4 City of Strife (2 page)

Kormak thought about footpads and their lookouts. This boy did not look like one, just starved and nervous but Kormak had led a life that left him prone to suspicion. “None of your business,” he said.

“Right you are, sir,” the boy said. He kept walking along beside Kormak. He did not say anything more.

Tall, half-timbered buildings with narrow mullioned windows loomed over the snowy road. Many of them had painted signs indicating the business of their owner.

A wheel indicated a cartwright, a barrel a cooper, an anvil a blacksmith. The warm, ruddy glow of the forge inside the shop brought back memories from Kormak’s long ago childhood, of his father’s massive figure beating out swords for the clan, back before the old man had been slaughtered along with everyone Kormak had ever known.

The boy kept walking beside him. He was tempted to tell the kid to move on but the lad looked up at him entreatingly and said, “You don’t mind if I walk with you a bit, sir. Least until we see a squad of watchmen.”

“Why?”

“Well, you see, sir, it’s like this. You have a sword, and there’s a bunch of lads following me as would be less likely to give me any trouble if they see me walking along with a man with a sword.” He smiled ingratiatingly and Kormak understood that this was for the benefit of anybody watching them, to make it look as if they knew each other.

Kormak glanced back over his shoulder. A large group of youths glared at him and the boy.

“What if those likely lads decide we are friends and give me some trouble as well?”

“They wouldn’t do that, sir. Bors and his lads are cowards, all the Krugman lickspittles are. They won’t trouble a man with a blade, particularly not a big scarred man like yourself who looks like he knows how to use it.”

“It seems to me that I should charge you for bodyguard work,” said Kormak.

“That is only fair, sir,” said the boy. “But there’s one problem . . . I don’t have any money to pay you. The Angels and Saints will surely smile on you though. It would be downright charitable and this here is a Cathedral town, leastwise it will be, and you’re closer to the Holy Sun’s heaven and his sight here because of it.”

He nodded and then smiled as if Kormak had said something particularly funny, still holding an imaginary conversation with an imaginary friend for the benefit of their observers. It came to Kormak then that the boy was genuinely frightened.

“What have you done to upset Bors and his boys?”

“Nothing, sir. Oh, I may have passed a few remarks about the Moon-loving Krugmans and the way Bors kisses Jurgen Krugman’s arse whenever he sees it but it was mostly in fun. They just don’t have a sense of humour and that’s the Holy Sun’s own truth, sir.”

A group of youths emerged from an alley mouth and fanned out in a half circle blocking their way. The ones that had been walking behind moved closer, cutting off any retreat. Kormak could hear their feet crunching in the snow.

The gang surrounded them. Many were just boys, little older than the one he was talking to. Some were larger and surlier and a few were hulking brutes almost as big as Kormak. One of them spoke now.

“Well, well,” he said. “If it’s not little Jan. Who is this you’re talking to, Jan? Some wandering adventurer you’ve mistaken for your father again?”

The boy took a step behind Kormak, into his shadow. Kormak moved slightly to keep him in sight, aware that all of this might be just play-acting to set him up for purse-snatching.

The boy was still there. He had raised his hands in front of his body as if already warding off blows. “Piss off, Bors,” he said. There was a scared bravado in his tone.

“Come here, Jan,” said Bors. “You’ve shot your smart mouth off once too often and now we’re going to stomp you flat.”

Kormak stared at the boys. They glared back at him with feral menace. He could see they all had scarves tied around their arms although of a different colour from the one Jan was wearing. This one looked dirty white or maybe grey. It was hard to tell, the lights were dimmer here, and there were less people about. It was clear the youths had waited for an opportune moment before accosting them.

The one called Bors saw Kormak looking at him and smiled easily enough, showing the gaps caused by two missing teeth. “This is none of your business, stranger,” he said. “You can just be on your way.”

Kormak did not like the dismissive jeering tone but he could see the sense of what Bors was saying. This was none of his business. He did not know any of them, and he certainly did not owe the kid anything. And yet, he stood there. He was not used to be reckoned so lightly. His pride was hurt. And he had never liked bullies.

“There’s no need for any trouble,” he said. He kept his tone mild.

The big youth laughed and tapped the knife at his belt. “Oh there won’t be any trouble,” he said. “If you know what’s good for you.”

One or his lieutenants had drawn his dagger and was ostentatiously cleaning his nails with it. Another smirked at Kormak already certain that he would do nothing. They had the look of small-time troublemakers, of the sort who were used to intimidating peasants and small tradesmen and passing pilgrims.

He glanced around again and could not help but wonder why they were so certain they could get away with behaving like this in plain view of the citizenry on a street where the Watch were likely to pass at any time. He saw a midden, and on top of the midden a rat. It looked at him with glittering eyes and scuttled away.

“What’s the problem here anyway?” he asked. “Surely you can talk it out.”

“Surely you can talk it out,” said the youth with the drawn knife. He spoke in a mincing, effeminate echo of Kormak’s words. The others laughed.

“Are you still here?” said Bors. There was real menace in his tone now. He moved forward, crowding Kormak, so close that the onion-laden smell of his breath was obvious. Normally Kormak would not have let anybody get so close but he did not want to draw his sword. He was still trying to avoid trouble although he suspected things had already gone too far for that. “I thought I told you to go.”

Kormak slowly raised his hand, put it on the youth’s chest and pushed him away. The big lad looked at him as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing. The youths had started to crowd forward. There were knives drawn now. He saw their rusty blades glitter in the distant torchlight.

“Have you ever seen a warhorse fight?” Kormak asked. He kept his tone conversational.

“What?” Bors asked.

“Have you ever seen a warhorse fight? It takes years to train them, but once that’s done they are vicious.”

“What in the Shadow’s name are you talking about?”

“Star here is a warhorse. I’ve seen him crush men’s skulls with his hooves and rend their flesh with his teeth. The last man he bit, he pulled the cheek right off; you could see the jawbone and teeth through the hole. He made a strange sucking, whistling sound whenever he breathed.”

The youths had started to back off now. No one wanted to be quite so close to the horse any more. “All I have to do is whistle and he’ll break your skull. He’ll take pleasure in it, for he’s a vicious brute if truth be told.”

“You’re lying,” said Bors. He did not sound so sure of himself now. He glared at Kormak caught between fear, anger and losing face in front of his gang. “That nag is no warhorse.”

“Would you like to bet your life on that,” Kormak said. For a long moment, they exchanged glares.

“Sure,” said Bors. “Why not?”

Kormak whistled.

IN THE INSTANT all eyes went to the horse, Kormak kicked Bors very hard between the legs. The youth screamed and bent double. Kormak reached down and pulled the knife from Bors’s scabbard, then brought its pommel down on the back of his head, sending him sprawling on the snow-covered cobblestones.

Before the gang realised what had happened, he stepped towards the weasel-faced youth with the drawn dagger. He was ready to parry any strike the youth might make but the boy was still looking at the horse. Kormak knocked the knife from his hand then smacked him on the side of the head, dropping him.

By the time the gangs’ eyes were back on him, he had picked up the dagger and had a blade in each hand. They stared at him as if he were a magician, still not quite understanding what had happened. One of them brandished his knife and Kormak shook his head and drew back one of the daggers as if to throw. “I would prefer not to kill any of you,” he said. “But I will if you make me.”

Bors looked up at him, groaning. “Bastard,” he said.

Kormak stood on his hand. There was a sound like a small twig snapping. “I’ve had enough lip from you for one day,” he said. “Any more and I break the rest of your fingers.”

The gang still looked at him. He advanced with a menacing look on his face and they turned and ran, leaving him with the two he had downed and young Jan, who had run up and was starting to apply the boot to Bors. “You’ll stomp me, will you?” He said.

“Enough,” said Kormak told him, suddenly tired of it all. “Or I’ll skin you myself.”

The boy backed away quickly. “Run along,” Kormak said. “You won’t have any more trouble with this bunch at least not today.”

Jan looked at him. “I won’t forget this, sir,” he said. “You saved me from these moon-lovers and I’ll remember that.”

“Sod off, cat-eater,” said Bors from the ground. “You won’t always be so lucky.”

“I’m serious, sir,” said Jan. “If you ever need somebody to watch your back, I’ll be there.”

He seemed very serious. Kormak grinned. “I’ll remember that,” he said. “Now scat!”

The boy smiled back at him and then scampered off along the alley, heading in a different direction from the one the gang hunting him had gone in.

Kormak turned to Bors and his henchmen. “Now what am I going to do with you?” he said.

“Nothing if you’re smart, Jurgen Krugman won’t like it.”

“Why should I care?”

“Because Jurgen is going to rule this city, and we’re his friends. He’ll set the Silent Man on you.” He paused expectantly, waiting for a reaction that never came. The name of the Silent Man obviously meant something. It had not five years ago.

“I guess I should spare your lives then,” said Kormak.

“You weren’t seriously thinking of killing us,” said the other boy. He looked frightened now.

“I don’t like people drawing knives on me,” he said. “You’d do well to remember that. Next time I might not be in such a good mood.”

Kormak turned to lead his horse away.

“What about our knives,” said the boy. Kormak tossed it. It stood quivering in the cobbles between his legs.

“Nice throw,” said Bors grudgingly.

“I was aiming for his ear,” said Kormak, dropping the second knife on the ground beside the hand he had stood on. Bors went white.

“And a pleasant evening to you both,” said Kormak, leading his horse away down the street.

The waxing, gibbous moon emerged from the clouds as Kormak reached the Gilded Lion. It was a big tavern on Silver Street just off the town’s Southern Square. The vast bulk of the Cathedral loomed over it. All around were other expensive inns and the mansions of the town’s wealthier merchants. Kormak passed through the gateway arch and led his horse into the courtyard. A stableboy ran up to take it, glanced at Kormak, did a double take then grinned and said, “Good evening, Sir Kormak, long time no see.”

“Good evening, Ned,” said Kormak. He slipped the youth a couple of copper coins. “It’s been a while.”

“Must be five years at least,” he said. “The mistress was not best pleased when you rode out.”

“You think I’ll get a warm welcome?”

“Maybe too warm, if you catch my meaning.”

“I guess I’ll just have to find out.”

“I always said you were a brave man as well as a generous one. You do like to live dangerously though, don’t you?”

Kormak shrugged, took up his saddle-bags and strode into the inn. The taproom was large and warm and smelled of very good food. A number of pretty barmaids moved around the area serving wealthy merchants and the well-groomed hard men who served them.

When Kormak stepped in, all eyes went to him for a minute. Men whose lives depended on their ability to quickly sum up a stranger stared at him with calculating glances. He let them look, knowing that all they would see was a successful mercenary, one who had maybe been a knight once before he fell out with the wrong people. It was what most people took him to be.

He strode up to the bar. A beautiful, blonde woman looked at him as if she could not decide whether to smile or throw the tankard she was holding at him. Kormak could not blame her. He had been forced to leave the house at speed the last time he was here.

Eventually she strode over to him and said, “You’ve got a nerve, I’ll say that for you.”

“Lovely as ever, Lila,” he said, looking her up and down. Her face flushed slightly and it was not from the heat of the fire. She stared at him. “We’ve a lot to talk about and this is not the place to do it.”

Afterward, as they lay on the bed, Lila looked along the length of his naked body and said, “You’ve got more scars.”

He stroked her hair and said, “You don’t.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that bloody easy, Kormak. Where have you been?”

“I told you I might have to leave the town quickly,” he said. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Yes, but five years, five bloody years and you just come strolling back in the door as if not a minute had passed, looking the same as you always did, except for the bloody scars. How the hell did you get them anyway?”

“I’m a soldier, Lila.”

“So was my first husband. I’ve seen a few sword wounds in my time, a few arrow wounds too. Those cuts were never made by blade or point. Those are claw marks and I have no idea what the hell might make them. Too big for any hunting cat I have ever heard of. ”

He shrugged. She leaned forward and touched the tattoo over his heart. It showed a red winged dragon. She looked at it for a long time thoughtfully then got up and poured herself another goblet of wine. “Do you remember when we first met?” she said.

“It was downstairs, two days after the feast of Saint Verma; you asked me what I wanted.”