Zamara let out a long sigh. “I believe it is time to return to the command deck,” he said.
The crew and soldiers fell silent as they rowed under the shadow of the great walls. Massive carved stone heads resembling those of gigantic frogs looked down on them. Kormak wondered if they represented the children of Tritureon, created by him from his own blood if the ancient legends were to be believed.
“It is a city of demons,” one of the soldiers said.
Frater Jonas looked on wide-eyed and made the Sign of the Sun over his heart.
The wall was perhaps fifty feet high and perhaps thirty feet thick, built from massive stone blocks fitted together and then fused by sorcery. Along the edges where they met it looked like the stone had melted and run together. Lichen covered all of the blocks and all of the demon heads.
A stink of rot filled the air. He had come to associate that stench with Shadowblights. He pulled the wraithstone amulet from beneath his armour and inspected it. Was there just the faintest dark taint in its centre? It was hard to spot. The amulet was a new one he had picked up on his way to Trefal. There were no traces of exposure to the Shadow just yet, but there would be soon if he entered this place.
They rowed until ahead of them they saw a trireme tied up at a long stone pylon. Zamara gave the order to prepare for battle and all eyes were on the strange vessel as they approached. There was no sign of life on it. No crew were visible.
“What is going on?” Zamara asked, clearly frustrated to find no enemy. Kormak fingered the hilt of his own dwarf-forged blade. He suspected a trap.
“Don’t get too close,” he said. Zamara looked at him as if to say he would not dream of doing so.
“We could sink it from here,” he said. “There’s nothing to stop us.”
“Please do not do that, captain,” Frater Jonas. “At least not until the Guardian and I have had a chance to investigate.”
“There might be a score of pirates hiding below deck right now,” Zamara said. “The Black Priest might be there working sorcery to destroy us.”
“Then best keep your distance. Give me half a dozen marines and I will go aboard and see what I can find.” Frater Jonas looked at Kormak. “I assume you will wish to come with me.”
“I would not miss the opportunity for the world,” said Kormak, unable to keep the irony from his voice.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE OARSMEN BROUGHT the small rowboat closer to the pirate vessel. The only sounds were the splash of the oars in the water, the creaking of the ship ahead of them. No one spoke. The crew kept their eyes fixed on the pirate vessel as if they expected someone to pop up at any moment and start taking shots at them.
Spears jutted from the pirate vessel’s sides. Their serrated blades looked carved from the same stone as the city walls.
In the water a man floated, face down. He was garbed in a yellowish shirt with a ruffled collar. His hair was red. His beard curled. Something short and sharp protruded from his neck. More corpses floated in the brackish water close to the ship.
“Well, we know what happened to some of the Kraken’s men,” Kormak said.
“Tossed over the side, most likely. A pirate burial,” said Terves.
Kormak swarmed up the netting and vaulted over the railing. Ropes lay coiled on the decks, unlit lanterns swung from the masts.
More sharp objects protruded from the carved wood of the railing. He pulled a needle-sharp sliver of stone free. A smudge of bitter smelling paste clung to the tip. A poison, no doubt.
He stalked across the deck, every nerve stretched taut. Scores of darts protruded from the planking. He pictured a cloud of them arcing downward from the walls above the dock.
Had the Kraken and his men been ambushed by the inhabitants of the city and carried off? That would explain the silence on the ship.
He moved to the stairs beneath the sterncastle and looked down. No one hid there. He studied the benches of the open deck. There were no chains so it looked as if the oarsmen were all volunteers, which did not surprise him. Pirates fought for a share of the spoils and most successful captains could have their pick of crews.
He stopped and listened. Still no sounds save those he would have expected on an abandoned ship. He moved back to the rail and gestured for Frater Jonas and the marines to come aboard.
The priest came over the side, out of breath, his cheeks flushed and red.
“What happened here?” Jonas asked.
“A battle between the pirates and the locals. They tossed the bodies overboard but left too quickly to clear away all the signs of battle.”
Frater Jonas walked over to the stairs beneath the sterncastle, and asked, “Is it clear?”
“I have not been below the sterncastle, but I have heard nothing.”
The priest made an elaborate bow. A sweep of his arm indicated that Kormak was welcome to precede him. The Guardian gave a sour grin and made his way down the stairs. They did not creak beneath his weight. He tested them before putting his full weight on them.
He paused at the foot of the stairs to give his eyes time to accustom themselves to the gloom. A strange scent hung in the air, a salt sea tang mingled with the stench of corruption. It reminded him of the fishermen’s wharves of Trefal on a hot summer day after a cargo of spoiled cod had been dropped ashore.
The stairs creaked as Frater Jonas came down. His hand held his Elder Sign. His lips silently mouthed prayers. His glance darted everywhere as if he expected an attack. Kormak pushed on down the corridor.
The ceiling was so low he had to crouch. Openings to left and right led to tiny cabins. One door to the back of the ship opened onto the cabin space sacred to a captain’s privacy. Kormak tried the door of it and found it unlocked.
The cabin was bigger than he would have expected and the smell of rot and fish was stronger. Greenish residue coated the walls in places, as if something slimy had been dragged along them and then dried. It glowed in the gloom, like the scum that Kormak had seen at night on certain haunted beaches.
Beside the sleeping bench stood a table. On it lay an unrolled map held down by brass paperweights. It showed a large hexagon surrounded by a green expanse with a blue ribbon running down one side. Inside the hexagon were numerous smaller ones all bordered in blue. Most of the shapes were green in colour but some were also filled in with blue. At the centre was a much larger hexagon, many, many times the size of the smaller ones. This had been marked in ink with a red runic cross.
“What does it mean?” Kormak asked.
“It’s a map,” said Jonas. “I am guessing of Triturek.” He ran a finger down the blue ribbon. “Look, that’s the river, see the way it curves?” He traced the huge hexagon that filled the map. “Those are the external walls. The green is the forest.”
Kormak nodded. It was simple when pointed out. He had been looking for sorcerous runes or Elder Signs, not a simple chart.
“I guess we’ll find out what the rest is when we go into the city.”
Beneath the bunk was a sealed chest with a sorcerous lock, the kind that could only be opened by the touch of the mage who had cast the spell. Kormak withdrew the Elder Sign from beneath his armour and pressed it against the lock. The sigil grew warm as it disrupted the spell then, after a moment, began to cool.
“That was not the wisest of things,” said Frater Jonas. “There might have been a trap, or it may be poisoned or there may be something within.”
“What’s done is done.”
“Quite,” said the priest. Kormak dragged the chest out from beneath the bunk, stood to one side and then opened the lid with the point of his dagger.
Within lay a dozen charts and scrolls and books. Frater Jonas scanned them. He nodded as he read, as if what he saw confirmed something.
“Grimoires?” Kormak asked. He could see the crabbed notation on the pages as Jonas read. Each held the small script and cryptic diagrams he had come to associate with the journals of sorcerers.
Jonas nodded w
ith the excitement of a scholar who has come unexpectedly on a treasure trove. He put one book on the bed and lifted another, flipped through its pages then repeated the process. He unrolled one of the charts. His eyes narrowed and a frown of puzzlement creased his brow. He glanced at another and then yet at a book. He leafed through it, put it aside.
“There is a king’s ransom in spellcraft here,” he said. Jonas inspected a few more of the books and scrolls before wrapping them in a blanket that smelled of rotten fish. He used it as a bag to carry his plunder.
“What did you get?”
“We’ve found some of the grimoires the Kraken stole,” he said. “He’s made notes on them. There’s a book written in gibberish, which I am assuming is a coded journal.”
“And the charts that so puzzled you.”
Jonas shrugged. “They are maps but of what I do not know. One of them was a chart showing the location of this city. It was marked with runes I have never seen before in a language I have never read.”
Next to the Kraken’s cabin lay another small room. Half a dozen desiccated, long-dead looking corpses hung manacled to its walls. Most of them wore the homespun tunics and britches of villagers. One of them was robed in yellow and white, a preacher.
“Those were the prisoners from Wood’s Edge,” Kormak said.
“Yes,” said Frater Jonas. He looked ill. “They weren’t prisoners though—they were food.”
Kormak nodded. “The Quan devoured them.”
“It must have used a lot of energy when it cast those spells back in the village. It needed replenishment.”
“Perhaps,” Kormak said.
“Perhaps?”
“Perhaps it saved some of the prisoners till now, to power its magic here in the city. Why else bring them?”
Jonas considered for a moment, his eyes wide and haunted-looking. “Yes,” he said. “You are most likely correct.”
“A dangerous creature to have on board,” Kormak said. “If it gets hungry it might decide to feed on the crew.”
“What sort of man would make pacts with demons like these?” Jonas asked.
“I would rather know what it is they are seeking,” Kormak said. He already knew the sort of man the Kraken was, one so ambitious he dealt with anything that had the power to gratify his desires.
“I fear we will both know that before this thing ends,” said Jonas.
“Come, we’d best tell the captain what we found.”
“A fishy smell?” Zamara wrinkled his nose and looked at them in disbelief. Once more they crowded into his small cabin. “What do you mean?”
“Unless the Kraken has decided that he likes to eat lots of rotten herring, it means his companion is not human,” Kormak said.
“It must be a Quan,” said Frater Jonas.
Zamara looked at them. “I don’t care if it is a manifestation of the Shadow itself. We need to find the Kraken and bring him to justice.”
“No one disagrees, captain,” said Jonas. “We need to be aware of the nature of our potential foes though.”
“What now?” Zamara was frustrated. The captain was a man of action and he had nerved himself for a fight. The fact there was no battle was worse for him than a call to arms.
“We need to find out what happened to the Kraken. The elves were sure he’s somewhere in the city and that he’s going to be until he finds whatever it is he is looking for. Then he’s going to have to come back for his ship if he wants to escape.” Frater Jonas sounded distracted. He was busy transferring the books and scrolls from the blanket to a waterproof leather satchel.
“Do you think you can find anything useful from those stinking books you brought back?” Zamara demanded. “Or do you just plan on selling them to the highest bidder.”
Frater Jonas looked hurt. “If they are sold, you and the crew will get your share,” Jonas said. “If. Right now they are the only clue we have as to what this pirate-sorcerer is up to.”
“Very well,” said Zamara. “We’ll put a prize crew on the pirate ship. Leave a guard here and head into the city with the rest of the troops. You can stay or go as you please. Sir Kormak should come with us. If we meet the Kraken and his black-cowled friend I want him there with his blade.”
Kormak did not like his tone but what he said was sensible.
“I’ll come with you,” said Frater Jonas. “I am rather curious about this city.”
CHAPTER SIX
“THAT’S THE PLACE marked on the map,” said Frater Jonas, pointing at the enormous ziggurat. They had entered the city through the great hexagonal gate near the docks. The priest had brought the satchel along and stood consulting the map of the city now.
An eerie assemblage of low windowless stone buildings lay between stagnant canals. He sniffed the air. It smelled of scum and stagnant water.
All of the low buildings stood on hexagonal islands, isolated by canals. Around each ran narrow walkways like canal towpaths. Arched stone bridges joined the islands. Ramps rose from the paths to the roofs of some of the buildings.
The structures looked eroded by time and damp. The stonework had crumbled in places, leaving the sides of some of the buildings looking like rotten teeth in an ancient beggar’s mouth. Moss grew on everything and vines dangled from walls. From the centre of some buildings enormous banyan-like trees raised their branches to the sky. Their roots sought the water like the tentacles of a great beast.
“Looks like this place was abandoned a long time ago,” said Zamara.
“It looks like all the inhabitants died of plague,” said Frater Jonas. He made the Sign of the Sun over his breast.
“That’s not what the elves said,” said Kormak. “They say the original inhabitants are still here. They are the survivors of the war between Dhagoth and Tritureon.”
Zamara shrugged, as if to say he did not really care what the forest dwellers thought. “It does not look like they’ve kept their homes in good repair then.”
“How would we know what good repair means to them,” said Kormak. He agreed with Zamara but he did not like the captain’s sneering tone. The more nervous the captain was, the more arrogant his manner became.
“We’d best be going if we are going to find the Kraken and claim the bounty,” said Zamara.
He spoke loudly for the benefit of the marines. The warriors eyed the buildings as if at any moment they expected a horde of Old Ones to erupt from them.
“That’s a bloody big pyramid,” said Terves. “It’s as big as the king’s palace back in Trefal. Bigger maybe.”
There was a note of awe in his voice. He was thinking about the beings who could build such an enormous structure. It must smack of magic in his mind. Even in its ruined state the city was far larger than any a Siderean soldier was likely to have seen and it was certainly much stranger.
The line of soldiers straggled along the narrow walkways at the water’s edge. There were no doorways in the side of the buildings. Gurgling noises told Kormak that there might be entrances below the water level within the canals themselves. Carvings covered the sides of the buildings, demonic crested frog-like heads emitting water in fountains. Creepers covered the buildings. Trees grew through the paving stones here and there.
“What’s this?” Zamara asked. He bent down over something. They looked like the prints of wet, webbed feet left on the stonework. Something about the distance between the prints told Kormak they had not been left by anything that walked like a man.
“I don’t know,” Kormak said. “Tracks of something.”
“The Triturids had webbed feet,” Frater Jonas said. “So the legends say.”
“Then where are they?” the captain asked. It was a good question. The tracks came from the water’s edge, moved along the path and then vanished again, as if whatever had made them had leapt back into the water.
“If we wait here long enough we might find out,” Kormak said. “But our business is elsewhere.”
Zamara gestured for the troops to move on. Kor
mak felt as if something was looking at him but he was not sure from where. A cloud of bubbles disturbed the stagnant water of the canal. He stared at it for a long time but nothing emerged.
Buzzing clouds of insects filled the air. They were large as hummingbirds and their forms were distorted. Their wings glistened with oily colours, catching the sun’s light and reflecting it. Huge pad-like flowers floated in the water, along with masses of congealed algae. Heavy splashes sounded in the distance. The water surface rippled. Not once did they see any sign of what had caused the disturbance.
A crawling sensation erupted between Kormak’s shoulder blades. He knew he was being watched by something malignant, yet no matter which way he turned or how quickly he did so, he could find no sign of any stalker.
All around he heard stealthy sounds; splashes, the ripple of water, the whistle of wind. It was as if the city was slowly, almost imperceptibly mobilising against them.
The marines remained silent as they walked, crossbows at the ready, swords loose in their scabbards. Captain Zamara stood in their midst, ready to give orders. Kormak led the way, flanked by Frater Jonas who seemed to feel safest when he was in closest proximity to the Guardian.
“I can see why the elves told you to avoid this place,” Jonas said. He tilted his head to one side and contemplated the scummy water. “It stinks of the Shadow. There are signs of blight everywhere.”
“There are,” said Kormak. He pulled out the wraithstone amulet again. The white surface was notably darker. “If we stay here more than a few days it will start to affect us.”
Jonas nodded. He had already told the troops the same things that Kormak would have—drink no water collected within the city, eat nothing they found there. Not that there was much danger of the latter. Nothing they had seen since entering the city looked appetising. He could not imagine even the hungriest man wanting to eat anything they found here.
“How old do you think this place is?” Zamara asked. He studied the buildings all around them. Some looked like they could have been built yesterday. Some looked like they had crumbled centuries ago. Some looked like they had been burned by a fire so hot that the stone had flowed like lava before resetting. There was no rhyme or reason to it.