Masque of Death (Kormak Book Nine) (The Kormak Saga 9) (15 page)

The corridor went down a long way before it started to go up again. Anders counted his paces, wishing he had thought to start doing so before they entered the tunnel. He still managed five hundred strides before the tunnel came to an end. For the last three hundred, they had been rising again as if the tunnel had tired of digging downwards and wanted to see the sunlight again.

A massive cube of stone, inscribed with a skull face, blocked their way. Lorenzo reached out and touched the eye-sockets of a skull, and it split and slid smoothly into the walls. They emerged into the warm night air beneath. Beneath them, in the moonlight, Anders could see the ancient ruins of the Temple Quarter. He shivered despite the warmth and fought down the urge to cry. After being imprisoned deep beneath the earth, he rejoiced in the feel of the night air on his skin. Even the buzzing of mosquitoes was welcome. He looked at Gregor and saw the little man felt the same way. His eyes were wide and moist, and his breathing was fast.

A burly mercenary poked him, and he slipped and fell in the mud. That drew brutal laughter from their captors.

Orson lumbered up and said, “Have your sport but I want these men unharmed. They are worth their weight in gold to me. And to you, if you are sensible.”

The mercenary who had prodded Gregor reached down and extended his hand. Gregor bit it. The mercenary howled and kicked him in the face.

Gregor sprawled in the dirt once more. “I’ll remember you did that,” he said through mashed lips.

He would too, and if the chance arose he would take vengeance for it. Gregor had a mean streak that Anders knew all too well.

Orson looked at him and said, “You brought that on yourself.”

The mercenary waved his sore hand in the air and gave Gregor another boot in the ribs. Orson made a tsk-tsking sound but no move to intervene. He studied the sky.

“Enough fun and games. The night is almost over, and we have a long way to go.”

He led the way down into the ancient city. Anders wondered what he was going to do down there. He had heard far too many stories of human sacrifice in the Temple of Xothak to be entirely easy in his mind about their destination.

They moved off down the hill, following ancient stone paving slabs still set in the hillside. Each had a skull face inscribed on it and each was set about a stride apart.

The bodyguards moved cautiously through the night, and Anders wondered what they were afraid of and why they were going this way. He glanced around looking for an escape route. There were hollows in the earth and tumbled bits of stone all around. Most were cubes of rock that had been carved and eroded. It was as if a giant had kicked over the walls of a great city and left its component parts scattered across the hillside. Perhaps that is what had happened here.

He glanced at the guards. They were paying more attention to Gregor. He might be able to make a break for it, dive for cover and escape amid the rubble. The men had crossbows though, and all it would take would be one lucky shot.

It would mean leaving Gregor behind as well. The little man had been so badly beaten he would not be able to keep pace.

He considered the possibilities. He did not like abandoning a companion, but at least one of them would be free. And then what? He could hardly notify the authorities. These men were the authorities. He had lost whatever gold he had been carrying. Unless Orson was carrying it with them now. That seemed a distinct possibility. What merchant would leave so much money behind? Unless he had left it in his vaults for when he returned.

What was going on here? Why were they in such a hurry? There was an urgency in the air that had not been there before, as if these men expected pursuit. The mercenaries moved as if they thought enemies could come upon them at any time. They looked wary and ready to fight and that discouraged Anders from the idea of making a run for it. They were likely to be with the fingers on their crossbows. Only the fat merchant did not look jumpy. He had a relaxed ease about him that was just as intimidating.

“Decided not to make a run for it, eh?” Orson said when he noticed Anders staring at him.

A look of dismay flickered across Anders’ face. His shoulders slumped.

“Don’t be too surprised,” said Orson. “It was entirely predictable that you would be thinking that. First chance to escape and all. I had already given the men instructions to watch carefully for it. You would have got a crossbow bolt in the leg and a taste of my venoms if you had made the attempt. I need you alive, but I don’t need you all that mobile.”

Anders nodded. He wondered about that
my venoms.
It had been the Guardian who had used poison on Gregor, not the merchant. Maybe he was just letting Anders know that he too had a collection of poisons.

The merchant grinned at him, and Anders knew then that he was involved in a high stakes game of bluff and counter-bluff. The merchant was trying to intimidate him, to make him think that any plan to escape had already been thought of, that there was no chance of him getting away. Anders looked down at his feet. He let his lips turn down at the corner, and he frowned. He let his shoulders slump. Let the merchant think he was winning. In a situation such as this Anders needed all the advantages he could get.

Orson smirked as if he knew exactly what Anders was thinking. Anders told himself that was impossible, but he was not so certain.

“
I
want
this house sealed off, Admiral,” Kormak said.

“It’s already been done, my friend,” Zamara replied. “No one could have got in or out since we surrounded the place. Not without us noticing.”

“Not even one of our own men?”

“They’ve all been too busy fighting. I’ll stake my life on it.”

“You might be doing just that.”

“How so?”

Kormak explained to him about the shapeshifter and the murder of Orson.

Zamara looked at the fat merchant prince. “It’s a pity. I rather liked him. He seemed a decent enough sort for a commoner.”

“Seemed is the operative word,” said Rhiana.

“This is getting us nowhere,” said Shahad. Zamara’s praise of the merchant had fuelled his rage.

“The Count is right,” said Kormak. “We need to find the shapeshifter and fast. I want this house searched from top to bottom. Everyone is to go in groups of at least six, and they are not to let anyone in their group get out of sight.”

Zamara’s face blanched as he realised the reason for this. He swallowed once and said, “And what are we looking for?”

“Hidden cellars, secret passages, places of concealment, vaults. We’ll know it when we find it.”

“As you wish, Guardian,” Zamara said and turned to give orders to Terves.

“And get Frater Ramon up here! I want him to take a look at this,” Kormak added.

* * *

F
rater Ramon wheezed
his way into the chamber, looked at the corpse and said, “I think there is something here that I can work with.”

Kormak looked at him and said, “You’d better get on with it then. I can’t help but feel that we are running out of time.”

The priest nodded and kneeled down in the centre of the mess. He closed his eyes and spread his arms wide, holding the two central fingers of each hand to his palm with his thumbs. He took a deep breath, exhaled for seven heartbeats and then in a long monotonous whisper began to repeat words in the Old Tongue over and over again.

Kormak felt the elder sign grow warm against his chest as the magician intoned. Tendrils of light emerged from Frater Ramon hands and touched his brow. Slowly he lowered his hands, and the guttural chanting faded. His eyes opened, and they contained a yellowish glow. He turned those blind-seeming eyes towards the Guardian and then sniffed the air like a hound tracing for a scent.

The priest’s head tilted to one side like that of a falcon. There was something inhuman about the mannerism as if he had been possessed by some demonic entity from the Outer Dark. He sniffed the air again; his eyes focused on Kormak, and he shook his head ever so slightly as if he did not like what he smelled.

“There is something strange here,” Frater Ramon said. “There are two scents, but one of them is not very strong. It’s almost as if I am picking up traces attached to the man’s clothes rather than the scent of the man himself.”

“Is it a human scent?” Kormak asked. “Or is it something else?”

“Human, I would say. But there is something distinctly odd about it. Something altered. That’s just a guess, though. The chances are that under normal circumstances I would not have noticed it at all. It seems to be fading very quickly. It’s almost gone now.”

“Can you follow it?”

The priest rose to his feet. The glow faded in his eyes until it was all but imperceptible in the lantern light. If you looked closely, you could still see it, and Kormak guessed that in the darkness it would be very evident, but right now Frater Ramon looked human. It was just as well; Kormak didn’t want to spook the soldiers with them if it could be helped.

The priest sniffed the air once again. His brow wrinkled in confusion. “This is a very slippery creature.”

He snuffled like a hound on a scent then moved over to a large wardrobe, opened it and inspected it.

“It looks like there is some clothing missing.” Kormak fought down his disappointment. That meant nothing. Perhaps the merchant had sent it to be cleaned. Frater Ramon smiled triumphantly.

“He took the clothing. He put it on. There are traces of camphor and mothballs on it. I can follow them as long as the spell lasts.”

“How long have we got?” How long a mage could maintain a spell depended on his strength. Kormak had known magicians who could keep tracking spells alive for days if need be. He had also known those who had only the stamina to keep them up for minutes. Frater Ramon did not look like he had that much strength in him.

“I can hold this level of concentration for about half an hour. The trail leads out of here and down the stairs. I think we’re going to have to go underground.”

Kormak and the rest of the small party followed the soldiers down into the basement. The trail ended at a stone wall.

It was dark, and they only had the flickering light of lanterns to work with. Rhiana produced a glowing green gem from inside her jerkin. Kormak inspected the wall closely. He was reminded of Count Balthazar’s mansion and the secret library. He tapped the wall, with his ear pressed against it and heard a faint echo.

Shahad strode right up to the stone. He extended his hands and began to push. His breath rasped within his chest as he exerted his full strength. The stone did not move. He muttered something and drew back his meaty fist as if to punch the rock.

Kormak put a restraining hand on his arm. “Wait,” he said. “There will be better uses for your hands than breaking them on unyielding rock.”

“I have seen things like this before,” said Frater Ramon. “I can open this.”

He traced an eldritch rune in the air with his finger. The symbol hovered in the air, limned in witch light. Ramon swept his hand through the symbol and slapped the wall, speaking a word of power. Kormak felt the amulet on his chest grow warm. There was a grinding sound, and the wall seemed to slide sideways and vanish.

“A useful spell,” said Kormak.

“If ever I lose my keys,” said Frater Ramon. His smile was wan. Kormak could tell that using all this magic was draining the man’s strength fast. They needed to push on.

The opening led into a darkened tunnel. The floor was damp. There were puddles of moisture and traces of what must have been boot prints.

“Escape tunnel,” Zamara said.

“Or an easy way of coming and going,” Rhiana said. “Sometimes merchants don’t want to be seen leaving their houses or for others to know who is visiting them.”

“You sound like a smuggler,” Zamara said, smiling at her.

She smiled back. “Funny that.”

Kormak said, “There’re tracks here—water splashed from puddles in the floor, boot prints in the mud. I would say they are fairly recent. It’s a good bet that the men we are looking for came this way.”

Shahad pushed past them into the tunnel. “Then what are we waiting for?”

“There might be traps,” Kormak said.

The nobleman ignored him and fumbled his way forward into the darkness.

* * *

B
y the light
of Rhiana’s glowing pearl, they stalked forward through the gloom. The ceiling was low overhead. The stonework had taken on a coarse ancient look.

“We’re deep under the city now,” said Shahad. “These tunnels were built long before the Solari got here. The city was built on top of them.”

“Funny that Orson’s house should just happen to sit on top of an entrance,” Zamara said.

“I doubt it is a coincidence,” said Kormak.

“They go on a bloody long way,” Rhiana said. She hunched down even more than she had to. A haunted look flickered in her eyes. She did not like being underground. Kormak understood that. He felt the same way himself but not to the same extent. He reached out and squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. She gave him a scared grin.

Behind him, Kormak could hear the marines grumbling. They did not like being here any more than she did. He hoped they were not going down into some underground temple complex. He had spent too much time in such places dealing with the legacy of the Old Ones.

Shahad muttered to himself. He was on the verge of cracking completely, and it was not because he was afraid. He was mad with grief over the death of his wife and filled with anger not just at her killers but at himself.

The tunnel ran down a long way. The air grew cold and clammy.

Kormak’s breath came out misty. It was hard to believe that above ground it was warm enough to make men sweat.

Somewhere up ahead of them, a monster waited. The familiar pulse of excitement began in his brain. He lived for this, for the thrill of the hunt, for the feeling of being alive it brought. Ahead of him was a deadly enemy that might prove the death of him but at that moment, he did not care.

His heart beat faster. His wits were keener. His sword felt steady in his hand. The tunnel curved upwards again. A look of relief passed across Rhiana’s face. They were heading towards the surface once more.

The muscles of Kormak’s legs felt the change. The slope was steep. The stonework slippery. Here and there he could see traces where men had fallen on the slick floor. He glanced ahead. There was some space behind the support arches where men might lurk, but he doubted anything human would wait here in the darkness to ambush them.

The arches themselves were carved with ancient runes and stone faces of demon gods. This is how the local people had seen the Old Ones when the Eldrim had ruled them. There were many skulls carved into the stonework. The local gods were gods of death.

Ahead of them was a larger arch. There did not appear to be any exit, but that did not trouble him. He was sure given time they would find one. There had been no place for the people they were following to turn off.

Frater Ramon repeated his opening spell.

The stone block slid sideways. Warm night air hit his face bringing with it the smell of lush plant life and rot. Looking down the slope, he could see that they were outside the city walls and looking down at the great ziggurat of Xothak.

Lights moved through the streets of smaller buildings surrounding the towering temple. As he watched, they vanished. He tried to memorise their position when they had winked out.

The brilliant moon blazed down on the old ruins. The soldiers emerged from the tunnel behind them.

Rhiana said, “There is power in that place tonight.” She pointed at the temple. Kormak was in no way surprised.

“We’d best be getting down there. Shahad, you men, all stay back. I want Rhiana beside me with her light so I can see any tracks, and I don’t want them spoiled.”

No one except Shahad seemed inclined to object, and even he kept his mouth closed. Kormak began to pad forward, Rhiana at his side. The green light of the pearl showed more prints on a trail leading down.

“Not many people come here,” said Shahad. “They avoid the parts of the city near the ruins. They are supposed to be haunted.”

“Perhaps they are,” said Kormak.

“You have a way of saying the least reassuring things, Sir Kormak,” said Zamara.

* * *

T
he ancient streets
near the temple closed in around them. Like the walls of the buildings around them, the pavement was made from blocks of solid stone. Lichen blotched the rock. Huge gaps rent the stonework in places.