4 City of Strife Read Online Free PDF Page B

picked the wrong hand to step on.”
    “I can offer you an alternative,” Kormak said.
    “And what would that be?”
    “If you let me pass without any bother, I won’t kill you.”
    A few of the Krugman thugs made whooping noises. Some laughed. One of them urged Dren not to take any lip. Dren paused. Clearly he was a man who had some experience of violence. He was close enough to read the expression in Kormak’s eyes. He saw death there.
    “You made a mistake,” Kormak said.
    “What’s that?” Dren asked.
    “You got within reach of my sword.”
    “You’re that good, huh? You can draw it and kill me before my boys get you.”
    “I’ll kill a few of them as well, to teach them better manners,” Kormak said. Some of the others moved forward. Dren held up his hand. He laughed and muttered, “To teach them better manners, huh.”
    The gang milled around now, confused by what was happening.
    “Let him go, boys,” Dren said. “We don’t want any trouble.”
    He backed carefully away, his face pale. He did not look relaxed until he had got a few of his men between him and Kormak.
    “Uncle Dren, you really going to let him get away with this?” Bors asked. “You’ll be a laughing stock.”
    “And who is going to laugh at me, Bors? You?”
    “Screw this,” said one of the men. “I’m not scared of this bastard.”
    He stepped forward, raising his sword; two of his friends came with him. One of them brandished a mace. Kormak’s sword came clear of its scabbard. The swordsman’s hand left his wrist in a spurt of blood. His weapon hit the ground as its bearer screamed and fell. Kormak took another step and split the second man’s mace, taking off the metal head. The other scrambled away as quickly as he came. Kormak brought his blade up to touch Bors’s throat. The razor edge drew a little blood.
    The men had stopped laughing now. They looked shocked. They had been expecting blood, just not from one of their own. All of them were looking at the fallen man imagining it could be them.
    “Better a laughing stock than dead,” Kormak said. He turned and looked at the gang. “You’d better take care of your friend’s stump. I wouldn’t want him to bleed to death.”
    It was time to get to the Cathedral. He had business that he had put off long enough. He needed to find the man he had been sent to contact.

Chapter Four

    THE CATHEDRAL QUARTER reminded Kormak of his youth in the fortress monastery on Mount Aethelas. All around were robed priests and monks. A few nuns walked to market from their segregated cloisters. The snow fell in great, fat flakes. White drifts crunched beneath his boots.
    Standing in the doorway of a small temple were two cowled men in the black robes of the Order of Saint Mnemon, scholars dedicated to preserving as much ancient knowledge as they could, as one could tell by the large leather books, chained to their waists.
    A man with the completely shaven head of the Order of Penitents walked barefoot through the snow, clad only in a thin white shift. Drops of blood were visible where he scourged himself with his whip. His eyes were ecstatic but whether with holiness or madness it was hard to tell. Two women in the red and gold robes of the Order of Saint Agnetha walked by, one of them looked him up and down with a hot, frankly appraising glance as she passed. Hers was an order where many disobedient young women found themselves put away when they threatened the family honour. It was not famous for its holiness or its chastity. Some of its houses were little better than brothels.
    The air smelled of incense and vibrated to the sound of the great gongs calling the faithful to prayer. Somewhere in the distance a choir chanted the Hymn to the Holy Sun. It was incongruous in the winter greyness, to hear folk sing of green fields and the sun’s golden bounty. It sounded more like a desperate prayer that summer would come again rather than a statement of belief.
    Pilgrims passed on their