Karnov

by Matthew Knight

  “You mean the old Thornhaven estate? Of course…”

  “Then just as those foolish goat herders, you have also believed it to have been abandoned for many years. Well, that is a myth… You see, it has been discovered that unbeknown to us, the ancient manor has had a new occupant for quite some time. Lord Ghormanteia from the northern Isle of Aschorzotha has claimed the stronghold as his own. It is now ruled by him and his servants. He is an undead sorcerer and a master of the Isle’s secret black magic arts. Lately, there have been a number of vampyric wraiths invading the villages and feasting upon the blood of the townsfolk, turning them into undead creatures of which you may have encountered since your arrival.”

  She raised her eyebrows and looked at me with a questioning expression as she said this. I returned her gaze but said nothing.

  “The unfortunate victims of these vampyres become servants of Ghormanteia,” she continued as she poured water from a jug onto her plants, which made an eerie sighing sound as their roots drank. “These fiends are powerful, and believe me, they have feasted well on these boroughs since you have been away.”

  “How far have they invaded?” I asked.

  “As it appears to me, they have ravaged the whole countryside and beyond. They are a powerful breed and there is no limit to where they can spread their wickedness.”

  As she spoke, I looked down at the voluptuous curves revealed by her form-fitting, frayed garment, and thought to myself that there was something else I’d like to spread… Quickly I shook my head, ridding this thought from my mind, though my eyes still lingered.

  “I must hasten,” I said and was about to urge Wrathmane into full gallop.

  D’vartha stopped me by placing her hand on my knee.

  “Karnov, wait!” she said urgently. “There is something that can be done. The people are living in fear and dying daily by the fangs of these beasts. They need someone with the ability to defeat the dark magic who will bring an end to this carnage. I can grant you that power if you will let me help you.”

  “I’ve told you before woman, I want no part in your unholy schemes of witchcraft!”

  “Listen to me!” she pleaded. “This is no trick. You are the only one in this land with the strength and will who may be able to destroy a menace such as this. Through my secret arts, I can bestow upon you the means to do so.”

  “I must get back to my family,” I said as I lifted the reigns.

  “Fool!” spat the witch. “The time will come when you will return to me, Karnov. And then you’ll beg for what I offer. You shall see!”

  Without replying, I spurred my steed, which reared as we sped off, galloping down the path. Turning my head once and looking back, through a cloud of dust I saw D’vartha staring after me with a malign smirk upon her wanton lips. She then laughed and resumed tending to her garden.

  * * *

  A changeling-birthing full moon shone like an evil eye over the land. By its light I finally came to the dusty, night-clad streets of my home town. Things here were just as they were in the other villages. All the houses were either boarded up or abandoned. There were no signs of life and a sense of panic struck me as I began to fear for my loved ones.

  When I came to the small cottage that was my own, I dismounted and tethered my steed. It was pitch-black beyond the doorway which was wide open. Drawing my sword for safe measure, I warily entered my home.

  Rays of silver moonlight shone through the window panes, and I could see that the place was in a state of disorder. The wooden furniture I had constructed was turned over and household items were scattered about on the floor. I was startled by a fleeing pigeon, which fluttered past me and out the door as I disturbed its slumber on my mantle.

  I soon sensed another movement.

  “Adaira?” I called my wife’s name once. There was no answer.

  I took a candelabrum from a table and reached for a flint from my pack.

  Suddenly, I was struck by a massive blow and knocked to the ground. A familiar sound of screeching and hissing assailed my ears. It was another one of those things! In the darkness I struggled beneath its weight as powerful, clawing hands thrashed at my face. I felt hot, acrid breath on my neck and saw a gleam of white fangs. As it lunged back for attack, I quickly reached up and blocked the jolting bite, catching my steel gauntlet between its jaws instead of letting it rip into my jugular. Then with all my might, I wrenched my arm free of its gnawing grasp and threw the flailing creature from me.

  After arising, I stood ready for the lunge I knew it would make. My eyes had adjusted just well enough to see its form, flying at me with killing speed. With a swing of my sword, I severed the head, leaving it lifeless, just as I had the wraith in the cemetery.

  Before the blood could even wet the floor, another attack launched upon me, this time from behind. A second creature was now upon my back, its legs wrapped around my torso and deadly jaws lashing down toward my neck. I didn’t give this one the chance to get me on the ground. With my free arm, I grabbed the monster by the head and forcefully pulled it off me, slamming it down to the ground and immediately plunging my sword down into where I believed its heart to be. Shrieking once and vomiting forth blood, it lay still, dead at last.

  Gasping for breath, I stood in darkness wary for another attack. After a moment, I gradually stumbled to where I dropped the candelabrum and flint upon the floor. Reaching into my pocket with shaking hands, I produced a match from my pocket and lit the three wicks.

  What I beheld then when that accursed light illuminated the room struck my heart with an ineffable horror I cannot fully describe—upon the wooden floor before me, in pools of blood lay the dead bodies of my wife and child, as I now realized that it was they who assailed me as undead things in the darkness.

  Sorrow and grief overtook me. I fell to the floor and wailed, sobbing mightily over the body of my wife, Adaira. Tears fell in endless streams, mixing with the tainted blood of my loved ones, whom I was forced to slay unknowingly. Despair, regret and defeat were all I knew as my whole world crumbled. My soul burned in mortal agony and I wept long upon the ground, holding and caressing their lifeless bodies in pathetic longing.

  As my mind raced, flooding with memories and sadness, despair soon faded and was replaced by a violent rage. I stood and roared at the top of my lungs.

  Storming across the room, I came to a large, heavy locked chest I kept near my now broken bedside. Taking the key from my satchel, I opened the box, reached inside and retrieved from it a large, spade-shaped shield of decorated bronze and shining steel. This was adorned with my family crest and was wielded by my forefathers in historical battles of old. Also from the chest I took my father’s broadsword which I had kept stowed away and untouched for many years. Armed with these weapons and nothing else, I exited the house, slamming the door in rage, without taking a last glance at my slain family.

  That night with malice in my heart and a thousand curses upon my lips, I took torches and set fire to the cottage. There my lady and I had shared the best years of our lives together, and now I stood alone with nothing but memories and rage.

  Flames blazed before my eyes and gleamed off the metal sheath of my father’s sword. As I stood and watched the house burn, a great hatred seethed through my veins. It was then that I vowed to destroy this race of undead devils and made an oath to myself that Lord Ghormanteia—he who had caused me so much pain—would die slowly by this ancient blade I held.

  Once the house had fully burned to the ground I mounted Wrathmane and left the damned town, leaving the place to the night vultures.

  * * *

  The howling of timber wolves filled the air of the eerie forest. I was now heading back down the dreaded path which had brought me to that house of horror. I rode somberly with the shield of my heritage strapped upon my back and sword at my side.

  As I approached, D’vartha the witch was once again outside her hut, crouching near a flaming, bronze brazier which illuminated the area in a ruddy glow. He
r garden was now ablaze with iridescence as the weird plants flowed in the air like tentacles. She regarded my coming with a sinister smile upon her face as I dismounted.

  “So, you have returned already, dear Karnov,” D’vartha said in a mocking tone as she stood facing me with her hands upon her hips.

  “I have, witch,” I replied.

  “And what of your beloved family you were so eager to return to?”

  “Slain!” I roared in anger. “Slain by the fangs of those wretched monstrosities! I now vow revenge against this Lord Ghormanteia. I will not rest until he and his kind have perished by the sword of my forefathers, engraving my vengeance upon the blade in blood!”

  “I see…” said D’vartha, folding her arms, her bright eyes wide and hair redder than ever in the firelight. “And to what lengths are you willing to go in order to achieve this?”

  “I will do whatever is necessary,” I said grimly.

  The woman smiled mischievously and laughed, clapping her hands once.

  “Well then, shall we begin?”

  “What are you proposing?” I asked.

  “I can grant you an arcane power which will be necessary to battle the vampyre. It will require you to leave your past life behind and sacrifice all that you are. The power will be yours always once I am through.”

  “I have nothing more to live for now besides fulfilling this task. I’m willing to endure anything.”

  “All right, then let’s get started. Come.”

  D’vartha walked over to the garth and I followed her. The small, incandescent plants seemed to reach toward me as I came near. They appeared to be throbbing and emitted a hissing, groaning sound.

  “These are not ordinary plants,” she said.

  “I can see that…”

  The witch revealed to me a long, pointed dagger held in her right hand. She had rolled up the sleeve of her soiled dress, displaying the fairness of her slender arm. Placing the dagger upon her small wrist, she cut an incision, opening her veins.

  At the sight of blood, the mutant vegetation began groaning and lunging toward the open wound. D’vartha held her bleeding wrist above the single largest of the plants, which had a kind of pod above its shrubbery that resembled a head. Down upon it she let the crimson ichor flow. As the blood dripped onto the writhing thing, its pod began to open, revealing sharp thorns in lieu of teeth. D’vartha’s lifeblood streamed into the “mouth” and it drank it greedily. The witch took her hand away, and when the herbaceous wretch had devoured all it was given, its vermicular movements ceased, and it remained still for a moment. Using the dagger, she cut a shred of cloth from her frock and quickly bandaged her bleeding wrist.

  In an instant I felt the ground where we were standing begin to swell as large roots shot from the plant out into the earth. The verdure convulsed, then began to grow and metamorphose rapidly before our eyes.

  As it continued to evolve and expand, new extremities protracted from it that held the likeness of a humanoid. The alchemized foliage shot up until it stood as tall as myself. It was now transmogrified. Bearing a torso of vine, wood, leaves and shrubbery, its legs comprised of the same material were rooted deeply into the earth. In lieu of arms were flailing tentacles with bristles and barbs along their length. The head-like pod was now large and horrible. Its jaws were lined with sharp teeth like razors, and inside was a pink, snaky, worm-like tongue dripping with green liquid. On each side of it were blankly staring eyes like those of a blind reptile, and thick, curving thorns jutted out from its top like devil horns.

  I stepped back and drew my sword at the sight of this. D’vartha put her hand upon my shoulder, steadying me. She then spoke to the monster.

  “Dark entity of inner earth, your aid has been summoned.”

  “Why should I aid thee, witch?” replied the monster in a deep, growling tone. “You who have shown no love for our kind, always nourishing us with the foul elemental substance you call water, when all that we desire is earth and fresh blood! I’d rather you come closer so I can devour your flesh!” The creature hissed and licked the air towards her with its serpentine tongue, drooling green saliva all about.

  D’vartha reached down, and picked up a nearby pail of water. Lunging forward, she splashed its contents upon the abominable flora, which writhed and shrieked in agony the moment it came in contact with the liquid. Its leafy extensions tensed and quivered.

  “Oh, you cruel bitch!” It groaned. “Ask what you will. State your business and be done with me so I can return to my normal state. This wretched form is painful!”

  “Reveal to me dark knowledge from beyond the stars. Speak to me the secrets of the Cosmic Ice!” said D’vartha.

  “This knowledge you seek is not for those of your kind. It would be dangerous to meddle with such things.”

  Once again D’vartha threw water upon the monstrous plant. Once again it shuddered and howled.

  “Whore of foul enchantments!” it moaned. “Very well—the secret lies in blood… In order to enter the cosmic portals, it must be drunk from the vessels of three soul types; the Living, the Undead and the Earthly Demonic… then power must be summoned from the dark forces of three separate multiversal planes while the proper signs are present…

  “But you must beware. There are consequences that…”

  Its sentence was cut short, as D’vartha leaped and swung the long dagger, severing the head from it. It toppled to the ground and green ichor sprayed out. The witch brought out a large glass flask from her satchel, uncorked it and grabbed the plant by its giant stem. She then pulled it forward and down, so that from the stump its sustenance poured down into the container. Quickly after this the decapitated horror’s limbs wilted, its mutated bulk withered and diminished, shriveling earthward until having the appearance of no more than a dead weed amongst the magically animated botanicals.

  “Beware of what?” I asked. “Why didn’t you let him finish?”

  “Never mind,” replied D’vartha as she put the bottle in her sack and wiped the lingering viridity from her blade. “I am now aware of exactly what must be done.”

  I thought about slapping her for being a dumb bitch but decided not to.

  “You said you would be willing to take any measures necessary to achieve your revenge,” she said. “So we shall…”

  She regarded me with a wry smirk, narrowing her emerald eyes that gleamed in the firelight. I returned her gaze but said nothing.

  “I have just collected the blood of the Earthly Demonic,” she said. “We must now seek out and acquire that of the Undead. Did you not slay one of them in the cemetery earlier?”

  I continued looking at her but remained silent, wondering how she could know of this.

  “I thought so.” She grinned again. “Let us go.”

  Chapter III: Summoning the Powers (Phantom Gateways Beckon)

  Dense fog surrounded us like soul-hungry ghosts in a haunted monastery when D’vartha and I approached the graveyard double-mounted upon Wrathmane’s back. The shale tombstones were brightened by the light of the full moon, and the place appeared to be desolate except for the headless corpse of poor Yashanalla, whom I had slain hours earlier.

  Once we dismounted, D’vartha walked over to the body. She set her satchel on the ground and knelt down to put her hand upon the flesh of the dead vampyress.

  “The blood will still be good,” she said.

  From the bag she took her long dagger as well as the decanter containing the demonic plant’s life-fluid. She held forth the arm of the girl and cut a large incision, draining a dark crimson flow into the glass container. Once a good amount had been collected, she released the corpse. It was then that she unbandaged her own wrist and squeezed a small amount of blood from the previously opened wound into the vessel to mix with the rest. Once the three blood types were combined, the liquid turned black and an eerie, red vapor began rising from the opening. She sealed it with a cork.

  The witch became even paler than usual. Fearing that she
might faint from loss of blood, and spill the contents of the container, I knelt down and helped her rise to her feet.

  “Will you be all right?” I asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “We must now begin the ritual. Come.”

  The crude graves made by the townsfolk were assembled haphazardly in their rows. D’vartha led me over to a crossroads between three tombstones. From her sack she retrieved a black chalk made of bone meal and ash. With this she drew a circle on the hard dirt road, and within it, inscribed symbols of a kind I’d never encountered.

  “Move into the circle,” she said.

  I cautiously did as she instructed, urging Wrathmane into the ring. The witch handed me the carafe of black, curiously-moving liquid. She then stripped herself of clothing, revealing her fair nakedness, gleaming silver in the waxing moonlight.

  Afterwards, she took from her stash a struggling black rooster which was bound by the legs, its wings clipped. She held the animal upside down. Waving her long dagger, she made unusual gestures in the air, to the north, south, east and west, and then decapitated the helpless bird. Cock-blood sprayed out. Gathering some of it with her hand, she then began painting symbols upon her nude body with it. These looked similar to the markings she made inside the circle where I stood, but were not exactly the same. After she was finished adorning herself with many of these images, the witch discarded the dead fowl, raised her arms to the heavens and spoke loudly:

  “Dark Lords of the Chaos Spheres, I summon thee. Behold our ceremony of blood and magic. From your fiery thrones, grant us the power we desire…

  “I cry to Voraxia, immortal banisher of Ereyth and conceiver of the Eternal Winter, Xarraph, resurrected queen of Ævänah’s Chaos realm. I praise Majigormis, Sernam Modan and all the horrors of the Shadowgate. By the green hellfire vomited forth from the severed head of Narjukl, heed my call!

  “I ask of Thorn the Godslayer, his demonic sister, Yr, Fenris, father of wolves, and the Shadow Powers of the Elder Dark—Thasaidon, ruler of Zothique’s seven hells, the Old Ones and the Worms of the Earth… Come forth and grant us the dark knowledge we seek!