A moment later they came to the top of a hill, one of the fabled Seven Hills of Arnor (there were, in fact, only five hills, but the number seven has such a mystical power in the minds of men that two more completely fictitious hills had been invented somewhere along the line and the number had stuck), and the telepathic conversation came to a stop as they saw the city stretching all the way to the horizon around them.
Seen from this perspective, the hideous changes the Shadowarmies had made to the city were barely noticeable and the young rak, who had more of the tourist in him than he would ever have admitted, stared in awe to see how much of the city’s original majesty and splendour still remained. Ignoring the buildings close by and looking only at the regions and districts close to the horizon, the bones, the shades and the ugly, sickening ‘decorations’ were far too small to be visible, and only the original architecture and layout of the city could be seen, getting smaller with distance until they were hidden by a haze that not even Malefactos’s rak vision could penetrate. Off to his right, the river Icea, over two miles wide at this point, snaked from north to south, its vast width reduced to a narrow, silvery ribbon by perspective, and Malefactos was able to see three of the fabled gossamer bridges that crossed it. Graceful and beautiful, their impossible architecture made possible only by strengthening spells cast by the immortal wizards.
Beyond the river were three more of the hills on which the city had been built. Wide and low, the third behind the first two and so far away that it was only a ghost in the haze. Each one of those hills, Malefactos knew, covered an area as great as most ordinary cities, but here they were dwarfed by the sheer vastness of Arnor, a city that had spread out across the plains surrounding the five hills until it was larger than some countries.
“I knew it was big,” the young rak said to himself, unaware that he was telepathing out loud. “I knew exactly how big it was, I could tell you exactly how many square miles it covers, but to actually see it...”
“No doubt it doth appear impressive to thee,” replied Algol matter of factly, “but tis a mere anthill compared to some cities I have seen and helped to conquer on other worlds.”
“What it must have been to have lived in those days,” continued Malefactos, ignoring the older rak. “No wonder they were never afraid of being conquered.”
“Much good it did them,” said Algol, “but much good it did us. Had their greatness not been so high, their fall would not have been so great, and there would have been insufficient suffering to allow the Shadowlord a point of entry.” The older rak then turned to look in another direction, off to the north. “There lies our destination,” he said. “Behold.”
The younger rak looked and saw the fifth hill. The largest and highest of the five hills and the one on which, two thousand years before, the fort of Ah-Noor had been built to defend the trading post and auction market that had stood on the banks of the river below. A few short years later the fort had grown into a small town, and a few hundred years after that it had become the heart of the largest human city the world had ever known, the capital of an Empire that spanned the known world. Now it was the heart of a different empire, one that might soon expand to cover the whole world, for ever.
Right on top of the hill, looking impressively large even from this distance, was a single huge building surrounded by a large open area that, he knew, had once been parks and gardens covering the entire two and a half square miles of the plateau. Had Malefactos been alive (a live human rather than a live maggot, that is), he would have gasped in awe at the sight of the Imperial Palace; the seat of power of the Agglemonian Empire. The residence of over a hundred Emperors and the place from which virtually the entire human race had been governed for over a thousand years.
It was virtually a city in itself. In the centre was the domed audience chamber that had once shone like gold in the light of the two suns and that could have comfortably contained an entire modern day fortress. It was surrounded by eight wings radiating outwards like the points of a star. Each wing consisted of a number of quadrangles, each the size of a noble family’s mansion, with halls and outbuildings added at various points making the entire structure, when seen from above, look like an intricate eight sided snowflake.
Few people dared to guess how many thousands of people it had once housed. How many servants, cleaners, cooks, gardeners, decorators, liverymen and maintenance men, all working around the clock to keep every corner of the palace in perfect condition. Tailors, cobblers, hairdressers, beauticians, priests, wizards and others had had enough work in the palace alone that they'd never needed to seek employment in the city beyond. The members of the Imperial family alone must have numbered in the hundreds, except in the last few decades before the fall when Emperors had changed like the seasons and it had been common for them to massacre most of their families in case they became rivals. Then there had been the courtiers, advisors, functionaries and ambassadors from the provinces. There had been concubines of both sexes for all of the above and, of course, a fully equipped military garrison. The list was literally endless.
And, of course, that was only the people who'd lived permanently in the palace, but they had almost always been outnumbered by the visitors who'd arrived from every corner of the Empire and stayed for anything from a few days to many years. Who knew how many bedchambers the palace had, let alone bathrooms, kitchens, libraries, sitting rooms, rooms for recreation and entertainment? How many miles of corridor did it contain? Legend said that the palace had contained eight theatres, each with its own fully equipped and fully employed theatrical company, and Malefactos believed it. There was no doubt that, had the palace somehow been transported hundreds of miles into the middle of the countryside, it would have been marked on maps as a city.
“Of course,” he said to himself. “The Imperial Palace. Where else would the Shadowlord’s deputy make his headquarters?”
He continued to stare, wishing he could have seen it in its days of glory, when the thin film of gold that had covered the central dome had gleamed in the light of the yellow sun. That gold had been stripped away by its last defenders during the fall, of course, leaving the bare stone exposed to the wind and the rain, but that didn't explain what he was seeing now. The dome should still have been bright to his rak vision, but instead it was a dirty grey, and there was a certain graininess about it, visible even from this distance, as if it had been covered by a vast number of small, dirty grey objects. More bones, the young rak realised. They’ve covered the whole dome with bones.
“Aye, and more than that,” said Algol, still reading his mind. “The dome is now composed entirely of bones. The original dome, which had largely collapsed anyway, was removed and replaced by a framework of ribs, That was my predecessor’s idea, and a good idea it was as even I must confess, but now that I have taken over I have had an even better idea, one that shall surely please the Shadowlord. The bone dome shall be torn down and replaced by a giant skull composed entirely of human bones. A horned ram's skull, the symbol of the Shadowlord. It shall be done on the day of our final victory over the living, and shall symbolise the Shadowlord’s dominion over this world.”
“It will be awe inspiring!” said Malefactos, sounding suitably impressed. “This world will be the jewel of the Shadowlord’s empire and frequently visited by him.”
“That is my dream, my vision,” said Algol, a dreamy, slightly mad expression coming over his face. “The Bone Prince shall reward me with power beyond imagination, maybe even promote me to his personal retinue in the Pit, and from there...”
He suddenly realised that maybe he was saying too much and fell silent, subjecting the younger rak to another intense mental scrutiny to see if he’d let slip something he shouldn’t. Once again, though, Malefactos’s mental mask held firm and Algol relaxed, considerably relieved.
“We must go, the Circle is waiting for us,” he said, and began walking down the hill towards the palace.
It took hours to cross the five miles to the top of the hill on which the palace stood, giving the younger rak yet another sense of the sheer size of the city. Algol could have simply teleported back to the palace, but instead he detoured down to one of the city’s cultural centres and took Malefactos past dozens of reconstructed museums, theatres, opera houses and art galleries, all rebuilt in the Shadowarmy’s hideous style, probably trying to impress the younger rak and overwhelm him with the magnitude of their achievements. Despite himself, Malefactos was impressed, and he gave silent thanks for the fact that he’d made plans to leave this world forever. His spying mission had proved more successful than he’d dreamed possible and he’d learned enough to terrify not only Tragius but himself as well.
Eventually, though, they reached the upper slopes of the hill and passed through the wide golden gates in the wall that surrounded the Imperial gardens. Beyond, a long, straight road ran the thousand yards to the palace itself. The Imperial Way, wide enough for ceremonial troops to march ten abreast with war wagons and draft beasts outfitted in silver and gold, on their way to the parade ground in front of the palace itself. Algol strolled sedately along the centre of the road, past the dry, crumbling corpses of trees and tangled undergrowth that had grown after the fall but before the coming of the Shadow. He walked past the newly resurfaced parade ground and alongside the palace's western wing, which included the balcony at which the Emperor himself had appeared on his birthday and other special occasions to the cheering of the crowds gathered below.
Finally, there ahead of them was the legendary West Gate, the largest and once the most magnificent of the palace’s entrances. Located between the palace’s western and south western wings and opening directly into the central dome, it was the entrance used on all state occasions. The entrance used by visiting dignitaries from far flung corners of the Empire (to be told to use any other of the palace’s dozens of entrances had been the worst insult possible) and the entrance used by the Emperor himself whenever he'd gone on one of his frequent state visits to the provinces.
Even now, three hundred years after the fall, it was still the most famous entrance in the world and wooden replicas of it were among the most frequently used props and backdrops of theatres all across the continent. Legend had it that no-one, not the greatest hero, the most important dignitary, the most stoic philosopher or the most pious holy man, could approach the West Gate without feeling a tingle of awe and apprehension in the pits of their stomachs and Malefactos, who’d thought he was now above such things, found that he was no exception as they entered the wedge shaped area between the palace’s wings and saw it three hundred yards ahead of them.
The base of the bone dome was supported by a fifty foot circular wall, and the thirty five foot gap between the inner extremities of the two wings was entirely filled by the imposing bulk of the West Gates themselves. Massive doors of gold plated ironwood that had originally been decorated with delicate traceries of platinum and silver depicting scenes of Imperial splendour as well as several figures personifying all the virtues that a good Emperor had to possess. Inside these figures had been spread a map of the whole continent of Amafryka plus the island continent of Garon, with the stylised head of a longhorn bison, the symbol of the Agglemonian Empire, superimposed over it.
Dotted around these two main central images had been many smaller images and scenes representing all the peoples, races and cultures that had been a part of the Empire, including a pair of yellow skinned, black haired, oriental eyed Fu Nangians, despite the fact that Fu Nang was the one human nation that had never been part of the Empire. At the time at which the doors had been made, it had been assumed that it could only be a matter of time before they sued for entry to the Empire since, they thought, no sane person could possibly not want to be part of it, but they had successfully resisted all attempts at bribery, all offers of alliance and even two full blown invasion attempts by particularly impatient Emperors before finally being proved right when the Empire fell. Even today, the Fu Nangians still congratulate themselves about it and hold the rest of the human race in contempt.
Now, though, all this legendary, historical artwork had been rudely stripped away and replaced by a far simpler design; a horned ram’s skull spread across the two doors made entirely from human teeth like some gruesome mosaic. Its dark, evil looking eye sockets stared at the two raks as they approached, and Malefactos looked away, repulsed by its baleful gaze. He found himself looking at the west wing off to his left, its once beautiful sandstone architecture with its sleek lines and clean angles now carved into hideous gargoyles and strange, alien patterns and designs that reminded the young rak of the patterns of nerves and blood vessels in human soft tissues. A riddle that had been puzzling him was answered, however, when he saw rows and rows of human skulls along the sills and eaves. The skulls that had been absent elsewhere in the city.
The West Gate opened as they approached and they entered the palace, finding it the same inside as it was on the outside. More skulls and more hideous architecture. The west passage, running between the West Gate and the audience chamber, was itself the size of a cathedral and the young rak had to keep reminding himself that it was only a corridor, an entrance passage. Not a place in itself but only a means of getting to other places. Smaller, more normal sized corridors ran off on either side leading to other parts of the palace, and here and there were alcoves in the walls where the staunters, the elaborately uniformed ceremonial guard, had once stood, ready to defend the Emperor with their lives. Those alcoves were empty now except for the shades of the staunters, screaming endlessly and hopelessly as the rak walked past.
At the end of the west passage was another pair of doors, once even more beautiful and magnificent than the West Gate but now transformed in a similarly awful way. These doors also swung open as they approached, revealing a vast open space beyond. A circular area hundreds of feet across with a dusty, bonestrewn floor and a high domed ceiling composed entirely of human ribs through which the soap bubble colours of the Shadow could be seen, endlessly shifting and swirling. They were in the audience chamber itself.
The throne itself was at the other side of the room, close to the wall and the doorway leading into the Emperor's private chambers. It was surrounded by the screaming shades of staunters, courtiers, functionaries, supplicants and ambassadors, all of whom seemed to be walking on their ankles. Malefactos realised that the rubble and detritus which was all that remained of the room’s original domed ceiling had raised the floor level by several inches, hiding the shades’ feet as they walked on the room’s original tiled floor.
The jeweled throne was occupied by the shade of the Emperor himself, and as they got closer the young rak saw that it wasn’t just any one Emperor but all of them. Every man, woman and child who’d ever sat on the throne, all superimposed on each other to form a single composite image. The Sum of all Emperors. The very essence of Emperorship itself made visible in the form of a strikingly imposing, authoritarian figure whose features and ceremonial clothing shifted and changed as one Emperor after another came to the fore, only to disappear a moment later in the sea of his fellows. His handsome, charismatic face was hideously distorted into a scream of terror and utter despair as if he were a true ghost, aware of his surroundings and aware of what had happened to his once glorious Empire.
Algol walked up the stairs to the wide platform on which the throne stood and sat down on it, immersing himself within the shade of all Emperors whose mouth opened into an even wider scream as he did so, as if the rak was causing it physical pain. He clapped his hands and another small door opened admitting half a dozen other raks who approached the throne and bowed down before it.
“Not all the Circle is here, of course,” explained Algol as he removed the younger rak’s maggot form from his pocket. “Most of them are out, leading my armies in the war against the life of this world, but some do have to remain here at all times to maintain the portal and seek ways to enlarge it. I did send word ahead for them to stand ready, so that I could introduce thee to them.”
He held the maggot out in the palm of his hand and spoke to the assembled raks. “My loyal followers, I do present our newest recruit. Malefactos the Great of Lexandria University!”
Then Algol began laughing and the other raks joined in, their harsh rasping, clacking and rattling laughter rising through the flimsy, fragile bone dome until it was heard over much of the hideously reborn city.