He walked over to where his sword lay, picked it up and strapped it on. He took his amulets and his armour and put them on too. Nuala stirred faintly. It seemed she was still alive. He walked over to her and touched her with his Elder Sign, hoping it might disrupt any inimical energy that remained in her form. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him.
“You owe me,” she said.
“For bringing the guard?” he asked, as he helped her to her feet.
“I told them you were here. It was the fastest way of getting them to come. Maybe the only way to get them to break into Scar’s place.”
“You did well,” he said.
She looked at the recumbent form of the guards. “Will they be all right?”
“If you are, they will be. And I think I had best be gone when they awake. It will be easier than explaining.”
She nodded. “You’d better find, Darien. You owe him money.”
“What do I owe you?” She reached up and stroked his cheek.
“I am sure we can work out some method of payment that is satisfactory for both of us,” she said.
They stumbled up the stairs and out into the deserted tavern. Outside the open door, the night waited. Somewhere out there, Razhak was running for his life. Kormak knew where he was going now with utter certainty. He would find the demon in the ruins of Tanyth.
Death waited there for one of them. Tonight he did not care. He had debts to pay in the here and now.
THAT WAY LIES DEATH
“That way lies death,” said the old man. The frown deepened the lines on his leathery face into trenches. A mad gleam shone in his eye. Perhaps it was the look of ascetic fanaticism brought on by too much exposure to the desert sun or possibly he truly had been touched by holiness. Why else would he be sitting half-naked by a milestone in the desert along the ancient road to Sunhaven?
Kormak looked in the direction the hermit had indicated with his wizened hand. It did not look any different from the rest of the wastes the road passed through. It was a harsh dry land where the only touch of colour came from the yellowish blooms of some hardy creosote plants.
Kormak removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was hot and all too aware of it. His leather tunic and mail shirt had not been intended for a climate like this. Again he considered removing them and putting them with the cloak in his saddlebags but the road to Sunhaven was famous for its bandits and its monsters and he had no desire to die with an arrow through him if it could be avoided. At the moment, he thought sourly. Another few hours of this and he might feel differently.
“Death seems to be everywhere here,” said Kormak. “This would be an easy place for a man to leave this life.”
“In yonder direction lies the lost city of Tanyth,” the old man said. “It is guarded by demons, the haunt of the damned. They fly over the desert in a night when it would take men a week’s ride or more to get here.”
Kormak looked at him again. “You have chosen a strange place to dwell then.”
The old man smiled and gestured in the direction of the nearby hills. “I have my cave. I have my spring. I have retreated from the wickedness of the cities of Men. I contemplate the mysteries of the Holy Sun here where the sky is clear and His light is brightest. I do not fear demons for He watches over me.”
“What sort of demons are there?” Kormak asked. He had a professional interest in such things.
“Lamia, succubae, she-fiends. They visit me in the night. Disport themselves lewdly. Seek to tempt me back to the ways of flesh. I reject them.”
Kormak wondered whether the Holy Sun was the only thing this ancient saw visions of and how real these temptations were. Perhaps they were simply projections of the desires the old man thought he had left behind. Perhaps not. Kormak had encountered too many demons to discount the possibility that the old man was right.
Kormak tapped the blade that hung over his shoulder. “I do not fear demons,” he said.
“Ah but you are a Guardian of the Order of the Dawn. I know your kind. One passed through the City of Light in the years of my youth. Many men died before he departed. Once he was gone, the killings ceased.” He let the words and their accusation hang in the air, all the while keeping his bright, mad gaze focused directly on Kormak.
“Such is often the way,” Kormak said. The old man rubbed his grey stubble.
“They say the men who died were wicked. No doubt some of them were. Others were not. I am not sure your order is as righteous as it claims.”
Kormak agreed but it did not seem politic to say so. The old man’s gaze shifted and he focused his eyes back on the road. Riders were approaching. Pennons fluttered on the end of their lances. They held the short moon-curved bow so common in this land. When they got closer, he would doubtless find they were armed with scimitars.
“Riders often pass along this road. Some of them are charitable,” said the old hermit. Kormak fumbled some change from his purse and dropped it in front of the old man. He laughed and picked it up then rose to his feet and handed it back to Kormak
“I have no use for silver out here. It would only tempt men of violence and make me think of the foul uses I could put it to back in the city.”
Kormak shrugged. “I cannot spare food or water; I have a long journey ahead of me.”
“Perhaps I can spare you some then,” said the old man. “Water at least. This road is no place to be caught without water.”
The riders were close enough now that Kormak could see he was wrong. They carried the straight blades of Sunlander Templars. Their gear was an odd mix of light armour, recurved lunar bows and western helmets and swords. Kormak guessed these were descendants of the Oathsworn who had set out to reclaim the Sacred Lands from the moondogs generations ago. They had adapted to the local climate. There were obviously some things he could learn from them.
One of the men was as richly dressed as a prince. His robes were silk, his breastplate worked with intricate shapes that were only vaguely recognisable as Elder Signs. The patterns were almost lost as if the people who had made the device were more concerned with decoration than protection from the Old Ones and the Shadow. The rest of the men were warriors, either feudal retainers or well-paid mercenaries. They had a hard competent look to them. Kormak took his place beside the old man. He did not really expect violence here but you never knew. The normal laws of men were sometimes suspended in the wastelands.
The lead rider came closer. Kormak could see he was a handsome young man with very dark hair and very white teeth. His hair fell in ringlets to his shoulders. His beard was well-trimmed to two points. He looked foppish but there was something about the way he sat in the saddle and assessed Kormak’s stance that told the Guardian he was not quite as soft as he looked.
“I see another has come to consult you, father,” the newcomer said. There was something taunting in his speech and at the same time something deferential. There was respect there as well as mockery as if the youth sought to prove how cynical he was and yet at the same time, in his heart of hearts, feared the wrath of the old man’s god. It was an attitude Kormak had seen many times among the spoiled nobility of the far west. The young man looked at Kormak. “Not a Sunlander and not an easterner either. That is a puzzle.”
“An Aquilean,” Kormak said. “It’s north-west of Taurea.”
“You are a long way from home.”
“Sir Kormak is on a quest, my son.” There was something odd in the way the hermit said those words as well. “He is hunting a demon.”