Portents of Doom ( Kormak Book Ten) (The Kormak Saga 10)

by William King

  “What’s going on?” Anders asked. He sounded feverish. His words were slurred. Maybe it was the effect of the dreamroot in the food. “Why are the lights going out?”

  Screams were his answer. The howls of people in agony, dying where they stood.

  “Because it favours whatever is out there,” Rhiana said. She reached inside her jerkin and produced the green pearl. Its light seemed much dimmer and more ghostly, but it provided them with more illumination than the runes on Kormak’s blade.

  “What is going on?” Zamara asked. He sounded on the edge of panic as well.

  “Shadow touches the earth here,” Kormak said. “Its servants are abroad.”

  Xothak walked out into the courtyard and raised its arms. A dome of shadow cut off the light of the moon. From beyond the gates came the tolling of more alarm bells and the roar of horns being sounded.

  The alien being luxuriated in the sheer physicality of being incarnated once more, even as it chafed against the restrictions. It could remember being so much more than this sack of flesh, but the memory was flat and distant. It was aware also that its body, even modified as it was, was not capable of sustaining it in this world for long. It was burning out, ageing rapidly as Xothak's use of power put an unnatural strain on it.

  There had been a time when the Lord of Skulls had walked this world often, manifesting at the call of priests whose worship nourished it, devouring sacrifices that had been offered, teaching wisdom and secrets to these tiny entities in return for sustenance.

  It knew instinctively that soon it would be time to return on a more permanent basis. The worlds and sub-worlds were drifting into conjunction. The stars that measured such things were almost aligned. Shadowfall was coming.

  Shadowfall. This slow, meat brain was distracting it from its purpose. It should be doing its best to accelerate the coming of Shadowfall, to ready these mortals to be ruled once more, to prepare their world to be devoured.

  There was work to be done here. It was not simply a case of enjoying the pleasures of the flesh. There was a man here it needed to kill. The creature’s lips twisted into a snarl. It was almost insulting that it should have to do this.

  A memory from its human brain emerged. A man slapping a mosquito. That was what it was doing. A man was as much above the insect as Xothak was above a man, but a mosquito was capable of spreading diseases that could kill a man. If that man happened to be important as these mortals measured things, a priest-king or a general, then the mosquito could affect the history of worlds. This Kormak might prove to be like such a mosquito. If he was allowed to live.

  Xothak exerted its powers again, looked through the eyes of its servants, caught flickers of multiple images from multiple minds that now housed small shards of its own.

  Soldiers in barracks, grabbing weapons, screaming in the sudden dark as they died beneath its claws.

  A woman lying on the ground, blood spreading from her open chest as the Lord of Skulls ate her heart and devoured her soul.

  A boy screaming in terror as he watched shadows flow over his body and felt his mind submerge beneath an inrushing tide of darkness.

  Xothak dug for a memory. It had seen its prey. It had almost possessed the body of a man standing close to it. It recalled the blaze of the dreadful runes on its prey’s blade, and the oddly repellent power of the amulets he wore, so reminiscent of the dreadful Auratheans of old.

  That was its target. That was the man who had thwarted the efforts of its worshippers. That was the man who needed to die before this night was over. It focused its mind and power again.

  It was a simple enough task. All Xothak had to do was spread the contagion of Shadow through the keep and then used the massed horde of its followers to overwhelm this Guardian.

  It concentrated for a moment, drew deeply from the well of power within itself and sent another wave of hungry shadows swarming through the keep.

  The green pearl’s light showed a flight of stairs curving down. That might have proved useful under normal circumstances. The curve was intended to give an advantage to a right-handed defender on the higher ground. It might still prove useful if any physical foes came upon them.

  Zamara’s face looked ghastly in the pearl’s glow. He looked like one of the walking dead. The emerald luminescence was reflected in his eyes, giving them an uncanny look. “It sounds like there’s a battle going on down there,” he said.

  “It sounds like a slaughter,” Rhiana said.

  Kormak agreed with her. Those were screams of terror. The uncanny thing was that the attackers appeared to be making no sound. There were no roars or hisses or other audible signs of something attacking. There was no clash of weapons.

  There was a note of horror in those voices that went beyond mere fear. There were people suffering down there. It made him angry. And the sense of his powerlessness made him angrier. He would have been happy with a foe in front of him, with something to strike. At that moment he would have welcomed another Shadowborn.

  “More of those shadow creatures, you think?” Anders asked. His voice was quiet as if he feared to draw attention to himself by speaking above a whisper.

  Kormak nodded.

  “It seems an unlikely coincidence that they should choose the night of our arrival to attack,” said Zamara.

  “I doubt it is a coincidence at all,” said Kormak.

  “I knew you were going to say that,” said Zamara. “You always manage to find a way to make me feel worse about these things.”

  “A man has to take his pleasures where he finds them.”

  “There’s no need to sound so bloody cheerful about it,” said Zamara. Kormak realised that in a way he did sound cheerful. He was doing what he had been trained to do, and he felt more alive. He was angry, but he was elated. His heart thundered in his chest, and his skin crawled. He knew that every moment might prove to be his last and that gave them a savour that nothing else could.

  “Someone is causing this,” Kormak said. “Someone summoned these monsters and brought this darkness. We need to find them and put a stop to it.”

  “I think you mean that you need to find them,” Anders said. “There’s not much any of the rest of us can do.”

  “Don’t underestimate what mortals can do against the Shadow,” Kormak said. “Just by resisting it, you are doing your part. Arm yourself with any torches we come across. Flame will hurt the minions of Shadow.”

  Rhiana’s eyes widened. “Something just drew on an enormous amount of magical power. So great that I can sense it through these walls and wards.”

  Even as she spoke, another tide of darkness flowed around them. The runes on Kormak’s blade blazed brighter. The green light of the pearl dimmed and flickered like a candle flame caught in a draft.

  “It is a thing of immense power,” Rhiana said. “And it is hungry.”

  “Which way?” Kormak asked.

  “Down,” she said. “Down below.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They emerged at the foot of the stairs onto a short landing. The torches glowed like embers of an almost dead fire even though when they got close to them the heat showed they were burning normally.

  Zamara shouted as a wispy arm emerged from an alcove and made a grab for him. He cut at it with his blade, tearing at the ribbon of shadow. It reknit behind the cut and went for his throat. This time, Kormak was ready. His blade cleaved through the Shadowborn’s limb before it could grasp the Admiral. He aimed his stroke at the wall from which the air had come, and it buried itself in something.

  A body tumbled forward, losing its shadow nature, starting to look more human almost at once. Something clinked against the floor where it fell.

  “What was that?” Zamara asked.

  Kormak bent down to take a look. His hand fumbled in the darkness and touched something cool and metallic. His flesh tingled when he encountered it. His fingers found a chain and the tingling stopped. He raised the thing to eye level, beckoned for Rhiana to bring he
r pearl-light closer.

  “It looks like an amulet of some sort,” she said.

  “The sign of Xothak,” Kormak said. “This man was one of his followers.”

  Zamara turned him over with a booted foot. The man’s face was revealed in the gloom. He looked old and white haired. “Not one of ours,” the Admiral said. He sounded relieved.

  “I know that man,” said Anders. “His name is Morian. He is a rich merchant. He sometimes used to show up at the Governor’s balls when we were on sentry duty. Our company did some work for him, guarding caravans later.”

  “A merchant like our friend Orson,” said Kormak.

  “They weren’t friends,” Anders said. “They were supposed to be cut-throat rivals.”

  “It might have been a pretence to throw of suspicion they were working for the same cause,” Kormak said.

  “What could have turned this man into one of those fiends?” Zamara asked.

  “Magic. Obviously,” Kormak said. “A spell set in the amulet. Maybe he was transformed against his will, but I doubt it. A man can resist such spells if he sets his mind to it.”

  “And if he is prepared,” Rhiana said. She looked at Anders. Kormak remembered the way the shadow had spread across his skin earlier. It was possible that had been the first part of a spell intended to transform him into one of these creatures.

  Perhaps the curse of possession could spread like the plague. That would not be good. It might mean they would soon be facing a castle full of these creatures. He doubted that panicked soldiers and servants would be in any state of mind to resist such wicked magic.

  “All of you stay close to me,” Kormak said.

  “You think you can protect us all?” Zamara said.

  “If I can’t I can kill you before the Shadow takes possession of your soul.”

  “I find that oddly comforting,” said the Admiral.

  “Better hope it does not come to that,” Anders said.

  “That’s not what worries me,” said Kormak.

  “Oh good,” said Zamara. “What really troubles you, Guardian?”

  “The amount of magical power being used here is beyond that of any sorcerer I have encountered. It would take an archmage to work magic on this scale, and I doubt that one has been hiding away out here waiting for us to arrive.”

  “Balthazar was powerful,” Zamara said.

  “Not this powerful.”

  “He’s right,” Rhiana said. “This has the spiritual scent of a being of enormous power, something not even remotely human.”

  “An Old One,” said Zamara.

  “Possibly,” said Kormak.

  “It does not feel like an Old One using magic,” Rhiana said. “This has the taint of Shadow, to it.”

  “A demon then?” Zamara gulped audibly, but his voice still sounded firm.

  “It seems likely.”

  “What can we do against one of those?” Anders asked.

  “We’re not going to manage anything if we stand here talking,” Kormak said. He knew he had to get them moving again otherwise fear and inertia would hold them in place.

  He placed the flat of his blade against the amulet. Green lightning danced from talisman to weapon. Runes blazed on the sword’s surface. The smell of ozone and something worse filled the air. The amulet became inert. It no longer tingled when he placed his hand on it. He smashed it against the wall and moved on.

  Xothak felt the life go out of another of its servants. Briefly, it had a sense of its prey and its terrible blade. If it focused, it could watch him through their eyes. At least until the Guardian brought his weapon down on them and drove out the shard of Xothak’s essence within them.

  The Lord of Skulls continued to exert its will, pouring forth shadow, providing strength to the remaining cultists. The souls they consumed went some way towards replenishing Xothak’s energy but could not replace it all. Its flesh sloughed away. The air around the creature reeked of the charnel house, rot, and burning meat. It found the scent intoxicating.

  Xothak watched its worshippers rampage through the keep. With every servant or soldier who fell, the inexorable spread of its spell became faster. Now there was more than twice the number of Shadowborn it had first created and the number increased as the transformed humans sought out more sustenance.

  Of course, the strain on Xothak’s stolen form became greater and greater as the demands on its power increased but nonetheless it was happy. Soon it would have the army it needed to exterminate the foe.

  Across bedrooms, former soldiers chased and transformed serving maids. In the kitchen, terrified staff huddled round the cooking fire while their former colleagues stalked around the circle of heat and light.

  A fat man in the uniform of a chef held a blazing brand in his hand. It seemed as if at least one person had discovered that fire could harm Xothak’s servants. The fat man needed to be the first to be dragged down. Xothak sent an order to the three Shadowborn in the room, and they pounced on their intended victim.

  In the cellar, Balthazar and Orm huddled. Xothak sensed their worry through their amulets. Even its worshippers were afraid of what they had unleashed. Good. They ought to be. By the time this night was over, they would know the extent of their master’s power and abase themselves before it.

  Shadowborn swarmed through the keep now. Xothak was reaching the limits of what this host body was capable of supporting. Soon it would be time to turn his pawns on the Guardian. Even as that thought occurred, another idea struck.

  Xothak instantly gave it voice.

  “Hear me mortals,” a gigantic voice boomed out of the darkness. It sounded as if it came from dozens of mouths all shouting at once. “There is one among you, a heretic and an unbeliever, an outlander called Kormak. He wears the signs and carries the weapons of a Guardian of the Dawn. He is offensive in the eyes of your god. Slay him and your lives will be spared. Let him live, and you will be consumed by the Shadow.”

  Zamara looked at Kormak. “What do you think? Should I put a blade in your back and save my life?”

  He tried to make it sound like a joke, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

  “It’s an old trick of the minions of Shadow,” Kormak said. “To try and turn us against each other. If I am slain, the greatest threat to whoever is channelling the power of Shadow in this place is removed.”

  “Perhaps the only threat,” Rhiana said.

  “No,” said Kormak. “There are more torches down here. Use them against any of the Shadow things that attack us.”

  “I am now rather more worried about other things,” said Zamara. “I feel like a bounty just got put on our heads and everyone will be trying to collect it.”

  “I don’t think you’re wrong,” said Anders. A group of soldiers rushed up the stairs, saw them standing there and pointed at Kormak.

  “Defend yourselves,” Kormak said.

  “I take it you mean with the sword,” Zamara said. “These look like mortal men.”

  “Use whatever you like, but if anyone attacks us, kill them,” he said. He made sure he said the words loud enough for the soldiers to hear. It did not stop them charging.

  Xothak observed through the eyes of a servant as the mortal soldiers attacked the Guardian and his companions. It was like watching a group of puppies attack a jaguar. The soldiers, experienced warriors though they might have been, were cut down like grass before a scythe.

  No matter. Xothak had not expected them to succeed. All it wanted to do was weaken its foes, and exhaust their strength while it gathered its own.

  It raised one of its human hands in front of its face. The skin was rotting away. Xothak felt the slow erosion of its toehold in this world. It could shift its consciousness to the other shards of its power, but they had not been prepared like this one and would burn out even quicker. Time was growing short.

  Xothak commanded its forces to gather and directed them towards its foe.

  The stairs led down to the Great Hall. He
re the darkness was even thicker, and there was a sense of terrifying presence. It was like looking into a dark still lake in which you knew there were alligators present. They might not be visible, but you were in no doubt that they were there.

  Kormak raised his hand. The others halted. He could feel the heat of their torches on the back of his neck, even if they only gave out a tiny fraction of the light they normally would.

  “What is it?” Anders asked. His voice sounded ragged. He was breathing heavily after their fight with the soldiers.

  “There’s something down there,” Rhiana said. “A lot of somethings.”

  “Not the source of the magic, though,” Kormak said, his voice grim. The soldiers he had killed were not servants of the Shadow, just terrified men trying to stay alive. He did not like the fact that he had been forced to cut them down. Someone would pay for that.

  “No. Not the source. That is in the courtyard beyond.”

  “We’re going to have to go through the hall anyway,” said Zamara. “If we’re going to get that thing. Even if we are just going to get out of here.”

  He did not sound happy about either idea, but he knew as well as everyone else that there was no safe place behind them. Perhaps if they got to the Temple of the Holy Sun, they would be safe. It was warded. That would not do anything to remove whatever was behind the Shadow in this place, though.

  “You’re right,” Kormak said. “Stay close. If you stray too far from my blade, you will be lost.”

  “Let’s go,” Zamara said. He began to advance down the last of the stairs. His booted feet rang on the paving stones. A moment later a host of shadowy limbs erupted from the darkness reaching for him.

  Xothak watched its servants attack. The Shadowborn were all but immune to mortal weapons. They outnumbered their foes, and they were filled with the unshakable conviction of victory that Xothak’s power gave them.

  It should have been an easy victory, but it wasn’t. The accursed mortals were armed with firebrands that unknit the substance of Shadow wherever it touched, burning it like it was mere mortal flesh.