Masque of Death (Kormak Book Nine) (The Kormak Saga 9) (12 page)

“Cheap Street. I’ve drifted far off course then.” Anders had thought he was five blocks from Cheap Street. How could he possibly have gone so wrong?

“Easy enough to do in these bloody alleys, mate. They are a maze. I’m not sure I can find my own way out.”

Anders heard footsteps coming closer. He heard heavy breathing. “You there, mate?” Gregor’s almost voice asked. A hand clutched his tunic in the dark.

“Yeah! Best be quiet. I’m being followed by at least three of the bastards. They have a link boy with them. They’ll be on us soon if we’re not careful.”

Something else nagged at Anders. Cheap Street. How had Gregor circled and got behind him from Cheap Street along the alley? How had he managed to get by the bruisers? Maybe there was another alley mouth; Anders had missed in the dark, but he did not remember any.

No matter. There were two of them now and only three pursuers. The odds were more in their favour than any time this evening. Particularly if they managed the advantage of surprise.

“If we can just find a place out of the torchlight when they come on us, we can bounce them,” he whispered to Gregor.

“Bloody right. What about that doorway behind you?”

Gregor turned his head to look. As he did so, he wondered how Gregor had managed to see a hiding place in the total darkness. Just as the thought occurred to him, something crashed into the back of his head and the night exploded into a thousand stars that faded to blackness, taking his consciousness with them.

* * *

K
ormak looked
around the garden of Balthazar’s mansion. A pile of books and scrolls and statues lay next to the ornamental pool. Some of them were monstrous, dating back to the rule of the Old Ones. Some of them were pornographic. None of them were any more incriminating than what Kormak had already found in Balthazar’s chambers.

It galled him. The Count had escaped. He had found proof of the man’s involvement with the Shadow cult, but the mage had slipped through his fingers. The hangers-on and party guests might be able to tell him something. It was going to be a long night of interrogations. He had better get on with it.

A man in the livery of the Governor’s household enter the gardens. It was Ezra. His face was schooled to blankness.

“You’ve found the men were looking for,” Zamara asked.

“Yes and no, Your Excellency,” said Ezra. His voice was as neutral as his demeanour.

Zamara frowned. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Kormak strode over to the Admiral’s side. He wanted to hear this. Rhiana went with him.

Ezra kept his face carefully blank. “We found out where they were, but they left in a hurry just minutes before we arrived. I have men combing the streets and spending gold looking for any trace of their trail. If they are in the city, we will find them.”

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“They were staying in Mother’s place on the Street of Shame. When I asked about their whereabouts, she said something odd. She said
why didn’t you ask them where they were going when you talked to them?
”

Kormak felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “Someone who looked like you.”

“Have the woman brought in for questioning,” said Zamara.

“I shall do as you say, Admiral,” said Ezra, “but before I go, there’s one more thing.”

“Yes,” said Kormak.

“We have not been the only ones asking after Anders and Gregor. It took some effort, but I traced those enquiries back to Goodman Waters’ servant, Lorenzo.”

“You’ve done well,” Kormak said. He felt a small surge of triumph. He had had his suspicions about the merchant ever since the bad business on the Island of Wrath.

“This thing gets stranger by the minute,” said Zamara.

“It just means that our enemies are ahead of us. If we act quickly, we might yet catch up with them. Gather your men, Admiral. It looks like we need to pay a visit to the home of Orson Waters.”

“I know the way,” said Count Shahad.

“Ezra, go and get Frater Ramon and as many soldiers as you can. Bring them to Goodman Waters’ house. I suspect we are going to need them. Be quick about it!”

“As you say, Guardian.” Ezra scuttled off.

“I know where Waters lives,” repeated Count Shahad. His words had an ominous ring to them.

I
n the chamber
outside their captives’ cell, Orson looked at the changeling. It was a most unsettling sight. It wore the shape of the Guardian Kormak. The changeling seemed to take pleasure in making him nervous. “You think this will get them to tell the truth?”

The changeling ran a hand up against the stone wall of the cellar. The stones were massive; remnants of the great underground city the Old Ones had built on the site. Modern Maial was built on top of it. “It is consistent with what they already know. If they believe they have fallen into the hands of the Order of the Dawn, they will be more cooperative. We may even be able to convince them they are helping the King-Emperor.”

“I hope you are right.” Even as he said the words, Orson heard stone grind against stone, then feet approaching, slapping along the cold stones. Someone had entered the cellars under his house via the network of secret tunnels. He heard a man’s heavy breathing. The sound set him to reaching for his blade. Balthazar emerged from the shadows.

“They almost got me,” he said.

“What? Who?” Orson said.

“The Guardian…” Balthazar pulled up short and glared at the changeling. He still wore Kormak’s shape. Balthazar began to back away.

The false Kormak laughed. The changeling’s features slid into a new configuration, mocking those of Balthazar. “It is I. Tell me what happened.”

Balthazar stared at the changeling. His fingers flexed as if he was considering casting a spell. He took control of himself and said, “Troops showed up at my house, along with the man whose form you just mimicked. I barely escaped into the old tunnels. I made my way here.”

Orson said, “What if you were followed? You might have led the Guardian right to us.”

“I wasn’t followed,” Balthazar said with the serene confidence of a man who was certain of the truth. “I covered my tracks with sorcery. Anyway, they were too busy over-running my house. It was chaos.”

“You assured me that the Governor was too frightened to risk a run in with the nobles,” the changeling said, staring at Orson.

“It would appear that the Guardian has given him some spine.”

“The Guardian arrived with Count Shahad,” Balthazar said. “Shahad made demands about seeing the murderer of his wife.”

“That was clever,” Orson said.

“Clever?” The changeling’s features were blank. That was usually a sign he was troubled.

“The Governor can pretend that he had nothing to do with it. It’s not politics. It’s personal. That’s something most of the nobles can get behind. Particularly Balthazar’s enemies. It will keep a lid on the situation for a while. The Guardian can move through the shadows and pick off anyone he wants, just so long as he is with Shahad.”

“No matter,” said the changeling. “We have found the men we were looking for.”

“Sooner or later someone will talk.” Orson looked directly at Count Balthazar. If what he suspected about the alchemist was true, then some very dark secrets would be revealed. Everything they had worked towards for so long was about to come crashing down. “We cannot remain here. We will have to flee.”

That was going to be hard at his age. He was used to luxury, and he needed the potions that Count Balthazar prepared to keep his heart beating. This could be a death sentence for him in many different ways. How had things gone so wrong so fast?

“I feel certain that you have gold hidden away somewhere. You strike me as a cautious man, Orson.” Was the changeling showing more than a little too much interest in his personal cache. It came to him that it would be very easy for it to kill him and replace him and thus have access to all his money.

He also suspected that the assassin considered him expendable now that he had found what he was looking for. After all, it was easy for him to walk away from the consequences of his actions. Orson would find it a lot more difficult to hide in the crowd.

“I have an escape plan,” Orson said. “I always find it best to keep those to myself. You never know who will be captured and who will betray you.”

“Excellent thinking. What can any cell member tell the Guardian?” The question was addressed at Count Balthazar.

“Not a great deal. Everything was organised on a need to know basis.”

The changeling’s glance tracked back to Orson. “You are a conspicuous figure. Could someone name you?”

“Yes,” Balthazar said. “Some know of my friendship with Goodman Waters.”

The changeling nodded, “We must assume that some member of your cell is going to spill everything that they know. It would be best if we were not here when that happens.”

“Right now we need to squeeze our prisoners for what they know while we still have time,” said Balthazar.

The changeling nodded. “Take a cowled robe. We shall begin the interrogation.”

* * *

A
nders’s head ached
. His mouth felt dry. “Worst hangover I ever had,” he muttered. He tried to move, but something held him in place. “What the hell,” he muttered and shook his head. That made the room spin. He was not in very good shape.

He glanced around. The walls were made of huge blocks of unmortared stone. The air was damp and fusty and far too warm. There was a smell of spices and embalming fluid. A single lantern lit what looked like a small cell. As he turned his head, he saw that’s exactly where he was and that he was not alone.

Gregor’s familiar figure was tied to a chair nearby. Skeletons, their bones picked clean, hung in chains from the walls.

Gregor opened his eyes. Anders could see his face was bruised, and two teeth were missing. The little man looked around and said, “Bloody hell. They don’t feed their prisoners very well around here, do they?”

Anders glared at him. “What happened?”

“They caught us apparently. How’d they get you?”

“Dunno. One second I was talking to you. The next second I was here. Something hit me on the back of the head judging by the way it feels.”

“You were talking to me? You been chewing the bloody loco weed again?”

“What do you mean?”

“How were you talking to me? Were you seeing bloody visions?”

“I wasn’t seeing anything at all. It was pitch dark.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I heard your voice.”

“You talked to me? What about?”

“Why are giving me aggravation about this? You were there!”

“I’m giving you aggravation, mate, because I don’t know what the hell you are talking about.”

“You told me you circled, went down Cheap Street . . .”

“What? I headed for the West Gate. Got grabbed by a bunch of the big guys on Temple Way. They told the passers-by that I had skipped from Mother’s place without paying my bill. Not that anybody was interested. I fought, but they gave me a right seeing to.”

“Something’s not right here. I could swear you were with me when I was taken.”

“That looks like a pretty bad bump on the back of your bloody head, mate. Maybe you remember something that didn’t happen.”

Anders wondered if he was going mad. He knew what had happened. He was certain of it. And yet Gregor seemed equally certain that it had not. Something was wrong here.

The door slammed open interrupting his train of thought. A big evil-looking man with a scarred face entered the room. The most noticeable thing about him was the sword slung over his back. Very few people carried their blades that way and with good reason. No one except a Guardian of the Dawn would want to attract the attention of the Old Ones or their children.

A moment later two other men appeared each garbed in the cowled robe of a priest. One was an enormously fat man and the other was almost as tall but considerably fitter looking.

The man with the sword on his back moved with feral grace. When he spoke his accent was odd, at once educated like that of a priest and slightly foreign. He was not a Siderean. Judging from his black hair and his savage features he was not even a Sunlander.

“You two are in big trouble,” he said.

“We’re not the ones kidnapping innocent men from the bloody street,” said Gregor. The stranger slapped him on the face hard. Gregor’s head slammed to one side.

“I’ve been hit harder,” he said. “By tougher men.”

The stranger’s smile showed very white teeth. “This is not a contest. You are going to tell me everything I want to know, and you are going to tell me truthfully. It will go much easier for you if you do.”

The really terrifying thing was the relaxed way in which he spoke. He had no doubts about what he was saying. It was the voice of a patient man who knew what he’s doing. He was giving them a chance to cooperate. He didn’t care whether they did or not except for the fact that their cooperation would make his job easier.

“What do you want to know?” Anders asked.

“And what will you bloody well do to us if we tell you?” said Gregor. It was a fair question, but Anders suspected they all already knew the answer.

“My name is Kormak,” the stranger said. “I am a Guardian of the Dawn. I have been sent here to find out where a certain coffin came from. A sarcophagus containing elements of truesilver and white gold, inscribed with ancient runes. I know you are the men who sold it to Governor Aurin. I want to know where it came from. You are going to tell me. These two fraters are witnesses.”

“Why do you want to bloody well know?” Gregor really could not keep his mouth shut. He needed to prove how tough he was. There was no need. He was every bit as hard as he thought but Anders could tell that in this situation he wasn’t hard enough. There was casual death in this stranger’s winter grey eyes.

The stranger shrugged. “I want to know because the sarcophagus contained a living Old One. It almost killed Aemon, King-Emperor of Siderea.”

Something of the man’s tone told Anders that the stranger did not like Aemon or his title. Not that it mattered much. Anders had worked for plenty of people he didn’t like. Had done good work for them to.

“A bloody Old One? Pull the other leg, mate. I piss beer when you do.”

“It does not matter whether you believe me or not,” said Kormak. “What matters is that you tell me where you found it. The quicker you do so, the better it will go for you.”

“You’re going to bloody kill us anyway, aren’t you,” said Gregor. There was a desperate edge to his voice. What he really wanted was to be convinced otherwise.

“Why would I do that if you cooperate?”

“Because someone is going to be strung up for the attempt on the King’s life and you can bet that sword on your back that it’s not going to be the Governor.”

“Governor Aurin does not get to decide who dies around here. I do.”

“And of course, you are bloody well going to spare the life of a couple of tramp swordsmen rather than take the life of a Royal Governor.”

“I don’t much like the Governor. I don’t much like you either. I might like you more if you helped me. And I would particularly appreciate it if you did not waste any more of my time. All I need are a few simple answers. Where did you get the coffin?”

“Piss off,” said Gregor. He was still a bit drunk, and he was in pain from the beating he had taken. Anders could tell he resented it. It was a mistake.

“We found it on the High Plateau beyond the Xilarean Mountains,” Anders said. “Out in the middle of the Desert of Demons.”

Gregor looked at him as if he was some kind of traitor. Anders shook his head imperceptibly. He thought he had found a way out, or at least of keeping them alive for a little bit longer.

The Guardian walked over to his chair, circled it. Anders could feel his massive presence behind him. It made him nervous, as no doubt, it was meant to.

“Go on,” said Kormak.

“In the desert, there is another mountain ring and in the middle of the ring, there is an ancient city. It does not look as if it was built by humans. It looks like some of the stuff you see in the Graveyard of Angels in Umbrea but on a much bigger scale.”

Anders flinched as the stranger put his hand on his shoulder. His fingers were like claws. Very strong claws.

“Tell me more.”

“We found the coffin there.”

The Guardian glanced over to the fat priest. “Is that likely?”

When the priest spoke his voice was rich and mellow. His accent was local. “Perhaps. Not many people go up onto the High Plateau, and even fewer go through the Desert of Demons. It’s haunted. There are tales of monsters and ghosts and other things.”

“There are monsters,” said Anders, “and that’s not the worst of it. The whole city is a death-trap.”

“A death-trap,” the thinner priest said. He sounded like a nobleman, but then many of the clergy did. They were often drawn from the ranks of the nobility or so Anders had heard—younger brothers without an inheritance and such. “But you are here.”

“We are the only survivors of a whole company of men who went in.”

The Guardian and the priests exchanged a look. Anders sensed that he had got their attention.

“You are lying,” said the fat priest. “You are telling us a tale, and it will go badly for you.”

“Why would I lie?” Anders said, as persuasively as he could. He knew he was arguing for his life. The Guardian stared at him, his gaze unreadable and suddenly alien. “There was a company of us, all sworn brothers, former mercenaries. When we were discharged, we headed up into the Highlands searching for the lost gold of the ancients.”