by William King
“Jurgen Krugman approached me with an offer of service,” Kormak said.
“I am not surprised.” Karsten tilted his head to one side. It was a gesture that reminded Kormak of a hawk studying a piece of meat.
“He wanted me to enter your service and remain in his.”
“To be a spy. That would be his way. Jurgen has a crooked mind.”
“What did you tell him?” Balthazar asked.
“I told him I would consider it.”
“Good. Good,” Karsten Oldberg’s booming laugh echoed round the room. “This is something we can make use of.”
“Doubtless it is something Sir Kormak intends to make use of,” said the magician. There was a definite hostility in his tone.
“And why should he not? He can get gold from Jurgen and more gold from me. He can triple his fees easily enough. It is both understandable and admirable. I would do the same myself in his situation.”
And just as suddenly as it had started the laughter stopped and he was looming over Kormak, at once jovial and menacing. “Of course, your loyalty will be to me.”
The tone made it clear that he had no doubt that this would be the case, that the consequences of it being otherwise would be fatal. Kormak was very aware that he was within the man’s palace, that there were a hundred armed men on call and a sorcerer in the room.
“Of course,” Kormak said.
“Excellent,” Karsten said. “Now let us discuss the matter of your fees.”
They talked of gold. Balthazar watched, nose twitching, strange eyes focused intensely on Kormak as if he was trying to work something out about him. When the negotiations were finished, Karsten said, “Balthazar has worked a divination. Tonight the Silent Man will attack our warehouse down by the docks. I think you should be among those we send to defend our property.”
“As you wish,” Kormak said. He was curious about the Silent Man and keen to meet him. “What can you tell me of this Silent Man?”
“The most important thing is that we would have crushed the Krugmans by now if it was not for him. He has single-handedly turned the course of our conflict.” There was a note of fear in Karsten’s voice that Kormak would not have expected to be there. He waved his hand as if dismissing something unpleasant and said, “He is a great fighter no doubt but enough good men will end his career once and for all, won’t it Sir Kormak?”
“Let us hope so,” said Kormak.
“Indeed,” said Balthazar. Malice glittered in his eyes and for the first time his smile held a hint of real amusement. Kormak suspected that it was at his expense.
The subject seemed to have unsettled Karsten. He held the door open with his own hand as he made it clear Kormak was to leave. “Meet with Captain Rene at our warehouse on the river front tonight. He will tell you where it is.”
Chapter Seven
THE NIGHT WAS cold and overcast. The great glittering eye of the almost full moon squinted through a break in the clouds. The Oldberg watchmen huddled by braziers along the dockside quays. Kormak stood in the shadows of the huge warehouse and looked out at the oily black surface of the River Verm. Across the way he could see lights and the giant bulk of the city walls. A few glimmers on the far side were reflected in the river. Snow kept falling, the flakes vanishing when they touched the water’s surface. They blurred vision, softened the outlines of distant buildings and added to the growing drifts all around.
“I notice the sorcerer did not volunteer to come with us and put his supernaturally gained intelligence to the test,” said one of the watchmen huddled by the watch-fire. In the gloom, Kormak’s hearing was unnaturally acute.
“Balthazar’s too valuable to risk beyond the mansion,” said Rene, the Guard Captain. “If he steps out the Krugmans will have him assassinated.”
“Might be the best thing for him,” said the first voice. There was a grumbling fearful undercurrent in his tone.
“I would not let our lord and master hear you say that,” said Rene. “I don’t like wizards any more than you do, but he has proved valuable so far, and he’s cooking up something that will win us this war.”
A strange tang was in the air, more than just the usual contaminated smell of the river and smoke and night soil. There was something about it that set Kormak’s nerves to jangling. Tendrils of mist were rising from the waters, like the tentacles of a kraken swatting at the snowflakes. Maybe it was caused by hot water or dyes from the tanneries being pumped out somewhere but he doubted it.
“You think the Silent Man is really going to show up tonight, Rene?” Another of the watchmen asked.
“That’s what we’re waiting to find out.”
“Think he’s really as tough as they say?”
“Edwan claims to have put six crossbow bolts into him and he kept on coming,” Rene said.
“Edwan’s a cowardly lying rat bastard though.”
The Guard Captain chuckled. “There is that.”
Footsteps crunched in the snow as Rene moved over to where Kormak stood. “How are you doing?” he asked. There was ambivalence in his tone. He was not sure where he stood with regard to Kormak. Karsten had indicated he was in favour, but there was envy and mistrust in the captain’s manner.
“Cold,” Kormak said.
The captain produced a small silver flask, took a sip and offered it to Kormak. The Guardian took it with his left hand but did not drink yet . “I’ll need all my wits about me. There’s something odd on the night wind.”
“Suit yourself,” said Rene. “Me, I find a little vodka helps when I am standing night watches.”
Kormak shrugged. Over the captain’s shoulder he could see the mist continue to rise. The snow seemed to be falling faster. Visibility was narrowing quickly. The lights on the far side of the river were no longer even smudged smears. If the Silent Man was going to attack he had picked a good night for it, providing he did not mind the cold.
“You ever seen this Silent Man?” Kormak asked.
“Scared?” Rene asked. He sounded hopeful.
“Interested. He seems to have inspired a lot of fear.”
“Not surprising,” said Rene. “He’s been reported killed half a dozen times and by men more reliable than Edwan. He always comes back though. And often he kills the men who claimed they killed him. I’d find it downright spooky if I gave myself a chance to think about it.”
“Have you ever seen him?”
“Once in the distance during the rioting in Palace Square. Couldn’t make out much. It was night.”
“What was he like?”
“Big. Carried a hammer. Wore a mask. There’s some claim he’s ugly as a moon troll, face eaten away by some Shadow-cursed disease. They say he smells dreadful”
“Smells?”
“Of blood and rotten meat, they say.”
Kormak frowned. He liked the sound of this less and less. “Anyone ever seen him through the day?”
“Now that you mention it, no. That’s another reason all these stories cling to him I suppose.” Rene spoke in a brisk no-nonsense manner now, like a man doing his best to conceal a very real nervousness.
“You sure they are only stories?”
“You worried about Krugman magic?”
“Should I be?”
White teeth glinted where Rene smiled. “Yes. I think so. They’ve always used sorcery, right back since when they first came to the city. They used to be more subtle about it though. It was always held back.”
“Why are they using it now?”
“Because they are running scared. It’s come to open conflict with our lord and master, and the Oldbergs have more money and more men. Even then I don’t suppose we would be standing here if the Prelate was not on his death bed. He used to keep things under tight control. Everybody was scared of him.”
Mist infiltrated the alley at the warehouses side. Tendrils slithered up the side of the building. The strange scent grew stronger. There was a hint of incense in it, of a kind Kormak recognised.
“What?” Rene asked.
“Red orchid. Wizards use it in ritual magic.”
“If you say so.”
“That’s what you’re smelling. Better tell the men to get ready.”
Rene froze. He was not used to taking orders from anyone except Karsten. Something in Kormak’s tone must have convinced him though for he stepped out into the mist, towards where the brazier burned and said, “Keep alert.”
A scream pierced the night.
The clash of blade with blade reached Kormak’s ears. He smothered the urge to run towards it. That impulse might get him killed if there was an ambush waiting. Instead he kept close to the wall, and stalked towards the sounds of fighting. It wasn’t easy; the snow drifts were deepest there.
In the gloom shadowy shapes struggled. It was difficult to tell who was who. “For the Oldbergs!” The battle-cry rang out through the night only to be cut off. A number of melees had broken out all around the building.
From behind Kormak now came the echoes of terrific blows being landed on the warehouse door, like a battering ram was being used. There was a splintering noise and then shouts of glee and triumph, screams and the sound of more blows being struck. He moved towards the warehouse entrance.
Light flooded from the broken doorway. Inside, figures struggled against each other. Most of them wore the tunics of the Oldberg family, two others wore grey robes and masks. Between the pair loomed a gigantic man wearing a leather mask. In one hand he held an enormous hammer which most men would have struggled to lift with two. Kormak had no doubt that this was the Silent Man. While others howled battle-cries, he said nothing at all.
The giant lashed out with a crunching blow that sent a man careening twenty feet through the air to crash down on a bale of silks. Another hammer stroke smashed a man’s chest, the force of the impact tearing flesh and splintering bone. Kormak had seen blows struck with similar force before but never by a human being. Was the Silent Man an Old One or one of their children, he wondered?
An Oldberg guard drove his sword between the giant’s shoulder blades. The Silent Man did not even slow down, just kept battering down the guards around him, dragging his attacker along in his wake as he tried to pull his blade free. Out of the shadows, a crossbow bolt flashed, striking the Silent Man on his chest. Kormak had seen strong warriors knocked over by the force of such an impact. The giant kept going.
Three more Oldberg guardsmen raced towards him, spreading out so they could not all be struck at once. The Silent Man picked one and lashed out. The guard tried to parry but his blade was brushed aside as if it was nothing and the full force of the giant’s blow crushed his head like jelly. The two remaining guards took advantage of the distraction. Their blades thunked into the Silent Man with a sound like an axe hitting wood. No blood was drawn.
One of the guards froze and was reduced to a broken wreck in a heartbeat. The other turned to run and the Silent Man removed his head, the sheer force of the impact tearing it clear from his shoulders.
The Silent Man stood alone surrounded by bodies. The other attackers, who had done little more than watch him fight, laughed. One of them touched the amulet around his neck nervously. Kormak saw that a similar one hung around the Silent Man’s. Was it a symbol of allegiance or did it have another purpose?
Kormak raced forward, blade clearing scabbard, and the runes along its length flared to life. One of the attackers turned to face him. Kormak slashed his throat and kept moving, striking at the second infiltrator. His blade cut the man’s leg even as he leapt to one side. The impact sent him sprawling, blood pulling around his wounded calf. There was something familiar about the man’s voice as he cursed, so Kormak did not decapitate him.
The Silent Man turned to face him. He stank like a week-old cadaver. Kormak plunged his blade into the Silent Man’s chest. His eyes glowed hellishly through the slits in his mask. The scent of burning flesh overpowered that of rotten meat and curdled blood, the smell of a long dead corpse. That, and the glowing runes on his blade, told him his opponent’s frame was suffused with magical energy.
The Silent Man appeared to feel no pain from Kormak’s attack. The great hammer flashed down. Kormak sprang back, pulling his sword free.
A whirlwind of blows rained down on him, forcing him to dance backwards. Each strike smashed the ground at his feet, breaking stone, sending chips of granite flying.
Kormak retreated out the door of the warehouse, back towards the braziers. He knew better than to try and parry those hammer strikes. He had seen what had happened to earlier efforts.
Normally he would have waited for his foe to tire. Nothing human could have kept up such a relentless onslaught. He knew the Silent Man could.
Kormak still had Rene’s flask in his free hand. He flicked the stopper off with his thumb and threw the contents over the Silent Man, narrowly avoiding a strike that would have split a cart in two. He circled towards one of the braziers, till he was standing in front of it.
The Silent Man followed him. Kormak kicked the brazier at the giant. A hammer descended, smashing into the brazier. Blazing charcoal flew everywhere and set light to the alcohol that covered the monster.
The leaping flames affected it in a way nothing else had. It began to circle in an increasingly panicked way. Kormak leapt forward and struck again. His blade buried itself in the Silent Man’s breast and where it struck flesh sizzled.
He rained down stroke after stroke, driving the Silent Man back to the edge of the quay. The giant stumbled into the water and sank in the cold depths. Kormak watched for long moments but the Silent Man did not emerge. Nothing living could have held its breath for so long.
Kormak headed back to the warehouse. The infiltrator he had wounded was still there. Kormak reached down and ripped off his mask. It was Dren.
Swiftly Kormak bound his wounded leg. “Get out of here,” he told the man. “And when you see Jurgen Krugman tell him to remember our deal. I will meet him in the Cathedral close at noon tomorrow.”
Dren’s eyes widened, but he reeled to his feet and limped away, leaving Kormak to contemplate the pile of dead bodies and wonder whether he had done the right thing. Then he went to check on the remaining Oldberg guards. Many of them were wounded, a few of them were missing presumed fled. Rene remained rallying the troops. His arm was bandaged but he seemed otherwise all right.
Kormak returned his flask. The Guard Captain took it and put it to his lips then he made a face, “Empty,” he said.
“I gave your liquor to the Silent Man,” Kormak said. “It warmed him up all right.”
Balthazar held the amulet Kormak had taken from the dead infiltrator at arm’s length. It dangled from one bony finger. He turned it so that it caught the light of from the study’s chandeliers. Their glitter made the mystical symbols obvious. He sniffed and his forehead wrinkled in distaste.
“It’s magical all right,” he said. “I’m guessing it lets the Silent Man know who’s on his side and who’s not. It is protection of sorts for his allies.”
“Very good,” said Karsten Oldberg. “Do you think you can duplicate it?”
Balthazar lifted a scented handkerchief to his nose, sniffed again then wrapped the amulet in the cloth. “Given time.”
Karsten rubbed his meaty hands together. “Excellent. Maybe the next time the thing appears we’ll have some protection against it. Other than Sir Kormak’s strong sword arm, of course.”
Kormak decided that playing ignorant was in his best interests. “You think he’ll be back then? No man could have stayed under water so long without drowning.”
“He’s survived worse. You yourself say you saw him pinned with a blade and struck with a crossbow. You burned him as well and still he kept on coming.”
“Burned him,” said Balthazar, in his high rasping voice. “That was quick thinking of you.” He stared at Kormak again. His eyes did not blink for a very long time.
“I was lucky,”
Kormak said. He had not mentioned his sword, instead had concentrated on how he had burned his foe with alcohol.
“Your luck has earned you five gold solars.”
Balthazar simply stared as Karsten tossed him a pouch. It clinked heavily as Kormak pulled it from the air. The merchant prince was being generous indeed.
“What was your impression of the Silent Man?” Balthazar asked.
“He smelled. Like a corpse.”
The sorcerer nodded as if Kormak had just confirmed something he had expected.
“You are sure.”
“I’ve had plenty of experience of what corpses smell like,” Kormak said. “I am curious—how did you know he would attack tonight.”
Karsten looked at the wizard meaningfully.
“I used potent divinations.”
“He can see what is happening around the city in his crystal,” Karsten said.
“That is a useful power.”
“Less than you might think,” said Balthazar. “Such magic is not reliable. It works only when the spirits allow and the portents it shows are often cloudy.”
“I would see such wonders,” said Kormak. Balthazar gave him a suspicious smile.
“My secrets are my own,” he said. “Just as yours are your own.”
He left the words hanging in the air so that Kormak could guess at their meaning. He seemed to like doing that, to draw other people out, to imply he knew more than he was saying.
“Sir Kormak is no sorcerer,” said Karsten. “He cannot steal your secrets. Surely there can be no harm in showing him your devices.”
“Is that a command?” Balthazar asked.
“Let us say it is a request.”
“Clearly Sir Kormak is high in your favour, so I will grant it.”
“You will not find me ungrateful,” said Karsten.
“Very well.” He led them from the study and out into the corridor, eventually down the stairs into the cellars. He took a torch from the bracket in the wall at the bottom. As they progressed, Kormak smelled incense. They came to a door, triple locked. Balthazar produced the keys and they entered.
