Rik looked at him coldly. “What I would like to know is how something like this could happen without anybody noticing?”
Shugh looked at him, read the suspicion in his eyes and replied quickly; “He was bound hand and foot. He had a gag in his mouth. He had paid for the room for the night. No one was going to trouble him till he refused to get up when your friend here came calling this morning.”
“He was alone then?”
“No. He went up with a girl. Marla was her name.”
“She didn’t do this on her own.”
“She left an hour later. Said Vosh was asleep, and did not want to be disturbed.”
“Somebody disturbed him,” said the Barbarian, his voice a little thicker than usual. “Somebody disturbed him quite a lot.”
Weasel started as if he suddenly remembered something, strode forward and undid the rag from around Vosh’s mouth. Something like a small shrivelled sausage fell out.
“They stuffed his dick in his mouth,” said Weasel, with a certain gloomy satisfaction. “Hill-men did this for sure. It’s their favourite punishment for traitors. They did it while he was still alive and bleeding to death.”
Rik nodded. He had heard the stories. It was one thing to hear about them. It was another thing to witness them from this close. Leon got even paler when he heard this. His eyes locked on Weasel’s face.
“You think they want to do this to us.” It was an alarming prospect Rik thought. Weasel shot Leon a warning look. This was not the sort of thing to be discussed in front of Shugh.
Shugh just looked at him. “We’re going to have to get rid of this body,” he said.
“Don’t be cutting it up and putting it in your pies,” said Weasel.
“It might improve the taste,” said the Barbarian. Not surprisingly Shugh did not appreciate the joke. He lumbered off downstairs shouting for his sons. Nobody had suggested calling the Watch. Nobody would.
“Think we might have hit a nerve there,” said Rik.
The Barbarian looked at Vosh’s open mouth. “Don’t think I will be trying the sausage rolls around here.”
“What now?” Leon asked.
“I say we find this Marla,” said Weasel. “And keep our eyes peeled for hill-men.”
“And all I wanted was a good time,” said the Barbarian looking up at the ceiling and chewing the ends of his moustache wistfully.
“That’s all he wanted too,” said Weasel. “Look at him now.”
Who had done this, wondered Rik? And had Vosh told them anything about the books?
As he rode through the outskirts of the Exalted quarter, Sardec could not help but notice the beautiful mansions of the human parasites who had attached themselves to the coat-tails of the Elder race. Here a discreet golden disk hanging over the door announced that a lovely broad-fronted house belonged to a goldsmith just as much as the bars covering the windows did.
On another a sign of a mortar and pestle showed this shop belonged to a particularly prosperous alchemist. The buildings showing the insignia of the local Terrarch Houses announced their inmates to be factors of the Exalted, those human middle men who oversaw the estates of their masters and handled all their business. Such men often became very wealthy themselves, doubtless by pocketing a proportion of the money that rightfully belonged to their masters.
Approaching the centre of the town, Sardec was relieved to see the humans became fewer and better dressed, neatly liveried in garments that bore the emblems of their masters. Many Terrarchs saluted him as he passed, and he returned their greetings in the casual off-hand style of the high nobility. Most of the people were in their temple best, and seemed to be coming from the noontime prayers. Here at least people kept to the Mourning Time rituals.
The streets widened. Townhouses gave way to the palaces proper, where the local Terrarch families dwelled when they were not on their estates. Sardec entered Temple Square. The massive structure loomed over him. Its sides were covered in alcoves containing numerous dragon-winged angels; their small horns were nubs of gold.
Since it was Mourning Time black prayer flags bearing the green dragon sigil of lost Al’ Terra fluttered from the corner towers of the temple alongside the red dragon of Talorea. Ropes with more small triangular mourning flags descended from the great central dragonspire jutting from the roof to each of the lesser towers.
Sardec reined his destrier in, and placed his hand first on his forehead then on his heart when he faced the Temple. Some of the Terrarch Priests robed in the traditional green and white fringed with Mourning Time black noted his piety and nodded approvingly. Sardec ignored their attention as was suitable for a high noble, and rode directly towards Princess Asea’s palace.
It was in a particularly favourably aspected location, occupying one whole side of the square facing the temple itself and rivalling it in size. A massive sandstone observatory tower rose from the eastern side of the building. A ritual dome loomed atop the building. This was a fitting mansion for one of the First, one mighty in sorcery. Sardec had heard stories of the labyrinths beneath it where Asea conducted her rituals and her research. Some of those tales were not entirely wholesome. It was a mighty structure in the old style arranged around a central courtyard.
Sardec passed through the archway into the first courtyard. Leaving his destrier in the charge of the grooms, he strode through another archway and into the much larger inner courtyard. He stopped and breathed in the scented air and took in the beautiful surroundings. In the centre of the courtyard was a stand of Dreamflowers brought from Al’ Terra during the Exile. Locked away in that dingy village beside the Redoubt, it had been too long since he had experienced the allures of his own culture. It was nice to be reminded of what he had sworn to defend when he had taken the Queen’s Oath.
Officers in the uniform of the Regiment strolled with elaborately gowned ladies. It looked like every Terrarch in the region had found reason to pay Princess Asea a visit once it became known that the Lord of Battles would be coming here. He caught sight of a beautiful Lady emerging from a small private temple in the courtyard, strolling side by side with a group of officers and lesser belles. She was quite the loveliest thing he had seen in a long time, her hair silver and long, her mask hinting at the exquisitely sculpted features below. This was Asea he felt sure. Only one of the First would be so tall and yet so graceful. He noticed that one of the officers in attendance was Lieutenant Jazeray.
Sardec approached with the maximum of formal politeness and inclined his head gravely to Asea. Jazeray leaned forward and whispered something up into her ear. Sardec was delighted that although her attendants laughed she did not, but appeared to reprimand him. Instead, she changed course, and came towards him. Something about her multi-layered skirts gave the motion all the stateliness of a galleon changing course. Briefly he considered saying so, but realised that it was a very inapt analogy to use to one so beautiful.
“Greetings, Prince Sardec,” she said, using his formal courtly rank, rather than his military one. That pleased him. Although Princes were common enough among the Terrarch nobility, anyone even distantly related to the Queen was given the title, and most of the great houses could make that claim, it was still a greater rank than Jazeray commanded. “When next you write you must remind your dear father how very fond I am of him.”
“It must be quite difficult to live up to the deeds of such an illustrious sire,” said Jazeray. “Although I understand you have been doing your best.”
Asea looked at him enquiringly. Sardec saw the trap coming but there was nothing he could do to avoid it. He remained silent. Jazeray was a pleasant enough fellow most of the time, when you were not the butt of his wit. But he had a malicious streak in him that came out whenever something stood in the way of what he wanted. Of course, what Terrarch did not?