The Kormak Saga

by William King

  It was Kormak’s turn to laugh. “I am a Guardian. How could it not be?”

  “It was touched by them before you became a Guardian. I can see the shadow of one of them hanging over you.”

  Kormak stared at her. “You have the Sight,” he said.

  “I do.”

  “You look thoughtful, Guardian,” Agnetha said, after a pause.

  “I was remembering my childhood,” he said. “I grew up in a place like this, in the highlands of Aquilea; at least I did till I was eight years old.”

  “What happened then?”

  “An Old One came. It killed everyone except me.”

  “Why didn’t it kill you?”

  “I don’t know. My father threw me into the loft and went to fight it with the hammer from his forge. It was carrying his head when it came in. I tried to lift a hammer and fight it. It just looked at me and laughed and then it told me its name. Adath Decaureon. In the Old Tongue it means Prince of Dragons. It told me to remember it.”

  “Did it spare you because you were a child?”

  Kormak shook his head. “It killed children younger than me, boys and girls, babies even.”

  Sir Brandon was looking at him appalled. Kormak had never told him this story. It had not been something he had talked about when he was younger. “It left me alive in the ruins. A Guardian was tracking it. He found me and took me back to Aethelas.”

  “That’s a horrible story,” said Brandon.

  “It had done the same thing before, many times,” Kormak said. “I was taught about it when I became a novice. It hates humans. It comes out of the shadows every few decades or so, wipes out some small outlying community and leaves only one survivor, always a child. It names itself and tells the child to remember. It tells the child it will come back for it one day. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. The child spends the rest of its life living in fear.”

  “Do you?” the old woman asked.

  “The day we meet is the day it dies,” Kormak said. Silence filled the hall for a moment then a scream rang out through the night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  KORMAK’S HAND REACHED for his sword. Agnetha closed her eyes for a moment and her face went slack, as if she had suddenly become ill. When she opened her eyes again her face was pale. “The Dead are here,” she said.

  There were more sounds: of screaming, of people running, of men shouting in confusion. Brandon rose to his feet, glared around and, as if by force of habit, began to pull on his armour. Kormak paused only to grab a torch and raced for the doorway. People were already starting to crowd through and he had to fight his way against a tide of panicked villagers. Most of the mob parted around him but not all of them and he had to hold the torch high to avoid burning women and children and frightened-looking men.

  It was cold. His breath clouded in the air. There was mud beneath his feet. He felt the presence of something above and he looked up. For a brief moment, he caught sight of a huge winged shape silhouetted against the moon and then it vanished once more into the darkness, save for a vague outline obscuring the stars as it passed.

  He was not the only one who saw it. A woman in a coarse spun night-gown pointed at the sky and shouted, “Old One!”

  Whatever it was, it was not the source of the chaos and terror. Man-like shapes moved at the edge of the village, yellowish and bone-white; warriors long-dead, come from their graves. They wore ancient rusty armour. Sere skin clung to their mouldy flesh like an extra garment. Moving tendons slithered under parchment-thin skin. Green witch-fires burned in their eyes, and they clattered as they moved, bones clicking against bones. They clutched grave-tarnished weapons in their long-dead hands.

  Kormak smelled smoke and saw that one of huts had caught fire. Most likely a lamp had got kicked over in the panic. He saw a little girl trip and fall and a skeletal warrior loom over her. Kormak tossed the torch at it. The flaming brand turned over and over as it flew and hit the undead thing. It did not seem to do any harm but it distracted the creature long enough for the girl to climb to her feet and run screaming towards the Great Hall.

  Kormak strode towards the skeleton. The dwarf-forged blade crashed through its ancient armour and sliced tendon and bone. Green witch-fire danced along its length as the skeleton collapsed. Kormak looked around to make sure the little girl was clear and to see if there was any more people in danger. Most were fleeing towards the Great Hall. That made sense. Agnetha was there and the place was warded. Of course, it would be a disaster if they flames spread to there.

  The Tinker’s van stood in the middle of the square near the pump. Shae danced around outside it, keeping more of the attackers at bay. Aisha stood in the doorway, a pouch of some sort in her hand. She threw some powder or herbs over the undead and spoke a word. The air glittered and the skeletons lost all animation and clattered to the ground.

  Sir Brandon emerged from the open doorway of the hall. He was armoured now and his great battle-blade was in his hand. He rushed a group of the undead and hewed into them. They shattered as if made of brittle porcelain under the fury of his attack. More of them came on though and attacked the battling knight.

  Some of the men of the village rallied. A few of them tried using their bows. Their archery was accurate and against mortal men would have been deadly but it did not slow the undead. A fletched arrow through its eye-socket gave no sign of inconveniencing the skeletal warriors in the least.

  “They need to be smashed to pieces,” Kormak shouted.

  “I know!” Brandon bellowed back.

  “I was not talking to you,” said Kormak racing over to the knight. Together they crashed into another group of the skeletal warriors. Kormak felt something again. Looking up he saw the winged shape once more. One or two of them men fired arrows at it, but they fell short and the figure kept moving.

  Another presence chilled Kormak’s heart and he looked up. A huge figure robed like a lord, head crowned in gold, loomed out of the night. He was reminded of the tomb wight. Its eyes glowed far more balefully than those of the skeletal warriors and an eerie blue light flickered all around it.

  “Looks like these creatures’ master is here,” Sir Brandon said. His face was red, sweat ran down his brow. He held his huge blade ready. He looked ready to charge, driven by berserk fury.

  “Mortal weapons will not harm that thing,” said Kormak. The wight gestured and from the darkness behind it more unliving soldiers emerged, clad in the armour they had been buried in and ready to slaughter the living and pull them down into their ranks.

  Kormak leapt forward, Brandon by his side. They smashed through the lines of undead warriors, leaving broken, burned bone-heaps behind them. Kormak found himself once again facing a liche-blade.

  Blows flickered backwards and forwards. Brandon cleared the area around them with great sweeps of his sword, and then lashed out a blow at the wight, sending his blade smashing into its spine. An odd glow ran along the sword’s length, and Brandon shrieked in pain and let go of the hilt as if it had become red-hot.

  The wight stood frozen for a moment. Seeing his opportunity, Kormak passed his blade through its body. A horrible scream emerged from the wight’s mouth. The cry went on longer and higher and a cloud of something noxious and evil-smelling erupted from the reanimated body. Kormak passed his blade through it. It hissed and sizzled and broke apart. As it did so all of the skeletal warriors froze and then collapsed, all animation leaving them.

  “It is done,” Kormak said.

  “What just happened?” Brandon asked. He was holding one hand under his armpit, like a child nursing a scalded hand.

  “The skeletal warriors lost all animation when their master was destroyed,” Kormak said. Brandon shrugged as if not quite understanding and then went to join some of the villagers hacking the skeletons to pieces. Most of them avoided the spot where the tomb wight had fallen.

  A puddle of some putrescent liquid lay amid robes and armour. There was a skull but as Kormak watched, it t
urned black and shrivelled with a stench of vile corruption. The wolf whimpered, apparently more scared by this than by facing the monster itself. Kormak understood. Watching solid-looking bone age and turn soft and run in a few seconds was a disturbing experience.

  The villagers had started to carry the dismembered skeletons towards the burning house and throw the bones in. Kormak saw old Agnetha standing on the verandah of the Great Hall now, staring out into the darkness. Aisha was talking to her. Kormak strode over to them.

  “Are you well?” he asked. Up close he could see the witch looked drained. Her face was pale and there were lines about her eyes. Her lips were compressed into a thin line. She looked as if she had not slept for days. Her eyes were dark and her cheeks were hollow looking.

  “It uses up a great deal of strength to dismiss the undead,” she said.

  Kormak nodded, thinking about the spell he had seen her cast.

  “There was an Old One here earlier,” Aisha said. “In the sky above us.”

  “You think it had something to do with this?” He could not help but notice that her hand twitched when she said the words Old One. It was as if she was restraining herself from making some ceremonial or warding gesture.

  “It would be an odd coincidence if it did not,” Aisha said.

  “Come inside, Sir Kormak,” said Agnetha. “You must be freezing.”

  She gave Kormak a warning glance. He guessed there were things she wanted to talk about without other people overhearing them. Kormak followed her back into the hall. Hot water was brought for him to wash himself. He cleaned the mud off his boots.

  “Thank you both for what yhaou did out there,” Agnetha said. “My people are in your debt.”

  She gestured for the serving girls to withdraw and they were left alone in the hall, sitting beside the fire.

  “Where did those things come from?” Aisha asked.

  “There is a barrow half a days ride north from here,” Agnetha said. “The tomb of a Lord of Kharon. Legend says he was the Defiler’s acolyte.”

  “You think someone opened that barrow too?” Kormak asked.

  “That wight and its servants did not come from nowhere.”

  “There may be other attacks,” Kormak said. “If Morghael is opening more tombs.”

  “Watches will be set. A bonfire will burn in the night. We will keep oil ready. We have grown complacent, it seems, and times have taken another dark turn.”

  “So what of the Old One above us earlier?” Kormak said. “Some of your people shot at it.”

  “That might prove to be a mistake,” said Agnetha. “It is never wise to antagonise the Old Ones.” Aisha nodded.

  “I doubt it matters much if the Old One was responsible for the attack,” Kormak said.

  “We do not know that yet,” Agnetha said. She sounded like a woman who was hoping against hope that it would not prove to be the case. She slumped down in her chair. “If the Old Ones are responsible they will learn we are not defenceless.”

  Kormak touched the hilt of his sword. “Yes, they will.”

  Agnetha gave a bitter laugh. “You are not the only ones with weapons, Sir Kormak. And the Old Ones are not the only ones who can work magic.”

  “Where is this barrow?” Kormak asked.

  “I will have Lucas show you to it tomorrow. You wish to see it before you take your leave, I suppose.”

  “Yes, although I suspect I already know what I will find.”

  “If you will excuse me,” said Aisha. “I will bid you goodnight. I am very weary. It has been a long time since I had so tiring a night.”

  “Good night, girl, and once again I give you my thanks,” said Agnetha. Kormak watched her go. Even with her shoulders slumped and so tired she was almost staggering, she was certainly very lovely.

  “A dangerous woman,” he said.

  “Aye,” said Agnetha. “But I do not think you are her enemy. Yet.”

  The look in her eyes told Kormak not to bother asking what she meant by that. Brandon entered. His face red, his breathing heavy. He looked oddly pleased though. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good fight,” he said. “I have not lost the taste for it.”

  He strode across to the fire and propped his sword against the wall. He began to strip off his mail and the leather undercoat. Agnetha offered him a flask of mountain whisky. He accepted it gratefully and swigged it from the bottle.

  “Well, Kormak,” he said, “I think it’s safe to say we are on the right trail.”

  Agnetha said, “I’d better take a look at your hand. You can never tell what might come from smiting a tomb lord.”

  Brandon lost some of his enthusiasm as the old witch removed his glove and looked carefully at his fingers then sent for salves and ointments. Kormak heard the old woman making ritual invocations to the Moon. He decided it would be tactful to pretend that he had not noticed.

  Kormak woke early. The old woman was still in her chair, eyes bright, watching him.

  “The old don’t need much sleep,” she said as if that explained everything.

  “You always sleep in the chair,” Kormak asked. “Or only when you have visitors?”

  The old woman smiled enigmatically. “I like to be hospitable. And I like to make sure nothing untoward happens in the night.”

  Kormak was not sure whether she meant she liked to watch her guests or she was present to make sure none of her relations robbed them. It did not seem very diplomatic to ask. Sir Brandon stretched and yawned. “More comfortable than stony ground,” he said. “Less comfortable than my bed. No disrespect intended, Mistress. It’s good to have a roof over your head and fire to warm you in these hills.”

  “It does no harm to have Elder Signs to sleep beneath either,” said the old woman, indicating the five pointed stars worked into the hearth and hanging in wood around the walls.

  “And that is nothing but the truth,” said Brandon. He and Agnetha exchanged smiles. It was a tentative thing but Kormak could see that they had come to some understanding at that moment. There was the beginnings of some trust there, and the acknowledgement of shared concerns. Both of these were people who, in their different ways, looked after their own small communities and he guessed that gave them something in common.

  “You have plans for the day?” Agnetha asked.

  “I need to take a look at the barrow you mentioned last night,” Kormak said.

  “That is Cullen’s Barrow, a big one a couple of hours west through the hills. Lucas will show it to you. I take it you want to check whether it has been tampered with.”

  “Yes,” Kormak said. “After that we will head north along the trail to Elderdale.”

  “I thought you might say that. I doubt any of my lads except Lucas will want to go with you that far. The Twins spook them. As they spook any sensible man.”

  “The Twins?” Kormak asked.

  “The rulers of Elderdale,” said Sir Brandon.

  “And have been these past three centuries,” said Agnetha.

  “They are definitely Old Ones then,” Kormak said. The only other explanation was that they were sorcerers of a very dark kind.

  “That they are. They keep the peace though. They are probably the only ones who could in Elderdale. It’s a right rough place.”

  “The Sun’s light does not fall on the town,” said Brandon.

  “There is no Temple?” Kormak said. It was not surprising in a place ruled by the Old Ones. They were no friends to the chosen of the Sun.

  “Only godless men would dwell there,” said Brandon.

  “Or men more concerned with wealth than godliness,” said Agnetha. “There are mine workers there and prospectors come in from the hills. There are traders and inns and brothels. There are people who search the hills for other things than silver and who go into the Cursed Lands in search of it.”

  “I can imagine the sort of place it is,” said Kormak and he could. A frontier town ruled by Old Ones and inhabited by the sort of men who would come
there seeking a quick fortune. It would be a rough place indeed and one where a man might easily get his throat slit.

  “I see you’ve visited such places in your time,” said Agnetha and laughed. “Anyway, let the girls fix you breakfast and you can be on your way.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN THE MORNING sun, women with wooden buckets queued around the pump in the central square. There was a smell of ash and burned bone in the air. A line of people carried gear stripped from the attacking army back into the hills to be buried. They handled the wrapped weapons and armour gingerly as if they feared contamination. They did not want any reminders of the force that had attacked anywhere near the village. Kormak did not blame them for that. Who knew what taint was in it?

  A few of the locals watched Kormak and Brandon suspiciously, as if they thought the strangers’ presence had brought the attack on them. Most of the local people seemed grateful for their aid in the battle the previous evening.

  Agnetha watched from the verandah of the long hall. Men lounged around with weapons close at hand. Clearly people were nervous and the routine of their normal life was disturbed. Some of the men had returned to the hills to tend their sheep and strips of land but not many.

  Lucas sat on the edge of the verandah, near his mother’s feet. He had his bow in his hands and a knife and a short-sword on his belt. He eyed them warily as they approached and rubbed the stubble of his long jaw with one bony hand then he looked back at his mother. She nodded emphatically at him. He shrugged and rose to his feet and began to strap a saddle to a horse as lean and hungry looking as he was.

  “What you going to do now?” Agnetha asked cheerfully. She was doing her part to keep morale up in Hungerdale. She spoke loudly so that everyone could hear.

  “We’re heading north,” Kormak replied, just as clearly. A girl emerged from inside the hall with water and some stronger spirits in jars. Agnetha invited them to sit beside her on the verandah. They did so and drank. “I’m going to look for an open barrow then I am going to find whoever is setting these monsters free and punish them.”