by William King
“You think he’ll protect you?”
“Son, you have no idea.”
“I know more than you about Xanadar.”
“Maybe so, but I am betting that when we get clear of those ruins the Guardian will still be standing, and so will I.”
“I wish I shared your confidence,” Anders said.
“If you don’t, why are you here?”
Anders grinned. “There’s not just monsters and magic in that hellish old place. There’s gold too. I made the biggest score of my life there.”
The soldiers grinned back. This was more like the sort of thing they wanted to hear. Anders told them all about it, and they listened like thirsty men pressing their noses to the window of a tavern.
Kormak walked beside Rhiana and Zamara through the packed earth streets. He was enjoying the relative cool. The evening was merely as hot as a summer day back home. Biting insects buzzed through the air around them. The Admiral slapped one that landed on the back of his hand. It burst in a faint spurt of blood.
The wooden buildings had a squat, rugged, look. The people were garbed in leather jerkins and carried weapons. Here at the edge of the forest, they obviously feared some danger.
The majority of the people looked like Siderean colonists. There were some local serfs. Most of those would be out in blockhouses supervised by overseers. Only a few were allowed inside the village. This was not a land where the colonists trusted the natives.
“You are being very quiet, Sir Kormak,” Zamara said. “Are you searching the shadows for monsters?”
He tried to make it sound as if it was a joke, but quite clearly he was nervous. He kept moving towards the large central building that looked like the inn.
“I’m just thinking that we have a long way to go through the jungle and were going to be on our own,” Kormak said.
“I was hoping to put off thinking about that until tomorrow,” Zamara said. “It’s good that I have you here to remind me of my responsibilities.”
People stared at them as they walked. They did not look like traders, and they did not look like garrison soldiers. Zamara’s elaborate uniform made him stand out, and the fact that Kormak’s sword was scabbarded across his shoulders marked him as someone very far from ordinary. Rhiana attracted most attention, but then her combination of striking beauty and alien appearance did that everywhere they went.
They entered the tavern. Sawdust covered the floor. Stuffed animal heads stared down from the walls. Zamara stomped over to the long wooden bar that dominated one side of the room and confronted the innkeeper. “We’d like rooms for the night,” he said.
“You can pay, of course,” the innkeeper said. He was a squat man with a balding head. He did not stop polishing the tankard he held in his hand the whole time he spoke.
“Yes,” Zamara said. The innkeeper looked at him twice. There was something in Zamara’s tone that told he was not a man to be treated with such indifference.
“Haven’t seen a uniform like that before,” the innkeeper said.
“I am the Captain General of this year’s treasure fleet,” Zamara said.
The innkeeper’s eyebrows rose. “You’re a long way from the sea then,” he said. “And you don’t have many men with you if you propose to carry some treasure down from the hills.”
“I’m on a mission for the King-Emperor,” Zamara said. “It is taking me up to Helgard.”
The innkeeper looked even more curious, but Zamara was not inclined to tell them anything more. “You have rooms, don’t you?”
“Show us the colour of your silver,” the innkeeper said. “Captain General of the treasure fleet or not, I still need to pay my bills, same as everybody else.”
Zamara tossed a handful of silver on the countertop. The innkeeper nodded and fished a couple of keys from behind the counter. “You’ll only be wanting two rooms I’m guessing,” he said. He looked at Rhiana and added, “and a double bed in one. You want something to eat before you retire?”
“That stew smells good,” said Kormak. He took a seat at the nearest table. Rhiana and Zamara joined him.
“I’ll get you some then.” He disappeared into the kitchen for a few moments before returning. While he was setting carved wooden bowls on the table, a serving boy raced out of the door.
“Forgot some ingredients have you?” Rhiana asked.
“I just sent him to tell the Prefect that we’ve got an Admiral here. He’ll be wanting to greet such an important visitor.”
Kormak could not decide whether he was being sarcastic or not.
A squat, muscular man thrust his way through the doors of the tavern. His lower jaw jutted out as if he intended to sandpaper the door with his stubble. He was garbed in much the same way as the rest of the villagers, but he had a much more impressive hat, broad-brimmed with a feather set in it. A gold elder sign on a gold chain dangled from his chest. Two brawny men flanked him. Each carried a club.
“I hear there’s a man in here claiming to be the Captain General of the treasure fleet,” he said. His lips twisted into something between a smile and a sneer.
“I am the commander of this year’s treasure fleet,” Zamara said. He rose from the bench and put down his wine cup and glanced at the newcomers.
“And I’m the Prefect of Westerby,” the man said. “This elder sign is the seal of my office. Let’s see yours.”
“I take it the fact that I have a company of troops outside is not convincing enough,” Zamara said.
“Anybody can hire mercenaries,” the Prefect said.
“You not very trusting are you?” Zamara said.
“I’ve never heard of the Captain General of the treasure fleet travelling with a barbarian hillman and a child of the Old Ones before,” the Prefect said. “You have any proof you are you claim to be or should I send you down to Governor Aurin?”
“And how precisely do you intend to do that?” Zamara asked. “I have a company of troops outside.”
“Outside is the operative word,” the Prefect said. “I only see three of you in here.”
Zamara let out a long sigh.
“Allow me,” Kormak said. He reached inside his tunic and found the seal ring from the King and the warrant that Aemon had signed for him. “You can read, can you?”
“As well as I need to,” the Prefect said. “Probably better than an Aquilean hillman.”
“You’re the one who sent the pigeon to the Governor last night then,” Kormak said.
The Prefect looked at him. “And what would you know about that?”
“You made a report about Count Balthazar and his companions riding through.”
The Prefect relaxed a little and sat down at one of the benches. He gestured to the innkeeper to bring wine. “And how would you know about what the messages I sent to the governor were about?”
“The Governor gave me a transcript,” Kormak said.
“And how would you be able to get a transcript from the Governor?”
“How do you know I’m a hillman?” Kormak countered.
“I spent six months in the Aquilean Highlands when I was a lad. Fighting as a mercenary. Nasty place.”
“And now you’re the Prefect of Westerby?”
“Funny how life turns out, isn’t it? Let’s see those.”
Kormak handed him the warrant. The Prefect unfolded and looked at it and traced the words with one finger. His lips moved as he read but he quite clearly understood what was said. His finger reached the bottom of the page he let out a long low whistle.
“Interesting,” he said.
“How so?” Zamara asked.
“You claim to be the Captain General but he’s the one showing me the warrant,” the Prefect said.
“I’m providing him with an escort.”
“The master of the treasure fleet is escorting a Guardian of the Dawn. Yes, I know what a sword carried on a man’s back means. There must be a story here.”
“You saw Count Balthazar?” Kormak asked
.
“He rode through, bought some supplies. Said he was heading into the jungle again. He’s done that before. Apparently, I should have stopped him. Unfortunately, that message did not come until after he’d left.”
“You sure?” Kormak asked. The two brawny men beside the Prefect flexed their muscles and stared at Kormak hard. He kept his eyes fixed on the Prefect. If they were going to attack him, the Prefect would need to give a sign first.
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because the Count left Maial after the Masque of Death and the Governor sent messages just after.”
“Maybe so,” the Prefect said. “Only got the message after he left. Maybe you should ask the Governor about his pigeons.”
“I don’t suppose Balthazar said where he was going,” Zamara said.
“I told you, he was going to visit the tribes. Rather him than me.”
“You let him go,” Zamara said.
“A man wants to get his throat cut, that’s his lookout,” the Prefect said. “I wouldn’t go into the jungles upcountry right now.”
“Why not?” Kormak asked. “According to Governor Aurin, the country is peaceful.”
“Yes, and Governor Aurin would be an expert on that, wouldn’t he?” the Prefect said. “When the tribes get quiet I start sharpening my sword. If you’re wise, you’ll do the same. When it comes to choosing a nice wine or getting a leg over a good-looking serving lass, take the Governor’s advice. When it comes to dealing with the tribes, you’re better off listening to me.”
“So you think a hundred men’s enough?” Zamara asked.
“Right now, maybe,” the Prefect said. “I reckon that will change soon. This is just the quiet before the storm.”
“And you base this opinion on the fact that the tribesmen are not doing anything at the moment,” Zamara said. There was a note of heavy irony in his voice.
“The jaguar you don’t see is usually the one that gets you,” the Prefect said.
“Very pithy,” Zamara said.
“Probably true,” Kormak said.
“Listen to the Aquilean,” the Prefect said. “They know a thing or two about stabbing people in the back.”
“I’d rather have Sir Kormak at my back than you,” Zamara said.
“Kormak,” the Prefect said. “A Guardian of that name saved the life of the King of Taurea during the Orc Wars.”
“That was me,” Kormak said.
“No kidding,” the Prefect said. His smile grew a fraction warmer. “Well, I suppose the Sunlands owe you for something.”
Kormak said, “Tell me what you can about Balthazar.”
“Nobleman,” the Prefect said. “Not as snooty as most of them. Always willing to listen if you had something interesting to say about the tribes or the jungle. Must know his way about because he’s been in there many a time and has always come back. Some of the people who were with him didn’t, of course. That’s only to be expected when you go into the jungle.”
The Prefect’s tone suggested that he had some doubts as to whether Count Balthazar had contributed to the disappearance of his companions. “You think his friends were just unlucky?”
“If I could prove otherwise I might have done something about it,” the Prefect said. “Course, he was always good with the gold.”
“What do you mean?” Zamara asked.
The Prefect rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “He paid enough people not ask any questions. That usually means there are questions to be asked.”
“You did not feel like asking,” Zamara said.
“I made enquiries to His Excellency, the Governor, Aurin of the noble bloody house of Kolkin,” the Prefect said. “He seemed all right with it. And who am I to interfere with some eccentric nobleman going about his business.”
“You seem prepared to interfere with me,” Zamara said.
“But you’re not quite so eccentric, and I don’t know you.”
“I don’t know whether I should be flattered or not.”
“If you really are the commander of the treasure fleet, I ought to be flattering you,” the Prefect said.
“You don’t strike me as a man much given to flattery,” Rhiana said.
“Alas, that is why I remain the Prefect of such an out a way out of the way place,”
“A tragedy,” Kormak said.
“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Aquilean.”
“I apologise,” Kormak said. “I never realised you were so sensitive.”
The Prefect smiled a little. “Well, gentlefolk, it has been a pleasure talking with you, but this past my bedtime. I think I will retire,” the Prefect said.
“That’s an excellent idea,” said Rhiana.”
“Well, this is delightful,” said Rhiana looking around the room. It was very basic. An open window with a near translucent cloth over it. A bed with cloth hangings to protect against mosquitoes. A chamberpot on the floor beside a basin of water.
“I’ve seen worse,” said Kormak.
“Me too,” said Rhiana. “It does not mean I want to experience it at every opportunity.”
“Beats sleeping on the ground,” said Kormak.
“Who said anything about sleeping?”
Kormak smiled as she started to undress.
“What do you think of the Prefect?” Rhiana asked quietly.
Kormak shrugged.
“You didn’t trust him, did you?” She turned to face him. “Admit it; you were thinking the same. I could see it written all over your face.”
“I did not know you could read my mind while I was wearing my amulets.”
“I don’t need to. Your face was studiedly blank. That’s usually a sign you’re suspicious.”
“You could be right,” said Kormak. “Just so long as he does not send his boys up to try and cut our throats while we are sleeping.”
“That happens a lot to you, does it?”
Kormak went over and slid the bar into place on the door. “More than you might think.”
Rhiana slid into bed and pulled the thin cover over her. It would not make much difference in this heat. Kormak noted the insects circling the candle as it sat on the plate. The air smelled of tallow and sour wine. He stripped and laid his sword beside the bed where he could reach it easily if the need arose. When he reached out to touch Rhiana, her skin felt sticky with sweat.
“You really think Balthazar is plotting to stop us?” Rhiana asked. She shivered despite the heat.
“I don’t discount the possibility.”
“He’s as bad as the Kraken, isn’t he?”
“Maybe worse. He opened a gate to the Outer Dark right in the heart of Maial.”
“Is that supposed to mean something?”
“It shows that he’s a sorcerer of extraordinary power with a connection to the realm of Shadow. It also shows he has not the slightest qualm about what might happen if his ritual ran out of control in the heart of a city.”
“You think he’s mad?”
She held him at a distance. Her eyes stared straight into his. Her strange pupils were dilated. Her lips were turned down at the corners.
“It happens to sorcerers who draw upon the Shadow. It twists them body and soul. Maybe they start out sane, but they don’t stay that way long. In the end, the Shadow eats them up, consumes them, turns them into vessels for itself or whatever powers dwell within it. They don’t even realise it is happening.”
“I don’t know what is more frightening—what you are saying or the fact that you know so much about it.”
“I’ve spent my whole life dealing with it. You know how to sail a ship. I know how to hunt sorcerers.”
“What about you?” she asked, and she sounded serious. “You spend so much of your time dealing with such things. Has it twisted you too?”
“I sometimes wonder,” said Kormak. “And I wonder where Count Balthazar is now.”
Chapter Four
The fire flickered in the darkness. Balthazar stared into
the flames, seeking out patterns. He did not need the warmth. The fire was there to keep beasts at bay. He swatted at one of the biting insects. It was larger than normal and spattered droplets of blood when he hit it.
“Blighted,” said Ricardo. His fellow cultist sounded nervous. As well he might. He had never spent any time in the deep jungle before. None of those present had, except Balthazar. He had needed their protection on the road, but they were starting to seem more like a liability now.
Balthazar studied the creature. The carapace was thicker than most normal insects’ and the colours brighter. Its wings were shot through with metallic colours.
Balthazar said, “You should be glad. This is land sacred to the Shadow.”
He touched the skull-embossed pommel of the sacrificial dagger he had used to summon the Servant of Xothak to emphasise his point.
A shiver of nervousness passed through the small group. Back in Maial, they all might agree that to be touched by the blight was to be touched by their gods, but here it was different. Here it was not theoretical. The chance of sickness and mutation were very real. Balthazar had risked them before. None of the group who had fled with him had ever been so close to the reality of the Shadow before.
It almost made him laugh. They thought that this was close to the reality. They would never know what that felt like unless, like him, they learned to draw on its power.
“You are sure nothing will happen to us?” Ricardo asked. “Those crucified colonists back there had the look of warnings. I’ve heard the tribes do that to Sunlanders when they are about to go on the warpath.”
Balthazar contained his laughter. Of course, he was not sure. When dealing with the tribes nothing was ever sure. The men whose Lodges you had slept in might have been murdered and replaced by those who had been their subordinates. The shamans might have been driven mad by blight and sorcery and dark dreams. They might have smoked too much dreamroot, or they might simply decide that they did not like your face.
“I am certain. I have spent weeks in their Lodges, learning to walk with the Umbral spirits, dreaming the dark dreams that blighted mushrooms bring. I have spoken with their shamans. We are safe here as we would be on the streets of Maial.”
