Karnov

by Matthew Knight

  I spurred my mount on and rode for some time, expecting the tranquil violet landscape to change at some point, and hoping to meet a denizen of this weird world. Memories of my encounter with the vampyre lord’s giant pet snake back at Castle Thornhaven returned to me, and though I knew not where I was or how I had arrived here, I was glad that I yet lived another day to exact my vengeance on the slayer of my wife and son. The glowing runes upon my armor had long extinguished. I now needed to seek one who would inform me of the ways of this new world and direct me to a local nest of vampyres, so that I could plunge my steel into their wicked hearts and charge my armor with their vile blood, opening the gates to again traverse the Cosmic Ice back to Ghormanteia’s lair.

  My mouth was dry, and I longed to quench my thirst. We had travelled for what seemed like hours in this barren violaceous land when Wrathmane came to an abrupt stop, slightly tilted his head back and sniffed the air. A feeling of elation and relief spread over me, as I knew the horse smelled water nearby. I knew that he was thirsty too after all that we had been through with the vampyre, the giant snake, and our intoxication from the yellow lotus. Cool, clear water was at that moment more valuable than gold to me. I loosened my hold on the horse’s bridle and let him take us to water.

  * * *

  Having quenched my thirst and tethered my mount to a thin layer of rock jutting up from the ground, I filled my two canteens, replaced them in my saddlebag, lay down on the ground, close to the waterhole but out of sight, and fell asleep.

  I don’t know how long I had lain in slumber when a woman’s scream brought me awake. I was quickly on my feet with sword drawn, but I could see no one. This was good: at least I had the element of surprise in my favor if the situation was as bad as it sounded.

  I heard the woman scream again, this time followed by the laughter and speech of men. I could not hear the words they said to the woman, but by the tone of their speech, I sensed mockery. The voices emanated from over the hill before me, and off to my right.

  Stealthily, I moved as a phantom in the night and untethered Wrathmane from the stratum where I had left him. I patted my horse on his side and gently took his bridle and led him up the hill. When we reached the hill’s summit, I saw the men. I quickly pulled my mount down to the ground and ducked my head behind a large rock where I could watch what occurred below.

  Five men accosted a slim yellow-haired woman. All five of them were armed with swords and daggers. The rogues were clad in leather armor, loose-fitting breeches, knee-high soft leather boots, and shirts of coarse material, but for one, who went about bare-chested. The men slung her around like a rag-doll and shoved her back and forth to one another. She screamed, “I would rather die than to be sold into slavery and used as a whore by the vermin of Klahr-Atoch!”

  The man who now had a hold of her was a thin wiry rogue with a moustache. His face resembled that of a rat. “Well, you just relax, girl. We’ll get you trained right now in the profession of whoring, so you’ll be ready when we reach the city,” the rat-faced man jeered.

  The others burst out laughing at Rat-Face’s jest as the woman spun around and tried to hit him, but the man caught her by both of her wrists and wagged his tongue at her. She struggled to free her hands from his grasp and spit in his face. The rat-faced man slapped her hard, and she fell to the ground, sobbing. A tall silent man had been standing by watching stoically. The expression on his face never changed. He nodded to a giant with a shaved head and a ring in each ear.

  The large man wasn’t wearing a shirt. The stoic man was obviously their leader. He spoke with a drawl and told the woman sternly, “Oortok here is going to see to it that you are ready for anything that they tell you to do once you come off that auction block, girl.”

  The big man unfastened his belt and walked toward the woman who was sobbing and crawling across the ground. He folded his belt over twice and chortled, his grin taking up most of his face.

  The stoic man calmly told the oversized simpleton, “That’s it, Oortok. Let her know beforehand what happens when she doesn’t cooperate. It will make it easier to train her.”

  Rat-Face and another of the slavers held the woman while Oortok stood in front of her grinning, his pants lying on the ground. No sooner had Rat-Face ripped the top of her dress open, revealing her small perky breasts, than I was riding down upon them, the element of surprise to my advantage. Wrathmane charged in among the men. Oortok had almost pulled his pants up when my cold steel met his manhood and left it shorn upon the dirt. The big man screamed and blood jettisoned from his groin. He fell, kneeling with his head on the ground. I slashed another slaver’s throat as I rode through the space where they were gathered, and turned to face the remaining three vermin.

  All three men were brandishing steel. The leader of the slavers whipped out his dagger and threw it. He aimed for my right eye, but I ducked my head to one side and felt the wind off of the weapon as it went whistling by. I retaliated with a dagger thrown to my assailant’s throat. The stoic leader lay on the ground clutching at the handle of my weapon, gurgling and bleeding out onto the violaceous surface of this strange world. That was the first and last time his countenance had shown any emotion since I had met him. His face now wore an eternal mask of pain.

  Rat-Face shoved his fellow slaver to the side and ran in, aiming his sword stroke at Wrathmane’s legs; but my warhorse reared on his hind legs and the man’s blade sliced through empty air. Wrathmane brought his legs back down, and I split my attacker’s head open. Shards of bone and bits of brain splattered and went flying—his dead body folding as it fell. The remaining slaver ran for his life, but I kicked my heels into Wrathmane’s sides and he gave chase. With one blow of my broadsword, I cut the man down as he ran. The blade sliced through his collar bone and sank into his torso. He let out a grunt as he fell.

  I turned my stead and rode back to see how the young woman was faring. She clutched at her torn dress to cover her bosom, and sobbed, averting her eyes in shame and fear of what I might do, now that I was alone with her.

  “What is your name, woman?” I inquired.

  She continued to clutch at herself and weep.

  “They won’t be able to harm you anymore. They will not rise again,” I said.

  I climbed down from my saddle and held out my hand. She looked at me and then down at the ground. I moved my hand, offering it to her again. She looked up at me, and her hand embraced mine.

  “There are more of them,” she softly spoke.

  “How many?”

  “Maybe twenty,” she answered.

  “Then let us be away!” I replied. “In which direction do they travel?”

  She pointed south. I had been travelling west, so I guided Wrathmane west and told the woman, “We will distance ourselves from them, for now.”

  We walked over to my horse, and I jumped back into the saddle. Reaching down, I scooped her up with one arm and tossed her behind me.

  “Hold on tightly,” I said.

  I heard her exhale nervously, “What is your name, warrior?” She cried out in a shaking voice over the pounding of Wrathmane’s thundering hooves.

  “I am Karnov! By what name are you called woman?” I shouted in response.

  “I am Qoulitiax!” she called out in reply—her voice sounding steadier than before.

  Chapter III: Qoulitiax

  Darkness had fallen, and the weird world in which I had found myself had changed in color from a violet day to a dim blue nighttime. The land was faintly lit by a glowing sapphire moon, high in the sky. The place was barren and devoid of vegetation, but Qoulitiax had gathered a type of flammable rocks that had easily ignited when rubbed together; we now sat before a fire that staved off the chill of the benighted azure desert.

  We ate in silence, satisfying our hunger on the remainder of some dried meat and fruit that I had taken from my saddlebag.

  Washing down the remainder of my meal with a long drink from my canteen, I passed the water to Qoulitiax; she
drank what was left. I had one more canteen of water to last us until we made it out of the desert and to a village or city where water was available.

  I had sat in silence long enough. I needed answers to form a plan to get back to castle Thornhaven and destroy Lord Ghormanteia. “What is this land called, Qoulitiax?”

  “This is Colbalus Violac, the Violet Desert—only… it is blue at night,” she replied.

  “I see that,” I said, “but I wasn’t referring to the desert itself, so much as this world in general.”

  She stared at me, unsure what to say.

  “What world is this, where the desert is of a violet hue in the daytime and a glowing blue at night? What do you call the world in which you live?” I prompted her.

  She stared at me for a moment as if I were insane. “To the west lie the Braethurian Isles: Vaengland, Laeciffia, Turnia, and Rittenarg. To the north of Braethuria, separated by the Thoorian Sea is Dythland; and to the north of that, the Scaelavian lands of Tyrthunia and Njordgraath. Above them lie only the frozen wastelands.”

  She paused, her face turning red, expecting me to burst out in laughter at any moment. When I did not laugh, she continued, “Across the Thurian Sea and far inland begins the Colbalus Violac desert—where we are now. It must be crossed to reach Asstyria to the south and the Vingilian city of unlimited pleasures, Klahr-Atoch. That is where the caravan of slavers from which you helped me escape is bound. Eastward lies the Chang-Liam empires bordered on each side by the Dong-Hite and Tung-Hite Seas.”

  I sat quietly, mulling over all that the girl had told me until she interrupted the silence. “Were you injured in the fight with the slavers? You moved so quickly; I did not see any of the men who were even able to strike a blow at you. Did you suffer an injury to your head that affects your memory?”

  “Nay, woman.” I thought it futile to try to explain my situation. For a moment I sat in silence, taking in the features of my newfound companion. Her blues eyes shone high above prominent cheekbones. Her nose was mildly aquiline and her wavy blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, reaching far down her back. For the first time, I noticed how much her beauty shined through all of the dirt and hardship etched on her face.

  By now Qoulitiax had come to the realization that I was not going to harm her, and she began to relate her tale to me.

  “I am the daughter of Count Magne of Turnia. I was kidnapped by the Njordgraathians in a raid on the coast of Vaengland while I was there visiting my sister, Nincia, who is married to Prince Haardvolg. Out of fear of the hatred that the Njordgraathians have for my people, most of all of those who occupy the Braethurian Isles, I dared not reveal my identity. I was sold to slavers who put in at a neutral port below Dythland. There were nearly two hundred of us locked in cages and transported across this desert to be sold on the auction blocks in Klahr-Atoch. We were fed and watered like animals. None of the men had molested me, but they had done some terrible things to some of the other girls. There was a man back there you killed. You split his head open with your sword.”

  “The rat-faced man?” I asked.

  “Yes. His face resembled that of a rat. He had been watching me for days. I knew he was going to try to outrage me. The cage had been opened for feeding time and hadn’t been properly latched back. I saw my opportunity and took it. It was hopeless, but I would rather have died than be used like some of the other unfortunates who were locked away with me had been.”

  I nodded my head in agreement with her.

  “Even worse was what awaited me had I made it to Klahr-Atoch,” she added. “The rough-handed soldiers and cruel fat merchants of the city are the mildest of the fates that can befall one such as myself there.” She shuddered.

  “How is this?” I asked her.

  “Xycanthia! Her reputation is known all the way back in my homeland in Turnia. She is fond of young girls and the horrors and experiments she carries out on them are legendary. She is a vampyre!”

  “Where is this vampyress? I must plunge my sword into her wicked heart as soon as possible, so that I may return by the Cosmic Ice to Castle Thornhaven and destroy Lord Ghormanteia, the murderer of my family!” The mention of this vampyre, Xycanthia, had been like cold water thrown into my face.

  I looked up at the azure moon casting its rays over this blue nighttime land and took a deep breath.

  “Listen, woman,” I said, and I related my tale of woe to her.

  * * *

  “…and that is how I was exiled to this world by the vampyre, Lord Ghormanteia, and his giant pet snake, White Wyrm; and I seek the means to return to my world and strike his grotesque head from his body. I must have the blood of the vamypress to perform the ritual to go back to my world and Castle Thornhaven wherein resides he whom I must destroy.”

  Qoulitiax nodded her head and without hesitating she said, “I will go with you!”

  I held up my hand and told her, “Such a mission is much more dangerous than dealing with common slavers, woman. You have no experience of these supernatural creatures and their ways.”

  “I owe you my life for saving me from the slavers.”

  “You owe me nothing! I am the veteran of many wars, not only with dumb brutes brandishing steel, but creatures that populate a blackened world only experienced in nightmare by most men: vampyres, witches, wizards hurling dark enchantments upon me, and men who rise up from death to walk again and wield weapons once forged for the living. All of these things I have fought! Most of my life has been one long battle against the forces of darkness and the agents of evil!”

  “So, how are you to get into Xycanthia’s abode?” Qoulitiax asked. “Do you have a plan?”

  “Well, it certainly won’t be to burst into her chamber, waving my sword this time,” I mumbled, after a long pause.

  I held my head in my hand and rubbed my face.

  Qoulitiax cocked her head to one side and looked up into my face as I raised my head.

  “I know that you are not fey from a head-wound sustained in battle, and I believe your story to be true. I have also heard of Xycanthia’s evil and it threatens all women… and men in the world that I know. You do not know this world. You are a stranger here, exiled by the vampyre lord. But I have travelled in the south before.”

  I sat silently listening to Qoulitiax’s argument for her coming along.

  * * *

  “…And do you not agree that a woman’s weapon is cunning? It is instilled in us by nature!” she said excitedly.

  I nodded my head in agreement.

  “So it is settled!” She clapped her hands and added gleefully, “Now, I have a plan. Listen!”

  Chapter IV: Xycanthia

  Once we had crossed the Violet Desert, and reached the city, the landscape appeared much like that of any of the other southern lands in which I have travelled. The sun no longer shone violet, and it looked like the one that cast its rays upon the world that I knew. I purchased a chestnut mare for Qoulitiax from a merchant back in the city state of Asstyria. Gold coin was the preferred monetary unit, no matter what weird world one found himself in. We had ridden long before reaching Klahr-Atoch and refreshed ourselves on food and drink as we made our way through the milling throngs of the bazaar in search of one who might sell me information as to the whereabouts of Xycanthia’s abode. Gold coinage again did not fail me and it wasn’t long before we were riding for the village of Cachtice, on the outskirts of Klahr-Atoch.

  The owner at the Dragon’s Bane Inn made it perfectly clear that he did not want our staying there that night, but my sword point at his throat changed his mind; and we slept there. I needed a good night’s sleep before dealing with any more vampyres. At the mention of Xycanthia’s name, the entire inn had fallen silent, as they usually do in these situations. But for a few gold coins, a desperate barmaid, who engaged me in clandestine conversation, led me to a stable boy who was willing to sell us information as to how to find Xycanthia, and lead us to her domain.

  Dusk had set in when we arrived
at the winding road leading up to Xycanthia’s aerie. Qoulitiax rode alongside of me. I brought Wrathmane to a stop and Qoulitiax reined in beside me with her mare. The black citadel stood in the center, ringed by walls and towers. A full moon rose over the massive barbican supported by flying buttresses on either side. A winged creature circled high above the top of the edifice, and dipped down to the raised battlements of the castle before ascending again. I had seen the vampyre in its many forms and presumed this to be Xycanthia. She knew she had guests.

  Darkness fully enveloped the castle as we reached the summit on which rested Xycanthia’s lair. As we led our mounts in front of the castle, torches in sconces—which were lined along the walls of the castle—burst into flame.

  “The stable boys will see to your mounts,” came a husky feminine voice from an open window above.

  Two short figures in dirty brown hooded robes appeared and took our horses’ reins. Qoulitiax drew back in horror at the creatures’ sewn together mouths and their white eyes, as though they had rolled them back in their heads. I nodded to Qoulitiax, reassuring her that it would be all right.

  A heavy oaken door opened, seemingly of its own volition; and the woman’s voice rang out again: “Come on up!”

  We ascended the forebuilding steps to Xycanthia’s abode, and made our way through the gatehouse leading into the castle keep.

  Though these were just architectural features, there was something sinister that permeated even the carved arches and columns of Xycanthia’s keep. The windows were darkened with voluminous drapes and paintings hung at varying intervals on the ancient stone walls of the chamber. One picture showed a young lady’s body laid out on a funeral slab, her dead eyes gazing upon oblivion, while a winged woman hovered over her and gently caressed the corpse’s milk-white throat with her tongue. A droplet of blood trickled down the dead girl’s throat. I couldn’t help but notice the resemblance of the demonic woman depicted in the painting to the witch D’vartha, whom I knew from my own world. Another larger painting revealed an orgy wherein humans and demons writhed on the floor, their blood-stained mouths forming into an “O” in convulsing faces, screaming and grunting in ecstasy. One mysterious painting showed cloaked figures gathered around a giant, performing surgery on it. Only one face of the sinister physicians was revealed and it looked straight at me with its mottled countenance as if it truly lived. Its tongue seemed to flicker out of its mouth as I looked upon its grinning reptilian features. I cared not to gaze upon such an abomination and quickly looked away.