'Aye, sir,' said the Sergeant, turning to shout at the soldiers who were unwilling to venture into the darkened tomb. Sardec did not blame them. He suspected that they would find only the dead down there, and maybe a few of their stranded foes, still hiding.
He walked around the men, asking if any had been bitten or even scratched. Those who had he forced to wash their wounds with whiskey and cauterise them. Astonishingly despite the bitterness of the combat, his men had taken no fatalities. At least not yet, he reminded himself. Perhaps they had been infected with a slow lingering death that would be worse than eaten alive.
Sergeant Hef returned. 'We found nothing, sir, except corpses. The ghouls seemed to have killed everybody.' He noticed Sergeant Hef was staring at his hand. He looked at it himself. There were bite marks there. When had he gotten them? He could not tell. He had not even felt any pain during the blazing emotional maelstrom of combat. Maybe when he had grappled with the ghoul. He offered up a prayer to the Light that he was not infected. He knew there was only one thing to do. He had no desire to end up like the dead thing in the dress over there.
'Sergeant, if you would be so kind as to bring me a torch and some whiskey.'
Sergeant Hef did so, and Sardec applied the whiskey to his wound and set it alight. It burned and the stink of burning flesh reminded him uncomfortably of the time he lost his hand.
“One thing bothers me, sir,” said the Sergeant. Sardec looked at him Sergeant Hef’s worries were usually worth listening to.
“What’s that Sergeant?”
“What was that hag gibbering about? She seemed to think we had come to capture the ghouls instead of putting them down.”
Hef accompanied him as he strode over to look at the corpse. In death, it looked obscene, sprawled in the dirt with brains bubbling out through a hole in its head. He did not want to touch her even with his hook.
“Maybe she was mad,” said Sardec.
“Maybe, sir.” The Sergeant looked away into the mist. Sardec knew what he was thinking because he was thinking it too. Who in their right minds would want to capture ghouls? And why?
Chapter Eight
'Are you sure this is a wise idea, Milady?' Rik asked. He stared at the sorcerous contraption suspiciously, wondering how this thing was supposed to get them airborne. It was cold this early in the morning. The late autumnal sun had not yet had a chance to warm them. Benjario assured them that this was the best time to get aloft. Apparently the spirits of the aerosphere were more amenable at this hour of the day.
Lord Azaar watched from a platform nearby. His mask made it impossible to tell what he was thinking from his expression, but his whole posture radiated indifference.
All around the hillside a crowd had gathered. It seemed word of their experiment had spread through the city. Rik did not need to wonder how that had happened. People gossiped. Someone had known that Azaar and his bodyguards were setting up a pavilion here. Someone had erected that pavilion. Someone had talked. Possibly that someone had been Benjario. He was a man who wanted his name in the history books. Hopefully, Rik thought, surveying the crowd, none of Lady Asea's many enemies had decided that this would make a wonderful opportunity for doing away with her. He looked across at Karim. The Southerner was as intently focused on the sea of faces as Rik was.
'After your experience at the Serpent Tower I would have thought that flying engines would not bother you in the slightest,' Asea replied. Today she wore no mask, no armour, just a long red gown. Her face was flushed. She looked excited; it was not every day she was offered a new experience. He just wished that he did not have to part of this one. None of the spectators looked filled with envy for his position despite Asea's beautiful presence nearby.
“My experience was not entirely voluntary,' he said. 'Nor exactly enjoyable.'
'Then perhaps you will enjoy this,' she said. Rik shook his head. He did not see how. The whole device looked very fragile. There was a wicker basket large enough for three or four passengers. Long ropes connected it to a vast sack of alchemically treated silk. Within the basket was a modified athenor, the sorcerous furnace used by wizards.
'Benjario can assure you it's perfectly safe,' said the mechanism's creator. Benjario's long hair and bushy moustache had been recently dyed. Obviously he intended to look his best for his trip into the history books but the hair was too black in places and very grey in others. It did not inspire Rik with confidence in his claims to be a master of the alchemical arts. 'Benjario would not risk his life, or the Lady's.'
Rik liked the order of importance the alchemist put his life and Asea's in. Perhaps he could be relied on after all although Rik would still not have bet money on it. Benjario was a Mazarean, and the natives of that hot southern land were famous for their impetuosity.
'It would be a tragedy if the beauty of Lady Asea and the genius of Benjario were lost the world,' he added. Rik winced.
Sardec was there. He looked stooped and worried. Rena was by his side. She seemed thoughtful. Rik gave her a small ironic wave, which she ignored. He noticed some of his old comrades in the crowd watching them. Rik waved to Weasel and the Barbarian. They looked particularly villainous as they waved back.
'How does this work again?' he asked.
'It is simplicity itself,' said Benjario. 'As Benjario has explained to the Lady Asea several times.'
'Indulge my protege,' she said. 'He has a curious mind.'
Benjario's sniff said that as a genius he had better things to do than explain his work to lackeys but that he would do so as a favour to her. He twisted the corner of his moustache for a moment as he collected his thoughts and then said, 'The athenor is powered by marsh gas that feeds a trapped fire elemental. It heats the ambient air. The heated air is collected in the great sack, which Benjario has called a balloon. The hot air is lighter than the cold air that surrounds it, and it is this that lifts the sack skyward.'
'You are saying that we will be lifted into the air by the air itself,' said Rik, unable to quite keep the disbelief from his voice. Benjario looked affronted by this.
'By the excitation of the air elementals by the fire element. It will work. Benjario made trials before, back in his native Mazarea. And you have seen how a paper bag rises up a chimney.'
'There is a difference between floating a paper bag up a chimney and lifting the weight of three adults and this basket,' said Rik.
'Only in scale.'
'It will work, Rik,' said Asea with absolute certainty. 'I have studied Benjario's figures and I agree with his conclusions if not the language he has couched them in.'
'Did your trials involve lifting people?' Rik asked in a last frantic effort to dissuade her.
Benjario sucked his lips for a minute, tugged his moustache agitatedly and admitted, 'No. Only rocks.'
'So we shall be the first people to fly using your method,' said Rik.
'As far as I know.'
'Perhaps we should allow Mr Benjario to make his trial flight alone,' said Rik. 'Until we see how well it works.'
'Benjario is ready,' said Benjario.
'I wish to do this, Rik. I wish to fly on this machine. I am forbidden to fly dragons but I will fly.'
'What if it goes wrong,' said Rik.
'I am willing to take that risk. You do not have to go with me, although I would appreciate your presence.'
'Why, Milady?' he asked her, one last time. He was certain there had to be more to this than vague ideas about doing something new.
'Because flying here on Gaeia has been a dream of mine, and how often does one get a chance to live out one's dreams. Even in a life as long as mine, such chances do not come often.'
Rik could see she was not to be swayed from her plan. She was determined to go ahead with it and as he
