Masque of Death (Kormak Book Nine) (The Kormak Saga 9) (17 page)

* * *

T
he changeling saw
the Guardian’s eyes widen and knew he had been recognised. Kormak reached for his blade. The changeling was tempted to strike at him but knew that the Guardian was still the lesser threat. He lunged forward with his poisoned stiletto, plunging it into the breast of the priest and withdrawing it fast as the flicker of a snake’s tongue.

The mage’s mouth opened in a silent scream. He gurgled and coughed. The glow left his eyes, and his hands became claws as he clutched at his wound. The changeling took a moment to gloat, and it was almost the end of him.

A dwarf-forged blade flashed down, and it took all of his cat-quickness to elude it. Even so, it shaved a lock of his hair. The changeling threw himself down onto all fours and scrambled away between the legs of the crowd. He heard the sound of more screaming behind him as the Guardian pushed his way through the crowd.

The changeling rose into a half-crouch and turned and threw his stiletto directly at his pursuer. The Guardian threw himself to one side, and the blade barely scraped his cheek, making only the slightest of nicks. Kormak dabbed at the cut. The changeling knew that the Guardian understood what had happened.

Good! It would give him a chance to escape if nothing else. He lengthened his arms and moved ape-like along the ground on all fours, seeking to put as much distance between him and his hunters as possible.

* * *

K
ormak reached
up and touched his cheek. It burned, and he knew enough about poisons to recognise what had been on the blade. Nightbane. Was it a fatal dose? This was the same dagger that had stabbed Frater Ramon so he hoped that most of the toxin had been left in the wizard’s body. Lacking any antidotes, there was not much of that he could do. On the ground lay a bag of dye. He grabbed it and lobbed it after the shapeshifter. It tumbled through the air and splattered his target with yellow goo. At least it gave him some hope of recognising his prey amid all the chaos.

He grabbed a wine bottle from the ground and poured its contents on to the wound, doing his best to clean it thoroughly. A numbness had already started to spread across his cheek though, and he wondered exactly how long it would be before the poison took full effect.

He bent down to inspect Frater Ramon. The mage was already dead.

* * *

A
nders glanced around
. One minute Orson was there. The next, he had vanished into the crowd, and the screaming began. The idea that an Old One was present was spreading through the crowd like wildfire. Panic was breaking out. Anders felt it himself. Had Orson been an Eldrim?

The mercenaries themselves were starting to lose it. They had just been deserted by their leader. Looking backwards they could see the Guardian and his companions closing with them. Anders looked at Gregor and the little man nodded.

“It’s now or bloody never,” Gregor said.

“It’s now,” Anders said. He drove his elbow into the guts of the nearest mercenary, grabbed Gregor by the shoulder and jumped into the milling mass of bodies.

* * *

M
ore from instinct
than from rational thought, the changeling altered its shape once more. His hair became darker and flecked with grey. His form became tall and lean and rangy. He took on the shape of the Guardian who hunted him.

His stride was longer. His speed increased. If he encountered any of the Governor’s men, he would be able to order them to do what he wanted as long as he maintained his impersonation of the Guardian. There was some hope that he was going to get out of this alive. All he needed to do now was find a place to rest for a few moments and take on a new form.

He touched his bare chest and noticed the sticky dye. Where had it come from? Had one of the idiot revellers thrown it at him? Not that it mattered; it would come off easily enough once he had time to clean up. What he needed to do now was simply get away and make the rendezvous with Balthazar. That way he could get out of the city. He would tell the Count that Orson had been killed by the Guardian. Or perhaps he would impersonate the merchant once again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of two familiar figures, fleeing through the crowd, the mercenaries who knew the way to the lost city. He altered his course so he could keep them in sight. If he could recapture them, all might still go well with his plans.

* * *

K
ormak kept
his eye on the ground, looking for spatters of yellow dye where he had last seen the shapeshifter. A huge pool of the stuff covered the spot where he had tossed the dye bag. A trail led away. He did not know how long it would last. He had better follow it while he could. He shouted for the others to come after him and pushed on. The numbness had reached his neck now. He felt dizzy and weak. He hoped that this was the worst things were going to get.

* * *

T
riumph filled Anders
. No sign of any pursuit. The mercenaries had fled when their master disappeared.

He and Gregor were free of their captors. They were still alive. Half an hour ago that had seemed impossible. It just went to show what you could do if you kept your wits about you and waited for the right opportunity.

He grinned down at Gregor. The little man smiled at him through mashed lips. He leant forward and undid his bonds; then his friend undid his.

“We showed those bastards,” he said. “They could not hold us down for long.”

“We’d best get out of here we have the chance,” Anders said. “I’m still not sure how they got us the first time. There was probably magic involved, I reckon.”

“You’re saying we’d best get out of town while the going is good?”

“Too bloody right.”

“I’m with you.” A look of fury replaced Gregor’s smile. Anders turned to see what had goaded him into a rage. Gregor reached down and picked up an empty wine flask and smashed it against a wall.

“There is the bastard,” he said, grinding his teeth. “I told him I would get even with him, and I bloody meant it.”

Anders frowned. Looking in the direction that his friend indicated, all he saw was a tall, muscular man covered in yellow dye. It took a moment to recognise who it was. It was the Guardian he had seen earlier. Somehow the man had lost his shirt, and his sword and his trousers hung loosely at his waist. It looked odd, but Anders had seen stranger things on the last night of the Masque of Death. It was quite easy for a man to lose his clothing under the circumstances.

With a speed surprising in a man so battered, Gregor closed the distance with the Guardian and slashed at him with the broken wine jar. The Guardian leapt back, eluding the jagged edge. Gregor pressed on the attack and his foe raised his left arm to ward off the blow. A bloody scratch emerged on his forearm.

An expression of annoyance flickered across the Guardian’s face, and he lashed out with his right arm. The blow caught Gregor on the throat then a dagger struck home and toppled him into the street. Anders backed away and let the tall man pass. Then he rushed over to Gregor, who lay gasping on the ground.

“I showed the bastard,” he said and died.

“No,” said Anders. “You can’t die yet. You still owe me from the last bar we were in.”

It was no use. Gregor could not hear him. Anders looked around, bereft. Now he had nothing. No gold. No companions. No weapons. He was alone in a strange town with no one to back him up. Enemies surrounded him and he had no idea who he could trust. That wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was that he missed Gregor, and he knew he had not even had time to really feel his absence yet.

He reached out and picked up the broken bottle. Blood and dye stained the jagged edge of it. Sensing a presence, he glared around. He found himself facing a tall, familiar figure, one he had seen just a minute ago. Only now he was fully dressed and carrying a blade. Behind him loomed a massive man that Anders had never seen before and a tall, beautiful woman whose ash blonde hair had been clipped short. She had what looked like scars on her neck. Behind her were soldiers.

Anders cursed. Somehow his enemies had found him again.

K
ormak recognised the two men
, one of whom lay on the ground before him, one of whom clutched a broken wine bottle as if he intended to use it. They had been accompanying the false Orson. The living one looked at Kormak with recognition in his eyes.

“Who are you?” Kormak asked. The man’s fingers went white where they pressed against his improvised weapon. He swallowed and shook his head.

“Who the hell are you?” the man countered. “And why are there two of you?”

“Because one of them is a shapeshifter. You should keep that in mind before you agree to serve him next time.”

The man bit his lower lip and chewed at it. His eyes narrowed, and a glimmer of understanding appeared in them. “I didn’t bloody agree to serve him. He had me kidnapped off the street. He looked exactly like you and he claimed that he was the Guardian Kormak.”

“It’s not the first time he has done that,” Kormak said. “And if we don’t find him soon, it won’t be the last time either.”

“He went that way,” Anders said. “And I’m coming with you. I want to be there when you get this bastard.”

Kormak shrugged and strode on. “Suit yourself. Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”

“Gregor wounded him on his left arm,” Anders said. He spoke loudly as if for the benefit of everyone present. Kormak supposed it would help although the fact that the shapeshifter was covered in yellow dye would probably be enough to overcome any confusion in identities.

Kormak reached up and touched his jaw. It was even more numb now, and he was starting to have difficulty speaking. He wished he had access to the apothecary of an order chapter house. At this moment in time, he might as well wish to be transported instantly back to Mount Aethelas.

“Let’s get moving,” Kormak said. “Our shapeshifter won’t capture himself.”

* * *

T
he changeling ran
through the trash-filled alleys. He came to one of the small side streets near the ancient temple. It was almost empty of people. The monstrous ziggurat loomed ahead like an artificial mountain.

His arm pained him. It was bleeding, and he needed to find something to staunch the wound as soon as he could. It had all gone so wrong so quickly that it was difficult to grasp. At one moment his mission was a success. His geas was being fulfilled. Now he was half naked, wounded and alone. He shrugged. He had been in such positions before and survived. This would be no different. First, he needed to deal with his wound. Then he needed to arm himself.

Nearby a couple lay entwined. He struck the man a fatal blow against the base of his neck. He pulled him off his partner and tore his sword from its scabbard. Now he was armed. He reached down and ripped off what remained of the women’s dress and used it to bind his arm. Another blow removed the only witness, and he was on his way.

Nothing to worry about, he told himself. Then he heard a shout from behind him and knew that the chase was on once more.

* * *

A
head of him
, Kormak saw a yellow-stained figure tying something around his forearm. Two bodies lay near him. Two more victims. Kormak swore that they would be the last.

The shapechanger turned and ran, his stride lengthening as he accelerated away. Whatever the creature was he was in better physical condition than Kormak. The Guardian felt every exertion he made. All of them wearied him. He wished that he had some of Valen’s Elixir now. Ruthlessly he quashed that thought. It was too easy to come to depend upon such things. He laughed mirthlessly. He was of an age when he would soon have no choice in such matters.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the prisoner was still there as well as Rhiana and Shahad and Zamara along with a couple of the marines. The rest had been left behind in the rioting back in the streets.

He considered telling the others to step back, but he dismissed the idea. He might need all the help he could get and now was not the time for misplaced ideas of heroism.

* * *

T
he changeling ran on
.

Ahead of him, he saw the tumbled-down remains of the great temple. Skull symbols sacred to Xothak covered it. The ruins beckoned him, a place of refuge in this city dedicated to his enemies. Inside there would doubtless be a maze of corridors and perhaps some connection to the labyrinth that ran beneath the city. Hopefully, Balthazar would be there with his men.

Revellers shunned the area. Perhaps it was because of the panic started when the unbelievers had witnessed his change of form earlier. No matter. He was tiring, and this place offered the promise of sanctuary.

He raced towards the ruined building. If worst came to the worst, this was where he would make a stand.

* * *

T
he square surrounding
the great ziggurat was now empty. This did not surprise Kormak. The panic the changeling had caused would discourage any Sun worshipper from coming here this night. The building had an aura about it that hinted at ancient power and magic. It was dark within and silent as if only the dead waited to greet them in the shadows.

In the moonlight he saw faint specks of blood and dye, leading towards the Temple. The tracks ran directly into the ruined temple. The shapeshifter was making towards a place sacred to its kind.

“It looks like our prey has gone to ground,” Kormak said. Rhiana produced the green pearl. Its glow banished the darkness and illuminated the way downwards into the depths of the earth.

“I knew it would end in a place like this,” Rhiana said. “Whenever I’m with you, it always does.”

Kormak said, “You can wait here if you like but I am going in.”

“If you think I’m leaving you alone with my jewellery, you are sadly mistaken,” Rhiana said.

“I’m going with you,” Shahad said. His voice was flat, without a hint of emotion.

The former prisoner brandished the broken wine flask as if it was a sword and said, “I have a debt to settle. I’m going with you too.”

Zamara said, “Lead on!”

“Then the less time we spent talking and more time we spent searching the better,” Kormak said. He told the marines to wait here and cover the entrance. “Stop anyone who does not use the password
Gerd.
”

The men nodded.

Kormak and his companions proceeded into the depths of the ancient temple. Silence descended on them.

* * *

T
he changeling moved
through the darkness, his alien eyes revealing far more than any mere mortals could. Behind him, footsteps echoed. Someone followed. In the shadows, he had many advantages over ordinary humans.

He exited the long corridor into an arena upon which the moon shone bright. All around rose banks of steps, exactly the right height for spectators to witness the events in the central square. The interior of the ziggurat was hollowed out. In the core was a small step pyramid upon which an altar to the moon had once sat. Now it was gone, leaving a blasphemous space where once the Old Ones had been worshipped.

There was no sign of the brethren Balthazar had gone to summon or of any transportation. No aid from there then.

Directly opposite another tunnel ran through the walls. If this ziggurat resembled other Eldrim geomantic structures, it should lead directly out. He turned to look back the way he had come. Spots of blood and dye had marked his trail. He cursed, realising at last why the Guardian had marked him. As if summoned by the thought, the man himself appeared, illumined by a greenish glow. More magic. The merwoman’s pearl.

No matter. A plan struck the changeling. He climbed the rows of stone steps above the entrance through which he had come. He found a large block of stone. It took all his considerable strength to lift it, but he had it ready. He would catch the Guardian. He doubted that the others would put up much opposition without his lead. If they did, he would stalk them through the shadows, where his altered eyesight would give him the advantage.

The changeling slowed his breathing and his heartbeat, braced his muscles and settled down to wait. Not long now.