by William King
Citadel of Demons
Book Eleven of the Kormak Saga
William King
Typhon Press
Chapter One
Count Balthazar stretched his wings and flew. Exultation and terror warred in his soul. To escape certain death, he had abandoned his allies and his gear. To transform into a demon, he had sacrificed his last minion, Orm. No matter, it was worth it. Once again, he had eluded the Guardian Kormak’s dwarf-forged blade.
Ribbons of cloud stretched across the desert sky. As he gazed down on the rooftops of Helgard, vertigo twisted Balthazar’s stomach. Lanterns shone as people emerged into the streets. They must have heard the screams from the citadel above them and come out to investigate.
Were any members of his coven left alive? Did they look up at the sky now in awe and terror, seeing his bat-winged form flit across the moon?
Perhaps he should descend. Maybe there were those who would aid him. Most likely though, in the panic following the failed coup, the terrified citizens would stone him to death. Any cult members would join in to preserve their cover.
It was an old lesson, well learned: you could never tell who would betray you. Balthazar had stabbed enough people in the back to be always wary of others.
No. He needed to fly out into the desert then contact those who could still aid him. He only had until dawn then his demonic carapace would evaporate like mist in the rays of the morning sun. Before that, he must put as much distance between himself and his enemies as possible.
The Guardian Kormak would not give up his pursuit. They both needed to find Xanadar, the source of the coffin from which the Old One Vorkhul had emerged. Balthazar was a sorcerer, with a sorcerer’s memory. He remembered all the details the mercenary Anders had given about his journey to the ages-lost city.
He pictured a map in his mind, made up from all the information Anders spilled during his interrogation. He pictured the bare parchment representing the great desert, envisaged an arrow indicating north. Circles indicated the position of the town of Helgard and the tower of Dhargon’s Beacon. Anders claimed Xanadar lay about a week’s march north-west across the polluted wastes amid a ring of glittering white mountains.
On the horizon the first landmark, Dhargon’s Beacon, loomed, an awesome work of Elder World sorcery, a glittering tower tall as a small mountain. Its runes glowed in the darkness like a lighthouse. It was his cult’s prearranged meeting place if they had to flee Helgard into the desert.
Could Balthazar fly to Xanadar tonight? He could soar far faster than a horse could run, but it would not be fast enough. It had taken Anders’s expedition many days to march across the wastelands even with a guide. Balthazar did not have one. It was always possible that his information was incorrect. Anders had every reason to deceive those who had captured him.
At his fastest, Balthazar could not cover the entire distance in what remained of this night. It would not do to drop into the desert, naked and without supplies. He would be easy prey for marauding tribesmen or the monsters that haunted the wastelands.
If the sand demons did not get him, thirst and hunger would. Without proper gear, he could not navigate except by the sun. Best to stick with his original plan. If any allies remained alive in Helgard, they would seek him out at Dhargon’s Beacon, bringing supplies and equipment. If no one came within a few days, he would make up his mind about what to do then.
But before he left, he wanted to give the mortals something to remember him by. He extended his wings to their fullest and dived towards the ground. Lantern-carrying townsmen stared up at him, screaming and wailing. He laughed a demon’s laugh, putting terror into the hearts of those he would one day rule.
At the last moment, he pulled up and soared over the red-tiled rooftops, racing towards the walls. The elder signs in the stones interfered with the transformation spell. Agony wracked his body.
Terror clenched his bowels. What if he lost control of his demon form? What if the wards caused it to vanish? He would plummet to his doom and his dreams of conquest would come to an untimely end.
The moment of doubt passed. He flashed over the wall, his wings beating fast. Behind him, the guardsmen struggled to bring their missile weapons to bear.
It had been foolish to risk a crossbow bolt embedding itself in his armoured carapace. If such a missile immobilised one of his wings, it might prove fatal.
The demon was affecting him. Perhaps it wanted to take revenge on him for binding it. He needed to keep it under control.
He extended his wings and flapped higher. It was cold and dark but the distant gleam of the Beacon gave him something to navigate by. It was time to fly before the pursuit began.
* * *
Kormak stepped off the stone staircase into the darkened courtyard of Helgard Keep. After the screaming, everything was eerily quiet. In one corner, surrounded by the dead bodies of soldiers and horses, a massive pile of flesh decomposed into black ooze. Soon, the only evidence that demons had manifested within the fortress would be gone.
The Guardian’s movements were slow. His ribs ached. His forehead burned. He had taken a beating during the fight. He needed to find herbs to dull the pain and help him heal.
The air stank of rotting meat and the oily tang of blight. It made him want to gag. He bit back a curse. The stink reminded him of the sorcerer who had just escaped. Once again, Balthazar had eluded him, transforming himself into a demon and flying away towards the wastes. Kormak had little doubt as to where the wizard was headed. Balthazar sought the lost city of Xanadar, the same as he did.
Pale-faced, the merwoman Rhiana looked around the courtyard, a tight smile on her lips. Her white translucent second eyelids made her look blind. She ran a web-fingered hand through her cropped moon-silvered hair, glanced at Kormak, and said, “It’s gone.”
Kormak had never seen her look so uneasy. He could not blame her. She was sensitive to sorcery. Minutes ago, they had witnessed a manifestation of ultra-cosmic evil within this keep. Only the deadly magic of Kormak’s dwarf-forged blade had saved them.
People emerged from the other doors around the courtyard, glancing at Kormak and his companions warily. The Shadow had transformed its followers into monsters. They had rampaged through the castle killing everything they encountered. Clearly, the locals suspected that demons from the Outer Dark were still present.
“We need to find out how many others survived,” Admiral Zamara said, as he exited the stairwell and entered the courtyard. His blade was still in his hand, his ornate uniform ripped in several places. The tall blond Siderean nobleman looked as if he wanted to be sick. It was testimony to the horror unleashed here that the Admiral felt that way. Zamara had faced manifestations of the supernatural before.
“Yes,” Kormak said. “If we can keep them from killing us.”
People glared as if they expected Kormak and his companions to turn into more demons. The locals probably blamed them for the manifestation of Shadow. The soldiers among them kept their weapons drawn. If a leader emerged, the carnage would begin again, with Kormak and his friends as the target of their aggression.
Zamara bellowed, “Sheathe your swords. We are not the enemy here. Sir Kormak is a Guardian of the Dawn and he has banished the evil that attacked us.”
All eyes went to the Admiral. They did not know him but they recognised the authority in his voice. The fact that Zamara was dressed as a high-ranking nobleman of the court of King-Emperor Aemon of Siderea helped. He had the habit of command, and that was the main thing. Slowly, the soldiers slid their swords back into their scabbards then took their hands away from their weapons.
“All of you, search the fortress, locate any survivors and bring them to this courtyard,” Zamara shouted. “We need to
find out how many have died and how many are still alive and we need to take care of anyone injured.”
Kormak knew how true that was. It was possible that some of the survivors were tainted with Shadow. If that were the case, they would have to die.
He had not seen a manifestation of the Shadow on this scale in a long time. At least some of the officers in the keep must have been cultists. There had to have been a conspiracy. It was no coincidence that the Shadow worshippers unleashed their demons on the day that Kormak and his companions arrived. He saw the hand of the sorcerer Balthazar in this.
It annoyed him that he did not have time to investigate. He needed to get on the sorcerer’s trail, to organise an expedition to cross the wastelands and find the source of the Elder World sarcophagus that Balthazar sought.
He glanced around to make sure that Anders was still present. The former mercenary did not look as frightened as the others. He had encountered monsters when he had found the lost city of Xanadar.
Kormak was glad that Anders was still alive. The mercenary represented the one small advantage that he still had over the sorcerer. Anders had been to the ruined citadel where Vorkhul’s coffin had been found. He knew the way and the dangers. He could lead Kormak there.
“Well, at least I bought us some time,” Admiral Zamara said, pitching his voice so low only Kormak could hear. The Guardian raised an eyebrow.
The Admiral shrugged, “I managed to distract the locals. They were going to turn on us there. They might yet do it if they are given some time to think.”
“You’re right,” Kormak said. “And that’s only the start of our problems. We still need to stop Balthazar.”
“I knew you would find a way of making me feel worse,” Admiral Zamara said. “I can always rely on you to find a darker lining in every silver cloud.”
“Glad to be of service,” Kormak said. A surge of movement from the edge of the courtyard drew his attention. Sergeant Terves emerged from a barracks tower, followed by the soldiers who had escorted Kormak up from the capital city, Maial. Kormak was glad the grey-haired veteran had survived. He was even more glad that many of Zamara’s marines had. They were not without allies here after all.
That was good. They were going to need all the help they could get.
* * *
“You men,” Admiral Zamara bellowed to his marines. “Form up. Get ready to fight. If the locals look as if they are going to draw their swords on us, cut them down!”
Sergeant Terves moved among the marines, shaping them into a line. The men looked tired and scared. They had lost comrades this evening. They appeared ready to fight though. As with Zamara and Terves, this was not the first time they had encountered the supernatural.
The soldiers from Maial looked mutinous. Kormak not blame them for that. They’d had a hard time since Governor Aurin assigned them to Zamara’s force. Before this expedition, all they had to do was put down rioters and look good when the governor put on a ceremonial display. Since they left the capital, they’d spent days fighting the mutated tribesfolk of the jungle and fleeing before dark sorcery. This evening they had faced demons and judging by the absent faces, they had lost well over half of their number.
Zamara walked over to the soldiers, hands behind his back. He glared at the guards and said, “There’s every chance that the locals are going to try to slit our throats. It would be a pity if you survived the attack of demons only to be cut down by people who should be your allies.”
The guardsmen understood. They were just as much outsiders as Kormak and Zamara and the marines. They would be targets for local wrath if it needed to find a focus.
The soldiers stood taller. Kormak decided to reinforce the discipline. “There were Shadow worshippers in this fortress. There may still be some. Keep on your guard. Report anything unusual.”
Scores of people assembled in the courtyard, huddling in small groups, talking quietly about what had happened. Many looked sidelong at the outsiders. It was easier for the locals to believe that strangers had caused all this destruction rather than their own officers. It was time to set matters straight.
Kormak strode into the centre of the courtyard and said, “Demons were summoned from the Outer Dark this evening. Some of your officers were responsible.”
He paused for a few moments to give that time to sink in. “I’ve seen this before. Corrupt officials making pacts with the enemies of humanity. In this case, they were led by a man called Count Balthazar, a demon worshipper and a sorcerer of the Shadow.”
One of the sergeants from the keep glared at him and said, “I know Count Balthazar. He has visited here many times.”
“You know Count Balthazar?” Kormak stared hard at the man. The sergeant was not daunted by the implication that he might be in league with a Shadow worshipper.
“He was a friend of officers here. He visited on several occasions. He was always good to us.”
Some soldiers murmured agreement. It was possible that the sergeant might rouse them against the outsiders. Kormak wondered if he was a cultist trying to buy time for his master.
“Count Balthazar is in league with the forces of darkness,” Kormak said. “He transformed himself into a demon, and flew off over the roofs of the city.”
“Says you,” the sergeant said.
“Ask the guards on the walls. They saw him fly away. The same as I did.” Kormak gripped the hilt of his sword. It protruded over his left shoulder. Everybody understood. Guardians of the Dawn carried weapons in this way as a symbol of their burden. Kormak was tempted to draw his blade but he resisted. He had been taught never to unsheathe the weapon unless he intended to kill. He preferred to avoid that if he could.
“I am a Guardian of the Dawn. I have been commissioned by King-Emperor Aemon and I carry his warrant. If anybody stands in my way, they are opposing the authority of the king. Is that what you want to do?”
The keep sergeant cast down his gaze. He paused for a moment and it was enough to make a small change in the mood of the crowd.
“Count Balthazar was imprisoned upon his arrival,” someone said. Kormak turned to see a skinny soldier standing in a corner. “I had to escort him down into the cells. A message had come up from the Helgate, warning about his involvement in some rebellion among the jungle clans.”
Other soldiers nodded their heads. The sergeant glared at them. He sensed that his own position becoming precarious. He said, “Of course, I do not wish to oppose the will of the King-Emperor. I am a loyal servant of the Crown. But we have no proof that you are what you say you are. Where is this warrant?”
Kormak reached within his tunic and produced the paper. He also produced the seal ring of the King-Emperor. He held it aloft so that everybody could see it. Nobody came any closer in search of the truth of the matter. All of them seemed overawed just by the sight of it. He might as well have been holding up a letter from his grandfather.
“We’re wasting time here,” Kormak said. “As I stand here arguing with you, Count Balthazar flees the king’s justice. He escapes on a mission of great evil. If he is not stopped, what happened here this evening will be just the start.”
“Best get some rest,” he told the others. “We need to be on the march tomorrow.”
He doubted that any of them would be able to sleep. Kormak wondered what the sorcerer was doing now.
Chapter Two
The clouds parted. The moonlight revealed that Balthazar was flying over fields. Cattle lowed in terror, frightened by his passage. Ahead, in the distance, Dhargon’s Beacon loomed, at least ten times taller than the highest tower in Terra Nova. The black stone looked like marble except for the runes that glowed in the darkness. He could not understand those ancient hieroglyphics. They were not in the tongue of the Eldrim or the language of the ancient Shadow worshippers, nor was it any of the dozen Elder World scripts that he understood.
Cryptic messages flickered across its surface. Were they a warning or something else? He sensed the power flowi
ng through the structure, unlike anything he had ever encountered before. The Beacon was a creation of titanic sorcery but what its purpose was he could not guess.
Soon the fields gave way to scrub. Wild horses raced beneath him. There were no fences or walls. Few people wanted to live so close to the desert. Balthazar could not blame them. There were monsters and savage tribesmen out there. He had never cared for the wild lands. He liked cities and books and the company of his fellow men. He preferred places where he could find people to dominate. He liked an audience that looked up to him and beautiful women and wine and gold.
Once he had achieved his goal, he would have the power to make his darkest dreams come true. This desert was but one stage on his long journey to ultimate power. It was close to being the last step. Soon he would have access to the coffins of the imprisoned Old Ones. Soon he would free them and put Xothak’s plans into action. Soon he would have power the like of which few had ever experienced.
If Xothak had not lied to him.
He pushed that thought from his mind. He believed in the Lord of Skulls. He had no doubts. Things would be as Xothak said.
He forced himself to think of more pleasant things. Soon he would take vengeance on those who had made him flee. He would turn at bay, like a wounded tiger, and spring upon the enemies who had harassed him for so long. He would teach them the meaning of terror. They would regret chasing him across Terra Nova. They would regret interfering with his plans.
The land turned into barren sand and rock. Some of it glowed in the darkness, a sure sign of blight. This was an area curdled by evil magical energy. At any other time, this would have interested him. Such places were wells of magic, a potential source of strength. Perhaps, if he found another one, he would be able to draw on its power to smite his enemies.
A headwind out of the desert pushed him back as if the land itself was attempting to thwart him. He was tired. Casting spells was like running great distances with heavy weights attached to your limbs. This night he had summoned Xothak and transformed himself into a demon. It had taken its toll.
