Karnov

by Matthew Knight

  “Behold,” I bellowed exultantly, “The Phantom-Clad Rider of the Cosmic Ice is reborn!”

  “You stand now at full potency!” shouted Xycanthia gleefully. “Never before have you served as the vessel to power of this magnitude! Now, weave the enchantment to rend the veil that we may return to Duros Zuil. Bear us hence to Castle Thornhaven with all speed!”

  “To me, Wrathmane!” I thundered, brandishing my howling yard of ice-veiled steel.

  With a thunderclap and a storm-wrought flash of azure light, my heavily muscled steed crashed through the sturdy oaken doors of Xycanthia’s feasting hall and reared before us, his sinewy flanks once again girt by the same icy cocoon of sorcerous energy which encased my own body. I vaulted to my mount’s broad back and swept the slender form of Qoulitiax up to sit astride my saddle behind me, whereupon her trembling arms instantly encircled my waist. “Fear not, lady,” I boomed. “The Cosmic Ice shall not harm thee on the journey, not while you reside within my protective aura. Once this foul deed of vengeance is done, I shall bear thee safely back to your father’s court in Turnia, and by the gods you’ll have a rousing tale to tell indeed!”

  “I pray you are right, Karnov,” whispered Qoulitiax. “I have no desire to tarry long in the lair of Ghormanteia!”

  “Take this,” I said, drawing my long-bladed cerulean dagger from its sheath and pressing it into the girl’s delicate hand. “It is imbued with the spectral power of my enchantment. When we cross the threshold into that seething viper’s nest, dismount and stay hidden as best you can. But if it comes to it, use this blade and aim for the heart of whatever vile thing assails you.”

  “Enough talk!” snapped Xycanthia. “To the castle of my nemesis, and red retribution!”

  Leaning sharply in my caesious saddle, I swept my broadsword downward in a lambent arc, preparing to carve the fell symbol of the tainted chalice which would rend the gossamer veil between worlds and open the frozen pathway to my grim destination. Swiftly I drove the glowing blade into the floor of Xycanthia’s feasting hall, etching the arcane sigil unerringly into the stained tiles. The honed steel scored the stone as effortlessly as a butcher’s cleaver cutting through a bloodied carcass and plumes of azure fire erupted from the furrows in the black marble. And so it was that I summoned the vortex of Cosmic Ice which would transport us from the gloomy environs of Xycanthia’s keep directly to the sanguineous charnel-pit which men called Castle Thornhaven…

  Chapter II: Vengeance in the Citadel of the Damned

  Untrammelled carnage reigned in the black hall of Ghormanteia. Scant seconds after we had surged forth through the cerulean maelstrom of eldritch ice, the battle was joined and my frost-veiled blade was dark with corrupted blood. “Didn’t see that coming did you, devil?” I bellowed to the vampyre lord as I hefted my ensorcelled steel triumphantly.

  With an ireful equine shriek, Wrathmane reared and hammered his iron-shod hooves downward, dashing the brains of a vampyric acolyte to the stone floor in a slurry of grey and crimson gore.

  To my left I spied Xycanthia, now fully transmogrified into her grotesque inhuman guise, rending the throat of a bestial lackey with her searing talons. The vile plumes of the yellow lotus which permeated the cavernous chamber were now wholly ineffectual, negated by the spells of the seductress as she had promised. I could not see Qoulitiax from my current vantage point, but I assumed she had taken cover safely within the shadows as I had bidden her.

  My ancestral blade clove the snarling head from the shoulders of a misshapen creature and I instantly felt its phantasmagorical essence flow into the azure armour which crackled about my frame. Thrice more my sword hewed through vampyric flesh, and the souls of the undead flew instantly to my enchanted aura like lambent moths drawn unerringly to an icy flame. Securing my shield to Wrathmane’s steel-plated crupper, I levelled my gaze at the vile master of Castle Thornhaven.

  “Ghormanteia!” I thundered. “I come for thee!”

  I saw the vampyre-lord scowl, his pallid and toothsome countenance creasing horrifically. His purple silken robes billowed and one of his clawed hands scrabbled for the hidden mechanism concealed upon the arm of his slime-flecked throne.

  “Not this time!” I hissed, pulling a hidden bodkin dagger from the ornate hilt of my sword. With preternatural speed, I hurled the slender stiletto across the chamber and it struck home unerringly, embedding itself within the fiend’s sinewy forearm. Ghormanteia shrieked in pain, the vile keening sound cresting the cacophonous wave of the battle’s din. In an instant I had vaulted from Wrathmane’s saddle and bounded across the hall to my darksome nemesis, laying hold of his fibrous thews and hurling him from the throne’s black dais. And yet to my dismay, I realized he had still somehow managed to activate the hoary device and his regal seat swiftly began to descend into the depths of the bone-strewn floor with a great grinding and groaning sound. But this time at least, the odious devil was no longer seated upon the throne to flee the darkling chamber! I spun to the foul-featured aberration and levelled the point of my glowing sword at his throat. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”

  Ghormanteia grimaced and wrenched my bloodied bodkin from his scored forearm, letting it clatter heedlessly to the black floor. Then the vampire-lord’s hideous chiropteran face contorted into a vile parody of a smile as viscid gouts of slaver dripped from his fanged maw. “I see you have brought the beauteous Xycanthia with you!” he rasped. “That explains why the Eye of Orlock’s gift of foresight has been rendered impotent, if naught else.”

  “Aye! Your sorcery is nullified, devil of Aschorzotha! As is the foul kiss of the yellow lotus!”

  “Well, no matter,” Ghormanteia seethed. “Two lost souls returned from exile. Splendid! The conspirators can die together!”

  A great hissing sound suddenly arose at my back and I turned to see the vast and sinuous form of the White Wyrm ascending from the aphotic pit, its scaly flesh encoiled around the now rising throne. I lifted my coruscant blade just as the beast’s ruby maw yawned open and a torrent of yellow venom lashed forth. The searing ichor spattered my sword and armour, bubbling upon the surface of my ensorcelled raiment.

  “Your cursed venom will not avail you, pit-spawn!” I bellowed. “Now, suffer the judgement of steel!”

  I arced my blade toward the beast’s alabaster flesh and the honed edge bit deep into its writhing ophidian form. A blossom of green blood erupted from its riven hide and the White Wyrm shrieked in sibilant agony. Instantly, the foul creature struck, driving its hooked fangs into my lambent pauldron with terrible ferocity. The withering stench of the beast’s acrid breath assailed me and white-hot pain lanced through my body. The wyrm’s great scimitar teeth sank deeper into my armour and its pallid undulating girth inexorably began to encoil me in a vice-like grip.

  “No!” I snarled. “I will not fall before this abyssal abomination!”

  And as I uttered that oath, a sublime rage enveloped my mind and my ice-bound armour flared momentarily brighter. Tendrils of smoke began to billow forth from the vile serpent’s venomous maw and a heartbeat later it abruptly released its death-hold upon me, rearing backwards with its curved fangs and forked tongue ablaze with blue fire.

  “Feel now the wrath of the Cosmic Ice!” I thundered, driving my sword upwards towards the creature’s scaly head. My blade pierced the wyrm’s lower jaw and with all my might I thrust the azure steel further into its muculent white flesh. With a resonant crack and a gout of green blood, my sword emerged slick and steaming from the transfixed head of the monster. A great tremor ran through the beast’s sinuous body and I dragged my befouled sword free of its riven skull. Before the dread White Wyrm could fall, I summoned all my strength and hacked the beast’s scaly head from its ophidian body. Hot green blood spilled forth from the creature’s twitching bulk in glutinous waves and its ravaged head tumbled gruesomely to the black floor of the chamber.

  “Verminous beast!” I growled. “Thus has your filth been cleansed from the face of cr
eation!” I lifted the visor of my crested helm and inhaled deeply, momentarily savouring my victory over the serpentine titan.

  Suddenly, I was struck brutally from behind and the air was driven painfully from my lungs by the force of the impact. A powerful sinewy arm encircled my throat and filthy talons scrabbled desperately for my eyes. Ghormanteia hissed and tightened his hold upon me, his preternatural strength seeking to constrict the very life from my body in a crushing, iron grip.

  “‘Tis such a pity that my pet has failed to rid me of your accursed presence,” he rasped malefically. “My vassal Nesadomntha will be most aggrieved to learn of the beast’s demise. Well, no matter! It clearly falls to me to finish the job!”

  I discerned the gruesome sound of distending flesh and stretching sinew and knew instantly that Ghormanteia was commencing the transmogrification into his bestial winged form. The devil was evidently seeking the tenfold increase in strength and durability which the fiendish transformation would afford him. “Not today,” I rumbled, and drove my helmeted head backward into Ghormanteia’s pallid brow with all the might I could muster. There came the unmistakable crack of yielding cartilage and the vampyre-lord abruptly released his hold upon me, collapsing heavily to the stone floor. I spun and regarded the fallen revenant, noting with a surge of satisfaction that his vile face was now a ruinous mass of viscid blood and fractured bone. Instantly, I seized hold of the insensate fiend’s voluminous robes with my gore-flecked gauntlet and hauled him unceremoniously to his feet.

  “Know this,” I growled. “The enchantment of my spectral armour will prevent your transmutation as long as you are within my grasp. Now it is time to pay for your crimes, foul one!”

  I glanced about the chamber and witnessed Xycanthia still engaged in battle with the remnants of Ghormanteia’s vampyric brood, her leathern wings spattered with blood, ragged ribbons of torn flesh hanging from her slender talons. Close by, mighty Wrathmane’s ice-shod hooves trampled another fiend’s skull to noisome pulp and the noble steed reared, snorting in primal triumph. A cruel grin crossed my face and I turned my attention back to Ghormanteia.

  “For unleashing your virulent plague upon my land and corrupting my wife and son, I condemn you to death. A death from which there will be no resurrection. I shall have my vengeance this day. And not soon enough has it come.”

  “Wait!” Ghormanteia rasped, blood bubbling from his black lips. “What bargain did you strike with Xycanthia? What does she seek for aiding thee?”

  “Only your sorcerous bauble,” I replied, tightening my grip upon my sword. “And her freedom.”

  Dark laughter welled in the vampyre’s throat. “Only the Eye of Orlock? There is more to this artefact than she has disclosed, human.” Ghormanteia produced the eldritch orb from the sleeve of his robe and held it aloft before me, the glimmer of the chamber’s torchlight reflected in its obsidian depths. “This is but one of Orlock’s eyes! Xycanthia has the other! When both are combined, her power will increase immeasurably. She will possess the might to enslave a myriad worlds and breed a new race of demonic, blood-bloated fiends!”

  I frowned and pulled the aberrant creature closer. “An insidious goal you share with her, so I hear. Pray continue, devil.”

  “Then hearken to me,” Ghormanteia spat. “The blood-witch and I battled over these orbs centuries ago, a conflict which ended in bitter stalemate. Ever since, we have plotted and schemed to seize control of both artefacts. Six score and ten years ago, I exiled her to the realm of Tchorthsis, awaiting the day that our ageless war would inevitably resume. She manipulates you for her own nefarious ends, deluded human! The traitoress must not wrest this orb from me!”

  “An interesting tale, to be sure,” I rumbled. “If what you say is true, then rest assured neither of you shall possess the Eyes. Now, I grow weary of your accursed prattle. Prepare to die!”

  “Fool!” shrieked Ghormanteia, struggling desperately in my spell-forged grasp. “You dare threaten me? I am immortal! I am the Bane of the Alunai, the Master of the Thulagantar, the Scourge of the Thirteen Hells! To your flaccid and mewling race, I am like unto a king!”

  “Indeed?” I growled, hefting my crackling blade. “Then I am Karnov, Breaker of Kings.”

  And with that, I swept the vampire-lord’s head cleanly from his body.

  * * *

  My ice-bound raiment was replete with undead souls, the essence of Ghormanteia empowering me to levels of hitherto unfathomed might.

  The battle in Castle Thornhaven had ceased and the carnage had all but abated. The ravaged bodies of slain vampyres and acolytes littered the stone floor of the chamber and silence brooded over the charnel-keep like a hoary tomb. Suddenly I heard the flurry of leathern wings behind me and I spun to see Xycanthia emerging from the shadows, once more clad in her alluring human guise. Her viridescent eyes sparkled and a cruel smile curled her lips.

  “Well done, Karnov,” purred Xycanthia. “The vile fiend is dead. I have kept my part of the bargain. Now, you must keep yours. Where is the Eye of Orlock?”

  I smiled back at the crimson-tressed seductress. “This?” I said, holding aloft the fulgid, crystal orb. “Such a tumult over so petty a thing. Mayhap I shall keep it and sell it at the bazaars. I hear the merchants of Klahr-Atoch pay decent gold for unusual gems.”

  The smile abruptly faded from Xycanthia’s face. “You cannot!” Our deal was struck! You must not renege!”

  “Enough treachery!” I spat. “There are two Eyes! You did not tell me you possessed the other. Nor did you enlighten me as to the fell power that they are capable of bestowing!”

  “What lies did the foul Ghormanteia tell you?” Xycanthia cried, moving slowly toward me. “Anything to save his feculent skin, I’ll wager. Give me the orb and our covenant will be complete.”

  “Why? So that I may merely trade his tyrannical aspirations for yours? I think not.”

  Xycanthia fixed me with her emerald eyes, a lambent glow radiating from their shimmering depths. “You will do my bidding, Karnov,” she said, her silken voice husky and hypnotic. “You have no choice but to obey.”

  A sensation of opiate bliss suddenly enveloped me and my vision began to blur. Xycanthia’s viridescent eyes burned brighter and my limbs began to feel heavy as a great mantle of weariness swiftly enshrouded my body. Powerless, I watched my hand slowly proffer the orb to the leering vampyress.

  “Yes,” Xycanthia hissed, reaching reverentially out toward the Eye of Orlock. “You have done well, Karnov. By way of a reward, your death will be mercifully swift. Or mayhap I should bestow upon thee the dark blessings of the Red Thirst, so that you may stalk the night at my side for all eternity, becoming the very thing that you revile the most? How divinely amusing that would be!”

  An eldritch moment of utter stillness and absolute silence descended upon the shadowed chamber, as if the eternal heart of time itself had ceased to beat for one single, immemorial instant. Then, with a flash of azure light, the point of a dagger suddenly erupted forth from Xycanthia’s chest and her spell of beguilement was instantly shattered.

  The black-clad temptress gasped, gazing incredulously down at the point of glowing blue steel which had abruptly emerged from her alabastrine bosom. Without a word, Xycanthia slumped to the stone floor and lay still, a pool of dark blood widening beneath her lifeless form like a great stygian blossom.

  My vision cleared swiftly and I beheld Qoulitiax holding the blood-stained dagger, her delicate brow arching. “You did say aim for the heart,” she said with a wry smile.

  “Well done, lass!” I boomed. “That viperous blood-witch nearly had me enthralled!”

  I knelt and searched the folds of Xycanthia’s black robes, my hands tracing the contours of her cold and swiftly disintegrating body. Finally, I located what I sought… the second Eye of Orlock. I stood upright and gazed intently at the twin sinistrous orbs glimmering in my hand. Then, I cast both gems to the floor and crushed them to darkling shards beneath my icy heel.

>   “She was a wretched wench,” I mused. “I must confess that I suspected some manner of duplicity on her part. I just didn’t know precisely what form it would take until the end.”

  “Never trust a vampyre,” spat Qoulitiax with disdain.

  “Words to live by,” I assented. “In truth, I never intended to allow her the orb, so ultimately our deception was mutual. And yet it vexes me that I could not claim her black soul, for the death-blow was not dealt by my hand. Ah well, mayhap her malign spirit now wanders some diabolical undead purgatory.”

  “We can but hope,” muttered Qoulitiax.

  Wrathmane then cantered dutifully from the shadows, his mighty hooves dark with the blood of slaughtered fiends and his steel chanfron and crinet scored with a myriad deep furrows wrought by vampyric talons.