Sword of Wrath (Kormak Book Eight)

by William King

  “The cabin arrangements leave a little to be desired, Hugo,” she said. She sounded amused, rather than angry.

  “Admiral’s orders, Mistress Serena. I was told specifically to place Sir Kormak here.”

  “The admiral letting me know he has a pet wolf, is he?”

  Hugo kept his face bland, but his manner managed to show he was affronted. “I am afraid I would not know, madam.”

  She turned and looked back at Kormak. Her smile was a fraction warmer. “Nothing to do with me,” Kormak said.

  “I am sure you will find that there can be a lot of politicking on board these ship’s, Sir Kormak. You would not be the Kormak who saved the life of King Brandane of Taurea on the field of Aeanar, some twenty-odd years ago.”

  “I am.” Kormak made a bow.

  “I would have thought you would be dead by now. Guardians don’t usually live so long.” She did not sound malicious; she sounded thoughtful. Kormak let it pass.

  “I look forward to some interesting chats,” Mistress Serena said. “But now I really must inspect the ship.”

  Kormak stood aside to let her pass. She strode up the stairs with the step of a woman forty years younger. When she was gone, Hugo made a small gesture of apology and said, “Sorry about that, sir.”

  “There is nothing to apologise for. That was one of the friendliest conversations I have had with a wizard in a decade.”

  Hugo looked impressed and then he smiled. “Very good, sir. Your cabin, sir.”

  The cabin was not large, but it had a bunk and a sea-chest bolted to the floor. It even had a small porthole with dimpled panes of leaded glass looking out over the sea. Kormak did not need to stretch his arms to their full length to touch the walls on either side simultaneously. Still, he had stayed in far worse places.

  “Will you require anything else, sir?” Hugo asked.

  “No, thank you,” Kormak replied. He took his pack and dropped it into the sea-chest, then threw himself down on the bed. He was immediately aware of footsteps on the deck above him.

  “Then I’ll be off, sir,” Hugo said. He closed the door softly behind him, leaving Kormak to stare at the ceiling and wonder about his fellow passengers and crew.

  Kormak lay on the bunk for a while, listening to the sounds of the ship. Officers shouted. Bosuns relayed commands, and men moved to obey. He heard the creak of anchors and the splash of oars, and then felt the slow rocking of a big ship starting to move.

  Thoughts of his recent battles, of King Aemon’s arrogant humility and Gerd’s death, warred in his head. Guilt pricked him. He could have done more. He should have done more. He had let people die because he was too slow, too weak.

  Restless and unsettled, he picked himself up off the bed, made sure all of his amulets were in place and adjusted his swordbelt till it hung on his waist. He did not expect to have to draw it fast, but if he did, it would be better there in this confined space. He did not want to have to pull it over his head with these low ceilings.

  The fresh sea air smacked him in the face as he emerged onto the deck. He glanced around and saw all of the passengers clustered on the lower deck of the stern. The raised platform above it was reserved for the captain, and those he chose to invite to join him there. Unlike on many other ships, there was a walkway around the sterncastle which allowed people to move there. People hung over the sides and waved at the crowds.

  The soldiers had already stowed their gear and were waving farewells to family and friends. The docks receded. Tearful cries carried across the water. Kormak well understood why. The people back there and on the ship would be wondering whether they would ever see their loved ones again. Ocean passages were not without their perils.

  No doubt some of the men on this ship were going as colonists and traders. Even if they survived the voyage, it might be years before they returned home.

  Standing at the prow, looking away from the receding shoreline, was a familiar figure. Rhiana. Kormak went to join her.

  “I take it you are glad to be leaving Trefal behind,” Kormak said, as he stepped beside her. She glanced over the dragon’s head and watched the Wizard’s Isle approach.

  She tilted her head to one side. She was tall enough almost to look him in the eye. “I am. I do not like the place. I do not like its politics. I do not particularly care for its people. Or its priests. Although perhaps it would be fairer to say they do not particularly care for me.”

  The Wizard’s Isle lay on their starboard now. “I remember the night we arrived in port,” Kormak said. “It seems like it was years ago now, not days.”

  “Life is like that sometimes,” Rhiana said. She smiled at him and reached out to touch his calloused sword hand. It seemed to tingle at her touch.

  His feelings surprised him. She meant more to him than he cared to admit. He was a Guardian of the Order of the Dawn, sworn to uphold the Law. He could not give up the sword and go with her. Could he? Could he retire like Gerd had, and vanish over the waters to Port Blood? Right now, part of him wanted to.

  If he did, he would not have to work in the service of Aemon and his brother. He would be free of duty. He could go where he wanted and do what he willed.

  Only he could not. He was a guardian and he would remain so until his dying day. He did not want to give up the sword. More to the point, he could not give up the sword. The Prince of Dragons had told him he would return one day and claim his life, as he had claimed the lives of all his kin. Kormak wanted to be in possession of the sword when that day came. He wanted vengeance. More than that, he wanted to leave no hostages to fortune. He wanted no more people close to him killed by the Old One. Adath Decurion was capable of doing that out of plain malice; he had fallen to the Shadow long ago, and his life and his soul had become twisted beyond redemption.

  “What are you thinking?” Rhiana asked. “You are even more than usually silent.”

  “Nothing much,” Kormak said. A long sleek shape splashed from the waves behind them. It somersaulted, then returned to the water. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Rhiana smiled. “Yes, it is. He was waiting for me here. He wants me to come into the water and play. I told him not now. Not here, so close to all these land-dwellers. We would not want any misunderstandings, would we?”

  “They might well be scandalised.”

  She smiled again and squeezed his hand. “Now I feel like I am at home.”

  Kormak looked at all the water surrounding them, and realised that he would never feel like that on a ship.

  Chapter Six

  Admiral Zamara emerged from below. Accompanying him was the windcaller. Zamara bellowed, “Sir Kormak, I would be honoured if you and Captain Rhiana would join us on the command deck.”

  Rhiana threw the admiral a respectful salute and strode towards the deck. Kormak followed her up the polished wooden steps. From their position on the stern, he had a fine view along the length of the ship.

  The wind filled the sails of the Pride of Siderea. The passengers strolled the decks, while the soldiers drilled in the hold. Zamara consulted with his windcaller. She sat on the carved stool near the wheel. Kormak knew there was such a seat on every Imperial galleon; windcallers had the privilege of visiting the command deck when they willed, and talking to the ship’s captain as they pleased. Apparently the privilege extended to admirals, or Zamara was pleased to allow it so.

  “What do you think?” Zamara asked. He scanned the horizon with his spyglass. In the distance, white clouds marked the sky ahead, but mostly things were clear.

  “You should steer a couple of degrees north,” the windcaller responded. Her voice was flat and calm. She was not giving an order. She was not making a suggestion. She was dispensing wisdom.

  “Why?” Zamara asked.

  “Because there is a storm coming, and if you steer north, you will skirt the worst of it. Perhaps even avoid it altogether.”

  Zamara smiled. “How do you know this?”

  “I am a windcaller. I sense i
t.”

  “But how?”

  “What does red look like to a blind man, Admiral?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How would you describe it to him?”

  “It is the colour of blood.”

  “He does not know the colour of blood. He knows its taste, maybe. Its feel. Its smell.”

  “You are trying to tell me that describing the way you sense the wind is like me describing red to a blind man.”

  “Precisely so, Admiral.”

  “Two points south-west, helmsman,” Zamara said. He turned from the windcaller to Rhiana. “What do you think, Captain Rhiana?”

  “I think you were wise to listen to the windcaller.”

  “Do you sense a storm?”

  “It is not one of my gifts.”

  “And you, Sir Kormak?”

  Kormak shrugged. “Such a thing is beyond me. I am shielded against magical effects.”

  Zamara nodded and said, “We have been through enough storms of late. I would miss this one if I could.”

  “That is wise,” said the windcaller. “I could perhaps bind the tempest or guide the ship through it, but better not to have to trust in such magic at all, if you can avoid doing so.”

  “I am surprised to hear you say that. If I were a mage, I would perform such wonders as I could,” said Zamara. He glanced over at Kormak. “Windcaller Serena was the highest-ranking weather adept in Trefal when we left port, Sir Kormak. The King-Emperor obviously sets a high store by your mission.”

  The old woman turned her sharp gaze on Kormak. She was listening carefully. Kormak bowed and said, “I am grateful for that.”

  “You are a closed-mouthed man, Sir Kormak,” said Serena. “I know the king and his brother value that quality.”

  Her gaze moved from Kormak to Rhiana. She was clearly curious as to why the merwoman was here too.

  “Allow the man to have some mysteries, windcaller,” said Zamara. “We are stuck with each other’s company for the voyage. There will be time enough for you to root out Sir Kormak’s secrets.”

  “I am not sure a voyage to the end of the world would be time enough for that,” said Serena.

  “Well, you will have a chance to quiz him more at dinner this evening. I wish you all to join me in the grand cabin.”

  “I would be honoured,” said Rhiana.

  “As would I,” said Kormak.

  “Just as well,” said Zamara. “A request to dine with the captain is something of the order of a command on a ship.”

  He made it sound as if he was joking, but he wanted everyone to know who was in charge here.

  The windcaller produced a metal flask inscribed with elder signs from within the canvas bag she carried. Kormak had seen its like before.

  “That is a Solari binding jar,” he said.

  The windcaller gave him a distracted sidelong glance and then nodded. “I picked it up in Solace when I was an apprentice. It cost me the profits of a voyage, but it has paid for itself a dozen times over since then.”

  “You have sylphs bound within it?”

  “Of course, Guardian.”

  “And they do not resent it?”

  “Such creatures always resent being bound. This saves me the trouble of luring them from their homes in the clouds. I think over time they have become accustomed to their new residence. They are not much brighter than a dog.”

  “I think perhaps you had best give some warning to the rest of the crew,” Kormak said.

  “Why?” Serena asked. “What could they possibly have to fear? There is a guardian standing at my shoulder. I am sure that fearsome blade of yours could put paid to me or my pets in very short order.”

  Serena unstoppered the flask. The amulet on Kormak’s chest grew warmer. There was a faint sound like the distant gusting of strong winds. A light mist emerged from the mouth of the flask, like smoke rising above a wood fire. There was the faintest hint of ozone in the air.

  The mist swirled, separating into long tendrils that wrapped themselves around the windcaller like serpents. Invisible fingers tugged at his tunic. Kormak began to see the ghostly outlines of humanoid figures as they coalesced. Most of them looked like slender naked women. Their faces bore a resemblance to Serena’s. She crooned to them in the Old Tongue, and they replied in voices that sounded like wind rustling through the grass. Moments later, they swirled upwards and shimmered and vanished. The sails cracked and billowed and the ship leapt forward.

  Zamara gave a satisfied smile. “I bet you don’t see the like of that every day,” he said. “Not even you, Sir Kormak.”

  Zamara’s officers all nodded sagely.

  Kormak nodded and tried to look suitably impressed. The windcaller slumped forward on her chair. She had shrunk visibly from calling on her power. Rhiana did look impressed. She was a sailor; she understood far better than he what it meant to be able to bind the winds to the will of the master of a ship. To Kormak, it was just another example of magic, something he had been forced to contend with most of his life.

  Zamara extended an arm to the windcaller. “If I may, I will escort you to your cabin.”

  Serena smiled at him. “I thank you, Admiral.”

  It was clear that the rest of them were dismissed. Once they were gone, Rhiana said, “There is something I must do as well.”

  Kormak shrugged and strode down onto the main deck once more.

  As Kormak strode back towards his cabin, a man waddled towards him. He placed himself squarely in Kormak’s way and beckoned with the chubby fingers of a pudgy hand. There was no menace in the gesture. His eyes disappeared into folds of fat when he smiled. His cod-piece and neck ruffle looked ridiculous on him, like the garb of a doll wrapped round the form of a man. Kormak recognised him from the King’s Ball. Frater Jonas had pointed him out as the richest commoner in Siderea, Orson Waters.

  “If I may have a word, Sir Kormak,” he said. His rumbling voice was a surprise, rich and mellow and full of authority. Close up, Kormak could see that the man’s breadth had made him look smaller. He was almost half a head taller than Kormak, and probably weighed twice as much. For a man carrying so much weight, he moved with a good deal of grace. Kormak reassessed his first impression; the man was probably immensely strong, and much quicker than he looked. He took a step back to give himself room.

  “You may, sir…” Kormak decided he would let Waters introduce himself. It would tell him something about the man.

  The fat man laughed, a throaty gurgle which was abruptly cut off. “I am afraid I have no pedigree of nobility, Sir Kormak. I am a simple merchant.” The eyes that studied Kormak were shrewd. “My name is Orson Waters.”

  “I have heard that name,” Kormak said. “They call you the Merchant Prince.”

  “I am sure you have spent enough time in Siderea to realise there is a great deal of difference between a merchant prince and a real one.”

  “Someone told me you are the richest commoner in Siderea—wealthier than most of the nobles.”

  “I would not know about that. I do not know how wealthy the other commoners are. I am flattered that you know so much about me.”

  “I am surprised to find you on this ship. You must own a fleet of them.”

  “Alas, none of them are safer or swifter to cross the wide ocean on than the King’s Galleons. I prefer to trust my safety to the King-Emperor’s warships and his windcallers when my business calls me back to Terra Nova.”

  Kormak noticed a hard-looking pair lounging against the ship’s railings. They eyed him sidelong and studied the deck around them with the discrete wariness of the highest echelon of professional bodyguards. Their shrewd eyes missed nothing.

  One of them looked like a typical Siderean of the lower classes, short, stocky, with dark eyes and olive skin. He was clean-shaven. A long scar marred his cheek. He wore a padded linen doublet of neutral colours. His sword belt and scabbard looked old, but well cared for.

  Kormak guessed the other was a Terra Novan
, perhaps the descendant of a Sunlander colonist and one of the natives. Tall as Kormak, broad and muscular. Serpent-pattern tattoos covered his visible skin. His red beard was long and intricately plated. His forehead was low and his eyes were a very bright blue. He was clad in the buckskins and moccasins of a woodsman. A thick lash and a pair of tomahawks were in his belt. He held a heavier axe in each of his muscular hands. “Urag and Burk are mine, Sir Kormak. They are very discreet.”

  “Is there something you are about to say that calls for discretion?” Kormak asked.

  Triple chins flexed the beard covering the lower part of Orson’s face as he smiled. “You are a sharp man, Sir Kormak. More intelligent than I expected.”

  “There is no need to prove you can be as rude as I am,” Kormak said. “I will take that as a given.”

  Orson’s booming laughter held genuine mirth. “I stand reproved. You will forgive me, Sir Kormak. I am not used to being treated so lightly. I find, despite my best efforts, that my wealth usually engenders an inordinate respect in most people I meet.”

  “People respect gold,” Kormak said.

  “A maxim to live by. At least if you are a humble merchant with no centuries-long bloodline behind you.”

  “You wanted to talk to me.”

  “Indeed. I merely wanted to introduce myself. Your fame precedes you. Word of your deeds within the Imperial Palace has reached even my doorstep. It seems our King-Emperor himself has reason to be grateful to you, and that should engender gratitude in those like myself, who are his humble subjects.”

  Kormak wondered when Orson would get to the point. “There is no reason for you to feel grateful to me.”

  “Were it not for your deeds, I could almost find those words treasonable, Sir Kormak. Indeed, I could. We are all grateful to you for preserving the life of the king.”

  The fat man waited, and Kormak began to understand. Orson was curious about what had happened in the palace and was trying to provoke a response from him. Whatever Kormak said would give him some clues as to recent events in the palace. Kormak could not think how this could be of advantage to the merchant, but he was sure that Orson would find a way to make it so. Under the circumstances, his natural inclinations were to play his cards close to his chest.