Sword of Wrath (Kormak Book Eight) (4 page)

The changelings were a breed apart, taught to fight and to kill with their bare hands. They learned scores of languages and dialects, as well as acting and dancing and courtly graces. They were trained by masters of poison and the blade. They were perfect assassins, spies and courtiers.

No one knew where they came from or who had originally made them. She just knew what the rumours told her, that they were everywhere within the Lunar realms, reporting back to their masters, the all-seeing eyes of the Moon. She wondered if this was the only one in her retinue. She doubted it. There was probably at least one more, reporting her actions to the Courts.

The only way she could tell would be to perform a dissection on each of her people. She had tried various spells, but they had all failed.

“Mistress?” The words broke into her reverie.

“Yes?” Marketa said, trying to recollect what the changeling had been saying.

“I said, the Guardian is now within the palace. Do you want me to keep him under observation or not?”

Marketa shook her head. Her mistress had spoken to her directly through the mirror that connected its counterpart in the Courts of the Moon. “I have new orders for you. You are to continue with your infiltration of the Terra Novan rebels. You will travel with the rebel leader, disguised as one of his bodyguards. You will offer the rebels all assistance and all possible incentives to throw off the shackles of their Siderean oppressors.”

“Very good, mistress.”

“Additionally, you have a new and more important mission.”

“More important than inciting rebellion in the colonies of our most unshakable enemy?”

Marketa shrugged. The gold from the Far Colonies was the source of Siderea’s wealth, and that wealth was the source of King-Emperor Aemon’s power. Cutting the supply off would defang the Solar snake at a stroke. What could be more important than that? But the urgency of the Mistress of Magic’s sending had been unmistakable.

“You are, and I quote these words exactly as the Mistress of Magic sent them, to make finding the source of Vorkhul’s coffin your highest priority. You must locate where it came from, and find out whether there are any more like it. This is a matter of the utmost importance to the safety of the Courts of the Moon and all their loyal subjects.”

Marketa paused for a moment and then spoke the code phrase she had been given. “This is a geas of uttermost compulsion. The willing servant accepts his fate.”

The changeling froze. Marketa could almost see the geas taking hold. The changeling’s muscles flexed. The tendons in its neck stood out. She wondered at the power of the spell that it could have such visible effects on its subject. It was true then—the changelings were imprinted with deep compulsions enforcing their obedience to their master’s will.

“I will obey in word, thought and deed. I will not cease in my endeavours until this mission is accomplished. Only death will keep me from it.”

Marketa wondered if she could have given the changeling different instructions, ordered it to kill her enemies while under the spell’s compulsion. It was an interesting thought but she would never dare put it to the test.

The changeling paused for a minute. Its smile was blank, unreadable. Perhaps it was only leaving the expression on its face as a placeholder as it thought. “Would I be right in thinking this has something to do with the Guardian also being dispatched to Terra Nova?”

“How do you know of that?”

“Our agent within the chapter house told me.”

“You went into the chapter house?”

The changeling smiled and nodded. It was confident indeed if it would do that. Few Lunars would voluntarily enter the precincts of the Order of the Dawn. Fewer yet had ever come out.

“That was unwise.” The changeling shrugged. She did not like the way the creature treated her with sly disrespect.

“You will travel to Terra Nova. Give any aid you can to the rebels while you are there. Offer them any inducement to rise against the usurper Aemon. But most of all, you will keep watch on the Guardian. If he gets any leads on the provenance of the sarcophagus of Vorkhul, you must get them too, and find it first.”

“And if he gets in the way, Mistress, shall I kill him?”

She considered it. The killing would take place far from here, and it would not lead directly back to her. The Order of the Dawn was known to be obsessive about avenging its people. “If you must,” she said. “We
must
find out where that coffin came from and if any more of the Eldrim are imprisoned there.”

“It was not sent by one of our agents then?” the changeling asked.

“We are not so stupid,” she said. But she wondered whether that was the case. At the Courts of the Moon, often the right claw did not know what the left claw was doing.

“Be about your business,” she said, dismissing the changeling from her presence, if not from her mind.

T
he bodyguards showed
Kormak into the king’s study. Portraits of the royal family stared down from the walls. Racks of scrolls and cabinets full of books hugged the walls. A large table dominated the centre of the room. On it sat a chessboard with pieces made of gold and silver. King Aemon stood beside it, garbed in a simple monk’s robe. A pitcher of water mixed with wine sat on the table, along with two crystal goblets. Aemon leant on the table studying the position on the board. It looked like a game was already well under way.

There were no servants, and the bodyguards withdrew. Kormak watched them go. It made him wary. In his experience, kings rarely spoke in private with the likes of him, and never without bodyguards. Aemon was a powerful mage, but he must know that a guardian could kill any mage at such close range. Maybe the king was making a statement of trust, or maybe he was just as mad as some people suspected.

“Have you made up your mind about my request, Sir Kormak?” Aemon asked.

“I will go to Terra Nova on your behalf, your majesty. The matter of the sarcophagus must be investigated.”

Aemon looked up from the game and measured out his thin smile. “That pleases me, Sir Kormak.”

“But it does not surprise you, Sire.”

“No, it does not. I knew you would find the right path.”

“That’s one way of looking at things.”

“There are usually many ways of looking at something, Sir Kormak. Most people can find one they agree on, given time.”

“There are some things I will need to aid me in my investigation.”

“Name them.”

“I will need your authority to investigate in any way I please, and help from any of your officials I encounter.”

“Naturally. All cooperation will be given.”

“I need your permission to follow this investigation no matter where it may lead, no matter who it incriminates.”

Aemon turned that over in his mind. He was aware that such an investigation might have consequences that might prove uncomfortable. He said, “I would expect nothing less.”

“And I want Captain Rhiana to accompany me. She has proven useful in the past. She can sense the Old Ones and the use of power, and she can look after herself.”

“She is free to accompany you if she wishes.”

Aemon looked up at the portrait of King Varlan. It sneered down at him. He noticed Kormak watching him, and rubbed his eyebrow with his left hand.

“I hated my father,” Aemon said. “He was a gross brute who ran the kingdom into debt to pay for his pleasures. He broke my mother’s heart and very near led Siderea to ruin. He took out his temper on any who were within his reach. All his rages were justified. At least to him.”

He paused, looked at Kormak sidelong. “Does that surprise you, Sir Kormak? How unfilial I am?”

Kormak shook his head. “Very little surprises me these days, your majesty.”

Aemon nodded and gave his attention back to the chessboard. He moved a knight towards the centre, got up and walked around the table, and sat on the other side of the board. “I vowed I would be nothing like him. And I have done my best to keep that vow.”

“I believe you, your majesty.”

Aemon leant forward, squinted down at the rows of silver pieces. He reached out to move a prelate, then pulled his hand back. “Did you hate your father?”

“I barely knew him. He died when I was eight years old.”

“Killed by the Old One Adath Decurion, the so-called Prince of Dragons,” Aemon said, almost to himself. He reached out and moved the prelate, decisively this time. He glanced at Kormak and said, “Oh yes. I know all about it. My intelligencers would hardly be worth the gold I pay them if I did not.”

“Yes, killed by an Old One, your majesty.”

“And you don’t remember him?”

“He was a big man, black-haired. A blacksmith.”

“That is a position of some significance in Aquilea, is it not? Maker of weapons, shaper of iron, brander of runes and so on.”

“As you say, your majesty. He was a brave man. He died trying to save me from the Old One.”

“And the Old One spared you. How curious!” Kormak sensed that the king was trying to provoke, and he could not work out why. He refused to rise to the bait.

“Only so I could bear the word of what he had done to others. He claimed he would come back for me another day. He had done such things before, many times, over the centuries.”

“And that made you the man you are today. It has driven you to kill more Old Ones than any other Guardian in history.”

“Has it, your majesty?”

Aemon got out of the chair, walked around the board again, studied it from many angles. He tucked his hand under his chin, stroked his mousy beard, looked up at the portrait of his father again. “You do not like me, do you, Sir Kormak?”

Kormak kept his mouth shut.

“You don’t deny it. Good. You dislike me and you dislike my brother. You think I am a pious-sounding hypocrite. You think Taran is a vain and angry man who likes to dominate others.”

Kormak simply looked at the king, wondering where all this was leading.

“You are correct,” the king said. He flexed his fingers, placed his hands on either side of his nose and rubbed it. “On all counts.”

He gave a short high-pitched titter, reached out and moved a rook to take a pawn. “And now you are wondering why I am telling you this.”

Kormak remained silent. Aemon walked around the board again, studied the gold pieces as he would study those of an adversary. “Do you play chess, Sir Kormak?”

“I know the rules.”

“I used to play for pleasure when I was a youth. I was rather good too. I won more often than I lost. Now I never lose—do you know why that is?”

“Because you play against yourself.”

This time, there was real mirth in the king’s voice. He looked much younger. When he spoke, he sounded pleased. “Very good, Sir Kormak. But I meant when I play against others.”

“Because you are king.”

Aemon slammed a piece down on an ivory square. The sound echoed through the room. “Precisely. Because I am king. There comes a time in every game—when I am playing against someone—when I can see them make the decision to lose, even if they could win. You know why people do it?”

“Because they do not want to offend you, and because they want your favour.”

“Again, correct. Because they do not want to offend me. Can you imagine what it is like to live in a world where no one wants to offend you, where no one wants to disagree with you, where everyone—but everyone—is afraid of you?”

Kormak shook his head.

“It is a very isolating thing, and the terrifying thing about it is that you get used to it. All of it. You get to believe that others’ high opinion of you—their apparent high opinion of you—is correct. You get to believe you are always right. If you are not careful. I would like you to think about that before you judge my brother. Are you capable of that, Sir Kormak?”

“I am, your majesty.”

Aemon picked up the knight, held it in his hand, rotated it and put it down on the table.

“I didn’t want to be king, you know. When I was a boy I wanted to be a monk—to dedicate my life to the Holy Sun. I would have done it too, if my elder brother had not died. It changed my life, and not for the better. There are times when I still consider abdicating in favour of Taran. Do you know why I do not?”

“No, your majesty.”

“Because my brother is not clever enough to be King of Siderea.” Aemon paused for a moment, put down the knight, picked up the king. “Do not misunderstand me. Taran is clever enough in his way, but he is limited and he has our father’s temper. His becoming king would be a disaster for the nation, and he knows this.”

Kormak kept silent. He guessed Aemon was used to people doing this while he talked. There did not seem to be anything he could say without sounding antagonistic, which would serve no purpose. “He knows it and he is content to play the role of the ruthless spymaster. He takes the blame for all my evil actions so I may remain the spotless saintly king. People want to believe I am that, so they do—no matter what my regime does. They want to believe that if only I
knew
the things done in my name, I would not permit them. As if I could not know.”

He sounded bitter. He waved his hand in a gesture of disgust, glared up at the portrait of his father, made the sign of the Holy Sun over his heart. “When I was young, I wanted to be a good man. When I came to the throne, I found I had to make a choice between being a good man and a good king. And invariably I have chosen to be a good king.”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?”

“Not always, but often. I condone necessary murders because they strengthen my nation’s position, or remove my nation’s enemies. I order the destruction of towns, knowing that innocent children will die. I do so because those towns are controlled by heretics that will upset the stability of the realm. I remain silent while men are tortured, because we need the information they have, and examples must be set to discourage others. I have stained my soul black with these things, Sir Kormak, and a thousand other things like them. I have chosen to walk an evil path of my own free will, and I will pay the price when the Holy Sun judges me.”

“It is your choice, Sire.”

“There is no need to sound so judgemental. I know it. I have done all these things willingly, and I would do all of them again, and things a thousand times worse if I had to. Because I am king, and in my charge has been placed the destiny of millions. And because shadows gather, Sir Kormak. Shadows gather, and someone must oppose them.”

He glared directly at Kormak now. He was breathing deeply, like a man fighting a battle. The amulet on Kormak’s chest grew warm. Mystical power surged all around them.

“You have travelled. You have seen what is happening. Everywhere, the world falls into darkness. Everywhere, evil things lurk in hidden places, waiting to come forth. The Kingdoms of the Sun are in chaos. The Empire of the Moon turns once more to evil. The Shadow Kingdoms grow strong again. Something wicked stirs the orcs at the boundaries of the civilised lands. All it will take is one hard push, and everything will fall into the Long Night. Shadowfall approaches. You know I speak the truth.”

Kormak had heard it all before. “You are now going to tell me that we must be ruthless to oppose the gathering darkness, that evil times justify evil measures, that strong men are needed to oppose the power of Shadow, and you are one of those strong men.”

There was silence for a moment. Kormak wondered whether he had overstepped the mark. Aemon laughed and said, “And so I am repaid in kind. But yes, Sir Kormak, I believe all of these things to be true, and not just because, as you are no doubt thinking, they bolster my rule and justify my evil actions. I believe all these things to be true because they are true.”

“Your logic seems circular.”

“I am in a better position than almost any man alive to know what is going on in this world. I have vast networks of spies at my command. I have seeing stones, and the power to use them. I can summon the most learned scholars and the mightiest mages to answer my questions. I can speak to the Angels themselves if the need arises.”

Aemon’s bony face seemed narrower and more fanatical than ever, and a chill gleam entered his eye. “You do not believe me?”

Kormak said nothing.

Aemon smiled. “There are ways of contacting the Angels, just as there are ways of summoning demons and conjuring elementals. I have the necessary texts in my library.”

“I do not doubt that, your majesty.”

“I have told you all of these things for a reason. I want you to understand that when I am evil, I am evil for a reason. I want you to know that I do my best to keep the greater good in mind. I think you will understand because we are alike in this.”

“How so, your majesty?”

“Because we are both flawed men in which the Light has placed a great trust. Because the world
is
darkening, and that darkness must be opposed. Those who must do it are people like you and me. We are not saints, Sir Kormak or heroes. We are just men. But in this Age of the World, we are all there is. If people like us do not oppose the Shadow, no one will. We are the only tools the Light has.

“I am a man of faith, Sir Kormak. I believe that the Light placed me on the throne of Siderea for a purpose, just as I believe it put a dwarf-forged blade in your hand. I have looked into your soul and I see you are troubled by your burden. You are not the only one, but the Light needs its champions, and it must take them where it can find them. You are needed in this struggle. Believe me in that, even if you believe me in nothing else.”

“I take it you also believe that the Light wants me to go to Terra Nova and uncover the truth about the sarcophagus.”

“I believe it is the best use of your talents.”

“Is that why you contacted Grand Master Darius?”

“I did not do that. My brother did.”

“I believe we have already established that your brother is your agent in all things.”

“This he did of his own accord, because he believed it was my will. I cannot say I am saddened by the fact, but it is not what I would have done.”

Kormak’s smile was cynical.

Aemon spread his hand in a helpless gesture. “Sir Kormak, I hope that I have convinced you that I try to be the best man I can under the circumstances in which I find myself. I try not to lie when I can avoid it.”

There was nothing to be gained by pressing the matter.

King Aemon took out a package of papers sealed with wax, and a ring which Kormak recognised. It had come from the finger of the Kraken; Kormak had cut it off himself.

“You will need these on your journey,” Aemon said.

“You were so certain I would go.”

Aemon made a deprecatory gesture with his left hand. “Let us rather say that I thought it best to be prepared for the eventuality of you accepting.”

Kormak thought he caught falsehood in the king’s voice. He had been certain, but he did not want to claim that, and Kormak did not see the sense in the deception. A man like Aemon was used to getting his way. Why pretend otherwise, unless you were so corkscrew-twisted that you did such things for the sake of doing them?