could be so dull. His training seemed to consist of nothing but meditation, of clearing his mind and concentrating on his heartbeat and his breathing, of trying to visualize Elder Signs in his mind. There had been no demonic lore, no learning about love potions, none of the strange drug-induced rituals that filled the cheap chap-books he loved to read. The biggest threat he faced did not appear to be to his soul but to his sanity; the dullness of it all was near mind-destroying.
'Before you learned to walk, you first learned to crawl,' said Asea. 'There are no shortcuts to mystical power despite what certain of the secret brotherhoods would have you believe.'
'I don't doubt you,' he said sourly. 'How long will it take before I am ready to learn spells?' He asked the question almost every day, and almost every day he got the same answer.
“You have already learned spells, Rik. You are just not ready to cast them.” The few spells Asea had taught him simply did not work — when he invoked them nothing happened. It was as if he had not the slightest shred of the talent she assured him he possessed.
“Let me rephrase that- when will I learn spells that work?”
'It could be years. A Terrarch can take decades to achieve contact with the flows of tau. You are already much further along than most apprentices of your age — which is only to be expected. Humans come into their power much younger.'
'Is that why sorcery drives them mad?'
'Partially. It is also because they do not take the time to learn the rituals of protection and filtration, and the energies they absorb warp their brains.'
A sudden thought struck Rik. 'Is that why you have me concentrate on Elder Signs all the time?'
She clapped her hands ironically. 'Bravo, Rik. I knew you would understand it eventually. Mastering the Elder Signs is the first step along the road of wizardry. You must be able to invoke them and visualise them under almost any circumstance, no matter what pressure your surroundings may place on you. They will let you control and purify the energies of magic that surround us. Now clear your mind, and concentrate on your breathing and try to visualise a five pointed star within a circle.'
He closed his eyes and did so.
'The circle must be perfect and the star must glow softly.'
He continued to concentrate and slowly it took form and as it did so he felt something strange happen. He could not have described it but it was a tickling on the edge of his consciousness as if he were touching something with his mind, or something was touching him. He wanted to mention it to Asea, but his concentration lapsed and it was gone.
He began to the process once more.
Sardec looked at Sergeant Hef and then at the entrance to the graveyard. It was massive, for this was an ancient burial ground, on the outskirts of the city. A statue of a dragon-winged angel bearing a scythe guarded the entrance. Her male counterpart stood on the other side.
'Any questions, gentlemen?' Sardec asked. The Foragers laughed and their humour seemed genuine. It was not often a Terrarch called any human gentlemen.
'Just one thing, sir,' said Weasel. Sardec wondered if the gangling sharpshooter was going to make another joke but his question seemed quite serious.
'Why are we checking out this graveyard?'
“Because we killed all the tomb wardens when we took the city.”
“Why do they need tomb wardens?” someone at the back asked.
'Because the Kharadreans bury their dead according to the old rite, rather than burn them. There are bodies beneath all those gravestones and in all those mausoleums.'
A look of horror passed over some of the men's faces. It seemed almost obscene not to give the departed a clean burning, but customs differed. Perhaps the Generals of the Scarlet Armies should impose a new ordinance and force people to do so. After all, burying bodies provided raw materials for necromancers and food for ghouls. Then again, there was nothing surer to provoke people than interfering with their religious rites.
'What if an unclean spirit gets into the corpses, sir?'
'They bury them face down, so that if they try and claw their way out, they burrow down.'
'And we're supposed to check out this whole place, sir?'
'I doubt we will have to, Weasel, but we will should it be necessary. Everybody have their truesilver bullets ready?' He hoped they did. He had provided those bullets at his own expense and he would not have liked to order any man flogged for having sold his on the black market. He suspected that more than a few of them had.
Every man present nodded. 'Remember if you do see any ghouls don't let them bite you. If you are bitten pour whiskey on the wound, and flame it if need be. I know it’s a waste of good whiskey but better that than becoming a soulless monster. If we don't encounter any trouble you can always drink the stuff later.'
Sardec wondered if the army's sorcerers had got this right. He did not understand how bathing a wound in whiskey and then cauterising it could prevent the onset of the disease but doubtless there was some deep alchemical principle involved. It was all beyond his understanding.
'If you see a ghoul, shoot first. If worst comes to worst use your bayonets but try not to let them get too close. I want every man paired with a torchbearer. Ghouls fear fire.'
'I do, too,' said Weasel, 'particularly if it’s been set to good whiskey.'
The Foragers moved into the graveyard. Sardec felt sure that inhuman eyes watched them from the shadows.
The manufactory was a large shed on the outskirts of town. It stunk of alchemicals. Inside a long hall, a dozen seamstresses sewed a huge structure of fabric together, working on the panelling. In another place, artisans treated a mass of cloth with some sort of chemical mixture. Everybody present had handkerchiefs wrapped round their faces and gloves on their hands.
In part of the chamber, rope-makers twisted long strands of hemp together. The largest basket Rik had ever seen stood in one corner. In the most distant corner of the room, blacksmiths worked on metal cylinders. In the middle of the works, Master Benjario presided over the bustle of activity, pausing only occasionally to take snuff or a swig of wine from a goblet that a small dark-skinned scolding woman presented to him. As soon as Rik and Asea entered he hustled over to them.
'Lady Asea, Master Rik, Benjario is pleased that you visit his humble premises.'
'I am pleased to be here, Master Benjario. I am glad to see my investment is being put to such good use. I trust that things are progressing well.'
'Better than well, my Lady. Better than well. Superbly. As they must when Benjario supervises.'
Whatever else he might lack, Rik thought, the engineer was not short of self-esteem.
'All is in readiness for our flight?' Asea asked. Benjario looked a little shifty.
'My Lady doubts the word of Benjario?'
'Not in the least, Master Benjario. I can think of few mortals I would trust more. I am simply excited by the prospect of a trip through the heavens.'
Benjario smiled indulgently and kissed his fingers. 'Your Ladyship's presence will grace the skies as much as the shining of the sun.'
The dark-skinned woman behind Benjario glared at him. She must be his wife, Rik guessed. She saw Rik looking at her and shot a daggered look at him too. His fine clothes obviously did not daunt her. Rik nodded to her as pleasantly as he could.
'It is your mechanism that will make it possible, Master. I am looking forward to tomorrow very much.'
'Tomorrow?' said Rik.
'Tomorrow,' said Asea.
'Tomorrow…' murmured Benjario, with something less than certainty.
'You assured me that the air-chariot would be ready by tomorrow,' said Asea. 'Surely that is the case. It is not possible that Benjario could have miscalculated. His genius is too enormous for that.'
Benjario swelled like a toad at the praise. His smile grew broader but he said, 'There may be a few minor delays, Milady. My work force is lazy and even Benjario cannot be everywhere at once. I wish to check every detail of the preparations. It would not do to have something go wrong as we ascend triumphantly into the skies. It
