She might have stepped out of one of the sagas of Elder Days. All her equipment had the smooth, potent look of the Old Magic. Behind the two black clad servants came a house servant bearing a large rune-covered flask.
“At least you are punctual,” she said. “So few youths are these days. Come! I would have some words with your troops.”
“As you wish,” said Sardec. Unconsciously he fell into step behind her. He lengthened his stride so that they walked together like equals. The two servants, their faces masked and veiled so that only a thin strip of dark skin was visible around the eyes, fell in behind them. The Foragers were drawn up in ranks a short distance from the great wyrms that would carry them. They stood smartly to attention as Asea appeared, much more smartly than they normally would have for him, he thought sourly. It seemed that they too were impressed.
Asea passed along the line pausing to look into the faces of men here and there, searching their faces as if looking for something. Most men paled under that cold scrutiny, but a few met her eye, and he sensed that in some indefinable way she was pleased. When she had passed along the entire line, she turned and took up a position a few strides in front of the troops.
“We are going into the mountains,” she said. Her voice carried well, although by some sorcerer’s trick she did not seem to have raised it above the conversational level. “We are going back to a place you have visited previously. You are to be my bodyguards. I can see that I will be in safe hands!
“When I return to my home unharmed you will be well rewarded. There will be gold crown for each of you…perhaps more if things should prove a little dangerous.”
There was cheering at this. She turned away and spoke soft urgent words to the servants carrying the flask.
“Be very careful with that,” she said. “Should the seal break we face death. Aye, and worse than death.”
What was going on here? Sardec wondered, as he gave the orders to mount.
“Here we go again,” said the Barbarian, as they scrambled over the side of the howdah. Rik wondered if it was the same wyrm as they had ridden on previously. There was something about the blotched pattern of its neck scales that seemed familiar.
The wyrm lurched upright and let out a bellow of suppressed fear and rage. From the gate of Asea’s tower came the sound of hissing and a peculiar reptilian squealing. “What now?” the Barbarian muttered as they all stood up to look over the howdah’s side.
Through the gate emerged a pack of about a dozen huge ripjacks. They raced forward swirling around Sardec, lean bi-pedal wyrms with long snake-like necks and lashing tails. From tip of nose, to end of tail they were probably nine feet long, and stood four foot high. Massive slashing claws emerged from their toes. Their teeth were razor sharp and wicked intelligence shone in their eyes.
It was the sight and most likely the smell of these predators that had upset the great bridgebacks. They swivelled to keep them in view despite the best efforts of their mahouts. Rik felt something almost like admiration for Sardec. He knew that it would have been impossible for him to stand there as calm as the Lieutenant did with those killers milling around him. At the same time, it would have given him the greatest satisfaction to see them tear Sardec limb from limb and feast on his remains.
Looking closer, Rik could see that each had a small collar with a gleaming stone upon its neck. Sorcery controlled the ripjacks. Noticing the massive jet black wyrm emerging through an inner gate of the Palace, Rik knew who was doing the controlling. It looked like Lady Asea was serious about her hunting.
He took a long breath and settled down, clutching his weapons for reassurance. He had not liked the way the Lady Asea had looked at him at all. It had made him feel as if she was looking right down into the blackest depths of his soul and seeing things there that amused her. He hoped it was not the case, for if she could, she would have found out all about his dealings with Bertragh.
Briefly Rik wondered if he should go to her and tell her what he knew, in return for a pardon for his acts. Surely one of the First, a Terrarch sorceress would know what to do about the Ultari. As quickly as the thought entered his mind, he suppressed it. There would be no pardon for him and the others. The best he could hope for was a quick death if his role in all of this was found out.
The bridgeback lurched out of the courtyard and into the square. Ahead of them a crowd of people were gathered to enter the main temple. A few of them turned to stare curiously at the passing soldiers.
Another thought stole into his mind. The factor and Zarahel would have to die. They knew too much and they must not be allowed to spill that knowledge to the authorities. That would mean the pyre for Rik and his friends as surely as if he had confessed. As soon as he got the chance, he would talk with Weasel and the Barbarian. They would find a way to kill the Prophet and his companion.
“I tell you I’d shag her,” said the Barbarian, looking meaningfully in the direction of Lady Asea’s wyrm. It was well out in front, following the trail of the ripjacks as they loped towards the mountains.
“You’re mad,” said Toadface. “One of the First? I would be so scared I could not get it up.”
“She could make my soldier stand at attention any time,” said the Barbarian and guffawed. He elbowed Rik. “I said, she could make my soldier stand at attention any time.”
“I heard you the first time,” said Rik. “Better make sure she doesn’t.”
“Why? From what I heard I would not be the first man she’s ridden.”
“Bellow it a bit louder, why don’t you?” Rik said. “There’s the slim possibility she might not have heard you that time.”
“There’s no need to be touchy just because your girl went off with the Lieutenant…”
“What?” Sergeant Hef asked, turning to look back at them all with his wise monkey eyes.
“The Lieutenant and some of his brother officers were in Mama Horne’s on Solace night,” said Weasel, sucking his teeth with a certain grim satisfaction. His eyes never left Gunther’s face.
“The Light will forgive your lies,” said the fanatic. He was obviously still in a charitable mood after his experience in the mines. Rik almost missed the old Gunther who would have been raving and threatening Weasel by now. His forbearance was starting to be more annoying than his former ranting.
“If that’s true I would keep quiet about it,” said Hef, and the utter seriousness of his tone quietened them all down. “The Exalted have a way of getting even with men who do them down.”
“Can’t say as I blame him,” said the Barbarian. “Rik’s girl is very pretty.”
“She’s not my girl,” said Rik.
“Then why are you moping like dog whose bone’s been took away.”
“I am not moping.”
“Whatever you say,” said the Barbarian. He looked back at Lady Asea’s wyrm. “I tell you, I would definitely shag her.”
Sardec watched the mountains come closer. He was alone on his wyrm and he had plenty of time to think. It was the second time in as many weeks he had been ordered up here among the hill-tribes.
He looked at Asea’s great black mount. Of all the wyrms, it was the only one that did not show any unease in the presence of the ripjack pack. He guessed it was used to them. Certainly the black-clad servant guiding it showed not the slightest difficulty in keeping the bridgeback under control. The other one stood behind the lady surveying the terrain with a bow in his hand.
A bow, Sardec thought. Why a bow? Perhaps Asea had some ancient enchanted arrowheads among her gear, he thought sourly. She seemed to have just about everything else. It was amazing that she had on her person so many relics of Al’Terra. Well, she was one of the First.
He put his spyglass to his eye and studied the pack. He was still annoyed about the way she had unleashed it while he was still in the courtyard. He was sure that had been deliberate, an effort to humiliate him in front of the men that had almost succeeded. It had taken every ounce of self-control he had not to draw Moonshade when those killers surrounded him. He could still remember their acrid reptilian stench, and the smell of rotten meat coming from their mouths. If her control had been less than perfect, or just one of the ripjacks had gone into killing rage, the whole pack would have fallen on him. He had seen such things happen.
The leading ripjack had its head bowed over the trail, sniffing. It was the dominant female, the one which
