“Why would they do that?”
“Because he made them promises, could grant them power, would raise them above all his other minions.”
“What stopped them from doing it?”
“One of them was intercepted by our agents. They took his torc and condemned him to death. No one knew what happened to the others. It was commonly assumed that they died and that the torcs were lost with them.”
“Is that what happened?”
“Perhaps. It is also possible the torcs were passed on. They were objects of great power in and of themselves. Necromancers would find them useful.”
“That’s not all is it?”
“They were objects of power like I said, imbued with the potent essence of the Shadow. They would corrupt whatever was around them.”
“You think they caused their owners to become tomb wights, to come into being where they were buried.”
“If their owner was a necromancer and he had the torc in his possession, it is a not unlikely occurrence.”
Kormak had already worked out another part of the story or so he thought. “The torc your Order captured— that was in your families possession, wasn’t it?”
Aisha nodded. “My ancestor Torael was the one who took it. It was passed down the generations, kept in a lead-lined box, made of heartwood with Elder Signs worked in its surface in truesilver. My brother stole it when he murdered our father. It was the power of the torc that let him raise his first army. I think he was able to use its power to find the other ones.”
“Sympathetic magic?”
“There would probably be a resonance between such objects, given how they were created and by whom. The wards on the barrows would have shielded them for a long time but magic weakens and even Elder Signs get eroded by time. It’s quite possible that the Old Ones back in Elderdale might have helped him. They would have a lot of knowledge of this land. In any case, Morghael was obsessed with these things and he was a great scholar. If anyone could locate them, it is him.”
“So by now, he has not one but three of these mystical artefacts and can draw on their power.”
“I believe so.”
“We need to stop him.”
“If we can, Sir Kormak. If we can.”
Green witchfires were rising in the distance, emerging from the pools of mist. He was reminded of the eyes of the vermin pack, but these were larger, by far. He hoped that did not mean they were more of a threat. He could not help but notice that they glowed the same shade of baleful green as the Great Comet.
As he watched they began to drift towards the tower. They bore a resemblance to shadows cast on the mist itself, vague outlines of human beings and other things. It was as if glowing figures within the fog were casting their outlines on the billows.
“What are they?” Kormak asked.
“Products of the curse,” Aisha said.
“Ghosts?”
She shrugged and drew her cloak tighter around her lovely shoulders. The figures moved closer, as the mist billowed forward to surround the tower. It stopped at the very edge of the pool of light cast by the watchstone. The eerie, glowing figures moved within it. Outlines of people, garbed in flowing robes, and strangely cut clothes, and sometimes what looked like the armoured shapes of shield-bearing warriors.
“They cannot harm us as long as we stay within the tower,” Kormak said.
“They may not be able to harm us even if we go out there,” said Aisha. “They may only be shadows.”
“I have seen men killed by shadows before,” said Kormak.
“You’ve led an interesting life.”
Shae was whimpering. “I think he agrees with me, about the danger of those things,” Kormak said.
“There’s a first time for everything. If you don’t mind I will go below and get the others,” she said. “We’ll all be safer up here in the wardstone’s light.”
She walked below, taking Shae with her. Kormak stood there alone for a time watching the legions of the long dead move through the fog around them. He wondered what they felt, if they felt anything, or whether they were merely the echoes of men long gone from this haunted land. He wondered if he died here whether he would end up like that.
In the end he gave up wondering and went below to hurry the others along.
They sat round the watchstone, getting ready to face the night. The parapets partially sheltered them from the wind. Rain pattered and dripped. Kormak watched drops cause ripples in a puddle. The wolf looked up at him, the watchstone light reflected in the mirrors of its eyes.
All of four of them chewed hard-tack and tried to warm themselves. None of them looked comfortable. None of them wanted to go below just yet, out of the charmed circle of illumination, even if that would take them out of the rain. All of them were aware of the eerie ghost lights hidden from their line of sight by the walls. Below them, on the bottom floor of the tower, the horses whinnied nervously. Something about the magic of the tower obviously calmed them enough to keep them there.
“Tell me about your brother,” Kormak said. She had already told the others some of what she had told him. “What’s he like?”
“A corrupt noble and you either know about them or you don’t.”
“Can necromancers really bind the walking dead to their will,” Brandon asked. It was the part about binding them that impressed him. If you lived on the fringes of these hills there was nothing unusual in the idea that the dead might walk.
“I believe so, although it’s not really my field of expertise,” said Aisha.
“Why are you really chasing him?” Sir Brandon asked. Kormak had not told him about the Watchers. “What are you really after?”
It was obvious he had not considered the possibility that he might give offence, or, if he had, he simply did not care. It looked like he had been at the flask again. This time he had not offered it to anybody, not even Kormak. He had been drinking quite steadily all through the ride.
“I want him stopped. If he gains sufficient power, no place will be safe. He dreams of resurrecting ancient Kharon, of reuniting its fallen provinces, of being the greatest ruler since Gengiz.”
“And this mask of the Defiler will make all that possible?” Brandon asked.
“All that and more.”
“How can that be?”
“The Mask is a relic of the greatest necromancer who ever lived. According to the stories it was the source of his power.”
Kormak felt something moving overhead. He looked up and saw something huge and bat-winged moving through the gloom. It was only there for a moment and then was gone. It obviously did not want to fly too close to the tower and its warding light.
“What was that?” Sir Brandon asked.
“Old One,” Kormak said. “And I think I know who.”
“One of the Twins,” Aisha said.
“The brother,” Kormak said.
“It was moving north,” Lucas said. “Towards the Tomb Palace.”
Kormak nodded.
“I think one of the Old Ones has decided to take sides,” Aisha said. He noticed she did not bother to hide the gesture of reverence she made when she said the words Old Ones. He wondered if he was making a mistake trusting her.
He would soon find out.
In the morning mist covered the hills. It flowed all around them. Kormak could only see out to a few strides ahead. It was cold. The breath coming out from his mouth seemed to join the fog and make it stronger. The glowing shadows of the previous night were gone but he could not see more than a stone’s throw from the tower.
Around him, the horses whinnied and Shae give a low bark. Kormak studied their surroundings for any sign of the vermin pack or something like it, but he could find none. It seemed they did not dare come close to the Watchtower. Perhaps it would be different further along the route.
“It does not get any easier, does it?” Lucas said. "I never thought I would miss the rain but I'm starting to."
"I just hope that we
don't miss what we're looking for," Brandon said.
"I don't think there's much chance of that," Kormak said. "We're looking for ancient Forghast. It was a huge city.”
"I think this mist is an improvement," Brandon said after some thought. "At least I don't have to look at the bloody hills and the bloody ruins anymore."
Breakfast was some dried meat and waybread. After that they mounted their horses and continued along the road. No one rode too fast in case they came across an obstruction. It would be all too easy for a horse to fall and break its leg. Kormak was worried that time was growing very short, that the ancient evil around them was very close to breaking out.
As the morning wore on, the mist evaporated and the hills around them became visible once again. Huge rocks dotted the hillside and there were abandoned houses everywhere. They rode through a land that had once been densely populated – that much was obvious.
There were no people now but the evidence of former occupation just made the place seem all the emptier. There was a loneliness about all this emptiness that was deeper and more stark than it would have been had there been no signs of habitation at all. It was a reminder that human presence in the Cursed Lands was a temporary thing and that the land could easily swallow an entire kingdom, leaving only shattered reminders that people had once lived here. War and plague and sorcery had destroyed the kingdom of Kharon. It made Kormak all too aware of how temporary all human life was and that got him thinking about the Old Ones.
Malion was out there now, hiding from the sun, possibly in one of those ruined buildings, most likely in the city towards which they rode. There was no good reason for the Old One going there Kormak could think of. Either he intended to warn Morghael or he had some other nefarious purpose.
Aisha rode up beside him, Shae trotting at the heels of her pony. She had a heavy cloak drawn tight around her shoulders and her dark hair peeked out from beneath the hood. “It is cold here,” she said. “Cold as one of the tombs in Kheshan.”
“You’re a long way from Kheshan,” he said. “It is a lot warmer there.”
She nodded. “You say you have been in the Southlands. Why was that?”
“I was sent to recover a blade. One of the brothers had gone missing there.”
“A Guardian?”
“Yes. Only Guardians carry dwarf-forged blades.”
“You found him?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t want to talk about it do you?”
“That’s observant of you.”
“Your Order always sends someone to reclaim your blades.”
“Dwarf-forged blades are not so common. The dwarves will not make new ones now. They say they fulfilled their side of the bargain and we no longer have the means to pay them.”
“You have talked to the Servants of the Old Ones?”
“They would not thank you for calling them that. They prefer to be called the People of the Stone.”
“Still, no matter what they like to be called, you have talked with them.”
“Yes.”
“What were they like?”
“I don’t know. The chamber was deep beneath the mountain and they allow no light.”
“I have heard it said that they have grown monstrous during their long time in the dark. That they do not want the eyes of anyone gazing upon them.”
“You won’t hear it from me. I caught no sight of them. I heard only their voices.”
Kormak paused for a moment, recollecting the strangeness of it, the way those inhuman, beautiful voices had echoed round the cavernous chambers. “It sounded like they were singing,” he said. “They did not sound like dwarves. I mean they did not sound small. Their voices were deep and thunderous. It was like listening to a giant.”
“Will they send someone to reclaim your blade, if you fall here?”
Kormak smiled sourly. “They always send someone.”
“I am surprised your Order has lasted so long.”
“There are still thousands of us, even in this much diminished age,” Kormak said. “Once we sent armies to fight in the name of the Holy Sun.”
“They are not all Guardians though. They are mostly novices and laymen. There are less Guardians than there once were. Or so I have been told.”
“You might be right.” He wondered why this was any concern of hers. It made him suspicious for a moment. He looked at the dead land around him, with its empty houses, their windows like the eye-sockets of skulls. “All things end,” he said. “Nations, knightly orders, the lives of men. The good and the evil.”
“The Old Ones remain,” she said, her fingers moving smoothly through that gesture of respect. He shook his head.
“Even they die,” he said. “I have killed some.”
“You regret that, don’t you?”
“Some of them,” he said. “I regret killing some men too. It does not change things.”
“Killing changes many things,” she said. “That’s why people do it.”
“It was the regret I was talking about.”
“I suspect you are better at the killing than the regret, Sir Kormak.”
“I won’t disagree.”
Up ahead he could see that Brandon and Lucas had stopped. They were on the brow of a hill looking down.
“I think they have found something,” Kormak said. He was glad to have an excuse to end the conversation. It had disturbed him and he was not sure why.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“BY THE HOLY Sun, look at that,” said Brandon as Kormak and Aisha came up alongside him. Below them the ruins of Forghast sprawled as far as the eye could see, covering hillsides, filling valleys.
It must have been a great city once, Kormak thought, greater by far than Norbury, as large at least as Vandemar at the end of the Holy Road beyond the Wall of Kings, which some said was the wealthiest and the wickedest city in the world as well as the largest.
The city walls were huge, built by piling enormous stone upon enormous stone, like a drystane dyke built by giants. On some of those stones were inscribed runes taller by far than a man. On others, carved skull faces, many strides high, leered out.
The walls had tumbled down in places, and the fallen stones were discoloured as if by fire or magic. Those would be the places the Solari had broken through when they had come out of the south, with fire and the sword and faith in the Holy Sun burning in their hearts.
Closer inspection revealed that most of those buildings had been burned as well. Their roofs lay open to the sky. Throughout the city were the stumps of broken towers, the shattered shards hinting at how high they once must have reached. In the centre, on a hill, squatted an immense ziggurat. Terrace after terrace rose skyward until they reached an enormous shimmering black stone cap. The Tomb Palace covered an entire hillside, was as large as many a city itself. Flights of steps as wide as streets ran up its sides. Even at this distance, in the weak sunlight, it shimmered greenly, as if surrounded by a ghostly halo of magical energy. Just looking at it made Kormak feel queasy.
“Tens of thousands must have lived here once,” Brandon said. “I would not have thought it so great.”
“The necromancers lived in those fallen towers, and the greatest of them all dwelled within that black pyramid. Over that ziggurat the Black Sun rose,” Aisha said. “This was once the home of some of the most powerful sorcerers in the world.”
“It’s the home of other things now, maybe worse things,” said Lucas. He sounded troubled as if he wanted to run and ride away. If he had, Kormak would not have blamed him.
“That glow,” Brandon said. “What is it?”
“Someone is working magic within the pyramid,” said Aisha. “They are invoking ancient spells. I think we can all guess who.”
A breathless quiet lay over everything as they rode down towards the remains of Forghast. The hooves of their horses sounded too loud, ringing against the stone. Everything seemed to urge them to silence. It was as if they were in a titanic graveyard. T
here was a sense that noise might draw unwelcome attention, that there were things here best left undisturbed.
Ahead of them a massive gate, five times the height of a man, pierced the wall. Monstrous doors of buckled bronze lay where they had fallen, warped by the impact of battering ram. The stones of the gateway were scorched black and Kormak wondered what kind of burning could still leave its char after centuries of northern wind and rain.
He tried to picture what it must have been like here on the day Forghast fell, as a horde of tawny haired Solari smashed through this gate. He had seen cities fall in his time. He could picture the arrows darkening the sky as the desperate defenders fired down from the walls. He could hear the sizzle of boiling oil on flesh and the screams of the dying and the boom of a massive metal-beaked ram smashing against the bronze gates.
The image seized his mind like a vision and for a moment he wondered if there was some more magic than mere imagination at work. Of course, this had been a city of necromancers. Some of the warriors would, even then, not have been numbered among the living. In the darkness, wights and other abominations would have taken part in the fray.
They were on haunted ground. Many men had died here, and died horribly in a place where mages had worked the darkest of magic and the power of Shadow stained the land. In combination those things could have terrible results. It was no wonder this place was avoided by sane men. He could almost feel the taint that had seeped into the stones with the Defiler’s curse. It intensified with every heartbeat and every step.
They passed under the shadow of the arch and out into the remains of the city.
The bones of the unburied were strewn everywhere. Blackened skulls lay in the ruins. He could see vitrified wood where doors had burned black. A half melted shield clattered away from the hooves of his horse.
“Did all these people fall in battle?” Brandon asked. “I’ve seen war in my time, the Holy Sun knows, but this must have been fought on a scale larger than anything in my lifetime.”