Kormak 01 - Stealer of Flesh (2 page)

“It seems we have gotten off on the wrong foot,” said Kormak. “I apologise for my tone and I thank you for your aid. You saved my life. I won’t forget that.”

The wizard coughed, covering his mouth with a white handkerchief. When it came away there was blood on it. He shrugged and looked almost guilty for a moment and then said, “You are welcome, Guardian. I would have done the same for any man. If my words gave offence earlier, I apologise.”

“My sword?” Kormak asked.

“You are determined,” the guard said.

“His order live for those blades,” said the wizard. “The worst sin he could commit would be to lose it.”

The wizard coughed. “Your armour and your amulets and your weapons are in the keeping of Lord Tomas. As is your gold. It is all there. Nothing has been taken. Those artefacts are very valuable. Believe me Lord Tomas knows more about such things than most living men.”

“What do I owe you?” Kormak said.

“Nothing,” said the wizard. “As I said, I would have done the same for any man. Now you must take this herbal draught and rest, if you are to heal and regain your strength. I will not have all my healing undone by pleurisy and the wheezing death.”

The two men rose to go. The wizard indicated the beaker and cup beside the bed. “Drink it,” he said.

“I will do so,” said Kormak, making his refusal clear. “But first I have much to think upon and prayers to make.”

He did not want to say he was not going to be forced into drinking any potion by anyone, no matter how well disposed they seemed to be. There were some strange undercurrents here, he felt, although he was too tired to quite put his finger on what. Even as that thought occurred to him, the room seemed to spin. He clutched the bed and said nothing, determined not to let his weakness show. He did not want anyone to suspect how vulnerable he was.

If the men noticed anything, they said nothing, merely moved towards the door. Kormak was glad when they were gone.

Once the wizard had left, Kormak tried to rise. His head spun and he felt sick. Someone had placed a bowl beside the bed and he threw up into it. He realised he was cold and shivering and the room whirled.

The wizard had not lied when he had said Kormak was in a bad way. He had not felt this sick since he had taken an infected wound from an orc’s scimitar. He staggered over to the window and moved the drapes. Outside all he could see was night and snow. The wind still howled down the chimney. He realised that he was very lucky indeed to still be alive.

He checked his fingers. There was no obvious frostbite damage, for which he was grateful. He was a man who lived or died by his skill with the sword.

He tottered over to the fire and stood there for a moment, warming himself. Someone had built it up to a blazing intensity and the heat on the front of his body made him aware of the chill on his back.

He stirred the fire anyway, enjoying the feel of the metal poker in his hands. He let it cool then he staggered back to place the metal rod on the table beside his bed. He inspected the alchemist’s flask that sat beside the bowl. He unstoppered it, and allowed the smallest drop of its contents to fall on his finger. He sniffed, recognising the scent of bitterbloom and winterweed, two herbs used by chirurgeons the world over for the treatment of conditions such as his. He put his finger in his mouth and touched it with his tongue. He detected nothing amiss anyway, so he allowed himself to drink the smallest amount of the potion and waited to see if it had any effect.

Nothing untoward happened after fifteen minutes so he poured some of it into the bowl and drank it. He waited for another period and noticed some diminution of his fever and no other ill effects, so he drank the rest. He propped himself up on his pillows. He felt the potion begin to take effect and allowed himself to drop into sleep.

The stealthy opening of the door brought him instantly back to wakefulness. He opened his eyes narrowly and focused on the doorway. He did not move. In his weakened state he would need any edge he could get against the intruder and surprise was always the greatest of advantages. He saw a shadowy outline move closer across the room. Stealthily he grasped the poker. When the intruder reached the side of his bed, Kormak reached out and grabbed for the throat.

“You are awake then,” said a woman’s voice, surprisingly husky.

“Who are you?” Kormak said.

“You are as suspicious as they said.”

“Probably more so,” Kormak agreed. “You still have not answered my question, and I can assure you that your life depends on giving me a good answer.”

“I am not a robber,” said the woman. “I just wanted to take a look at the mysterious guest the storm deposited on our doorstep.”

“Your name, lady. My patience is not limitless.”

She laughed as if amused. “I am the Lady Kathea. I am the employer of the wizard who looked after you, or rather I am the wife of the man who employs him.”

“And you decided to visit my room in the middle of the night to make sure of their handiwork?”

“I confess I was curious,” she said. “I have never seen a Guardian before. I have read about them in the old tales, of course, but I have always thought they were legends. An order of knights sworn to oppose the Shadow, to protect humanity from the Old Ones. It seems more like a legend than something one would encounter in the light of day.”

“My order is quite real, lady, and not nearly so heroic as the tales would have you believe.”

“I am not surprised,” she said. “Life is full of disappointments. Would you mind if I lit a candle? I am not quite so adept at seeing in the dark as you.”

“Go ahead, but make no sudden movements.”

She stepped away and went over to the fire. With a wooden spill she lit a candle and came back over to where Kormak sat. It was beeswax, not tallow, a sign that the lady or her husband were rich. Of course, he had not needed the candle to tell him that. The fact that they had a wizard in their retinue was evidence enough. She sat down in the same chair as the wizard Tarsus had. The candle underlit her face and he was not surprised to see that she was beautiful. Something about her voice, her movements and her confidence had already told him that she would be.

“You are quite lovely,” he said, studying her golden hair, high cheekbones and large eyes.

“And you are very gallant for a monk.”

“I am not a monk, lady. I am a soldier.”

“And you fight a war against the Shadow.”

“That is an overly dramatic way of putting it.”

“I find it curious that you should appear out of nowhere at this time in this place. Why are you here? Who are you looking for?”

“I was looking for shelter from the storm.”

Her head tilted to one side and he could tell she was studying him very carefully. “I cannot tell whether you are lying or not,” she said at last.

“Why would I lie about such a thing?”

“Because you belong to an order that hunts men and wizards and other things and you are here now, of all times. It seems an odd coincidence.”

“In what way?”

“I cannot believe you would be here, in the middle of this forsaken wilderness, for no reason.”

“I was sent to recover something that was stolen, lady.” He was not exactly sure why he was telling her this but he was tired and it was on his mind and he felt the need to talk. Perhaps it was the medicine and the illness.

“And perhaps to kill the one who ordered it so?” There was an edge to that question, an under-current of nervousness and anticipation. What had he stumbled into here, Kormak wondered.

“I have said too much already.”

“No you have not. I bear you no ill will.”

“I am very pleased to hear it.” She leaned forward and without really knowing why, he reached up to move a strand of her hair that had fallen into her eyes. He was all too aware of the soft curves of her body. Kormak wondered why he was flirting with this woman. If she was, as she said, the wife of the local lord it was a very dangerous thing to do. Of course, that might have been part of its attraction. And there was the situation. It was night. They were in his room. He was affected by the medicine he had taken earlier.

“You are not what I expected at all,” she said. Her voice was soft and thoughtful.

“What did you expect?”

“A fanatic and a killer.”

“A killer I am, lady. One who wonders why you felt the need to visit him alone in the dark.”

She seemed about to say something then shook her head. “I do not think I am any wiser than when I came in but I shall deny you your rest no longer, Guardian.”

She rose from the chair and went to the door, taking her candle with her. When she left the room, more light than its went with her. Kormak lay awake in the darkness for a long time, listening to the wind howl, watching the fire die. Tired as he was, sleep would not come. At some point he thought he heard a scream but it might have been the wind or it might just have been the edge of a dream intruding into the world.

The wind still howled outside when Kormak woke. He rose from the bed and tottered to the window, throwing aside the curtains. Outside it was day but the snow storm made it hard to make out any details. He saw flakes falling hard and fast into a courtyard and beyond that he thought he saw a high stone wall. It was obvious he was in a fortified manor of some sort and quite a large one. His head felt fuzzy and vague and he still felt weak. Someone had come in through the night and put more wood on the fire. It alarmed him that he had not woken. Normally he slept lightly and the faintest noise would wake him. He was in worse shape than he thought.

He moved back towards the bed as he heard footsteps in the corridor. He was sitting upright as Tarsus entered. The wizard looked even older in the daylight. His face was deeply lined, etched with marks of pain. Crow’s feet made trenches around his eyes. His hair was a dirty grey. The whites of his eyes were yellowish. Kormak noticed that his nails were long in the manner of the eastern aristocracy, a scholarly caste who liked to show they did not need to perform manual labour, or even wield a blade.

“You have made a better recovery than I expected,” Tarsus said. “You must be a very strong man.”

Kormak looked at him. “You have come to check up on me?”

“I have. It would do my reputation no good for me to save you from the effects of cold, only to die of something else.”

“Your reputation is important to you?”

“You don’t like wizards, do you, Guardian? I suppose that is understandable.”

“I have seen too much evil worked by wizards.”

“We have no monopoly on wickedness, sir.”

“That is nothing less than the truth.”

The wizard raised one bushy grey eyebrow. “I am surprised to hear you admit it.”

“Only a fool denies what his eyes can see,” Kormak said.

“Sometimes what we see is an illusion.”

“We were doing so well there, wizard. We had found a point of agreement and you have to go and spoil it by your allusions.”

Tarsus smiled. “It was illusions I mentioned but we shall forget that. Let me see your hands.”

“They are quite functional.”

“Nonetheless I would like to inspect my work.”

Kormak extended his hands carefully. He knew of a great deal of inimical magic that could be worked by touch and he was not wearing his amulets or carrying his blade and he was still not sure how trustworthy any of these people were. The wizard took his hands and turned them over. He squinted as he inspected them. His touch felt cold.

“Very good,” he said at last. “No permanent damage. You will be able to wield a sword with what I assume will be your customary proficiency.”

“Do you expect me to have to anytime soon?”

“An odd question, Guardian.”

“I have been asked a few odd questions since I arrived.” The wizard tilted his head to one side. The amulets on his neck jingled together. “By whom?”

“By yourself. Among others.”

“This is an isolated place, people are naturally curious.”

“I am surprised to find a wizard so far from the haunts of men.”

“Why? Did you think your order had killed all of them in the area?”

Kormak wondered if Tarsus and the Lady Kathea had talked. “It is strange that a scholar should choose to live so far from the great cities and libraries.”

“You are one of those that think wizards only avoid the haunts of men if they have something to hide.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“And a very suspicious mind it is, I can see. I suppose that is only natural for a man in your profession.”

“Why do you dwell here?”

“I shall have to show you my patron’s library and his collection once you are well, then perhaps you will understand.”

“Your patron?”

“Lord Tomas is a collector of ancient artefacts and a considerable scholar in his own right.”

“Will I be meeting him any time soon?”

“You seem fit enough to be allowed out of bed so I am guessing yes. You will most likely be invited to dine with us.”

Kormak stared hard at the wizard. The old man met his gaze with rheumy eyes. He coughed and once more his lips were speckled with blood. He noticed Kormak looking.

“I have more trouble healing myself than others,” he said. He got up and limped to the door. He stared at Kormak. “I am not the one you are looking for,” he said. “No matter what you think.”

The door closed behind him. Kormak heard it being locked.

Servants brought Kormak clean, warm clothing. It seemed to have been made for a man his height but somewhat larger about the waist. A servant showed him through the manor to the dining hall. Two men at arms accompanied them. Both looked competent and both were armed and armoured and they watched him closely. He suspected there were others within easy call.

The place was larger than he had thought. Corridors ran in many directions and the architectural style belonged to the First Empire, all clean simple lines, not the more ornate gargoyle and Elder Sign encrusted work favoured by those who ruled the West in this age of the world. The place was vast and echoing and seemed half-empty. He saw servants and men-at-arms moving about, enough so that they would have seemed a decent sized retinue for a mid-ranking nobleman in the west. Here they seemed to be lost in the vast draughty space.