Portents of Doom ( Kormak Book Ten) (The Kormak Saga 10)

by William King

  Somewhere else he could smell the witchweed that kept him in the trance that allowed him to soul-ride the jaguar. The senses of the two bodies he shared had started to mingle, a sign that he was coming to the end of the duration of the spell. In a matter of heartbeats, his spirit would return to his human body.

  He concentrated his attention on the man and the woman staring at him. The man was tall and lean and dark, not a Sunlander. The woman was almost as tall and ash blonde. There was something about her too that suggested she was not one of the colonists. Her eyes stared right at him, and he knew that she knew his spirit was present. There was power in her.

  He looked more closely at the man and saw that he had a sword upon his back. This marked him as the Guardian of the Dawn, the Champion of the Sun Balthazar had spoken of. He too looked in Coiled Serpent’s direction.

  Fear trickled through his mind and leaked into the jaguar’s body. It rose on its hind legs, tail stiffening, hackles rising. Coiled Serpent imposed his will upon the creature, making it remain in place.

  Even if there was something this pair could do to the beast, his soul could slip free of it. There was nothing to be feared here. Yet Coiled Serpent did know fear, of what he was not sure. Something about this pair made him uneasy.

  Age mantled him. A wave of dizziness swept over him. His spirit whirled. A sense of weight and age settled on him again. He felt his human heart beat within his chest and the pain of years settle in his joints. His breath thundered within his lungs. Blood pulsed in his temples. He was aware of himself totally, as he always was when he returned to his body.

  The sour taste of disappointment filled his mouth. His body felt so much inferior to that of the sleek killer his spirit had just occupied. He wanted to return to it, to possess it once more, but he knew from the teachings of his former master that it would be madness. Too many flights from the body would break the link between flesh and spirit. It might leave the soul stranded within the body of the beast, or hurtling through limbo and into death. The former might not be such a bad fate. The latter was to be avoided at all costs.

  Coiled Serpent let his apprentices help him up. He envied the young men their firm flesh and unlined faces. He envied the blackness of their hair. If only he could find a way to transmigrate the soul permanently, and not just into the body of an animal but the body of a human being. That way the spirit would become truly immortal in the flesh. Endless life would beckon.

  Such spells were possible. He knew that they had been used. One of the reasons he had sworn himself to the Shadow for the past forty years was because he knew that he might learn that spell from its adepts.

  He stared into the unnaturally youthful face of Balthazar. The man he called brother. Balthazar was not his brother. They served the same master, but that did not mean there was any kinship between them. He hated and feared the Count, but he kept those emotions well-hidden and under tight rein. Balthazar had things he could teach, and Balthazar stood higher in the favour of their masters. For now.

  Coiled Serpent’s years pressed down on him. Once he had thirsted for forbidden knowledge. Once he would have done anything to learn the secrets Balthazar now held close. There were times now when he just wanted to rest. He pushed those doubts and weaknesses to one side and forced himself to smile.

  “Well?” Balthazar said.

  “They are there, the men you spoke off. On the ancient road. Maybe half a day’s march away. There are perhaps a hundred of them, well armed and well supplied.”

  “We have enough warriors. We can take them,” Red Talon said. Coiled Serpent looked at his son. He loved the boy even as he was frustrated by him. Red Talon was ruthless and ambitious, but he was not clever. He craved respect and glory beyond his years. For him, it was not enough to be the son of the Chief of Chiefs. He needed men to look up to him in his own right. In its way it was laudable, but it was a weakness.

  “Then you should do it,” Balthazar said. Coiled Serpent stared at him with bloodshot eyes. He still felt weak after his spell. He tottered a little, and his apprentice moved to support him. Such powerful magic was always draining. Coiled Serpent gestured the lad away with a wave of his hand. Now was not the time to show weakness.

  “We should gather the clans and crush these interlopers,” Coiled Serpent said. “Within a day, two days at most, I can have enough warriors here to overwhelm the Sunlanders with little hurt to our people.”

  “And little glory,” said Red Talon.

  Coiled Serpent sighed. “There is glory enough in accomplishing what the Lord of Skulls wishes, my son.”

  “I am not afraid of a few interloping Sunlanders, father. You say there is but five score of them. We have twice that many warriors here. We can ambush them and kill them and take their hearts for ourselves.”

  “I know you are not afraid, my son. And that is the problem. Perhaps you should be.”

  “It shames me to hear you speak so, father. We are the Shadow Hunters, mighty warriors. We do not fear the goldhair thieves. We make them fear us.”

  “Those men wear armour and carry bows that shoot further than a man can cast a spear. Their bolts can penetrate a body and pass out the other side.”

  “What of it? Such toys are only useful if you attack from a distance greater than a spear cast. There are many places where the Road of Skulls is edged by trees. We attack from ambush, and they have no advantage.”

  Why was the foolish boy set on defying him, Coiled Serpent wondered. He saw a look pass between his son and Balthazar and he understood. The two of them had been talking privately when Coiled Serpent had set out on his spirit journey.

  He could guess what they had been talking about. Balthazar had been filling his son’s head with this nonsense. Perhaps he sought to undermine the Chief of Chiefs position and replace him with someone more pliable. Perhaps he merely wanted to see his plan carried out and his enemies killed as soon as possible.

  Coiled Serpent looked at his son and then at the watching warriors. Red Talon seemed prepared to defy even his own father in his relentless quest for prestige. The younger warriors looked on him favourably. They shared the impetuosity of youth. Coiled Serpent made another effort. “Once the clans have gathered we will attack by surprise when our enemies least expect it. Then our victory will be swift and crushing, and we will have many hearts to offer to the Lord of Skulls.”

  “We should attack now, father, and cover ourselves in the glory of battle.”

  Coiled Serpent blamed himself for the boy’s stupidity. He had filled the lad with tales of his own youthful triumphs when Red Talon was a boy. He had hoped to inspire him to seek glory. He had succeeded only too well. Red Talon had caught the desire but without the wisdom or the cunning to seek the best way of slaking it. Red Talon was not even looking at his father now, but at the stranger. Balthazar said nothing but he smiled approvingly.

  Anger stabbed at Coiled Serpent’s heart. High in the favour of Xothak the Count might stand, but he was not a member of the clan. Red Talon’s first loyalty should be to his people and not to some outsider. It was this anger that drove Coiled Serpent to speak. “We shall wait until the clans have gathered and then we will attack. I have spoken.”

  His son glared back at him, and for a moment Coiled Serpent feared it might come to open defiance. He prayed that it would not for he had no wish to kill the boy. Red Talon held his gaze for many heartbeats before he looked away. “Yes, father, it shall be as you say.”

  Coiled Serpent could not help but notice that his son was staring at Balthazar and the Count was making the slightest negative motion with his head.

  Red Talon slid off into the jungle and found the trail. His companions in the pack clustered around him, all wearing their jaguar skin cloaks. Moving through the trees parallel to his path were a hundred young warriors of the Jaguar Lodge. All of them were disgusted by the cowardice of the Chief of Chiefs, and all of them wanted their chance to win a name for themselves in the eyes of the tribe and their ancestor
s. When Shadowfall came, all would walk in glory.

  Red Talon felt ashamed to be the son of such a father. Coiled Serpent had always been cautious even as he boasted to his son about his youthful bravery. Over the past few years, it had become obvious to Red Talon that if his father had once been a bold warrior, those days were long past. Now it fell to him to keep their clan’s proud traditions alive.

  What sort of warrior was scared of the Sunlanders? Oh, they had powerful weapons alright and they were skilled in warfare, but so were his people and they would have the advantage of attacking from ambush. Victory would surely be theirs. Count Balthazar was right about that. They were blessed by the Lord of Skulls. What could oppose them now?

  A bird fluttered by above and Red Talon flinched. It might be his father’s spirit riding the beast. He forced himself to exhale and calmed his breathing. The old man would not risk another casting of the spell so close on the heels of his last one. It was a potent sorcery, but a soul could be lost forever when casting it and his father was too much of a coward to take such a risk. He might send messengers to call them back, but he would not take the form of a beast again until moonrise at least. By that time, he would be in a position to watch Red Talon’s victory.

  Behind them, from the direction of the village, came the thumping of drums. The sound was picked up by another set of drums half a march away and Red Talon knew it would be relayed onwards to every outpost and village of the people. He understood the message coded in the rhythms. Warriors were being summoned. His father was determined to proceed with his shameful strategy. Red Talon grinned at his battle brother, Bloody Claw. By the time the clans had gathered, their strength would be unnecessary. The outlanders would already be defeated.

  It saddened Red Talon to have to defy his father this way, and it frightened him too in his heart of hearts. Coward though he might be, the old man was a powerful sorcerer. His magic was to be feared. He could still summon the great beasts of the forest depths and call the blight demons to his service. His soul was steeped in the mysteries of the Shadow’s magic.

  Red Talon touched the amulet on his chest. He was not without magic himself. He had learned many spells from his father and still more in secret from Count Balthazar when he had visited the clans. And he had the gift of skin turning. When moonrise came, he would be able to change his form, as would a dozen of his closest comrades with whom he had sworn a blood oath. They would lead the attack on the outlanders. They would feel outlander blood beneath their fangs and claws.

  Red Talon smiled and loped faster along the trail, keen for darkness to come, keen to seize his chance at glory. Rain started to drizzle down, fast and light. He knew that it was just the start. By tonight, there would be thunderstorms.

  Chapter Eleven

  The late afternoon sun started to sink. The warm tropical rain that had plagued them all day had ceased, at least for the moment. In the heat, the waters puddling in the hollows of the old road had already started to evaporate. Only the sound of drumming that had echoed across the jungle throughout the day continued.

  “Something has got the tribes all riled up,” said Zamara. “I hope it is not us.”

  Kormak glanced at him sidelong. “Not a lot we can do if it is.”

  “Not a lot except keep marching along this road and hope to reach the fort at Helgard before they catch us. You really think they know we are here?”

  “Jaguars have been shadowing us since noon.”

  “You jest?”

  “I’ve never heard of the big cats following a group of men this size,” said Anders. “Not unless . . .”

  “Unless what?” Zamara asked.

  “They usually flee from large well-armed parties of men,” Anders said.

  “Unless what?” The Admiral was obviously not in the mood to put up with evasions.

  Anders sighed. “I told you before. There are shamans who can summon the great cats and serpents of the jungle. They are supposed to be able to see through their eyes and hear with their ears. Some of them can send their spirits out into the bodies of the animals.”

  Zamara’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed. He looked as if he would have liked to dismiss what Anders was saying but could not quite bring himself to do so.

  “The elves can do that,” said Kormak. “There’s no reason why a human magician could not learn to do the same.”

  “I was rather hoping you would say it was all nonsense,” said Zamara. “That there is no way the local primitives could match the magic of civilised spellcasters.”

  “In my experience, magic has little to do with civilisation. It has a lot to do with personal power or talent or whatever you want to call it and the sort of training the magician has received.”

  “You’ve spent your life dealing with such people, Sir Kormak, so I am inclined to believe you.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. It is always nice to be appreciated.”

  “There is something odd about those cats,” said Rhiana. “I get the same sense from them as I got from the jaguar we saw this morning.”

  “I suppose that about settles it then,” said Zamara. “We are being followed by a pack of demonically-possessed cats.”

  “Probably not demonically possessed,” said Kormak. “Just possessed.”

  “But why would they be following us?” Anders asked. Kormak suspected he already knew the answer and just did not want to admit it to himself.

  “Scouts,” said Rhiana.

  “Drums in the distance, possessed beasts on our trail. It might turn out to be an interesting night,” Zamara said.

  “I would double the sentries and then double them again if I were you,” said Kormak. “Just in case.”

  “I will pretend that you are me then and take your advice.”

  Red Talon stalked through the jungle night. Power burned within his breast. The moon was high. Drums throbbed. Rain fell. It flowed down over the leaves and branches and spattered on his skin. In the distance, thunder sounded, and lightning flickered. For a moment, even the drums were drowned out.

  Was his father working weather magic, Red Talon wondered. He doubted it. It made no sense. It would barely hinder the strangers on the road, but it would slow down the clansmen as they made their way through the jungle. It looked like the storm had been born in the mountains and was carrying its freight of rain down to the jungle below.

  It would be good for his people, he decided. The Sunlanders had already made camp. Ambushing them while they were on the move would be out of the question until the morning. The storm would provide excellent cover for infiltrating their camp by night, though.

  He smiled at Bloody Claw. His Lodge brother smiled back. It was time to summon the pack.

  “A miserable night, sir,” said Terves. Kormak looked out from under the shelter of the tree. The rain poured off the canopy like a waterfall. The respite from its onslaught had been all too brief.

  The company had made camp near the rubble of an abandoned Siderean watchtower. The wagons were drawn up in a square corralling the horses, keeping them in place even if they were spooked by the thunder.

  Zamara had taken up residence within the tower along with about a third of the soldiers. Rhiana and Anders were in there with him. The rest of the troops had set up their tents in straight lines where they could drive their hooks into cracks between the stonework, or the patches of soft earth between the blocks.

  No one had managed to light a fire. A few storm lanterns glittered from the backs of wagons. Rhiana’s glowing green pearl cast its soft glow from within the watchtower.

  Lightning slashed across the sky. Ten heartbeats later thunder rumbled.

  “My mother used to say the Old Gods were angry when lightning came down like that,” Terves said. He shook his head and made his face bland as if he had suddenly recalled he was talking to a man who might consider his mother a blasphemer and a heretic for saying such things.

  “I can understand why,” Kormak said. “They used to say the same so
rt of thing in Aquilea when I was a child.”

  “Looks like the worst of the storm might be over. It seems to have passed us by, sir.”

  Kormak nodded. Once again, the rains were slackening. The thunder receding. The pulse of the drumbeats rumbled on. He squinted out into the darkness, feeling as if eyes were watching him. Ever since he had noticed the jaguars pacing them, he had been uneasy. The coming of darkness made him more so. This was the time when evil sorcery was at its strongest.

  Rhiana appeared in the doorway of the tower. The green pearl glowed in her hand, illuminating her face. A frown marred her brow. Her eyes were white and blind-looking as her translucent second eyelid had dropped into place against the rain. She stared out into the dark for a minute, saw him and ran over through the rain. It splashed on her, and he noticed the gills in her neck pulse for a moment.

  “There’s something out there,” she said.

  “You’ve thought that all day,” Kormak said.

  “Not like this. There’s power gathering in the night. I can feel it.”

  Kormak looked at Terves. “All the sentries in place?”

  The sergeant nodded and stroked his close-cropped grey beard. “Might not see much in this dark and rain. Might not do us much good against sorcery.”

  “Better to have some warning than none,” Kormak said. “Tell the men to keep an eye on the horses. Animals can have a better sense for such things than humans.”

  Terves did not ask him what he meant by such things. They all understood he meant magic.

  Red Talon raised his arms above his head and chanted. The thunder picked up the cadence of his words and sent them vibrating through the jungle night. Something within himself spoke. Something in the Outer Dark answered the call.

  Nearby stood Bloody Claw and the other members of the pack, anticipation written on their faces. Behind them, the visages of the rest of his followers held a mixture of hunger, anticipation, envy and frenzy. They expected a dark miracle, and they were not going to be disappointed.