by William King
He reached the gate. He was about to reach out and ring the bell hanging there but it opened. The servant he had met in the inn waited, cowled against the weather. He bowed and gestured for Kormak to step within. They crossed a rain-slick courtyard, splashing through puddles, then entered the Keep proper. It was warm inside and dry and, in spite of himself, Kormak was glad to get out of the rain.
The Keep was eerily silent. Normally in a place this size there would have been numerous servants and retainers. Here there was only this one silent man, a shadow slipping along among shadows. Kormak was reminded of the barrows the tomb wights had inhabited. This place had something of the same inhuman atmosphere despite the warmth.
The servant stood aside with a bow. Kormak passed him, stepping to one side; his back was against the wall so he was in no easy position to have a dagger put in it. He did not expect violence but it never hurt to be careful.
The room was empty but there was a table covered in platters full of bread and cheese and meats. There were places set for three. Over each was a chandelier which glowed with a steady unwavering light. Whatever those chandeliers held, it was not candles or a lantern of any sort. There was no fire but the place was warm anyway.
Around the walls were many tapestries. All of them had the sheen of the work of the Old Ones, too delicate to have been woven by human hand. They depicted scenes of strange rites in dark woods, the hunting of beasts that many would have considered mythical, and landscapes that had been seen by no human eye. It was not that they depicted another world, Kormak thought. They might have been the local lands seen with senses other than human, filtered through a sensibility that was alien indeed.
In one corner was a suit of armour forged from a silvery black metal that Kormak was certain was not iron. It had been made for someone both taller and slimmer than a human. In its gauntlet hands was a long blade, lighter and much more fragile-looking than anything a man would carry. The weapon looked like it would break in the first passage of blows with a normal sword. Kormak knew that such was not the case.
The servant entered the room and moved forward in a crouch that now seemed somehow less than human. He bowed and indicated a chair.
“The Master has just risen, and will be down at his leisure. He takes some time to waken fully after he has rested. The Mistress wished to change into something more suitable for greeting you. Please be seated while you wait.”
Was there a hint of mockery in the servant’s voice? There certainly seemed to be in the emphasis he placed on the word change. Kormak thought of the bird-like form he had seen soaring above him. He wondered too at the way he was being made to wait. In a human lord, not being there to greet an invited guest would have been an unconscionable rudeness but he knew that the Old Ones did not think as men did about such things. They had a different sense of the flow and value of time.
There was laughter like the tinkling of silver bells. Kormak looked up and beautiful pale-skinned woman stood in the door. She had the fey loveliness of the Old Ones. One of his hosts had arrived.
Kormak rose and bowed formally as he had been taught a lot time ago in the monastery at Mount Aethelas. The Old One responded with a gracious nod of her head. She walked slowly into the room. The dress she wore caught the light and shimmered. Its colour seemed to change as she moved but it hugged her form tightly. She was breathtakingly beautiful in a willowy way. Her face was triangular with high cheekbones and enormous eyes. Her hair was dark and lustrous.
“I give you greetings, Guardian of the Dawn,” she said. She tilted her head to one side and studied him with a look that was frankly appraising.
“I give you greetings, Child of the Moon,” Kormak replied. She gestured for him to be seated and took a seat herself. Somehow the servant was there to put it into place behind her.
“My brother will be here shortly,” she said. “It is his unfortunate habit to rise later and later these days. In the meantime I shall do my best to keep you amused. I am Tarina.”
“I am Kormak.”
“I know that name. You are quite famous among my kindred, Sir Kormak.”
“That could mean many things, not all of them flattering.”
“Please, let us not be tiresome. You are known for many reasons. Your skill with that rather fearsome blade. Your heroism in your war with the orcs. Your connection with the Prince of Dragons.”
“That is a very tactful way of putting it.”
“He is one of whom the Moonsingers chant. They think you will be his masterpiece.”
“You think that what he does is a form of art? It’s an interesting way to look at murder and the breaking of the Law.”
“He was once a mighty chieftain of the Eldrim,” Tarina said. “He hates your people for all they have done to ours.”
“There are causes for hatred on both sides. He has given many.”
“You of all people have reason to feel that, I know. But he was not always thus. Once he was the brightest and fairest of all those who walked in Our Lady’s light. He was known for his kindness and good humour and his charity. Then the Solari came and brought war and fear and death to the lands we ruled.”
“All of those things existed for the Old Ones before the coming of Lightbringers.”
“That is truth. But the Solari were the first humans to truly oppose us. For some of us, it was…refreshing. For others it was a tragedy. It was such for the Prince of Dragons. His kindred were all slain by your knights and priests. His children put to death by your inquisitors. His groves were all burned so that one of your Lords could take his land. He swore a mighty oath that he would have vengeance and the Shadow heard him. It gave him power. It made him terrible. Since then he has fought his war with your kind.”
“An interesting definition of war, to slay innocent villagers and leave one child alive.”
“He is twisted. It is true. It seems Fate has played the joke on him now. It is often the way. If you live long enough, you always see it. Our Lady loves irony.”
“Joke?”
“He spared you. You have become a Guardian, possibly the most dangerous in a millennium. If he kills you, it will be war unto the death with your Order, and they are merciless and implacable. They will not stop until he is dead.”
“If that is your idea of a joke, you have a strange definition of humour.”
“So I have been told.” She sounded thoughtful. “Perhaps it was what he desires.”
“Death?”
“Somehow you do not sound as surprised as I would have expected you to be.”
“I have fought many Old Ones. It seemed to me that many of them desired death.”
“You know us better than most mortals. Ennui overcomes the best of us at the end. Age-long lives weigh heavily sometimes.”
“Do you feel that way?” Kormak asked.
“No. I have my mortal pets to amuse me.” She did not sound entirely certain, he thought, but who was he to judge?
“Is that what those people down there are?”
“They are fascinating in their smallness and their greed and their need to believe in something greater than themselves.”
“The Old Ones believe in the Lady.”
“The Lady is greater than us, even though she has turned her face from us. I once basked in her light. Some day I may do so again. Life is long and there are many pleasures yet.”
“Not if the servants of the Shadow conquer all.”
“The Shadow has conquered before, Sir Kormak. It will conquer again. In the end it passes. All things do.”
“The Shadow enslaves more than mortals. We both know that.”
“The Shadow raises some up, Sir Kormak,” said a much deeper voice. Kormak looked up to see another Old One. He was tall and slender and yet much more broad-shouldered than his sister. There was a family resemblance in their features but Kormak was not sure that meant much in beings who could change their shape. “It lends power to some. It takes it away from others.”
He
smiled, and it was the smile of a great predator revealing its teeth. That smile and the glint in the Old One’s eyes almost had Kormak reaching for his sword. Fierce madness glittered in his gaze. Of course, none of the Old Ones were sane as mortals measured sanity but this one was more obviously mad than most.
“Come now, Malion, be polite. Sir Kormak is our guest and a most honoured one.”
Malion swept closer, his tread that of a great panther. He raised a hand to claw at his face, as if his skin itched. He had no nails, only long talons. They ripped at his flesh, drawing blood. The skin knitted together after a heartbeat leaving no sign of scars. A long tongue licked out, too long to be human, and washed away the droplets of silvery-black blood that glistened on the once-torn cheeks.
As Malion came closer Kormak caught a strange unpleasant scent of rot, unusual in an Old One. Malion sank into a chair and stared at Kormak for a moment. His face was human-like but his pupils were slit like those of a cat and much larger than those of a man.
“Of course, sister, where are my manners?” He reached forward and poured wine into Kormak’s goblet. “See! Now I am being polite. I am serving him with my own hands.”
Kormak felt sure that the Old One only meant to make him flinch by bringing his claws so close. His talons looked like they could rip through armour as well as flesh. Kormak had no doubts that the Old One was strong enough to do so. Malion smiled and this time revealed fangs, pronounced canines like those of a wolf.
Kormak raised the glass in a toast. The Old Ones did too. The wine was rich and strong and there were odd undercurrents in it. He doubted it had been created by any normal process of fermentation. It tingled on his tongue.
“If one of your Order was to die accidentally, Sir Kormak, say of food poisoning would your people swear one of their famous vengeance oaths?”
“Malion!” Tarina said, reproachfully.
“It was merely a joke,” said Malion, watching Kormak closely.
“If it was at the table of an Old One, I fear they would,” said Kormak. “Also, they have ways of determining whether our deaths are accidents of Fate or the work of enemies.”
“Do they?” Malion asked.
“Did you invite me here to make childish threats or to talk?” Kormak asked. “Your sister spoke earlier of Old Ones who grow tired of living. Perhaps she knows one personally.”
Malion pushed back his chair and flexed his clawed hands. “Do you threaten me, Guardian?”
“No more than you threatened me earlier.”
Malion laughed. It was cold, cruel laughter without much humour in it, but the tension around the table somehow lessened. “You must be very confident of your skill with that blade,” he said.
“Brother!” said Tarina. She looked at the two of them.
“In answer to your question, Sir Kormak, I did not invite you here. My sister did. She is curious, shall we say, about you. She is often curious about mortal men.” He gave a salacious smile. “For myself I could have lived quite happily through this Age of the World without making the acquaintance of one of your Order.”
He rose from the table. “But I have made your acquaintance now and, honour satisfied, I can withdraw. With your permission, Sir Kormak. With yours, sister. I shall bid you goodnight and leave you to your pleasures. I have business to be about before the Great Enemy rises once more above the horizon.”
He rose from his chair, sketched an elaborate bow and stalked from the room, leaving Kormak and Tarina looking at each other in silence. Tarina tilted her head to one side as if listening to something so quiet no human could possibly hear it. After a few moments, she sighed and said, “He is not well. My brother has spent a lot of time in the Cursed Lands. It has changed him.”
“The taint of the land has affected him, has it not?”
“Even you can see it then,” she replied. “It has progressed far.”
“I have seen others like him,” Kormak said. “Soon he will begin killing randomly and for pleasure, if he has not done so already.”
She shrugged. “You may be right.” The implication was that she did not care.
“Why were you at Hungerdale?” Kormak asked. She took a step closer. He was suddenly aware of her narcotic perfume and the depthless glitter of her huge eyes. The wine burned in his stomach now. A sort of madness flowed through his veins. He fought down an urge to reach out and touch a strand of her hair.
“You are certain I was?”
“I saw you flying overhead there, as I saw you tonight. You take the form of a great bird of prey. It is a gift that some of the Old Ones have. If it was not you it was your brother.”
“You think you know so much about us, don’t you?” She touched his hand with hers. Her fingers were cool but the sensation was not unpleasant. His skin tingled.
“If a man spends the whole of his life hunting certain creatures, he learns all he can about them. His life often depends on that knowledge.”
“You see yourself as a hunter, Sir Kormak. You have something in common with my brother.”
“You have not answered my question.”
“I do not have to.” She shook her head.
“But you will…” His fingers encircled her wrist. He looked down into her eyes. Her full lips parted slightly.
She smiled and it was almost a human smile. There was something like humour in it. “I was curious as to what was going on. I often fly over the hills at night. As my brother had taken to doing of late. I sensed something unusual as I neared Hungerdale and I investigated it. And what did I find? The walking dead and a Guardian fighting them. Life is not so exciting in these hills that I could ignore that.”
“Was your brother flying that night?”
“Perhaps. I do not track all his comings and goings.” He could tell that she was lying and that she knew he knew it and did not care.
“Someone is breaking open barrows,” Kormak said. “And freeing the things within them.”
“Obviously, Sir Kormak. I doubt they free themselves. They were too well bound to begin with.”
“The man I believe is responsible for freeing them has been a guest of yours.”
“I would not believe everything I hear in the taverns of Elderdale, if I were you. You are liable to be misled.”
“I was told Morghael was here.”
“He was but not as a guest. He begged an audience and it was granted.”
“You talked to him then? You talked to Morghael.”
“My brother talked with him. It was he whom Morghael asked to see. I…chanced… to overhear them.” She smiled as if she had made a joke.
“What did they talk about?”
“You ask many, many questions, Sir Kormak, and you offer nothing in return.”
“Is there something you want from me?” She eyed him speculatively, leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. Her breath tasted of wine.
“Oh yes,” she said. “There is something.”
She took his hand and led him to her bedchamber. He allowed himself to be taken.
Afterwards Kormak lay naked in the cold bed. His sword was still close at hand. Tarina lounged naked save for a fur stole on her side beside him. She did not look all that different from a human woman. The room looked something like the bedrooms of noblewomen he had been in. The furnishings were luxurious if archaic. There was a tapestry on the wall, depicting a silver eagle; it seemed to have been woven in some metallic thread and it shimmered in the light of the everburning lanterns.
Tarina reached out and touched his face. It was not a gesture of affection, more like that of a woman stroking a favoured pet. Her eyes caught the light and glittered as much as the tapestry. Kormak followed her gaze. She was looking at the sword.
“The dwarves hated my people,” she said. “Truth to tell, they hated everybody, but my people most of all. That is why they made those blades for your Order.”
Kormak looked at her. “They had a debt to us and they made the blades so that my Order could pro
tect our people.”
“Is that how they tell the story now?” She seemed amused.
“You know a different version.”
She reached out absently and ruffled his hair as if in response; her gaze was inward looking now. “It would have been better for all the Houses of the Old Ones to have united when the Sun worshippers first appeared. But we were too concerned with our own wars and rivalries. No one could take such short-lived creatures seriously. We did not know how quickly you would breed or how you would spread across the lands. Or, in the end, how well you would learn what the dwarves taught you. That was a true betrayal.”
“A betrayal?”
“The dwarves were our servants once, before they broke their oaths.”
“They claim no dwarf ever broke an oath.”
She laughed, the tinkling of tiny silver bells. “I am sure they have found some legalistic quibbling that justifies that claim. Dwarves are good at that.”
“They say the Children of the Moon oppressed them for millennia.”
“They are probably right about that. They were our bondsmen. They kept our written records, one of their clans. They worked such metals we could not. They mined for us. They made things. They were always good with their hands and their tools.”
She glanced at the blade again. “You know how good.”
“You were going to tell me about your visitor, Morghael.”
She smiled at him. “And you are as concerned about payment as a dwarf would be.”
“This was not a service rendered,” he said reaching out to touch her hair. “This was a pleasure, for me at least. But I have a duty to perform.”
“And with your sort, duty is always there.”
“Yes.”
She began to dress. “Very well then, let us discuss your necromancer.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY RE-ENTERED the dining hall. The table had been cleared. They sat on chairs on either side and looked at each other. Tarina sipped at wine. Kormak did not touch his. He had drank enough of this stuff for one night, perhaps for a lifetime.