The Serpent Queen Read online

  Rhupesh had been one of the more troublesome kings, after the Usurper’s Curse had awoken them all. It was said that as an infant he had been found floating in a basket of reeds by the then queen of Lybaras. The strange runes that had been carved into the stone tablets that had accompanied him in his basket had never been deciphered. The queen, who had been barren, had hastily adopted the orphaned babe. Whatever his origins, Rhupesh had taken to the life of a king as naturally as if it had been his birthright, and had warred and built with the energy of a man possessed. In death, that energy had not dimmed. He had never marched against her, as some of the others had, but he had been a vociferous and voluble opponent to her plans for Lybaras. If there was anything that Rhupesh liked more than war, it was a good argument, especially one that went on for years on end.

  But she needed him now. Argumentative as he was, he was also a mighty warrior, and a strategist second to none. All of the kings she had commanded Djubti to awaken had their own specialities – tactics, horsemanship, infiltration amongst others. They were each the master of their own chosen method of warfare, their skills honed in life and perfected in death. Rhupesh, the Tiger of the High Walls, was a cunning defender, a warrior born to conduct and resist sieges. With him awake and standing on the walls of Lybaras, no enemy would enter the city.

  Djubti finished the incantation and smashed the butt of his staff against the stones of the avenue. ‘Awaken, O King,’ he rasped. ‘Awaken, in this, thy city’s hour of war. Come forth, Mighty Tiger of the High Wall. Come forth, Deadly Viper Assassin of Asaph’s Enemies! Come forth, Adopted Child of the Asp Goddess!’ He thumped his staff again. ‘Awaken! You are called forth, O Bearded Scion of Serpent and Ox!’

  The entrance to the pyramid opened ponderously. A group of slaves, their flesh long since flensed from them by the knives of the Mortuary Cult, and their bones inscribed with the fifty-seven verses of the Immortal Rhupesh’s Ode to the Bejewelled Scales of the Goddess of Vengeance, forced the stone block aside, so that their lord might stride forth, colossus like, to unleash his light and glory upon the world.

  That Rhupesh was about the size of a dwarf did not lessen his colossus-like stride, or the majesty of his tightly curled and splayed beard – or, rather the golden facsimile of said beard, which spread out from the bottom of the golden death mask that encompassed his round skull. Thick, short bones swung in pugnacious rhythm as he left his mighty pyramid. A round shield of bronze was strapped to one arm, and he clutched a heavy mace in his other hand. He smashed the mace against his shield and croaked, ‘Rhupesh comes! Who calls for Asaph’s adopted son?’

  ‘I do,’ Khalida said, stepping forwards before Djubti could reply.

  ‘Khalida,’ Rhupesh grunted. He turned around. ‘The slumber of ages calls to me, woman. Do not bother me.’

  ‘Happily would I allow thee to slumber, diminutive one, but I require thy strong arm and stubborn heart,’ Khalida said.

  Rhupesh paused. He looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Compliments and insults in the same caw, carrion-queen. What do you require of the Ox of the Mountains?’

  ‘I require thy legions, armoured in bronze and courage, O Hound of Justice,’ Khalida said. She gestured to the gathered kings and princes. ‘I require thy artisanry, to see to the defences of the White City. I require thy wisdom, and thy steadfastness.’

  ‘War comes?’ Rhupesh said, turning around. He sounded eager. ‘Who are thy enemies? Is it those puling maggots of Mahrak, or the savages of Rasetra? Or has that mewling whelp Settra finally grown spine enough to bring thee to heel, O prodigal daughter?’ With every question, he pounded his shield-face with his mace. ‘Or greenskins, perhaps? Do the urk march on Lybaras, woman?’ he roared. Rhupesh had warred extensively with the greenskin tribes that had poured out of the Southlands in his time. It was said that he had looked forward to their war-migrations with all the eagerness of a child upon naming day. ‘Bah, do not answer! It does not matter to the Tiger of the High Wall whom he strikes with his claws. He shall strike them true, whoever they are.’

  ‘Then you will join me, Majestic Son of the Third Dynasty?’ Khalida said.

  ‘If I did not, you would surely fail,’ Rhupesh said. ‘Am I not the keystone upon which Lybaras’s might stands? Ha! War! War again, after so long in slumber.’ He stumped towards Khalida and peered up at her. ‘How are you, by the way? Regretting that edict yet, are you?’ he asked, conversationally.

  Khalida gave a rustling chuckle. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, as Rhupesh took her hand and patted it affectionately. ‘Do you regret going into the slumber of ages?’

  ‘What – you mean letting you handle the bothersome bits while I lie and dream of the mighty structures I will build when you inevitably realise the blunder you made in shouldering the responsibilities you have?’ He snorted. ‘Not a bit.’ He cocked his head and glanced at Djubti. ‘Hello, old snake. Still as sour as a pickled marsh viper, I see.’

  Djubti ignored him. ‘We have awakened fully twenty of the kings of old, my queen,’ he said. ‘I would respectfully advise that we leave the others to their dreams, unless the tide should turn against us.’

  ‘So many,’ Rhupesh said. He looked up at Khalida. ‘What comes, daughter of my daughters?’

  Khalida met his steady gaze. ‘Old enemies, father of my mothers. The oldest of enemies, and once again, Lybaras must stand between the Great Land and the horrors of cursed Lahmia.’

  Chapter 17

  Felix pulled his hood up over his head and moved slowly through the rupture in the wall, alert for any sight or sound of a sentry, living or dead. Rotting vegetation and loose stones shifted unpleasantly beneath his feet as he slid down the inner escarpment of the great wall. The sky had grown dark overhead, and the moon had risen early, and it bathed the Temple of Skulls in a silvery radiance.

  It had taken he and the others most of the day to reach the wall that marked the inner aleph of the temple. Upon doing so, they had found that it wasn’t as sturdy or as well preserved as they’d first thought. Enormous cracks marked its length, and heavy swathes of vegetation clung tenaciously to the stones. Into the smaller cracks, human skulls had been wedged in great numbers. More skulls hung from the trees, suspended by cords of vine and hair and leather. Indeed, the closer they had got to the wall, the more skulls they’d seen, until Felix began to wonder just how many untold thousands had perished within the dreadful ruin. He steadfastly avoided contemplating just who had hung up or wedged tight all of the victims’ skulls, however. He had a feeling he’d find out soon enough as it was.

  Everything was overgrown to such an extent that Felix suspected that the wall was more plant than stone. Zabbai had counselled caution, while Gotrek had been all for hacking his way through and charging into the complex, axe raised and bellowing at the top of his voice. And while Felix was forced to admit that such a tactic had, on more than one occasion, proven successful – or unsuccessful, given the Slayer’s inclinations – he’d argued against it this time, offering to scout ahead to make sure that they weren’t walking into a trap. He had no doubt that the Slayer could chop his way through an entire city of zombies, but they didn’t have the time.

  Gotrek had glowered and growled, but had at last subsided, much to Felix’s relief. Said relief had only lasted for a few moments before it was replaced by the familiar pulse of anxiety. Once again, he was willingly entering a situation that a wiser man would rightly avoid. That his life would be in danger if he didn’t do so didn‘t make the situation any more palatable. He could hear Zabbai’s warriors taking up position behind him, covering his progress with their bows. The thought didn’t comfort him as much as he’d thought it would. The dead were notoriously hard to bring down with arrows unless they were on fire, and sometimes even that was not enough.

  The incline was steep, and it was only when he was halfway down that Felix realised that it was in actuality an immense stone buttress that had been swam
ped by rubble fallen from the wall and more than a century’s worth of accumulated jungle grime. He glanced back and saw immense, frog-like faces peering down at him from the massive plaques that lined the upper reaches of the walls. He shivered and continued down, trying to ignore the feeling that the eyes of those faces were tracking his every move.

  Zabbai or one of her warriors could easily have accomplished the task, he knew. Indeed, it had been her plan in the first place. And on the face of it, that would have been the wiser course – what did the dead have to fear, after all? But he’d shied away from such pragmatism. In the days since they’d left Lybaras, he’d got to know Zabbai and Antar well, or as well as a living man could know the dead at any rate, and had seen them endure dangers on his behalf often enough. Now it was his turn.

  Rocks clattered down past him as he reached the bottom. He paused, and turned slightly, to peer up over his shoulder. His palm was sweaty where it pressed to Karaghul’s hilt and his fingers twitched, ready to draw the sword at a moment’s notice. He squinted, trying to pick out any movement in the moonlight. He suddenly wished there was a way he could signal the others without moving.

  He turned back and examined the scattered ruins that waited for him below. There was more to the Temple of Skulls than simply walls and ziggurats, it seemed. There were signs of industry everywhere: old buildings repurposed and repaired, and manifold piles of newly felled timber or haphazardly heaped stones.

  Between the ziggurats, which towered over everything else, he could see what might have been the masts of ships, still draped with tattered sails. It wasn’t inconceivable that the basin had its own natural harbour, somewhere on the other side of the ziggurats. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He recalled the creaking wrecks harboured at the Mangrove Port and what had lurked within them. Could these be more of the same? And if so, why hadn’t they left with the army that had passed them in the early morning hours? Why march overland if you had boats?

  Unless… He closed his eyes and fought to control the sudden hammering of his heart. Was the army they faced really that large? It seemed impossible. Then, what need had the dead of supply lines or logistics? If any army other than the brawling hordes of the greenskins could achieve such a size, it would be an army of the risen dead.

  More rocks slid down. He saw nothing, but he knew something was moving above him. He could feel eyes on him. He stared at the incline, trying to spot whatever it was. There was a flash of darkness in the moonlight, a low, slithering shape that skidded out of his line of sight as quickly as it had entered. Felix whipped around, trying to follow it.

  It bounded towards him from an angle, moving swiftly and smoothly on all fours despite the loose rubble, its eyes blazing as brightly as the moon that watched it all unfold above. With a screech, it flung itself on him.

  Claws raked through his sleeve as he pivoted and drew Karaghul. His blade struck bone and skidded away, and his attacker rolled with the blow. It sprang to its paws, tail lashing. It was a leopard, he saw, dead and rotting, but no less fierce for all that; he could, quite literally, count its ribs. It sprang for him again, jaws wide. Felix thrust Karaghul at it, point first, and caught it between its open fangs. His sword slid down its throat, cracking bone and slicing through putrefied meat.

  The leopard fell, yanking his sword from his grip as it did so, and it made a sound like it was choking. It squirmed on the ground, pawing at the blade that jutted from its throat. Felix drew his dagger and leapt on it, avoiding its claws as best he could. Quickly, he slashed where he hoped its tendons were, rendering its limbs useless. It continued to struggle regardless, writhing beneath him like an enormous serpent. Felix sheathed his knife, clambered off it, set his foot on its throat, and ripped Karaghul free. Then, before it could do more than snap at him, he took off its head with one blow.

  Breathing heavily, Felix leaned forwards. His gasps caught in his throat, as some instinct made him spin about, Karaghul slashing up. A second leopard tumbled to the ground, just short of him, an axe buried in its spine. It twitched and snapped its jaws, but it had been rendered helpless. Felix positioned the tip of his blade over the centre of its skull and then leaned on it, splitting its skull, and sending it on to whatever afterlife awaited such tormented creatures.

  ‘Good fight, manling,’ Gotrek said, stomping down to join him. He tore his axe free of the twice-dead leopard and shook the rot off it. ‘There might be hope for you yet.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Felix said. He looked around and signalled for Zabbai and the others to follow them down. ‘How much further can you go?’ he asked the former, as she reached them. ‘All the way to the foot of the ziggurats,’ she said. ‘We are not as fragile as all that. The ancient spells have shrunk in the intervening millennia.’

  ‘Don’t worry, crow-bait. Gotrek will get your queen’s toy for her,’ Gotrek rumbled cheerily. He ran his thumb along the blade of his axe and stuffed the bloody digit in his mouth. Sucking on it, he mumbled, ‘Let’s get moving. The manling only has a few days left and he’s slower than a goatherd with two false legs and the krutz.’

  ‘Thank you, Gotrek. I appreciate your concern,’ Felix said. The Slayer sniffed, snorted and spat something onto the head of one of the leopards that glistened unpleasantly. Taking that as an acknowledgement of his gratitude, Felix followed the Slayer as he began to stump towards the ziggurats.

  Gotrek led the group through side plazas and narrow avenues. The innate spatial awareness all dwarfs, but especially Gotrek, seemed to possess never failed to impress Felix. Gotrek had, to all appearances, mapped the temple complex during his descent from the inner wall and now he swiftly led them along the quickest route to the centre. As they moved, Felix saw that Gotrek’s assertion had been correct – every processional avenue and causeway in the ruin led in a roundabout fashion to an immense central plaza. The inner ring of the temple was as overgrown as the outer barrios, though the ruin was broken up by culverts and canals of stone and tarnished gold that bisected the streets, allowing the stagnant, dark water that pulled through algae-choked stone irrigation runnels from the river to burble nastily throughout the temple complex.

  Here and there, Felix saw signs of habitation of sorts. Not just the piled materials, but places where the ruined outbuildings had been converted to hovels and crude halls. These had mostly fallen into disrepair, and he felt slightly ill as he considered what must have happened to their former inhabitants. That they hadn’t seen them didn’t mean that they weren’t still around in some fashion that didn’t bear thinking about.

  Occasionally, as if to prove the truth of his suspicions, he would catch glimpses between the buildings of the shuffling shapes of dead men or the awkwardly loping corpses of animals. They were moving slowly back the way that he and the others had come, and Felix wondered if they were belatedly responding to the alarm raised by the other zombies they had encountered.

  The air was heavy with the constant rumble of drums. The sound was so prevalent that Felix had, at first, mistaken it for the sound of thunder, before they had drawn close enough to the source to discern the individual drum beats. The drumming grated on him, seeping into his head, like the whine of some unseen, but ever-present mosquito. And given the prevalence of actual mosquitoes, it was annoying indeed. Felix slapped at his neck, catching one of the latter. He examined the twitching corpse. Then he cursed as the squashed insect twitched, struggled upright and wobbled into the air.

  ‘The drums,’ Zabbai said.

  ‘What?’

  Zabbai tapped her head. ‘The drums are a spell, waking and calling all of the dead in these lands.’ She noticed the nervous look that flickered over Felix’s face and added, ‘All save us, Felix. The spells which bind us to the dust of our creation are far stronger than that needed to draw in these wretched remains.’

  ‘Quiet,’ Gotrek said. The Slayer had sunk into a crouch beside a wall that had half sunk into the ground, as if
the street beneath it had collapsed. The others crept towards him. The Slayer was staring out through a crack in the wall. He moved aside at the touch of Felix’s hand on his shoulder. Felix took his place and immediately cursed.

  ‘Zombies,’ he muttered. ‘Thousands of them.’ He stared through the crack in the wall at the corpse-choked plaza beyond. It looked to him as if every zombie left in the immediate area had shown up for some indefinable purpose and now stood between them and the ziggurats beyond, which made a certain amount of grim sense, given that it was the central plaza of the ruin and the largest they’d yet seen. The dead stood in a tightly packed mob, occupying every square of space in the plaza. Some swayed softly, as if listening to a song only they could hear, while others were as rigid as stone. But all of them had their heads turned towards the largest of the ziggurats that occupied the outer edge of the plaza.

  It was the ziggurat they’d seen earlier, towering over the others. Its uppermost level was shaped like a titanic skull made from crude slabs of stone, with steps running down below it on all sides. The ziggurat was like some grisly wheel hub from which the spokes of the city spread outwards. It rose up over the others and its shadow engulfed the dead. From the crown of the skull, the sound of drums throbbed out across the plaza.

  All in all, it was an eerie sight, and one he hoped not to have to experience for longer than necessary. He turned around, sank to his haunches and looked at the others. ‘I didn’t think that there could be that many dead men in one place.’

  ‘Not just men, manling,’ Gotrek muttered, his good eye pressed to the crack. ‘Women too, and beasts and other things. It looks like whoever is in charge woke up every dead thing between here and Cathay.’