Karnov

by Matthew Knight

  Qoulitiax stepped closer to me and shuddered. “Can we leave this blighted place now, Karnov?” she breathed.

  “Aye, lass!” I said. “My task here is done. My vengeance is complete. I shall bear thee home, as promised. But before we journey to your father’s distant court, we have one final stop to make. We must pay a visit to the blood-kin of Xycanthia!”

  Chapter III: Return to the Garden of Unearthly Delights

  We traversed the fulgent vortex of the Cosmic Ice, surging through the frozen maelstrom with unparalleled speed. All around us, fleeting images of other worlds shimmered in the spectral shadows of the labyrinth. I gazed in awe as we thundered past a seemingly endless vista of strange and exotic domains; ancient lands wherein black ziggurats brooded, coruscant realms boasting splendid cities which proffered their bejewelled spires to the heavens, and a myriad other darkling worlds which radiated a far more sinister and alien aspect. For a scant second, I glimpsed a desolate scarlet desert studded with mighty crystalline pyramids, then a bleak and blighted landscape above which towered colossal statues hewn to resemble terrifying ophidian titans. At length, the familiar terrain of Duros Zuil became visible in the depths of the lucent ice-scape and I began to rein my steed to a halt. For several harrowing moments, the vortex spiralling around us surged ever more violently and a colossal din akin to the crashing of a storm-wracked ocean filled our ears. Then, the interdimensional portal abruptly vanished and we stood upon the barren heath not five miles from D’vartha’s arboreal abode. Plumes of icy vapour rose languidly from Wrathmane’s flanks and the sheen of eldritch frost which had formed upon my armour during the journey swiftly began to dissipate.

  “That… was amazing!” cried Qoulitiax, shifting excitedly in the saddle behind me. “Even more spectacular than the last time!”

  “A voyage through the heart of the Cosmic Ice does tend to be somewhat memorable,” I replied as I spurred my mount onto the nearby roadway. “Now, let us call upon a rather peculiar enchantress of my acquaintance!”

  * * *

  “I bear a gift for thee, D’vartha,” I said to the red-haired witch as I gazed down at her from Wrathmane’s broad back.

  “Is that so, Phantom Rider?” D’vartha replied, driving her iron tipped pitchfork into the black soil of her sorcerous garden. Her green eyes narrowed disdainfully as she beheld Qoulitiax mounted behind me in the saddle. “Not a lover’s token, I assume?”

  I threw a bloodied bundle of sackcloth to D’vartha’s feet and watched as she quickly gathered up and unbound its hempen folds. A delighted smile then illumined the witch’s face as she pulled the severed head of Xycanthia from the sack and held it aloft by a long strand of its still lustrous red hair.

  “My dear sister!” D’vartha cried gleefully, staring into the grey, cadaverous face of the dead vampyress. “By the dark gods, she’s never looked better! Where in the world did you encounter her?”

  “Not in this world at all,” I replied. “We met in the far-flung realm of Tchorthsis and briefly became allies, for we were both exiled there by Ghormanteia. But I fear her traitorous nature soured the relationship and our covenant was fleeting.”

  Cruel laughter sang from the witch’s lips and she fixed me with an ireful glare. “Ah yes, treachery was always Xycanthia’s way. There was no love lost between us, I assure you. She was a vile bitch to me when we were neophytes in the Welkin Coven, nigh on three centuries past.”

  “Truly? You are older than you look,” I muttered wryly.

  “Why, thank you, my valiant paladin,” the witch beamed, idly twirling her crimson locks. “I do strive to maintain my youthful appearance. At any rate, as Xycanthia and I grew to womanhood, our paths inevitably diverged as she delved deeply into ever more malign sources of arcane power. My wayward sister ultimately sought the dark blessings of vampyrism. I neglected to mention her. Pray forgive me.”

  “Fear not, shamaness,” I said. “Ghormanteia is dead, and I bear thee no ill will. After all, it was your sorcery which imbued me with the power to wreak my ravening vengeance upon that arch-fiend.”

  “And that power is yours for eternity, Karnov,” D’vartha said. “The question must now be posed. How will you wield it henceforth?”

  I sighed wearily. “The vile devil who took my loved ones from me is no more. But there are others akin to him out there. Countless acolytes of the black virulence remain at large. I will hunt them. Wherever they lurk and breed throughout the myriad worlds, I will track them and render unto them the purifying judgement of the Phantom-Clad Rider. The labyrinthine web of the Cosmic Ice is mine to traverse. Although its true nature is beyond my ken, I am certain of one thing… this is what I was born for. This is my destiny.”

  “Well said, Karnov Ice-Blade,” D’vartha said solemnly. “Across the aeons, many others have borne the burden of this power. It is a lonely and desolate path, full of carnage and sorrow. Should you require further aid, you have but to seek me here.” A lascivious smile then crept across the witch’s beauteous face and her green eyes sparkled mischievously. “I can offer you many kinds of succour.”

  I grinned wolfishly and reined Wrathmane away from the witch and her eldritch garden. “Of that I’m sure! Farewell, D’vartha. We shall meet again!”

  Wrathmane’s iron-shod hooves beat a rhythmic tattoo upon the mossy earth as I rode away through the forest of gnarled and shadowed trees, leaving D’vartha’s hovel ever farther in the sylvan distance. I rode in silence, lost in my grim reverie and sombre contemplation as I reflected upon all that had transpired in the short time since my fateful return from the battlefield of Orobos Sandus. Sullenly, I pondered all that I had gained and mourned for all that I had lost. At length, we emerged from the arboreal vault of the deep woods and onto the dusty road once more.

  “That witch fair resembles her vile sister,” sighed Qoulitiax as she gazed up at the brooding, dusk-painted sky.

  I nodded. “That she does! But thankfully, their souls are as starkly different as night and day.”

  “Is it now time to return to my homeland, Karnov?”

  “Aye, lass,” I replied. “It is. But my spectral power has waned during our sojourn here. In order to conjure the ice-bound portal which leads to your father’s realm, I shall need to slake my armour’s thirst once more. Many fiends still roam this land. Their iniquitous souls will suffice to empower me. We shall hunt, fair lady. Once again shall I blacken my blade with the impure blood of the undead. The oath is sworn! The vow proclaimed! Onward to righteous ruin and the harrowing of the damned!”

  And I spurred Wrathmane west towards the setting sun.

  And so it was that Karnov returned the long-imperilled daughter of Count Magne to her home in distant Turnia, steadfastly refusing the bounty of gold and gems which the grateful nobleman duly offered as a reward for the rescue of fair Qoulitiax. Bidding farewell to his beauteous charge, Karnov rode many leagues to the east, compelled by disquieting rumours of an ancient vampyric demigod newly resurrected by a nefarious coven of necromancers far beyond the frontiers of the distant Chang-Liam Empire. But that is another story…

  Episode II: Bane of the Necromancer’s Brood

  Book I By Matthew Knight

  Chapter I: Phantom-Clad Retribution (Clash with Earthly Demonic Scourges)

  Hanging lamps poured an amber glow of honey and sulphur upon the crude streets as cold night-winds from surrounding mountain ranges howled like spectral wolves, blowing my heavy black cloak and chilling the metal shield upon my back. My armored steed and fellow companion Wrathmane’s hoofs clicked upon the dirt and cobblestone road that led to a familiar inn at the center of town. It was there I was heading to try to gather some information—as well as have an ale or two, and warm my bones by their hearth. I had returned to Duros Zuil, and the journey had been long.

  Although aided by the cosmic gateways, due to the recent destruction of Lord Ghormanteia and his haunted estate by my hand over a year ago, the nearby portal that used to exist was now inacti
ve; therefore, I was forced to trek all the way from the nearest one I could traverse, which was many miles away. Even delayed by this small inconvenience, I remained ever grateful for the sorcerous gift which allowed me to dimensionally travel the earth, and fight with uncanny might against those I hunted.

  I’d spent the last year fighting evil in the Far East. Gaining status of royalty in the Golden City of Thuram Kholn, I was treated as a king after vanquishing a deadly threat to their land using the secrets of the Cosmic Ice; a power over the undead which only I possessed. After my great victory, I spent some time cleansing the “golden” city of its remaining corruption—that of the non-supernatural kind. Within a short time, I had dethroned their tyrannical rulers, reorganized their unjust government, and banished their newly-established sinister religion. Afterwards, I spent several weeks enjoying the fine luxuries the place had to offer, while keeping an eye on things.

  One night while asleep upon a silk-clad couch, drunk on the juice of the purple dedeim, and lustfully entwined in the arms of lovely maidens whom I had freed from the nation’s cruel slavery, a dark vision came to me in a dream.

  In my drugged slumber (the dedeim is known for inducing profound trance), I saw a hazy image of people gathered in the marketplace of my former homeland. They were going about their business, as usual. Farmers were selling livestock, young maids mended quilts and jerkins while tool traders and weaponsmiths dealt across wooden booths. I saw old neighbors, kinfolk, and others I knew and loved in my former years; all laughing, trading and bargaining in the town square—just as I’d remembered from old times. It was quite a familiar spectacle and a pleasant reminder of home.

  The peaceful scene suddenly became horrifying as a host of obscene creatures came rushing into the square and began wreaking havoc. They appeared to be vampyres, but afflicted with an otherworldly, cosmic taint. Naked and apparently sexless, their skin had a greenish hue. From their large heads, flailing tentacles writhed in lieu of hair. Their eyes were large and red without pupils, and their noses were like those of cats. Slavering mouths gaped wide, displaying long fangs like those of the undead I was accustomed to, and they drooled green saliva all about as they rushed in.

  The monsters attacked the townsfolk mercilessly. I watched as screaming young girls were ravaged and had their blood sucked dry. Some of the men attempted to fight back, and had their jugulars ripped out, or were dismembered before being devoured. The things were fast and powerful. The alien vampyres even ravished the livestock as they fed upon any living thing in sight. A great hatred arose in me as the entire place became a bloodbath, and all those I recognized and loved had been slain.

  The vision then faded to darkness. When I opened my eyes, a spectral image appeared before me: the transparent apparition of a dark wraith clothed in tattered black rags with its face hidden beneath a cowl hovered in the air before my couch.

  “Karnov…” the wraith hissed. “I bring you news of a great menace to your land. The vision you just witnessed was no mere hallucination. This event was real and others like it are taking place every day. A new breed of vampyre has arrived in Duros Zuil.”

  I was unable to move or say anything, and the women slumbering in my arms remained sleeping as if completely unaware of the supernatural visit.

  “You must return to your homeland,” hissed the shade. “It is up to you to defeat this new threat. Remember, Karnov—your vengeance can never truly be achieved as long as these fiends still roam the land.”

  The phantom faded into thin air, and I was released from its spell.

  The next day I left Thuram Kholn in haste. I knew not who the ghostly visitor was or if the vision I saw was real, but I had to find out for myself—for if the undead were about in Duros Zuil, it would be their fate to die by my yard of spectral steel.

  The road brought me to the town square. This was an open space of cobblestone street, where the locals gathered to do business daily. It was also where the horrible scene took place in my dream. There were street lanterns burning but no one in sight. Only a few of the booths and store carts that were usually set up still stood. The rest were either gone or lay in ruins. The shops surrounding the area were all closed, and some were boarded shut—all except the Wolf’s Bane Inn which was lit up and seemed to be doing business.

  I was about to dismount and head inside before the door opened and two figures stepped out. They were young men, drunk and laughing. One wore a brown, brimmed hat and a long coat, while the other was clad in a vest of thick gray fur and had a premature moustache. I urged Wrathmane to step back into the shadows in order to remain unnoticed by the cackling boys.

  “Did you see that slut in there that Jondar Barthulle was drooling over?” the one who wore the hat slurred.

  “Aye, he’d be right at home with that one,” replied the other. “I’ve seen a sow or two in his stockyard with tits that size!”

  The lads ruptured in hysterics as they stumbled across the empty plaza together.

  “I suppose we’d best not make too much noise in the street—lest those things are about…” said the lad with the moustache.

  “We might want to,” the other replied. “I hear they suck even better than that whore in there!”

  Their cachinnation commenced.

  “Silence,” a voice adjured.

  The boys hushed suddenly, as a figure now stood before them in the lantern light. It was a tall man dressed in noble garb. His face was pale and he had long, straight hair as black as night. He wore an ebon tunic of lace and silk with ruffled sleeves beneath a polished jet steel breastplate that had a royal crest etched upon it in gold. Flowing down his back was a decorated crimson cape that spanned to the ground. He wore ornately armored greaves and gauntlets of polished bronze and onyx. At his side hung a rapier in an elegant scabbard that looked to be a weapon of antiquity. He must have moved incredibly stealthily, as he had come upon the youths completely unaware in the empty street, and even I did not notice his approach.

  “It is not a laughing matter.” The man spoke in a deep, solemn voice and had a foreign accent I did not recognize. “Had you or your loved ones been victims of the attacks, you would not jest so. Be on your way before you awaken them with your foolish chatter.”

  The boys said nothing, but regarded the stranger with surprise and awe. I found his appearance peculiar, and I wondered what a person of his obvious stature could be doing in Duros Zuil.

  Suddenly, the eyes of the moustached young man widened. He looked beyond the newcomer into the dark street opening behind where he stood.

  “It’s too late!” he said and pointed.

  The distant sound of a running mob, accompanied by an uncanny growling and hissing was heard coming from where the boy indicated. Then they appeared in the torchlight—a dozen of the same creatures I saw in my vision: naked, undead, green humanoid things with flailing tentacles writhing from their heads. Their mouths were agape, bearing deadly fangs as they rushed toward the startled humans.

  The dark-haired man drew his sword. “Be gone!” he shouted to the youths who ran away without hesitation.

  Quickly, I spurred Wrathmane out of the shadows and into the square.

  The pale foreigner had already begun hacking at the creatures. He stabbed the first fiend through the heart, causing black ichor to spray. The thing howled in pain before it fell to the ground, dying.

  Wrathmane galloped full speed toward the hideous throng. As one of the creatures lunged toward me, from my mount I swung my sword in a whirling arc, severing its tentacled head. As soon as the putrid thing’s body hit the cobblestones, its soul was released. The tainted spirit visibly flew like a will-o’-the-wisp into my armor, and was absorbed—thus my cosmic transformation was initiated; the blood of the vampyre had activated my supernatural powers. A glowing blue, icy substance encased my rune-etched armor, sword, shield and helm, as the ghostly aura of the creature I absorbed now swirled and writhed along my frame. I felt a cold sensation run through my veins and my mu
scles raged with strength.

  I urged Wrathmane—who had also become empowered by the Cosmic Ice, and clad in a glowing mass of frozen spirit-mail—into the mass of deadly brutes. One was crushed beneath his silver-shod hooves, while I leaned down and thrust my sword into the chest of another, driving the blade down its torso and into its belly, spilling foul green entrails onto the street.

  When the stranger noticed my coming, he looked over toward me and nodded once while fighting. Surprisingly he seemed not amazed or startled by my appearance. He moved with an almost supernatural quickness, as he continued to surgically thrust his ornate blade through the hearts of each creature he encountered. I saw that it was not in the exact place a human heart would be—but this stranger knew precisely where it was.

  I leapt from Wrathmane’s back to join in close combat with the remaining fiends. As I joined in the fray, their sharp, slimy claws swiped at me, only to be pulled away as they wailed in agony the moment they touched my haunted armor. I sliced the head off another and felt a euphoric ecstasy as the blood froze against my frost-encased breast.

  The things fought with a rabid ferocity wilder and much more savage than the common vampyre. They were incredibly fast and moved in quick, staggering motions that were difficult to anticipate. Thankfully, I felt more empowered than ever, as something about spilling the blood of this new breed seemed to fill me with a greater amount of strength than usual.

  One of the beasts charged at the regal swordsman from behind—who was preoccupied slicing open the chest of another fiend. I launched myself between the two, knocking the thing back with my shield. It arose and sprang at me with fangs glistening. Leaping high, I jumped over the assailant and landed on the ground behind it. As the monster swiped at the air where I previously stood, I released my shield and raised my sword high, gripping the hilt with both hands. I stabbed mightily into its back, piercing between its shoulder blades. Driving the spectral blade downwards, I opened a long, vertical incision which bared its spine. Taking one hand from the sword hilt, I grabbed the monstrosity by its naked spinal cord and lifted it into the air. The hellion writhed and hissed as globs of ichor and gore spilled from the gaping hole in its back. The ghostly frost of my being—that was like poison to vampyres—crawled from my gloved hand into the body of the villain. The thing howled and moaned awfully. With great hatred, I tightened my grip and watched as the Cosmic Ice did its work. I reveled in the might I felt and roared in triumph as black blood gushed out of all the creature’s orifices. Its frozen vertebrae shattered and it died before my eyes. The mutilated husk fell to the ground, and I threw the remaining spinal fragments to the tainted earth in disgust.