Karnov

by Matthew Knight

  “I have been expecting you,” came a sultry voice from the top of the stairs. Her long ruby-red hair spilled over shoulders and down her back. She seemed to float down the stairs—instead of walk—in her saturnine evening gown. She turned her burning emerald gaze upon me.

  My eyes came to rest on the fairest alabaster face I have ever seen. “D’vartha!” I burst out. She stopped on the spiraling stairwell and cocked her head inquisitively, a look of surprise turning to one of amusement.

  “My apologies, fair lady. I momentarily mistook you for another. Though not as lovely as you!” I quickly assured her.

  Xycanthia reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped onto the floor of the chamber. As she did so, a hulking brute in a robe such as the “stable boys” had worn, albeit much larger, appeared. His hands were concealed in his sleeves. The thing’s head was massive and protruded from its body considerably. Its misshapen head was concealed by the same brown fabric from which its robe was made. All that showed was its filmy blue eyes set wide apart. His eyes constantly shifted as they peered at us through slits cut in the fabric concealing his entire head.

  Our host said, “Follow Gruterrig! He will lead you to the feasting hall. You must be famished. I will join you shortly and you can tell me of your travels…” and she added with a hint of menace in her voice, “…and how you ended up here.”

  * * *

  Xycanthia licked her sensuous crimson lips and eyed Qoulitiax seductively as my companion pecked like a bird at the roasted vegetables and bread on her plate. “Eat, child! You have hardly touched your dinner, and I know that you must be starving.”

  I am suspicious of vampyres—especially one as beautiful as Xycanthia—but the meat that she called beef ribs looked genuine to me; and I was hungry enough that I chose to believe that they didn’t come from a human. As I filled up on food and drink I let Qoulitiax continue to answer Xycanthia’s questions.

  “You say you were kidnapped by Njordgraathian raiders and sold to a slave caravan until Karnov rescued you. How was it that Karnov chanced upon the slavers’ caravan?”

  “As I told you before, my father is Count Magne of Turnia. He hired the best mercenaries that gold could procure, and Karnov tracked down the slave caravan and rescued me,” Qoulitiax explained.

  Xycanthia cast her wanton gaze upon me. “Well, he certainly looks dangerous,” the vampyress stated, relaxing her posture and licking her lips invitingly.

  I pretended not to notice and washed down a mouthful of beef with what I was pretty sure was red wine. A young girl in a billowing white gown flowed into the room and came over to Xycanthia. Her garment was stained in the front with crimson, and I was pretty sure it was not red wine. I was also fairly certain that it was a burial gown that she was wearing. The girl’s complexion was wan, and she was entranced. Her flaxen hair was combed back and fell over her shoulders.

  “Don’t come in here like that! Go get changed before you join us!” Xycanthia snapped at the girl.

  The girl said nothing; she just bowed her head and shuffled languorously from the room.

  “Whence do you come, Karnov?” asked Xycanthia.

  “A place called Dahlradia. It is in the northernmost corner of Laeciffia. Centuries ago, it was known for its diamond mines; but in this age, it has fallen into obscurity; and most have never heard of it.”

  “I have heard of it,” Xycanthia responded haughtily. “I have been there, but that was long ago when the place was still relevant,” she said, grinning and showing a glimpse of her fangs in the flickering candlelight for the first time that evening.

  “Who lives here with you?” I said, attempting to find out more about her defenses before I swept lovely Xycanthia’s head from her shoulders with cold steel.

  “There is just myself and a few servants. That is all that I require, other than the company of pretty young ladies like Isle here.” She indicated the girl whom she had scolded only moments agone; Xycanthia’s tone was now sweet as honey. The girl held her hand out to Xycanthia and the vampyress took it and seated Isle close beside her.

  Isle had seen fifteen summers or less, if she had been recently turned, as I suspected.

  “Occasionally I like to have a big, strong warrior like yourself. On a special occasion, it is nice to have both,” Xycanthia said, licking her lips again.

  Why was I plagued with beautiful redheads full of treachery and black witchery?

  “The road out of Klahr-Atoch leads straight to Nehbrektahr, the obvious point by which you would ferry to the closest port at Braenaxtra to board a ship for passage back to Turnia. How did you end up in Cachtice?” Xycanthia inquired.

  “The merchant at the bazaar in Klahr-Atoch told us that Cachtice lay next to Nehbrektahr, and by taking this route it would shorten our travel to the ferry by half a day,” Qoulitiax answered. “I am anxious to return to my family as soon as possible.”

  “Well the merchant lied,” Xycanthia put in angrily, and then, her wicked smile returning, she added with a slight pause “…or…”

  The two short creatures with their white eyes and sewn mouths appeared again and shuffled across the floor in their voluminous brown robes to refill our wine cups. Qoulitiax held up her hand and said, “No more for me. I am tired and feel the need to bed down, if you would be so kind, Lady Xycanthia”. My companion stood up.

  “I had better do the same; we must be on our way at daybreak,” I added, rising from my chair. The room filled up with tension, and the last thing I needed was for Qoulitiax to get separated from me.

  “Gruterrig!” Xycanthia called. No sooner had she said his name than he appeared close behind me. I could hear his heavy breathing just over my shoulder.

  “Show them to their room… in the dungeon!” Xycanthia screamed.

  I whipped my broadsword from its scabbard and spun to face Gruterrig. He stepped back and raised his arms, his robe falling away to reveal deadly gleaming steel. Where his forearms and hands should have been, there were, instead, two short wicked swords. His upper arms were masses of muscle and his face was a grotesque mask from which an axe blade protruded beneath his shaved pate. He groaned and grunted through a mouth that had been long sewn together, and his insane blue eyes beamed at me from his withered mummy-like face. The hulking brute’s whole body was muscular except for his protruding belly which contained a large singular blue eye that burned with rage; in unison with those in his head.

  The monster moved toward me and I swung my sword in a deadly arc that let him know that this was not going to be easy.

  “I knew you were no mere mercenary when I saw you at my door. The stench of vampyre hunter was all over you, and that trollop following you around like a lost bitch puppy is the worst liar in the world!” Xycanthia shouted.

  The vampyress had her arms at her sides, her palms cupped and turned upward; and she was moving her lower arms up and down in a circular motion. She started transforming into the bat-like creature that I had seen encircling her castle when we had arrived. From a pouch at my belt, I quickly took some powdered vervain mixed with an assortment of other herbs that vampyres dread and flung them into Xycanthia’s face.

  She changed back to her semi-human form and fell against the wall, choking. As Gruterrig moved forward, I swung my sword at him once again. I then leapt upon the table and back off, landing beside Isle, and with one sword stroke I sent her head rolling upon the dining room table, spilling the contents of what was left of my wine—with a thump and a ding.

  “Qoulitiax, get behind me! Stay close!” I growled. Runic shapes appeared before my eyes and I quickly traced them on the floor with my sword-point. I could feel my armor pulsing with the essence of the slain fledgling as it ignited the power of the Cosmic Ice.

  Gruterrig’s eyes shifted quickly, and for a moment I thought that he might choose to try to escape, but he came charging at me wildly with his axe-laden head thrown back and his arms whirling swords. Like lightning I tore my dagger from its sheath and hurled it into the
monster’s giant eye glaring out from its belly. The sickly sky-blue eye jetted crimson and Gruterrig doubled up with a horrible groan and fell on the floor. I wasted no time, springing to where he had fallen. I chopped his head off with my sword; it plopped on the floor with a thumping sound, followed by the metallic ring of the axe blade still embedded in the decapitated creature’s head.

  I plucked my dagger from Gruterrig’s bleeding, shattered eye, and raced to where Xycanthia braced herself against the south wall of her feasting hall, trying to recover from the Vampyre’s Bane mixture that I had thrown into her face.

  I grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall, holding my dagger over her heart. “Now, you are going to die; and Ghormanteia’s death will follow!” I growled, drawing back my blade to drive into her heart.

  “Ghormanteia? That bastard, Ghormanteia?” she choked.

  “So, you fiends all know one another?” I grunted, tightening my grip on her throat.

  The power of the phantom-charged armor was so great that even with her daemonic strength, she could not break my grip.

  “He sent me here. Exiled me here. Like you. It is but a jest to him. Next time he will kill you,” Xycanthia coughed out as I released the pressure on her throat.

  I drew back with my dagger and repositioned it in my fist, holding the blade upward to her throat and grabbing her by her lovely crimson locks.

  “Tell me what you know—and quickly—before I change my mind, daemoness!”

  “I knew you weren’t from this world when I first laid eyes on you, Karnov. It was he who sent you here, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye, blood-wench,” I answered, choosing to say as little as possible until I knew what she was about.

  “Ghormanteia endeavors to expand his kingdom throughout the world you know. Once he has subjugated it, he will move into other worlds, like this one. I see you have the spell of the Cosmic Ice available to you. You must be in league with my bitch sister, D’vartha. I heard you say her name when you entered my abode. I thought she had sent you to kill me: such is the love between us,” Xycanthia informed me.

  “Your infamy is known throughout the kingdoms of this strange world,” I calmly replied. “I sought to redden my blade in your daemon-tainted blood that I might return to Ghormanteia’s lair, and avenge the murders of my wife and son.”

  “How did you end up here, Karnov?” Xycanthia asked.

  “I entered Ghormanteia’s lair by the Cosmic Ice,” I told her. “There was an orgy in his chamber and they were burning the yellow lotus. My thoughts were scattered by the fumes of the drug, and Ghormanteia had his giant pet snake coil about me and my horse. I waked up galloping on my mount in this strange world.”

  “White Wyrm! Ghormanteia had the serpent drip its mystical venom onto you and exiled you to Tchorthsis—this world where you now are. He did it as a jest. If you return, he will have White Wyrm swallow you and vomit you back out, turning you into his vampyre slave; or he will simply kill you outright. He knew you were coming. He was prepared for you. Did you notice him peering into any object when you first arrived?”

  “He was looking into an orb that he set aside. I placed no importance on gewgaws at the time. I had murder on my mind!” I ejected.

  “That orb was the Eye of Orlock. It is the eye one of the most powerful vampyre mages that ever existed, set in crystal. With it, Ghormanteia can see several minutes into the future. He will know you are coming just like the first time. Listen! I have a score to settle with that mangy bastard for exiling me here with no way back, and I want the Eye of Orlock! You want Ghormanteia dead! Both things can be accomplished if we combine our resources.”

  I gripped my dagger hard in my right hand. I knew better than to trust vampyres. I looked at Qoulitiax who had been silently standing by, listening to every word. Qoulitiax squinted her eyes and nodded her head at me.

  I turned my attention back to Xycanthia. “Do you agree not to harm me or Qoulitiax?”

  “Aye, Karnov. I agree,” said Xycanthia.

  I looked at my companion, and Qoulitiax again nodded her head at me.

  “Do you not agree that a vampyre is full of cunning?” she asked, adding, “And is that not a woman’s weapon by nature?”

  I lowered my dagger and sheathed it.

  “Very good. I have a plan. Listen!” Xycanthia hissed.

  Book III By Byron A. Roberts

  Chapter I: The Scheme of the Crimson Seductress

  Xycanthia’s viridescent eyes widened as she fixed me with a baleful, fever-bright glare. “Hearken to me, Karnov, traverser of worlds,” the vampyress hissed, her pearlescent fangs gleaming behind her fulsome ruby lips. “You desire vengeance upon the foul Ghormanteia, as do I. By all the black gods of Chaos, I would see that thrice-cursed fiend flayed by the searing light of a thousand suns for the base treachery he perpetrated against me!”

  I folded my powerful arms across my steel-clad chest and smiled mirthlessly at the lissom succubus seething before me. “Aye, we have common cause, blood-witch. I seek his head, you seek the Eye of Orlock. Pray tell what perfidious plot roils within your malefic mind. Speak quickly, lest you desire another draught of my Vampyre’s Bane!”

  The crimson-tressed vampyress sighed wearily, her alabastrine brow furrowing. “You have discovered to your cost that the hoary spells woven by my sister D’vartha are not proof against Ghormanteia’s insidious power. Alone, that fulgid shell of eldritch ice which girds your hulking frame is insufficient to counter his yellow lotus mist and the venom of his ophidian White Wyrm! Something other than your ensorcelled steel is required to bring that devil low!”

  “Then what do you suggest?” I growled. “Out with it, for my time is short, as is my patience!”

  Xycanthia’s sensual lips curled in a cruel smile, her eburnean flesh shimmering in the wan torchlight. “I am the key to victory,” she breathed. “Together we shall cross the void between worlds and wreak our vengeance. My exile in this blighted realm must end. By allying my arcane power with yours, we can sunder the tenebrous shackles which bind me here and voyage beyond the dimensional threshold. Our covenant shall be potent enough to rend the veil and bear us both through the portal. We shall journey through the frozen maelstrom and confront the bastard with steel and spellcraft!”

  “Feh!” I gnarred irately. “The cankerous dog would see us coming by peering into that cursed bloody jewel!”

  “Nay, Karnov! My magicks can negate his ill-born power of temporal foresight, robbing him of that fiendish advantage and evening the odds immeasurably!”

  “And what of that accursed ivory serpent he commands?” I rumbled. “How do we slay that vile abomination?”

  Xycanthia’s beguiling smile widened. “Leave that to me. I can weave the necessary spells to safeguard you from its envenomed maw and empower your azure steel to rend its scaly hide! Once that fell beast is dead, we shall avenge ourselves upon Ghormanteia!”

  “And all you seek is the black orb he covets?” I asked guardedly. “This arcane Eye of Orlock?”

  “Of course, my dear Karnov,” the beauteous blood-witch whispered. “You have my word.”

  Scowling, I turned to fair Qoulitiax, my flaxen-tressed companion, who skulked beside me eyeing the black-clad woman warily. “What think you, lass?”

  Qoulitiax frowned, regarding the sinuous vampyress with naked suspicion. “Why do you desire the orb so desperately, night-bitch?” she snapped. “What power does it truly possess?”

  Xycanthia interlaced her slender fingers and shrugged. “It is merely an object of great historical and ancestral significance to my kind. The Eye of Orlock, arch-mage of the ancient Alunai! Granted, it bestows a minor boon of limited foresight, but scant little else. At any rate, it is far too valuable an artefact to be held by a base revenant such as Ghormanteia!”

  I studied the aquiline countenance of Qoulitiax intently. “Well? I know all too well that the wiles of a woman can be the ruination of both beggar and king. But mayhap you
can see through the veil of her deception, and fathom whether any duplicitous thoughts lurk within her inhuman mind.”

  Qoulitiax sighed, brushing an errant strand of golden hair from her delicate brow. “It seems we have no choice but to ally ourselves with her, Karnov.”

  “Splendid!” Xycanthia exclaimed, her voice colder than the north wind. “We should waste no time! Our journey must begin at once! But first, you must fully empower yourself, my brave Phantom Rider! You shall require all your arcane might to summon the ice-bound portal and overcome the spell of exile which binds me to this desolate realm. Aye, Karnov… you must anoint yourself with the blood of my darkling kin!”

  With a wave of her snow-pale hand, Xycanthia summoned three vampyric myrmidons from the shadows of the glooming chamber. The diminutive, cloaked figures glided silently from the blackness like supine wraiths, obediently assembling before me. Their gaunt and pallid faces displayed no hint of animation, their lifeless eyes gazing mournfully into the brooding bitumen void.

  “Now, Karnov…” the darksome woman whispered. “Accept this sacrifice. Glut the maw of your sorcerous raiment!”

  I needed no further encouragement. My azure blade hissed from its scabbard and flashed like an adamantine talon in the guttering half-light. The chalybeous steel clove the first of the fiends like a scythe through the summer field, sundering its cadaverous flesh. Blood erupted from the riven corpse of the creature and a sapphirean glow immediately flared along the honed edge of the sword. My scintillant weapon sang again and the second vampyre swiftly collapsed to the stone floor, its vulpine face a viscid and mangled ruin. The third dolent entity then duly received the pitiless blessing of my searing blade with wordless gratitude, its malodorous innards spilling from its ankylosed frame. A cerulean aura of sorcerous energy instantly enveloped me, illumining the chamber with a blinding radiance. Suddenly, I was surrounded by the writhing incorporeal shades of the epigones I had slain, their spectral essences flowing into my war-scored thews. The time-lost glyphs of the Cosmic Ice danced before my eyes with a fulgid splendour, swiftly searing their pictographic forms into my frost-cloaked mantle as the relucent armour of eldritch ice blazed about my body, far more brightly than before. The great frozen helm shone ever more radiantly upon my head and my rune-etched blade pulsed with a coruscant brilliance. The ghostly forms of the slain fiends surged within my armour, rippling across the surface of my mail hauberk and steel cuirass like blue mercury as pale wisps of dun-white vapour rose from my ice-bound frame in writhing tendrils. I hefted my crackling sword in predatory rapture.