by William King
He pulled himself from the bed. The claw wounds ached. The potion had worn off and he could feel the pain now. His whole body was sensitive to it. There was an easy solution to that.
He stopped his hand as it reached for the medication flask. He had known many men dependent on such alchemical devices to dull their pain. He pulled his hand away. Better just to feel the wounds. They were minor compared to some he had taken and they reminded him that he was still alive.
He looked at the bottle containing Valen’s Elixir. Maybe he should have used it in the catacombs. Maybe if he had Gerd would still be alive.
A knock sounded on the door. He said, “Enter.”
A servant in the livery of the palace stood there.
“Yes?” Kormak said. He did not relax. The habits of a lifetime made him wary.
“I have a message for you, sir,” said the servant.
“Feel free to deliver it.”
“The Lady Marketa, Ambassador from the Courts of the Moon, requests the pleasure of your company.”
The servant’s face was bland but Kormak could tell that he was curious what the response would be. He must be wondering why the Selenean Ambassador would invite the champion of their sworn enemy to her abode. Kormak was curious himself.
“Tell her I will be there.”
“Very good, sir. I will send someone to guide you to her apartments once you have completed your ablutions. Would the seventh bell be acceptable?”
“Perfectly.”
***
Kormak entered the garden courtyard aware that a dozen pairs of unfriendly eyes watched him. An old, old woman led to a table beneath the shadow of a tree. Her face looked lined by the blast of the desert sun. She eyed him as if he were a tramp who had just showed up at the door begging for food. Kormak gave her his politest smile in response. He had found that always annoyed such people. She sniffed and led him forward.
“Your guest, mother,” she said. “The Guardian Kormak.”
“Thank you, daughter. You may leave us.” The Lady Marketa extended one pale and lovely hand as if she expected it to be kissed. When Kormak made no move to do so she smiled and gestured for him to sit. He inspected the rune-inscribed wooden chair before making use of it. Lady Marketa’s smile became amused.
“Are you worried that I might ensorcel you,” she said.
“I was wondering whether it would take my weight. It looks rather fragile.”
“How diplomatic of you to say so.”
“I was surprised to be invited to break bread with the Lunar Ambassador,” he said.
“I am the Selenean Ambassador,” she said. “I do not claim to represent all who follow Our Lady. There are, alas, some who are at odds with my masters and mistresses.”
“Indeed.”
“I invited you here because there are things we should talk about.”
“Does this mean I should listen to what you have to say or that you want question me about recent events beneath the Palace Imperial?”
“You are not a subtle man, are you, Sir Kormak? Or do you just like to give that impression?”
“It’s a hobby.”
She laughed. It was like the tinkling of tiny silver bells; lovely, remote and cold. “You are more entertaining than I expected.”
“I am glad you find me useful for something.”
The mirth vanished from her face. “I know you are useful for many things. That is why you are in Siderea. I do not think it’s an accident that you arrived on a ship that belonged to a notorious pirate and sorcerer. I doubt its chance that you are here as this latest crisis breaks over the palace.”
She paused, waiting to see how he would respond. He looked at the food on the table and said, “Go on.”
“How impolite of me? Are you hungry? Please, help yourself.”
“I have already eaten.”
“Are you afraid I might poison you?”
“You consistently impute me of suspecting you have the most sinister of motives. Why is that?”
Something about his tone reached the ears of the men standing nearby. They were big men, in court garb, with curved Lunar scimitars on their belts. Their hands went to their weapons. Lady Marketa gave the faintest shake of her head and they sank back into dormant watchfulness.
“You are determined to make this less pleasant than it could be,” she said.
“If you have something to say, say it. If you have a favour to ask, ask away.”
“I am curious to know what has been going on. Last night you departed from the ball with the king. This morning the abbot of your order’s local chapter house was summoned, along with all his men. Now the Palace is sealed off. No one in. No one out. There have been rumours concerning all manner of things. Mysterious deaths in the Vaults. The dungeons evacuated. An Old One stalking the catacombs.”
“And you expect me to tell you about this?”
“I may be able to help.”
“How?”
“I possess a good deal of arcane knowledge. There is no one within a hundred leagues who knows more about the Old Ones than I.” It occurred to Kormak that if ever there was a candidate for the person who had unleashed the Old One, she was it. She had the knowledge. She had the power. She had the skill and judging from the way she had been looking at him at the ball she had no great love for King Aemon.
“And why would you want to help the King of Siderea?”
“Because his gratitude might help me with my mission.”
“And what would that be?” Kormak asked.
“My masters sent me here to negotiate the return of the moongate. King Aemon has one in his Museum and all such artefacts are property of the Eldrim.”
Kormak’s eyes narrowed. His lips pursed. “A moongate? Here?”
“Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. The Children of the Moon ruled this land for millennia.”
“I am surprised that the King allows such a thing within his palace.”
“The Palace Imperial is warded.”
“Nonetheless. Such a thing is dangerous . . .”
Her silvery laughter returned. “You have no idea how dangerous.”
“I can make a guess.”
“Yes, you probably can.”
Kormak remained silent.
Marketa saw he was not about to speak. “My offer of aid was sincere. I don’t expect you to believe that but it is true.”
“Does the name Vorkhul mean anything to you?” He asked the question just see her response. Her hand went to her mouth. She gave a faint gasp and her eyes went wide. “I take it that it does.”
“Where did you hear that name?” Her tone was no longer languid and flirtatious. It was the voice of someone who expected to be obeyed.
He paused for just long enough to let her know he was not obedient. “I did not hear it,” he said. “I read it.”
“Where? Mount Aethelas? The fortress-monastery is said, incorrectly, to have the best library in the world.”
“Does the name mean anything to you or not?”
“It means a considerable amount and it is not one I would speak too loudly if I were you.”
“Why not?”
“It might attract the wrong sort of attention.”
“I am used to that.”
“I am not.”
Was it possible she was afraid? She gave the impression of hiding nervousness but all Lunar witches were consummate actresses. He had experience of that.
“So far you have not been very helpful,” he said.
“I would have thought my response would have told you enough.”
“You are attempting to make me believe that the name frightens you.”
“For the simple reason that it does.”
“And why does it do that?”
She glanced around. “I am not sure this is the time or the place to discuss that.”
“I can think of none better. We sit in your garden. There are no visible eavesdroppers. There are no secret passages.”
“And I am sure you have warded this place against them. Unless of course, you intend for this conversation to be overheard.”
“You are a suspicious man.”
“Alas, a lifetime of dealing with the wrong sort of people has left me so.”
“This place is, as you surmise, warded. There are however other things I need to consider.” She glanced at the armed men who stood within earshot.
“You are worried that your own bodyguards might overhear?”
She looked down at her glass and then brought her head up to study him from under her lashes. “The King-Emperor is not the only one who spies on me,” she said. “My superiors and my rivals do to.”
“Tell me about Vorkhul.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“VORKHUL,” THE LADY Marketa said. She glanced around. Her bodyguards had withdrawn far from earshot. They eyed Kormak nervously. They knew they were too far away to perform their function should he prove a threat. “Vorkhul. It means born of darkness. Not a name I ever expected to hear in this place. Tell me, where did you read this name?”
And there it was; the wedge that would allow her to question him. He considered his response for a moment. “On a coffin. In the King’s Vault in the catacombs.”
She seemed almost relieved. “On a coffin?”
“A sarcophagus made of sungold and orichalcum and other starmetals. Inscribed with elder signs of containment. The workmanship was pre-Solari. Perhaps from the Sunken Kingdoms.”
“What?”
“I am just telling you where I read the name. Who was Vorkhul?”
“One of the Firstborn, a Prince of the Moon, a warlord and a dominator. One of the Thirteen who betrayed Our Lady and caused her to turn her face from her people. He swore allegiance to Zothaqua, the Watcher in the Darkness, a Prince of Shadow. He became a Shadowlord himself.”
“And someone has just sent his coffin to the King of Siderea.”
“It is not his coffin. The Old Ones do not die as we do. They are not interred.”
“If it is not his coffin, what is it?”
“I do not know. Vorkhul vanished during the Elder Wars, slain by the Angels of the Sun along with the rest of the Shadowlords.”
“Was he?”
“There was something within the sarcophagus, wasn’t there?”
Kormak nodded.
“It cannot have been Vorkhul,” she whispered. “He is long gone. His sigil has been erased from the Stones of Memory. His rune is redacted from the Book of Names. It is remembered by the Shadow Watchers and whispered in secret by those who stand in the Darkness.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Please do. Now if you will excuse me, you have given me much to think upon.
And to communicate to your masters, Kormak thought. He rose and bowed to her and made his way from the garden.
***
Vorkhul flowed through the darkness. His modified ears picked up distant sounds and enabled him to measure the echoes of the high-pitched clicks. From these he could tell the layout of even the darkest corridors, measure distance perfectly. He liked the feel of loping along and the sense that his claws could shred anything he encountered.
The scent of mortals was stronger. Traces of them were all around. Aroma trails led away from the catacombs to the surface.
He caught the stink of a human nearby. Perhaps it sensed his presence for it started to yammer, shrieking in a tone that suggested panic.
Metal clinked as the mortal shifted. It was chained. In the dark, it would not be able to see him. These mortals relied on their eyes. The rest of their senses were dull by comparison.
He sprang, sinking his claws into flesh, extending his tongue in a dreadful kiss. Its sharp point spiked through the roof of his prey’s mouth and into its brain. Images surged into his mind as cerebral jelly oozed into his mouth. Oceanic tides of memory threatened to drown out all consciousness.
Ancient recollections rose from the core of his being. He had faced this problem before. It was why life-drinking was forbidden to the Old Ones. Integrating the memories of others was always problematic. He grasped that knowledge firmly. It gave him something to hold onto amid the pain and the fear and the chaos of mingled recollections.
So he had done forbidden things, broken taboos among the Eldrim. Perhaps that was the crime he had committed. The thought swirled away in the riptide of the old prisoner’s recollections.
He swam in human memories. Of a distant childhood. Of a strange religious education. Of bizarre untruths about the nature of the cosmos. He saw the faces of friends and betrayers. He saw accusations of heresy because of his misguided beliefs.
Vorkhul absorbed thoughts and memories and language. Some of the words he had heard made sense to him now.
Who’s there? What is it? Have you come to free me? Where has everyone gone?
He felt the last surge of pain and terror and then the ecstatic wave of sensation was gone, leaving Vorkhul replete. He settled down next to the corpse and started to sort through all the things he had learned.
It was time to see exactly how much the world had changed.
***
“Why did you visit the Lady Marketa?” Frater Jonas asked. He had been waiting in the room when Kormak returned. The servants must have let him in.
“I don’t recall inviting you here,” Kormak said.
“Forgive my rudeness. I thought the possibility of saving your life justified it.”
“In what way?”
“In what way am I saving your life? Or in what way is my rudeness justified?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it was most unwise to consult with the Selenean Ambassador without talking to me first.”
“I was invited to break bread.”
“And did not eat anything.”
“You seem particularly well-informed.”
“Little goes on in this palace that Prince Taran or his humble servant, myself, does not find out about.”
“Then you already know what we talked about.”
“Alas, no one was close enough to overhear. Your back was turned and the Lady Marketa spoke in an obscure variant of the Old Tongue. The garden was warded against any sorcerous form of eavesdropping. Not that the Prince would consider such a thing anyway, of course.”
“Of course.” Kormak thought about what the priest had said. His back was turned. The observer could not understand the language Marketa had used. That implied the spy was a lip-reader or that Jonas wanted him to think so. Did he have agents among the bodyguards or the servants? Most likely. There was little the King-Emperor could not afford to offer. No wonder the ambassador was worried about being overheard.
“So what did you talk about?”
“The Lady Marketa was curious about recent goings on in the catacombs.”
“You told her nothing, of course.”
“I told her about the coffin and the Old One.”
“What?”
“I do not doubt she already knew or has ways of finding out. I wanted to learn what exactly she knew. She offered to help.”
“You believe she would do that?”
“If it suits her.”
“Why?”
“You know as well as I do that there are factions within the Courts of the Moon. Just as there are within the Siderean Court. It may be that helping us would embarrass one and improve the standing of another.”
“Do not trust her.”
“I do not. But she is the greatest expert on the Old Ones within a hundred leagues.”
“I would not be so sure of that. There are scholars on the Wizard’s Island who are masters of such lore.”
“Unless they have spent their lifetimes dealing with the Old Ones, I doubt they are as knowledgeable as she.”
“She is our enemy,” Jonas said.
“The last time I looked you were not at war.”
Jonas said nothing.
“It’s like that, is it?” Kormak said.
“Believe me. That woman and her masters mean harm to Siderea and the King-Emperor. They are the enemies of the Holy Sun and the Universal Church and they always have been.”
“It does not mean that on a temporary local basis their interests do not coincide with yours.”
“You are the last man I would expect to hear expressing such sentiments.”
“Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?”
“Just be very careful, my friend.”
Kormak smiled at Jonas. In the world they lived in there were few friends. Kormak doubted Jonas was his. “There are those who think Siderea and the Selenean Courts are natural rivals.”
“I have heard that theory,” Jonas said.
“It makes sense. On one hand, you have a rising Solar power, the richest nation in the world, master of the great ocean, a military giant. On the other you have an ancient Lunar Empire, with powerful armies, and mighty magics. It sees the Eastern half of the Dragon Sea as its natural sphere of influence.”
Jonas put his goblet down on the table. “The Lunars see all the lands bounding the Dragon Sea as their natural sphere of influence. The Old Ones see all humans as their natural slaves. You forget Sir Kormak that it was not that long ago that this, the most powerful nation of the West, was under their heel. Our kingdom was forged in the fires of war. We evicted the last Lunar overlords scarcely a century ago. They see this land as theirs. There are many humans who in secret still agree. They still worship their false gods despite the demonstrable error of their ways.
“Look to the East. Taurea, once the bulwark of the Sunlands is collapsing into civil war. Belaria is a cockpit of chaos where the Knights of Blood assert the power of their old gods. Even here in Siderea we are plagued by heresy and secret Shadow worshipping cults. King Aemon does not believe this is an accident. He believes the Old Ones are moving against us in secret, weakening our realms. He believes they plan a new Resurgence, to reclaim what was theirs.”
“He may well be right.” Kormak thought of what he had seen on his own journeys. The world was darkening. “But there has been political turmoil ever since the First Empire collapsed.”
Jonas held his glass up and studied his reflection in its side. He lowered it and took a sip. “That is the problem, isn’t it? It might just be the natural state of things. Brother falls out with brother. Ambitious nobles seek to become dukes. Dukes seek to become kings. Everywhere the peasants suffer. It is the lot of man.”