by William King
“The tribes use them to communicate?”
“Happens in a lot of places.”
Kormak studied the approaching jungle. It looked vast and alien and full of menace. He felt as if something huge dark and threatening waited for him within it.
Light had a different quality this early. It seemed sharper, as if the Holy Sun was determined to bring out the greens of the leaves and the brilliant colours of fast blooming flowers.
Kormak inspected the road. The surface was well worn with grooves, marking centuries of passage by wagons. Somehow these did not mar the runes. The road snaked away downhill and vanished into the forest. The jungle loomed before them like a wall of green. Soon they would be descending into its depths. Kormak wondered what they would find there.
He walked along beside the wagon, wanting to stretch his legs. Behind him the marines sang a marching song. The guards did not join in. There was a definite split between the two forces developing. Kormak hoped that would not prove to be a problem.
Zamara rode up beside him. He had been riding along the line, inspecting the troops.
“Fine morning for it,” Zamara said.
“For what?” Kormak asked.
“For marching. For adventure,” Zamara said. He meant it to sound ironic, but Kormak could tell that the Admiral was both excited and nervous. The landscape surrounding them was not like anything back inside the area, and it was not something that an ocean sailor like Zamara would be used to.
“This reminds me of the coasts of the southern continent,” Zamara said. Kormak smiled. So much for his preconceptions.
“You sailed there?”
“I convoyed ships along that coast,” Zamara said. “Never much cared for it.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“Too many slavers. Too much strangeness in the woods. There are a lot of lunar colonies along that coast. There are a lot of people from the Shadow Kingdoms inland.”
“I know. I’ve been there.”
“You’ve been everywhere,” Zamara said.
“I have not been to the ultimate East,” Kormak corrected.
“You probably get there someday, I’m guessing.”
“Maybe. We should probably send some scouts ahead.”
“Just in case?”
“Just in case.”
“That’s an excellent idea, Guardian. I’ll have Terves send them ahead at once.”
“I’ll go with them.”
As he departed, Anders fell into step alongside him.
The trees arched overhead. The ancient spells that kept them from growing through the roads did not stop them from growing over it. Large dragonflies flitted through the shadows from bush to bush. Some of them were the size of small birds. There were hummingbirds too, smaller than the dragonflies.
Kormak strode along with the scouts. He could hear the singing of the marines behind him. Anders walked along beside him and pointed at something in the undergrowth. “There.”
Kormak saw a skeleton, crucified on two sticks. It hung like a scarecrow grinning a terrible warning at the passers-by. Birds had pecked it but no animal had come along and crunched its bones. It had been smeared with some sort of paste to prevent that. Its clothes were that of a Sunlander colonist.
“I take it this is a warning,” Kormak said.
“Have to get up pretty early in the morning to get anything past you, Guardian,” Anders said. “Yes, it’s a warning. We are entering tribal land. Used to see a lot of these in the jungles back when I was with the company.”
Kormak reached out with this blade and smashed the skull.
“Any particular reason you’re doing that, other than annoyance,” Anders said.
“The thing has been tainted with blight,” Kormak said. “It might rise.”
“First time I have ever seen anything like this so close to the road. The tribes used to put these out as markers of their territory. They were there just there to scare us. Looks like they might be trying something else now.”
Kormak said, “We’d better be wary. Somebody around here is practising sorcery of the darkest kind.”
“There’s a lot of it about at the moment.”
“That’s the worrying part.”
The expedition rested during the hottest part of the day. It was still dark and shadowy under the trees. The air was close and sticky. Kormak felt his armour chafing.
The wagons had halted. The horses seem skittish. All along the road men sprawled. Most of the local guardsmen were taking a siesta as was local custom. The marines not standing guard sat chatting quietly with each other.
Kormak took a sip of tepid water from his flask. He looked at the others sitting in the shadow of the wagon. Rhiana was there, along with Anders and Zamara.
“You really think there’s a chance that we might encounter the walking dead along this road?” Zamara asked. He kept his voice low so that the soldiers couldn’t overhear. It was a fruitless precaution. The scouts had already spread the word of what Kormak had done when they returned to the camp.
Kormak shook his head. “It’s possible. Someone along here is practising very dark magic.”
“And it’s not Balthazar,” Zamara said.
“That skeleton was there before he came along this road,” Anders said. “I’d bet on that.”
“And I would not bet against you,” Rhiana said.
“The main thing is it lets us know that we’re on tribal land,” Anders said, “and that they are using forbidden magic.”
“It seems like the Prefect was right,” Rhiana said.
Anders looked at her quizzically.
“He said that the tribes would be restless,” Rhiana said.
“If they are putting warnings along the road, they certainly are,” Anders said.
Zamara looked thoughtful. “Gold comes along this road from the mines in the mountains, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“We might have to mount a punitive expedition into the jungle when we get back from Helgard. I don’t want to risk anything happening to that gold.”
“I can understand why you would think that,” Anders said. “It might be better to save your troops to protect the caravan.”
“Something that I’ll need to think about,” Zamara said. “But first things first. Find this lost city and the source of Vorkhul’s sarcophagus.”
“It’s hot,” Rhiana said, fanning herself with her webbed fingers. She clearly wanted to change the subject.
“Should get hotter as we go into the jungle,” Anders pointed out.
Kormak walked along the road, all too aware of the runes worked into the stone. It made him uneasy to be striding across something so obviously magical even if he had to pretend that it did not for the sake of the others.
He was out of place here, and he knew it. The heat and humidity were unlike any that he had encountered back in the Old Kingdoms. The giant trees overhanging the road looked alien compared to the forests of the other continent. Brightly coloured birds squawked as they moved along the branches. Sometimes they seemed almost to be talking in a language with which he was not familiar. Other times they seemed to speak words that sounded familiar to him.
Huge serpents slithered across the branches. He had been in dense forests before, even the great Elfwood, but this one was different. The flowers seemed too bright, their perfumes almost overwhelming. The air brought the distant scent of rot to his nostrils. There was a swamp out there. Judging by the water sounds, there were streams as well.
One of the great skull-headed milestones stared down at him from the barrier on the side of the road. It looked different from the sort of statue that existed back in the Old Kingdoms. It was more angular and the product of a different sensibility. All of the features were marked with the lines graven deep into the stone. There was something about the image that suggested horror and death.
Xothak was the sort of deity that fed upon human sacrifices. In the past, there had been othe
rs amongst the Old Ones who did so, but they seemed to have been particularly common in this land. What was it about this place that had attracted them? Was it simply coincidence? He did not know. He was a very long way from the lands he understood.
He glanced back at his companions. Certainly, the two seemed distant and strange. There was Rhiana with her alien beauty and Zamara in his intricate uniform so obviously ill adapted to the climate. Behind them, the marines had stripped off their leather tunics and wrapped them round their waists. It would make them more vulnerable to attack, but heat prostration would be even worse.
Kormak took a swig of warm and brackish water from his canteen. Sweat congealed beneath his armpits and ran down his biceps. His scabbard was sticking to his back. His amulets made him all too aware of the waterfalls of sweat running down his chest. Sometimes when he moved, they seemed to stick to his flesh.
He heard a crack of sound nearby and looked around. For a moment he saw nothing. Some sixth sense told him that he was under observation. He froze. He felt as if something in the wood was mirroring his behaviour.
His eyes sought the shadows and then he noticed it, a patch of white and black. It was not a flower. It took a moment to realise that it was a human face, painted to somewhat resemble a skull. A jaguar pelt was draped over the man’s shoulders. In the darkness of the undergrowth, it had been difficult to spot.
Eyes met his.
There was a shock of recognition. The painted stranger realised that he had been spotted. The face withdrew into the undergrowth. Kormak took one slow step forward and then another, and in a moment he was vaulting over the stone barrier beside the road and sliding down the slope into the jungle.
Huge green leaves fondled his face. They felt like dead men’s fingers. He reached the bottom of the slope and looked around. There was more movement, animals scrabbling through the undergrowth, branches swaying.
Birds shrieked. Monkeys howled. There was no sign of any stranger. He searched around at the foot of the slope where he thought he had seen the intruder. In the muddy earth, there was a trail of footprints. He followed it, but it swiftly vanished. Perhaps the tribesman had taken to the trees. Kormak had seen elves do something similar.
He knew it would not be too wise to get too far away from the road. In this dense forest, it would be all too easy to lose all sense of direction and become separated from the expedition. He doubted there was anything to be gained by following the tribesman anyway. He pulled himself back up the slope, clambered over the barrier and dropped down onto the road.
Zamara watched him from horseback. “I saw you make a bolt into the jungle. I trust it was not because you were overcome by a sudden need to urinate.”
“There was a tribesman,” Kormak said. “He was watching us, and now he has fled.”
“No offence, Sir Kormak, but I would flee too if I saw you chasing me.”
“This one might come back with friends,” Kormak said. “Tonight we should set more sentries. Tonight we should be wary.”
Chapter Eight
The sun lowered itself in the late afternoon sky. Kormak ranged ahead of the column. The tribesmen and the skeletons that they had come across regularly posted along the route had made him uneasy. Anders insisted on going with him.
The road reached a great crevasse. He found himself looking down at the huge pillars that supported the bridge. They had been worked with skulls and monsters and lunar runes. Off on the far side, he could see a waterfall. It dropped a long way into a lake below them.
Anders said, “You are quiet, Sir Kormak. Are you worried about what we might find here? No need. I have passed over this bridge a thousand times.”
“I am always worried about what I may encounter. That is why I am alive.”
“You do have the look of a wary man.”
“It is part of my trade.”
“It is part of mine too, but I have learned to take pleasure where I may. I confess I am starting to look forward to a respite from the lowland heat. Of course, in a few days, I may well be cursing the desert chill.”
Kormak tilted his head to one side. He wondered what Anders wanted, and he waited for the man to reveal it.
“You don’t say much, do you?” Anders said.
“I listen.”
“Your double did that well. Of course, he used the threat of torture to get you to talk.”
Kormak shrugged. “I am not responsible for the behaviour of a lunar assassin.”
“I never said you were . . .”
“And yet?”
“And yet just looking at you makes me uneasy. I keep expecting him.”
“You were captured and tortured and threatened with death by the changeling, so that is hardly surprising.”
“You remind me of him in more than appearance. There is something in your manner.”
“That is hardly flattering,” Kormak said.
“I am serious. He moved like you. He tilted his head in the same way. He reached up and touched the scar on his cheek like you. And he looked like a killer.”
“Like me?”
“Like you.”
“I am not sure where you are going with this.”
“I think he had studied you. How is that possible?”
“The changeling was a shapeshifter. Do you really have to ask?”
“He spent time near you.”
“As the bodyguard of a merchant called Orson, I suspect. We were on the same ship all the way from Siderea. He might even have been in the Palace Imperial before that. I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t that trouble you? It would trouble me. Knowing that all that time a demonic killer had been so close. Might still be close even now.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
Anders shook his head. “Maybe.”
“If there’s one here, there’s nothing we can do about it until it reveals its hand.”
“You think it’s possible then.”
“Changelings are rare. It takes powerful magic to create them.”
“How can you know that?”
“It is what I was taught. They are supposedly ordinary men and women taken as children and trained and altered. That would take a lot of powerful spells, cast over a very long time, to make such permanent changes in a way that would not be detectable by normal means.”
Anders stared off at the other side of the bridge as if he might find the answer to his question there. The trees swayed as if in a breeze. It reminded Kormak of water when something big displaces it. The leading wagons had started to move over it. Rhiana leaned out, looked around and then waved. “How so?”
“Spells leave traces of residual energy that take a long time to fade. People who are sensitive to such things, or who use spells to detect them can sense the energy.”
“People like Captain Rhiana?”
Kormak nodded. “Elder signs interfere with such magic, disrupt it. So a changeling could not do what it does with a simple spell. That would not endure through so many counter-measures. Whatever is done to them must allow them to change their physical appearance, at least on the surface, and that appearance must be fixed so that magic can't undo it. It must truly be their appearance from that point.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that it’s no simple thing to do that. It’s done by muscles beneath the skin that move fat and flesh around, tighten it here, loosen it there.”
“I’m not sure I want to know how you know that.”
“The corpse of a changeling fell into the Order’s hands about a century ago. For some reason, the body did not dissolve as they usually do when killed. One of our alchemists dissected it and found the musculature and skeleton had been changed. Inducing those changes and making them permanent takes very powerful magic, almost of the same order that the Old Ones used to create their Children.”
Anders glanced at Rhiana again. The wagon was halfway across the bridge now. The soldiers marched along behind it. “Like the merfolk.”
“In some ways. We don’t think the changes breed true the way they do with the Children, though. We think this is an induced change. We could be wrong, though. We have been in the past, and we don’t have much to go on.”
“Why did they do it? The Old Ones I mean. Change so many people? Create so many strange things.”
“They wanted servants. They created new ones the way a blacksmith creates tools. Or an alchemist invents new formulas.”
“You don’t think that’s all of it though, do you?”
“I think that maybe they did it for the same reason an artist paints or a bard makes songs. Because it satisfied some need in them.”
“I’ve heard some people say that even we humans are their children.”
“I’ve heard it too, but I don’t think it’s true. I think they used us as raw material, as they used other races they enslaved. The Solari were never their servants. Even the eldrim admit that.”
“You don’t talk about these things like a priest. You talk about them as if they are just things you know, not part of our religion.”
Kormak paused to consider his next words carefully. He did not want to sound heretical. Nor did he mean to be. “This is part of my vocation. This is what I was trained for. I was sent out into the world to deal with these things, not preach about them.”
“You must have lived a very strange life.”
“It does not seem that way to me,” Kormak lied. “It just seems like my life.”
Anders nodded. “I suppose that is the way for everybody.”
“I suppose so,” Kormak agreed.
“Can I ask you something? It might sound dumb?”
“I won’t know whether it’s stupid until you ask, so feel free to do so.”
“What’s it like? Back in Siderea? Still the same as it was under the Old King?”
“I don’t know. When he was on the throne, I was busy fighting orcs on the borders of Taurea.”
“They still sell good pies in the main square of Trefal?”
Kormak realised that Anders was nostalgic for the city of his youth. He wondered what that must feel like. He had been glad to leave Mount Aethelas himself. Since then he had not spent much time settled in any place. There was nothing he felt nostalgic about except perhaps being on the road itself. That was something he had always loved.