Kormak 01 - Stealer of Flesh (13 page)

“I shall eat your heart and your liver,” Scar said. “You are worthy.”

Kormak saw Razhak begin to slide away from behind the drug dealer and move towards the further staircase. He cursed, determined that the stealer of flesh would not escape him again.

A faint look of contempt passed across Scar’s face. He obviously thought he was the subject of Kormak’s words. Kormak heard feet on the stairs behind him. He knew it was only a matter of heartbeats before the bouncers were on him and there was no way he could defend himself from them and a warrior of Scar’s skill.

He adjusted his breathing as he had been taught so long ago on Mount Aethelas and unleashed the full fury of his sword arm. Scar went immediately on to the defensive, stepping back and away, defending himself in a whirlwind of blades. Knowing it was risky, but that he had to chance it anyway, Kormak vaulted over the balcony, and landed, knees flexing to take the strain of the fall on a table on the lower floor. Drinks spilled and chairs overturned as patrons scrambled to get away, taken aback by the sudden eruption of a large swordsman in their midst.

Razhak had reached the bottom of the stair and pulled up short, aware that he was going to have to confront the Guardian after all. A look of fear flickered over the face of the female form he wore. Kormak tensed himself to spring when Scar vaulted down from the balcony to land atop the table between him and Razhak.

“It has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of fighting one almost my equal, stranger. Who was your master?”

The dealer stood as ready to fight as talk and Kormak knew that his time was running out. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man behind the bar was loading a crossbow. It would be a tricky shot in the crowded bar but all it would take would be a lucky hit and it would all be over. Worse, Razhak was already making her way out through the back way and not only Scar but a room full of panicking patrons now lay between them.

“I do not fight for pleasure,” said Kormak.

“Then fight for your life,” said Scar and sprang. Kormak found himself pressed face to face with the orc, glaring into its red eyes, able to count the stitches of its scar tattoos. The table shuddered under their combined weight. They measured strength against strength for a moment then Kormak attempted to trip the orc. Springing back, Scar landed on the space between the tables, keeping his feet lithe as a cat. He lashed out at Kormak’s leg. The Guardian sprang above the blow, letting it pass beneath him, knowing it was a mistake since it would put him off balance.

Scar struck again and somehow Kormak twisted to parry the blow. He landed badly, losing his balance and rolled away, feet over shoulders, using his momentum as he had been taught. He heard Scar bellowing at the tavern patrons to get out of his way. He smelled burning now. Someone had knocked over a lantern in the confusion. More people were screaming. The crowd was starting to panic.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned ready to strike. He saw Nuala. She tugged at him and pointed towards the door. He saw the sense in what she was saying. There was no point in staying to fight against overwhelming odds; nothing to be gained either. He nodded and shouldered his way towards the doorway, with her following behind. He punched a man down who got in his way, barged another to one side and moments later they were outside.

“Scar needs help, Fat Bulo and his men attacked,” said Nuala. The bouncers nodded and made their way through the doorway adding to the confusion.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” said the girl. “I think you’ve caused enough trouble for one night.”

“The trouble is just starting,” Kormak said. “And I am not the cause of it.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were good with a sword,” said Nuala. “I don’t think I have ever seen anyone last so long against Scar. He is the best swordsman in the city, possibly excepting the champions of the Four Warlords.”

“He was skilled,” said Kormak. He glanced around warily. Their surroundings were enough to give anyone pause. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall drinking den, deep within the maze of alleys around the Mall. It was little more than a bench, some planks set on beer barrels and a canvas canopy overhead. All around were more tables where people ate and drank. They were surrounded by the bustle of people.

“You have a gift for understatement, stranger,” she said. “They say Scar was the First Blade of the Red Horde. He would still be today perhaps, had he not plotted against the Khan of Khans.”

“Who tells this story, Scar?”

“It’s no joke. He’s killed two score of men since he came to the city, made himself the most feared gang boss in the Mall and you have contrived to make him your enemy.”

“It’s a gift I have, apparently.”

“It does not seem to trouble you all that much. Is your life worth so little to you?”

“I have a job to do here, girl, and I intend to see it done.”

“A job that involves killing some pox-raddled old whore? How can that be important enough to throw your life away?”

“The woman Ana is dead. She has been possessed by a demon.” Nuala looked at him again. Her eyes narrowed. She tilted her head to one side. She looked as if she were trying to judge whether he was sane or not.

“A demon is loose in our city? Which of the sorcerers unleashed it? Mandragora? Khane? And why? They are not normally so careless. They know the Warlords would have their head.”

“None of them. I have followed this demon all the long leagues from Belaria. It flees before me, sometimes, turns at bay at others. Somehow I feel we are reaching the end of the road here, one way or the other.”

“You certainly will, if you offend the likes of Scar.”

“If it is so dangerous, why are you still here?”

“Because you still owe me money.” She smiled as she said it. It lit her face, made her pretty in a way Kormak had not noticed before. He found himself smiling back.

“That is a matter soon settled. It might be best for you if you left me.”

“It might, but I can see that you might need some help soon and you look like a man who can pay well for it.”

“What sort of help can you give me in my task?”

“You might be surprised.”

“I am serious. This is not a game, girl. You could get killed. Or worse.”

“Worse than being killed? I am not one of those women who believe in fates worse than death.”

“Razhak could devour your soul, and steal your flesh.”

“How do you know this?”

“I belong to the Order of the Dawn.”

“I thought they were a legend. I had heard they were all dead.”

“Not all of us. Not yet.”

“And that is why you hunt this demon across the world?”

“I swore an oath. And I keep my promises. For good or ill.”

She tilted her head to one side. Her look was wary and watchful. It reminded him of a nervous bird considering taking flight. “Either you are the most convincing maniac I have ever met or you are serious.”

“I am not a madman.” He did not know why he was bothering to try and convince her of it. He had work to do and Razhak was getting no easier to find, and yet somehow, he found inertia creeping over him. It has been a long time since he had talked at length with anyone, let alone a pretty woman.

“Tell me about this demon.”

“Why? Are you a sorcerer?”

“No but I know one. He might be able to help you.”

“Wizards are rarely friendly to my order.”

“This one will be friendly to anyone if they have enough cash.”

“What good can he do me?”

“How do you propose to find this demon now? Will you go hunting through the city while Scar and his men hunt you?”

“If need be.”

“That’s your plan? It’s not a very good one.”

“Alas, I find my options are limited.”

“Then what harm will it do to consult my friend? He is a diviner. He may be able to help.”

“And this will of course cost me…”

“Well, I should be paid for the matter of the introduction and he will need money. As I said, he is fond of gold.”

Kormak looked up. The watchmen he had encountered earlier had entered the courtyard. They were looking around and he did not doubt they were looking for him. He put his head down and kept his hand on his sword.

“What is it?” Nuala asked.

“The watch,” he said. “They are looking for me. I gave them those bruises earlier.”

She rose and he thought she was about to take flight. He would not have blamed her. Instead she moved around to where he sat and wriggled onto his knee. Looking over her shoulder he could see the watchmen coming ever closer. In a few heartbeats they would be close enough to recognise him for sure and he could not fight them with the weight of a woman on his lap.

She leaned forward and said, “Be still. This won’t hurt,” then kissed him full on the lips. He was momentarily startled and then he realised what was happening. His face was obscured from view. They looked just like any other street girl and customer in the place. The watchmen certainly would not be expecting this of a Guardian hunting a demon. It was not what he expected himself. He found himself kissing her back and the embrace lasted longer than was strictly necessary for cover.

Once the watchmen had passed, she stood up, looking at their receding backs, then stretched out her hand to him. She pulled him from the seat towards the shadows, the very picture of a street girl leading a client to a private place to fulfill an assignation. Kormak wondered if perhaps that was what was really going on here, then he shook his head as his habitual wariness re-asserted itself. It would not do to trust this woman, even a little, he decided.

She laughed as they made their way through the alleys. “Scared for your virtue, noble knight?” she asked.

“I was just wondering how much you were going to charge me for the kiss.” She paused for a moment. Her face suddenly looked hard then she laughed. “I did that for fun. I have no love of the watch and you are a handsome man.”

“I am not that handsome.”

“Then let us say you have the type of ugliness that does not repel me.”

“I am flattered.”

“No, you are not. This sort of thing happens to your sort all the time. The enigmatic stranger, passing through on his way to somewhere else.”

“You sound like you have had experience.”

“So do you.” What could he say? She was right.

Silence fell as she led him through the maze of alleys. He was starting to suspect it was true. If Vandemar was not the most populous city in the world it must be pretty close. He had never been in slums so extensive or so tightly packed. It seemed like a lot of people were packed within these walls. He shuddered to think what Razhak could do in such a crowded place.

“What are you grunting about?” Nuala asked.

“I was thinking I don’t think I have ever seen a city so densely populated.”

“A lot of people have crowded in from the countryside over the past few years. They think they can avoid the wars of the Warlords that way, the pillaging armies. They think that they can make their fortune in the great merchant city, that the streets are paved with gold.”

The bitter way she said the words made him wonder if she was one of those people who had fled from the countryside. He was not familiar enough with the local accents to tell whether she was local or not. “How did you get on the trail of this demon anyway?”

Was there fear in her voice? Perhaps what he had said earlier was starting to sink in.

“It killed a man called Nial in the caravansary at Lemal back along the Holy Road from Belaria. It took his body and left a stinking corpse. Before that it stole the form of a girl called Petra. I knew her somewhat.”

“A friend?”

“In a way.”

“How can you be so certain you are on the right track?”

“It follows the Holy Road. It is heading for Tanyth out beyond Sunhaven in the Sacred Lands. I had hoped to catch it before it made it so far. I was unlucky. So far it has always managed to elude me.”

She laughed. “I have never met a man who thought it unlucky not to meet a demon.”

“If I find it, I can kill it. There are few of its kind I cannot, if I am lucky.”

“A man of your talents could make a good living in this part of the world, providing you did not upset the wrong people, of course. Given your personality you would probably have a very short career.”

“I never expected my life to be a long one.”

“Then why do it?”

“I told you: I swore an oath.”

“Somehow I doubt it is that simple.”

“It’s not. It never has been.”

“You still trying to keep the mystery in our relationship.”

“We don’t have a relationship.”

“And here was me thinking we were becoming friends.”

“What’s your story? You’re not a flower-girl, are you?”

She shrugged. “No. No. I am not.”

“Then what do you do?”

“I get by.”

“Pickpocket? Bawd? Hustler?”

“You don’t have a high opinion of me, do you?”

“I am trying to guess what a young woman your age is doing alone in the streets of the red-light district at this time of night, if she is not a flower-girl.”

“All three of the things you mentioned and some other things too,” she said. “I know people. I put people in touch. I get people things that they want. I find out interesting things and exchange those with interested parties.”

“You’ve a number of sidelines then…”

“A girl needs to get by.”

“Do yourself a favour then, girl and don’t try and pick my pocket. Do right by me and I’ll see its worth your while. Do me wrong and I’ll see you pay for it. On that you have my word.”

“And you’re the man who always keeps his promises,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

“Here we are,” Nuala said. They had stopped in front of a tall, narrow-fronted building so rickety it seemed in danger of imminent collapse. Huge beams had been spread between it and the building on the other side of the alley, seemingly in an attempt to prevent that from happening.

“I can see your friend is successful in his trade,” Kormak said.

“There’s no need to be so ironic. Darien is not that interested in the trappings of success. He is not materialistic.”