“No one. It was shunned for centuries. They claimed a mad sorcerer lived there once, performing awful rituals. He was old before the Terrarch conquest. He ruled one of the old petty human kingdoms. His name was Lharquon.”
“What happened to him?”
“They say he was carried off by demons. It might well be true. Such creatures are always difficult to control.”
She should know, Sardec thought, for she had summoned a few in her time. It was strange to think of this serenely beautiful woman consorting with horrors from the Pit. At least by the light of day it was. He knew he would have no trouble believing it if he encountered her by night.
Sardec found his gaze glued to the tip of the Tower of Serpents. It glittered even more than the rest of the tower as if some great jewel caught the sun there. At any moment, he expected the green light his father had described to lick out and destroy them, but nothing happened. He raised his spyglass to his eye and studied the structure. There were people on the balconies, tiny at that distance, and robed. He wondered if one of them was Ilmarec.
The Foragers began the long descent of the ridge, following the road that led to the town. All around them were fields. Off to the east was an area of the ruins that looked burned and scorched. Large stones lay all around. Asea pointed to them. “Once there were huge Elder World buildings there. Now all that remains are those shattered fragments.”
“The green light?” Sardec asked.
“I am guessing so.”
As they entered the sprawl of houses, Rik felt as if he were coming home. He was a city boy at heart, and he never felt completely at ease in the countryside. Now with the tall crooked buildings rising around him, he felt more relaxed. There would be dangers here, but they were of a type he was prepared to deal with. The houses were not quite like the ones he knew. There was more stone than brick here, and the roof slates were a deeper, more brownish-red. But there were more similarities than differences. The buildings were still packed close together, and leaned towards each other like drunken men supporting each other after a big night out.
“A tavern,” said the Barbarian, pointing to a wooden sign swinging in the breeze above an open doorway. It showed a plump farmer dancing with a tankard in his hand and a serpent in the other. A crowd had gathered in the doorway to watch the soldiers riding by. As Rik watched, Sardec sent Corporal Toby to ask for directions. He knew from what Asea had told him last night they were heading for a mansion owned by a merchant. He had some business connection with her factors and her house. Toby returned and spoke to the Lieutenant. They headed on through the winding roads until they came to a bridge.
As toll money changed hands with the bridge-keeper, Rik studied their surroundings. Morven looked a prosperous place. It had three large Temples. Two had the plain spires of the New Faith, one was topped by a bronze angel. That would be where the followers of the Old Way worshipped.
He noticed that some of the new soldiers, the ones from Redtower, were pointing out the Old Way Temple. They imagined it the house of heretics and heathens, just as those who used it would imagine them to be. Like everything else, the faith had split in the great wars of the Schism. The New Faith was followed in the predominantly Scarlet nations like Talorea. The Old Way, which had never accepted the legitimacy of the Martyred Prophet, was followed by those aligned with the Dark Empire. The New Faith was said to be more open to humans, and more true to the spirit of the teachings of the Prophets, but if that was the case, he shuddered to think how repressive the Old Way was.
“You look as thoughtful as a fat man being offered a choice of pastries, Halfbreed,” said Weasel. “What are you thinking about?”
He lied from force of habit. “I am thinking at least we were not struck down by Elder World magic.”
“That’s what I like about you, Halfbreed. You always look on the bright side.”
“There’s no need to be so bloody sarcastic.”
Weasel merely smiled his annoying smile. “The Quartermaster gave us a special job. We’re to get in touch with the right people.” He made the peculiar wriggling motion of his fingers that let Rik know he was talking about the local underworld.
“Business as usual,” Rik said.
“If you’re not too busy with your new ladylove,” said Weasel
“Lucky bastard,” said the Barbarian. Rik said nothing to disabuse them of the notion that he was Asea’s fancy boy. It was a lot better than telling them the truth.
Why was it, he thought, that he always seemed to end up lying to his friends? He had not told them the real reason he had wanted Zarahel’s book back before Achenar. Now he could not tell them the real reason Asea was interested in him. He was destined always to walk apart even from the people who knew him best. He shrugged. What of it? He had always been set apart. His unknown father had seen to that.
They started to march again, passing over the cobbled bridge. It was a hundred strides long and lined with statues of saints and knights. As they came out from among the buildings he caught sight of the Serpent Tower again, looming above them like the spear of God. It was awesome. He had never imagined anything so large or so beautiful could exist. He saw no way any force on this earth could take it. It was just too old and too strong.
They crossed the bridge and entered another twisting, narrow cobbled street. Rik returned to his brooding. He had often wondered about his parents. He had often hated them and just as often fantasised about finding them, particularly his father. In his wildest and most unrealistic dreams he had thought about being acknowledged and taken in by some Terrarch clan. Now it seemed that even that was forbidden him. He came from bad blood. His father was a demon clad in flesh, and Asea believed some aspect of that had been passed on to him.
He wondered if it was true. The priests at the orphanage had always told him he was deep down bad, and perhaps they had been right. After he had escaped from their clutches he had done nothing but cheat and lie and steal and kill. He had done it to keep himself alive but he doubted the clergy would think that a satisfactory excuse.
Perhaps he had always been destined to turn out the way he had. Perhaps his destiny had been fixed before ever he was born, by the Terrarch who had sired him and the woman who had died. Perhaps it went deeper than that. Perhaps, as some of the preachers claimed, God had already decided who was damned and who was not. After all, if he was infinite and omniscient, surely he must have known how things were going to turn out when he created the universe. All life was part of his vast incomprehensible design.
Such thoughts made his head spin. What sort of god would create a universe in which people were damned before they first drew breath? It was the sort of logic that almost made you believe those that claimed that the Shadow had made the universe in defiance of God’s will. For himself, he was inclined to side with those who claimed that God had made the universe and then abandoned it as a botched job and left everybody to their own devices. That seemed to fit the facts better.
He shook his head. He took responsibility for his own actions. There was no sense in blaming any God, good or bad, for anything he had done. If ever he was called to account for those actions by God, he would ask him why he had created such a crazy, fucked-up universe in the first place.
“What are you frowning at, Halfbreed?” The Barbarian asked. “A man in your position should look happy. I would.”
He made an envious face, and then laughed. “I guess I will be drowning my sorrows elsewhere tonight.”
The streets had widened out into a square. In the centre was a statue of a tall Terrarch man in a military uniform. He was striking a heroic pose, sword in hand, leading an invisible army towards victory. Who was he, Rik wondered? In Sorrow he would have known the answer but this was some local hero or noble, and as such a stranger.
“Who are those bastards?” the Barbarian asked. Rik looked in the direction he indicated. A group of Terrarchs lounged against a street corner. They all wore long coats with silver buttons. They coats were coloured with a purple so deep and dark it was almost black. Their boots were high. Near them were squads of large, blond-haired men. All of them were big, with the brutal, brutalised faces of eastern peasants.
“Those, my friend, are part of the Legion of Exiles,” said Weasel.
“Khaldarus’s elite guard?” Rik asked. The Legion had an evil reputation. They were rogues and killers so bad they had been banished from the Dark Empire. Or so it was claimed. Others said they were a secret Dark Empire army in the service of Prince Khaldarus sent to infiltrate Kharadrea in a way that did not break the terms of the
