by William King
Kormak saw that Razhak was beginning to understand. Taking advantage of the demon’s confusion, he countered. The memories came in a tide of images, intermingling as the two spirits fought for possession of his body. Kormak was not going to give up. The tide of memories brought back fresh recollections of his training in how to resist magical influence. He strengthened his wards, clawed back at Razhak.
Images flickered through his mind. The bodiless Ghuls raced around the world, disembodied immortal creatures that yet had the appetites born of flesh and which now hungered for the experiences they could no longer have. Disquieting tidings came, as Ghuls started to flicker and fade. There was a flaw in their magic. They had not become as independent of the flesh as they had thought. They could still die, coming apart in a welter of entropic energy, losing form and coherence, as if there was nothing to anchor them to reality.
More memories were ripped from Kormak’s mind. He saw the boy and the Guardian approach the towering spire of Mount Aethelas. He caught sight of the ancient fortress monastery for the first time. He saw himself placed with the other novices. Once again he picked up a training sword and surprised the masters with how good he was with it. He recalled the long years of training and learning. He saw himself grow to become a hulking youth with quick reflexes and a quicker temper, a black-haired cuckoo among the golden-haired second offspring of the Sunlander nobility from whom the vast majority of Guardians were drawn.
He saw the first desperate attempts of the Ghuls to find out what had gone wrong. Without their physical forms it was difficult to work the magical engines they had thought they had no more need for. He saw the Ghuls learn how to seize the forms of others, starting with beasts and working their way up to sentients.
Humans proved best. They lacked the spiritual protections of the Old Ones and there were so many of them, scattering so far and so fast across the lands that the weakest could be picked off without the Ghuls being noticed. Some acquired herds of humans, with scores of new bodies to be taken possession of. Some set themselves up as kings. Some led human armies against their former masters, the Old Ones. Some were worshipped as Gods just as the Old Ones had been. They returned to Tanyth and made a home there, with herds of subject humans to worship and guard them. Life was good until the Emperor Solareon intervened to free the humans from their worship of false gods. His armies smashed Tanyth, bound the Ghuls in great amphorae with potent spells, questioned them as to their secrets, then one day he rode away to make war on new enemies, never to return. His successor, fanatical with holy rage, threw the amphorae into the darkest part of the World Ocean, to rest in the darkness of the ocean floor for long cold millennia. Kormak was struck by a vast sense of cosmic loneliness. Razhak had encountered none of his own kind for centuries. It was possible he was the last.
He saw flashes from his own life again as Razhak struggled back. He saw his apprenticeship to Master Malan and the long hunt that had led to him being awarded his blade. He saw the orc wars of his youth when he had saved the life of King Brand and slaughtered orc chieftains, reaping lives like wheat. He saw himself travel through deserts of ash where the dead men walked, and confronting witches and wizards and Old Ones and demons. He saw the point where his path crossed with Razhak’s and the long hunt across the wastelands had begun.
He sensed now the Ghul’s fear as it desperately tried to elude its implacable pursuer and its growing despair as he eluded every trap, overcame every spell, sought out every refuge. He felt a gnawing sense of terror as the demon realised it could not escape and would have to turn at bay. He felt at last a flow of direct contact between himself and Razhak.
Why have you pursued me, Man? Why have you bedevilled my footsteps for so long?
Because I must. You have broken the Law. You have slain and maimed and killed. You must be stopped.
I merely do what I must to stay alive. As you do to cattle, as wolves do to deer.
We are not cattle. We live and think and feel. You have no right to slay us.
Your sheep would say the same to you, if they could but speak.
But they cannot and we can and that is the difference. You seek to live. We seek to live. In the end all things must die.
You would not if you allow me to take your form. Part of you would live forever with the multitudes inside of me.
That is not what I seek.
No. You seek death. Even as you bring it.
You project your own desires on to me. As I would to you. In the end there is no escape for either of us.
If you have your way and kill me your world will be poorer. All that I have seen and been and done, all my memories and dreams, all that remains of a people will be gone.
It is the same for all of us. With every man’s death, a world disappears.
I have fought Death so long. I will not let it end like this.
Kormak sensed the demon gathering what remained of its strength for a final strike at him. A surge of agony and memory swept over him. He resisted the onrushing wave like a boulder resisting the tide, letting it break around him against the hard rock of his will until the moment was passed and Razhak was gone, leaving him feeling strangely alone.
A loud crash sounded. Kormak opened his eyes and saw the doors to the torture cell were open. Guards poured down the stair. Nuala was with them. Scar moved to block their way.
The Ghul raised its hands and chanted a spell, a wave of energy flowed out from it, stunning the newcomers and the orc and his followers alike. It would have overcome Kormak too had he not been prepared by his spiritual conflict with Razhak to resist it.
The effort of that last spell proved too much for Razhak. Ana’s body was coming apart, decomposing into horrible black fluid, skin bursting and putrefying even as Kormak watched. The darkly shimmering form of the Ghul emerged and flickered around. Tendrils of light touched Scar and he screamed. A moment later his eyes glowed and Kormak knew that the Ghul had claimed another victim.
It turned to look at him for a moment and there was something there, some flicker of sympathy perhaps, or at least of shared understanding. The orc’s fangs drew back in rage and Kormak knew that the Ghul was going to come for him. He leaned back against the wall, giving the chains some slack. If the Ghul came within reach he would try and smash it down with the bunched links of metal. The Ghul shook its head as if reading his resolution. It reeled up the stairs and away.
Kormak’s muscles ached, his bones felt as if their marrow was molten. His brain felt empty as if much of what he was had been lost, and he realised it was merely the absence of the gigantic presence that Razhak had been. He strained with all his might against the chains. They had never been intended to resist a man as strong as he. They came away from the walls, leaving him free to stagger over to the board of keys pinned against the walls and find the one that would free him.
He walked over to where his sword lay, picked it up and strapped it on. He took his amulets and his armour and put them on too. Nuala stirred faintly. It seemed she was still alive. He walked over to her and touched her with his Elder Sign, hoping it might disrupt any inimical energy that remained in her form. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him.
“You owe me,” she said.
“For bringing the guard?” he asked, as he helped her to her feet.
“I told them you were here. It was the fastest way of getting them to come. Maybe the only way to get them to break into Scar’s place.”
“You did well,” he said.
She looked at the recumbent form of the guards. “Will they be all right?”
“If you are, they will be. And I think I had best be gone when they awake. It will be easier than explaining.”
She nodded. “You’d better find, Darien. You owe him money.”
“What do I owe you?” She reached up and stroked his cheek.
“I am sure we can work out some method of payment that is satisfactory for both of us,” she said.
They stumbled up the stairs and out int
o the deserted tavern. Outside the open door, the night waited. Somewhere out there, Razhak was running for his life. Kormak knew where he was going now with utter certainty. He would find the demon in the ruins of Tanyth.
Death waited there for one of them. Tonight he did not care. He had debts to pay in the here and now.
THAT WAY LIES DEATH
“THAT WAY LIES death,” said the old man. The frown deepened the lines on his leathery face into trenches. A mad gleam shone in his eye. Perhaps it was the look of ascetic fanaticism brought on by too much exposure to the desert sun or possibly he truly had been touched by holiness. Why else would he be sitting half-naked by a milestone in the desert along the ancient road to Sunhaven?
Kormak looked in the direction the hermit had indicated with his wizened hand. It did not look any different from the rest of the wastes the road passed through. It was a harsh dry land where the only touch of colour came from the yellowish blooms of some hardy creosote plants.
Kormak removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was hot and all too aware of it. His leather tunic and mail shirt had not been intended for a climate like this. Again he considered removing them and putting them with the cloak in his saddlebags but the road to Sunhaven was famous for its bandits and its monsters and he had no desire to die with an arrow through him if it could be avoided. At the moment, he thought sourly. Another few hours of this and he might feel differently.
“Death seems to be everywhere here,” said Kormak. “This would be an easy place for a man to leave this life.”
“In yonder direction lies the lost city of Tanyth,” the old man said. “It is guarded by demons, the haunt of the damned. They fly over the desert in a night when it would take men a week’s ride or more to get here.”
Kormak looked at him again. “You have chosen a strange place to dwell then.”
The old man smiled and gestured in the direction of the nearby hills. “I have my cave. I have my spring. I have retreated from the wickedness of the cities of Men. I contemplate the mysteries of the Holy Sun here where the sky is clear and His light is brightest. I do not fear demons for He watches over me.”
“What sort of demons are there?” Kormak asked. He had a professional interest in such things.
“Lamia, succubae, she-fiends. They visit me in the night. Disport themselves lewdly. Seek to tempt me back to the ways of flesh. I reject them.”
Kormak wondered whether the Holy Sun was the only thing this ancient saw visions of and how real these temptations were. Perhaps they were simply projections of the desires the old man thought he had left behind. Perhaps not. Kormak had encountered too many demons to discount the possibility that the old man was right.
Kormak tapped the blade that hung over his shoulder. “I do not fear demons,” he said.
“Ah but you are a Guardian of the Order of the Dawn. I know your kind. One passed through the City of Light in the years of my youth. Many men died before he departed. Once he was gone, the killings ceased.” He let the words and their accusation hang in the air, all the while keeping his bright, mad gaze focused directly on Kormak.
“Such is often the way,” Kormak said. The old man rubbed his grey stubble.
“They say the men who died were wicked. No doubt some of them were. Others were not. I am not sure your order is as righteous as it claims.”
Kormak agreed but it did not seem politic to say so. The old man’s gaze shifted and he focused his eyes back on the road. Riders were approaching. Pennons fluttered on the end of their lances. They held the short moon-curved bow so common in this land. When they got closer, he would doubtless find they were armed with scimitars.
“Riders often pass along this road. Some of them are charitable,” said the old hermit. Kormak fumbled some change from his purse and dropped it in front of the old man. He laughed and picked it up then rose to his feet and handed it back to Kormak
“I have no use for silver out here. It would only tempt men of violence and make me think of the foul uses I could put it to back in the city.”
Kormak shrugged. “I cannot spare food or water; I have a long journey ahead of me.”
“Perhaps I can spare you some then,” said the old man. “Water at least. This road is no place to be caught without water.”
The riders were close enough now that Kormak could see he was wrong. They carried the straight blades of Sunlander Templars. Their gear was an odd mix of light armour, recurved lunar bows and western helmets and swords. Kormak guessed these were descendants of the Oathsworn who had set out to reclaim the Sacred Lands from the moondogs generations ago. They had adapted to the local climate. There were obviously some things he could learn from them.
One of the men was as richly dressed as a prince. His robes were silk, his breastplate worked with intricate shapes that were only vaguely recognisable as Elder Signs. The patterns were almost lost as if the people who had made the device were more concerned with decoration than protection from the Old Ones and the Shadow. The rest of the men were warriors, either feudal retainers or well-paid mercenaries. They had a hard competent look to them. Kormak took his place beside the old man. He did not really expect violence here but you never knew. The normal laws of men were sometimes suspended in the wastelands.
The lead rider came closer. Kormak could see he was a handsome young man with very dark hair and very white teeth. His hair fell in ringlets to his shoulders. His beard was well-trimmed to two points. He looked foppish but there was something about the way he sat in the saddle and assessed Kormak’s stance that told the Guardian he was not quite as soft as he looked.
“I see another has come to consult you, father,” the newcomer said. There was something taunting in his speech and at the same time something deferential. There was respect there as well as mockery as if the youth sought to prove how cynical he was and yet at the same time, in his heart of hearts, feared the wrath of the old man’s god. It was an attitude Kormak had seen many times among the spoiled nobility of the far west. The young man looked at Kormak. “Not a Sunlander and not an easterner either. That is a puzzle.”
“An Aquilean,” Kormak said. “It’s north-west of Taurea.”
“You are a long way from home.”
“Sir Kormak is on a quest, my son.” There was something odd in the way the hermit said those words as well. “He is hunting a demon.”
“Then that is a dwarf-forged blade upon his shoulder. Interesting. I had not expected ever to see such a thing. Would you mind if I took a look at it?” He held out his hand in complete expectation that Kormak would simply hand the blade over.
“Yes,” Kormak said. “I would.”
His tone obviously rankled the retainers. They reached for their weapons.
“Tell your men I can kill you before they reach me, and then I will kill them,” Kormak said. He said it loudly enough so that the youth did not need to.
“Are you really so good with the blade?” the youth asked. He did not seem in the least bit frightened.
“Yes,” Kormak said. “But if you feel the need to put that to the test, by all means, go ahead.”
The youth smiled. “That will not be necessary. It was rude of me to ask a Guardian to part with his weapon. I spoke without thinking. There is no harm done to my dignity. I hope you will accept my apology, Sir Kormak.”
The retainers at once relaxed their grips on their sword hilts. They did not look any less wary though. All of them inspected Kormak with fierce, hawk-like eyes.
“The matter is forgotten,” said Kormak.
“Very good. Let us start again. I am Prince Luther Na Veris of the city of Sunhaven. I have come here today to bring alms to this noble and long-suffering hermit,” Again there was that faint and ironic emphasis in this speech, “and then I will ride back to the city. I hope you will do me the honour of riding a ways with me and perhaps guesting in my mansion.”
“I would be honoured to ride with you, Prince, but I am on a most urgent mission
and I cannot accept your hospitality.”
“You can tell me of your quest as we ride. Perhaps I may help you in some way. I am not without influence in these parts and it will do my soul some good to aid the righteous.”
There was still an element of mockery in Luther’s words, just as there had been when he spoke to the hermit, but Kormak sensed the underlying seriousness of the young man’s intent. “That would be a blessing.”
The Prince nodded and then gestured and two of them men at arms dismounted and took leather-bound packages from their saddlebags. They brought them to the hermit, set them down beside him with respectful bows and then retreated back to their steeds.
The Prince walked over to the hermit and they exchanged murmured words. There seemed to be some quiet debate going on, possibly of a religious nature. Kormak studied the guards as they waited. They looked back at him. Most of them were indifferent but some glared. They had taken his earlier words as a challenge and they were keen to show that they were not afraid.
In the clear sky Kormak saw a hawk in flight. As he watched it stooped, and he knew that somewhere in the distance death had touched the desert.
A moment later Prince Luther returned. “With your permission, Sir Guardian, let us be away!”
They rode side by side towards the city, with the line of retainers stretching out behind them. Kormak was uncomfortably aware that there were men with bows at his back and that he might be shot without warning. The die was cast though, and he did not believe any of the retainers would attack him without a word from the Prince. He paid very close attention to Luther Na Veris as they rode.
A warm wind had sprung up from the desert. It made Kormak’s eyes feel dry and the skin of his face itch. The Prince produced a scarf and drew it across the bottom half of his face. The warriors did likewise, gratefully. Kormak realised that they would not do the thing until Luther did.
