William King - Death's Angels

Any wizard competent enough to thwart a Magister’s scrying could surely find service with someone willing to pay. Unless, of course, he was one of those so mad or so dark that no one else would have him. That would make him an outstanding specimen of depravity.

“Take him alive if you can,” said Severin, speaking for the first time. His voice was surprisingly deep and musical when he addressed a crowd.

“That might be easier said than done, master,” said the Sergeant.

“It will not be. I shall overpower his defences and leave him paralysed. All you need do is slay or drive off his guardians and claim the body.”

“How will we tell which one he is, master?” The Sergeant asked. It was a not unreasonable question.

“He will be the only Terrarch present barring the Lieutenant and myself. I trust identifying such a one should provide no insuperable difficulties.”

Supercilious twat, Rik thought, but the more subservient types chuckled fawningly. There were always plenty of those in the army, even in the Foragers.

“Alive if you can, dead if you must,” Master Severin said.

The Lieutenant looked on, not a little displeased at having his place at the centre of attention so summarily usurped and decided that the time had come to exert his control of matters once more.

“The bandits are camped out down in the valley. They have occupied a ruined manor house; its walls are thick but holed in several places and hopefully they too should provide no insuperable difficulties.”

Rik was impressed by his confidence. If he ran true to form Sardec would lead from the front. Personally Rik didn’t fancy charging a fortified position in the teeth of mountain marksmen.

“The moon will be out this evening,” said the Lieutenant. “We shall commence the assault once it is full dark. Anything to add, Master Severin?”

The wizard nodded. “Make sure that you are all wearing your Elder Signs. Do not get too close to the mansion house until after the signal to attack is given. Tonight the Crimson Shadows will descend on our enemies.”

Men muttered to themselves. It looked like very powerful sorcery was going to be unleashed. Master Severin raised his hands for quiet.

“Do not worry. There will still be work for you. We want some prisoners taken for interrogation, and it is quite likely the sorcerer and any bodyguards he might have will be protected against my magic.”

“Thank the Light for that,” muttered Weasel. “I mean we would not want our lives to be too easy now, would we?”

At least Sardec had given matters that much thought, to give him credit. Their arrival had obviously been timed with this plan in mind. Perhaps he was more competent than Rik had thought, or perhaps the whole plan had been thought up by someone else.

“Any questions, men?” Sardec asked.

“How many enemy, sir?” asked Sergeant Hef.

"About forty tribesmen. The so-called Prophet’s band.”

“The Prophet, sir? Zarahel?” Hef asked.

“Zarahel, indeed. The preacher of the resurrection of the Old Gods. Don’t worry Sergeant. I know there is a price on his head. Your men shall all share the prize money.”

Again, that sneering tone of voice, Rik thought. Sardec was, of course, above such considerations or affected to be. The majority of the prize would find its way into his pocket anyway. Officers took the lion’s share of such cash. It recompensed them for the price of their commissions.

“What about the wizard, sir?” asked Weasel. “Any bounty on him?”

There usually were bounties on dark sorcerers. The temple offered them and many wealthy private individuals contributed to this worthy cause. Dark magic was feared by everybody, particularly by those who had most to lose.

“I will authorise payment to each of the men who take him of a gold crown from my own personal funds, in addition to the usual state bounty” said Master Severin. "Double if you take him alive. Lieutenant Sardec is my witness."

That got a few mutters of approval. A man could stay drunk for a month on a crown.

“Something against him, eh master?” said Weasel. The wizard merely stared at him coldly.

“That is none of your business,” he said. From his tone Rik suspected that things might go ill for Weasel once the dark mage was caught. Weasel probably did too, but no sign of it showed on his face.

“You’re right, sir, beg your pardon, sir; I let my enthusiasm for the task at hand carry my tongue away.”

Sardec reasserted command. “Sergeant Hef, take your squad and begin to scout the entrance to the valley while there is yet light. Corporal Toby, accompany the Sergeant with your squad. Do not stray too far from the ridge-line. We do not want to trip any wards there might be, do we?”

Both men nodded and gestured for their men to fall in. It seemed that battle would soon be upon them.

Rik threw himself flat alongside the others just before they reached the brow of the hill and made his way forward on hands and knees. He knew a man is never more visible than when on a ridge-line, particularly with the sun behind him. He was taking no chances of being spotted.

He looked down into a long valley, flanked on either side by peaks. A waterfall at the far end fed into a large lake. Around the lake were a number of tumbled down buildings. The lake had once been smaller for the ruins of many towers protruded above its surface now. Clearly there had been a city here a long time ago.

“Achenar,” said Weasel. “Not a good place.”

These were the ruins of the ancient city of the Spider God, destroyed by the Terrarchs during their wars of conquest. This was the home of the demon Uran Ultar, reviled in legend, a place whose name was still a byword for horror, almost eight centuries after its destruction.

“I wish they had told us we were coming here,” said the Barbarian.

“Stayed at home, would you?” asked Sergeant Hef.

“No. But I would have brought some truesilver bullets.”

“It’s just a bunch of ruins,” said Leon.

“The hill-tribes avoid this place,” said Weasel. “Can’t say as I blame them.”

“I thought it was one of their sacred sites,” said Hef.

“It’s both, I suppose. A lot of them still revere Uran Ultar, in secret of course.”

“Heathens,” said Gunther. Rik studied the ruins in the fading light. He did not like this place at all and it was not just its fearsome reputation stimulating his imagination. There was something about it that made his flesh creep.

“This Zarahel has the right idea,” said Hef. “I doubt if any of the tribes are going to fight him for this place.”

“What could a wizard be looking for down there?” Leon asked. “One thing’s for sure, he did not come here by accident. Why dig a mine here?”

“They say Uran Ultar’s priests filled his temples with gold taken in tribute from conquered nations,” Rik replied. “Maybe he left something buried down there.”

“Nah,” said Weasel. “The Terrarchs would have grabbed the lot of it. You know what they are like. Greedy bastards, the lot of them.”

“It’s not for us to criticise our betters,” said Gunther. “You in particular.”

“If I don’t, no one will.”

“I think there’s more going on here than meets the eye,” said Rik. “We’ve got a company of Foragers and a wizard up here. It’s for a reason.”

“The reason is to grab this wizard and kill the Prophet and have the whole business wrapped up before Mourning Time,” said Sergeant Hef.

“I still think they are up to something. What about this mine that Vosh was on about? All those folk disappearing? What’s all that about then?” Rik asked.