by Steve Feasey
‘What? No wedding for us?’ Astrid angrily asked him. ‘I thought we were to be the queen’s guests?’
‘There is to be no wedding today.’
‘No? What then?’ she spat. ‘Our execution?’
The man frowned, and looked down at the knife. ‘I have been sent here to free you, not harm you,’ he said, beginning to unlock the cages. ‘This is to cut your bonds.’
‘Who ordered this?’ asked Astrid, still eyeing the man with distrust. ‘I can’t believe Glaeverssun would willingly let us—’
‘Glaeverssun is dead,’ Lann said, raising himself to his feet and wincing as the blood flowed back into his legs. He offered his hands, allowing the man to sever his ties. ‘Isn’t he?’
The soldier gave him an odd look, but nodded his answer.
‘And your queen?’ Astrid’s voice was little more than a whisper as she remembered Lann’s explanation of the sword’s judgement of both individuals.
‘Queen Favner is dead too,’ the soldier said. ‘At the hands of her husband-to-be. King Rinkor rules Vorneland now,’ he said, pulling himself together and handing Lann the knife. ‘He requests an urgent audience with the three of you.’
‘Rinkor?’ Fleya said. ‘The captain who captured us?’
‘No longer a captain. He finds himself the ruler of these lands now.’
‘That is quite a promotion.’
‘Indeed. I’m sure he will tell you all about it during your audience.’
‘Where is my sword, the Dreadblade?’ Lann asked.
The man’s lip curled up in distaste at the mention of the weapon. He shook his head and tried the name out. ‘“Dreadblade”. Aye, that’s an apt name for the thing, all right. It was found in Queen Favner’s chambers, her blood still on its edge. My men will not touch it, and I don’t blame them. Those who approach it are filled with a terrible feeling of fear that is so great they are convinced majik is at work.’ The man eyed the boy warily. ‘The thing is cursed, isn’t it?’
Lann’s refusal to answer was met by a humourless snort.
‘I thought as much.’
‘A blade – even one of majik – is still only a tool,’ Fleya said. ‘It was the wielder of the weapon who is responsible for your kingdom’s loss. You would do well to remember that.’
‘Be that as it may, it is a malevolent thing that has no place inside these walls,’ the soldier replied, turning back to Lann. ‘King Rinkor, however, has said you may have it back. He was the only one with courage enough to handle it. He will return it to you during your audience with him.’
The news that he and the Dreadblade were to be reunited created a host of conflicting thoughts and emotions inside Lann. The separation had been genuinely painful – almost physically so – for him. And yet the sword’s motives in allowing itself to be taken could be seen as reprehensible. It had decided Favner and Glaeverssun should be punished for their crimes, and it had set about seeing that justice be done. It had killed them. It would have killed them if it thought Lann was willing to wield it in the act of doing so, but it knew he was not. Did that mean it didn’t really need him? Did what happened here mean it would leave him and plunge him back into the darkness?
As these last thoughts occurred to him, an all too familiar whisper filled his head.
Nir-akuu.
Monsters.
And then a new word that he also understood somehow.
Ishmet.
Together.
Pulling himself up to his full height Lann looked the man in the eye. ‘Take me to my sword,’ he said.
They were given time to wash and change before they were brought before the new king.
Rinkor seemed ill at ease on his throne.
Seeing the puzzled look on their faces, he gave a small smile. ‘I have the dubious honour of being the last king’s bastard child.’ A small shrug. ‘Only a handful of people knew about my birth and I owe the reason that I am still breathing to the fact that Queen Favner was not one of them.’
Lann nodded towards the dais and the huge wooden chair the man sat upon. ‘You appear to have taken her place quickly enough.’
‘Believe me, young man, when I tell you I have no wish to be seated here.’ His words were accompanied by a sad shake of his head. ‘But Favner’s murder left Vorneland without a ruler. The last time that happened, over seventy years ago, a civil war lasting eight long and bloody winters was the result.’ He shrugged. ‘I love my people. Even reluctant monarchs must do what is right for those they rule.’ He tapped the arm of the great wooden seat with the ring on his finger and sat up taller. ‘The queen did many things that demand reparation during her reign, and the first of these can be dealt with here and now. Please accept my apologies for the way in which you were treated in these lands, and for the part I played in your capture and imprisonment. You must understand that I swore a blood oath to obey all orders given me by my ruler, whether I agreed with them or not. That is a burden every soldier must carry.’
‘I understand,’ said Fleya quietly.
‘Now,’ he went on. ‘Perhaps you three would be so kind as to provide answers to some questions I have.’ He turned to Lann. ‘Jarl Gudbrandr, answer me honestly. Did you have any hand in the killing of the queen?’
A sad smile played on Lann’s mouth. ‘I doubt you would allow me to stand here before you like this if you thought I had.’
‘Nevertheless, I need to hear the words from your own lips.’
Lann placed his hand across his heart. ‘Then my answer is no. I played no part in Favner’s death.’
‘But your weapon did,’ the king said. Reaching down to one side, he lifted an item up from the floor and placed it on his lap. Although it had been wrapped in thick cloth, there was little doubting what it was. ‘The dark blade. It is no ordinary sword, is it?’
Lann studied the man for a moment before answering. ‘It is a weapon of the old gods, sworn to eradicate evil wherever it might find it. And it found evil here.’
The king frowned. When he spoke again his voice was low.
‘I, like many others, had heard the rumours. That she killed my young half-brother, lying to her subjects that she’d sent him away to be schooled by holy men. That she was also responsible for the death of the king. And others. Her evil deeds sent her mad. And her madness made her all the more dangerous. Still, I should have acted against her.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ Fleya asked, though there was no note of accusation in her voice.
‘I didn’t want to believe it. That, and the fact that those who opposed the queen in any way over the last year or so are no longer with us. Glaeverssun played his part in her reign of terror. He would have her remove anyone he thought posed a danger. I didn’t act against him either. Does that make me a coward, I wonder?’
‘No. As you said, you were a soldier, sworn to obey, not question.’ Fleya tilted her head. ‘The gods kept you alive for a purpose. Perhaps you are the man to make your kingdom whole again.’
‘We are sorry for what happened here, King Rinkor,’ Lann said. ‘Please know that my friends and I want nothing more than to leave your borders as quickly as possible.’
‘But your work here, and that of the dark blade, is not yet done.’ They all turned in surprise at the sound of the new voice.
The man stepped forth from the shadows. He was dressed in the uniform worn by the royal guards, but Lann recognised him immediately as the red-robed priest who had taken him to the hidden temple in Stromgard.
Rinkor and Astrid, their reactions triggered by years of combat training, drew their swords almost in unison. The man put his hands up to show he was unarmed. He seemed unfazed by this threat of violence. Indeed, the smile on his lips merely broadened.
‘He means us no harm,’ Lann said.
‘Who is he?’ Astrid asked, her sword still trained on the newcomer.
The man addressed her, but his words were for them all. ‘Someone who is interested in the Dreadblade and the safety of i
ts wielder. Please, lower your weapons, my friends.’
Astrid glanced across at Rinkor, who gave her a small nod. The pair held the swords to their sides, although neither was willing to fully sheathe their blade.
‘This man and I met at the feast in Stromgard,’ Lann said.
‘He is no man,’ Fleya said, her voice as calm as the stranger’s. ‘He is the god Storren.’
Rinkor let out a gasp and dropped to his hands and knees, pressing his head to the cold stone of the dais. ‘You honour us, Storren. I know in the old times the gods walked among us,’ the newly crowned king said, his voice hoarse. ‘But I never thought I would come face-to-face with one.’
The god seemed amused by the king’s reaction. ‘The people of Vorneland have always been my most ardent worshippers. Even now, when belief in the old gods wanes, many here still pray my name. Please – stand, Rinkor. We have much to discuss, and I would prefer to do so with the king on his feet.’ He nodded at the man. ‘It may have reached your ears from some local farmers that livestock has gone missing recently?’
Rinkor nodded. ‘My people think it is the work of wolves.’ He shrugged. ‘Those are the creatures usually responsible for taking livestock.’
‘No wolf is to blame for these attacks’ The god paused and took in the faces of those around him. ‘No, something far more sinister is responsible.’
‘What?’
‘A local farmer came to the palace this morning with the carcass of a calf in his cart. At first he refused to leave unless you agreed to see it with your own eyes. He is a desperate man.’ The god paused and gave a small shake of his head. ‘He has good reason to be.’
The king frowned. ‘Where is this farmer?’
‘Your men persuaded him to leave the animal in the ice house and sent him away. You need to see this creature, what has happened to it, and understand what it means.’
‘And that is?’ said Rinkor, his eyebrows raised.
The god gave him a grave look. ‘All in good time.’ He gestured towards the large doors at the front of the longhouse. ‘Shall we?’
The ice house was in a small building next to the kitchens. Throwing back the bolt that held the door in place, Rinkor stepped into the place and beckoned for the others to follow.
The calf lay on the floor in the centre of the building, its dead eyes staring up at the ceiling above it. Having grown up on a cattle farm, Lann was not unused to encountering dead livestock and he took a step forward to get a better look at the animal. The beast seemed unhurt at first glance; there were no slashes or puncture marks on its hindquarters or flanks, as Lann would have expected if it had been pursued by wolves. It was only as he moved to the front of the animal that he saw the cause of its death.
Below the neck, where the animal’s chest broadened out, was a great cavernous hole. As though a giant arm had reached in and …
He turned to look at the god Storren.
‘Something took its heart,’ Lann whispered.
‘Indeed.’ The god shook his head. ‘The farmer, the man your guards sent away … His daughter went missing at about the same time he discovered this unfortunate creature. You can imagine what he fears.’
Lann closed his eyes, but the image of what had been done to the young animal was seared into his brain. Feeling his gorge rising, he pushed past the others to get out of the ice house, gulping in the fresh air outside. The others quickly joined him.
‘What monstrosity is responsible for this?’ Fleya asked.
‘The creatures of the Void are many and varied,’ Storren replied. ‘But I would suggest this is the doing of an asghoul.’ The god turned to Astrid. ‘Your cousin, the young necromancer, is meddling in things he does not fully understand. The dark majik he is trying to perform is allowing monsters that have long waited for a chance to cross over into this world to do so. Whatever killed that calf and took the young girl must be stopped.’
‘Is she still alive?’ Lann asked.
‘She is. For now.’
Fleya spoke. ‘We have no time. We must reach Kelewulf, and fast, or this will only be the first of many terrible incidents.’
‘A girl is missing!’ Astrid cried. ‘We can’t just leave her to her fate.’
Fleya bit her lip in frustration. ‘Then we have no option but to separate. The pair of you will go looking for the asghoul and the child it has abducted. I will go on alone to face Kelewulf and the lich before they can do much more harm. Join me when you are able.’
‘You will need me,’ Lann protested. ‘The blade, at least …’
‘The majik that the lich Yirgan possessed will be Kelewulf’s to wield now. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet.’ She leaned closer to him, her next words for him alone. ‘You must do this, Lannigon. You must save the child. I knew this moment was coming. I had a vision that the two of us would be separated before the end of this journey.’
‘And did your vision also show you your own fate?’
She looked deep into his eyes before replying. ‘It did.’
‘What did you see?’
‘I can’t tell you that, nephew.’
Lann turned to ask Storren a question, but the god was no longer there. Turning back round, he was not entirely surprised to find his aunt, too, had disappeared.
It was at this moment that the voice of the sword started up inside Lann’s head again, the word all too familiar by now.
Nir-akuu.
Monsters.
Vissergott
31
Two more blocks were all that stood between Kelewulf and the completion of the vast, arched portal to the Void.
How long it had been since they’d started? He had no idea any more. But it had taken a terrible toll. He was painfully thin now, with dark haunted eyes set in a drawn face that had changed to such a degree that he’d been shocked when he’d caught sight of himself in a mirror the previous day.
Rain had been falling solidly for some time, and his sodden clothes stuck to his skin, offering no protection from the cold wind that blew in from the sea. But the weather and its effects hardly registered with the young necromancer.
Kelewulf talked to the lich quite openly now. After all, there was no one to hear, and no one to see his strange behaviour. ‘I need to rest,’ he said in a small voice. ‘This majik … it’s exhausting me.’
The lich stirred within him. But we are so close. There will be time to rest soon enough, after we’ve achieved our goal.
‘We will not achieve our goal if I collapse—’
There was a moan behind him, a terrible, guttural sound, and Kelewulf spun around towards its source. A creature had appeared out of nowhere, a hideous thing that might once have been human but was now decayed and rotten. What little flesh still clung to it in places was greyish-purple, but most of it had fallen away, revealing muscle and sinew at some points, hints of bone or cartilage in others. The smell of rot and decay that accompanied it was like nothing he’d ever experienced, and it was as much as Kelewulf could do not to gag. The thing turned its head to look at him through rheumy grey eyes, the whites of which were a foul, sulphurous yellow colour.
‘Did you summon this creature?’ he asked, staring at it with a mixture of fascination and revulsion.
No, the lich replied, and Kelewulf heard the exultation in his voice. The portal we are creating is ripping holes in the curtain that separates this world from the Void.
The undead thing lifted its chin and sniffed the air. Then it turned and shuffled off in the direction of whatever it had detected.
‘Where is it going?’ he asked.
To feed, the lich responded, drawing the last word out and chuckling.
There was a pause while Kelewulf took this in. He didn’t dare ask what it was the creature sought out.
Still tired? the lich whispered inside his head.
He realised that he wasn’t. The appearance of the revenant had filled him with a new-found vigour, and he knew he wanted nothing more than to get o
n with their work and complete those last two blocks.
He smiled as he closed his eyes and summoned the majik within him.
He couldn’t wait to see what other horrors they might summon forth.
Northern Vorneland
32
The farmer opened the door to his farmhouse just wide enough to peer out at the visitors, a young boy and girl, their travel cloaks wrapped tightly around them to stave off the cold. The night had become even more foggy in the last hour or so, and the grey air swirled slowly behind the pair.
‘Yes? Who are you?’ the man asked.
‘We were sent by King Rinkor,’ the boy answered.
The man’s eyes widened upon hearing this. ‘They … they wouldn’t permit me to speak to him. I begged them, but they refused me an audience. I needed to tell him—’
‘That is why we have come,’ the girl said, interrupting him. ‘To find the creature responsible for those terrible things. And to try and rescue your daughter.’
‘I … I fear she is already dead,’ the man said, tears filling his eyes. ‘Whatever killed the calf has her now and—’
‘Do not give up hope,’ said the boy gently. ‘Please. May we come in?’
The farmer drew the door wider. ‘I am afraid it is a humble home. We are only simple farmers—’
‘My family are … were cattle farmers,’ the boy said. The man stared from him to the girl, taking in the quality of their clothes.
‘You’re farmers?’
‘Not her,’ the boy said, gesturing in the girl’s direction. ‘She’s a princess.’
The look the girl gave the boy made the farmer glad that he wasn’t on the receiving end of it. ‘And he,’ she said, flashing the boy a fierce smile, ‘is an idiot.’ Giving the farmer a nod, Astrid stepped into the farmhouse.
They sat before the fire, warming the cold that had set into their bones during the journey and sipping warm mead from cups that the farmer’s wife had brought them. The man’s name was Bortib, and both he and his wife seemed stunned into silence at hearing the circumstances of Queen Favner’s death.
