4 City of Strife

by William King

  “I am just remembering what he told me back when he gave up the sword.”

  “What was that?”

  “He said if you chase monsters too long you become one. I never understood what he meant at the time. I was young.”

  “You think you understand him now?”

  “Perhaps. You see too much, you lose some things. You get cold and you get cruel. Some get to like killing. I’ve seen it happen.”

  “Do you? Like killing?”

  “It depends on who I am killing.”

  Her eyes widened. “It’s not a thing to make jokes about,” she said.

  “I wasn’t joking,” he said. Silence filled the bedchamber. After a few minutes she said. “I can think of a few people I would enjoy killing if I am honest.”

  “Who would those be?”

  “The men who murdered those girls to start with.”

  “You won’t ever get the chance,” Kormak said. “They are gone.”

  “For some reason, that does not reassure me.”

  “The Shadow always finds more willing hands,” Kormak said.

  “I think I liked you better when I thought you were just a mercenary. You have a way of making me feel uncomfortable.”

  In the private dining room, Kormak fed Lila a chicken leg when there was an urgent knock on the door.

  “What is it?” Lila shouted, adjusting her dress. “I told you quite specifically we were not to be disturbed.”

  “A visitor,” the servant girl’s voice came back.

  “Tell him I’ll talk to him later.”

  “The visitor is not for you, mistress.” The girl’s response sounded embarrassed. “He’s for Sir Kormak.”

  “Is it the watchman again,” Lila asked, rising and heading towards the door. “If it is, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

  “No mistress, it’s Karsten Oldberg. He says he most particularly wants to talk to Sir Kormak.”

  Lila’s hand went to her mouth. She turned to look at Kormak. “Looks like the richest man in the city wants a word with you.”

  “Better let him in then,” said Kormak. “Let’s hear what the great man has to say.”

  Karsten Oldberg was a big man. His hair was thick and golden. His beard was thick and golden. His eyes were a rich brown that somehow suggested gold. He was expensively dressed in a white wolfskin trimmed robe. A golden medallion bearing his family sign hung from his neck, flanked by two golden Elder Signs. He lumbered into the room, large and powerful as a bear. His two cold-eyed bodyguards remained outside.

  “Mistress Lila,” he boomed. “Your house is as charming as ever. I regret it has been some time since I came over to sample your ales.”

  “No doubt you have been busy,” she said. “Since you opened the Golden Boar.”

  If Karsten noticed her sardonic tone he gave no sign of it. He prowled over to where Kormak sat and extended a meaty hand. It was tanned gold and there was a gold ring on every finger. No one was going to be left in any doubt as to his wealth. “And you must be the brave Sir Kormak who has been giving those Krugman ruffians the drubbings they so richly deserve.”

  “I defended myself against a man in their livery when he attacked me.”

  “And put the fear of the Holy Sun into a whole gang of them or so I hear.” Karsten laughed. It was a pleasant sound, jovial and friendly.

  “Perhaps,” said Kormak. He studied the merchant prince for a moment. Karsten met his gaze levelly. “Why exactly are you here?”

  “As if you did not know. I came to offer you a job.”

  “As a bodyguard?”

  “You might say that although what I had in mind was of a more aggressive nature.”

  “You want me to continue putting the fear of the Holy Sun into Krugman’s men?”

  “You’re quick on the uptake as well as tough. A man like you could get rich in my employ, Sir Kormak.”

  “I came here on a pilgrimage,” said Kormak, to buy himself some time. “I came here to ask the Saint to wash some of the blood from my hands. It would not feel right to approach her remains while I was undertaking to shed more blood.”

  Karsten paused for a moment. He seemed to be holding his breath and his face became ruddy under the tan. He was not a man used to being refused however politely.

  The silence held for a long moment then Karsten grinned. “I can understand that. I would not want to stand in the way of any man seeking salvation. Once you’ve bowed before the Saint would you be willing to consider my offer?”

  “I am already considering it,” said Kormak.

  “That’s good then, Sir Kormak. And by the way, there’s no need to worry about the City Watch making more inquiries. There were witnesses who saw you attacked. They saw everything from the windows above the courtyard.” He touched his bulging purse and it clinked. “All it took was a little of the right persuasion to make them come forward and speak up on your behalf. You’ll be getting no more visits from Sergeant Altman.”

  He smiled at Kormak, bowed to Lila and said, “We will speak again after you have done penance to the Saint. I wish you both a very pleasant evening.” With that he strolled out, leaving the room feeling suddenly empty.

  Lila looked at Kormak. “He doesn’t see that every day,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone turning down his gold.”

  “I didn’t turn it down. I simply told him I had spiritual duties to perform here.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” said Lila.

  “I did not come here to be drawn into some merchant’s squabble, Lila.” He kept his voice sincere but already he was turning over possibilities in his mind. It seemed likely that Karsten Oldberg was involved in the madness sweeping over the city and this might provide him with a means of getting close enough to find out exactly how involved he was.

  “You’ve already been drawn into it. Have you any idea how powerful the Oldbergs and Krugmans are? They fund the wars of Princes. Their money helps select Archprelates. There are merchant houses and then there are those two. They loom above all the others like a giant towers over children.”

  Kormak shrugged. “It’s not my war,” he said.

  “You have your own war, do you?” she said. She was teasing but he took the question seriously. “I do and I have fought in it for most of my life.”

  “Maybe you should take some time off,” she said, moving closer and snuggling up against him.

  “Maybe I should,” he replied. He pushed all thoughts of the city’s intrigues aside and gave the woman in his arms his full attention.

  Later that evening, there was another urgent knocking on the door. Lila raised an eyebrow. “Maybe Karsten Oldberg forgot to tell you something.”

  Kormak pulled her back onto the bed. The air outside the blankets was cold and there was a warm spot where she had been lying. “Let him wait outside in the snow,” he said.

  “I confess I am curious now,” she said as he wrestled her down.

  “About what?” he said. “I think you know what’s coming.”

  She laughed. It was a warm, erotic sound but the banging on the door continued in a most distracting way. “Maybe there’s been an accident. Maybe the inn is on fire.”

  She pulled herself away, and pulled on her robe. Kormak watched her go to the door with some regret. The servant girl was there again, and they exchanged murmured whispers. A moment later, she returned to the bed and sat down beside him. “There’s a monk below. He says he wants a word with you, urgently.”

  “I suppose I had better find out what he wants then,” said Kormak, rising and starting to dress. Had Frater Lucian found something out, he wondered, or was this something else entirely?

  Chapter Six

  THE VISITOR SAT in the corner warming his hands against the kitchen fire. His robes were thick and his cowl was drawn up to cover his face. His fingers were long and thin and very fine looking. Kormak strode over to the chair and pulled the man’s hood down. As he had suspected,
the newcomer did not have the tonsure of a monk. His face was lean and bony. His eyes were intense behind small glasses.

  “That was not very polite,” said the monk. His voice was surprisingly rich and powerful for a man so slight. It was an actor’s voice, Kormak thought.

  “I like to see who I am talking to.”

  “Understandable.”

  “I like to know their names as well, holy frater.” He placed an ironic emphasis on the last two words.

  “I am Jurgen Krugman.”

  “And what business do you have with me?”

  “You harmed a man in my employ today.”

  “Have you come to ask for weregeld?”

  “Lemy was a fool. He deserved what he got. Dren had already told him to leave you alone.” He looked at Kormak curiously, as if waiting to see whether he would deny this or not.

  “Yes, he did,” said Kormak.

  “Dren is not a fool,” said Jurgen. “Dren is an excellent judge of men, which is why I employ him.”

  “I thought you employed him to hurt people.”

  “I can find men on any street corner to do that.”

  “Or get Dren to find them for you.”

  “Your understanding of the situation is admirable.”

  “I have been told that I am quick on the uptake.”

  “You are far more than that, Sir Kormak. Dren assures me you are quite the most dangerous man he has seen in the last ten years.”

  “That’s very flattering. Have you come to offer me a job?”

  “I would not be the first today, would I?”

  Kormak remained silent. Jurgen said, “Karsten Oldberg has already visited this place. I doubt he came to see the lovely Lila so I suspect he was offering you gold to continue doing what you have been doing to my people.”

  “And what are you visiting for? Are you going to offer me gold to not do so?”

  Jurgen drummed his fingers on the tabletop then turned to look at the fire. “That’s certainly one option. There are others.”

  “Such as?”

  “You could come work for me . . .” Something in Jurgen’s manner told him that was not the only option. “Or?”

  “You could take Karsten Oldberg up on his offer.”

  “I would have thought you would be the last person to encourage me to do that.”

  “Why? You could take a job for Karsten and still work for me. You would get paid twice and I can assure you that whatever Karsten pays, I will pay more. A man could get very rich doing that.”

  There were certainly possibilities in this situation. He was not sure that the war between the two merchant houses was the reason he had been summoned to Vermstadt but if there was a connection this would offer him an excellent opportunity to ferret it out. Both sides were said to be employing sorcerers in their war. That alone raised the prospect of them being of interest to the order. “To be clear you want me to spy on Karsten for you, while pretending to work for him.”

  “Precisely so.”

  “And what is to prevent me to doing exactly the same to you.”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Jurgen’s complacent manner told him that things were not going to be quite that simple.

  “You’ve already taken that possibility into account.”

  “I am a man not without his own sources of information, Sir Kormak. And I like to think I am not unintelligent. In the long run, you would do better by playing straight with me than not. You seem like a reasonable man with a sound understanding of the way the world works. I am too. Under the circumstances we could do well by each other.”

  “That seems eminently reasonable.”

  “You are interested in coming to terms?”

  “I will tell you what I told Karsten Oldberg. I came here to beg intercession from Saint Verma and I believe it would be a sin to approach the Blessed One while employed to shed blood.”

  “I appreciate your scruples and your honesty in sharing them. Can I take it you would be prepared to contemplate my proposition after your business with the Saint is transacted?”

  “You can.”

  “Excellent. That is all I can reasonably ask. I must ask you one favour though.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Please try not to maim any more of my men.”

  “Please ask them not to start any fights with me.”

  “I can assure you that has already been done.”

  “Very well then.”

  “I shall contact you in two days then. That should be ample for you to visit the shrine and do penance. Or should I give you more time?”

  “That will be adequate.” Jurgen extended a long pale hand for Kormak to shake. His flesh was dry. His grip surprisingly strong. “I look forward to talking to you in the not-to-distant future.”

  He rose, pulled up his cowl and made for the door. “It would probably be best if you did not mention this conversation to Karsten Oldberg, but I shall leave that to your own discretion.”

  He slipped out the door and into snow-filled courtyard. Kormak saw other monks out there. He doubted they were holy men either. It has been an interesting evening. He suspected that the next day was going to be even more so. He really did need to have more words with Karsten Oldberg now.

  The Oldberg Palace faced out onto Oldberg Square. Banners showing the sun and scales worked in gold on green hung down along its entire frontage. Servants constantly brushed away snow from the pillared arcade jutting out from the mansion walls. Moneychangers and merchants stood there transacting business.

  In the centre of the square a massive soot-blackened statue presided over a frozen fountain. Snow had caught in the stone folds of its robe and on the crown of its merchant’s hat. Icicles hung from the scales it held in its cold hand. Even the sign of the sun on the stone breast looked chilly.

  Kormak approached a huge brass door, worked with the house insignia. A group of tough-looking men moved to stop him.

  “What do you want?” asked a tall, clean-cut warrior. He stood straight-backed as a lord’s banner bearer upon the field of battle but there was a faint smell of alcohol about him.

  “Tell Lord Karsten that Sir Kormak would have a word with him. He is expecting me.” Kormak spoke confidently and the men relaxed a little. The guards dispatched a servant within and a few minutes later Karsten Oldberg himself appeared, smiling affably. The guards continued to watch Kormak carefully though. They were professionals.

  “That will be enough, Rene,” said Karsten, addressing the Guard Captain. “Sir Kormak is a guest here and I expect him to be treated as such.”

  Karsten threw a meaty arm around Kormak’s shoulder and guided him through the great doorway into the interior of the building. It was warmer here, braziers burned everywhere. Carpets covered the floors and tapestries the walls. Every window held glass, a sign of the truly wealthy.

  “You have visited the Saint’s shrine,” said Karsten. It was not a question. Kormak did not doubt that he had been watched as he made his way there this morning and prayed before the sacred relics for three hours.

  “I have.”

  “And you have been granted absolution.”

  “I made an offering.”

  Karsten laughed. “You are a cautious man. I like that.”

  He removed his arm from around Kormak’s shoulder and led him into a study as large as the common room in the Gilded Lion. Huge leather armchairs stood arrayed around a massive fireplace, clutching at the carpet with the carved claws of their wooden legs.

  Paintings of Karsten’s ancestors gazed down from the walls. The signs of sun and scales had been worked into every portrait, sometimes subtly, sometimes ostentatiously. In several portraits the merchant princes stood behind or beside kings and Archprelates. In one case a saint with a golden halo radiating sunbeams from his head gave his blessing to an Oldberg carrying balanced scales. The message was clear. Holiness, wealth and sanctity all went hand in hand in the Oldbergs’ view of themselves.

 
Another man, tall and thin and pale, stood in the corner. His face was long and ascetic but his robes were the black of a scholar and he wore a scholar’s skull cap. He studied Kormak with intense pale eyes.

  “Balthazar, this is the man I told you of. He will be coming to work for us.” Karsten spoke in an off-hand manner but there was a cautious note in his voice that caused Kormak to give Balthazar special attention.

  Balthazar measured out his chilly smile by a fraction of an ounce. He looked at Kormak suspiciously. His nose wrinkled as if he was sniffing the air.

  “Balthazar is my advisor,” Karsten said. “He is a sorcerer.”

  The merchant prince studied Kormak closely as if looking for a reaction. Most men would have flinched on being told a thing like that. No matter how much he might have wanted to act the part, Kormak could not. He had spent too much time hunting mages down. Karsten laughed. “You are as fearless as I had hoped. Good. I think you will do well in my service, Sir Kormak.”

  “If you have a sorcerer what need have you of my blade?” Kormak asked.

  “My enemies are sorcerers. Balthazar is here to neutralise that advantage. The matter will be settled with swords most likely. These things usually are.”

  Balthazar came closer. His nostrils twitched. He met Kormak’s gaze and held it. His eyes had a faint yellow ring around the iris. Kormak had seen such before in those whose blood held more than a trace of the uncanny. Most people would find it all too easy to believe Balthazar was a mage.

  He put a hand on Kormak’s shoulder. His nails were long and sharp and yellowish, as if stained by the use of some drug. His nostrils flared and his eyes widened.

  “He has the smell of Krugman on him,” said the sorcerer. His voice was thin, with a scratchy quality. It grated on the nerves and it was most likely supposed to.

  “It is blood you sense. He took off the hand of one of their men. He has fought them on the street.”

  “No. It is more than that.” Kormak wondered how much of this was theatre, designed to elicit a response. He had no reason to believe that the Oldberg spies were any less efficient than the Krugman’s. He decided to be as honest as he could under the circumstances.