2 Defiler of Tombs

  “Where?”

  “In the Southlands. The necromancers of the Lethian Shore dispatch their enemies with such magic. The man I am hunting knows such spells.”

  “You’re thinking of your friend Morghael, aren’t you?” Brandon was looking at the woman. Perhaps he suspected her and the Tinkers of having something to do with the death. Kormak could not help but notice that the woman sat up a little straighter when the name Morghael was mentioned although she should have been too far away to hear Brandon’s words.

  “Why was the Watcher killed?” Brandon’s eyes swept over the Tinkers.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he saw something.”

  “He was most likely tracking the ones you seek,” said Aisha. Kormak looked across at her.

  “You think?”

  “That’s what they do, or so I have heard,” she said. “They watch those who would tamper with the tombs of the Death Lords. It is their purpose, just as it is your Order’s purpose to oppose the Old Ones and the Shadow.”

  That made a certain amount of sense. “Why?” he asked.

  “They are descendants of those hill-tribes who sided with the Solari when they destroyed Kharon. They were left behind when the legions turned south. They swore an oath to guard the land against the return of evil. They have reason to. The Death Lords would seek vengeance when they rose.”

  That was something Kormak understood. Sir Brandon was nodding. “I had heard that mentioned in old tales. I always thought it was just a story.”

  “Even the Watchers themselves think so at times. They have forgotten much and they had drifted far from their original purpose but still they try in their way to keep the faith.”

  “You seem to know a lot about them,” Kormak said.

  Aisha smiled. It was like the wolf bearing its teeth. “My people and the Watchers are old allies. We have treaties with them that date back to when the Sunlanders first came to this land. We do not forget such things.”

  Kormak noticed the emphasis she placed on my people. It was a proprietary tone, the voice of a queen speaking of those she ruled. Brandon cocked his head to one side. He was looking at her curiously. “Treaties?” he said. His voice was very quiet, as if he was speaking his astonishment aloud and had not meant to be heard. Aisha paused as if she had said too much.

  “We trade with them, bring them the herbs and devices they need. They pay us in hill silver.”

  “Trade treaties,” said Brandon as if that explained everything. He was still quite clearly bemused by the idea of tinkers and treaties.

  “You think the Tinkers just mend pots,” Aisha said. Something in Brandon’s attitude had clearly nettled her. It struck Kormak that Aisha was an angry woman and an imperious one. She had not the manners of any Tinker he had ever met. She seemed more like a noblewoman playing a part. Perhaps she was.

  “It had crossed my mind,” said Brandon. His tone was as haughty as hers. He was a nobleman and they were close to his lands. He had his pride as well. Aisha surprised Kormak by laughing.

  “It is what most people would think,” she said. There was a bitter edge to her mirth and there was something familiar to it as well. He could not put his finger on exactly why.

  Javier stuck a wooden spoon in the pot and tried again. “It is ready,” he said with the weary air of a courtier trying to stay out of an argument. He began to ladle the stew into wooden bowls. They were as brightly painted as everything else about the Tinker’s wagon. He produced some waybread from a leather pouch and handed it around and then he brought out a skin of wine. He passed it to Aisha first who passed it to Kormak. There was a ritual quality to this. Kormak took a mouthful. Aisha looked at Sir Brandon so he passed it to the knight. Brandon took it and passed it to Javier who in turn passed it to the others. When that was done, they began to eat.

  Kormak started to feel a little better. Partly it was because he had food inside him and partly it was because they were taking part in a small human ritual, here on the edge of these vast cold hills where alien threats waited hungrily. It made him feel a little closer to those around him.

  “Why are you here, Sir Kormak?” Aisha asked. The other Tinkers looked at him interestedly. Brandon replied before Kormak could make up his mind whether to speak or not, explaining their quest to the Tinkers, telling them what had happened to Olaf. The Tinkers exchanged looks containing horror and something else, Kormak was not sure what. Conversation died after Brandon had finished speaking.

  The wolf growled. Kormak looked around to see if there was anything coming in. He had been avoiding looking at the fire so as not to spoil his nightsight but still the light had affected his vision a little. He looked up and saw something passing overhead, too big to be a bird, the shape subtly wrong.

  “What is it?” Brandon asked.

  “Old One,” Kormak said. “Or one of their kin.”

  Even as he spoke it vanished into the night, gone as if it had never been. Kormak gestured for the others to remain quiet. They waited tensely for long minutes but whatever it was, it did not return.

  “What did it want?” Brandon asked.

  Kormak shrugged. “It may just be passing. It may have nothing to do with us.”

  “The reverse implication of that is that it may,” said Brandon.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” said Kormak.

  “If there is anything out there, Shae will let us know, Sir Kormak,” Aisha said, clearly following the course of his thoughts.

  “A useful watchdog in this foul place,” said Brandon chuckling. He was trying too hard to be his usual hearty self, trying too hard to show he was not afraid.

  He suspected that all of them were and that the dead man was on all of their minds. Someone had killed him. Someone had opened a barrow. Someone was responsible for terrible things. Kormak wondered if this meeting with the Tinkers was really by chance or whether they had something to do with all these dark deeds. Perhaps they would try and cut his throat in the night. He had herbs that would let him stay awake for days if need be, but he was reluctant to use them. They were not without side-effects.

  “We should set watches,” said Kormak. “It never hurts to have someone awake in case of trouble.”

  He looked at Brandon. “We can take turn about on watch. Just like in the old days when we were fighting the orcs.”

  Brandon groaned but he made no objection. He did not suggest including the Tinkers in the rota either. Perhaps he had his own suspicions.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Kormak said.

  Kormak was woken by the sound of a man taking a piss. He looked up, coming awake more slowly than he would have liked. There was some light from the rising sun. Brandon was standing away from the camp, looking out into the hills. Little was visible. Mist rolled over the land obscuring everything. The cold seemed to have seeped from the ground into Kormak. He rose and stretched. His back felt sore. He was getting too old for this.

  “You’re actually awake,” Kormak said. “I would have expected you to be snoring away.”

  Brandon gave him a sour grin. “I miss my bed and if you want the truth I miss my family. I miss waking up next to Gena and I miss having the young ones come racing in and asking me to tell them a story.”

  “I’ll ask you for one if it helps,” said Kormak.

  “Sod off!”

  “Go home, Brandon. I can do what needs to be done here.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “I said I would ride with you and I will. I am not going to give up because of a little rain and a little homesickness.”

  The big man still had something to prove it seemed, to himself if no one else. Maybe he just did not want to turn back so soon, having made such a big show of setting off to find Olaf’s killer. Kormak fumbled in his pack for some dried beef and a handful of oats. He started a fire and began cooking some porridge.

  “You do that with the ease of long practise,” Brandon said.

  “N
ot all of us have cooks or manors or families,” said Kormak. “Some of us spend our lives on the road.”

  “It has not done you any harm to look at you. You’re still tough as the day we met. Look at the belly on me. I swear I’ve had to get the smith to adjust my armour half a dozen times in the last five years.”

  “You still remember how to swing a sword, don’t you?”

  “Not something you ever forget, Kormak. You just get a bit slower over the years but you make up for it with cunning.”

  The wolf came snuffling around. It did not look quite so hostile in the watery sunlight. It seemed to have gotten used to their presence. The horses did not like it though. Brandon looked at it as he was considering shooing it away but then thought the better of it. A head poked out from the inside of the wagon. It belonged to Aisha. She did not look sleepy.

  “I see you rise with the dawn, gentlemen,” she said. Once again her manners seemed courtly, not those of a Tinker woman. She clambered down off the back of the caravan. She strolled over to the horses and whispered something to each in turn that quieted them. She came over to the fire hunkered down beside it, warming her hands and staring into the flames as if she saw something there that they could not.

  “It’s a gift, being able to handle animals like that,” Brandon said dubiously. Clearly was suspicious of her magic. Aisha smiled at him.

  “It is. Like the gift for witchcraft.”

  “There are places where saying things like that could get you burned,” said Brandon.

  Aisha inclined her head towards Kormak. “That’s what I would have expected him to say.”

  Kormak held his peace. He was determined not to get into an argument. It was a pointless waste of energy. “You are a witch, aren’t you?” Brandon said.

  “Thinking of starting your own inquisition, are you?” Aisha asked. There was a humour in her tone that took the sting out of her mockery.

  Brandon chewed on the end of his moustache. “Just asking. We might have need of a healer soon.”

  Clearly, he had some forebodings about this trip whatever he said aloud. Aisha nodded as if she agreed. “I know how to patch wounds and use herbs and maybe a bit more. Your friend there can do the first two but I doubt he knows a healing spell.”

  “That’s true,” Kormak said.

  “And you’ll need a tracker if you’re hunting wizards in these hills.”

  “Are you volunteering?” Kormak asked.

  Aisha gestured to Shae. The wolf came over and laid its head on her lap. It watched Kormak with bright, too-intelligent eyes. The woman was not intending to do the tracking herself.

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “I am no more fond of tomb robbers than anyone else,” she said. She measured out ever word, as if saying them would cost her blood.

  “You don’t come from around here. These are not your hills. You can just turn around and go back.”

  “So can you, Guardian, but you won’t.”

  “I know why I am doing this. I want to know why I should let you come with me.”

  “Because I can help you and there is evil here which must be stopped. No one wants to see the old Lords of Kharon rise again. If they come from their graves who will oppose them now?”

  Her words made the air seem even more chilly. Kormak turned and stared back into the mists. It was all too easy to imagine shadowy shapes moving in it, but when he focused his gaze on them they seemed to vanish like wraiths. “I will,” Kormak said.

  “And who will help you, Champion of the Sun? Will you face them on your own?” He looked at her for a long time, wondering what her motive really was.

  “I would welcome your aid,” he said eventually.

  “Good. I will tell Javier and his people. We can all ride together as far as Hungerdale.”

  There it was again, Kormak thought. Javier and his people. She spoke as if the Tinkers were not her people. Who was she and, more importantly, what was she?

  CHAPTER SIX

  HUNGERDALE HAD SEEN better times. That much was obvious. The village perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the deep valley below. Even taller hills marched away above it. The houses were made of stone piled on stone, roofed with turf. Smoke drifted lazily skyward. There was a smell like rot in the air. Crowds of scrawny people watched from open doorways. It was Kormak’s first real look at the hill-folk. Most of them seemed to be dressed in rags. They were thin, pale and unhealthy looking with darker hair than the Sunlanders. The women were surrounded by large groups of children. The men watched the Tinkers approach. Most of them had knives. One or two of them held slings ready. They looked like they knew how to use them.

  Judging from the looks he was getting, the weapons were not being displayed because of the presence of the Tinkers. Maybe Kormak would not have drawn too much attention with his dark hair and spare form but Sir Brandon was very definitely a Sunlander, massive and blond. His hair and his fair complexion marked him as one of the hill-people’s ancient enemies. Kormak was glad they were with the Tinkers. He would not have given much for the two of them’s chances of getting out of there alive if they had arrived on their own.

  They drove right to the centre of the village. There was a well there with a standing pump. That surprised Kormak. He would not have expected anything of such sophistication to be found here. Perhaps he had misjudged these people. The Tinker’s wagon pulled up before a large central building, some sort of communal hall. There was already a deputation waiting. It was obvious that the villagers had seen them coming from a long way off. He glanced around and noticed some other things. There was a smith’s shop nearby and he could hear clanking coming from within as of a man banging away with a hammer. Clearly a message was being sent that the Tinkers were not needed to repair anything around here.

  Javier and Aisha got down. Kormak had already been warned to let them do the talking and given the way people were looking at them he saw no reason to object. The Tinkers went forward with much gracious bowing and hand-gesturing and took up a place beneath the verandah of the hall in front of a fat old woman who stood flanked by a group of hard-looking men, all of whom bore a very distinct family resemblance to her. These men had short swords on their belts and short bows in their hands. One or two of them squinted at Kormak as if they would not have minded taking a shot at him. They had the look of bandits.

  Words were exchanged. Aisha did the talking for the Tinkers, the old woman for the hill-folk. After a few minutes, the old lady gestured for Kormak and Sir Brandon to come forward. She looked closely at both of them. Small shrewd eyes that twinkled with an easy humour inspected them closely. Javier made introductions. The old woman’s name was Agnetha.

  “So you are what a Guardian looks like,” the old lady said at last. “Haven’t seen many of your sort in these hills of late.”

  “There are fewer of us than there were,” said Kormak.

  “The same can be said of a lot of things,” said Agnetha and laughed as if she had made a joke. She turned her attention to Sir Brandon.

  “And you are our neighbour from the south.”

  “That I am, lady,” said Sir Brandon. The old woman laughed delightedly.

  “Been a long time since anybody called me that,” she said. “At least you are a polite one.”

  “It’s only fitting when calling on neighbours,” said Brandon.

  “You haven’t always been so polite,” said one of the men on the verandah. He was tall and lean with a sharp nose and darting eyes. A drooping moustache dominated his face. His knuckles were white as he gripped his bow.

  “I rarely am when a man comes to steal my sheep,” said Brandon.

  “You calling me a thief,” said the hill-man.

  Brandon just looked at him. Kormak cursed inwardly. Things could go very badly, very quickly in a situation like this. He measured the distance between him and the old woman. A blade at her throat might be enough to keep a mob at bay. She seemed well-respected and well-liked
here. The idea of doing that did not thrill Kormak but the idea of being filled with arrows did not much appeal either.

  “Now, Lucas, there’s no need for trouble,” said Agnetha. “These people came in peace and they’ll leave in peace.”

  Kormak expected Lucas to object. He had the look of the unruly sort but he just shut his mouth and looked at his feet. She looked at Sir Brandon a bit more coldly. “There was no need to be mentioning sheep to the boy,” she said, as if chiding a grandchild. Brandon chewed his moustache and then nodded. He was not unaware of the currents of potential violence swirling around them. He was not a man to back down from trouble normally but he understood just how outnumbered they were.

  “I apologise if what I said seemed rude to you,” said Brandon. Kormak noted the delicate wording of that apology and so did the old lady. She smiled as if she appreciated the subtlety.

  “There’ll be food tonight and some chitter-chatter unless I am much mistaken. You can tie up your horses outside the hall. No one will trouble them.” She looked around at the crowd of hill-folk just to make sure they all got the message. “And I would not mind a word with the Guardian and Mistress Aisha in private. There are some things we need to talk about.”

  Kormak wondered if this was just some way of splitting them up to make them easier to deal with but if it was he did not see the purpose of it. The odds were sufficiently great that it would make no difference. Nonetheless he felt uneasy as he stepped over the Elder Sign on the doorstone and followed the Tinker woman and the old lady into the cool, shadowy interior of the hall.

  The hall was quiet. A huge fire burned in a massive fireplace. Stacks of peat were piled around it in what looked like a wall. A large cauldron hung on a metal tripod. From it came the smells of cooking meat. It was a homely scent that reminded Kormak of other halls and other times. The old woman slumped heavily into a large carved wooden chair by the fire. She gestured for them to pull stools closer and sit. A girl ladled out stew into wooden bowls.