Masque of Death (Kormak Book Nine) (The Kormak Saga 9) Read Free Page B

clear and brought an eerie clarity to the song.
    “Are you supposed to be a Guardian of the Dawn,” said a voice from nearby. Kormak turned to see a tall man in a costume of silver and white. A horned helmet was taped to his head and held in position with silver-painted linen. He had the sign of the moon on his shield, and his weapon was a wooden sword. Two false arms were attached to his tunic. They held stuffed swords of cloth.
    “Yes,” said Kormak. “I am.”
    “Your costume is not exactly convincing.” The man’s companions, garbed as mountain goblins and dwarves, giggled. A noble and his hangers-on, Kormak guessed.
    “You think so?”
    “You’ve got the blade on your back, and your elder signs look all right, but you could at least have dyed your hair blonde.”
    “Because all Guardians are Sunlanders?”
    “Indeed. Although I can perceive, you are not.”
    “That’s very observant of you. And who may I ask are you?”
    “I am Graghur, the Taker of Skulls.”
    “Your costume is also unconvincing, I am afraid.”
    “And how would you know?”
    “I killed him.”
    The noble laughed. Hearing his mirth, his lackeys decided to laugh too. “At least you play your part with a certain brio,” the false Graghur said. “I’ll give you that.”
    “It’s very good of you to say so.”
    “Have a drink!”
    “Thank you, I already have one.”
    “And everyone knows Guardians are meant to be abstemious.”
    “I know some who are not.”
    “You are determined to keep playing your role, aren’t you?”
    “You’re not the first person to tell me that tonight.”
    “I am not surprised. You would make a very good mummer.”
    Kormak bowed to the man and his hangers-on and strode into the crowd.
    A wizened-looking, grey haired man touched his arm. Kormak looked down into the watery blue eyes of a slight figure garbed in the yellow robes of a priest. A chain containing half a dozen mystical amulets dangled from his neck. Rings marked with mystical runes encircled his fingers. Kormak could not help but notice that one of the amulets was of wraithstone and contained thin filaments of darkness. It was there to protect against the influence of evil magic and blight. Kormak carried a similar one himself.
    “You really are a Guardian, aren’t you?” the man said.
    “I really am.”
    The man’s thin lips twisted into a wan smile.“I thought as much. Even if Count Arald can’t tell a real elder sign, I can. And that is a dwarf-forged blade on your shoulder, isn’t it?”
    “You already know that.”
    The man coughed. It sounded like a lot of phlegm was moving within his chest. “Curious. A Guardian of the Dawn showing up here tonight.”
    “In what way?”
    “I was just thinking that these festivities have almost tipped over the edge into blasphemy.”
    “Drunkenness and licentiousness perhaps but hardly blasphemy.”
    The priest looked at him. “You are sure of that.”
    “I am not a great expert on Church law.”
    “Nor can I claim to be. I trained in other matters.”
    “You are an Initiate of the Mysteries, aren’t you? A sorcerer.”
    The man glanced up at Kormak, covered his mouth, coughed again and then looked around as if he feared they might be overheard. Kormak was not sure why. It would have been obvious to anyone given the number of magical adjuncts the man was wearing. Then again maybe not. Everyone was drunk and pretending to be something other than they were. “I have that honour although, alas, I cannot claim to be a very powerful one.”
    The man sounded uneasy. It was unsurprising. Even Church-sanctioned sorcerers tended to be nervous around members of his order. They were brought up to be. The Order of the Dawn was one way the Prelates of the Holy Sun kept their mages in line.
    Kormak studied the man. His skin seemed sallow and yellowish in the torchlight. His face was lined and his eyes sunken. He looked like someone not-quite-recovered from a long illness. “What brings you to