by William King
Behind Wesley, the Ghul was beginning to flow towards Lord Tomas. The noble held up his hands in a warding gesture. The misty humanoid shape descended upon him, swirling like mist and the two came into contact. Lord Tomas screamed in a mixture of terror and rage. The Ghul recoiled, swirling away from the Elder Signs Tomas wore. Kormak realised there was another terrible danger here. Without his amulets he would be vulnerable to possession by the Ghul himself if it came for him. He began to move away from the altar. Taking his retreat for fear of the fight, Wesley grinned and closed in. His attacks became ever stronger as his confidence increased. Kormak made his own responses a little slower, as if he was weakening. It was not hard to simulate this, since he was.
The Ghul swirled over to the altar now and hovered over Lady Kathea. She looked up at it with wide, fear-filled eyes. Her mouth was tightly closed as if she was fighting to restrain her screams. The Ghul began to descend on her and paused. Doubtless it perceived that she was chained and this would place it at a terrible disadvantage if it took over her body. It clearly decided against making the attempt and moved away, flowing and wriggling through the air like an insubstantial, ghostly serpent.
Kormak snapped his head to one side as Wesley’s blade cut his cheek, drawing blood. It stung. He realised that the lapse in concentration had almost cost him his life. Nonetheless, it was hard to give the fight his full attention when an even graver danger was closing in. He stepped closer to the knight and they were body to body, face to face. In their present condition, the knight was stronger. Kormak did not care. Seeing the sneer on Wesley’s face, he brought his own head snapping forward, head-butting the man in the nose. Something splintered, blood flowed. Kormak struck with his sword but his timing was off. Wesley got his own weapon in the way but was knocked off balance and fell backward, stumbling. The dwarf-forged blade fell from his hand and went skittering across the floor, disturbing the salt lines even more.
The Ghul swirled ever closer. Wesley did not see it. Kormak did. He dived for his blade, reaching out to grasp it and then rolled to his feet. At once he felt better, more confident, the master of the situation. His sword was in his hand again. He felt whole.
The Ghul descended on Wesley. The knight’s eyes widened and he screamed. His outline blazed and it looked for a moment like he had caught fire. Then the glow concentrated itself in his eyes, and Kormak saw something alien and wicked staring out of them. An odd burbling laugh emerged from the possessed man’s mouth.
“Free! Razhak is free! At last!” He spoke the words in the Old Tongue.
Kormak stepped forward determined to run the demon through with his sword. The glow was already fading in its eyes and it looked completely human now. Its eyes widened as it saw what Kormak carried and recognised its fatal potential. It realised its hands were empty and it turned to run.
Kormak felt his limbs begin to slow. Suddenly he felt feverish. No, he thought this was not the time for his illness to recur. Then he realised it had not. Lord Tomas was chanting a spell, and it was taking its toll on Kormak.
Kormak’s gaze flickered towards the Ghul. Tarsus was trying to block Wesley’s escape, but the possessed knight simply punched him in the face with one gauntleted fist. The old wizard’s head snapped back and he fell. Kormak felt a wave of dizziness overcome him and realised that Lord Tomas had somehow increased the power of his spell. Kormak turned to face him, barely able to stand. The noble continued to chant. Kormak could barely manage to remain on his feet.
Gathering his will-power he reeled towards Tomas, so dizzy he was certain he was not going to be able to make it. All he was doing was putting himself within striking distance. There was nothing else he could think to do.
His feet felt like lead. The contents of his stomach threatened to pour from his throat. The whole room seemed to turn on its axis. Lord Tomas smiled in triumph. Behind him Lady Kathea rose from the altar. She lifted the heavy weight of chains and bunched them in her hands and then swung them with all her strength at the back of her husband’s head. Tomas fell as if pole-axed. Kormak lunged forward with his blade and took him through the chest. Tomas turned and looked at him, surprise and shock in his eyes. “That was not very sporting,” he said. “I expected better of you, Guardian.”
Kormak pulled his blade free then turned and tried to stagger after the fleeing Wesley, passing the slumped form of Tarsus on the stairs. He was panting when he reached the top. He could see that the main gate was open and the tracks of a horse led from it. Wesley or the thing that possessed him had fled into the night. Kormak needed to find his horse and pursue.
He noticed men at arms racing towards him. Some of them held swords, some of them held crossbows. A few of them were already moving to shut the gate. The rest of them surrounded him.
“You must let me go,” Kormak said. “The demon is free.”
“You are going to a cell,” said the guard. “Till we get to the bottom of this.”
Kormak considered jumping them, but they were too well-armed. All it would take was a single crossbow bolt and there would be no one to hunt down the demon.
“You are making a mistake,” Kormak said.
“We’ll see about that,” said the guard.
Lady Kathea entered the cell, flanked by men at arms. She looked Kormak up and down and said, “I must apologise for the misunderstanding, Sir Guardian. I have explained what happened to the guards. They now know that Sir Wesley went mad and killed Lord Tomas. They know he stole our master’s treasures.”
Kormak shrugged. He knew she was telling him this so he did not contradict her story. He was glad she was on his side but it had taken her time to sort things out and now the Ghul had a full day’s lead. It would take Kormak some time to overhaul it and by that time it might have found a new victim, making the hunt far more difficult.
“Where is the wizard, Tarsus?” Kormak asked.
“He is in a bad way,” Kathea said. “He was extremely ill and he hit his head badly when Sir Wesley struck him. I doubt he has long to live. He was a very frail old man.”
“Give him my best wishes,” Kormak said. “I need my horse and my sword and my Elder Signs.”
“You are going after Sir Wesley?” Lady Kathea asked.
“I don’t have much choice,” said Kormak so softly only she could hear. “The Ghul is free and someone needs to stop it.”
“Does it have to be you?” she asked. “I am mistress here now and I could find a place for you in my retinue.”
“You already know the answer to that,” said Kormak. “Anyway, you already got what you really wanted.”
“What was that?”
“Revenge on your husband. His estate for yourself.”
“I find I could dislike you, Sir Kormak.”
“Many people do,” he said.
The snow had stopped. Tracks led away east towards the Mountains of Darkness. Kormak adjusted his scabbard and drew his cloak tight then urged his horse onwards. Behind him, on the battlements surrounding the manor, Lady Kathea waved.
Kormak did not wave back. He kneed his horse forwards, towards the distant peaks.
THE WOLVES OF WAR
The white eye of the watching moon glared down on the burning village. Corpses sprawled everywhere. Most of the dead looked as if they had fled in panic and been overtaken by large beasts. Their flesh was ripped and their bones had been broken and gnawed for marrow. When he’d heard the sounds of violence and cries of pain Kormak had almost ridden on. After all, the civil strife tearing apart the Kingdom of Valkyria was not his fight, but the eerie howling told him there was work for him here.
Another strange echoing cry rang out through the cold night air. It sounded like the baying of a wolf but there was also something almost human in that call. It was answered from a different part of the village. Kormak reached for his sword but he did not draw it. He would only do that if he intended to kill.
His horse snorted skittishly although it had been trained to endure far worse than
this. He got down from its back to inspect the dead.
He had been hoping to find a bed for the night in the local inn. The long chase after the Ghul Razhak through these mountains had left him badly in need of rest. Instead of sleep, he had found only horror and death. It must have come recently, for the bodies were still warm and the blood around some of them had not even started to congeal.
Something huge loped towards him out of the darkness. It had the shape of a man but it was bigger, perhaps half again as tall and perhaps three times as heavy. Greyish fur covered its body. Its head resembled a combination of a man and a wolf. Around its throat was a chain of nocturnium, one of the ancient night-metal alloys, forged into strange and terrible Elder Signs.
The monster opened its mouth and howled. Its long pink tongue lolled from its open maw. Its massive yellowish fangs glittered in the moonlight. Spittle drooled from its jaws and dripped onto the ground.
Hunger burned in its eyes as it moved ever closer. It came on with a terrible confidence, as if certain that it could not possibly be opposed by the man in front of it. It sprang, its leap carrying it far further than any human could jump. It stretched out its arms, long claws glittering in the moonlight, bright with the promise of death.
Kormak stepped to one side. His dwarf-forged blade leapt from its sheath, slashed outwards and parted the creature’s head from its shoulders. Its skin sizzled where the sword edge bit. Even as he watched, the wolf-man changed back into a human being. Its corpse lay there in a pool of pink pus.
Another howl rang out, as if in answer to the dying wolf-man’s cry, followed by a cry of pain.
Kormak moved through the streets of the burning village towards the sounds of screaming. He had heard that things were bad in the Mountains of Darkness and it seemed that he had not been misinformed. He passed a temple, a small shrine really, on fire in the middle of the village. The symbol of the Holy Sun was inscribed on the burning spire. He knew that these people were of the same faith that he himself followed.
He emerged into the middle of the temple square where another wolf-man confronted a villager armed only with a scythe. He was standing over the recumbent form of another human, trying to protect him. The wolf-man advanced with a lazy confidence that seemed entirely justified. The man slashed at it and his blade pierced the creature’s flesh. The skin knitted behind the cut, there was no blood, and it was as if the creature had never taken a wound. Some magic protected it from the effects of normal weapons. Kormak began to understand how just two of these monsters had been able to slaughter the entire village.
Kormak shouted, trying to get the monster’s attention. The peasant looked at him and in the moment when he was distracted, the wolf-man reached out and lazily tore his head off. It stood there, clutching the severed head, blood dripping over its talons. Its mouth lolled open and it seemed almost to be laughing. Kormak walked towards it, blade held at the ready. In the moonlight, the runes on the sword glowed slightly, telling Kormak of the presence of magic, even though he did not need told that at the moment.
The wolf-man seemed confused. Kormak guessed that it was not used to having its victims advance upon it, showing no fear. He also guessed that the creature sensed the power within his dwarf-forged weapon and was alarmed by it. Perhaps it smelled the blood of its companion on him.
Before Kormak could do anything, the wolf-man turned and fled, bounding away faster than a horse could run. It sprang over the wall of the village and raced off into the night. Kormak could hear its howling receding into the distance and knew that he could not overtake it.
He looked around him one more time and could see nothing but dead bodies and burning buildings. There was no sign of any further monsters so he strode over to where the headless villager lay. Beside him was a wounded man in the robes of a priest, a great gash torn in his flesh. Looking at his wound, Kormak knew the man did not have long to live. “What happened here?” he asked.
The priest looked up at him. “Massimo’s Wolves came. They killed everyone.”
“Massimo?” Kormak asked.
“Jaro’s henchman. The wizard. Moondog rebels, the pair of them. Kill them, Champion of the Sun. Kill them all.” He coughed blood and tried to make the sign of the Sun over his ripped chest. His eyes went wide and cold and Kormak realised that the last thing he had seen was the moon, an ill omen for a man of his faith.
Kormak picked his way through the ruins of the village, looking for survivors. There were none. The wolf-men had been thorough about their work. On his way back, he checked the body of the wolf-man he had killed. It still lay there, in a puddle of what looked like liquified flesh. The night-metal necklace glittered on its throat. Looking closely Kormak could see that it seemed to have fused into the flesh.
Kormak prised it free. It tingled in his hand as he touched it. He could feel the foulness in it, the taint of Shadow. It shattered when he struck it with his blade.
A wisp of ectoplasm drifted free and he ran his blade through it too, dissolving it and sending the bound spirit to its final death. Whoever this Massimo was, Kormak thought, he knew powerful dark magic.
He did not want to take his rest surrounded by the dead, and perhaps the wolf-man would return with companions.
In the distance Kormak could see smoke rising. There had been a lot of it since he had started riding through the Mountains of Darkness. Everywhere he looked there was burning and the signs of strife. It felt wrong. It was late autumn, not the time for local lordlings to be making war. He had seen more burned-out villages with the charred bodies of massacre victims strewn through them. He had seen farms and cottages burned to the ground. He had seen the flocks of sheep slain and left to rot.
He had been born in the mountains of Aquilea, a rough land, where clan feuds burned hot and long but he had never seen anything like this. Flocks were for rustling, not to kill and leave lying. This was more like the work of mad beasts than men. It was as if madness had struck right across the mountains.
He had seen their tracks, those of large, armed bands, leading away from the place where the massacres happened. Mingled with those of horses and men had been what looked like those of very large dogs. He guessed the wolf-men rode with the warriors.
Ahead of him he saw a body on the road. There was something about this that was at once repulsive and disturbing.
He reined his horse to halt and dismounted to inspect the corpse. He noticed the smell from many strides away, a peculiar mixture of rotting meat and something else, something suggestive of things long dead. He had a suspicion he knew what he would find even before he reached the body and he was not disappointed.
He knew the man, or he had known in him life. It was the robber-knight Wesley. His features seemed to have aged and at the same time putrefied. His body and his life had been consumed by the Ghul who had possessed him. It feasted on the life energy of its victims even as it took possession of their bodies.
The process was happening faster than it ought to according to the old records. Perhaps the Ghul had been weakened by millennia of imprisonment. Or perhaps some of Solareon’s spells binding it were still in place. In any case, this might perhaps represent a strange stroke of luck. If the Ghul needed to shift bodies constantly it would be easier to identify as the bodies decomposed and it would find it more difficult to locate new victims who would be wary of its appearance.
It seemed like it had already found a new victim, one who had not been wary enough, or perhaps one who had simply been overpowered by the knight. It occurred to Kormak that he had no idea what the new victim looked like. There did not seem to be any witnesses. He studied the ground for clues and found a staff and a bundle lying nearby, the sort that a tinker or an itinerant labourer might have carried. Had these belonged to Razhak’s last victim or was there no connection? In the absence of any further indicators, he would need to presume that there was a connection.
He looked around for tracks and found none. He had encountered no one on the road, so the Gh
ul had not doubled back. It was probably safe to assume that it was still fleeing before him, but for how long would that continue? If it reached a town it would have many more potential victims and many more ways to cover its tracks. Of course, there might be mages there who could help hunt it down. Kormak knew if the hunt took much longer he would need to seek the aid of a wizard himself. He could not simply rely on luck.
Part of him wondered why he was doing this at all. He could simply turn back and leave the Ghul to go on its way. No one would know but him. He could just turn his horse around and head west, back to Taurea and the home of his order. There was nothing to stop him. There were even those who would argue that it was his duty to do so, but he could not bring himself to believe that. The monster was free at least in part because he had failed. Lord Tomas and Wesley had taken his sword and his gear and used it in the ritual that had set Razhak free. It would not have happened if he had not been present and too weak to stop them.
Even as he pondered this he thought he heard movement in the undergrowth nearby. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. If Razhak was present he would need to defend himself. He walked closer to where the sound was coming from and he thought he heard sobbing. He kept one hand on the sword hilt and he pulled the bushes apart. Something looked up at him, large eyes staring fearfully out of a dirt-smudged face. It took Kormak a moment to realise it was a teenage girl.
She looked at Kormak. He inspected her for signs of possession.
“You just going to stare at me?” she asked. Kormak tilted his head to one side. She moved her hand. There was a knife in it. “If you come any closer I will stick you.”
She glared. He studied the pupils of her eyes. They were wide but they looked normal. There was no glaze and she was not looking at him fixedly. Her mannerisms were normal although that might not mean anything. A Ghul like Razhak had centuries to learn how to counterfeit those.