Chapter One
KORMAK RODE DOWN the steep trail into Varigston, ready to put spurs to his pony or hand to his blade. Here on the disputed border between Aquilea and Taurea his grey-flecked black hair and tall, rangy frame marked him as no Taurean. All it would take would be for one of the Sunlanders to decide he was the scout for a raiding party and he would be facing a lynch mob or summary execution. The closer you got to Aquilean territory, the more suspicious the gold-hair colonists became. And they had reason—the Aquilean hill men deserved their reputation as savage slayers of all who invaded what they considered as their land.
A cold wind blew off the peaks and there was a trace of sleet even though it was early autumn in the lowlands. In the mountains, winter extended its talons early. The chill breeze brought back half-buried memories of Kormak’s childhood in Aquilea. He had lived in that bleak land until he was eight years old.
He was still in Taurean-controlled territory—he could tell by the league-posts that counted the distance to the capital and the occasional patrols of knights and their men-at-arms he had met on his way. Those hard-bitten men had told tales of goblins in the hills and other stranger things; of giant vampire bats swarming through the night and monsters stalking the hillsides.
He was glad of that. Their reports gave him an excuse for being in the area that no one would question. His instructions had come under the red seal direct from the Grandmaster of the Order of the Dawn, coded most urgent and most secret.
He was curious about that. Normally, such dispatches concerned the clandestine assassination of some powerful nobleman or influential cleric. This time the terse message had told him only to get to Varigston as quickly as possible. He was to remain at the sign of the Axe and Hammer until he received further instructions. That, too, told him something about the mission. The Grandmaster feared to put down anything more.
His pony carried him down the rocky path into the edge of the town. It was a mixture of thatched drystane-built cottages and newer wooden structures. All of the timber buildings had a shabby, gaudy look. Even on the newest structures the bright paint was peeling as the mountain weather ate away at the tawdry finery. Varigston had not looked like this the last time he had passed this way but that had been two decades ago. Then it had been a drab place of sheep farmers and a few would-be miners prospecting for silver in the nearby mountains.
None of the hedge-knights he had met en route had a good word to say about the town. They claimed that anyone who lived there was beyond the pale, and looking at the place Kormak could understand why. In the past few years the business of looting a long dead and supposedly haunted ancient city had turned a sleepy village on the north-eastern border of Taurea into a desperate boom-town. The finding of Khazduroth had brought a new prosperity and a ferocious energy to Varigston. Kormak was not sure this was an improvement.
If he had not known better he would have sworn the place was a bandits’ lair. There were too many armed men for a community of its size and not enough farmers, shepherds or peasants. On his way up, he had encountered some of the merchants who shipped grain and ale and dried meat in, and took away all sorts of stuff in return. There were people down in less wild lands that would pay good money for the dwarf artefacts found in Khazduroth.
The main street ran through the lowest part of a long valley and was lined with taverns and brothels and shops selling everything that prospectors could need, and lots of things they did not.
Priests of the Holy Sun offered blessings. Some of them were mendicant holy men. Some of them were imposters. Beggars stretched out their hands and implored a copper piece. Shady characters tried to sell him maps guaranteed to lead to a lode of treasure amid the ruins of the lost city, and cursed his departing back when he showed no interest. Rough looking bravoes studied him carefully, took note of his size and manner and well-worn gear and came to the conclusion it was not worth trying to intimidate him or rob him. Women studied him through the open windows of bawdy houses. They wore no tops and in the cold their nipples stood erect, which he supposed was the point.
Despite his earlier fears, no one paid him too much attention and he understood why. There were Aquilean hill men here aplenty, come to trade and drink, looking around with barely concealed wonder at what was, no doubt, the biggest town they had ever entered without their swords in their hands and blue war-paint on their faces.
The streets were filled with horses and ponies and mules and wagons and a bustle of people. For a town at the far end of nowhere Varigston was a busy place. Kormak drew his steed to a halt as a drunk was ejected through the doors of a tavern by a massive bouncer. He picked himself up, shook his fist and then limped away.