Rik looked around once more, just to make sure. They were almost at the walls now, and there was no one within view, looked like everybody was inside sleeping off their hangovers. You could never be too careful though.
“They are going to summon more of those demons we fought.” He heard both Weasel and the Barbarian gasp.
“Why the fuck would they do that?” the Barbarian asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe the demon can grant them wishes just like in a fairy story but frankly it sounded more like they were planning on getting an army of those things.”
“One of them was bad enough,” said the Barbarian.
“An army of hill-men spearheaded by a company of demons,” said Weasel. “I could see how that would appeal to Zarahel. He hates the Terrarchs like poison. Of course, I don’t see what this has to do with us.”
“You don’t?”
“For one thing, they might want to summon those demons, but who says they can? Only Terrarchs are capable of that sort of magic.”
“Zarahel didn’t think so.”
“Doesn’t make him right, Halfbreed.”
“I sincerely hope for all our sakes that you are right.”
“What could we do if I am wrong? Go chasing after him and get the books back?”
“Maybe.”
“For one thing, I would not give a monkey’s shit for our chances of getting out of the hills alive, just the three of us. For another, if Zarahel can do magic, do you really want to face him? And for another, our beloved regimental commander might object to us legging it over the horizon in search of magicians when there is a war just about to happen…”
“That will be the least of our worries if Zarahel and his buddies come out of those mountains with a bunch of those spider demons.”
“You’re not suggesting that we run away?” Weasel’s tone made it clear that he thought this was the first half-sensible thing Rik had said all day.
“It beats being dead.”
“Halfbreed, use your brain. If we’re stuck in the middle of a hill-man uprising and a plague of demons, the safest place for us is with the army.”
Rik thought about that. Weasel was probably right. He had been in enough war-torn regions to know that the best place to be under such circumstances was where there were plenty of armed men willing to give you their support.
“And it might all be just talk,” said the Barbarian. His tone made it clear that he was just whistling in the dark. Like Rik he was prepared for the worst.
Rik went back to his hangover. He did not know what bothered him most; the business with Zarahel or the business with Rena. Both made him feel sick.
Back at the camp, Sardec was waiting for them. “Get powder and field rations from the magazine,” he told them. “We’re heading back into the mountains tomorrow.”
“May I be permitted to ask why, sir?” asked Sergeant Hef. He knew it was a question that was on everybody’s mind.
“We are providing an escort for a Terrarch lady.”
“That’s all I bloody well need,” muttered the Barbarian. “A flower picking expedition.”
“Get to bed early tonight, men,” said Sardec. “We’re off before dawn.”
Rik stared at him and thought of Rena, willing the Terrarch officer to die. If sheer willpower could have managed it, Sardec would have been a corpse, but he stubbornly refused to fall down.
“Word is we are heading back to the mine,” Weasel said, strolling up and squatting down by the fire. A group of Foragers studied the sorcerous lights burning in the night sky over the town. Some big magic was being brewed down there, Rik thought.
“How do you know?” Rik asked, taking another pull on the wine flask.
“Just been talking to the Quartermaster. Seems the mahouts have been given orders to prepare the bridgebacks for a trip into the mountains. And Lieutenant Sardec just put in a requisition for two dozen storm- lanterns to be sent with the wyrms. Doesn’t that sound like they are planning on heading somewhere dark?”
“The mine?”
“Of course.”
“Other sources say Lady Asea wants to see our discovery for herself.”
“Other sources? You mean Lieutenant Jazeray?”
“Go ask the Quartermaster. I’m sure he’ll tell you.”
Rik knew what Weasel was thinking. He was putting together what Rik had heard in the warehouse with this sudden expedition. Had the Exalted got word of Zarahel’s plans? It was possible; they had their own sources. Perhaps it was what all that magic being brewed down in the city was about. He shivered, not wanting to think about what might be waiting at the mine.
He got up and made off into the darkness.
“Where are you going, Rik? I was only joking about the Quartermaster.”
“Off to make some preparations of my own,” he said.
Weasel followed him for a short while into the gloom. “I heard another rumour today.”
“What?”
“Seems Bertragh’s warehouse was burgled the other night. A dead hill-man was found there. The factor himself has disappeared.”
“I think we can both guess where.” Weasel nodded and headed back to the fire, a set of dice had appeared in his hand.
Rik lurched off in the direction of Karl’s billet. The Wyrm Hunter might sell him some of his special weapons if he asked nicely. He had never been known to do so in the past, but no one had ever offered him gold regals before either. Rik had a particular desire to get some truesilver bullets. They were the only thing he had ever heard of that were universally effective against demons. He hoped Karl would be willing to part with some.
Chapter Thirty-One
The next morning when the Lady Asea strode through the gateway of her mansion to inspect the troops drawn up in the courtyard, Sardec was surprised. She did not look like a spoiled noblewoman any more. Flanked by two black robed servants, she looked like a Terrarch warlord from the Elder Times. In spite of himself, he was impressed. There was no doubt that here indeed was one of the First, and one accoutred for battle.
On her face Asea wore a mask of liquid metal. It covered everything save her eyes and her teeth. There were two holes for her nostrils. It was moulded to her features and moved with them, smiling when she smiled, frowning when she frowned. In the middle of the mask’s forehead rested a black jewel, miniature elder signs inscribed on every facet.
Her body was wrapped in strips of what looked like studded leather, like the cerements of a mummy. Like the mask, they clung to her flesh sorcerously and followed her every movement. There was no doubt she was armoured, but it was armour that allowed her as much flexibility as if she were clad in silk.
On her right wrist were three golden bands, each marked by runes, and each bearing a glowing gem: one red, one purple, one green. Sardec thought he recognised two of them. The green was the master control ring for a Leash, used to bind wyrms and other creatures to the wearer’s will. The red bore a strong resemblance to something his father had shown him as a boy. It was a control torque for one of the ancient weapons. A rune of Warding pulsed on it. He could not begin to guess what the third armlet was for. On her belt hung the holster of a Lash and the scabbard of a blade. A host of Elder signs dangled from a truesilver chain around her neck.
