The Serpent Tower (terrarch chronicles) Page 2

  “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 o
f 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.”

  Chapter Three

  Rik shivered as he dragged himself from the river. So far, so good, he thought, lying on the bank and gasping. The chill seeped into him from his dripping wet clothes. He prayed to the Light that he would not get the flux after tonight’s exertions. He had seen it happen to others. Too late to worry about that now, he told himself.

  A shadowy figure emerged from the water nearby. From its size he guessed it was the Barbarian. “Where’s Weasel?” he asked in a low voice. He did not whisper. Whispers carried further in the dark than speaking in a normal tone.

  “Here!” came the response. “Just taking a rest after our midnight swim.” From downriver came the shouts of men, the roars of ripjacks, the neighing of horses: all the sounds of the enemy camp. The glow of their fires was dimly visible through the woods.

  “We made it,” The Barbarian said.

  “So far,” said Weasel. “Best be heading on, if we want to get round that camp.”

  They squelched away from the stream. Rik held his bayonet in his hand. It was the only weapon he had, and it would not give him much chance against anyone armed with a firearm but he found it reassuring nonetheless. They had not brought their muskets or their pistols. They would not have worked after the soaking the three of them had just received.

  Ahead of him, he could hear brush breaking as well as the soggy sound of feet in wet boots. This was a farce. They were moving without any stealth at all. The clouds that had proved so helpful in obscuring them from sight when they slipped over the wall were a hindrance now. It was dark enough to baffle even his normally excellent night sight. He could not see his hand in the pitch-blackness. Roots reached out to trip him. Trees jumped in front of him. Branches clawed his face.

  “Stopping making so much bloody noise, Halfbreed,” said the Barbarian.

  “You sound like a bull wyrm in a thicket yourself,” Rik replied.

  “A very wet bull wyrm,” said Weasel.

  “Why did we volunteer for this?” Rik asked.

  “I don’t recall any volunteering. I was picked,” said the Barbarian. “On account of my courage, good looks and intelligence, no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” said Rik.

  “At least we have a chance to get out of that death trap alive,” said Weasel.

  “The lads will make it,” said the Barbarian.

  “Let’s hope so,” said Rik. His eyes were starting to adjust to the deeper gloom. At least he hoped they were, and that those deeper shadows were trees. He felt an odd fear growing in him, of being surprised by some hidden terror in the darkness. He noticed that the woods were full of small scuttling noises, and that things moved above them in the branches.

  “If we head this way we should cut to the path,” Weasel said.

  “You sure?” Rik asked.

  “Of course I’m not bloody sure,” said Weasel. “But I’m giving it my best guess.”

  “Let’s hope that is good enough.”

  “Wait a second. What was that?” the Barbarian asked. They had all heard it. It sounded like something big was moving through the undergrowth in the distance.

  “Most likely a wild pig,” said Weasel.

  “Didn’t know they came out at night,” said the Barbarian.

  An odd hissing roar filled the night. Men’s shouts responded to it.

  “Fuck,” said the Barbarian. “A ripjack.”

  “More than one,” said Weasel as an answering roar echoed through the woods. “And it’s caught our scent by the sound of it.”

  All three of them bolted headlong through the woods. Behind them came the sound of men and wyrms in pursuit.

  “You think they’ve got through, Sergeant?” Sardec asked. He looked down from the manor house’s wall, contemplating the fires that filled the night around them. There were a lot of them. He took another sip from the goblet of wine. It was bitter from the drugs the alchemists had given him to kill the pain of his stump. That still hurt even after all these weeks and all the spells of the Masters.

  “I think so, sir. There’s no better man than Weasel in a wood. I reckon they are through.”

  “Let’s hope so, Sergeant. There’s an army down there.”

  “A small army, sir,” said Sergeant Hef.

  “You’re right, Sergeant. What I can’t understand is why they haven’t attacked yet. It makes more sense to storm the place now. In the morning we’ll have a clear shot at them.”

  “Maybe they want clear shots at us, sir. Maybe they have marched a long way and want rest. Maybe they are waiting for their cannon to come up.”

  Sardec smiled at the small monkey faced man beside him. It had slowly been creeping up on him that he actually rather liked the Sergeant, in the same way he liked his hunting wyrms, of course. “If that was meant to reassure me, Sergeant, it did not do a very good job.”

  “Just pointing out the options, sir. That’s my job.”

  “You do it very well.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Sardec noticed the Sergeant’s eyes flickering to the wine cup. He was wondering whether this sudden surge of affability in an officer was on account of the wine. Sardec wondered that too, but he already knew the answer.

  “They don’t seem terribly well organised, do they Sergeant?” The enemy had made no attempt to fortify their position. They seemed to have posted very few pickets. The men had made camp wherever they felt like it as long as it was just out of musket shot. If he’d had a few more men, Sardec would have contemplated a night raid. A few grenades among those tightly packed fires and…

  “They’re probably just local militia, sir, or farmboys fresh from some noble's estate. Some local lord raised a regiment and fancies himself a General. That’s always been the way of it in Kharadrea.”

  “It wasn’t when Koth ran things,” said Sardec.

  “No, sir, you’re right, but from what I’ve heard the Royal Army never was more than a small fraction of the troops in Kharadrea. The rest were levies.”

  “Koth was from near these parts, Sergeant. Did you know that?” Sardec wondered whose banner fluttered over that central cluster of tents. He was sure he had seen the tall figures of Terrarchs mixing with the men.

  “Started as a bandit in these very woods, if I recall correctly, worked his way up to chief warlord for King Orodruine.” Of course, the Sergeant knew about
Koth. Every human soldier did. He was their idol. Sardec considered Koth’s career. The man had been born in a woodsman’s hut and had ended up humbling the best Generals of two kingdoms, Terrarch Generals with centuries of experience of war. How was that possible?

  “Some men have a talent for war, sir,” said Sergeant Hef. Sardec was a little shocked. The drugs or the wine were more potent than he had thought. He had not realised he had been talking out loud.

  “Well, hopefully, whoever is out there is not one of them,” he said.

  “Hopefully, sir,” said Hef. He tried to sound enthusiastic but Sardec knew they were both thinking the same thing. It did not matter how incompetent the enemy commander down there was, or how unprofessional his troops. Sheer weight of numbers would overwhelm the Foragers when they attacked tomorrow. Sardec prayed to the Light that the three men the Sergeant had picked had managed to find their way through the enemy lines.

  This old manor was strong; a fortified farmhouse with thick walls around it, designed to resist bandit attacks from the forest and the raiding soldiers of neighbouring lords. It was a product of the constant internecine warfare that had long plagued Kharadrea. Yes, it was a strong building.

  Sardec just hoped the building was strong enough.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the moon emerged from the clouds and shafts of light struck the earth through the foliage. By this time, Rik’s eyes were used to the gloom. The blindness was over. He could see. The woods shimmered in the moonglow. Large mushrooms thrust up through the mulch of leaves. The Barbarian and Weasel were goblin figures ahead of him.

  The sound of pursuit came from behind them. Rik felt as if his chest was on fire. The wet clothes chafed his skin. He itched from mosquito bites. A new tone had entered the voices of wyrms. If Rik had not known better he would have said it was fear. He could hear men, trying to lash them on, but for some reason the ripjacks simply would not advance.

  “What’s going on?” Rik asked.

  “Don’t know,” said the Barbarian.

  “There’s something strange about this place,” said Weasel. They stood in a large clearing beside a large almost perfectly circular lake. It was so mathematically symmetrical that Rik suspected it was artificial. Weasel pointed to a path winding its way through the trees.