Sardec glanced back at the Foragers. They were a sadly depleted force. Perhaps thirty of the original company he had led into Achenar were present. The rest were either dead or recovering from their wounds. There were plenty of new faces, recruits posted from other companies to fill the roster. He hoped they had the skills of the men they were replacing. They were supposed to, but you never knew.
“My father fought in the sea battle at Ssaharoc. He said it was dreadful. The great towers guarding the harbour emitted beams of green light and our fleet just burned or exploded. Do you think Ilmarec has learned the secret of that light?”
“That seems as good a guess as any.”
“My father always said that if the Serpent Men could make the weapons on their Towers mobile, they could conquer the world.”
“Perhaps they can. Perhaps they simply have no desire for conquest. They are a strange people: alien and incomprehensible and I think to our mind very slothful. Perhaps they prefer inertia.”
“Then we had best hope that no one else learns their secrets.”
“All the Elder Races had mighty weapons, Lieutenant. They used them in their wars. That is why so much of the eastern half of this continent is devastated.”
A thought occurred to Sardec. “With such weapons we could have defeated the Princes of Shadow.”
“Perhaps, for a time.”
“You do not sound hopeful.”
“I think perhaps we could have defeated their armies, but the Princes themselves would have just done what they always did, and retreated into hiding until they had mastered the secrets themselves, and then they would have returned stronger than ever.”
“You do not think we will ever reclaim the Homeworld then?”
“It is a dream. Only a dream.” Sardec could not help but think that if they reclaimed Al’Terra, he might be able to regain his hand. He smiled sadly. It was a stupid petty reason to want to conquer a world, but he supposed such things had happened for lesser reasons.
The road passed over a ridge and suddenly, stunningly, Morven lay before them. Sardec barely noticed the walled townships on the islands in the river, or the sprawl of houses around the base of the great cliffs that rose above the river. He hardly saw the vast ruins that covered the land on one side of the tributary. What he noticed was the great stone spur rising above the town and the structure that perched atop it. Of course, he had seen the spire from a distance but the hills had blocked out the full view on their approach. This was the first time he had seen it in its entirety.
The tower was an immense structure, tall and thin, jutting a thousand feet into the air, tapering to a needle-sharp point at the tip. It glittered in the summer sun, reflecting the light greenly, for it appeared to have been carved entirely out of one titanic emerald. The sides were sleek and shiny. Here and there he could see small balconies and windows. Strange runes had been inscribed on its sides; they were of a lighter green and seemed to glow with inner light. Towards the tip were panels of the stuff, like vast stained glass windows.
The Tower was taller than any Terrarch structure he had ever seen, and gave off an aura of immeasurable age and strength. He knew those walls could resist dragonfire and sorcery; they could not be chipped with blades of truesilver. Seeing it for the first time he was brought face to face with the concept that there once had been mightier powers in this world than ever his own people had been. The sorcery that had created the Serpent Tower had been of an order greater than any his folk ever had access to, on this sorry world at least.
“It is beautiful, is it not?” said Asea.
“Aye, Lady. Lovely.”
“Strong beyond measure too.”
“Any fortress can be taken, Lady.”
“So Lord Azaar says but no one has taken the Tower since Ilmarec made it his own five centuries ago.”
“Who had it before him?”
“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.”