Sword of Wrath (Kormak Book Eight) (2 page)

“Come now. There is no need to be so coy. I am as aware of what happens in the Palace as your friend Frater Jonas.”

“I won’t ask you how you achieve such a feat. It might be construed as espionage by the King of Siderea.”

“I would not be doing my duty if I did not know such things,” said Lady Marketa. “The king and his ministers understand that. They no more want misunderstandings between our two nations than I do.”

“That is very diplomatic of you,” Kormak said.

“You killed Vorkhul, didn’t you?”

“I did, and I would do it again if the opportunity arose.”

“I am sure you would. Your hatred of the Eldrim is well known.”

“I have no hatred of the Old Ones.”

“You have a funny way of showing your love and respect, then.”

“I did not say I had those either.”

“You killed one of the Great Ones this night. Not for the first time. You have killed more than a score of Eldrim in your time. You know how many mortals have done that? In all of recorded history—five. None but you in the past thousand years.” There was a note almost of awe in her voice.

“If I did not know better, I would say you sounded impressed.”

“I am impressed, Sir Kormak. More than you will ever know. It seems possible that you might even slay the Prince of Dragons when he comes for you.”

“You think it likely he will?”

“He is not one whose mind I would care to try and read, but yes, I think it likely. You represent too much of a challenge to his vanity. He cannot let you die of old age, or at the hand of another.”

“He has not seem bothered by the possibility before.”

“After tonight, things have changed. Some now reckon you the mightiest champion of the Sun in history, and he had a hand in making you so. If he does not rectify that mistake, he will be a laughing-stock as well as a figure of hatred among his people.”

“I doubt that will trouble him much.”

“You might be surprised, Sir Kormak. The vanity of the Old Ones is greater even than that of most mortals. And there are laws that bind even renegades like Adath Decurion.”

“None that stop him destroying the lives of innocent mortals, apparently.”

“Come, Sir Kormak, you should know the Old Ones don’t care much for such things.”

“Why do you serve them then?”

“I was born to serve them. As were all humanity.”

“That is not what scripture says.”

“Your scripture.”

“There is no other.”

“Do not play the fanatic. I know you are not.”

“Have you found out what you came for, said all you meant to say?”

“For the moment,” she said. “You have fought a battle few men could have survived. And I am detaining you.” She bowed her head and made a curious gesture with her right hand, which Kormak knew indicated respect among the Lunar aristocracy.

He shrugged his shoulders and marched towards the main wing of the palace.

K
ormak limped into the palace
. He wanted nothing more than to get to his bed. From out of a nearby alcove, another familiar figure stalked towards him.

Frater Jonas was small and bird-like. Soot smudged his yellow robes. His eyes were hooded. Dark patches of fatigue showed beneath them as he smiled. “I saw you talking with the lovely Lady Marketa. Was she congratulating you on your triumph?”

Kormak stopped a few steps away from the priest. He liked Jonas but he did not trust him, and he knew just how quick the man could be with his poisoned daggers. It was not that he expected an attack; he just did not like to give anyone an advantage. “You look like I feel.”

“Would that I had done as much as you in the service of my king this night,” said Jonas.

“You did enough. I saw you in the Museum. You stood firm when others fled.”

Jonas gave a small shrug. “It is generous of you to say so, but I did nothing.”

“There is nothing much anyone can do against an Old One like Vorkhul.”

“You did more than a whole company of troops.”

“It’s something I was trained and equipped to deal with.”

Jonas fell into step beside Kormak. “I hear you have had words with the king and Prince Taran.”

“They want me to go to Terra Nova and look for more Old Ones.”

“And you do not want to go?”

Kormak shook his head. “I do not like being told I must do something by anyone other than the grand master of my order.”

Jonas smiled. “And you do not appreciate that even from him, unless I miss my guess.”

“Him I swore to obey. And I keep my oaths.”

“I know and I respect that.” It was flattery, pure and simple. Jonas might well mean it, but he would say it anyway. It was his job to get what his master wanted. “The king could get Grand Master Darius to give you that order. He has that much power.”

“He has that much gold.”

“We are both old enough to understand that the two are often interchangeable.”

“For a priest, you are a very cynical man.”

“I am a realist, Sir Kormak, and so, in your own way, are you. You must know you gain nothing by defying the will of the most powerful ruler in the West.”

“Is that what I am doing?”

“You know as well as I do that you are. It is a very dangerous thing.”

“Was that a threat, Frater?” Kormak’s tone was mild, but Jonas flinched.

“Not from me. Believe me, I have nothing but goodwill towards you.” He glanced over his shoulder as if checking to be sure they could not be overheard. “Prince Taran, on the other hand, does not like things he cannot control. Or people who are not afraid of him.”

Kormak kept quiet. It had taken a lot of courage for Jonas to say that. He doubted that the prince had put Jonas up to it.

“Prince Taran is a powerful man,” Kormak said. “He is used to getting his way.”

“He is.”

“I take it you think that I should do what he asks.”

Jonas’s smile held real warmth. “I think that if you decide not to, you should get out of Siderea very quickly and make a point of not coming back.”

“Thank you for that,” said Kormak. He meant it. Jonas was a servant of the crown, and what he had just said could be construed as disloyalty. It was something Prince Taran would reward with a headsman’s blade.

“There is nothing to thank me for,” Jonas said. “You have saved my life on several occasions, and you have saved the life of my king. I want you to know that someone here values what you did.”

They entered the palace and Kormak took the stairs up to his room. Perhaps he had misjudged Jonas. Perhaps. But he doubted it.

* * *

K
ormak rose the next morning
, still weary. He had snatched only a few hours of sleep, and his dreams had been strange. He threw open the curtains. Sunlight and the smell of last night’s burning greeted him.

Swiftly he dressed, making sure his blade was near at hand. He wore court livery that had appeared on the dresser in his room overnight. It disturbed him that he had slept through the servant’s arrival; it was not something that would have happened under normal circumstances. His throat could have been slit in the night, and he could have done nothing about it.

Rhiana’s chamber lay across from his own. Kormak knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” Rhiana asked.

“Me,” Kormak said.

The door opened. The merwoman stood there, garbed once more in her seafarer’s tunic and leather britches. Her ash-blonde hair was clipped close. Her green eyes surveyed him with cool appraisal. A curved scimitar hung at her waist, and a dagger was in her belt. Disappointment struck him at the sight of her cold expression. He had expected her to be pleased.

“The weapon sending a message, is it?” Kormak asked. Curved blades were favoured by the followers of the Moon; straight blades by worshippers of the Holy Sun.

Her nose twitched, the corner of her mouth turned up. “You coming in, or are you going to stand out there and ask idiot questions?”

“Let me consider my options.”

“You have three heartbeats, then I slam the door in your face.”

“I’ll come in, then.” He surveyed the room. The decoration was ostentatious and imperial. It lacked the seafarer’s neatness and utility. All she had brought with her was locked in the trunk under the bed.

He tilted his head to one side and studied her closely. She met his gaze and did not look away. “Why are you angry with me?”

“Am I angry?”

“Is this a game where we see who can keep answering a question with a question for longest?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

“Determined to win, I see.”

She looked away for a moment, then reached up and ran a hand through her cropped hair. He noticed the webs flexing between her fingers.

“I am glad to see you are still alive,” she said. Her voice had the flat, calm quality of someone keeping their emotions in check. She reached out and touched his cheek, and then drew her hand back when he flinched.

“Does it hurt?” He saw the fear in her eyes and realised that she had been afraid for him.

“Somewhat,” he said.

“You look like hell.”

“Believe me, it does not do justice to the way I feel.”

“You fought a Lunar warlord last night; you are lucky to be able to feel anything at all.”

There was an odd undercurrent to her voice. She was a child of Saa Aquor, a creation of the Old Ones. Perhaps she was upset that he had killed one of those she revered as gods.

“I may have to fight another,” he said. He could not keep the sour note from his voice.

“What?”

“The king and his brother want me to go to Terra Nova and find out where the sarcophagus came from, and why. If there are more like Vorkhul, it seems likely I will find them.”

“Are you afraid?”

He shook his head.

“Perhaps you ought to be.”

Kormak studied the room. He was all too aware that there might be hidden eavesdroppers. The walls of the palace were supposed to be riddled with secret passages. Disgust made him wrinkle his nostrils. He wanted to talk privately, and that was not possible here.

“Walk with me,” he said. “I need some fresh air.”

* * *

T
hey strode
arms-linked along the outer wall of the palace complex, looking down onto the ornate gardens of the nobles far below. Their only company was the sentries, and they were placed far apart.

The harbour was visible, as were many blue-roofed tenements. In the distance was a huge forest park. “The Grove of the Green,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to see it. Are there really elves there?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I thought they died when they were away from their forests,” she said.

“The spirits of the elves and the great trees are bound together. The elves can use that link to communicate with each other, as well as the trees and the beasts of their forests. Their minds join together on some level. They call it the Green.”

“You know this for a fact?”

“An elf told me. And I’ve seen the way they work together, fight together, move together without talking to each other.” He tried to fill the silence around things unsaid. “If they are away from the forests for too long, travel too far, they lose that connection.”

Her gaze strayed to the sea. “I can understand that. If I go too far from the sea, I feel heartsick.”

“With them, it’s the same. It’s like becoming deaf and mute too. There is a great tree in the Greengrove down there. It lets elves reconnect with the Green. That is why the Elvish ambassador dwells there.”

“They have ambassadors from the Courts of the Moon, from the great Elfwood, they have an island of wizards out in the harbour. They have that gigantic horrifying thing they worship in their Cathedral. They have a king who thinks he’s a saint. This is a strange city.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Kormak said.

“I miss the sea. I miss my pets,” she said. She was mind-linked to one dolphin in particular; it had helped them in their quest to find the Kraken. “I do not like this place.”

“You want to leave?”

She leant forward on the battlements and studied the distant water. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“That’s decisive.”

She looked directly at his face. “I feel like I have unfinished business here. And, as you will recall, I have been informed that I cannot leave without the permission of the king or his brother. Both Jonas and Captain Zamara were clear on that.”

“I am sure you will get it.”

“Maybe. Eventually. Although I cannot help but feel they have some purpose in keeping me here.” She looked back in the direction of the Cathedral. “Do you want me to go?”

He shook his head and stared out to sea. “The king and his brother see people as pawns. We are all just here to do their bidding.”

She leant against him and he was aware of her soft, warm weight, pressed against him. He ignored the pain in his side, and put his arm around her shoulder.

As he did so, he noticed a man talking to one of the sentries. The guardsman said something, and pointed in their direction.

“What now?” Rhiana asked.

“I don’t know,” said Kormak. “But that man is wearing the livery of the Order of the Dawn.”

* * *

T
he messenger strode
up to them, walking at double pace. Sweat ran down his face and stained his tunic under his armpits. He must have run or ridden fast in the morning heat.

The man’s livery bore a red dragon on a black background. In his hand, he clutched a rolled-up scroll of paper sealed with red wax. He looked at Kormak, then at Rhiana. His cheeks flushed when he noticed her tightly fitted clothes. Or perhaps it was the sight of a guardian being so friendly with a moonchild that flustered him.

“What is it, brother?” Kormak asked.

The messenger walked over and stopped directly in front of Kormak. He made a clenched-fist-over-heart salute, then stretched out his hand containing the scroll and said, “An urgent message for you, Guardian.”

Kormak took the scroll and turned it over in his hands. “Thank you,” he said.

“I’m supposed to wait for your reply,” the messenger said.