by William King
As soon as he stepped into the wood Kormak knew there was something wrong. The quiet was menacing. He felt the presence of something other. By an effort of will he kept his hand away from the hilt of the broadsword. He wished he was wearing his mail of truesilver, which would burn the Old Ones with its touch.
Might as well wish for the sun, he thought and it was just past midnight. The full moon beamed down through the trees. He thought he saw the cold glitter of tiny beady eyes. He heard the sound of small things moving away through the underbrush but when he turned, there was nothing there. Mice, he told himself, but he knew they were not. Something stirred in the branches overhead and that was not an owl. This whole wood stank of the Old Ones. It had their signs all over it.
A dead tree stood, half-toppled, nearby. One branch pointed back along the path towards the farm, to safety. Go, it seemed to say. Flee while you can.
He strode deeper into the woods. With every step the feeling of menace increased. With every step he sensed hostile eyes upon him from the dark. At last, he found what he wanted. He came to the clearing, saw the symbol the moonchild had carved on the tree stump. He stood in the middle of the glade and shouted: “Speak. I know you are there.”
Kormak held himself absolutely still. Something massive closed with him, coming through the trees, something pale and chill as the moon, mostly obscured by the branches of the trees. Were those teeth? Was that an eye? By the Sun, he thought, the thing was huge.
“You should not have come here, daychild.” It was not remotely like a human voice. It was too low and too powerful, and its tones were too strange. There was a hunger in it. It was the voice of a great predator. If a lion could speak, thought Kormak, it would have a voice like that.
“You have broken the Law,” said Kormak.
“It has been a long time since one of your kind has remembered the Law. Who are you to speak of it?”
“You know who I am. You know why I have come here.”
"Where is your mail of true silver? Where is your white horse? Where is your lance with its dragon pennon fluttering in the breeze?"
"I left them behind. I thought I would give you a sporting chance."
“You stand there wounded with that accursed sword on your back, daychild, and you do not draw it, although I stand close enough to reach down and tear out your heart. Are you really that good?” There was amusement and contempt in the voice.
“If I draw this blade, I must kill you. I thought it better to give you warning first.” A roaring sound emerged from the blackness, the thunder of a pride of lions who have heard prey. It took Kormak a moment to realize it was laughter. Sniggers and shrieks echoed it all the way back through the forest. The laughter was horrible, the mirth of things old and cold and deadly. Were there really so many there, Kormak wondered?
“I ask you again, are you really that good with the blade?”
“There is only way you will find out. Do you wish to test me?”
“I know that sword, daychild. I know what it is. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“So if I kill you there will be one less Guardian of the Dawn.”
“If you kill me, two more like me will come. If you kill them, four. If you kill them, twice as many again. And on and on until you are dead. The Order is a great machine. Behind it stand all the Armies of the Morning. But first you will have to kill me and I am not a little girl.”
“Let us talk while I make up my mind about killing you.” Kormak stood ready. He recalled Master Ibrahim’s words. Show no fear, no weakness. The Children of the Moon will respect that.
“By all means.We have all night.”
“I remember that blade,” said the leonine voice. “Areon the Bold carried it at Brightmere.”
A faint shock passed through Kormak’s mind. Areon had been in his grave for a thousand years.
“He killed my brother Masarion with it.” A clue there, Kormak thought, although the conclusion it led him to was not a bright one. The thing out there was something infinitely worse than a Troll.
“I give you greetings then, Telurion,” he said.
“You know your history,” said the moonchild. “Perhaps you are what you say. Since you know my name, it is only polite for you to give me yours.”
“I am Kormak mak Kaine.”
“I have heard that name. They say you are the best to bear that blade since Areon. Myself, I do not see it.”
“They say you are not what your brother was so perhaps we will prove well matched.” Again that thunderous laughter rang out. It went on for a long time. He knew he was being tested and that the Old Ones did not judge as humans judge.
“I smell blood on your hands and I see men on your trail.”
How did he know that, Kormak wondered? The Sight was not known to be among Telurion’s gifts. Perhaps he would have something to add to the Records if he lived through this night.
“I killed a Son of the Shadow back in Sturmgarde.”
“And they hunt you for that? I would have thought they would be grateful.”
“Unfortunately, his fellow citizens were not aware of the nature of his crimes. The city guard found me as I passed sentence on him. I was not gentle with them as I made my departure.”
“You skulk in the dark and murder your own kind where once you would have rode openly forth to battle. Your order seems greatly diminished these days. Are you sure you are worthy to uphold the ancient Law.”
Kormak was no longer sure but he said: “To end the long wars between our peoples the Children of the Moon swore to keep to their lands and leave my people unmolested. Do you foreswear that oath?” Kormak steeled himself. Swift death could be the only outcome if the answer was the wrong one.
“Your people no longer respect the ancient borders.”
“And your people can and have punished them for their transgressions. As I will punish you for yours, for that is the task of my order. These are not your lands.”
“Who are you to speak to me of punishment, mortal? I was old when this land was young. I have lived ten thousand years and will live ten thousand more after you are gone.”
“Not unless you respect the Law.”
“Bearing that blade does not make you Areon. You must know how to use it as he did.”
“I can use it well enough. I ask again, do you foreswear the oath?”
The bushes bulged outwards as if displaced by a great weight. He waited for the monster to loom into view but it did not although it was closer now than before, still partially hidden by the leaves.
“I do not fear that blade.”
“You fled from it once. You abandoned your brother’s body on the field of Brightmere as you ran from its wielder. Will you leave these lands or must we fight?”
“I have always regretted leaving my brother behind that night. You mortals cannot understand how much I do. We attended the court of the Lady together before she turned her face from us. We roamed the Wildwood before the coming of the Elves and strode across the great ocean before ever the ships of your ancestors sailed it. We composed poems to the beauty of the Stormfangs before the Dwarves tunneled there, or the first citadel reared its dark towers over the deserts of ash. We fought in battles the like of which you will never see in this diminished age- when the Powers uprooted mountains and boiled lakes in their fury. All of that ended on Brightmere field.”
“I am sorry for your loss. Had your brother not chosen to steal the Sun King’s daughter perhaps you need not have suffered it.”
“I have long thought about that blade you bear, mortal. I have long considered what it means to my kind.”
“It means death.”
“I have lived long, mortal, and I have seen your kind drive my people into the wastes of this world. I am tired of running. I am tired of being driven forth by your sorcerers and your spells and your cold silver blades.”
“You have made your choice then and we must fight…”
For a long time there was no answ
er. Kormak raised his hand to the hilt of his sword. The silence deepened then it seemed like the night sighed. He sensed another presence, heard words hissed in the Old Tongue so quickly that he could not make them out. What was being said there, he wondered. What news had been brought to Telurion?
“We will not fight tonight, mortal. I will leave these petty farmers you guard in peace.”
“You swear it in the name of the Lady and your hope of forgiveness?”
“I swear in the name of Our Lady of the Moon and my hope of her forgiveness that I will not trouble them for as long as they live.”
That was not an oath any of the Old Ones would foreswear but Kormak did not like the wording of it at all.
“Then go in peace, Child of the Moon.”
“We will meet again, you and I. That night I may not be so friendly.”
“Nor may I.”
“Go in peace, Guardian of the Dawn.”
Mocking laughter followed Kormak as he strode from the woods. He was certain he knew why. It took all his strength of will to keep him from running.
The farmhouse was silent. He could hear the neighing of many horses in the stable. He could smell something on the wind that he had smelled before. The stink of burning human flesh was not something he could ever forget.
He moved closer to the door and heard the men inside. There were a lot of them. A quick glance at the stables told him at least ten, judging by the number of horses. His pursuers had been determined. They had ridden on even under the full moon’s light. He supposed weight of numbers must have given them confidence.
Kormak slid closer to the door. They had left no sentries outside. No man wanted to wait out doors alone when the Children of the Moon were abroad.
Light shone through the door frame. They had kicked the door in. The farmer had not been as hospitable to a large group of armed men as he had been to Kormak and he had paid the price. High pitched near-hysterical laughter echoed within the cottage walls. He steeled himself and stepped through the door.
They were a group of rough looking men in the garb of the Sturmgarde city watch. Kormak recognized one of them, a brawny fellow with a bushy moustache and a bald head. He had a bandage tied round the bicep that Kormak had pinked earlier. In the gloom it took them some time to realize he was there.
The little girl was dead on the floor. Her mother lay close by, hands stretched out in death trying to reach her daughter. There was blood pooled in one of her eyes. It had overflowed and dribbled down onto the earthen floor. It was easy to see what had happened here. His experienced eye read the signs as if they were the pages of a book.
The guard had burst in. They had started to question the family. The farmers had not answered to their satisfaction. One of the intruders had seized the girl and threatened her. That was when the boy had run forward and got his brains smashed out by a panicky man.
Fear and anger had gotten out of hand, and there had been a bloodbath. The old farmer lay near his wife, a massive hole gaping in his chest. The eldest son lay sprawled near the fire. His face was burned. His pitchfork lay close at hand. He must have taken half a dozen wounds and fallen into the fire. The guard had dragged him forth. That was what the smell of burning was.
It could have been worse, Kormak thought. When the stink had hit his nostrils, he had expected torture. The old man’s words came back to him. Dead is dead. It does not matter how you got that way.
All this had happened when he had been standing in the wood debating with the moonchild. And Telurion had known. This was the news he had been brought. He had sworn his oath knowing that it was already past the point where he would ever have to keep it.
The city guards noticed him then. Their leader looked up from where he sprawled in the chair. “I knew they had hidden you somewhere,” he said. “You were stupid to come out of hiding but no matter. We would have found you in the morning.”
“You should not have come here,” said Kormak. “You should not have done this.”
“And you should not have killed our Mayor- he was a fat greedy bastard but we can’t have people going around murdering whoever they like. It sets a bad example.”
“One it seems you have followed.”
The captain had the grace to look ashamed for a moment. “Things got out of hand.”
He glanced at the rest of the guard and they too looked ashamed, and Kormak knew that their shame was his death warrant. They would not want to leave anyone alive who had witnessed this.
“Who killed the girl?” Kormak asked. "Who started this?"
“What does it matter?” asked the captain. He stood up and drew his sword from his scabbard. He was a big man and he wore chainmail.
“It matters to me.”
“I did then, if it will make you happy. Consider your last request granted before we take you out and hang you. She gave us some cock and bull story about you going off to save her from monsters in the dark. She would not change even when I cut her."
Kormak looked at the small corpse. I am sorry, he thought. The monsters came from the dark and I could not save you. They came looking for me and I was not here so they killed you instead. The man with the wounded arm interrupted his train of thought.
“Hanging’s too easy for this bastard. He almost killed me today. He should pay for that in blood."
"I was trying not to kill you," said Kormak softly.
They laughed as if he had made a joke. They were still laughing as the first of them died, still amazed by the speed with which the blade had appeared in Kormak’s hand. He slashed the next nearest guard across the belly. Dwarf-forged steel ripped chainmail as if it were made of wool. A man's stomach opened. His entrails spilled forth.
They looked at him astonished, not quite understanding what was happening, that one man was attacking them all. Three more died before they could react, skull split, heart pierced, an arm severed at the elbow.
One guard brought a horse axe sweeping down towards Kormak’s head. He took the man’s hands off at the wrists, turning his head slightly to avoid the blood gushing from the stumps. He buried his blade up to its hilt in the captain’s stomach, passing it right through his body, and then pulled it free twisting it on the way out. The captain fell to the ground screaming.
Kormak turned and saw the rest of the soldiers fleeing out into the night.
The full moon beamed down. When he heard the roaring of the Moon's Children, Kormak took a chair by the fire and waited, doing his best not to look at the corpses of the people he had failed to protect.
It took a long time for the screaming outside to stop.
THE SAGA OF KORMAK
"The King of High Adventure," Starlog.
"Immediately convincing, classically brooding," The Cimmerian.com.
To the world at large, he is a mercenary and assassin, a brutal killer with a deadly blade. In reality Kormak is a Guardian, one of a near-extinct order sworn to protect humanity from the servants of the gathering darkness.
STEALER OF FLESH
THE GHUL ARE the Stealers of Flesh, an ancient race of demons who possess the bodies of humans to work great evil. Now one of them has been freed from its ancient prison using Kormak's own dwarf-forged sword and the Guardian must pursue it to a haunted city on the edge of the world.
Stealer of Flesh contains four-linked novelettes that tell the epic tale of Kormak's hunt for a prince of demons. In it he encounters a conspiracy of demented mages, an army of werewolves, Orcish blademasters and a beautiful alchemist and her insane poet brother.
Stealer of Flesh is available from your ebook retailer.
DEFILER OF TOMBS
AN OPENED TOMB, a dead child and an unleashed ancient horror send Kormak on a path of vengeance through the haunted northlands of Taurea. He seeks Morghael, a necromancer with a plan for resurrecting the dark empire of Kharon and the power to bring the dead swarming back to life.
Defiler of Tombs is the second thrilling instalment of the Kormak saga. Buy it now and jo
in Kormak on his terrifying quest to stop the return of an ancient evil.
Available January 2013 from your ebook retailer.
THE TERRARCH CHRONICLES
If you enjoyed this story you may also enjoy the following works by William King.
“The King of High Adventure.”Starlog.
A thousand years ago the world of Gaeia fell to the Terrarchs, cruel and beautiful alien invaders with a deadly secret. Masters of sorcery and intrigue they have ruled humanity with a fist of steel inside a glove of velvet. For a thousand years, ancient demons have slept, waiting for the moment of their return. Now the stars are right. Old and evil gods are wakening. New revolutions are being born. A genocidal war that will destroy civilization sweeps ever closer.
In a world of magic and gunpowder, the half-breed Rik must rise from simple soldier to the deadliest assassin the world has ever known as he seeks his birthright.
DEATH'S ANGELS
IN DEATH'S ANGELS, Rik and his fellow soldiers of the Seventh Infantry uncover a sinister conspiracy to waken an ancient slumbering evil. They encounter the lovely and terrible Lady Asea, immortal sorceress and ultimate manipulator of men and nations. Their deadly quest will eventually take them to the haunted city of the cannibalistic Spider God to face the hidden peril lurking there.
Death's Angels is a thrilling tale of muskets and magic blending Lovecraftian horror with adventure in the tradition of Sharpe by the bestselling creator of Gotrek and Felix.
Death’s Angels is available from your ebook retailer.
THE SERPENT TOWER
THE SERPENT TOWER is an impregnable fortress built by an ancient, pre-human race, bristling with terrifying, magical weapons, watched over by unsleeping, sorcerous sentinels. It has never fallen to siege. Now it is the lair of the sinister sorcerer Lord Ilmarec who holds Princess Kathea, rightful heir to the throne of Kharadrea in his clutches. In order to save his own life, Rik must penetrate the ancient secrets of the Tower and rescue the Princess from her lustful uncle. And all the while he is pursued by an undead horror born from the vilest necromancy, created by a deadly conspiracy that plans to rule the world.