William King - The Serpent Tower

“How would I know? It looks real enough.”

“Think my sword would cut it?” The Barbarian asked.

“Want to go over and find out?”

“You think I am scared?”

“I sure as hell am,” Rik replied.

“It’s not moving,” said Weasel. As ever he had managed to keep his wits about him. Now that Rik looked closely he could see the poacher was right. The faint glow surrounding it rippled and gave the impression of movement, but so far the creature had done nothing since it became visible.

“Maybe it’s waiting. Snakes can wait forever without moving,” said the Barbarian.

Now that the immediate rush of fear had passed, Rik was more curious than afraid. He edged slowly closer to the Serpent Man. It appeared to be standing on top of something, a massive block of stone, partially buried in the earth. As Rik approached runes lit up and crawled along its side. He froze immediately but nothing happened.

“Come back, Halfbreed,” the Barbarian called. “Remember what happened in the mines.”

Curiosity and something else niggled at Rik. There was something wrong here. A mystery he was determined to penetrate. Curiosity had always been a fatal weakness of his. He halted almost within touching distance of the Serpent Man.

This close Rik could not help but notice that two long fangs curved down from the corners of its mouth. He wondered if they were poisonous in life. He was close enough now to see that this thing was a statue, standing on top of some sort of plinth. He admired the detail of the workmanship. It was incredibly life like. Looking around, he could see the ground here was irregular. An open area of paved stone lay just beyond the statue. Strange glowing runes crawled over its surface as well.

What was going on here, he wondered? Had their presence triggered something? Was this some sort of sorcerous trap? Or had this nothing to do with them.

“I think this place is haunted, Halfbreed,” said the Barbarian. “Come away.”

“It’s only a statue,” Rik replied. “It’s not a ghost.”

“What about these bloody lights then?”

“Magic of some sort,” said Rik.

There was no denying the sorcery involved in them, but so far it had not seemed to do anything to them. Perhaps this was a place best left alone. His nerves were taut. His senses screamed at him to go. He felt as if at any minute something dreadful might appear.

“I think now we should leave this place,” said Weasel.

Rik nodded. They turned to follow the path once more, and progressed through the night with many an uneasy glance over their shoulders. They could still hear the sounds of their pursuers behind them. Rik understood now why the wyrms would not approach this place.

They were more sensible than men.

Sardec stood on a cold peak looking down on the long road that vanished into darkness. Dozens of figures walked it. They were tall and shrouded in funeral grey. He stroked his chin with the fleshy fingers of his right hand. Surprise shook him. He thought he had lost those fingers. He thought they had been burned away. He could still feel the terrible heat in them. He reached down and found his father’s blade, Moonshade, hanging at his side. That too was funny. He had thought the blade destroyed, lost in the mines beneath Achenar, when he and his soldiers had fought the demon god Uran Ultar.

He remembered what the road was now. He had been here before. It was the road of the dead, which the souls of Terrarchs walked en route to the Place of Judgement. So I’m dead then, he thought. Did the Kharadreans attack in the night? Or had he never walked away from the lair of the Spider God? Had that been some sort of dream? No, he thought, that was wrong. This was the dream.

Even as he thought that, he felt the things scuttling over him. They were small creatures, a cross between a spider and a centipede whose long tails arched scorpion-like over their bodies. They began to clamber over him, stinging him. Where the tails entered, flesh swelled into huge bumps from which more and more of the creatures hatched. Behind him, he heard something big scuttling closer and closer. He writhed in agony, rolling and trying to crush the things, as they swarmed into his clothes, into his mouth, as their stings penetrated his eyes…

Covered in cold sweat, he sat up. The room was empty. The fire was out. He had endured the dream once more. He wondered if it had any mystical significance or whether it was just a nightmare.

“Ah, the sweet smell of home,” said the Barbarian, taking a lungful of the foul air into his nostrils. He had become more cheerful with every step that put the haunted glade and its strange statue behind them.

They had smelled the camp long before they saw it. The odour of cooking and latrines and wyrms and thousands of unwashed bodies packed close together in damp tents was unmistakable. Now the camp was visible below them, a dark mass of tents and lanterns laid out in regular rows, large fires built far enough from the tents to prevent a blaze, sentries with lanterns moving to and fro through the mobile city. Rik could see the inverted v of the human tents and the vast pavilions of the Terrarch nobles, with tents of all sizes in between. On the far side of the camp from the horses, corralled wyrms bellowed and grunted in their sleep.

They trudged downhill until a sentry challenged them, and they gave their names and their regiments. “Password,” went the sentry.

“We don’t know the bloody password,” said the Barbarian. “We’ve just come back from a battle and we’ve news for the General.”

“If you don’t know the password I have to lock you up. Orders are orders.”

“Is that Corporal Menzel?” Weasel asked.

“Aye, Weasel, is that you?”

“You know it is, and I have the Barbarian and Halfbreed with me.”

“So you do.”

“Let us pass. This is important. The rest of the lads are trapped back there and we need to get a relief column organised.”

“I don’t know anything about. I have my orders and orders is orders.”

The Barbarian sputtered with rage. “If you don’t let us pass I’m going to take this knife and stick it up…”

“What’s going on here?” said another voice. It belonged to a Terrarch. Lieutenant Jazeray emerged from the gloom and began surveying the scene down his long nose.

“We’ve come from Lieutenant Sardec, sir,” said Rik. “He encountered the enemy today, took a stronghold from them but was cut off by enemy reinforcements. He sent us to get help. I appreciate Corporal Menzel here being zealous in his duties but we were instructed to take the word to General Azaar himself.”

“Were you now?” Jazeray asked. “Sardec surrounded you say? How many enemy?”

“Maybe a thousand Blues.”

“I doubt there are that many Blues in a hundred miles.”

“With all respect, sir, perhaps the General should be the one to make that decision. Our lads could be dying back there and…”

Jazeray came to a decision. He nodded. “Of course. But I warn you if this is some sort of hoax…”

“It’s no hoax, sir.”

“Come then, let us go and disturb the General and his half-sister.”

Rik started. As far as he knew Lord Azaar only had one half-sister, the Lady Asea. Once she had promised to teach him sorcery, but she seemed to have forgotten him for the past few months. He wondered why she was back in camp at this time and what tidings she had brought. He wondered if she even remembered who he was.

He shrugged. He would know the answers soon enough.

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.