4 City of Strife (7 page)

He slipped out the door and into snow-filled courtyard. Kormak saw other monks out there. He doubted they were holy men either. It has been an interesting evening. He suspected that the next day was going to be even more so. He really did need to have more words with Karsten Oldberg now.

The Oldberg Palace faced out onto Oldberg Square. Banners showing the sun and scales worked in gold on green hung down along its entire frontage. Servants constantly brushed away snow from the pillared arcade jutting out from the mansion walls. Moneychangers and merchants stood there transacting business.

In the centre of the square a massive soot-blackened statue presided over a frozen fountain. Snow had caught in the stone folds of its robe and on the crown of its merchant’s hat. Icicles hung from the scales it held in its cold hand. Even the sign of the sun on the stone breast looked chilly.

Kormak approached a huge brass door, worked with the house insignia. A group of tough-looking men moved to stop him.

“What do you want?” asked a tall, clean-cut warrior. He stood straight-backed as a lord’s banner bearer upon the field of battle but there was a faint smell of alcohol about him.

“Tell Lord Karsten that Sir Kormak would have a word with him. He is expecting me.” Kormak spoke confidently and the men relaxed a little. The guards dispatched a servant within and a few minutes later Karsten Oldberg himself appeared, smiling affably. The guards continued to watch Kormak carefully though. They were professionals.

“That will be enough, Rene,” said Karsten, addressing the Guard Captain. “Sir Kormak is a guest here and I expect him to be treated as such.”

Karsten threw a meaty arm around Kormak’s shoulder and guided him through the great doorway into the interior of the building. It was warmer here, braziers burned everywhere. Carpets covered the floors and tapestries the walls. Every window held glass, a sign of the truly wealthy.

“You have visited the Saint’s shrine,” said Karsten. It was not a question. Kormak did not doubt that he had been watched as he made his way there this morning and prayed before the sacred relics for three hours.

“I have.”

“And you have been granted absolution.”

“I made an offering.”

Karsten laughed. “You are a cautious man. I like that.”

He removed his arm from around Kormak’s shoulder and led him into a study as large as the common room in the Gilded Lion. Huge leather armchairs stood arrayed around a massive fireplace, clutching at the carpet with the carved claws of their wooden legs.

Paintings of Karsten’s ancestors gazed down from the walls. The signs of sun and scales had been worked into every portrait, sometimes subtly, sometimes ostentatiously. In several portraits the merchant princes stood behind or beside kings and Archprelates. In one case a saint with a golden halo radiating sunbeams from his head gave his blessing to an Oldberg carrying balanced scales. The message was clear. Holiness, wealth and sanctity all went hand in hand in the Oldbergs’ view of themselves.

Another man, tall and thin and pale, stood in the corner. His face was long and ascetic but his robes were the black of a scholar and he wore a scholar’s skull cap. He studied Kormak with intense pale eyes.

“Balthazar, this is the man I told you of. He will be coming to work for us.” Karsten spoke in an off-hand manner but there was a cautious note in his voice that caused Kormak to give Balthazar special attention.

Balthazar measured out his chilly smile by a fraction of an ounce. He looked at Kormak suspiciously. His nose wrinkled as if he was sniffing the air.

“Balthazar is my advisor,” Karsten said. “He is a sorcerer.”

The merchant prince studied Kormak closely as if looking for a reaction. Most men would have flinched on being told a thing like that. No matter how much he might have wanted to act the part, Kormak could not. He had spent too much time hunting mages down. Karsten laughed. “You are as fearless as I had hoped. Good. I think you will do well in my service, Sir Kormak.”

“If you have a sorcerer what need have you of my blade?” Kormak asked.

“My enemies are sorcerers. Balthazar is here to neutralise that advantage. The matter will be settled with swords most likely. These things usually are.”

Balthazar came closer. His nostrils twitched. He met Kormak’s gaze and held it. His eyes had a faint yellow ring around the iris. Kormak had seen such before in those whose blood held more than a trace of the uncanny. Most people would find it all too easy to believe Balthazar was a mage.

He put a hand on Kormak’s shoulder. His nails were long and sharp and yellowish, as if stained by the use of some drug. His nostrils flared and his eyes widened.

“He has the smell of Krugman on him,” said the sorcerer. His voice was thin, with a scratchy quality. It grated on the nerves and it was most likely supposed to.

“It is blood you sense. He took off the hand of one of their men. He has fought them on the street.”

“No. It is more than that.” Kormak wondered how much of this was theatre, designed to elicit a response. He had no reason to believe that the Oldberg spies were any less efficient than the Krugman’s. He decided to be as honest as he could under the circumstances.

“Jurgen Krugman approached me with an offer of service,” Kormak said.

“I am not surprised.” Karsten tilted his head to one side. It was a gesture that reminded Kormak of a hawk studying a piece of meat.

“He wanted me to enter your service and remain in his.”

“To be a spy. That would be his way. Jurgen has a crooked mind.”

“What did you tell him?” Balthazar asked.

“I told him I would consider it.”

“Good. Good,” Karsten Oldberg’s booming laugh echoed round the room. “This is something we can make use of.”

“Doubtless it is something Sir Kormak intends to make use of,” said the magician. There was a definite hostility in his tone.

“And why should he not? He can get gold from Jurgen and more gold from me. He can triple his fees easily enough. It is both understandable and admirable. I would do the same myself in his situation.”

And just as suddenly as it had started the laughter stopped and he was looming over Kormak, at once jovial and menacing. “Of course, your loyalty will be to me.”

The tone made it clear that he had no doubt that this would be the case, that the consequences of it being otherwise would be fatal. Kormak was very aware that he was within the man’s palace, that there were a hundred armed men on call and a sorcerer in the room.

“Of course,” Kormak said.

“Excellent,” Karsten said. “Now let us discuss the matter of your fees.”

They talked of gold. Balthazar watched, nose twitching, strange eyes focused intensely on Kormak as if he was trying to work something out about him. When the negotiations were finished, Karsten said, “Balthazar has worked a divination. Tonight the Silent Man will attack our warehouse down by the docks. I think you should be among those we send to defend our property.”

“As you wish,” Kormak said. He was curious about the Silent Man and keen to meet him. “What can you tell me of this Silent Man?”

“The most important thing is that we would have crushed the Krugmans by now if it was not for him. He has single-handedly turned the course of our conflict.” There was a note of fear in Karsten’s voice that Kormak would not have expected to be there. He waved his hand as if dismissing something unpleasant and said, “He is a great fighter no doubt but enough good men will end his career once and for all, won’t it Sir Kormak?”

“Let us hope so,” said Kormak.

“Indeed,” said Balthazar. Malice glittered in his eyes and for the first time his smile held a hint of real amusement. Kormak suspected that it was at his expense.

The subject seemed to have unsettled Karsten. He held the door open with his own hand as he made it clear Kormak was to leave. “Meet with Captain Rene at our warehouse on the river front tonight. He will tell you where it is.”

THE NIGHT WAS cold and overcast. The great glittering eye of the almost full moon squinted through a break in the clouds. The Oldberg watchmen huddled by braziers along the dockside quays. Kormak stood in the shadows of the huge warehouse and looked out at the oily black surface of the River Verm. Across the way he could see lights and the giant bulk of the city walls. A few glimmers on the far side were reflected in the river. Snow kept falling, the flakes vanishing when they touched the water’s surface. They blurred vision, softened the outlines of distant buildings and added to the growing drifts all around.

“I notice the sorcerer did not volunteer to come with us and put his supernaturally gained intelligence to the test,” said one of the watchmen huddled by the watch-fire. In the gloom, Kormak’s hearing was unnaturally acute.

“Balthazar’s too valuable to risk beyond the mansion,” said Rene, the Guard Captain. “If he steps out the Krugmans will have him assassinated.”

“Might be the best thing for him,” said the first voice. There was a grumbling fearful undercurrent in his tone.

“I would not let our lord and master hear you say that,” said Rene. “I don’t like wizards any more than you do, but he has proved valuable so far, and he’s cooking up something that will win us this war.”

A strange tang was in the air, more than just the usual contaminated smell of the river and smoke and night soil. There was something about it that set Kormak’s nerves to jangling. Tendrils of mist were rising from the waters, like the tentacles of a kraken swatting at the snowflakes. Maybe it was caused by hot water or dyes from the tanneries being pumped out somewhere but he doubted it.

“You think the Silent Man is really going to show up tonight, Rene?” Another of the watchmen asked.

“That’s what we’re waiting to find out.”

“Think he’s really as tough as they say?”

“Edwan claims to have put six crossbow bolts into him and he kept on coming,” Rene said.

“Edwan’s a cowardly lying rat bastard though.”

The Guard Captain chuckled. “There is that.”

Footsteps crunched in the snow as Rene moved over to where Kormak stood. “How are you doing?” he asked. There was ambivalence in his tone. He was not sure where he stood with regard to Kormak. Karsten had indicated he was in favour, but there was envy and mistrust in the captain’s manner.

“Cold,” Kormak said.

The captain produced a small silver flask, took a sip and offered it to Kormak. The Guardian took it with his left hand but did not drink yet . “I’ll need all my wits about me. There’s something odd on the night wind.”

“Suit yourself,” said Rene. “Me, I find a little vodka helps when I am standing night watches.”

Kormak shrugged. Over the captain’s shoulder he could see the mist continue to rise. The snow seemed to be falling faster. Visibility was narrowing quickly. The lights on the far side of the river were no longer even smudged smears. If the Silent Man was going to attack he had picked a good night for it, providing he did not mind the cold.

“You ever seen this Silent Man?” Kormak asked.

“Scared?” Rene asked. He sounded hopeful.

“Interested. He seems to have inspired a lot of fear.”

“Not surprising,” said Rene. “He’s been reported killed half a dozen times and by men more reliable than Edwan. He always comes back though. And often he kills the men who claimed they killed him. I’d find it downright spooky if I gave myself a chance to think about it.”

“Have you ever seen him?”

“Once in the distance during the rioting in Palace Square. Couldn’t make out much. It was night.”

“What was he like?”

“Big. Carried a hammer. Wore a mask. There’s some claim he’s ugly as a moon troll, face eaten away by some Shadow-cursed disease. They say he smells dreadful”

“Smells?”

“Of blood and rotten meat, they say.”

Kormak frowned. He liked the sound of this less and less. “Anyone ever seen him through the day?”

“Now that you mention it, no. That’s another reason all these stories cling to him I suppose.” Rene spoke in a brisk no-nonsense manner now, like a man doing his best to conceal a very real nervousness.

“You sure they are only stories?”

“You worried about Krugman magic?”

“Should I be?”

White teeth glinted where Rene smiled. “Yes. I think so. They’ve always used sorcery, right back since when they first came to the city. They used to be more subtle about it though. It was always held back.”

“Why are they using it now?”

“Because they are running scared. It’s come to open conflict with our lord and master, and the Oldbergs have more money and more men. Even then I don’t suppose we would be standing here if the Prelate was not on his death bed. He used to keep things under tight control. Everybody was scared of him.”

Mist infiltrated the alley at the warehouses side. Tendrils slithered up the side of the building. The strange scent grew stronger. There was a hint of incense in it, of a kind Kormak recognised.

“Red orchid,” he said.

“What?” Rene asked.

“Red orchid. Wizards use it in ritual magic.”

“If you say so.”

“That’s what you’re smelling. Better tell the men to get ready.”

Rene froze. He was not used to taking orders from anyone except Karsten. Something in Kormak’s tone must have convinced him though for he stepped out into the mist, towards where the brazier burned and said, “Keep alert.”

A scream pierced the night.

The clash of blade with blade reached Kormak’s ears. He smothered the urge to run towards it. That impulse might get him killed if there was an ambush waiting. Instead he kept close to the wall, and stalked towards the sounds of fighting. It wasn’t easy; the snow drifts were deepest there.

In the gloom shadowy shapes struggled. It was difficult to tell who was who. “For the Oldbergs!” The battle-cry rang out through the night only to be cut off. A number of melees had broken out all around the building.

From behind Kormak now came the echoes of terrific blows being landed on the warehouse door, like a battering ram was being used. There was a splintering noise and then shouts of glee and triumph, screams and the sound of more blows being struck. He moved towards the warehouse entrance.