by William King
He turned and bounded back down into the street.
“Looking for something?” Boreas asked.
“A place where we can hole up and rest if we have to. These places are all death-traps, though. Too easy to bottle us up in one of them. And we can’t hide if the wolves are tracking our scent.”
The warrior nodded his understanding.
“What are we going to do then?” Sasha asked. “Keep walking until we drop.”
“Can you think of a better plan,” Kormak said. “You’re supposed to be our guide.”
“No,” she said. There was a grim set to her jaw. “Our best bet is to push on until we hit the ramps and drop down a few levels. We might be able to lose them that way.”
She did not sound hopeful. Howling sounded in the distance reverberating through the Underhalls.
“I think they found another way across,” she said. “Not that they needed to. We’re not holding the bridge anymore.”
“Have you ever seen so many goblins in Khazduroth before?” Karnea asked. “If I had known it would be like this, I would not have come here.”
Sasha shook her head. “Never seen more than a dozen at any one time until recently.”
Karnea frowned. “Where have they all come from? And why now?”
“Graghur is an Old One,” said Kormak. “And the Great Comet is in the sky. Perhaps he has a plan. Perhaps he wishes to make Khazduroth his citadel and is gathering his people here.”
“We can talk about this while we run,” said Boreas. “I am keen to put some distance between us and those wolves while we still can.”
Desperately they raced on. The howling came from every direction of the compass now. “Looks like they are throwing a net around us,” said Sasha. “They are making sure we cannot escape. The only direction we can go is down.”
“Let’s hope they are not waiting for us at these ramps of yours,” said Kormak.
“You’re not cheering me up,” Sasha said.
Ahead of them a monstrous flight of stairs descended into the darkness. There were two sets of steps, one on each side of a ramp wide enough to drive two chariots abreast on. Each step was marked with dwarf runes. Every twelve steps was a short landing. In every landing was a statue, uncannily realistic. All of them depicted either an Old One or a dwarf.
Kormak took the opportunity to study the Khazduri. They were shorter than men to judge by how their statues scaled against those of the Old Ones. The dwarves’ most conspicuous feature was their beards. They were long and often depicted in oddest positions, curving upwards in a serpent-like fashion as if caught by a gust of wind, or defying gravity. The hair of the females flowed in a similar way. The dwarves’ eyes were bigger than humans and their ears were pointed. Their mouths too were larger, thick-lipped beneath small snub noses in the case of women, and giant mole-like snouts in the case of men. There was something about the dwarves that reminded Kormak of the Ghul of Tanyth. Perhaps they came from the same stock, modified in a different way by the sorcery of the Old Ones.
The women were mostly robed, the males were mostly armoured, save for a few who held scrolls and appeared to be on the verge of making speeches.
The stairs ran down a long way, and the path was perfectly straight. They had barely reached the bottom when a chorus of howls broke out from the top. Glancing back Kormak saw a pack of wolves and riders massing at the top of the stairs. There were scores of them, too many to fight, and they were getting ready to charge.
Kormak considered making a stand but it seemed hopeless. Sasha had already broken into a run and was heading out of sight. Boreas and Karnea were following her. The goblin leader was addressing his troops. Kormak left him to it and raced after the rest.
Bones were scattered around the place. They crunched under his boots or skittered away at the passage of his flying feet. Most were goblin-sized but there were skeletons of wolves and larger creatures that were definitely not goblins. The bones were crushed and splintered. There were fewer skulls than he would have expected.
The howling behind him drove him on. He risked a glance over his shoulder. The wolves and their riders had stopped at the foot of the stairs. The wolves bayed with hunger and wrath, the goblins brandished their weapons and chittered threats. None of them made any move further.
Up ahead, Sasha and the others had halted. A few goblins lobbed futile missiles in their direction but none of them made any attempt to come any further.
“They’ve stopped,” said Karnea. A frown furrowed her brow.
“They almost had us,” said Sasha. “Why did they quit now?”
“Maybe they are afraid of something,” said Boreas.
“What could there possibly be around here that would frighten off a warband like that?” Sasha said.
“Let’s hope we don’t find out,” said Kormak. He sniffed the air. There was a foetid scent to it.
“The way our luck has been going I am not too hopeful of that.”
A goblin larger than the others strode along the front of their line, berating them, but it was clear that the other goblins were refusing to follow.
Somewhere in the depths, an unholy bellow sounded, as if some great beast had sensed the presence of intruders and was warning them from its territory.
“I hate it when I am right,” said Boreas.
They trudged deeper into the district, determined to put the goblins behind them. The others all seemed to feel that they would be safer with the wolves and their riders out of sight.
Their feet scuffed along the ground as if they were too heavy to lift. The unnatural energy of the quickleaf drained from Kormak’s body. His limbs felt stiff and achy, as if he were coming down with a disease. Dire fears of the creature that had made that awful sound scuttled through his mind but they had heard nothing more since the initial bellow.
“We need to find a place to rest,” he said. Boreas nodded agreement. Sasha grunted. Karnea reeled along as if lost in a world of fatigue. He raised his hand as a sign that they should stop. If they blundered into whatever had frightened off the goblins, they were most likely dead.
They were trudging along a street of open-fronted shops. There were no goods, only trash strewn about. They were of a shophouse design with living quarters at the back. Kormak shepherded the party into the storefront and through into the sleeping area. He chose at random but that was as good as anything else at the moment.
The others threw their packs on the ground and collapsed on top of them, using them as pillows. The drums still sounded. The vibration could be felt through the floor.
Karnea lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. “This is not quite turning out the way I thought it would,” she said. She sounded as if she wanted to cry.
“We’re not dead yet,” said Boreas. He clearly meant it to sound encouraging but it just reminded everyone of how close they had come to meeting their fates.
“We’re all suffering from the after-effects of quickleaf,” Kormak said. “Get some rest. Things will look better after some sleep.”
“We need to set watches,” said Boreas.
“I will take the first,” said Kormak. The warrior nodded agreement and slumped down gratefully. All of the others closed their eyes. Soon Boreas was snoring. Kormak sat facing the door, with his back to the wall, scabbarded blade across his knees. He found his thoughts drifting.
It had been a very long day. The events on the surface seemed a long time ago, as if they had happened weeks ago and not... He had no idea how many hours it had been since they started. If forced to guess, he would say that the sun had set above.
“What are you thinking?” Sasha asked softly.
“I thought you were going to get some sleep.”
“I can’t get my mind to stop.” She looked enviously at the snoring Boreas and Karnea who lay with her head atop her arm, propped up against her pack, the very picture of exhaustion.
“It happens,” said Kormak.
“Are you always like this? I�
��ve seen stones show more emotion.”
“Well, we are in a dwarven city.”
“Was that supposed to be a joke?”
“They are good sculptors,” he said. “They can make stonework show emotion.”
“I knew what you were trying to say. There’s no need to bludgeon me over the head with it.”
He shrugged.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I am just nervous. Hell, more than that... I am terrified.”
“That’s understandable.”
“You don’t think we’re going to get out of here alive, do you?”
“I’ve survived worse places than this.”
She studied him for a moment, head tilted to one side. “You have, haven’t you? You’re not just saying that.”
“I thought I was going to die today,” he said. “Several times. I am still here. The same may be true tomorrow.”
“Or it may not.”
He smiled. “Or it may not. I have lived with the prospect of death since I was eight years old. I don’t find it as frightening as I once did.”
“Since... since the Old One came to your village?”
“Yes.”
She moved a little closer, placed her head against his shoulder. She was seeking comfort. He measured the distance to the door, decided he could push her off and get to his feet before anyone could reach him. The pressure of her head comforted him too.
“It’s not me so much I am worried about—all right, that’s a lie, I am worried about me—but I am really scared for Tam and Sal. What will happen to them if I don’t come back?”
“They’ll survive. I did.”
“You had Master Malan to look after you.” Kormak thought about that. He remembered how invincible Malan had seemed, so stern and just but reassuring at the same time.
“True.”
“If anything happened to me down here, there will be no one to look after them. Tam needs medicine. Sal can barely look after herself.”
He looked down at her. There were tears running down her face. She was fighting back sobs.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let it. I gave Tam my promise.”
“You could at least try and sound convincing,” she said.
“I am not likely to come back if you don’t.”
“That’s much more convincing and even less reassuring.”
“Apparently, I am not very good at this.”
“You are a little too honest.”
“You think?” Kormak thought of the many deceptions his life as a Guardian had forced him to perform, the many lies he had told to people he had later killed. Her words seemed like a joke to him and he was about to say so then he noticed her breathing was soft. Her eyes were closed. She was asleep. Exhaustion had finally caught up with her.
Kormak gently laid her head down on his pack, shifted his weight and kept his eyes on the door. He thought about young Tam. He thought about his own father. He thought about oaths he had sworn and promises he had made. Sasha had not taken his words seriously but he had meant them. If he could he would keep her alive. Now the only question was who was going to do the same for him?
Tired as he was, he stood guard until his watch was over. Only when Boreas had woken himself did he allow himself to drop headlong into deep, deep sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
KORMAK SAW THE city as it had once been. The streets teemed with dwarves, proud and noble. They were broad and powerful and they did not walk like men. Sometimes they lowered their long, strong arms to the ground and moved on all fours. Around the dwarves, moving in packs, were numerous other creatures, smaller, with tiny bodies and spindly limbs, adapted to moving through the narrow pipes and corridors, working at tens of thousands of menial tasks. There was something familiar about them suggestive of goblins, although these small beings were less savage, more docile, seemingly happy with their work and the positions of utter servitude. Among them, the Old Ones stalked like princes, surrounded by retinues of creatures glittering and monstrous, none more so than themselves.
Kormak knew he was dreaming. He wondered if he was seeing something real, some echo of the past caught within the endless geomantically shaped corridors of the city, or whether this had all been conjured up out of his own mind from the sights he had witnessed. The thought vanished, forgotten instantly as the scene changed.
War came to the world outside the city. The Old Ones fought among themselves with terrible weapons. Refugees sought sanctuary in Khazduroth bearing the seeds of its destruction. Plague was unleashed and the dwarves died. Their small servants changed. They had become smaller of head and torso, longer and spindlier of limb. They seemed more and more numerous as if breeding faster and faster.
There were fewer and fewer Old Ones present and those who remained looked different, more brutal, as if they had adapted themselves to war. There were fewer dwarves too and they looked haggard and haunted as the war raged on through their city. They wore armour now and they carried weapons that blazed with terrible runes. Madness took them and they fought with each other. Some fled the city through the open gates. Some stayed and were changed utterly.
Years became decades. Decades became centuries. Hordes of monstrously mutated menials and companies of armoured dwarves stalked through the near-abandoned city. The lights were dim. Many of the potent runestones had been defaced. Rubble blocked streets as if the whole place had been hit by an earthquake. He knew somehow that the destruction had affected the potent geomancies of the city, blocked the flows of magical energy, tainted them, added to the deaths and mutations.
The war built to a blazing crescendo. The dwarves were led now by a single surviving Old One. The menials by another. Both of them were changed from what they had been. The female leading the dwarves looked pale and ill although she still blazed with magical power. The male leading the mutated menials looked ever more like them but far larger, and he bore more than a passing resemblance to Graghur. The two Old Ones fought with the intensity of lovers turned enemies. The one that might have been Graghur wounded the female with a terrible runic weapon. She in turn cursed him with a power and vehemence that sent him fleeing from the city, filled with terror, body becoming ever more twisted.
The scene shifted again and Kormak felt as if he was on the verge of witnessing some new momentous change, but then the whole city began to shake once more as if in the grip of an earthquake. In the distance he could hear the sound of a great heartbeat, shaking the entire world so violently that it threatened to tumble apart. The vibration was so great that it swept him from side to side as he fell, battering him off the walls as he tumbled.
Mighty winds roared in his ears. They buffeted him relentlessly. The wind howled louder than any wolf and he realised at last that it was howling his name.
“Kormak,” it said as he slammed against a wall and burning lava rose to greet him.
“Kormak,” it said as a stone floor gave way beneath him, sending a sulphurous cloud up to greet him.
“Kormak,” it said. He looked up into the face of Karnea as he came awake.
“What is it?” Kormak swallowed. His mouth felt dry. His limbs felt weak. His neck felt tense. He rose, realising that he still clutched the blade in his hand.
“You were talking in your sleep,” she said. “In the Old Tongue.”
“What was I saying?”
“You talked about Graghur and menials and war.”
“I was dreaming,” he said, and told her what he had seen.
She tilted her head and looked at him oddly. “Have you had such dreams before?
“Yes. In the past. In other places. Why?”
“Where you have dreamed of things that happened in the deep past?”
“This was just a nightmare. Brought on by this place.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe you are a sensitive. One of those who soaks up the events in a place.”
“I am no sorcerer, no diviner either.”
“It’s a gift
some have,” Karnea said. “It’s not like casting a spell. Sometimes it only works when the conscious mind is at rest. Tell me honestly, do you think what you witnessed in your dream happened?”
He considered denying it. “It might have.”
She smiled at his surly tone. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was just a dream.”
A sound came through the open doorway, a sort of heavy slithering.
“Perhaps you should have paid more attention to our surroundings and less to what I was saying,” Kormak said. “You were on watch.”
Karnea looked guilty and moved over to Boreas to wake him.
Kormak rose and stalked to the entrance and looked out. Something massive moved by in the gloom. A long snake-like torso was visible on the street outside. A mouldy stink filled the air. He slid forward into the open shopfront, sword held ready.
He looked out and saw an immense serpent. Where the head would have been on a snake there was what, at first, looked like a human torso. It might have belonged to a muscular giant of a man, except that the head was the wrong shape. It had the huge bat-like ears of a goblin and the shimmering scaly skin. It was an unholy combination of goblin and devil python and something else, a Shadow demon perhaps.
Behind it was a trail of foul-smelling slime. Its head turned and it looked back and Kormak ducked out of its line of sight. He had a brief glimpse of whitish blind-seeming eyes.
The snake thing halted. Kormak wondered whether he had been seen. His one consolation was that if he had been, the monster would have great difficulty finding its way into this cramped space. Not that it needed to, he realised. It could simply wait for them to emerge or die of starvation. Clearly this was something the goblins feared and it must be even more formidable than it looked to have frightened them.
Kormak pressed his back against the wall of the shop front and held very still. He could hear only distant beating of goblin drums. Was the creature waiting to see what he was doing or was it, even now, gliding silently closer?
