Born Of Darkness (Book 7) (11 page)

Kormak nodded. “He died because I was too slow.”

She stared at him with calm green eyes. “You can’t be certain of that.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not. And I can tell myself that about all the other people I failed to save, but there comes a point when I stop believing it.”

“You’re tired.”

“Yes. I am. And not just from lack of sleep. I am tired of this whole business. Maybe it is time I gave up the blade, passed it on to somebody better able to wield it.”

She put her hand on top of his. “I’ve never seen anyone who could use a sword like you, and, believe me, I have known some masters.”

“I met Gerd when I first arrived at Mount Aethelas. He was a year older than me. Youngest son of an old Taurean noble family. Made no difference to him that I was from an Aquilean hill-tribe. He treated me the same as he treated everybody else.”

“He made fun of you.”

Kormak smiled. “Yes. He did.”

“He was a funny man. Why did you end up on the Mountain anyway?”

“I came to Aethelas, after an Old One killed my family. My entire village if truth be told. Malan found me, brought me back. The Order took me in and trained me. Since I took up this sword I’ve done my best to see that the Old Ones never killed anybody else’s people.”

“That’s what you’re doing here.”

“Trying to do. It’s what Gerd was trying to do too. Even though he gave up the sword.”

As he spoke, he realised he was getting to the core of what troubled him. “He didn’t need to go with us but he went anyway.”

“He was a brave man.”

Anger sparked within Kormak. “Yes. He was. And he felt he needed to prove that. To me. To himself. And there was something else there to.”

“What?”

“I think he missed the chase. I think he needed to be there even if it killed him.”

“Are we talking about him now?”

He looked into those green eyes. “Yes.”

He snapped his eyes shut. “I need to sleep,” he said.

“I can see that. I’ll let you get some rest.”

The door closed softly behind her.

***

Kormak opened his eyes and reached for his sword. It lay on the table, within easy reach. A ray of early evening sunlight filtered through the heavy drapes. He stretched out, alone in the large bed. His eyes felt gritty and it took him a long moment to realise where he was. The memory of his failure in the catacombs came back to him. He had let Gerd die. He had allowed the Old One to escape.

He pulled himself from the bed. The claw wounds ached. The potion had worn off and he could feel the pain now. His whole body was sensitive to it. There was an easy solution to that.

He stopped his hand as it reached for the medication flask. He had known many men dependent on such alchemical devices to dull their pain. He pulled his hand away. Better just to feel the wounds. They were minor compared to some he had taken and they reminded him that he was still alive.

He looked at the bottle containing Valen’s Elixir. Maybe he should have used it in the catacombs. Maybe if he had Gerd would still be alive.

A knock sounded on the door. He said, “Enter.”

A servant in the livery of the palace stood there.

“Yes?” Kormak said. He did not relax. The habits of a lifetime made him wary.

“I have a message for you, sir,” said the servant.

“Feel free to deliver it.”

“The Lady Marketa, Ambassador from the Courts of the Moon, requests the pleasure of your company.”

The servant’s face was bland but Kormak could tell that he was curious what the response would be. He must be wondering why the Selenean Ambassador would invite the champion of their sworn enemy to her abode. Kormak was curious himself.

“Tell her I will be there.”

“Very good, sir. I will send someone to guide you to her apartments once you have completed your ablutions. Would the seventh bell be acceptable?”

“Perfectly.”

***

Kormak entered the garden courtyard aware that a dozen pairs of unfriendly eyes watched him. An old, old woman led to a table beneath the shadow of a tree. Her face looked lined by the blast of the desert sun. She eyed him as if he were a tramp who had just showed up at the door begging for food. Kormak gave her his politest smile in response. He had found that always annoyed such people. She sniffed and led him forward.

“Your guest, mother,” she said. “The Guardian Kormak.”

“Thank you, daughter. You may leave us.” The Lady Marketa extended one pale and lovely hand as if she expected it to be kissed. When Kormak made no move to do so she smiled and gestured for him to sit. He inspected the rune-inscribed wooden chair before making use of it. Lady Marketa’s smile became amused.

“Are you worried that I might ensorcel you,” she said.

“I was wondering whether it would take my weight. It looks rather fragile.”

“How diplomatic of you to say so.”

“I was surprised to be invited to break bread with the Lunar Ambassador,” he said.

“I am the
Selenean
Ambassador,” she said. “I do not claim to represent all who follow Our Lady. There are, alas, some who are at odds with my masters and mistresses.”

“Indeed.”

“I invited you here because there are things we should talk about.”

“Does this mean I should listen to what you have to say or that you want question me about recent events beneath the Palace Imperial?”

“You are not a subtle man, are you, Sir Kormak? Or do you just like to give that impression?”

“It’s a hobby.”

She laughed. It was like the tinkling of tiny silver bells; lovely, remote and cold. “You are more entertaining than I expected.”

“I am glad you find me useful for something.”

The mirth vanished from her face. “I know you are useful for many things. That is why you are in Siderea. I do not think it’s an accident that you arrived on a ship that belonged to a notorious pirate and sorcerer. I doubt its chance that you are here as this latest crisis breaks over the palace.”

She paused, waiting to see how he would respond. He looked at the food on the table and said, “Go on.”

“How impolite of me? Are you hungry? Please, help yourself.”

“I have already eaten.”

“Are you afraid I might poison you?”

“You consistently impute me of suspecting you have the most sinister of motives. Why is that?”

Something about his tone reached the ears of the men standing nearby. They were big men, in court garb, with curved Lunar scimitars on their belts. Their hands went to their weapons. Lady Marketa gave the faintest shake of her head and they sank back into dormant watchfulness.

“You are determined to make this less pleasant than it could be,” she said.

“If you have something to say, say it. If you have a favour to ask, ask away.”

“I am curious to know what has been going on. Last night you departed from the ball with the king. This morning the abbot of your order’s local chapter house was summoned, along with all his men. Now the Palace is sealed off. No one in. No one out. There have been rumours concerning all manner of things. Mysterious deaths in the Vaults. The dungeons evacuated. An Old One stalking the catacombs.”

“And you expect me to tell you about this?”

“I may be able to help.”

“How?”

“I possess a good deal of arcane knowledge. There is no one within a hundred leagues who knows more about the Old Ones than I.” It occurred to Kormak that if ever there was a candidate for the person who had unleashed the Old One, she was it. She had the knowledge. She had the power. She had the skill and judging from the way she had been looking at him at the ball she had no great love for King Aemon.

“And why would you want to help the King of Siderea?”

“Because his gratitude might help me with my mission.”

“And what would that be?” Kormak asked.

“My masters sent me here to negotiate the return of the moongate. King Aemon has one in his Museum and all such artefacts are property of the Eldrim.”

Kormak’s eyes narrowed. His lips pursed. “A moongate? Here?”

“Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. The Children of the Moon ruled this land for millennia.”

“I am surprised that the King allows such a thing within his palace.”

“The Palace Imperial is warded.”

“Nonetheless. Such a thing is dangerous . . .”

Her silvery laughter returned. “You have no idea how dangerous.”

“I can make a guess.”

“Yes, you probably can.”

Kormak remained silent.

Marketa saw he was not about to speak. “My offer of aid was sincere. I don’t expect you to believe that but it is true.”

“Does the name Vorkhul mean anything to you?” He asked the question just see her response. Her hand went to her mouth. She gave a faint gasp and her eyes went wide. “I take it that it does.”

“Where did you hear that name?” Her tone was no longer languid and flirtatious. It was the voice of someone who expected to be obeyed.

He paused for just long enough to let her know he was not obedient. “I did not hear it,” he said. “I read it.”

“Where? Mount Aethelas? The fortress-monastery is said, incorrectly, to have the best library in the world.”

“Does the name mean anything to you or not?”

“It means a considerable amount and it is not one I would speak too loudly if I were you.”

“Why not?”

“It might attract the wrong sort of attention.”

“I am used to that.”

“I am not.”

Was it possible she was afraid? She gave the impression of hiding nervousness but all Lunar witches were consummate actresses. He had experience of that.

“So far you have not been very helpful,” he said.

“I would have thought my response would have told you enough.”

“You are attempting to make me believe that the name frightens you.”

“For the simple reason that it does.”

“And why does it do that?”

She glanced around. “I am not sure this is the time or the place to discuss that.”

“I can think of none better. We sit in your garden. There are no visible eavesdroppers. There are no secret passages.”

“There are other means of eavesdropping than listening.”

“And I am sure you have warded this place against them. Unless of course, you intend for this conversation to be overheard.”

“You are a suspicious man.”

“Alas, a lifetime of dealing with the wrong sort of people has left me so.”

“This place is, as you surmise, warded. There are however other things I need to consider.” She glanced at the armed men who stood within earshot.

“You are worried that your own bodyguards might overhear?”

She looked down at her glass and then brought her head up to study him from under her lashes. “The King-Emperor is not the only one who spies on me,” she said. “My superiors and my rivals do to.”

“Tell me about Vorkhul.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“VORKHUL,” THE LADY Marketa said. She glanced around. Her bodyguards had withdrawn far from earshot. They eyed Kormak nervously. They knew they were too far away to perform their function should he prove a threat. “Vorkhul. It means
born of darkness
. Not a name I ever expected to hear in this place. Tell me, where did you read this name?”

And there it was; the wedge that would allow her to question him. He considered his response for a moment. “On a coffin. In the King’s Vault in the catacombs.”

She seemed almost relieved. “On a coffin?”

“A sarcophagus made of sungold and orichalcum and other starmetals. Inscribed with elder signs of containment. The workmanship was pre-Solari. Perhaps from the Sunken Kingdoms.”

“What?”

“I am just telling you where I read the name. Who was Vorkhul?”

“One of the Firstborn, a Prince of the Moon, a warlord and a dominator. One of the Thirteen who betrayed Our Lady and caused her to turn her face from her people. He swore allegiance to Zothaqua, the Watcher in the Darkness, a Prince of Shadow. He became a Shadowlord himself.”

“And someone has just sent his coffin to the King of Siderea.”

“It is not his coffin. The Old Ones do not die as we do. They are not interred.”

“If it is not his coffin, what is it?”

“I do not know. Vorkhul vanished during the Elder Wars, slain by the Angels of the Sun along with the rest of the Shadowlords.”

“Was he?”

“There was something within the sarcophagus, wasn’t there?”

Kormak nodded.

“It cannot have been Vorkhul,” she whispered. “He is long gone. His sigil has been erased from the Stones of Memory. His rune is redacted from the Book of Names. It is remembered by the Shadow Watchers and whispered in secret by those who stand in the Darkness.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Please do. Now if you will excuse me, you have given me much to think upon.

And to communicate to your masters, Kormak thought. He rose and bowed to her and made his way from the garden.

***

Vorkhul flowed through the darkness. His modified ears picked up distant sounds and enabled him to measure the echoes of the high-pitched clicks. From these he could tell the layout of even the darkest corridors, measure distance perfectly. He liked the feel of loping along and the sense that his claws could shred anything he encountered.

The scent of mortals was stronger. Traces of them were all around. Aroma trails led away from the catacombs to the surface.

He caught the stink of a human nearby. Perhaps it sensed his presence for it started to yammer, shrieking in a tone that suggested panic.

Metal clinked as the mortal shifted. It was chained. In the dark, it would not be able to see him. These mortals relied on their eyes. The rest of their senses were dull by comparison.

He sprang, sinking his claws into flesh, extending his tongue in a dreadful kiss. Its sharp point spiked through the roof of his prey’s mouth and into its brain. Images surged into his mind as cerebral jelly oozed into his mouth. Oceanic tides of memory threatened to drown out all consciousness.

Ancient recollections rose from the core of his being. He had faced this problem before. It was why life-drinking was forbidden to the Old Ones. Integrating the memories of others was always problematic. He grasped that knowledge firmly. It gave him something to hold onto amid the pain and the fear and the chaos of mingled recollections.