that would take far longer than the river.

  Sardec wondered how things were going with the Queen’s other armies. They must have crossed the borders further north at the High Passes by now. They were supposed to be part of a pincer movement closing on Halim, the capital of Kharadrea. Now at least one part of that mighty encircling action was delayed, perhaps indefinitely. The Dark Empress’s armies would not stand idly by and fail to take advantage of that. Jaderac’s presence here was ample proof that they were aware of what was going on.

  He stared up at the massive green bulk of the Tower. It caught the light of the sun, glittering like a spike of coloured ice. There was no sign of the strange glow from the previous night. He saw movement on the balconies and wondered if anyone was looking down at him. Kathea must be up there somewhere, the woman they had hoped to put on the throne of this nation. Sardec wondered if she was even still alive.

  Another thought occurred to him. Ilmarec was a powerful sorcerer. Stripped of her elder signs and magical protection he doubted whether the heir to the throne would be able to resist the sort of magic he could bring to bear. Perhaps he was ensorcelling her mind. He wondered if he should mention this possibility to Asea and decided that it had undoubtedly already occurred to her.

  Sardec relieved himself into a chamber pot. The matter of taking a piss was awkward with only one hand, and that not the usual one he had used all his life. The servant entered and began to help him dress. He was one of the soldiers, being paid extra for the duty. Sardec asked him how went the morning, and the toad-faced man did not give his usual cheery responses. He seemed somewhat subdued, and when Sardec questioned him, he talked about the light that had played about the Tower last night. It had given him bad dreams, he said. A lot of the other soldiers too.

  “What sort of dreams?” Sardec asked.

  “About Serpent Men and other monsters like the ones we fought in the mines, sir. Demons of the Elder World.” Sardec decided that he had better mention this matter to Lady Asea. It was not just him suffering these nightmares.

  The soldier spoke to Sardec guilelessly of all the gossip he had heard, of how many of the noble Terrarchs in town were said to have Purple sympathies, and how most of the humans, particularly the merchants were in favour of the Scarlet.

  This town was close to the Talorean border; they would do most of their business there. Of course, merchants were not to be trusted. Their allegiances could change with the wind, or the currents of trade. If the Purples were victorious most of the Scarlet’s present supporters would suddenly prove always to have been secret Purple sympathisers. It was the way of these things.

  And there was more, according to the toad-faced man, a cloud of fear hung over the town. The locals were all terrified. Those who would talk about it spoke of strange lights dancing over the tower top. The whole place appeared plagued by bad dreams. Everyone was convinced that something terrible was going to happen. Many people had already left town. Many more were talking of leaving while they still could. Only the money to be made from selling to the Tower kept most of the merchants here. Only fear of what might happen to them if they tried to leave kept the Terrarchs.

  Sardec finished dressing and tipped the man a couple of coppers for his trouble. The soldier retreated bowing his thanks, and taking the chamber pot with him. Sardec stalked his chamber, pacing backwards and forwards like a condemned man in his cell on the night before his execution. The townsfolk were not the only ones who were nervous. He felt trapped here, in the shadow of the tower, in a town where he did not know who to trust.

  Another glance at the soldiers below reassured him. They were all in the same boat as he was. They were far from home, surrounded by strangers, but they did not look at all ill at ease. A few of them had started a card game. Others were playing pitch and toss against the walls of the former stable. A couple had started a mock wrestling match. Others stood around placing bets on the outcome. They did not look worried, then again he supposed, they did not share his sense of responsibility for their well-being.

  Being a soldier was like being a child. The decisions were all left in the hands of the officers, just as they had once been in the hands of his parents. He doubted though that the men down there had the kind of blind trusting faith in him that he had once placed in his mother and father.

  Suddenly there was a banging on the outer door and the sound of horns. Sergeant Hef slid aside the small view port and stared out. A moment later he beckoned to one of the soldiers and sent him racing off in the direction of the main house. Guessing what was coming, Sardec strode down the stairs to meet him.

  “Messenger from Lord Ilmarec, sir,” said the soldier.

  “Very good,” said Sardec walking over to join the Sergeant at the gate. He glanced out and saw a group of humans in green uniforms with a red serpent on a white background over their hearts. One of the men was a tall, slender ancient, with a white beard and cold, green eyes. He caught sight of Sardec’s Terrarch face and said: “I bring you greeting from Ilmarec, Lord of the Serpent Tower and by grace of God, Guardian of the West.”

  The last was a subtle touch thought Sardec. Normally that title would be granted in the name of the ruler of the realm. Ilmarec was claiming to hold it by favour of the supreme power. Was he letting them know that he did not recognise Kathea’s claim to the throne, or that he was the supreme power here in his own right?

  “Please thank Lord Ilmarec in the name of Azaar, Lord Commander of Queen Arielle’s army of the South, and Lady Asea of the First, his ambassador.”

  “Most assuredly, sire. I have the humble duty of extending to the Lady Asea, and such retainers as she may wish to bring for her comfort, an invitation to call upon my Lord at her convenience. I am to await her gracious pleasure and convey her response to my master.”

  “I will see that your master’s invitation is given to the Lady Asea.” Sardec turned and gestured to the Sergeant. Hef nodded to show his understanding. Since it was beneath the dignity of a Prince of the Realm to communicate with the human lackey of even so exalted a Terrarch as Lord Ilmarec, Sardec waited in silence for the response. The courier waited, totally at ease with the situation, which showed that Ilmarec trained his servants well if nothing else.

  The Sergeant returned bearing a note sealed by Asea. Sardec opened it and read it and said. “The Lady Asea is pleased accept Lord Ilmarec’s invitation and asks his leave to call upon him at noon.”

  The servant bowed and said: “I shall see that my master is informed of her Ladyship’s decision. With your leave, sire, I shall set out upon my duties.”

  “By all means,” said Sardec, wondering exactly how many men Asea would want for her bodyguard.

  Rik yawned despite his trepidation as they approached the Tower. He had not slept much last night. First there had been his encounter with Tamara, and then his limited explanations to Weasel and the Barbarian. Even after their return to the House of Three Swans, walking along streets bathed in the eerie green light streaming from the Serpent Tower, he had not been able to sleep.

  He had kept turning over what Tamara and Asea had said in his mind, trying to sift out the truth of what they had told them, and see if there was any way he could use it to his advantage. He decided that he did
not trust either of these two fine Terrarch ladies.

  And there were other things to consider. Should he tell Asea what Tamara had said?

  He had not had the time yet, and he was not sure he wanted to anyway. On the other hand, what would be the consequences if he did not, and she had, by her arcane means, already found out?

  The approach road was narrow and winding, snaking appropriately as it approached the Tower of Serpents. It was just wide enough for a cart to go up but there was no room for one to turn without going over the edge. By the time it was halfway up the road that would make for a very long drop.

  The Foragers marched two abreast, ten in front of Asea’s palanquin, ten behind. Sardec led from the front with Corporal Toby bringing up the rear. He was not surprised that Asea has insisted on bringing the half-breed and his two friends. She seemed very attached to them. Well, he supposed, they had saved her life in Achenar.

  He wondered how the human girl Rena was taking his note. He supposed she would be keen enough. The protection of an officer like Sardec was something that most camp followers could only dream off.

  Glancing over his shoulder he could see that there were people waiting on the road beneath them. The Serpent Tower commanded a fine view of all approaches. If Ilmarec had really mastered the green light, it would be unassailable.

  All traffic on the road had been stopped while Lady Asea made her ascent but there was no mistaking the dozens of cartloads of provisions that waited at the bottom of the cliffs. Lord Ilmarec was preparing for a siege and a very long one.

  In one way that was reassuring. It argued that he was not entirely confident in his powers. If his command of the Elder World weapons was so great he would have no fear of being starved out. Perhaps there were some limits to the power of the green light, perhaps it was like a cannon, and he only had a certain number of charges, or perhaps it was not entirely reliable.

  The Tower itself looked ever more invincible as they approached. The outer wall was smooth as glass and abutted cliffs an ape might have trouble scaling. It was three times the height of a man and there were no handhold anywhere. No way to get ladders up, either, and even if you could there was very little space between the wall and the cliff edge. There were redoubts at each corner of the wall from which the defenders could shelter from dragonfire and devil wind and still shoot back. The gate had an odd look. It was like an oval cut off at the bottom. Sardec had heard that when it was closed it was as if the wall itself was sealed. There was no way through.

  And there were defenders on the wall, more soldiers in green tunics, carrying muskets. They moved along in regular patrols and Sardec did not doubt that there were other eyes watching him from the guard towers. Dragons might be able to drop troops into the courtyard behind the gate but it would be a tricky business. Only a small number could be lifted in at a time and they would be under constant fire from the defenders. And there was no way a dragon could force itself through the entrances of the building themselves. The beasts were too large, the entrances too small.

  Perhaps one or two men might be able to take and hold the gate and open it, assuming they understood the mechanism, but not if it were strongly held, and everything pointed towards the fact that it would be.

  Sorcery might be the answer: elementals or demons such as the Crimson Shadows, but sorcery would only work if it could overcome the defensive spells on the Tower, and those had been millennia in the making. By all accounts Lord Ilmarec was a mage fully as formidable as Lady Asea so doubtless they would be all but impregnable. And undoubtedly he would have his own sorcerous retainers to call on.

  Sardec considered alchemical weapons. You could lob spheres of poisonous gas over the walls, but such were always tricky weapons to use. Gas was heavier than the surrounding air. The defenders on the walls would most likely be safe unless the spheres landed exactly on the landings where they stood, and at the ranges involved it would be a tricky shot for even the best siege engineers. Supposing the shots hit, the bulk of the defenders could simply withdraw inside the tower itself, ands wait for the gas below them to disperse.

  Gas was the only method Sardec could think of that might be effective, and it still left the problem of getting over those high outer walls. Unless the gate was open, men would have to get over those slippery smooth barriers and inside the courtyard. They would be doing it in the teeth of their own poison gas.

  Putting all his thoughts together the best plan Sardec could think of would be to bombard the walls with alchemicals then drop a crack unit of dragon riders in to seize and open the gate; if you had a column of troops waiting at the foot of this road that would be the moment to rush in. A swift calculation told him it might just be possible. The dragons’ wing-beats might be able to disperse the gas. Their riders could be protected by filter masks. Such elite troops might be able to take the gates while the dragons held the courtyard against a sally from the Tower.

  Sardec smiled ruefully. The plan might just work if he had access to every dragon in the realm of Talorea, and sufficient dragon riders and siege alchemists to support them. Even then it would be a terrible risk. If there were wyrm hunters or sufficiently powerful weapons in the Tower, the dragons might be crippled or killed and their riders slain before they ever reached the gates. The cost of failure would be catastrophic.

  And Lord Ilmarec would be prepared. He was of the First and had had centuries to think of all these possibilities. Even if Sardec’s plan were successful it would only get his troops into the inner courtyard of the Serpent Tower and that might very easily be turned into a killing ground. And then there was still the Tower itself to be taken.

  Even with a much larger force than Lord Azaar possessed it would be a difficult task. Such an attack could only succeed if everything went perfectly and it was Sardec’s experience that in matters military, as in life, nothing ever went that way.

  They approached the gates. They were intricately moulded into an arch of coiling serpents. Over the centre of the archway a massive snake-like head gazed down. Its eyes were gem-like and they glowed. Sardec felt a chill settle on his soul as he looked at them. There was a malign intelligence in those gem eyes. A wave of sorcerous energy swept over him, sending chilly fingers up and down his spine. As far as he could tell nothing happened but he felt certain some potent magic had touched him. Briefly he had sensed the presence of a cold, furious intellect studying him. He dropped back to speak to Asea about it.

  “It’s some sort of chained demon, possibly an Intelligence from the Pit,” she said. “Doubtless it watches for intruders and weaves spells on the unwelcome ones.”

  “What sort of spells?”

  “Most likely binding spells to hold them in place.”

  “An interesting guardian.”

  “Its demonic vision catches things that mortal eyes might miss. It would see those cloaked in spells of invisibility or those who came at night. It would give the alarm if there were stealthy intruders. It is perfectly possible the Intelligence controls the operation of the gates too.”

  “It seems the Tower’s builders thought of everything.”

  “They had centuries to do so, and enough powerful enemies to give them the incentive to be thorough.”

  The sense of cold, implacable scrutiny increased as they marched closer to the gate, and then just as suddenly vanished as they passed within. Sardec made a careful note as they went through the archway. It was almost five yards deep. There were no signs of any doors at either end. It was as if they simply became part of the walls and vanished when they were not needed.

  The courtyard around the Tower was massive enough to hold a regiment on parade but dwarfed by the structure itself. Its shadow chilled the air. There were buildings all around, of brick and quite obviously later additions. A host of cart men stood nearby, the unloading of their wagons forgotten as they watched the new arrivals with interest.

  Green garbed soldiers were everywhere. An honour guard waited for them, ten times in number the siz
e of the force Sardec had brought. As Lady Asea entered they presented their arms in salute with a precision that the Royal Guards themselves might have envied. Lord Ilmarec was sparing no effort to impress on them the power and efficiency of his retainers. Sardec had to admit that it was working.

  As the last of his troops entered, the gates of the Tower closed behind them, sliding smoothly from within the walls, so that the entrance vanished as if it had never been. Well, thought Sardec, let us hope Lord Ilmarec is feeling friendly today.

  If not, they were well and truly trapped.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rik heard the doors close behind him. He felt trapped. His old thievish instincts made him deeply uneasy. No way out, he told himself.

  They were outnumbered and outgunned. If Lord Ilmarec decided that now was a good time to do away with a rival mage there was nothing they could do about it except die heroically, and he had never been particularly enamoured of that idea.

  Why had the Lady Asea come here, he wondered? Why had she put them in the power of some mad Elder Race-obsessed sorcerer? Had she a death wish?

  Her calm beautiful face told him that if she was in the slightest intimidated, she was not letting it show. In fact her features lit up with a lovely smile, quite the warmest he had ever seen her give.

  “Lord Ilmarec,” she said. “How pleasant it is to see you once again.”

  A tall, lean Terrarch, silver-haired and smoothly beautiful walked towards them. His tread was feline, his movements perfectly controlled. Unlike most male Terrarchs he was bearded, a small goatee descended from his chin, as silver as his hair and his eyebrows. Two waves of hair curled up over his forehead, oddly horn-like, in a way that made Rik think of the depiction of demons. Lord Ilmarec bowed. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Asea.”