Death''s Angels

  “You merely assume that my thoughts move down the same conventional grooves as everyone else’s.”

  “That is not the way I would have chosen to put the idea. You are famously Scarlet. I don’t think I would ever accuse you of being conventional.”

  “Thank you.” There was silence for a moment, and Sardec wondered again how closely this interview was going according to her plan. He decided to take the initiative.

  “If what you say is true, why did Adaana not tell anybody else? Why were her words not more widely reported?”

  “They were, once. We have chosen to forget them. They do not suit our image of ourselves, or the image we chose to present to our so-called inferiors. We have told lies so long that many of us have come to believe them.”

  Sardec cocked his head to one side, and studied her. As far as he could tell, she was serious, but he realised he was in no great position to judge. All of the First were consummate actors when it suited them.

  “You sound almost like a revolutionist, Lady Asea. I had not thought the Scarlet faction had descended to quite that level.”

  “Perhaps I sound like a revolutionist to you. To myself, I sound like someone concerned with the truth.” He ignored the implied insult.

  “I am sure you did not invite me here to bait me, my Lady. I am sure you have mentioned all this for a purpose.”

  “You were asked to watch me, were you not?”

  “I am not sure what you mean.”

  “Surely my words were clear enough. Would you like me to explain them further?”

  “If you wish…”

  “You were told to watch me by Colonel Xeno. There is no need to deny it. I know him well enough to know how he thinks. The Greens have the ear of the Queen now. He and his type would have matters stay that way.”

  That was probably perfectly true, Sardec thought.

  “Your superiors have also no doubt told you that I harbour revolutionary ideas. I merely want you to understand the full extent and nature of them so that there is no misunderstanding between us.”

  “I am grateful for your frankness.” Perhaps he was. It was becoming clear to him that Lady Asea was, despite her appearance of youth and beauty, one of those elderly Terrarchs who possessed fixed ideas on certain subjects and had decided to convert the world to those ideas no matter how ludicrous. Surely she did not think he was one of those young nobles who sympathised with such hare-brained philosophising! She smiled at him, almost as if she could read the thoughts swimming across the surface of his mind. “I am not altogether sure it is necessary though.”

  “Clarity of understanding is rarely a bad thing and often necessary.” She sounded a little wistful now, and he felt obscurely as if he had failed some test and was lessened in her estimation. It was a feeling he had experienced rather too often recently.

  “Forgive me if I seem rude but you have not yet told me why you are telling me this.”

  She looked at him again, seemed to measure him, and come to some conclusion. “I am telling you this because I want you to remember what I have said.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “Not at all. I want someone to remember the words of the Dragon Angel should anything happen to me in these mountains. I have left the knowledge among my papers but who knows what might happen to them if they fall into the hands of the Inquisition.”

  “I feel it best to tell you I have no sympathy with your ideas, Lady Asea.”

  “I appreciate your candour but that is irrelevant. You will remember the words, and if you do not come to understand them, you may pass them on to someone who does.”

  Slowly the significance of the rest of her statement sank in.

  “You do not seriously believe anything will happen to you here, my Lady?”

  “I think it is possible.”

  “The hill-men can be fierce but I doubt they will attack such a strong force.”

  “It is not the hill-men I fear.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It is past Solace night.”

  “True but that does not answer my question.”

  “Solace commemorates the day when the Dragon’s Gate was closed. The reason the ritual was performed on that night was because it was the night when the powers of magic were at their strongest even in this benighted world. The night remains so.”

  “But it is passed.”

  “No. What we call Solace night is celebrated on the same night every year. It is part of our calendar of religious festivals. The true Solace night does not fall thus. It is a time when the stars and planets are all in conjunction when forces flow free. The date on which it falls varies and long ago parted company from the day we call Solace.”

  “So what you would call true Solace has yet to come.”

  “It falls tomorrow night.”

  “And you feel this has some threatening significance?”

  “I am certain of it.”

  “Would you care to explain why?”

  “The last time you were in these mountains you fought and killed a sorcerer.”

  “One of my men killed the sorcerer.”

  “I believe that it was part of a larger pattern.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “On hearing your tale I sent a request to the Temple for some ancient books that were in their keeping. Books that were on the Black Index. Proscribed books dealing with the Ultari and their demon god.”

  “Yes.”

  “My request was denied.”

  “They denied access to the books to one of the First?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should petition the Queen.”

  “No need. They told me why my petition was denied.”

  “Why?”

  “They no longer had the books. They vanished five years ago at about the same time as a young priest, a priest who was under suspicion of studying certain forbidden mysteries. His name was Alzibar.”

  “The same name as the sorcerer we found…”

  “I would guess the same sorcerer.”

  “It’s good we killed him then.”

  “Yes. But he was not working alone. Perhaps he was working for someone else. Think about it - where had he been for the past five years? Who sheltered him? Why did he choose this exact time to come back?”

  “You think someone sent him?”

  “We stand once more on the verge of war. On the very eve of it, sorcerers and demons appear virtually within our borders. They are in league with the hill-tribes. Don’t you find it all a little suspicious?”

  Sardec did when it was phrased like that. “Why tell me this now? Why did you not mention this to Colonel Xeno?”

  “I did. It’s one reason you are here.”

  It certainly had a superficial plausibility, Sardec thought, but of course he was in no position to find out the truth of her allegations, and would not be until they returned from this mission. Once more he felt out of his depth.

  “You are saying we can expect to see more of those demons.”

  “On the night of True Solstice old dark things have the easiest entrance into our world. I think something will be invited through. That is why I am here myself and in the full war gear of the First.”

  “I suppose you mentioned this to Colonel Xeno too.”

  “Of course.” What if she had? What if it was not her who was lying here but Colonel Xeno? But why would the Colonel do that to one of his own officers? What could he possibly have to gain? Having fought just one of the Ultari, he shuddered to think what might happen if an army of them suddenly appeared.

  “Whatever else might be the case, it would seem best if we could get to the source of this before the night of True Solace”

  “On this we are agreed. Time presses. Midnight is the optimal time for summoning.”

  “We shall press on with all possible speed.”

  Another thought occurred to Sardec. “If what you say is true, the chances are we will find what you seek somewhere within the
mine.”

  “Such would be my guess.”

  Sardec did not like the way this was going at all. It came to him that if there was something in that mine that frightened one of the First, he ought to be very afraid too.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Zarahel looked down the long valley. Things were starting to go his way now. Several hundred men of his war band, mostly Agante but with a few brave outcasts drawn from the disaffected young of the other tribes, had gathered in response to his summons. They would make perfect witnesses for his ascendancy to great power.

  He scratched his neck. There was a massive purple blister where his familiar drank from his blood. Others covered the rest of his body. They had stopped itching now but there were small hard things within them. Sometimes it felt as if they were moving, but that was a small enough price to pay for the power the familiar provided and the link with the Old Gods it gave him.

  When first Alzibar had hatched it from the purple eggs using his alchemy, Zarahel had been horrified. Now he was used to it, and he was uncomfortable if he could not feel it scuttling around under his loose robes. The narcotic bites provided him with a euphoric confidence beyond anything he had ever experienced. His sorcerous powers had grown because of it. Perhaps now he would even be a match for a Terrarch.

  Bertragh looked better. He had been in a strange fey mood for the past few days. He looked at Zarahel as if half expecting him to betray their masters in the Brotherhood. It would not matter much after tonight. Uran Ultar would be summoned and the assembled warriors would witness it. Word that he enjoyed the Old Gods favour would spread from tribe to tribe and they would swarm to his banner. Those that did not would be eliminated by the night-black sorcery he would command. He would be lord of the mountains and holy war would restore the empire his ancestors had lost.

  Alzibar being slain had proved a good thing. Now matters lay purely in the hands of men and that was as it should be. The Old God really did favour him, as it had whispered in his dreams. He shivered as he remembered the black visions that had swept through his mind the night before. He had seen the past.

  He had seen Achenar in its days of ancient glory when the proud civilisation of the Agante had dominated these lands, and the priests had offered up their screaming captives on the altars of Uran Ultar. He had seen the things that scuttled in the depths below the mountains, the living machines that wove spidersilk armour for the armies of Achenar, and birthed their living weapons. He had seen what the Spider God had provided his people with in return for the tithe of souls, and he knew it was a price worth paying. He had seen the time when all the proud emperors of men had sent tribute to Achenar.

  He had seen other things in his dreams. He had seen the war of men and Ultari and Terrarch. He had seen the dragon-riders incinerating the Spider God’s followers. He had seen the final battle that had destroyed the surface city and sealed the city below. He had seen the way Uran Ultar had retreated through his portal, taking the souls and life force of his people with him, to wait, like a great trapdoor spider, for someone to come and free him.

  Today was that day. He would crack the final secrets within Alzibar’s books. He would restore the ancient glory of his folk. He would drive the Terrarchs from this land. It was his destiny. Nothing could stand in his way. The Exalted were weak now, fragmented into many rival Realms and men were stronger and had guns. This time things would be different. With Uran Ultar’s help, men would prevail.

  Nonetheless he was not taking any chances. Since his arrival he had already dispatched small groups of scouts to watch the approaches and report back. There would be no surprise attacks this time. Even without Alzibar to set wards he was determined on that.

  Now all he had to do was make his way down into the depths of Achenar and seize control of his own destiny.

  “Our lord and master is in a big hurry,” said Weasel. He was right, Rik thought. They’d already spent more than half a day on wyrmback and had not stopped to eat.

  “It looks like we’re going to have trouble.” Rik said, studying the slopes above them and the peaks beyond. His mind still dwelt on Asea’s words. She knew something. The question was what? And there was another question - what was he going to do about it? Plotting to kill Bertragh was one thing, murdering one of the First surrounded by her bodyguards and her ripjacks and the Queen’s soldiers was another. He was not sure it was possible. Ever since he had picked up those damned books, one thing had led to another. He felt like his feet were on a long and slippery slope leading down to the edge of a vast chasm.

  “Maybe the witch told him something,” said Leon. It was all Rik could do to keep from starting. It sounded like Leon had been reading his mind. “He spent enough time in her tent last night.”

  “Can’t say as I blame him. I would shag her,” said the Barbarian.

  “So you told anybody who would listen yesterday,” said Sergeant Hef. “I would keep quiet about it if I were you. Maybe those black clad henchmen will hear you.”

  “Maybe they’ll tell her,” said the Barbarian. “Who knows where that might lead?”

  “To you being burned at the stake,” said the Sergeant.

  “It might be worth it.”

  Rik studied the clouds massing around the peaks. It looked like the weather was going to change again. It also did so quickly up here in the mountains.

  “It’s not her I am worried about,” said Hef. “It’s the hill-men. Some of them are out for blood and this is their territory. Once word that we’re here hits the high valley of the Agante, I expect they will be paying us a visit.”

  “Bring them on,” said the Barbarian. “I will get to impress the Lady Asea with my heroism.”

  “If she was impressed by stupidity,” said the Sergeant, “you would be in with a chance.

  “No,” said the Barbarian proudly. “If she was impressed by stupidity I would be in bed with her already.”

  It took him a few moments to realise what he had just said.

  Zarahel sat in his sanctum in the old mansion and studied the text once more. He had it now. The narcotic venom burning in his veins had given him the critical insights. He had been guided by unerring instinct to the right page of the right volume. He reached within his robes and stroked the creature affectionately. He had found the secrets that Alzibar had sought to hide from him. Power beyond his wildest dreams was within his grasp.

  Of course, he thought sourly, there was still the little matter of performing the ritual correctly and making contact with the demon god and binding it to his will. That was a prospect that had daunted a sorcerer considerably more experienced than himself. The familiar bit him again. Ecstatic joy and renewed confidence came with the bite.

  Of course, he could do it. Of course he would succeed. Something wriggled within the blister on his neck. The sensation was oddly pleasurable.

  He stood up and for the first time in hours became aware of his body and his surroundings. His back ached a little. His eyes felt raw. Blood from the battle his followers had lost to the Foragers still stained the mansion’s walls. He could smell it in the air.

  He glanced out the window to where the dark waters of the lake reflected the cloudy sky. In the distance the work-teams laboured away around the mine. He needed the ways below to be clear by tonight, and the damage those idiotic soldiers had done to be repaired, or all of his plans would come to naught.

  Bertragh looked at him warily. There was fear in his eyes now. The prospect of what they were doing was becoming real to him. His gaze was drawn inexorably to Zarahel’s neck and the purple blister visible there. The prophet pulled up his cowl to cover it.

  Zarahel packed the books away into their leather satchel and made for the door. “Come on. We’d best begin preparations for the ritual. Are you certain you know your part?”

  “As certain as I know my own name, Zarahel.” The sorcerer hoped so. When dealing with demons, you could afford no mistakes.

  In the corner a fly struggled in a
cobweb. The spider came ever closer. Zarahel paused to watch, fascinated.

  “Looks like they are at it again,” said the Barbarian. “I wonder what they are talking about up there.”

  Rik followed his gaze, fear gnawed at his stomach. Lieutenant Sardec had joined the Lady Asea on the back of her huge black wyrm, his own mount followed close behind. Rik wondered if she was telling Sardec about the books. He felt sure now that she knew more about the matter than she had told him. A word in the officer’s ear and he and Weasel and the Barbarian would be having their chestnuts roasted on an Inquisition fire. As if he sensed the intensity of Rik’s gaze, one of Asea’s servants turned and looked back in his direction.

  Rik wondered about those black clad men too. They did everything for her. They were servants. They were mahouts and they were bodyguards. He was sure, too, that they would be full of unpleasant surprises. He hoped that he or one of the others got to Bertragh before they did. Although perhaps that did not matter now.

  How quickly things changed in such short times, he thought, studying the cloud girt peaks and the grey landscape that stretched out below them. The last time they had passed this way, he had nothing to worry about but keeping himself alive in the teeth of a hill-man assault. Now that seemed like the least of his worries. There was the possibility of demons being summoned. He might need to commit murder. He had thought that long ago he had given up worrying about his immortal soul, but he found now that those worries had returned.

  Bertragh had done nothing to him personally, had been quite fair if truth be told, and had paid him a small fortune for the books. Now he was driven by necessity to cause the factor’s death.

  The words of an old Sorrow street preacher returned to him. We do not set out to sin. We do not set out to imperil our souls. We walk down that path slowly, circumspectly, one small step at a time, and before we know it we find ourselves at the edge of the abyss of Shadow.

  That certainly had been the way with him these past few days, although if truth be told, he had always known of the wickedness of certain of his actions, and there had been nothing circumspect about it.