Masque of Death (Kormak Book Nine) (The Kormak Saga 9) (2 page)

The secretary knocked discretely on the door. A powerful voice bellowed. “What is it, Ezra? Can’t you see I am busy?”

“You have important visitors, Your Excellency.”

“I don’t care how bloody important they think they are. Tell them to come back later!” Feminine giggles interrupted the Governor’s speech.

“They bear messages from the King-Emperor, Excellency. Warrants too.”

“Why didn’t you say so then! Send them in! No! Give me a moment then send them in!”

Zamara glanced at Kormak to see how he was taking this. It was obviously not the sort of reception he had been expecting. The secretary hunched, as if embarrassed. He turned to Zamara and made a gesture that said
you heard His Excellency as well as I.

A moment later, the rich, fruity voice, said, “Send them in. I am ready now.”

Governor Aurin was a man of medium height, balding, and running to fat. Arrogance etched his face and oozed from his languid manner. He was still fastening his tunic. His companion was a beautiful dark-haired young woman who had been garbed as a mountain dryad. Either her costume was in some disarray or she was taking the role of scantily clad nymph with becoming seriousness.

“And who in the name of the Shadow, are you?” the Governor barked. He stared directly at Kormak. “And why do you claim the King-Emperor has sent you on his business?”

The wood nymph suppressed a giggle. The Governor poured himself a glass of wine. His hand was steady but when he raised it to his lips some of the wine trickled down his chin.

“He claims to come on the King’s business because he is on the King’s business,” said Zamara. He made a small courtly bow. “Count Zamara, Admiral of the Western Fleet, Captain-General of next year’s Treasure Fleet.”

The Governor’s manner became subtly more respectful although there was still haughty insolence in his tone. “The King’s cousin. He’s finally seen fit to promote you then. I knew all that talk of getting rid of nepotism was just that, talk.”

Zamara’s smile widened. His tone became colder. “I believe you have had too much to drink, sir.”

“And who are you to tell me I have had too much to drink? I have a good mind to slap your cheek with my glove. Teach you some manners, puppy!”

Zamara’s eyes narrowed. He was not used to being talked to in that tone. And he was not the sort of man who would back down from a duel.

“Governor, you are in quite enough trouble with the King-Emperor without starting brawls with his relatives,” Kormak said.

“What? Some barbarian hillman comes strolling into my office and starts lecturing me on protocol. What is the world coming to? I won’t do you the honour of cuffing your cheek, sir. I will have the servants beat you and throw you out.”

“That would be most unwise,” said Orson. His manner was amused and conciliatory.

“And why do you say that, Goodman Waters?”

“Because the Guardian here is high in royal favour, having saved the King-Emperor’s life.” He let that sink in then added, “Also he might slaughter your servants.”

“Is that so? Is that so?” The Governor’s bluster started to fade. He looked around the room, alternately staring and blinking. His companion had stopped giggling. She was looking at Kormak wide-eyed.

“It is indeed so,” said Orson. “And if your servants are foolish enough to attempt such a thing, I will give them a good trouncing myself.”

The Governor stared at Orson. Fear flashed momentarily in his eyes. It was quite clear this proud aristocrat was terrified of the merchant. Did Orson have so much power here, Kormak wondered. It was good to know. He would be a dangerous enemy.

The Governor covered his mouth with his hand and coughed. He put down his goblet and said, “Forgive me, Captain, no, Admiral Zamara. You catch me at a moment when I have overindulged in rather too much mushroom wine. They say it makes men argumentative and boorish and I, it would seem, am living proof of the fact. And you, Guardian, please treat my cloddish outburst as a momentary failure of tact. Any man who has saved the life of the King-Emperor is deserving of nothing but gratitude and the greatest respect.”

The Governor’s features became placid. His manner courtly. It was like watching a man put on a mask. The effect was only spoiled by a sudden attack of hiccups. “Ezra, please bring me some water,” said the Governor. “And some refreshments for our guests. Where are my manners? I seem to have left them the same place I left my sense of decorum.”

He sat down in his chair. His aim was slightly off, and he caught the edge of the seat and almost toppled. He grimaced, looked at the chair as if he wanted to challenge it to a duel and slumped down into it. A moment later his eyes were closed, and he was snoring.

“Perhaps we had better come back in the morning,” said Zamara. “Things might go better then.”

“That might perhaps be the most tactful course, Admiral,” said Ezra. “I can, if you wish, have chambers prepared for you.”

Zamara shrugged. “That would be good.”

Kormak and Rhiana agreed. Orson said, “I have my own home to go to, and perhaps a costume to get changed into. It may well be that I will see you all later. But if I do not, and it’s possible since things can get chaotic on nights like tonight, enjoy yourselves.”

“I’ll do my best to take that advice,” said Zamara.

Ezra barked curt instructions to passing servants. They moved none too steadily to obey. Within minutes, the new arrivals were shown into guest rooms, which looked as if couples had been hastily thrown out of them, and the windows thrown open for them to be aired. The sweet slightly rotten scent of the gardens wafted in.

Kormak studied his chamber. It contained a large four poster bed with mosquito netting, citronella candles to keep the blood-sucking little beasts at bay and a host of elaborately carved furniture that looked as if it had been shipped directly from Trefal. A flask of wine sat on the table along with a silver goblet. Kormak unstoppered it. It had a sweet scent with an odd and familiar tang. Kormak poured a thimbleful into the goblet and then let the slightest drop touch his lips. They went slightly numb and when he licked them his tongue tingled. Wyrmspike and something else. He began to understand the behaviour of the Governor and the crowds in the street if this was the vintage they were sipping.

A knock on the door sounded. A moment later a servant girl entered. She was pale-skinned, and her face was rouged. She studied him with an open invitation in her dark eyes. Kormak noticed her pupils were extremely dilated, a side-effect of wyrmspike, among other narcotics he was familiar with.

“Yes?” Kormak said.

“The majordomo sent me to ask if you required
anything.
”

“Not at the moment.”

“He also told me to say that you would be very welcome at the ball below. Your companions have already said they would attend.”

“Then I suppose I had better do similarly.”

She placed a small domino mask she carried on a silver platter in front of him. “Masks are required for all the guests. The majordomo regrets that he does not have the time to provide you with a full costume.”

“That will not be necessary.” Kormak donned the mask and left the room. He was keen to observe the court of the Governor and see what he could learn. If everyone was as intoxicated as Aurin was, there might never be a better time to ask questions concerning the thing he had been sent to find.

K
ormak strode
down the stairs and passed couples stealing hand in hand into side rooms. Several of them invited him to join them. He politely declined. Rhiana and Zamara stood in the library, sipping wine. They too wore small domino masks but were otherwise dressed as they had come.

“This place is a disgrace,” said Zamara quietly. “I could take the whole city with a company of marines.”

Rhiana laughed. “If you could convince your crew to fight. They might just join in the party.”

“Speaking of marines, where are they?” Kormak asked.

“They are dismissed. They’ve been a long time at sea. Terves and half a score of hardy men are within call. The rest have been dispatched to find their own amusement.”

“You’d better hope they don’t decide to take the city on their own.”

“Hush, Guardian, don’t even joke about such a thing. It is entirely within the realms of possibility.”

“I thought you Sunlanders were supposed to be so moral,” said Rhiana.

“It seems the tropical sun does something even to the most disciplined of people,” said Zamara.

“I would say it is more likely the mushroom wine. It contains wyrmspike and a cocktail of subtle narcotics,” said Kormak.

“It makes my tongue tingle,” said Rhiana.

“I am having it mixed with water,” said Zamara. “I don’t want to be too hungover when I speak with the Governor tomorrow.”

“I think he will be hungover enough for the two of you,” said Kormak.

“I do not doubt it. It’s no wonder this place is like it is with a man like that in charge.”

“I don’t think you were seeing him at his best, Admiral,” said Rhiana. Her voice was slightly slurred. The wine was starting to get to her.

“You might want to slow down,” said Kormak. “That is a strange and powerful vintage.”

“It is certainly delicious,” said Rhiana.

“And possibly addictive,” said Kormak.

“You always have to be such a spoilsport about everything,” she said. “Don’t you ever relax?”

“No.”

“And always so honest too. It must be tiring being you sometimes.”

Zamara stared at her. “I am starting to see a pattern here.”

Kormak said, “The wyrmspike in the wine makes some susceptible souls argumentative.”

“Who are you calling argumentative,” said Rhiana. “And susceptible?”

“No one,” said Kormak. “It was an observation.”

“Oh it was an observation, was it? Aren’t we special?”

“I am going to question some of the guests.”

“A Guardian is always on duty,” said Zamara. “I shall keep Captain Rhiana company.”

“That might be a good idea.”

“There’s no need to be so sarcastic,” said Rhiana.

Kormak strode out into the garden. Music played. A bard stood by the fountain singing part of the
Tale of Anwin,
a ballad concerning the fate of one of the heroes of the Sunlands who fell in love with an Old One. The man’s voice was high and clear and brought an eerie clarity to the song.

“Are you supposed to be a Guardian of the Dawn,” said a voice from nearby. Kormak turned to see a tall man in a costume of silver and white. A horned helmet was taped to his head and held in position with silver-painted linen. He had the sign of the moon on his shield, and his weapon was a wooden sword. Two false arms were attached to his tunic. They held stuffed swords of cloth.

“Yes,” said Kormak. “I am.”

“Your costume is not exactly convincing.” The man’s companions, garbed as mountain goblins and dwarves, giggled. A noble and his hangers-on, Kormak guessed.

“You think so?”

“You’ve got the blade on your back, and your elder signs look all right, but you could at least have dyed your hair blonde.”

“Because all Guardians are Sunlanders?”

“Indeed. Although I can perceive, you are not.”

“That’s very observant of you. And who may I ask are you?”

“I am Graghur, the Taker of Skulls.”

“Your costume is also unconvincing, I am afraid.”

“And how would you know?”

“I killed him.”

The noble laughed. Hearing his mirth, his lackeys decided to laugh too. “At least you play your part with a certain brio,” the false Graghur said. “I’ll give you that.”

“It’s very good of you to say so.”

“Have a drink!”

“Thank you, I already have one.”

“And everyone knows Guardians are meant to be abstemious.”

“I know some who are not.”

“You are determined to keep playing your role, aren’t you?”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that tonight.”

“I am not surprised. You would make a very good mummer.”

Kormak bowed to the man and his hangers-on and strode into the crowd.

A wizened-looking, grey haired man touched his arm. Kormak looked down into the watery blue eyes of a slight figure garbed in the yellow robes of a priest. A chain containing half a dozen mystical amulets dangled from his neck. Rings marked with mystical runes encircled his fingers. Kormak could not help but notice that one of the amulets was of wraithstone and contained thin filaments of darkness. It was there to protect against the influence of evil magic and blight. Kormak carried a similar one himself.

“You really are a Guardian, aren’t you?” the man said.

“I really am.”

The man’s thin lips twisted into a wan smile.“I thought as much. Even if Count Arald can’t tell a real elder sign, I can. And that is a dwarf-forged blade on your shoulder, isn’t it?”

“You already know that.”

The man coughed. It sounded like a lot of phlegm was moving within his chest. “Curious. A Guardian of the Dawn showing up here tonight.”

“In what way?”

“I was just thinking that these festivities have almost tipped over the edge into blasphemy.”

“Drunkenness and licentiousness perhaps but hardly blasphemy.”

The priest looked at him. “You are sure of that.”

“I am not a great expert on Church law.”

“Nor can I claim to be. I trained in other matters.”

“You are an Initiate of the Mysteries, aren’t you? A sorcerer.”

The man glanced up at Kormak, covered his mouth, coughed again and then looked around as if he feared they might be overheard. Kormak was not sure why. It would have been obvious to anyone given the number of magical adjuncts the man was wearing. Then again maybe not. Everyone was drunk and pretending to be something other than they were. “I have that honour although, alas, I cannot claim to be a very powerful one.”

The man sounded uneasy. It was unsurprising. Even Church-sanctioned sorcerers tended to be nervous around members of his order. They were brought up to be. The Order of the Dawn was one way the Prelates of the Holy Sun kept their mages in line.

Kormak studied the man. His skin seemed sallow and yellowish in the torchlight. His face was lined and his eyes sunken. He looked like someone not-quite-recovered from a long illness. “What brings you to the Governor’s fancy dress ball?”

“Governor Aurin invites every man of the cloth. I think it is a form of insurance for his soul.”

“You believe he is a man in need of such a thing?”

“Ah—that is more like it—a leading question put in an inquisitorial tone. I was just thinking you were remarkably polite for a Guardian.” There was a note of sour humour in the mage’s voice and a hint of animosity. Kormak was used to the latter from wizards, if not the former.

“It seems everyone here tonight thinks I am playing a part.”

“And why should you not? Everyone else is.”

“Including yourself?”

“Much as I would like to claim otherwise, I must confess it to it. I disapprove of these people and their behaviour and yet I am here.”

“You said this was blasphemous, how so?”

“Look at the costumes. They celebrate the Old Ones.”

“They are hardly the first to do so.”

“This festival used to be celebrated by the natives. As part of the Lunar rites. They claimed that centuries ago the Old Ones themselves would often walk among the revellers disguised like everyone else.”

“It has happened in other places.”

A look of interest passed across the little man’s face. “You say that as if you know it for a fact.”

“I have been to some of those places.”

“You have led an interesting life. I don’t suppose you would mind talking to me about it sometime. I am composing a monograph on the subject.” He coughed as if that admission had triggered the seeds of illness within him. It occurred to Kormak that this man might be dying, that his illness might be one of those fatal ones so common in the tropics.

“Perhaps. If I have the time.”

“You are here on a mission then?”

“When is a Guardian ever anything else? You said these rites were once celebrated by the Lunars. I would have thought that would have been stamped down on hard.”

“Come now, you know better than that. Sometimes the Church bans the old rites. Sometimes it incorporates them in its own rituals. What you are witnessing here is an attempt to make the old Lunar rituals our own. Unfortunately what seems to have happened is the old rites are absorbing our faith.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“Stay here as long as I have and then tell me that. I have witnessed the corruption of our Church. That is why when I saw you here, I expected . . .” His voice trailed off as if he could not quite decide what to say next. “This is a bad place, Guardian. The Light dims here even if the Holy Sun seems bright in the sky.”

“I would not have expected such words from a man of faith. Particularly from one entrusted with the use of the Power.”

“Perhaps you are right. I have been here too long and seen too much. Perhaps I have let it undermine my confidence in the righteousness of the Holy Sun. After all, you are here. Forgive me for boring you with my forebodings.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Kormak said. “I’m interested to hear what you have to say. After all, I am a stranger here.”

“And how are you finding it?”

“It’s very difficult to say. I’ve only been here for a very short time. I suspect that these are very far from usual circumstances.”

“You may be surprised. The skeleton dance only makes obvious what lies below the surface all the time.”

A very beautiful woman wearing a long green dress and a mask of peacock feathers walked between them and said, “Is Frater Ramon boring you, Guardian? Has he been filling you with his gloom? I can guess the substance of your conversation—decadence, blah blah blah! The Church is corrupt, blah blah blah! Everything is going to hell in a handbasket in these lush tropical climes, blah blah blah!”

The priest did not look offended. He laughed. “I fear you know me too well, Lady Khiyana. I find it difficult not to be gloomy here. I came here with such high ideals and they all seem to have seeped away.”

It was Lady Khiyana’s turn to laugh. “You should just do what everybody else does and drink more.”

“Alas, Lady Khiyana, the wine does not agree with me. I find it makes me deathly ill.”

“I find that the conversation around here has a similar effect,” Lady Khiyana said. “Who is your handsome friend?”

Frater Ramon shrugged. “I’m afraid I did not catch your name, Guardian.”

“That is because I did not say it. Forgive my rudeness. My name is Kormak.”

“Well now that we are all introduced, perhaps we can get on with the drinking. Or perhaps I can corrupt you, Sir Kormak, since I seem to have singularly failed to corrupt our worthy priest here.”

“Alas I am afraid that I am like Frater Ramon—I cannot drink your local wine. It does strange things to my mind, and I need all of my wits about me.”

“I can see that you’re going to be boringly business-like like all of the men in Maial. It’s a pity because you have an interesting look about you. I notice also that you arrived with a large gang of soldiers—that is rarely a good sign.”

She was clearly curious as to what was going on. Kormak looked at her, but she would not meet his gaze. Her glance slipped off to one side as if she feared he would read something in her eyes. Her manner was at odds with her flirtatiousness and her confidence.

“I came in with Admiral Zamara. The marines belong to his ship’s company.”

Her eyes flicked back towards him, and then away when she saw he was still looking at her. Her fingers toyed nervously with her necklace. “So we have a new admiral already. So early in the season. Normally they don’t come out until the last days of autumn. This one must be very keen or very greedy.”

“I would say that Admiral Zamara is an idealist. He is also the cousin of the King-Emperor.”

“I suppose I had better keep my tongue in check then. Or maybe I should just go and talk to him. He appears to be a very good-looking man. Oh, don’t look at me like that Frater Ramon. You know full well that there is a shortage of interesting men.”

“And you’re always on the lookout to add a new one to your collection of admirers, aren’t you Lady Khiyana?”

“It’s been a pleasure talking to you Guardian. I wish I could say the same for you, Frater Ramon.” Laughing she made her departure. After she had taken three steps, she turned and looked hard at Kormak, as if trying to judge him, then she moved on towards Zamara and Rhiana.

“A very striking woman,” Kormak said.

“A very dangerous one,” Frater Ramon said. “Her husband is extremely jealous and a very good swordsman. She likes to keep him busy. Over the past year, she has been the cause of at least three duels.”

“I can believe that.”

“You’d best believe it unless you’re planning on fighting a few duels yourself.”

“There’s enough fighting in my life already.”

“Wise man. I am starting to become afraid of him myself. There have been a few times over the past few days when Lady Khiyana has hinted that she wanted to talk to me about something, privately, confidentially. When I have tried to draw her out, she has backed away quickly.”

“What could she possibly want to talk to a Church sorcerer about?”

“I have asked myself that. I reckon that she will talk in her own good time. People usually do when left to their own devices.”

“You are taking a remarkably soft line.”