The Kormak Saga

by William King

  “The Settlements will have to be abandoned, won’t they?”

  “Most likely, at the very least.”

  “Lot of people round here won’t like that. They’ve poured their sweat and their blood into this land. Their fathers and mothers before them, too.”

  “It’s better than death and worse than death.”

  “You are not cheering me up, Kormak. We’ve got the Weaver stirring up the elves to bad craziness and now you’re telling me the Blight is going to drive us all out anyway.”

  “I did not make the world, Grogan. I am sorry to be the bringer of bad news though.”

  “Anything we can do to stop it?”

  “Usually when things have gone this far, the only thing that can be done with a Shadowblight is to burn it out, cleanse the land with fire and salt and the sword.”

  “A Burning? Your Order can call those, can’t it?”

  “If anyone listens, yes. We don’t have the influence we once had but I think in this case, if it’s as bad as it seems, the nobility will listen. The ones on the border, at least.”

  “Not the ones fighting in the civil war though.”

  “Times of turmoil are always bad. When men are disunited the Shadow grows in strength.”

  For the first time Grogan looked scared. “You think it’s out there in the forest, the Shadow or its minions.”

  “Yes. It is making its presence felt in the world. That’s what blights are, or so the scholars say, a manifestation of the Shadow in our world.”

  “They draw the bad ones, don’t they? I heard there’s something in them that whispers in men’s sleep.”

  “Any whispers in yours? You are close enough.”

  “Sleep like a baby. At least when I take enough whiskey. Speaking of which…” He raised the flask, offered it to Kormak. The Guardian put his hand over the beaker. One drink was normally his limit. He needed to keep his wits about him.

  “I am wondering about the bloodroot,” said Kormak.

  “We get a few who go out into the woods to harvest herbs. I would not put it past some of them to take bloodroot, black lotus and the nastier spectral mushrooms. You can make a small fortune selling that stuff to the right people. Or rather the wrong ones. I would have thought this civil war would have put a dent in the trade but no.”

  “Mages use the stuff,” said Kormak, “and every ambitious noble in Taurea is doing his best to get a mage as a bannerman.”

  “And bloodroot is a perk of the job?”

  “It makes a sorcerer very powerful… among other things. In the long run it twists the mind, drives them mad. It’s why no few of them fall to the Shadow. They get addicted to the stuff and it changes something in them.”

  Kormak produced the green-fletched arrow he has been carrying in his kit since his encounter with the walking dead man. He put it on the table. “Ever seen anything like this?”

  Grogan picked it up and turned it over in his hands, inspecting the markings closely. “It’s a Shadow-killer. The runes show the maker was Kayoga Nation. The light-green fletching say the owner is Speardancer sept. Where did you get this? The Kayoga hunting grounds are about a score of leagues northwest of here. It’s all Mayasha land round here, starts on the far side of the river.”

  “I pulled it from a corpse that was getting ready to rise on the edge of the Blight. I met an elf-woman who was carrying its siblings in her quiver. She pointed one at me.”

  Grogan’s eyes widened. “You’ve met our ghost then…”

  “Ghost?”

  “Green-haired elf woman, face tattoos in camouflage pattern. She’s been coming and going through the Settlements for months. Some of the woods runners claimed to have seen her. Most of them think she’s got something to do with raids and the slavers. They’ve made a few attempts to catch her but she always slips away.”

  “You always told me it was folly trying to catch an elf in a forest.”

  “It can be done, Guardian, but it takes skill rare among men.”

  “You could do it if you had to.”

  “Maybe but I’ve had better things to do these last few months, keeping the peace in town, calming the Council, trying to organise a defence against these raids, looking for the lost in the woods. I’ve bigger things to worry about than some elf girl who may or may not exist.”

  “She exists.”

  “If you say so I don’t doubt it. But most of the reports have come from people I would not believe if their trouser fronts were wet and they told me they had pissed themselves. You think she may have something to do with the Blight?”

  Kormak shook his head. “I think she was just warning me to leave the dead man alone. She had already pinned him to a tree and her arrows would probably have kept him there.”

  Grogan’s eyes narrowed. “I wonder what she’s up to then.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “What’s wrong?” Kormak asked. He felt something himself. It was too still, and a small voice was niggling at his consciousness, warning him to be ready. Listening to that voice had saved his life many times in the past.

  “I don’t know. Thought I heard something. I think I am going to make a round of the walls. Care to come with me?”

  Before Kormak could reply the temple gongs started an irregular peal of alarm. Screams split the night. Grogan calmly walked over to the wall, took down the huge long bow and started stringing it. When he finished he strapped on the sword and took up a couple of quivers of arrows. All his movements were methodical, unhurried but swift. Kormak remembered him behaving exactly the same way during the darkest moments of the Orc War.

  “We’d best make that sweep now,” he said. “The village is under attack.”

  Kormak glanced out through the doorway. He peered round it, not wanting to be silhouetted against the opening by the lantern light.

  Shadowy figures moved through the night. They were taller and thinner than human and they carried long spears whose points, deliberately dulled, did not glitter in the moonlight. Around them, at their feet, dog-sized things with glittering eyes scuttled. Spiders, he thought, very big ones.

  Kormak went out through the door and onto the porch. He rolled over the verandah fence and dropped into the street. Movement on the roof overhead made him look up and he saw that there were figures, elf and spider, there as well. One of them raised a bow and aimed at him. He sprang aside. An arrow thunked into the ground beside him and stood there in the mud, quivering.

  Grogan sprang through the door, turned and fired three shots in quick succession. Each was rewarded with a scream or a curse from the roof. Kormak glanced around, trying to assess the situation.

  It was bad. The elves had got a long way into the village before someone had managed to raise the alarm. They were moving through the main square, dragging women and children and some of the merchants with them. The captives were penned in by the massive spiders. It reminded Kormak of the way dogs had been used to herd sheep in the Aquilean Mountains in the days of his youth.

  Swiftly he ran to the corner of the building and used the carved wooden projections to pull himself up onto the roof. He counted five elves there, two wounded, one possibly dead and a pack of three large spiders. He sprang forward, blade lashing out. The dwarf-forged steel cut through leather armour as easily as it cut through flesh. Two of the elves fell before they realised what was happening. One had lost an arm, another was beheaded.

  One of the remaining elves cursed and turned to face Kormak raising his short bow. Kormak lashed out with his blade, cutting the bow in two and slicing open the elf’s stomach at the same time. The last wounded elf, seeing the way things were going sprang from the roof. An arrow took him in the throat even as he fell, and Kormak was left alone with the spiders.

  Their bodies were large as a hound’s and their armoured, chitinous legs seemed much more robust than those of a smaller spider, reminding him of jointed metal devices he had seen in alchemical labs. A closer look showed him that their bodies were similarly a
rmoured. Groups of glowing greenish eyes gazed at him with an intelligence he had not been expecting, and a hunger he had. Mandibles the size of daggers clicked against each other. Greenish venom dripped from them.

  Perhaps it was his imagination but there seemed to be a pattern in the clicking and chittering of the nearest creature. It was echoed by its companions. Were they communicating with each other?

  They spread out so that one of them was coming at him head on and the others angling in from a side. They moved better than he on the uncertain footing of the sloping roof. There was soft thunking noise as they moved as if a dagger were being driven into a cork tabletop.

  Something hit the spider on his right, and he realised that it must have gotten into Grogan’s line of sight. It let out a long hissing shriek, and collapsed. The remaining two came on with a sudden fantastic burst of scuttling speed.

  Kormak swept his blade through a great arc. Chitin proved no more resistant than elvish armour. He took the head of one spider and carved a leg off another, stepping aside to let its momentum carry it from the roof. The head rolled down the roof, jaws still clicking together. The decapitated body performed a weird, spasmodic dance before collapsing in on itself.

  “Grogan, I am coming down,” Kormak shouted, not wanting to take an arrow when he leapt off the roof. He took a quick glance around from his elevated position and saw that pockets of fighting had erupted in the streets, groups of elves and spiders fighting against humans, and the humans getting the worst of it.

  “Right you are, Guardian.” Kormak leapt and landed in the soft mud.

  Grogan grinned at him. “You picked the wrong day to show up in Green Oaks,” he said.

  “Maybe I picked the right one for your folk,” Kormak said. They moved down the street, Grogan pausing occasionally to let off a shot from the great long bow. Kormak raced ahead, charged into a large group of elves, surrounding a small knot of struggling men. His blade took down two of the elves before they realised they were being attacked from behind. He moved through the others with the speed of a striking tiger, killing as he went. With half a dozen blows, he had slain all the elves. The men looked at him gratefully.

  “Follow me,” Kormak said. “We can still turn this fight.”

  He was not sure they could. In the darkness and chaos it was hard to judge exactly how things were going. For all he knew there could be an army out there. He could only pray to the Holy Sun that such was not the case and do the best he could under the circumstances.

  The folk looked only too happy to be given some leadership. They were a motley group of woodsmen, merchants and housewives who had grabbed up whatever weapons were at hand when the alarm had been given. They looked relieved when Grogan came up and told them to head for the inn.

  The sight of the first pack of spiders daunted them but they gained heart as Kormak chopped the arachnids down, and Grogan put deadly arrows through their glowing eyes.

  They raced on through the streets, smashing into the swirl of melees, turning the tide wherever they went and gathering more fighters to them like an avalanche gaining power as it rolled down a mountainside.

  They emerged in front of the Royal Oak and, as Kormak had suspected, found that it still stood. The collection of woods rangers inside had put up a better fight than most of the villagers. They emerged from the building led by Bertram and the men Kormak had almost got into a fight with earlier. A smaller group of elves appeared on the street around them, making strange mocking calls in their liquid tongue, saw the size of the group and turned to flee.

  Somewhere off in the distance a horn sounded. It was high-pitched and the notes were haunting and inhuman, rising in pitch until they were inaudible to the human ear although hounds still howled.

  The company started to pursue but Grogan shouted, “Careful now, it may be a trap.”

  That curbed the enthusiasm for hot pursuit. “I want all the men who have bows to stay with me,” said Grogan. “Those of you who have axes, swords or knives go with Kormak. We’ll fight better that way.”

  It took some time to organise things but once it was done, they moved through the streets. The elves had gone. It looked like they had taken a large number of the villagers with them. The streets were empty. Many of the house doors had been smashed in and there was no one visible within.

  Kormak led his band to the gate. The watchman was still there, a black fletched arrow through one eye. His warning horn still hung unsounded from his neck. Another was in the gate-tower tower, throat cut. His crossbow was unfired. The body of the elf that had been hanging there had been cut down. A few human bodies lay on the ground between the village and the forest. Prisoners who could not keep up or who had tried to escape, Kormak reckoned. He moved over to one. The body had an odd smell and he could see that one of its legs was bloated. The boy’s trousers had been pierced by mandibles beneath the knee. The venom must have gone in there. Kormak hoped his death had been quick.

  Grogan emerged from the gate behind him. “Bastards have all gone,” he said. “Looks like we drove them off.”

  “Or they got what they came for,” said Kormak.

  “Or maybe that,” said Grogan. He did not sound happy. “Let’s go count the cost.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SUN ROSE over a very different village from the one Kormak had rode into the previous day. The streets were a lot emptier. Scared and angry men, all armed, moved around in groups.

  The corpses of dead spiders lay on the ground. No one wanted to touch them. In the sunlight their armoured carapaces were an oily black. They sprawled in pools of dark fluid with puddles of green venom around their heads. Occasionally a limb twitched, and folk moved away. A few put arrows into the stirring bodies but the spiders just lay there.

  The elves were all carried outside the village. This time folk were not going to hang these corpses; they were going to burn them. Kormak inspected a few of the bodies. Most wore leather jerkins and britches, their shirts and headbands were made of a grey silk-like material that he guessed had come from their pets. The arrows for their short bows and their spear tips were all tipped with a poisonous blackish-green paste. All of the elves had tattoos, patterns of webs and spiders and complex symbols that offended Kormak’s eyes, labyrinthine runes sacred to the Shadow.

  Grogan walked over to where he stood and studied the pile of bodies dispassionately. “We’ve taken a head count. Fifty folk dead, thirty unaccounted for, mostly women and children.”

  “Taken?”

  “That would be my guess.” There were others nearby, listening to their conversation. Among them were Bertram and the woods-ranger Kormak had threatened the night before.

  “We’re going to have to do something about that,” said Bertram.

  The woodsman looked warily at Kormak but he nodded. “We can’t leave little ones in the hands of those cruel bastards.”

  Grogan nodded but he said, “There must have been fifty elves here last night, that’s a warband at least. We got maybe twenty of them and we were lucky. They did not expect us to hit back so fast and so hard. We don’t have the men here to beat them even if I take everybody here that can carry a sharpened stick.”

  “Then we send out runners with the war-arrow to Silas Springs, Karlston and the other villages, and to the rest of the settlers in the woods,” said Bertram. The sadness had fallen from his face now and he had taken on real authority. “This goes way beyond a few kidnappings. This is a challenge that can be met only with force.”

  “That’s what worries me,” said Grogan. “They know what we will do. They must want us to do it.”

  “You saying we should do nothing?”

  “If we summon a Warmoot, it will draw folks away from the other villages. It will make all of them vulnerable and if we cross the river to punish the bastards we’re marching right into their territory and a Blight to boot.”

  “So you are saying we should do nothing.”

  Grogan spat on the ground and squinted off
into the woods. He spoke slowly as if he was thinking through what he said as he said it. “Most likely by the time the Warmoot is called, the elves will be so far away we’ll never catch them.”

  “We can burn their villages,” said the woodsman. He looked angry.

  “You want to burn their villages or get our people back?” Grogan asked.

  “Both would be good,” said Bertram, not without a certain sardonic humour.

  “Then here’s what we do,” said Grogan. “I’ll take the Guardian and all the woods-runners we can round up and I’ll follow the bastards. We might get lucky and take them by surprise. If we can do that we might save some of our folks. We can at least follow their trail and find out where they go.”

  He looked at Kormak to see if he agreed with this. Kormak nodded but said nothing. “Meanwhile you send out the war-arrow to the rest of the villages in the strip. Tell them what happened. Call a moot and tell them to get ready for war. May as well send runners to the Lords along the border— they probably won’t help but they may thank us for the warning later. Maybe Baron Enderby will come— he’s always keen enough to seek glory in battle.”

  Bertram and the woodsman nodded. “Go tell the folks,” said Grogan. “I want a word with the Guardian. And send out some runners to check the steadings between here and the river. They might have been attacked on the way in.”

  They went, leaving Kormak and Grogan looking at the pile of bodies.

  “You up for this?” Grogan asked.

  “I was going to take a look at the Blight anyway,” said Kormak.

  “Good. Because I would be glad to have you along. I don’t like the feel of this at all.”

  “Then why go?”

  “You saw what they were like. We lost people, more in one night than we have in the past few years. Tensions have been growing with the elves for months and it was going to come to a head anyway. Unless I get them to do this sensibly, they’ll go rushing off into trouble.”