3 Weaver of Shadow Read online

  Kormak opened his eyes. The luminescent blooms glowed dimly above him. In their light, he could see Gilean. “Is it over?” he asked. He sat up. He felt better than he had in a long time. All weariness had fallen from him and a number of small aches and pains troubled him no longer.

  She nodded. “We have found what we needed to know. Now we must deal with Weaver and the Blight.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “The Blight must be eradicated if we can do so. Contained, if it is not. If worst comes to worst we must use the flame that cleanses. And we will need allies.”

  “You want my Order to help you.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you are letting me go.”

  “We will aid you to reach the boundaries of our land, provide you with food and water and a steed when you get there.”

  She produced a large brown leaf folded around something, unwrapped it and removed what looked like a small green gem. It was a piece of resin of some sort. “When you are ready, burn this, and breathe the incense. It will let you visit the Green once more and communicate with the Listeners.”

  He took the resin. It felt a little sticky under his fingers. He packed it once more in its leaf and placed it within his pouch. She tilted her head to one side and studied him with her strange green eyes, leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

  “Farewell,” she said. “We shall meet again before this is ended.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  KORMAK LOOKED BACK at the army strung out along the road behind him. There were thousands of armed and armoured men there and he prayed to the Holy Sun that it would be enough.

  The great Dragon banner of his Order was at the forefront, borne by a company of brothers. It was the sign of the Burning, the summons that had brought all of these petty noblemen together. It had not been raised in this part of the world in decades but all of the local rulers knew what it meant. That their lands were threatened by a supernatural force so great that the Order of the Dawn felt it necessary to call on their aid. He could see the faces of the brothers carrying it. They were all younger men, and they were proud, revelling in the importance at being at the head of the Burning, in knowing that the organisation to which they belonged was capable of wielding such power. Other than the Order only the King of Taurea would have been able to assemble a force such as this.

  Master Graydon of Westergate did not look as pleased. His old lined face was grim. His armour was bright and well maintained. His surcoat was immaculate. In his youth he had borne the sword of a Guardian and he knew what it was like to ride out against the darkness. He eyed Kormak distastefully, as if he personally was to blame for the Blight descending on the Settlements, as if it all represented some great failure on his part.

  Kormak met his gaze evenly. It had taken him many sessions of questioning to convince the Master to raise the war-banner. He had gone over his story again and again. His description of his dealings with the Kayoga had seemed to particularly incense the old man, as if he suspected Kormak of being hell-bent on committing some foul heresy. He did not like dealing with the elves, so much was clear. It took a lot of gold to organise a Burning, and the Master behaved as if every guilder of the Dawn’s contribution came from his own purse.

  Behind the banner-bearers came another company of the Order’s warriors and then ten Brothers of the Order of the Solar Flame, long allied with the Dawn, skilled in sorcery and alchemy, who would be called upon to purify the Shadowblight when and if the Burning triumphed. He carried some examples of their work on him. He had a new wraithstone amulet that one of them had carved for him. There was not a hint of blackness in its pearly heart. There was pouch of sunflares too, small incendiary devices that could light the darkest night and whose brilliance could dazzle a foe for crucial moments.

  Stretched behind them were the knights. They belonged to the retinues of various lords, and rode under the banner of the lord himself. Here was the red gryphon of Lord Rhys, the lion’s head of Baron Enderby, the bloody hand of Baron Magnus and dozens of others. Behind the knights marched bowmen, spearmen and other infantry, some better armoured than others. Individual mages rode by themselves. Mercenary companies marched almost at the rear, and beyond them, raising clouds of dust was the baggage train and the vast hordes of camp followers.

  Off to one side, accompanied by their personal retainers and wizards were the Lords themselves. Master Graydon had placed Lord Rhys in charge since he was the senior noble but it was clear to Kormak that the other aristocrats resented not being made commander and would most likely make matters difficult for the old man when push came to shove. He could see tall spare Lord Rhys being lectured to by the overweight bearded Enderby, while Baron Magnus sat back on his horse with his usual supercilious smile on his face.

  Kormak was not too troubled by the dissent in the ranks so far. In his experience, things usually settled down once the enemy was met and that would be happening fairly soon.

  Ahead of them was the Eastbridge over the river, the place that marked the beginning of both Elderwood and the Settlements. It was a massive stone structure, out of keeping with the frontier nature of the province but speaking of the monumental ambition of the king who had first seized the land from the elves and whose heirs had forgotten about it on his premature death. It spanned the waters on three mighty arches and it was wide enough for two carts to drive side by side. At each end were guard towers, set to watch against the onset of marauding elves and monsters from the forest.

  It was getting dark and the army drew up on the civilised side outside the walls of the village built around its entrance. The locals had come to watch the arrival of the army. Some were busy trying to sell food, wine or themselves to the soldiers. Others watched nervously, fearful at what so many armed men could do so near their property. Some cheered though and Kormak guessed these were the ones who were most concerned with news from the other side of the river.

  A herald rode up to Kormak. He wore a gryphon surcoat and he looked both very young and very full of himself. “Sir Kormak, my master desires your presence this evening. He would go over the maps with you one last time in the presence of his captains.”

  Kormak nodded. He was watching the army starting to settle down for the night. Pickets were being set, watches assigned. Tents and pavilions were rising. A few men had thrown themselves on the ground, ready to sleep under their cloaks.

  Kormak was pleased that, so far, the weather was surprisingly mild for the time of year. It had taken a month to assemble this force, and the rains had made the roads bad. Under normal circumstances no one would have thought of putting an army in the field so late in the year but these were not normal circumstances. Waiting out the winter and moving in the spring would mean giving the Blight more months to spread, and Weaver more time to recruit.

  One advantage of this was that a higher proportion of the soldiers were professionals. The majority of the peasant levies had been left at home to look after the harvests, the slaughtering of beasts, the preparations for winter. The knights had come, of course, for the prospect of glory and they had brought their best retainers with them so that they might travel quickly.

  Kormak was surprised that so many had ridden out. He would have expected more to be reluctant to leave their lands as the civil war threatened. He supposed that was one more advantage of moving so late. Greedy neighbours would be less likely to take to the field. The fact that they would fall under his Order’s interdict if they attempted to seize the lands of those engaged in the Burning might also have affected their decisions. Or perhaps he was being too cynical. Perhaps there was still a sense of honour and purpose among the Sunlanders. Perhaps something of the old chivalry still beat in their hearts and prompted them to respond to the call of the war against Shadow.

  Kormak rode over to where the members of his Order were setting up their white tents. He could see that Elder Signs were deployed around the ground that had been marked out for them, and sentries already s
tood watching the surroundings. More were posted on the wagons, guarding the cauldrons of the alchemists and the mystical supplies of the wizards. It would be a disaster for those to be lost now. Graydon was right to be wary. The river might protect them now, but it was well not to be too certain of it.

  It was possible that Weaver’s people might raid across the river or send some Shadow-spawned sorcery or creature against them. Taking a breath of the alchemical smells, Kormak decided that anyone doing that would be making a mistake.

  As he rode by, he saw some of the younger brothers pointing to him. He was used to that. Among the Order, Guardians were well known and well-respected, possibly more so than many of the Masters since they stood at the sharp edge of the conflict with the Shadow and the Old Ones. Particularly among the younger brothers there were always those who idolised the Guardians and hoped to become one.

  Kormak rode up to the tent of Master Graydon. The old man sat on a folding wooden stool that his squire had brought him and inspected some scrolls with an intent air. Even here on the borders of war, the business of administration was never entirely left behind. He rolled up the scroll. Tendons moved visibly beneath his parchment-like skin. Blue veins were visible in his hands.

  “Ah, Sir Kormak, tomorrow, if the Holy Sun wills it, we shall free those lands over there from the Shadow,” he said. He spoke loudly and confidently for the benefit of anyone who might overhear them, then he nodded towards the river and said, “Come, walk with me a little, I would consult with you.”

  Once they were out of earshot of the camp, and strolling along the river side, he said, “I am troubled, Sir Kormak.”

  “Troubled, Master?”

  “None of the scouts I sent ahead of us have reported. None of their messenger birds have arrived. None of my spies have reported. Some of them very competent men.”

  “The elves know these woods, Master, and they are swift and cruel.” He had told Graydon as much but the old man had not listened. He supposed he might not have either were their positions reversed.

  “It is worrying. We go into the fight with no more intelligence than we had when you brought word to us a month ago.” He spoke as if this were Kormak’s fault. “The Lords bicker among themselves and we have heard nothing from the Kayoga you claim will aid us.”

  “The men will settle down once they have a foe in front of them and the prospect of war. The sight of the Shadowblight will remind them of what they are facing. And the elves will show. It is as much in their interests as ours to do so.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence.” Kormak studied Graydon quietly. He was sure the Master would rather have been back at his Chapter House in Westergate, scheming with the nobles and eating off silver dishes. He probably missed his bed. Graydon’s thin lips quirked into a wintery smile. “Still we must make the best of things. For the first time in decades, the nobility of western Taurea must take us seriously. Tithes will be paid on time this year, I am sure.”

  “As you say, Master.”

  “Wars are not fought with swords alone, Sir Kormak. Swords must be paid for and all the spells and alchemicals as well. I would see this matter settled quickly and well.”

  “I suspect that will be up to our foes. I doubt they will have any inclination to make things easy for us.”

  “Indeed. I am sure they will prove most recalcitrant. Nonetheless, the Shadow must be opposed and we are here to do it.”

  Why was the old man telling him what he already knew, Kormak wondered. “I understand you have been summoned by Lord Rhys.”

  Some spies had certainly not disappeared, Kormak thought. A pity they were used for spying on their own people. It seemed the Master had known about the summons before Kormak himself had.

  “Make it clear to him that we are facing a terrible foe here. That care must be taken or lives or souls will be lost.” He sounded suddenly deadly serious and sincere and he must have noticed the change in Kormak’s attitude. “Oh yes, Sir Kormak. You are not the only one here who ever held a dwarf-forged sword, or passed through a Blight. This is not my first Burning.”

  There was a cold glint in his eye. “I did not want to believe you, you know, when you first brought news of what was going on here. I prayed that you were wrong but I can see now you were right. Those woods over there have an odd stink to them, and my men would not all fail to report. I wanted to spend my old age in peace. It seems that the Holy Sun has other plans.”

  “It is often the way Master Graydon.”

  “Come, brother, let us pray.” The man surprised Kormak by dropping to his knees and calling for the Sun’s blessing. Kormak did the same.

  Kormak walked through the gathering darkness towards the Commander’s pavilion. Outside minstrels played, jesters tumbled and elegant ladies of the night paraded their charms. The warriors of the noble’s bodyguards paid close attention to everything. Two grizzled-looking veterans stood at the tent flap and watched everything with hawk-like eyes.

  The tent was as large as many houses, and emblazoned with the gryphon symbol. It fluttered on small triangular flags on the support hawsers as well. A proud man and wealthy was Lord Rhys, so much was obvious.

  Inside he could hear a nobleman’s voice rumbling on and on. It was rich and mellow and profoundly self-satisfied and Kormak knew that it belonged to Baron Enderby. “I say we sweep these savages aside with our cavalry and hunt them through the woods.”

  The words had the confidence of the fool. “I do not think cavalry charges work all that well in forests,” said another voice, light and supercilious. It belonged to Lord Magnus.

  All heads turned to face Kormak as entered. He bowed his court bow to each of them in turn and received nods of acknowledgement in return. “Ah here is our returned hero,” said Magnus without altering his tone in the slightest. He always referred to Kormak in this way. He knew that Kormak had saved the life of King Brand on the field of Aeanar and seemed determined to be ironic about it.

  “Here is a man who has spent time among the savages,” said Baron Enderby running his hand through the short black beard that covered his double chins. “Tell him that they will not be able to resist a swift merciless charge.”

  Could he really be so stupid, Kormak wondered, or was it just an act? “They would not if we could bring them to stand their ground against one but I fear that unless we give them reason to they will simply flee before us and ambush us. It is what they are good at and they know the land.”

  “Dishonourable cowardice,” said Enderby.

  “But what we can expect,” said Kormak. He looked at Lord Rhys. “You wished to speak to me, Sire.”

  The tall white-haired old man belonged to the same generation as Graydon. He had the look and the reputation of a man who had spent his life in the field in the service of his king. His eyes were rheumy. He seemed tired as no doubt he had every reason to, if he had to spend so much time in the company of his allies.

  “I wanted to make sure that your Order is in readiness,” he said.

  “Master Graydon assures me that this is so,” Kormak said to remind him that the matter really should have been taken up with the Master of the Chapter House and not a wandering Guardian. Lord Rhys smiled bleakly.

  “And I wanted to go over what you have told us one last time, just in case I have missed anything.” What he really meant was in case Kormak had missed anything but he was too polite to say so.

  “We will face elves and spiders and corrupted humans,” Kormak said. “We will face things from the Blight as well no doubt. They are always drawn to defend their territory when moves are made against it. No one knows why.”

  “Doubtless the evil of the Shadow fills them and forewarns them,” said Enderby.

  “Doubtless,” sneered Magnus.

  “They will not stand and fight against our army. It would be madness for them to do so if they had any other option. Formal warfare is not what they are trained for and not what they excel at. They will strike at us however they can, snipi
ng and ambushing our men, hoping to break our morale. They will, I believe, attempt to capture as many of our troops as possible and carry them off to their tree city, there to corrupt them.”

  All of the men present tried to conceal their fear at that statement. Some of them were more successful than others.

  Lord Rhys nodded at this. “Go on.”

  “How do we bring them to battle?” Magnus asked. For once he was not sneering.

  “We can’t unless they choose to make a stand and there is no reason for them to do so. They have fought using hit and run tactics since men entered these lands.”

  “You still maintain there is only one way to make them fight then,” said Lord Rhys.

  “Yes. We must go into the Blight and attack their home, the Stump of Mayasha. We must burn the forest and the tree. It is the only thing they will stand and defend. It is the heart of the evil.”

  “It is also in a Shadowblight,” said Lord Rhys dryly. “Which both you and Master Graydon have given me to understand in no uncertain terms is a place of supreme danger to both body and soul.”

  “That is nothing short of the truth.”

  “Yet you would still advise that we go there?”

  “If we move swiftly and are careful we can do so. It would mean the men obeying utterly the strictures my Order place on them, and it would mean rituals of purification when we leave the place. The alternative is to cordon the area off, burn a clear corridor around the Blight to prevent it from spreading.”

  “But this will take time and require guards to be set on the land indefinitely,” said Baron Magnus.

  “You understand perfectly,” said Kormak, unable to prevent himself from echoing the Baron’s own dry, mocking tone. He saw the man look at him sidelong. Kormak doubted the Baron would challenge him to a duel. He was too much of a stickler for the prerogatives of his rank, and only a fool would seek a fight with a swordsman of Kormak’s known skill. Still there were other ways the Baron might seek revenge.