Karnov

by Matthew Knight

I nodded at the beauteous woman. “Be assured, enchantress… I shall strive not to divest myself of it in the future.”

  A sly smile curled the witch’s fulsome lips. “Just as I shall strive not to relinquish my hold on the reins of sanity henceforth.”

  “Indeed,” I growled. “Across two worlds, you left a trail of lunacy and chaos in your wake. You were lucky to escape that realm with your life. I cannot fathom what manner of delirium took hold of your mind while you were possessed by that accursed succubus.”

  The woman’s delicate brow furrowed in mock indignation. “Oh dear, are you chastising me, Karnov? Surely I cannot be held solely responsible for the rune-spirit’s malign plot to traverse the filaments of time and orchestrate the corruption of man’s vaunted divinity?”

  My icy eyes narrowed as I regarded the winsome witch. “Did the spirit sow that debased seed in you, I wonder? Or did it merely cultivate and nurture a notion which already existed within your devious mind?”

  The witch laughed, the sound melodious and colder than hoarfrost. “My dear Karnov, you shall doubtless never know! But it’s a universal axiom that the female of the species is far more deadly than the male.” With that, D’vartha moved to a rough-spun woollen blanket which was laid out next to the fire and slowly reclined upon it. Beside her was the ornate wooden box which still contained the gangrenous, severed head of the vampyress Xycanthia.

  “Why the hell did you bring that thrice-cursed thing back with you?” I grumbled as I moved to the fire and seated myself before its warming glow. “I thought you said you were going to burn it!”

  D’vartha smiled mirthlessly. “Oh, I have something far more effective in mind to dispose of my beloved sister’s earthly remains. That duplicitous bitch deceived me and set me upon a harrowing path of madness and depravity. I mean to repay her tenfold for her base treachery!”

  “Well, keep the reeking thing quiet. I don’t want to hear that head start prattling again.”

  “Fear not, Karnov. The hierophant’s spell of slumber yet endures. It will be some time before she awakens.”

  I sighed deeply. “And you will keep your vow to journey with us to the lair of Nesadomntha and the foetid mound of Esmadrunga? Your sorcerous skills would be a great asset in the coming battle.”

  “I have duly sworn that oath,” the witch hissed. “Judging by what you have told me, that deluded necromancer has dared enthrall an avatar of the Earthly Demonic and bend her divine power to his black will. For deigning to defile the sanctity of the chthonic pantheon I am honour-bound to see him pay dearly for his affront to the ancient ways.”

  “Good! The last time that bloated thing had me in its clutches, it drained me of my sigaldry. And my steel couldn’t even pierce its feculent hide! I have scant little desire to lay eyes on that heaving, repugnant mass again, I can tell you!”

  D’vartha sighed in exasperation. “Well, of course you couldn’t harm her, you lumbering oaf. You’re a man! And one whose power is at least partially derived from the same source, to boot!”

  “Is that so?” I muttered.

  “Naturally, Karnov,” the witch continued. “When dealing with the feminine aspect of the Earthly Demonic, the bumbling, heavy-handed approach of your gender will avail us naught. Such things require the finesse of a woman’s touch. Rest assured, this falls solely within my purview. Leave Esmadrunga to me.”

  I watched D’vartha as she closed her viridian eyes and fell into a fitful slumber. The fabric of her dress shifted subtly to reveal the eburnean flesh of her thighs and it was some time before I was able to tear my gaze from that alluring sight. When I finally glanced back at the fire, I suddenly descried that Asenthine had emerged from his meditative state and was now staring intently at me from across the writhing flames.

  “That witch has a sharp tongue,” he growled.

  “And a sharp mind to match it,” I replied. “Her arcane might is not to be underestimated. We will require her skills when next we face Nesadomntha.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” muttered Asenthine. “This will be our last throw of the die, Karnov. That scurrilous devil will not have been idle during our sojourn beyond the dimensional veil. He will most assuredly have spawned a myriad more of his accursed hybrid abominations. And I’ll warrant he will have bolstered his defences against any who would dare aspire to thwart his nefarious schemes.”

  “I pray you are right, Asenthine,” I hissed. “I long for the embrace of battle once more. Know that I shall blacken my blade in the thick of the fray and rejoice in every impure soul that my enchantment devours!”

  Asenthine nodded silently and stared into the undulating flames, apparently lost in thought. Then, he suddenly levelled his gaze at me and spoke. “We both experienced harrowing visions within the Tunnel of Sorrows. Just what did that vile place show you, Karnov?”

  “You would pry into a man’s deepest regrets and most dolorous woes?” I gnarred. “Nay. I shall keep my own silent counsel regarding that blighted labyrinth of despair!”

  “As you wish.”

  “Mayhap you desire to share your own visions of grief?” I asked guardedly. “I heard you cry out at the loss of your family whilst in that withering purgatory.”

  Asenthine’s pallid brow furrowed. “Aye, that charnel-pit compelled me to relive the cruellest losses and betrayals of my life. And when you have lived as long as I have, the bitter wellspring of woe from which that place drew was deep indeed.”

  “Countless centuries of sorrow,” I muttered. “A truly tortuous ordeal, I’ll wager.”

  “To be sure,” the vampyre said solemnly. “And yet, one of the most pitiless visions was also one of the most recent. The freshest wounds are the most painful, I suppose. You recall what I told you of the vampyre concubine, Noctivia? The one who aided me in my escape from Ghormanteia’s lair?”

  “I do.”

  “As you know, I manipulated that beauteous creature without mercy, wielding my Alunai powers of persuasion and seduction to wholly bend her to my will. The poor wench was so smitten with me that she would have willingly faced the Final Death to ensure my liberation.”

  “A deft and prudent use of your powers,” I ventured.

  “Indeed,” whispered Asenthine. “But there was an unexpected consequence born of the covenant which I induced between Noctivia and myself. So intense was our liaison that I found myself developing feelings for her in response. I loved her, Karnov!”

  “Love, was it?” I grumbled. “Not infatuation, or simply lust?”

  “Nay! Despite the circumstances of my incarceration, I knew that I was in love with that hapless girl, and yet nevertheless I continued to manipulate her without mercy, for I was concerned only with my ultimate goal… that being to facilitate my freedom at all costs.”

  “You acted out of necessity, Asenthine,” I said. “In truth, I know scant little of the nature of trysts which may exist between the undead, but you should not berate yourself so. You had no choice.”

  Asenthine sighed heavily. “In the end, I abandoned her to Ghormanteia’s pitiless vengeance. I knew that he would undoubtedly discover Noctivia’s betrayal and visit upon her a retribution so terrible that I could not begin to fathom the magnitude of its cruelty. But still I fled from that atramentous fortress without a backward glance, heedless of the girl’s desperate pleas that I take her with me. I simply left her to die.”

  Scowling, I took up a goatskin gourd from beside the campfire and swallowed a draught of Abbot Eothoclemes’ spiced wine. Then, I fixed the morose Asenthine with a steely glare. “She was but a vampyre, and her death was no great loss. And be aware that I mean no offence to thee by that remark. But you know the veracity of my words as well as I do. Now, rouse yourself from this damnable morass of self-pity and prepare for the coming battle!”

  For many moments, Asenthine stared at me, his eyes sparkling in the light from the flames. Finally, he spoke, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. “I wonder, Karnov… who in truth is the more bereft of
humanity… you or the inhuman fiends you have vowed so solemnly to destroy?”

  I smiled coldly. “An incisive question, Asenthine. Perhaps we shall discover the answer together, once our foes lie rent and riven at our feet.”

  Chapter II: Of Dreams and Declarations of Vengeance

  I stood alone upon a blighted, niveous plateau, entwined by the ephemeral tendrils of a vivid and portentous dream. Above me, a baleful moon glowered from the benighted sky, its lambent light imbuing the frosty vista with a ghostly radiance. Gazing into the depths of the snow-shrouded dreamscape, I suddenly beheld a lone figure emerge from the boreal mists and take up a silent vigil upon the hiemal plain. The towering eidolon stood deathly still, akin to a great sentinel carved from the very heart of the primeval ice. As I stared at the dolent figure, I descried with some surprise that it was evidently clad in the same spectral armour as that which encased my own mortal frame, its face similarly concealed by a rimy and chalybeous helm. With astonishing speed, the silent paladin hefted a mighty ice-encrusted battle-axe and proceeded to drive the scintillant weapon deep into the frozen earth. Abruptly, a blossom of azure light leaped from the glyph-scored steel and a sound not unlike distant thunder reverberated throughout the ice-bound vista. Instantly, as if in answer to the thunder’s clarion, there appeared from the mist two ranks of armoured knights, their steel-clad heads bowed in reverence, their fulgent swords held solemnly before them as if in wordless prayer. The serried templars stood silently at my flanks as if enacting the rite of some grim and time-lost pageant, all of them as still and sombre as carven effigies. Slowly, I levelled my gaze at the brooding figure which stood at the head of the eldritch procession and watched as it raised a gauntleted hand. Then, the paladin spoke, its voice as resonant as a peal of thunder and yet as soft as a sibilant whisper…

  “Karnov! Stand you ready to learn the secrets of the Cosmic Ice and the true nature of the power which you wield?”

  My throat was tight with anticipation, and yet I found my reply. “I am ready!”

  The stentorian voice boomed again, louder than before. “Know now that the ancient lore of the Brotherhood of the Ensanguined Ice may ravage you and lash your mind like a vessel upon a storm-wracked sea! Will you yet receive the forbidden knowledge of the Threefold Covenant?”

  “I will!”

  “So be it!” the paladin thundered. “Then wait, and watch. Continue your grim crusade against the vile legions of those who walk in death. When the blood moon rises to herald the ascent of the Demonic Trinity, then shall the secrets of the phantom templars be divulged to you. Now, Karnov… awaken!”

  I awoke with a jolt to find myself beneath a towering oak as the first light of dawn painted the sky with rutilant hues. Some yards distant, my party’s campfire guttered, its flames slowly dying with the retreat of the night. There was no sign of D’vartha or Asenthine, but my steed Wrathmane stood silently in the shadows of the yew tree’s boughs where I had tethered him. I rose wearily and made ready to venture forth from our sylvan sanctuary, adjusting my chainmail hauberk and buckling on my cuirass. Methodically, I strapped my vambraces to my forearms and secured my mount’s saddlebags before commencing to hone my ancestral broadsword’s blade with a whetstone. A stealthy footfall from the tree line at my back suddenly compelled me to turn and I beheld D’vartha emerge briskly from the depths of the forest. The witch had evidently fashioned for herself a staff, hewn from the bough of an ash tree and engraved with elaborate runes and arcane sigils. Her snow-pale face was adorned with streaks of woad and her viridian eyes sparkled with a steely resolve. At her hip rested a leather sheath containing a slender dagger with a hilt of polished ivory, presumably purloined from amongst Asenthine’s sizeable collection of weapons. I realized in an instant that the fey enchantress had donned the mantle of battle, embracing that most martial and fearsome facet of her protean nature, that of the War-Witch.

  “You are suitably girt for the fray,” I grumbled, scabbarding my sword.

  D’vartha smiled coyly. “In more ways than you know, Karnov.”

  “Heed me, woman. Last night I dreamt of the Cosmic Ice, and those who have borne its power before me. I have glimpsed them but once before… during my very first sojourn through the frozen labyrinth of that spectral domain. I was told that the secrets of this ageless sorcery would be revealed to me in due course.”

  “Indeed?” the witch replied, her brow arching quizzically.

  “Is there anything you would care to divulge to me concerning this vision?”

  “The Cosmic Ice is a nexus for many things, Karnov. Light and darkness, salvation and damnation. The beginning and the end of all journeys awaits a traveller within that eldritch hinterland. Beware you do not delve too deeply in your quest for revelation, for you may not like everything you find along that parlous path.”

  “Bloody riddles and cryptic nonsense!” I growled, vaulting to Wrathmane’s broad back. “I should have known not to expect a straight answer from a witch!”

  D’vartha grinned, brushing a lock of crimson hair from before her eyes. “Well, we Daughters of the Welkin Coven can’t reveal all our deepest secrets to mere mortals, can we?”

  “Where is Asenthine?” I asked with a scowl.

  “Scouting the road east,” replied D’vartha, taking up the ornate box which contained her sister’s head and placing it into a hessian sack which she then slung carelessly across her shoulder. “He said he would rendezvous with us before the sun reaches its zenith.”

  “Come then,” I muttered, grasping the woman’s slender arm and hauling her roughly into the saddle behind me. “Let us ride forth and see what sublime horrors Nesadomntha has prepared for us. And with any luck, I’ll sup deep of a few more unclean souls before the sun sets!”

  * * *

  For many hours we rode east, glimpsing not another living soul upon the desolate road. With each onerous mile we traversed, the verdant forest flanking the trail yielded ever more grudgingly before the encroaching marshland of Karagh-Ghul. At length, as the veiled sun rose to its apex, the wide roadway dwindled to nothing more than a bemired track until finally it gave way completely to a broad expanse of noisome swamp. With a scowl I reined Wrathmane to a halt.

  “The stench of black sigaldry carries far,” whispered D’vartha, shifting irritably in the saddle behind me. “But it seems we are not alone at the frontier of this blighted place.”

  At the perimeter of the quagmire ahead I suddenly spied the red-cloaked figure of Asenthine, standing as silent and immobile as a graven statue. The lithe swordsman gazed impassively out across the vast morass, one hand resting upon the hilt of his slender rapier. After several moments, he turned slowly to face us.

  “Nesadomntha has not been idle,” the Alunai nobleman grumbled. “The ranks of the Niaughu have been bolstered by a legion of newly spawned abominations.”

  “This news does not surprise me,” I replied sullenly. “What else has your scouting expedition revealed?”

  “My inhuman eyes see far. I ventured some way into the swamp, and grim were the events which I beheld.”

  “Enlighten us, Asenthine.”

  “A retinue of knights from the Grand Duchy south of Zukatia rode to investigate reports of the nefarious activity within this region. They encountered and slew a contingent of the necromancer’s cultists at the frontier of the marsh. But then they made the grave error of venturing deeper into the mire. This morning, the knights were massacred by the Niaughu. None survived.”

  “Fie!” I exclaimed. “Damn those accursed devils!”

  “The Niaughu are indeed a diabolical aberration,” mused D’vartha as she climbed swiftly down from Wrathmane’s back. “The dubious gift of their birthright from Esmadrunga affords them certain arcane advantages.”

  “Aye, a most peculiar breed of vampyre,” I said, levelling my gaze slowly at Asenthine. “But then, so are your own Alunai forebears, judging by what you have told me.”

  “I hope for your sake you are
not likening my vaunted brethren to those Niaughu vermin,” growled Asenthine.

  “Not at all,” I replied evenly. “I merely find the diversity of your kind surprising.”

  “There are numerous races amongst the Ordo Vampyrica,” muttered Asenthine coldly. “The abilities and dispositions of the elder blood-clans vary greatly. But the Niaughu are an impure and debased creation. They are wholly unnatural.”

  “Some would argue that the very notion of benevolent vampyres such as the Alunai is itself an unnatural postulation,” I said with a wry smile.

  D’vartha abruptly cast a cautionary glare at me, which I duly ignored.

  Asenthine merely sighed wistfully. “The secrets of the Alunai are myriad, Karnov. Once, long ago, we presided over our ethereal realm in serene and benevolent glory. The cloud-capped minarets of Seika Heime shone like purest gold kissed by the sun and our aegis was supreme and unopposed.”

  I nodded ruminatively. “Perhaps all kingdoms inevitably fall prey to their own hubris.”

  Anger suddenly flared in Asenthine’s eyes. “Hubris? You dare speak ill of the Alunai’s legacy? We were akin to gods! Divine avatars amongst the Great Houses of the noble vampyre bloodlines!”

  “Undoubtedly,” I ventured. “But gods deprived of worship inevitably become nothing more than myths. At any rate, we cannot tarry here bickering about lost divinity. We have more pressing concerns… such as deciding how best to overcome our foe.”

  “I shall weave a spell of concealment about us,” said D’vartha. “Our approach to Nesadomntha’s reeking sanctum shall be cloaked by magicks, if naught else.”

  “‘Tis a pity that we can gather no allies in this endeavour,” gnarred Asenthine. “But in truth this is devilish work, not suited to the frailty of humans.”

  “Then it falls to us to end this unholy scourge,” I enounced. “We shall ride forth into that vile mere and purify it with steel and sorcery!”

  “Bold words, Karnov,” whispered D’vartha. “And while it is true that no mortal warband exists to aid us, not all armies are raised from the realms of men.”