Andrew J. Offutt - Cormac 03 - When Death Birds Fly.pdf - Andrew J. Offutt - margozap

The black owl appeared.

Huge, malevolent and horrific, it dropped from the flame-lit sky. At its awful screech Syagrius’ war-horse

reared. Not even its training could hold the beast steady in the face of such eldritch terror. The horse threw its

rider and bolted. The consul fell heavily.

The black owl rushed down on him with another ear-splitting scream. Its wings were black brooms, thirty feet

from tip to tip, that drove the summer air in gusts. Its eyes flamed yellow. Its beak was stretched wide for

cracking bones while its feet flexed like twin arrays of metal hooks. Other war-horses scattered in blind fear

before it.

Cormac’s sword was in his hand without his conscious thought. He slashed at the monster—and felt

gooseflesh when his sword passed through its body to no effect. It glared, gathered sinewy legs beneath it,

and made a hopping spring at the Gael. He went down beneath it...

WHEN DEATH BIRDS FLY

The Cormac mac Art Series

THE MISTS OF DOOM by Andrew J. Offutt

THE TOWER OF DEATH by Andrew J. Offutt & Keith Taylor

WHEN DEATH BIRDS FLY by Andrew J. Offutt & Keith Taylor

TIGERS OF THE SEA by Robert E. Howard

THE SWORD OF THE GAEL by Andrew J. Offutt

THE UNDYING WIZARD by Andrew J. Offutt

THE SIGN OF THE MOONBOW by Andrew J. Offutt & Keith Taylor

War of the Gods on Earth Series by Andrew J. Offutt

THE IRON LORDS

SHADOW OUT OF HELL

THE LADY OF THE SNOWMIST

WHEN DEATH BIRDS FLY

“For these are the birds of death:

the Owl, a predator of the night, and

the Raven, presider over battlefields:”

The name of Lucanor Magus strikes fear into the souls

of all who sail the rough seas between Galicia and

Britannia, for the spells of this Mage and Sorcerer are as

evil as his heart—and he means to rule these shores by

whatever means he can. But he reckons without

Cormac mac Art, he of the black hair and light eyes who

has struck his own kind of fear throughout his native

Eirrin and as far beyond as seafarers wander and

tell tales of courage.

Cormac is a warrior, more than a match for

any other with sword or axe, but he is more than that.

The blood of the High Kings of ancient days runs in his

veins; the sorceries of such as Lucanor cannot

overcome him though they come from the very

bowels of Hell!

ROBERT E. HOWARD’S

OTHER GREAT HERO

CORMAC MAC ART

All characters in this book are fictitious.

Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead,

is purely coincidental.

WHEN DEATH BIRDS FLY

An Ace Fantasy Book / published by arrangement with

the authors.

PRINTING HISTORY

First Ace printing / November 1980

Third printing / March 1984

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

200 Madison Avenue, New York, N. Y. 10016

ISBN: 0-441-88088-6

Ace Fantasy Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Table of Contents

Prologue: The Black Owl

The Raven

When Wizards Duel

When Dead Men Attack

No Crown of Laurel

When Kings Plot War

Prince of Corsairs

When Sea-wolves Plot

Demon on a Black Horse

“The Ravens Are Flying!”

10.

When Villains Plot Murder

11.

When Vengeance Reigns

12.

Omens

13.

Shadow from Hell

14.

Broken Owl

15.

Cathula

16.

The Reivers Reived

17.

Raven Uncaged

18.

The Lord of Death

19.

The Battle of Soissons

20.

An Instinct for Survival

21.

Fleecing Nantes

22.

The Soul of Lucanor

23.

The Soul of Sigebert

24.

The Dark Huntsman

When Death Birds Fly

ANDREW J. OFFUTT

AND

KIETH TAYLOR

“The Roman empire is beheaded; in the one City, the whole world dies... All things are doomed to die... every

work of man is destroyed by age... but who would have believed that Rome would crumble, at once the

mother and tomb of her children. She who enslaved... is herself a slave.”

—St. Jerome, A.D. 415

“Gaul was lost to the Empire. If the ruling class of Auvergne held out against Euric the Visigoth... it was for

the sake of the new-won independence rather than from loyalty to Rome. Further north, Syagrius, son of

Aegidius, animated by the same spirit, became a de facto ‘king’ of Gaul between the Somme and the Loire.”

—Larousse Encyclopedia of Ancient and Medieval History

Prologue:

The Black Owl

“For these are the birds of death; the Owl, a predator of the night, and the Raven, presider over battlefields.”

—Alexandros of Chios

Sorcerous evil swooped above Nantes on broad black wings. Hate and Evil slept fitfully in the nighted city

below. Those two dark forces called to each other as land to restless sea. Black wings slanted downward,

riding the wind. The warm summer’s night seemed to shiver around the ragged edges of swooping night-wings

spreading broader than a man’s height.

Sigebert of Metz, more lately called Sigebert One-ear, stirred in his bed and muttered. Much strong wine

without water had gone down his throat earlier this evening, more than one cup drugged by his physician, a

man tight-lipped against his patient’s cursing. The wine brought Sigebert no peace, him most men would have

said deserved no peace.

A recent sword cut had caught and torn one corner of his sensuous mouth, plowed messily along his cheek,

and shorn off the ear on that side of his head. The raw pain of it came into his dreams even through the fiery

fumes of drugs and drunkenness. Even so, in Sigebert the hate was stronger than the pain. Through his

villainous brain burned visions of a sinewy, tigerish Gael of Eirrin and a huge ax-wielding Dane.

“Death for them,” he mumbled, and he panted. “By Death itself—death, death for them! Death slow and awful!

Death!”

Sigebert awoke to the drumbeat of his pain.

His skin was cold with fevered, nightmare-induced sweat. The coverings of his bed pressed suffocatingly on

his limbs and athletic form. Was difficult for him to be certain whether he slept or woke, and in truth Sigebert

hardly cared. He lay gasping and sweating, hating.

Of a sudden he went rigidly still. Eyes invaded his chamber. Eyes—yellow as topaz, lambent, blazing—were

fixed on him from the foot of his bed. Something—not someone—was there, staring.

Am I awake? Surely this too is dream...

His horror-stricken gaze could discern no more than a blocky and indistinct shape that was like a short thick

log, or a man’s head and limbless torso. Black as the heart of midnight it was, indistinct in the darkness of

Sigebert’s draped nightchamber. Yet it gave a strong, foul impression of deformity and, distortion; or perhaps

that was in Sigebert One-ear’s mind, weighted by pain and alcohol.

In his terror he thought that some goblin or hellish fiend had come for his soul, which was admittedly

damned.

The thing moved. Grotesquely, it seemed to shrug and expand. Vast wings flexed and their tips reached nigh

from wall to wall. Their spread was more broad than the height of a tall man. Black feathers ruffled.

The thing spoke... or did it speak? Sigebert heard words... or did he feel them?

Do not cry out, Sigebert of Metz. An you do, I shall be gone, the which will be to your detriment. I bring news

of your enemies.

Night-spirit, Sigebert thought wildly. Some demon in the form of a gigantic bird...

“Who are you?” he said, and heard his own voice croak.

I am the soul of Lucanor Magus the Physician. Far—

Something surged in Sigebert. Relief, preternaturally sent? Blinking and with sudden hope he said,

“Physician?”

Aye. And mage, Sigebert of Metz, and mage!

“You—have you come to help me in my agony?”

Sigebert received an impression of mirth, which angered him even while it despoiled his shaky foundation of

hope. Against your enemies, he was told. Is not your hatred for them as much a part of your agony as your

physical hurts?

This time Sigebert was unable to speak, and the bird continued, voicelessly.

Far to the south, in a village of the seafaring Basques, my fleshly body sleeps. All of me that is significant

has winged hither, to aid you to destroy those you hate whom I also hate—yea, and for greater reasons than

yours! Yet it is known to me aforetime that you will not heed my advice... this time. On the morrow, in day’s

bright light, you will believe this was merely a dream, gendered by your hate and pain. You will ignore it.

Sigebert’s thoughts moved in slow, murky channels. Already he had gone from fear to disbelief to fear to hope

to shattered hope and wonderment—and curiosity. Half drugged and but partly wakeful, he yet put a shrewd

question.

“You know this? Then why trouble to come to me, physician, mage... creature?”

For reasons that you will learn from your folly, and heed me when again I come to you. You know those

enemies I refer to; you well know them and their inhuman prowess and luck! They are Cormac mac Art and

Wulfhere the Skull-splitter of the Danes—those bloody devils of the sea!

At those names Sigebert came wide awake, and hatred pulsed in him more strongly than the pain that rode

his heartbeat. “Ah.”

They live, and thrive. They have taken refuge in the Suevic kingdom, ruled by Veremund the Tall, that

whispery voice went on, that was not a voice. He now employs them. Even now they prepare to leave

Hispania, those bloody pirates. They undertake a mission to the land of the Danes for this same Veremund.

Once I served him. I, Lucanor Magus, served him, and served him well. Now he has exiled me and, could he

lay hands on me, would have me die slowly. They are to thank for this—Cormac mac Art and Wulfhere the

Dane of their ship Raven. May they be accursed and accursed to world’s end and Chaos to come, and the

Black Gods of R’lyeh devour them!

Sigebert One-ear laughed hoarsely. “I know not your gods, mage. But I share your wish!”

Then attend. Three days from this, these pirates leave the port of Brigantium in Galicia, and will sail east. For

a short time they will lie to in a sheltered bay below the Pyrenees. Though they know it not, I await them in

that same region. I shall incite my... hosts to slaughter them, for these Basques are a folk who love outsiders

not at all.

An I am successful in this, you will not set eyes on me again, Sigebert One-ear, for I shall have no need of

you. Should the Basques fail me, these pirate scum will doubtless run by night up the western coast of Gaul.

Past Burdigala, past the Saxon settlements—and past your own city of Nantes. Beyond that lies Armorica,

called Lesser Britain. There they two have friends and can find a measure of safety. An you are vigilant, you

may entrap them ere they reach that haven. In your hands will it lie then, agent of Kings!

Sigebert strained to pierce the darkness with his stare. It seemed to him that the creature crowding his

bedchamber with its presence was an immense, malefic owl. God’s Death! The musty stench of its feathers

was choking him!

Yes, an owl. He could distinguish the bizarre shape of its evilly wise head, the blazing eyes and hooked

beak. Though he saw them not, he sensed too the taloned feet, ready to drive inwardcurving claws with

merciless power through live flesh. An owl; a black owl! The bird of Athena. Silent-winged predator of night.

Terror of those more timid night-creatures it fed upon. Emblem of death and occult wisdom from ancient days.

And vaster than an eagle, this one!

So. A wizard’s soul gone out from the body in tangible form.

In the dim Frankish forests, Sigebert’s people knew of such things, for despite his Latin education and

manners, Sigebert One-ear of Metz was a German: a Frank. His own people called this sort of sorcerous

messenger Sendings, or fylgja. He could not doubt that this owl was real; Lucanor’s fylgja.

Lucanor.

The name was strange to him. Greek, was it not? No matter; the names of Cormac mac Art and Wulfhere

Skull-splitter were very, very familiar indeed. Pirates. Too recently, whilst they sought to dispose of their

sword-won gains ashore, Sigebert had acted in his official capacity as representative of the king. He sought

to take them into deserved custody. Was then that a sword in the hand of one of their men had butchered his

face.

“Be sure that I will act,” he promised, who had been called the Favoured, for his good looks, since he was

first able to walk. No more.

Laughter?

I am sure that you will not! In the light of day you will believe that none of this occurred, and put it from your

mind. You are not the Count of Nantes, nor will you go to him with a tale so doubtful. The more fool you!

Sigebert gritted his teeth and his nostrils flared in an angry breath. He’d like to meet this Lucanor as a man,

and see how sneery he was then!

His visitor saw. Despite its haughty tone, the thing that was Lucanor knew well that it might need this Frank

for an ally. As chief customs assessor of Nantes, Sigebert held some power, and was well informed of all

goings and comings within the city. More, he hated the huge Danish pirate and his dark henchman even as

Lucanor did. Yet Lucanor’s physical body lay far indeed from northward Nantes. It had not been possible for

him to travel so far, swiftly enow to give Sigebert this warning in the flesh. Nor would he place himself

physically in the power of this clever villain until he had shown the Frank his value.

Besides, his spirit double, his Sending or fylgja as the barbarians called it, must return to his body ere dawn,

for the sun’s direct light could destroy it. They were no friends, Sendings and sunlight.

You will remember, the black owl said, or whispered, or thought harshly. You will not believe, Sigebert

One-ear, Frank, of Metz and now of Nantes... but you will remember, and in my time I will come to you

again.

With a horripilating rustle the great fell bird hopped to the window and was gone on spectral wings. Sigebert

felt the air stir. The thing’s shadow was an evil splotch that flowed over buildings and dark streets of Nantes.

Watchdogs and alley curs across the city cringed and whimpered softly at its passing. None dared bark.

The Raven

“The temporary rescue of Italy entailed the permanent ruin of Gaul. A vast horde of Vandals, Suebi and

Alanas, escaping from the central European domination of the Huns, crossed the ill-defended Rhine, and

fanned out across the interior provinces, threatening to invade Britain. Italy was powerless to help, and the

British proclaimed a native emperor... He crossed to Gaul, and expelled the invaders; but they withdrew the

wrong way, not back across the Rhine, but across the Pyrenees into Spain. There most of them stayed. The

(Suevi)... descendants still inhabit northwestern Spain; the Vandals passed on, to leave their name in

Andalusia, ultimately to found a stable kingdom in what had been Roman Africa.”

—John Morris, The Age of Arthur

That same purple night of summer lay on another coast far to the south and west; on Brigantium in the

Suevic kingdom. Here in northern Hispania the night was graciously warm and all but cloudless. The

spacious harbour with its triple bays sighed and surged with the tide.

In a richly tapestried chamber, five men conferred ’neath the beams of a low ceiling. At the head of the

smooth-topped oaken table sat Veremund the Tall, king of this land. Though his long legs were stretched out

he was not the tallest of this extraordinary gathering. At his right hand sat his kinsman and advisor,

tawny-moustached Irnic Break-ax in his tunic of blue with its crossed sets of yellow stripes; Zarabdas the

mage, once a priest of Bel in Syria and now among the Suevic king’s most valued servants, was at his left.

His dusky skin, forked jet-black beard and expressive dark eyes, no less than his eastern robes among the

fair, Germanic Suevi, gave him an air of strangeness and alien mystery that Zarabdas was not ashamed to

exploit. No charlatan, this dark mage among people whose hair ranged in hue from nigh white to a medium

brown, and seldom that dark. His powers and learning were real. So too were the theatrical instincts he had

cultivated, along with his impressive robes.

“Wisdom alone,” Zarabdas had told his king, “will not gain one a hearing.”

Andrew J. Offutt - Cormac 03 - When Death Birds Fly.pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: