“What’s that?”
“Be careful what you say about corpses. Uri and his boys deal in them?”
“Bodysnatchers?” It was a business that Rik disliked; selling fresh corpses for dissection to medical students, or as subjects for the strange experiments of necromancers. Such people were often not too picky about how they got their raw materials.
“The same. Aside from that they are good blokes,” said Weasel. “And they like a game of cards.”
“Let’s have a word with them then and maybe play a few hands.”
“I won’t be joining you,” said the Barbarian. He gestured at a couple of plump bar-girls who were waving at him. “It looks like my luck is in.”
“He won’t be saying that in the morning,” said Weasel shouldering his way through the crowd.
Chapter Six
"You look like you've contracted the plague," said Asea, looking up from the complex diagram she studied. Before she folded up the massive parchment, Rik caught sight of what looked like an architectural schematic — he had seen many of those during his time as a burglar in Sorrow- although the building it depicted was unlike anything he had ever seen before.
"My head feels like a bridgeback is stamping on it. I went drinking with Weasel and the Barbarian last night."
"Did you find out anything interesting?"
"The usual rumours and some unusual ones…"
"How so?"
"It seems there has been a plague of ghouls in parts of the city — thick as rats in a garbage heap. The Foragers are supposed to be going on a ghoul hunt today." Rik did not envy them that.
Asea pursed her lips and steepled her fingers under her chin. "Ghouls are most common when there is a build-up of necromantic energies — there seems to be something about the presence of death magic in an area that encourages the disease."
Without being asked Rik took one of the beautifully upholstered claw footed chairs opposite her desk. "Would you care to explain that to me — I am just an ignorant slum boy from Sorrow."
"All magic releases energy, Rik. Philosophers think it leaks into our worlds from the Great Deeps. Sometimes other things release specific types of magical energy. The magical engines of the Serpent Tower, for instance. Certain violent forms of death seem to punch holes through the fabric of reality into the darker realms and let baneful energies through. It may be why ghosts appear on battlefields and the sites of murders. They are particularly common where dark magic has been used at the same time as battles or slayings."
“Why should there be such energies here?”
“After the Schism the Great Plague swept through Halim. Some considered it the curse of God for the murder of Queen Amarielle. There were so many bodies that they could not all be given individual burials or burnings. Huge plague pits were dug in the Grand Cemetery and bodies were just thrown in. There were thousands of them. Quicklime was used and alchemical fire. The pits were covered over. No one disturbs them for fear of releasing the plague again.”
“Is it likely?”
“Who can say? It’s certain that the Grand Cemetery contains a residue of death energies. That’s why it has its own tomb guards. Or at least it did.”
“What happened?”
“They were drafted into the city guard to fight against us. They are now badly under strength. That’s why your friends are doing the work now.”
Rik felt like he had found out enough on this subject.
"What are those plans you were looking at?" he asked. "Are you thinking of building some sort of domed temple."
"They are Signor Benjario's plans for a flying machine."
"A flying machine?" Thoughts of the Serpent Tower and the flying coffin in which he had escaped from it filled his mind. They were not his fondest memories. "You are not thinking of building one are you?"
"No, Rik. I am having him build one for me."
"You are not serious."
"I am, Rik. Deadly serious. We shall be paying the good engineer a visit later this afternoon. However none of this is why you are here today. We're going to continue your lessons in sorcery. After all, you did ask for them."
Rik bit back a groan. All his life he had wanted to learn the forbidden arts. He had never suspected that they 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.