ever their massive presence made Rik uneasy. He seemed to sense their brooding violence and hunger. He would have moved away if he could but there was nowhere else to go, so instead he stared into the fire.
He did not want to remember the long trudge back up through the mine, carrying the wounded, and dragging the bodies of the dead, while the smell of burning came from below them. It had been horrible, and made all the more so by thoughts of the demons that might be below them. He stared into the flames.
They immediately brought back memories of the funeral ceremony. They had given their comrades the traditional pyre despite the effort of building one in the cold. In the absence of any officers capable of performing the ceremony, Sergeant Hef had spoken the words that sent their souls on to the Light. There had been no incense for the bodies, no unguents to anoint them with, and even though they had built the pyres a good distance from the camp, the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh still hung in the air. Now all that remained of Pigeon and the others were a few charred bones on which the carrion birds would feed. In the morning, they would consign those to the grave.
Rik remembered the way the flesh had been consumed, fat sizzling in the blaze, odd popping sounds emerging from the fire, and thought that one day that would be him. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next time they fought, maybe not in battle at all but still someday, he would be on that pyre.
Like the Sergeant always said, nothing like a good funeral to make you think about these things. He had not been particularly close to Pigeon but he had known him, had gotten used to seeing him around the camp, had gotten drunk with him and his woman Ana.
And now Pigeon was simply not there. If the Prophets were right, his soul had gone to dwell with the Light. If some of the new sacrilegious philosophers were closer to the truth, he was simply gone. All that was left of him was a burnt carcass and some memories that would slowly fade. Even now the memory of the melting flesh of the corpse had partially blotted out Rik’s recollection of the man when he was still alive.
One day that will be me, he thought again, and took another sip of the rum. He tried hard to concentrate on what Weasel and the Barbarian were saying, the story they had concocted for the benefit of the Terrarchs but his own morose mood was a distraction. Currently no one seemed in the slightest bit suspicious. Rik suspected that would all change when the Lieutenant awoke. Fortunately that would not be for a while. One of the bridgebacks was being set up so that a stretcher could be laid inside the howdah for Sardec and Master Severin’s body.
He moved closer to the fire, and stretched out his hands to warm them. “All agreed then?” Weasel said. Rik and the Barbarian nodded. It was going to be best to stick closest to the facts. They would tell all of it straight, right down to burning the wizard’s body and that causing the fire that had brought down the lower levels of the mine. They would even mention using his papers as kindling. The only thing they would leave out was the fact they had preserved most of them.
“All agreed on what?” said Sergeant Hef, moving closer to the fire. They looked up at him, starting a little guiltily. Rik wondered how long he had been standing there listening. The Sergeant could move with considerable stealth when he wanted to. He cursed the rum, it was making them slow, and then he took another swig against the cold.
“Nothing, Sergeant,” said Weasel.
“Nothing, is it? And you three being thick as thieves since you got back from the mine and all.” So he had noticed that, had he? The Sergeant was too damned sharp by half. Rik wondered what else he had noticed. Hef grinned at them.
“You did a good job back there. You got out with the Lieutenant, and the rest of the lads, and you got the wizard. Those were his bits, weren’t they? You did get him- didn’t you?”
“Look at that head you have in the bag, Sergeant,” said Rik. “That’s a Terrarch head, isn’t it?”
“Of course we got him, Sergeant,” said the Barbarian. “Rik killed him deader than Emperor Goran- with my help, of course.”
“Well even if you didn’t, he won’t be getting out of that mine any time soon if all the lower levels are collapsed. Nor will the demon. A smart bit of work that. If the lower levels collapsed.”
Rik exchanged a look with Weasel. The Sergeant was fishing for information. Rik wished the Barbarian was not part of their little conspiracy. Weasel could keep his mouth shut, but it would not take an Inquisitor to get what he knew out of the Barbarian. He was not the brightest spark the Light had ever illuminated.
“He’s dead, Sergeant,” said Rik, letting a little annoyance and weariness show in his voice. “We killed him.”
“With the Lieutenant’s own blade. He won’t be pleased with that. No one but a Terrarch is supposed to handle those truesilver swords. You know how prickly they are about such things. Used to be you could be put to death for even touching one.”
“Next time I am trying to save one of our beloved Terrarchs from a wizard and his pet demon I will be sure to take that into account.”
“You’ll get no criticism from me, lad. I’m just letting you know the Lieutenant might not be as grateful as he ought to be. You know how he can be.”
Rik did indeed know, only too well. He wondered if even the Lieutenant would be petty enough to take this one out on him though. What could he do? Challenge him to a duel? Terrarchs did not fight with humans. It was beneath them.
“Things might get a bit sticky at the inquiry,” said the Sergeant. There was always an inquiry when one of the Terrarchs was killed by a human. It was the law. It was also an event. The Terrarchs were few and men were many. They always looked after their own.
The Sergeant looked at them again, suspiciously. He seemed sure they were up to something then he shrugged. “So what if you took the wizard’s gold. You deserve it.”
So that was it. He thought they had got some loot, and was sniffing around for a share. Rik looked at Weasel and saw relief written on his face too. He considered things for a moment, then fumbled in his pocket for the things he had taken from the wizard. “We got this from the body.”
The Sergeant leaned forward interestedly. He could see the rings embossed with Elder signs, and the gemstones. He tut-tutted and lifted the rings, and the amulet. “These will have to go to the Masters for examination. If they are worth anything, you’ll get your share, don’t worry. The gems will have to go into the report as well. I think we can forget about the coins. Sure there wasn’t anything else you forgot to mention? This might be a good time to tell, before the Lieutenant is up and about again.”
“Nothing, Sergeant.”
“Fair enough, lads. I think you’ll find your comrades are grateful to you for sharing your good fortune.”
The Sergeant slouched off into the gloom. “Well done, Halfbreed,” said the Barbarian. “Nice of you to give away our money.”
“It was mostly my money,” said Rik. “I took it from the wizard. And it got the Sergeant off our back. If he thinks we’re hiding anything, it will be gems.”
“Anyway,” he added. “You’ll get your share. The Sergeant will see to that.”
“I hope those bloody books are worth all you say,” said the Barbarian, a little sourly.
“Why don’t you just shout it out?” said Rik. “Then the other half of the camp might hear you as well.”
“Oh right. Sorry,” said the Barbarian. He even managed to sound a little sheepish. “I’ll watch my mouth.”
“Be a good idea,” said Weasel. “Wouldn’t want any Inquisitors round asking us questions in that special way of theirs. I am quite attached to my balls.”
The Barbarian laughed. “Nice one, Weasel, attached to your balls. I like that.”
Weasel just shook his head and rose. “Time for some more rum,” he said. “I’d bet a pint of ale to a pot of piss, we’ll be on the march again tomorrow.”
Rik thought so too. They had done what they came for. It was time to head back to Redtower. He felt an odd mixture of excitement and fear. That was when things would get really dangerous. Visions of Inquisitors and their torture implements danced before his eyes. Really dangerous, he thought drunkenly.
Lieutenant Sardec sat upright. His head was on fire, and he fought down an urge to vomit. He looked around and tried to work out where he was. He felt a moment of unreasoning panic when he could not see anything but a small bar of light, and then realised he was in a darkened room in the old mansion. The light was the glow of the lantern under the door. He could hear the sound of shouting and singing outside as the soldier’s celebrated their
