Portents of Doom ( Kormak Book Ten) (The Kormak Saga 10)

by William King

  Red Talon spoke again, and his pack mates called the response to his chant. Each of them produced the vial of enchanted oil they had been given on their initiation. Each of them raised it to his lips just as Red Talon did. Each of them let drops of the precious fluid dribble onto their tongue. They had mixed it for themselves, using the heart blood of a jaguar and mixing it with the essence of powdered blood flower gathered from a blight in the dark of the moon.

  The liquid tasted flat and metallic with a tart herbal underglow. It tingled on the tongue. It went down the throat like liquid fire and burned in the belly. As the chant went on, the fire spread to the limbs and the loins. Red Talon pulled his leopard skin over his forehead and down onto his brow. He drew it tight about his shoulders. His Lodge brothers did the same.

  Slowly the pack members fell into a crouch. Their faces took on a slack bestial expression. Their eyes narrowed. They licked their lips and flexed their hands like claws. Each looked as much beast as human now. There was a glow in their eyes such as one saw gathered around the caps of the giant mushrooms that grew in the blights. Their muscles flexed. The veins on their arms and foreheads and necks pulsed. They swallowed and growled as if possessed by the spirit of the great hunting cats. The pact of the Jaguar Brotherhood had been invoked.

  It was the same ritual they had undergone before. This time though, filled with the power of Xothak, they would be truly transformed.

  Red Talon smiled, showing his filed teeth. His eyes probed the darkness as if it were but a dim-lit day. His ears could hear the faint skitter of small animals through the undergrowth, sounds that would normally have been hidden by the rain. His nostrils caught the distant stink of horses and outlanders. All his senses were keener, just as his muscles were stronger and his reflexes faster.

  He growled to his pack, and they answered in kind. The rest of the warriors waited expectantly. Red Talon raised his claw and indicated that they should move forward, creeping through the rain towards the edge of the enemy camp.

  Soon now he would be eating the hearts of his enemies. His mouth watered in anticipation. Claws emerged from his fingertips as the change went on.

  Kormak went to the edge of the camp and peered out into the gloom. Rhiana moved by his side. She had her scimitar in her hand, and the pearl glowed softly in her left hand. He paused and raised his hand. His nerves were keyed tight.

  The rain dripped from the roof of the forest canopy and swayed the leaves and branches. It drowned out the small sounds of the night. It puddled around his feet and made a sucking red mud. His hand strayed near the hilt of his sword.

  He had hoped that his amulet might warn him as he approached the source of the spell Rhiana had sensed but it had not grown any warmer. Either the merwoman had been wrong, or the spell was already cast and had left no eddy currents of magic.

  Off to his left screams ripped through the night.

  Red Talon’s lips twisted in triumph. Power surged within him. He felt strong, fast, invincible. Soon he would rip the still beating heart from a man’s chest and feast upon it as an offering to the power within himself. Screams rang out and he knew that his followers had encountered resistance.

  Perhaps it was some sentry. Perhaps it was just a Sunlander soldier out urinating in the middle of the night. In any case, the attack had begun too early. Not that a few extra seconds would matter all that much.

  He gestured for his warriors to attack. He had to fight down the urge to leap into the middle of the enemy and begin rending their flesh with his bare hands. It took all of his long-schooled self-control to do so. His battle brother was not so self-restrained. With a snarl, Bloody Claw raced towards the enemy camp leading the warriors into battle with their hated enemies. Red Talon wondered at his own restraint. Why was he still standing here when he could be leading the attack and covering himself in glory?

  Crossbow bolts flashed out of the night and impaled Bloody Claw. It seemed that at least one or two of the enemy were awake and alert. Being in the lead had brought his comrade no glory, only a quick death. The sudden rush of spearmen out of the forest should have overwhelmed the enemy camp, but it did not.

  It seemed almost as if their enemies were forewarned. They were firing from a fortified position consisting of their wagons and the old abandoned watchtower. Even Red Talon’s modified eyes had trouble seeing in the rain so the shooting could not be all that accurate. Agonised shouts told a different story. Crossbow bolts were connecting. The enemy was shooting where they could hear battle cries. His men should have attacked in silence. He had made a mistake in not stressing that.

  Too late now. All they could do was press home the attack. Red Talon screamed a challenge and launched himself into the air. He was much stronger magically than any of his transformed followers. His leap took him from the forest’s edge to the top of the first wagon. The horses sensed his presence and screamed in terror. A sense of his own power filled him. He smiled and leapt down into the centre of the enemy position. His eyes scanned the darkness, looking for prey.

  Chapter Twelve

  Out of the darkness shadowy humanoid figures stalked, their heads hunched down and their arms stretched out in front of them almost as if they were running on all fours. Their eyes caught the light strangely, glittering like those of a cat. The leading tribesman saw Kormak and let out a feral growl. It bounded towards him, covering the ground in superhuman leaps. No mortal man should have been able to close the distance as quickly as it did.

  Kormak slashed out with his blade, chopping through his attacker’s neck. A smell of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils, and he knew that the tribesman’s body was saturated with evil magic. He hacked again, splitting the body in two.

  More of the mutated tribesman attacked him. Earsplitting howls filled the night. Scores of tribesmen were out there, judging by the sound. They must have been creeping ever closer through the rain.

  A tribesman attacked him from each side. He dived to his left and cut to his right, slashing across the chest of one of them. His attacker’s expression changed to one of rage and horror. Obviously, he had not expected to be hurt. He had not expected to miss either.

  Jaguar-like screams emerged from the forest, and Kormak realised that there were more of the mutants out there. They were attacking across a great half circle, emerging from the jungle to strike down at the foes.

  Kormak and Rhiana battled back to back, amid a turbulent sea of tribesmen. The light of the green pearl drew their enemies as if they were moths. Kormak had no idea of how many foes were out there in the darkness. It was just a matter of slash and hack. His blade ripped flesh and spattered blood into the surrounding darkness.

  Rhiana’s scimitar flickered in the moonlight and with each stroke she cut down one of the tribesmen.

  From within the tower, Zamara bellowed orders. The Siderean marines responded with the precision of the crack troops they were. The Governor’s guard responded more slowly but they too were answering the call to battle.

  Kormak chopped down another tribesman and realised that there were no more. There was a temporary lull in the battle around him. He looked at Rhiana and said, “We need to get back to our lines.”

  “No arguments here,” the merwoman said. They turned and began to make their way back towards the tower.

  Another lightning flash illuminated the rainswept battlefield. Kormak caught sight of scores more tribesmen emerging from the woods. They were barbaric figures, almost naked except for their loin cloths and their necklaces of claws and feathered head dresses.

  Their leaders appeared to be wearing jaguar pelts around their shoulders. Some had the animal skins draped over their heads. They looked transformed. This must be the spell that Rhiana had sensed. Powerful sorcery had changed these men into creatures with the strength and agility of beasts.

  The Sidereans had not yet had a chance to assume their usual formations. The battle was man against man in a series of individual combats. Some of the Sidereans were armoured, bu
t most of them had stripped off their protective gear to sleep. The armoured men were making a much better stand of it than their worse protected comrades. The battlefield was a seething mass of warriors.

  A monstrous figure pranced atop one of the wagons. On its chest a sorcerous amulet glittered, filled with baleful power. The tribesman’s headdress made him look as if he were part man, part jaguar. He lifted a huge sack of supplies as if it weighed nothing and tossed it down on one of the soldiers, crushing him. He bent and picked up one of the water barrels and lobbed it at a horse. The beast died screaming.

  Some of the Sidereans were shooting from the windows of the broken down tower. Inside, Sergeant Terves was getting the men into fighting order.

  “To me! To me!” Kormak bellowed. The Sidereans began fighting their way to his side. Tribesmen attacked, attracted by the sound of his voice.

  He parried a thrown spear with his blade then struck down a tribal warrior. The point of his dwarf-forged blade stabbed straight through the man’s animal-hide shield. The stretched leather could not resist the sharp blade. The man screamed and died.

  Rhiana half turned and slashed at another tribesman charging at them from the rear. The warrior ducked and stabbed at her with his spear.

  At the last second, she knocked the blade aside with her cutlass then put a stop thrust through her assailant's stomach. Kormak’s heart was in his mouth. He was more worried about her than he was about himself.

  More warriors raced forward hoping to get to grips with them. Their leader slipped in the mud, and Kormak’s blade took him through the throat. The Guardian leapt into their midst, chopping left and right, killing a man with each blow.

  Terves bellowed the order to attack and the remaining Sidereans emerged from the tower, formed up into a squad and shouldered their way into the mass of tribesmen. They advanced with the discipline of professional soldiers. They cut down anyone who stood in their path.

  Kormak fought his way over to where they stood and joined in the ranks.

  From behind him came an animal scream. Looking up he saw a human figure jump right over one of the wagons and arc down towards him. The leap was so strong that it looked as if the tribesman was flying.

  Kormak recognised him the leader who had been attacking the wagons. He extended his blade, and the tribesman landed on top of it, impaling himself.

  The force of his landing knocked Kormak off his feet, and he had to roll to one side to avoid being trampled by the Siderean soldiers.

  As he did so, he pulled his smouldering blade from the chest of the leaping jaguar warrior. Once again, the smell of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils. The man’s body was saturated with dark magic.

  He had withdrawn his blade too soon. Magic still protected the tribesman. It kept him alive after a blow that would have killed anyone else. He pulled himself to his feet and emerged in the middle of the Siderean formation, slashing with the obsidian blades he held in each hand. He chopped his way through, leaving a trail of dead and wounded men in his wake.

  Seeing their leader triumphant gave the tribesmen heart. Howling, they closed in on the Siderean infantryman from all sides.

  The situation had suddenly become critical. With the jaguar warrior in the middle of the Sidereans and his followers attacking from the outside, the Sunlanders were besieged from both sides. It was a situation that had broken many units in Kormak’s experience. Something had to be done and quickly.

  “Face me, coward,” he shouted. The jaguar warrior turned, and Kormak could see that his chest was a ruin, blackened and opened where the dwarf-forged blade had entered.

  Only evil magic was keeping the man upright. Unfortunately, it was enough and the sight of their leader defying death gave new strength to his followers. With sight-blurring swiftness, the jaguar warrior reached out and opened the jugular of the nearest marine with his right-hand blade.

  Kormak charged. The jaguar warrior leapt to meet him.

  Kormak’s blade flashed out and the jaguar warrior’s head parted from his neck. Blood spurted, the severed head rolled into the mud, and the ruined body fell headlong at Kormak’s feet.

  A cheer went up from the Sidereans, and they returned to the conflict with renewed strength. Their superior discipline and better armour and the fact that Kormak was leading them swiftly turned the assault into a rout. The surviving tribesmen fled through the rain into the jungle, and suddenly all was quiet.

  Zamara emerged from the tower. He had a blade in his hand, and he looked as if he wanted to use it. He glared around at the dead bodies piled in the mud and said, “It looks like the attack is over.”

  “For the moment,” Kormak said. In the distance, the drums pulsed on.

  The rising sun revealed scores of corpses sprawled in the mud. The overnight rainfall was already evaporating into clouds of mist. It was as if the souls of the dead were rising from the corpses.

  Only in the morning light could the full toll of casualties be understood. The Sidereans had lost twelve men in total. More than five times as many tribesmen had died.

  “It’s going to be difficult to burn the bodies,” Zamara said. “There’s plenty of wood, but it won’t catch fire in this dampness.”

  “Give it a couple of hours, Admiral,” Anders said. “Then it will be all right.”

  “We don’t have a couple of hours to waste,” Kormak said. “Those drums are summoning more tribesmen to attack us.”

  “I agree,” Anders said. “But we do need to burn the bodies. Otherwise, they might rise. They sometimes do in this forest. I have seen it.”

  “If we were near a blight I would agree,” Kormak said. “But we are not.”

  “What about those transformed beast-men?” Anders said. “They were touched by sorcery, and that is a thing most likely to cause someone to sleep uneasily in their grave.”

  “In this you are correct,” Kormak said. He searched through the corpses looking for those who had been transformed by magic. When he found them, he severed their heads and smashed the skulls. Then he put his blade through the remains. Flesh blackened and sizzled as it was scoured of dark magic. The soldiers watched fascinated and horrified.

  “We’ll bury our own dead,” Zamara said. “And leave these scum for the carrion eaters. And now I’m going to have some breakfast. Sir Kormak, I would appreciate it if you would join me. Captain Rhiana, please do me the courtesy of accepting my offer as well.”

  His gesture included Anders in the party. They strode within the ruined watchtower.

  All were quiet as they ate. Once he had finished their bread and cheese and watered wine, Zamara spoke. “That was as desperate skirmish as I have ever been in. We have already lost a dozen good men, and we are nowhere near our goal.”

  “The tribesmen do not usually attack such large well-armed groups as ours,” Anders said. “Someone put them up to this.”

  “Count Balthazar,” Zamara said. “He’s supposed to have spent time in this area exploring and trying to convert the heathen.”

  “It seems more likely that they converted him,” Kormak said.

  “In any case,” Zamara said, “it looks like these were only the advance guard of a larger force.”

  Anders said, “You’re right. They are not beating those drums to welcome us to the jungle.”

  “We repelled last night’s ambush handily, but that’s only because we got advance warning. The next attack will be a lot bigger and a lot better organised. Now they know they can’t beat us by sending in small attacks.”

  “There was magic used last night, Captain General, but not a lot of it,” Anders said. “Some of the shamans are supposed to be very powerful. There’s one old bastard, in particular, the Chief of Chiefs, Coiled Serpent, who’s said to be a very devil for working sorcery.”

  Zamara looked at Kormak. The Guardian said nothing. He was still thinking about how worrying about Rhiana had slowed him down last night. It was not something he could afford to have happen. On the other hand, there was
no way to send her home safely now. Even if she would go.

  “What do you recommend?” Zamara asked Anders.

  “Our best bet is to push on to Helgard. There is a fort at the entrance to the pass and another larger one guarding the town at the top. Imperial patrols keep the pass clear. They can beat back any attack that might come at us.”

  “We need to get going then,” said Zamara. “Just sitting here, every minute makes us more vulnerable.”

  He summoned Sergeant Terves. “Build a cairn over our men then give the order to march. We need to get moving and fast.”

  Within an hour the watchtower was fading in the distance behind them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The noonday sun blazed down on the stones of the watchtower. Standing on a wooden platform born on the shoulders of four stout warriors Coiled Serpent studied the corpses strewn all the way to the jungle’s edge. Hundreds of tribesmen searched among them, looking for kinfolk, sons, brothers. Hundreds more stood guard on the edge of the jungle, looking at the site of the massacre stone-faced. They were counting the dead, and they were holding his son responsible. This defeat needed to be avenged.

  Most of his son’s Lodge brothers lay dead here. The Sunlanders had worked terrible carnage on them, just as he had feared they would.

  “Chieftain, you should see this,” said Swamp Dragon, his oldest Lodge brother. Swamp Dragon’s face showed he felt compelled to bring an unpleasant matter to his attention.

  Coiled Serpent walked over and bit back the scream of grief that threatened to erupt from his lips. There lay a headless corpse.

  He recognised the jaguar tattoo and the naming runes. He had made the ink marks himself when Red Talon was raised to his Lodge.

  He spat on the ground, just to give himself something to do then looked. The body was burned, but it was still recognisably Red Talon’s. He wondered what had happened to the head.