by William King
He was in deep trouble if Balthazar could see in this gloom. He shifted his position. As he moved, he left a deep trail in the curtain of shadow. His amulets dissolved it as he passed through. Slowly the darkness faded leaving behind no trace of the elusive Count. He had fled under cover of his sorcery.
That could have gone better, Kormak thought. Still, he had established that Balthazar was indeed a servant of the Shadow and that Shahad’s wife had been involved in a dark cult. It was a start.
From inside the house came the sound of fighting.
What was left of the crowd stared at Kormak with mute horror then began to scatter. They all knew what they had seen there. Kormak entered the mansion and headed towards the stairs. Ahead of him the bodyguards still fought.
“Enough!” Kormak shouted.
The bodyguards at the back turned to face him.
“I am a Guardian of the Order of the Dawn, in the service of King-Emperor Aemon. Hinder me on pain of death.”
“You think we believe that?” said one of the bodyguards. He sounded drunk.
“If you don’t stop fighting I will kill you.”
“Try it . . .” said the man, springing at Kormak blade drawn. Kormak downed him with a blow. His next strike disarmed the man’s companion.
“Balthazar was a servant of Shadow,” Kormak shouted. “Only servants of the Shadow would fight to keep him from justice.”
The bodyguards looked at him. The marines stepped back. Kormak stared at the men until they dropped their blades. He pushed past them and into the room. Shahad was on the ground writhing in agony. Kormak reached out and touched his arm with the elder sign. Slowly the big man’s spasms subsided. Sweat stood out on his brow. His eyes became less wild. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that. Not even when I had the breakbone fever. What was it?”
“Sorcery of the Shadow.” Kormak kept his voice level. Shahad seemed on the edge of tears.
“This is worse than I thought,” he said. “Khiyana was involved with these people.”
Kormak nodded. “We need to find out who else was. If we don’t do that soon, they will flee or foment rebellion. It’s time to go back to the Governor and tell him what we found.”
“What about the vault here?” Shahad asked. “Balthazar was willing to die rather than let us see it.”
“It’s probably trapped,” Kormak said.
“I don’t care,” said Shahad. He smashed his huge fist into the wall where Kormak had been tapping.
“No! Wait!”
Shahad hit the wall again. A panel gave way and a space below the wall was revealed along with a shattered locking mechanism. The door swung open. Inside was a small chamber, barely more than a cupboard. On the shelves lay books and scrolls of various sorts. Kormak looked at the nearest one. It was bound in black leather. He touched it with his elder sign and a protective ward sizzled away to nothing. He flicked it open and looked upon words written in the tongue of the Old Ones.
“What is it?” Shahad asked.
“A copy of the Book of Skulls,” Kormak said. “An ancient grimoire of terrible spells and invocations to Xothak.
There can’t be much doubt as to Balthazar’s guilt now. We need to set this room under guard, and we need to have words with the Governor now.”
“This is the worst Skeleton Dance festival I have ever seen,” said Shahad.
“It will get worse. Such things have a way of doing so.”
Kormak looked at Rhiana. “Do you sense anything?”
“Just the taint of dark sorcery,” she said. “I felt it when the Count cast his spell, but I sense nothing so powerful now. I think he has gone.”
“Then we’d better get started if we want to find him.”
Chapter Ten
It was just another drunken night in Maial. Anders had seen scores of them. He had done little but drink and fornicate since he had come back from the Xilarean Highlands. He had money now. At least for a while longer. He had the silver to do whatever he wanted. The Governor had paid well for the damned coffin.
He ran narrow fingers through his thinning, blonde hair, touched the hilt of the shortsword on his waist, then looked over at Bethani. He said, “Fancy another drink, darling?”
She nodded with professional enthusiasm. He tossed her handful of silver and said, “Get me one while you’re up there.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to object. She headed to the bar and Anders watched her go. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, had a nice body and she was dressed to reveal it.
“Slow down, you big bastard,” said Gregor. “The night is young, and so are we.”
Squat, apish Gregor did not look young any more. Years of hard-living made him seem older than his forty summers. There were lines all over his sunburned, frog-like face and scars on his muscular arms. He turned and kissed the girl under his right arm and then the girl under his left. They responded easily. They were as drunk as he was and it was the Masque of Death. They might have done it even if they were not being well paid.
“I want to drink,” said Anders. He was proud that his speech was not slurred. “I need to drink. It’s what the others would have wanted.”
“They are not in a position to want anything now,” said Gregor, “so why worry about it.”
“If you were dead and I was still here what would you want me to do?”
“If I were bloody dead, I wouldn’t care what you did. Why the long face? We’re both alive, and we’ve both got gold. We’re living like kings. King bloody Emperor bloody Aemon doesn’t live better than we do. In fact, from what I hear he lives a damn sight worse. No drink. No women. No tobacco. What kind of bloody life is that I ask you?”
“The King-Emperor is a saint,” said one of the girls. Anders could not remember her name. Maggi. Magda. Monika. Maybe.
“And may the Holy Sun bless him for it,” said Gregor. “But I’m no saint, darling, and you can thank the Light for that. Otherwise, you would not be so drunk and so well-rammed.”
“The King-Emperor is a saint,” the girl repeated since Gregor had obviously not got her point. “He watches over his people and intercedes with the Holy Sun on our behalf.”
“Inter-what?” Gregor was struggling now.
“Intercedes,” said the girl.
“What does that mean?”
“Dunno. It’s what the priest always used to tell us on Sunsday. Always telling us how good and noble the King-Emperor is.”
“That’s because King Aemon pays the priest’s stipend and for his church and for all the bloody nice beef he eats as well.”
“Frater Lorco was a holy man,” said the girl. She had the faraway look of one contemplating another life in other days. “He never beat us more than once per day, and he never put his hand up our skirts.”
“If that’s all it takes to make a holy man I am halfway there,” said Gregor. “Now all I got to do is remember the skirt thing.”
“You should show more respect,” Magda-Monika-Maria said. “For Father Lorca and the King-Emperor.”
“Believe me, girl, I got plenty of respect for the bloody King-Emperor and so has sour-faced Anders there. We were both his soldiers for long enough till we were discharged here in this hot hellhole.”
“Maial is not a hellhole. I grew up here.” The girl sounded even more outraged.
“It’s hot, though,” said Gregor. “You’ll give me that.”
“I grew up here,” said the girl with drunken dignity. What was her name? Melani? Martha? Myshella?
“And sorry I am for you then,” said Gregor. “Me and Anders here grew up in Trefal, the Jewel of Bloody Siderea, it is called. Spent our boyhoods on the street till we went for soldiers.”
“How come you are here then?” asked the girl. “If you hate this place so much.”
“I never said I hated it,” said Gregor. “I said it was a hellhole.”
“And how is that different?”
“All the bloody difference in
the world, girl.”
“We came here to look for treasure,” said Anders with great seriousness. He looked down into the pool of wine around the base of his goblet. Who had spilled it?
“You and every other fortune hunter in the world,” the girl said. “They all come here. Looking for the treasure of the Old Ones. Gold. Silver. Old Magic. All that stuff they say is in the abandoned cities in the jungle. They think they’ll find temples full of it. They never do. They always promise you jewels and dresses and a new bodice when they do. But do they ever get you any of those things? No. They promise and promise and promise, but they never find gold.”
“We found gold, girl,” said Gregor. “Or the next best thing.”
“What’s the next best thing to gold? Silver, jewels?”
“It was a bloody coffin. No, don’t look at me like that. I’m telling you the truth, sure as this pouch is filled with gold, well half-filled.”
“Quarter-filled if you’re lucky,” Anders said.
“Anyway, there’s gold in it. And there was gold and platinum and other stuff on the coffin we found.”
“A coffin made of gold,” the girl said. “That’s sick. Why did the dead man not just give the money to the poor? We could use it. I’m poor. I could use it.”
“I don’t think it was a human coffin,” said Anders. Gregor groaned. The girl’s looked at him horrified.
“What do you mean?” Misti-Melani-Marla asked.
“I mean I don’t think it was a human was in it. It was sealed, and no matter what we did we could not get the bloody thing open. Believe me, we tried.”
“It’s true,” Gregor said. “We chipped away at with hammers, hit it with rocks, nothing worked. We scratched it a bit but we could not get the thing open. Had to drag the whole thing back a hundred leagues to Maial.”
Anders shot him a warning look. It was their secret where the coffin had come from. One day they might want to go back. One day. When hell froze over. Still, it did no harm to keep it a secret.
Bethani returned with the wine. Her goblet was more than half-empty. So was his. There were traces of rouge around the rim of the goblet she offered him. Anders didn’t care. He took a swig. The wine went down nicely. “That quenches a thirst,” he said.
“They found a coffin full of gold,” said Magda.
“It wasn’t full of gold,” said Gregor. “We sold it for gold.”
“That’s right—it was made of jewels and platinum and other stuff. The Governor bought it.”
“Why would the Governor buy a coffin, even if it was made of diamonds?” Bethani asked.
“It wasn’t made of diamonds,” said Gregor. “And I don’t know why the Governor bought it. He didn’t tell me and I was not about to offend the man who was handing me a sack of bloody gold by questioning his sanity, was I?”
“Why didn’t he give you a sack of diamonds if the coffin was made of diamonds?” asked Magda-Melani.
“For the last time, it wasn’t made of diamonds,” said Gregor. “You’re drunk aren’t you?”
“There’s no need to raise your voice. So, I’ve had a little drinkie. So have you.”
“So has everyone in here.”
The girl shook her head. “They haven’t!”
Anders looked at where she was pointing. A group of tough looking men had just come in. The girl was right. They looked sober. “Probably just got let out by their wives,” said Gregor. “Why else would they be sober on a night like tonight?”
It was a good question. All of the men looked sober, and they looked hard. They gathered around a man with a hatchet-like, fleshless face that looked somehow familiar. More importantly, they looked at Gregor and Anders. A short weaselly man who had been in earlier was pointing in their direction.
“Oh oh,” said Anders. “Looks like we may have trouble.”
Gregor looked up to see the gang advancing on them He waved. “Hey, guys. Sit down. Have a drink.”
He felt fairly safe. This was not the sort of place where there was a lot of trouble. The bouncers were competent, and there were a lot of them to make sure the inn stayed quiet.
The leader of the group looked at his tall skull-faced companion, who shrugged. “You Anders and Gregor?”
“Depends on who’s asking,” Anders said.
“Well, we’re not the king’s taxmen if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Skullface.
“That’s good to know,” said Anders “So who are you?”
“You’ll need to forgive my friend,” said Gregor. “He is of naturally sour disposition. He’s never bloody happier than when he is making other people miserable. A thing we were just discussing, in point of fact.”
“Your friend is merely cautious,” said the stranger. “That is understandable. This world is full of people who seek to take advantage of others.”
“Aren’t you the smooth one,” said Anders. “I suppose you are going to tell me that you are not one of those people.”
“You would not believe me if I did. However, I can tell you that you are in trouble.”
“We are in trouble? How so?”
“The coffin you sold to the Governor was a very bad thing. It contained an imprisoned Old One.” The Governor. Anders had seen this man before when they had sold the coffin to the Governor. He was some sort of high ranking servant. Ephra. Efram. Ezra, something like that. Ezra. That was it.
“That’s not my problem. The Governor wanted it. We sold it to him. It was a legal transaction.”
“That’s as may be, but that Old One made an attempt on the life of the King. You see, the Governor sent it on to His Majesty as a gift.”
“Like I said, I don’t know anything about that.”
“It does not matter what you know,” said the stranger. “The King sent a very hard man to find out who was responsible, a Guardian of the Dawn. He is here in Maial now, asking questions. He’s not going to rest until he’s got answers and you don’t think the Governor is going to stand still and take the blame for it.”
“We’ve only got your word for this. As far as I can tell you are just a smooth talker with a nice line in patter.”
“Stick around and you’ll find out it’s a bit more than that.”
“I’ll just do that.”
“Wait, stranger,” said Gregor. “We appreciate you passing along this warning.”
“That’s alright. The Governor sent me to make sure you know what’s going on. You’d best scram. Get out of town if you know what’s good for you.”
The stranger got up to go. “Ask around. You’ll soon find out I am telling the truth. I just hope it’s not too late for you by then.”
With a swirl of his cloak, he was out through the door.
“That was bloody strange,” said Gregor. “You don’t suppose he was telling the truth.”
“He might have been. I was expecting him to try and sell us a bill of goods, but he left without asking for any money.”
“If it’s money he wants, he’ll be back.”
The changeling waited outside in the dark, wearing his new form, that of the Governor’s lackey, Ezra. He had scouted out the lay of the land. Mother’s House was not the sort of place to start trouble. There were too many armed bouncers in there to take the side of any patron.
Still, he had seen his prey and talked to them. He felt certain he could duplicate their mannerisms now and their way of speaking as well as their appearance. He had given them something to think about too. With any luck, they would panic and flee, and he could follow them and pick them up. If not, he would find other ways to encourage their departure.
“What are we going to do?” Gregor asked. He was paying no attention to Magda or whatever her name was now and she was looking sullen. Talking to a man who might be in trouble with the authorities was clearly something that made her nervous.
“I don’t know,” said Anders “Let me think.”
It would come down to that anyway. Gregor was a talker and a charmer, bu
t he was not much of a thinker. He was not exactly slow, but he never planned much for the future or looked for anything other than the obvious. The role of planner had always fallen to Anders. Even when Sarge and Donal and the rest of the boys had been around, Anders had always been the one who figured things out. He was going to have start doing it again now.
He put his goblet down and said to Bethani, “Go get me some kava.”
“Get it yourself,” she said. She no more liked the turn the conversation had taken than Monika-Marketa. “You’re big enough, and you’re ugly enough.”
“Here’s how it’s going to be,” said Anders. “You are going to get off your arse and get me coffee or you are never going to see another brass farthing from me. And you’ll be paying for your own drinks.”
“You can’t do that? Mother won’t let you.”
“She will if she wants to see any more of my gold. There’s plenty more red-light houses along the Street of Sin. Hell, I’ll bet I could get some fancy matron to take us in with it being a festival and all.”
“Better do as he says, girl,” said Gregor. “When he’s in this mood there’s a devil in him. He can turn downright mean, and you would not want to see that. None of your fancy muscle men around here would like it either. He’s not all gurning and whining. When he takes a head stagger, he can be downright scary.”
The girl’s glance darted back and forth between the two of them. “Get me the drink or you can explain to your mother that you’re the reason I left to go next door.”
That was enough for Bethani; she got up to bring the coffee.
“Now you’re being downright bloody unpleasant,” said Gregor.
“I’m worried.”
“Yeah? What about now?”
“The guy who was just in here shouting his mouth off. I can’t figure out his angle at all and that has me worried.”
“You reckon he was telling the truth?”
“If it was money he was after he could have picked a better story. I don’t see what he gains by lying to us. And he hasn’t come back anyway.”