The Kormak Saga

by William King

  “I would welcome your aid,” he said eventually.

  “Good. I will tell Javier and his people. We can all ride together as far as Hungerdale.”

  There it was again, Kormak thought. Javier and his people. She spoke as if the Tinkers were not her people. Who was she and, more importantly, what was she?

  CHAPTER SIX

  HUNGERDALE HAD SEEN better times. That much was obvious. The village perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the deep valley below. Even taller hills marched away above it. The houses were made of stone piled on stone, roofed with turf. Smoke drifted lazily skyward. There was a smell like rot in the air. Crowds of scrawny people watched from open doorways. It was Kormak’s first real look at the hill-folk. Most of them seemed to be dressed in rags. They were thin, pale and unhealthy looking with darker hair than the Sunlanders. The women were surrounded by large groups of children. The men watched the Tinkers approach. Most of them had knives. One or two of them held slings ready. They looked like they knew how to use them.

  Judging from the looks he was getting, the weapons were not being displayed because of the presence of the Tinkers. Maybe Kormak would not have drawn too much attention with his dark hair and spare form but Sir Brandon was very definitely a Sunlander, massive and blond. His hair and his fair complexion marked him as one of the hill-people’s ancient enemies. Kormak was glad they were with the Tinkers. He would not have given much for the two of them’s chances of getting out of there alive if they had arrived on their own.

  They drove right to the centre of the village. There was a well there with a standing pump. That surprised Kormak. He would not have expected anything of such sophistication to be found here. Perhaps he had misjudged these people. The Tinker’s wagon pulled up before a large central building, some sort of communal hall. There was already a deputation waiting. It was obvious that the villagers had seen them coming from a long way off. He glanced around and noticed some other things. There was a smith’s shop nearby and he could hear clanking coming from within as of a man banging away with a hammer. Clearly a message was being sent that the Tinkers were not needed to repair anything around here.

  Javier and Aisha got down. Kormak had already been warned to let them do the talking and given the way people were looking at them he saw no reason to object. The Tinkers went forward with much gracious bowing and hand-gesturing and took up a place beneath the verandah of the hall in front of a fat old woman who stood flanked by a group of hard-looking men, all of whom bore a very distinct family resemblance to her. These men had short swords on their belts and short bows in their hands. One or two of them squinted at Kormak as if they would not have minded taking a shot at him. They had the look of bandits.

  Words were exchanged. Aisha did the talking for the Tinkers, the old woman for the hill-folk. After a few minutes, the old lady gestured for Kormak and Sir Brandon to come forward. She looked closely at both of them. Small shrewd eyes that twinkled with an easy humour inspected them closely. Javier made introductions. The old woman’s name was Agnetha.

  “So you are what a Guardian looks like,” the old lady said at last. “Haven’t seen many of your sort in these hills of late.”

  “There are fewer of us than there were,” said Kormak.

  “The same can be said of a lot of things,” said Agnetha and laughed as if she had made a joke. She turned her attention to Sir Brandon.

  “And you are our neighbour from the south.”

  “That I am, lady,” said Sir Brandon. The old woman laughed delightedly.

  “Been a long time since anybody called me that,” she said. “At least you are a polite one.”

  “It’s only fitting when calling on neighbours,” said Brandon.

  “You haven’t always been so polite,” said one of the men on the verandah. He was tall and lean with a sharp nose and darting eyes. A drooping moustache dominated his face. His knuckles were white as he gripped his bow.

  “I rarely am when a man comes to steal my sheep,” said Brandon.

  “You calling me a thief,” said the hill-man.

  Brandon just looked at him. Kormak cursed inwardly. Things could go very badly, very quickly in a situation like this. He measured the distance between him and the old woman. A blade at her throat might be enough to keep a mob at bay. She seemed well-respected and well-liked here. The idea of doing that did not thrill Kormak but the idea of being filled with arrows did not much appeal either.

  “Now, Lucas, there’s no need for trouble,” said Agnetha. “These people came in peace and they’ll leave in peace.”

  Kormak expected Lucas to object. He had the look of the unruly sort but he just shut his mouth and looked at his feet. She looked at Sir Brandon a bit more coldly. “There was no need to be mentioning sheep to the boy,” she said, as if chiding a grandchild. Brandon chewed his moustache and then nodded. He was not unaware of the currents of potential violence swirling around them. He was not a man to back down from trouble normally but he understood just how outnumbered they were.

  “I apologise if what I said seemed rude to you,” said Brandon. Kormak noted the delicate wording of that apology and so did the old lady. She smiled as if she appreciated the subtlety.

  “There’ll be food tonight and some chitter-chatter unless I am much mistaken. You can tie up your horses outside the hall. No one will trouble them.” She looked around at the crowd of hill-folk just to make sure they all got the message. “And I would not mind a word with the Guardian and Mistress Aisha in private. There are some things we need to talk about.”

  Kormak wondered if this was just some way of splitting them up to make them easier to deal with but if it was he did not see the purpose of it. The odds were sufficiently great that it would make no difference. Nonetheless he felt uneasy as he stepped over the Elder Sign on the doorstone and followed the Tinker woman and the old lady into the cool, shadowy interior of the hall.

  The hall was quiet. A huge fire burned in a massive fireplace. Stacks of peat were piled around it in what looked like a wall. A large cauldron hung on a metal tripod. From it came the smells of cooking meat. It was a homely scent that reminded Kormak of other halls and other times. The old woman slumped heavily into a large carved wooden chair by the fire. She gestured for them to pull stools closer and sit. A girl ladled out stew into wooden bowls.

  The old woman took some and then bowls were passed to Kormak and Brandon. Kormak could not help but notice the children licked their lips when they saw this. He guessed that food was scarce in these parts. It had been in the village where he grew up, too. They had eaten and drunk well by the standards of the hill-folk, moonshine whisky and honey cakes.

  “I used to lie on that rug there and watch my grandmother sitting in this chair,” Agnetha said. “I called it the seeing chair. I thought it was magic. I used to creep in and sit in it when I thought no one could see me. I was too young to know the magic was in the woman, not in the chair.”

  Kormak stretched out his hands to warm them. He had not really realised how cold he was until he got close to the fire. There were a lot of things like that in his life, he thought, as he listened to the bustle of the hall around them. Where they sat now was empty but there were people all around them and some of them no doubt were listening. It was the same in every hall he had ever visited, from that of the highest lord to the lowliest village hetman. The wolf moved over and lay down beside the fire. It eyed him warily but it did not growl.

  “I’ll speak in the Old Tongue if that is acceptable,” Agnetha said in the Old Tongue. “There are some here that speak it but not well and my apprentice is not here to overhear us.”

  She spoke the language well which somehow did not surprise Kormak. He had long ago learned that scholarship was to be found in the most surprising places.

  “It is acceptable,” said Aisha. She spoke better than the old woman, clearly, fluently with a precise accent as if the language was her native one. Very few people spoke it that way save the Old Ones t
hemselves and sorcerers and Guardians. Kormak nodded.

  “You don’t say much, do you?” said the old woman looking at Kormak. “I could get more words out of the wolf, I think.”

  Kormak shrugged.

  “I like a man who knows how to hold his tongue,” said Agnetha. “And now you are thinking it’s probably because I can talk for two. My old man used to say the same.”

  “You wished to speak with us,” said Aisha. “What do you have to say?”

  Again there was an imperiousness to her manner, that of a woman who expects to be obeyed and not to have servants waste her time. The Old Tongue made that even more obvious. The old woman laughed.

  “I have greeted your cordially, mistress, because of the signs you have made and the sisterhood we share but remember this is my hall and you are a long way from home. It never hurts to be polite.” It was the manner of a lesser noble greeting a greater one but still aware of the prerogatives of their station. Aisha made a courtly gesture with her left hand and inclined her head submissively.

  “Now you are mocking me,” said the old woman.

  “Not at all. I know the Power when I see it and you have it.”

  Kormak studied them sidelong while pretending to look at the fire. There were strange cross-currents here. His attention did not go unnoticed. The old woman coughed and winked at him and said, “You are not the first strangers to come this way of late, and not the only one who possesses the Power.”

  “I suspected as much,” said Aisha. “It was a stranger from the south, was it not?”

  “Like yourself,” said the old woman.

  Aisha shook her head. “Nothing like me.”

  “That remains to be seen — if you will forgive me for saying.”

  “A wise woman judges people by their deeds not by their words.”

  “Truth,” said the old woman and laughed softly. She leaned forward and used a poker to stir the fire. Flames leapt up. Kormak felt his eyes become a little drier.

  “You don’t look surprised, Sir Kormak,” the old woman said.

  “I saw the body of a Watcher, killed by magic. I have seen sorcery like that before. It’s the sort of magic the Necromancers of Khand use to dispose of their enemies.”

  “You have walked the Lethian Shore?” Aisha asked.

  Kormak nodded.

  “I am surprised a man of your kind left Khand alive. Most join their legions of unliving.”

  “It is a bad place,” Kormak said. “And the people are unwelcoming.”

  Aisha laughed, a sound like the tinkling of silver bells, clear and cold and without much mirth in it. “You have a gift for understatement,” she said.

  The old woman was frowning. “I know little of the men of Khand but what I have heard is not good. The same can be said of all those who traffic with the undying. Why would one of that sort be here?”

  “Why would one of them be here and opening barrows?” Kormak asked. He looked directly at Aisha but she was looking at the old woman, perhaps deliberately.

  “He is looking for something,” the old woman said. She too was looking at Aisha as if the other woman could give her some answers. Aisha said nothing. Kormak was not surprised. No sorcerer would give away secrets to another, not without getting something in exchange. Secrets were the currency of their world.

  “He is looking for something,” the old woman repeated. This time it was not a question.

  “How long ago did he pass?” Aisha asked.

  “A few days. We saw him on the road. Some of my boys went down to take a look, what they saw made them think twice about going closer.”

  Kormak wondered if she meant something stopped them from trying to rob the strangers.

  “What was it?”

  “There were a group of strangers but they did not look natural. There was just something about them. They said there was one in particular who was massive and hunched, looked more like a troll than a man.”

  “Have your boys ever seen a troll?”

  “No, Guardian, or they most likely would not be still with us. They’ve heard the stories though. What hill-man has not?”

  “So your boys never got close enough to take a good look at the newcomers,” Kormak said.

  “They hailed them, and their accents were not local.”

  “What did they have to say?”

  “They told my boys to clear off the road or it would be worse for them.” Kormak could picture the scene in his mind’s eye easily enough with the hill-men blocking the road as they attempted to part the travellers from some sort of toll, and the travellers refusing to give way.

  “One of my boys lost his temper and put an arrow into the big one.”

  “There was a fight.”

  “Not much of one.”

  “Why?”

  “They turned the big one into a pin-cushion with their arrows. He just kept coming towards them, making a strange grunting and moaning sound.”

  “Men tend to do that when they have been filled full of arrows.”

  “They also tend to bleed, Sir Kormak. This one didn’t.”

  “None at all? You sure?” Kormak felt the thrill of the hunt grow in him. This sounded like one of Morghael’s minions all right.

  “My boys are. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so scared, not since the frost wights came down out of the hills during the winter of ’63.”

  “They ran?”

  “Well, they didn’t stick around to see what would happen next.”

  “Were they pursued?”

  The old woman shook her head. “Once they were off the road, the strangers rode on. They moved slowly apparently. As if their horses were sick or doped. Lucas followed them a ways just to make sure they were gone. He kept his distance though for sure.”

  “We found a dead man on the road here,” said Kormak. “He had been killed by sorcery. He was a hill-man, a Watcher.”

  “Watcher Martin is overdue. He should have been here a couple of days back.”

  “Maybe he tried to have a chat with the southerners as well.”

  “He might have. Watchers check out every stranger who comes up here. It’s what they do. So are you looking for these southerners, Guardian?”

  Kormak noticed she did not ask Aisha. The question was obviously not meant to include her. It seemed the old woman had already drawn her own conclusions about what the other woman was doing here.

  “It’s starting to sound like it. If they are not the ones I am looking for, they may be up to no good anyway so I may as well take a look.”

  “You see the lights in the hills the other night?”

  Kormak nodded. Aisha did too.

  “You seen the like before?” Kormak asked.

  “One happened when I was a girl. The Green Comet was in the sky. The dead walked then. It was not a good time.”

  “I can believe that.”

  “Strangers on the road, a Guardian looking for them, liche lights in the hills. The Comet returning. I can’t help but feel it’s going to be a bad winter,” said the old woman. “I feel it right in my bones.”

  Kormak saw no reason to contradict her. Aisha yawned, rose and said, “On that gloomy note, I will take my leave.” With courtly bows the Tinkers joined her, leaving Kormak, Brandon and the old lady to themselves.

  Kormak, Brandon and Agnetha sat around the fire, while the wind blew down from the hills and rattled the shutters. Brandon laid out his bedroll in front of the fire.

  “I have always thought that the hill-clans would welcome the return of the Lords of Kharon,” Brandon said. Agnetha gave him a sour smile.

  “You really do not understand our history then,” she told him.

  “I know you are descended from the Men of Kharon and that you fought against my ancestors.”

  “You are right and wrong,” she said.

  “How can I be both?”

  “The hill-clans are descended from the original folk of Kharon. We are not descended from the Lords. They were two se
parate peoples. One ruled. The other were slaves.”

  “You both fought against my ancestors.”

  “Your peasants fight for you.”

  “My peasants are not slaves.”

  “Nonetheless you can see how two people can fight on the same side and one can rule and the other be ruled.”

  Brandon nodded. He clearly did not want to admit it but he could see the old witch’s point.

  “That is how it was. My people were ruled by the Lords of Kharon but they lived in fear for the Lords were far more cruel to their subjects than even you Sunlanders.”

  “I am not cruel to my vassals.”

  “If your vassals were hill-men you might be. Some of your noble kin have been vindictive to their hill-men thralls.” Brandon grunted and chewed the ends of his moustache. He clearly knew that Agnetha was right but was certainly not going to admit it. She was clever enough to know when to leave things alone and when to force her point.

  “The Lords of Kharon were very cruel indeed and they were sorcerers of the darkest sort. They offered up sacrifices to the Shadow in return for lengthened youth and life. It was one of the things that destroyed them in the end.”

  Brandon nodded. Clearly this part accorded with the tales he knew. “Men cannot make pacts with the Shadow without paying the price,” he said.

  “They are still out there, aren’t they?” Kormak said. “The Lords of Kharon are still in the barrows.”

  “Some of them,” Agnetha said. “They are sealed within by Elder Signs and they are not disturbed by my people. I see to that. The Watchers see to that. Even the Twins at Elderdale see to that. They want no one to interfere with their rule and the Old Ones are not lightly defied.”

  “This I know,” Kormak said.

  Agnetha laughed again. “You are thinking I should not be lecturing a Guardian about the ways of the Old Ones.”

  “You should if you know more about them than I do. My Order has no monopoly on knowledge and I am always prepared to learn.” He shot Brandon a look to let him know he should be too.

  “I can see your life has been touched by the Old Ones,” she said.