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.
“Who knows with wizards?” said the Sergeant. “Our job is to put a stop to it whatever it is and we’d best be getting started.”
“Speaking of wizards, what’s this about the Crimson Shadows?”
“If it makes our job easier, why complain? Ah there’s what we’re looking for.”
On the shoreline, on a slight rocky rise close to the falls, stood a squat fortified manor, partially ruined. A tower stood at one corner, and at its top a bell glittered. In some pens nearby were lots of the lean mountain sheep. Nobody was visible, but columns of smoke rose from the chimneys.
“Sentry in the tower,” said Weasel. Looking closely Rik could see what he meant. A man’s head was visible over the parapet. He was holding a rifle too. The bandits were not being entirely negligent about their safety. “Might be some more holed up in the ruins as well.”
“I can’t see any,” said the Sergeant.
“Nor can I,” said Weasel, “but you can bet your last farthing they are there.”
“Take care of them then,” said the Sergeant. “You and the Barbarian. Don’t get close enough to trigger any wards”
“I don’t like the look of those ruins,” said the Barbarian.
“Scared the Spider God might get you?” asked Weasel. “Old Uran Ultar has been in his grave this last thousand years.”
Rik wished Weasel would shut up. What was a thousand years to a god? And could gods die the way ordinary mortals did? Maybe he was just asleep. There was something about those ruins that made him deeply uneasy, a part of him responded fearfully just to the sight of them.
“I am scared of nothing,” said the Barbarian. “I am just saying I don’t like the look of the place.”
Weasel touched the hilt of his knife and grinned. The Barbarian’s fingers whitened as he clutched the hilt of his sword.
“Do it quietly,” added the Sergeant, with particular emphasis.
“You don’t need to tell us that, Sergeant,” said Weasel with his throat-slitter’s grin. “We knows what we are about, we do.”
“Wizard said don’t get too close,” said Gunther.
“When was the last time you heard of wards set so far from a camp,” said Weasel.
“Always a first time,” said the Sergeant. “Carefully does it.”
Weasel and the Barbarian nodded and vanished over the ridge top.
After sundown, squads began to filter through the ruins, taking up position for the attack. Since his night sight was better than most men’s, Rik had the job of moving from position to position to make sure everyone was in place, and all the ways out of the trap were closed. Most of the Foragers were in small groups, one man watching while the others dozed. Being Foragers they were well used to sleeping anywhere, but it took real talent to do so with the wind cutting through you, and the prospect of violence in the air.
Finally he made it to where Weasel and the Barbarian lurked on the furthest side, towards the waterfall. There were spots of blood on their ragged green tunics. They had encountered a few hill-men in the ruins on their scouting foray. Leon and Pigeon and the Sergeant were with them. Rik gave the password as he approached since there was no sense in getting his throat cut by nervous men. Weasel has always been too good with that damn knife.
“Where’s this bloody mine then?” asked Weasel of no one in particular. “I think we should make that little bastard Vosh show us where it is? Might be gold there.”
“He said it was haunted,” said Pigeon. Weasel said nothing, nor did the others. The thought of what might wait in a haunted mine frightened them all. It was difficult to avoid dark thoughts in the doom-haunted ruins of old Achenar.
No lights showed. No one did anything to give their positions away. They waited for the attack to begin.
Lieutenant Sardec watched as the wizard continued his chant and drew his wand through the air, pointing to the five points of the astrological compass and invoking the names of entities that were not good to hear.
When would something happen? It had been almost an hour now since the ritual had begun, and each minute that passed increased the chance of something going wrong down below, of one of the Foragers doing something more than usually stupid, of one of the men being spotted. The wizard just kept to the ritual, moving with no sign of feeling any pressure to hurry.
Sardec envied Severin his gift. In his House, power had always flowed through the female side of the line. Even in these sadly diminished days, his family had still produced several sorcerers of note. At least if he were a sorcerer he would get some respect. No one respected a junior officer of a mere thirty years. Even his fellow Exalted still treated him as little more than a child.
He supposed to most of his kin he was a mere stripling. Most Terrarchs regarded anyone who had seen less than a hundred winters as dreadfully immature. It takes a century to educate a Terrarch was an old saying.
There were times when he suspected that was just another of the games his people played. With age came status, and with status came power. Those who held power did their best to hang onto it, and to remind those who were below them in the pecking order what their true place in it was.
