“What have you found?” Severin asked. Haughty contempt was evident in every word. Weasel gestured towards the column where it lay in the waters. Rik guessed the scum on its side made it invisible from no great distance. Severin's shining mask reflected the murky water.
“Ultari obelisk,” he said. A thoughtful smile spread across his face. He looked more like a dreamy scholar than a Terrarch officer. “A small one.”
“Ultari, sir?” said Leon.
“One of the Elder Races. The Book of Iskarus claims they were all but exterminated by the Serpent Men in the Dark Millennia and that only decadent remnants survived into this age of the world. Those were wiped out during the Conquest along with the humans foolish enough to worship them. They used humans as food, you know.” The wizard glanced up at them, and then seemed to realise who he had been talking to and clamped his mouth firmly shut. He turned on his heel and gestured for them to move on. The guide paused for a minute, made some sort of obeisance before the column and moved on.
“See that?” said Leon as they moved on. “Looks like the hill-man worships the Old Gods.”
Rik thought it not unlikely. The Terrarch faith had never really taken root up here from what he had heard. Many still followed the old ways. He wondered at the way the mage had spoken. There was so much the Terrarchs kept to themselves. Of course, that was just one of the ways they preserved their power. He felt put down though, as if the wizard had been deliberately showing off the knowledge he had, and they did not.
Ahead of him now he could see the entrance to the mine. It yawned, dark as the mouth of hell in the cold mountainside. Lieutenant Sardec waited there impatiently with the rest of the troops; as ever his gaze seemed fixed on Rik.
Chapter Six
Rik looked through the archway. The tunnel led down into darkness. A strange fusty smell came from it, a mingling of rotten wood, dampness and something else. There were signs that someone had been here recently. He did not need to be able to track as well as Weasel to see that. The prints were there for everyone to see. Almost new wooden props held up the ceiling. Wooden buckets were stacked near the entrance. Here and there lay the hafts of old pickaxes. The heads had been too valuable to leave.
“This looks new,” said Sergeant Hef. He came from Agaline, to the west of the Realm, rough hill country famous for its mines. He had dug coal before he had gone for a soldier. Claimed he was grateful for the Queen’s crown every day it kept him above ground. Rik suspected he was not joking either.
“Somebody went down there,” said Weasel.
“Why?” said Sardec. “What’s down there?”
His eye was fixed on the hill-man. The guide shrugged. “The wizard ordered it dug. It’s haunted.”
There was real fear written on his face, and audible in his voice. “By what?” Sardec asked.
“Ghosts?” suggested Weasel.
“By something. Something that killed miners in the dark. Some said it was a demon. That’s why we started using slaves.”
“And yet this wizard and his friend the Prophet came here. Recently, by the looks of it.”
“Sounds about the right place for them, sir,” said Weasel. “Maybe they came to bind the demons.”
“I suggest you leave the magic to Master Severin.”
“Gladly, sir.”
Sardec smiled sourly. “Do you have any ideas, Master Severin?”
The wizard cocked his head to one side. “There is something very odd here. Spells have been cast deep within this mine. Magic of a type I am not familiar with. And there’s something else at work here, something very subtle. It made my spell go awry last night.”
Sardec’s cold smile widened, as if he thought the wizard was making excuses. “Vosh, anything to add?”
“The wizard, the dark wizard, ordered the mine dug here. Our people would not have done it, but they were afraid of him and what he might do. He kept them digging, down into the dark. They opened up old ways. Then he just ordered them to stop. It seemed like he had found what he was looking for. The prisoners were sent down and never came back up. No one ever saw them again. After that the wizard spent many a day down there. Sometimes the Prophet went with him.”
Rik listened carefully. He thought he heard strange groaning sounds deep within the mine. He was not the only one. Sardec looked up.
“It’s just the earth settling and props creaking,” Sergeant Hef said. “Nothing to worry about. Not much.”
Sardec looked troubled, Rik thought. His eyes were fixed on the mine and the low ceiling once more. Rik just knew he was thinking about sending the whole bunch of them down into the dark. He seemed to read Rik’s mind. He looked back at them and swiftly chose ten of them to accompany him. Sergeant Hef was to remain on the surface and stop anybody getting away that might slip by them.
“Sir,” said Leon who was one of the chosen ten. He looked extraordinarily young and nervous. “There is a wizard down there. And maybe a demon too.”
“You can trust in my magic,” said Master Severin.
Sardec unsheathed his truesilver blade. “And if that does not work, this will kill anything — wizard, demon or man,” he said.
“Too bad we don’t all have them then,” muttered Weasel so low that only Rik and the Barbarian could hear. Rik checked the elder signs hanging around his neck. He saw others doing the same; not all of them were men who had been chosen to go below.
The light of Sardec’s lantern pierced the gloom. The Lieutenant slouched low, too tall for corridors that had been built for shorter men. His blade glittered eerily in the light. His eyes were feverishly bright.
Look at him, thought Rik. He’s found a chance at glory, and he’s about to grab it with both hands, even if he has to get all of us killed to do it. Vosh was beside Sardec, looking very unhappy.
Master Severin produced a crystal from his pouch and muttered a spell. The runes along its sides flared brilliantly and then settled down to produce a steady even glow. The wizard took the crystal and placed it in a socket on a specially prepared wand. He walked forward softly. There was an aura of great weariness about him which did not reassure Rik at all. If tired men made mistakes, how much worse mistakes could be made by a tired Terrarch wizard?
Weasel was at the front, reluctantly studying the tracks for clues. The Barbarian was beside him, a pistol in one hand, his massive knife in the other. He moved warily, perfectly poised and controlled, and if Rik had not known of his terror of the supernatural and his fear of enclosed spaces, he would never have suspected them. The Barbarian was not too bright, but he was brave as a dragon.
Behind the leaders were Pigeon, and Leon, and then Rik himself, followed by the rest of the squad strung out in a straggling line. Every second man held a lit torch. The others held ready weapons. Behind Rik came Gunther, lanky Boot, Toadface, limping Hopper and Handsome Jan. Rik wished Gunther were not right behind him. The low monotone of the man’s constant prayers was getting on his nerves.
He had to admit that if ever there was a place that warranted prayer, this was it. The props overhead looked as if they had been recently placed by men who had not known a great deal about what they were doing, at least according to Hopper who, like the Sergeant, had been a miner in his time. Rik felt cramped by the low ceilings. He did not like the strange glyphs carved into the walls at odd intervals. They made his eyes hurt when he tried to follow their intricate web-like patterns. There was no surer sign that sorcery was at work.
He grasped his pistol tighter in one hand, and his bayonet in the other. There was no room to swing a rifle down here. Any fighting would be up close and personal. It was odd how hot it was when it was so cold outside. Already his shirt was clammy with sweat, and some of the men had loosened their tunics. He could see beads of sweat on Weasel’s bald pate. The poacher licked his lips, and Rik realised that his mouth must be dry too. There was dust in the air, he thought and something else. He was not sure what.