They stormed up the ramp and found themselves in the shadow of the gigantic, glowing spell-engines. Razhak was nowhere to be seen. Between the ancient machines a corridor ran back into the gloom. Kormak took up a position on one side of it. He did not want to run directly down it. He would be too easy a target in the confined space.
Arrows clattered down around them. One of them, lacking an arrowhead passed through Kormak’s cloak.
“Stop shooting,” Prince Luther shouted. “You’ll hit us!”
The rain of arrows slackened and ceased.
“Thank you,” Luther shouted, with some irony. He looked over at Kormak. “What now?”
“Walking down this corridor is death,” Kormak said. He looked at the great engine. There were handholds in the side. “We go over.”
He started to climb until he reached the top of the engines. The air was warm and dry and the ozone stink greater. Chain lightning danced overhead and each flicker made him flinch in case it diverted itself downwards and through his body. He looked around. The top of the engines were complex patterns of machinery and crystal. He had vague memories of this being the place where the Ghul had been created, had become bodiless, reached out to become more than mortal and less than they had been.
He raced along the top, heading towards the centre of the plinth. Ahead lay a gap between two great mechanisms. He sprang across it, had a view of the surface far enough below so that a fall would break his back. He ran on, ignoring the fear in his gut, came to another gap, sprang across again and raced to the edge of the giant spell-machine, looking down.
Razhak stood below, in the shadow of a vast spherical crystal within which chained lightning roiled. He was slumped in a metal throne, the spear across his knees, trying to bind his wounds with strips torn from his shirt. It struck Kormak as oddly sad that a life measured in ages and marked with flights of cosmic evil should be reduced to this. If he had brought a bow, he could have finished him from here.
Heavy breathing beside him told him that Prince Luther had caught up. “An exciting little steeplechase,” he said. He glared down at Razhak. “He is still armed.”
Kormak nodded. “We go down the far side of this machine where he cannot see us.”
They moved to the far edge and descended with Kormak in the lead. He was very aware of the Prince clambering down above him. If Luther fell, he would sweep Kormak to the floor as well.
Kormak moved up to the corner of the spell engine and glanced around. Razhak still sat there. He had finished binding his wounds and now glared around him like a beast at bay. He looked unutterably weary. Kormak quashed the brief strange flash of sympathy he felt. Razhak had cut down those soldiers without thought. He deserved nothing better himself.
Kormak edged from the shadows, blade held ready. If only he could reach Razhak before he turned, he could strike of the Ghul’s head without interference. He padded forward and then heard the sound of a sword being drawn behind him. Razhak’s head turned, he raised the lightning-spear.
Kormak desperately threw himself to one side as Razhak raised the weapon. Lightning flashed. There was a sound of screaming from behind Kormak. Prince Luther would be writing no more poems. The twisted remnants of his sword, dripped from his hand. Charred flesh had peeled away to reveal white bone beneath.
Kormak moved around the outside of the mechanism holding the great crystal sphere. He was edgy as a cat. Razhak was expecting him now and any moment he might come face to face with the Ghul and his terrible weapon. He keyed himself up to strike instantly. He knew he would only have a heartbeat in which to act.
“It’s just you and me now, Guardian,” said Razhak. His voice sounded loud and surprisingly close over the hum of the spell-engines. “Soon it will only be me. A pity about the boy. A good body. I could have made use of it, as I have made use of the others you brought me.”
Kormak kept his mouth firmly closed. He did not want to speak, to give away his position. He wondered why Razhak was doing it. Was the Ghul nervous or did it have some other reason?
“Still, there will be other bodies. You have brought me more. Very thoughtful of you.”
Kormak looked at the runes on his blade. They blazed with light but that was no help. There was so much ambient magic that they could get no brighter. There would be no warning of Razhak’s presence there.
“You may have saved me you know. With those bodies I can leave here, find more hosts. Perhaps one of your mages will be able to help me stave off oblivion.”
It was fear, Kormak thought. That was why Razhak was talking. The Ghul was afraid. It was closer to death than it had ever been. It knew, just as he did, that its last few moments of life were coming closer. It knew also that for it there would be no afterlife. Perhaps there would be none for Kormak either despite what the Books of the Holy Sun promised.
“I don’t suppose you would make a bargain with me,” Razhak said. “I could teach you my secrets. I could teach you what Solareon was so desperate to learn. You could become like me.”
I have no wish to become like you, Kormak thought. He moved a pace closer, paused and listened. Part of him was tempted though. Just as part of him was repulsed. He told himself the Ghul just wanted to lure him out, that it would never keep its promise, but something in the memories he shared caused him to doubt even that.
“I know you are considering it,” the Ghul said. “I know your mind better than you know mine. I have had far more experience of assimilating the memories of mortals.”
He took a step closer. He could see the shadow of the Ghul now, cast from where it stood. Looking beyond that down the long aisle between the spell-engines, he could see figures coming closer, Olivia and the soldiers of her bodyguard. He saw the shadow raise its spear into the attack position.
Part of him was relieved. Olivia and the men would distract the Ghul and then he would strike. Part of him shouted, “Razhak!”
The Ghul turned to face him as Kormak sprang. It tried to turn the spear to bear on him but Kormak brought his dwarf-forged blade smashing down on it, splitting the haft. His blade buried itself in Razhak’s head. He thought for a moment he had killed the Ghul but then he saw the shimmering ectoplasmic form floating in the air behind it. Once again Razhak had managed to leave the body he possessed moments before death. Looking at him now, Kormak could see differences though. The ghostly form was rent and torn and appeared to be on the verge of coming apart. It swirled through the air moving towards the soldiers faster than a man could run.
Kormak could see that Olivia was leading the men forward. Her head was slightly turned as she gave a command to her nervous followers. The Ghul was going to reach her and claim one last victim.
Kormak threw his sword towards the ghost. It turned end over end through the air and caught the apparition squarely in the centre, cleaving it apart. A long, low scream only partially physical echoed through the air, as Razhak’s final form disintegrated. It came apart in a shower of light and in the end left not even a shadow. The blade clattered against one of the spell-engines and then fell to the ground.
Olivia turned her head and saw Kormak standing there. She must have read something in his face. She said, “Luther?”
Kormak shook his head, walked over and picked up his sword. He had felt oddly naked without it. Olivia walked over to where her brother lay, a roasting meat smell emerged from the corpse. She looked at it for a while, removed her cloak and covered him with it.
“We can burn the body in the desert,” Kormak said. “This would not be a good place to lie for all eternity.”
He was thinking about Luther’s father’s words when they first met. The old man had been right. This way lay Death.
THE END
DEFILER OF TOMBS
CHAPTER ONE
WHEN HE SAW the entrance to the grave mound Kormak knew that his worst fears were justified. The runes carved into the doorway had been smashed and the stone doors thrown open. Whoever had done it had known exactly what they were
doing -- the warding spells were broken and whatever ancient evil lurked within the tomb was free.
"What is it?" asked Sir Brandon. The massive knight chewed the ends of his blond walrus moustaches. He looked nervous as a small child about to be punished. "What has happened?"
Behind him the others stirred anxiously. They were mostly simple men-at-arms and a few village peasants, parents of the children who had gone missing. Kormak wished they had not come but there was no way he could have stopped them. Fear for their offspring had outweighed even the dread which hung over the barrows.
"Whatever was in here was let out," Kormak said. He ran his hand through his greying black hair and wished that he was alone. The trail had led right from the outskirts of their village to this foul place, and they had insisted on coming. He hoped that what they would find here would not break these people’s hearts.
The sun was setting. Mists gathered in the valleys between the barrows. The mounds were of such size that Kormak had to remind himself that they were not natural hills but raised by men in ancient times, remnants of the dark empire of Kharon which had once ruled most of the northern world.
“You think this is a trap?" asked Sir Brandon. Kormak had fought beside him during the Orc Wars of their youth. The knight had never shown any fear facing hordes of the man-flesh eaters but he was frightened now. Kormak did not blame him. By night this was no place for mortal man. There were things buried in some of these barrows who had worked dire sorcery in their time, magic that let them defy even death.
"Take these people home," Kormak said. “I will do what has to be done here.”
“We don’t have time," said Brandon."There’s no way I can get them back to the village before full dark."
Kormak could see the sense in his words; these hills might soon be crawling with the creatures of Shadow. Human weapons would prove no protection against what could be waiting.
The knight’s horse whinnied nervously as if it had caught the scent of something strange in the air. The men-at-arms glanced around them, clutching their spears tighter and looking to their feudal overlord for guidance. He in turn looked at Kormak.
Kormak’s hand went to the hilt of the ancient blade he carried on his back and rested on the centuries worn grip. The others saw his action and shifted nervously. Like their knight they were simple people, unused to confronting the old dark things of the world. They had neither Kormak's training nor his experience.
"Form up in a circle," said Kormak. He made for his own horse and reached into the saddlebags, pulling out a heavy sack that he had brought for just such eventuality as this. The air was still tonight which would work in their favour.
"What are you doing?" asked Sir Brandon.
"All of you stand together," said Kormak. "And no matter what happens, once I have created the Elder Sign, don't break it until I tell you it’s safe or until dawn comes."
As he spoke, Kormak opened the ties on the neck of the sack, allowing its contents to spill out as he walked around the people, forming a five pointed star within which the group stood. As he did so he murmured prayers to the Holy Sun, asking for protection. The salt glittered white as bone in the gloom. They looked at him as if he were mad. Some of them licked their lips. Salt was an expensive commodity and he was strewing it on the ground.
"What are you doing?" asked a haggard peasant woman whose only surviving son had gone missing
Kormak forced his voice to be calm and persuasive. "Such blessed salt is inimical to the Old Ones and to things of Shadow. They will not cross a barrier of it.”
He could see the fear written on their faces. It was a sight that he had become familiar with over the years. No one liked to be reminded of the Old Ones, those who had ruled this world before the coming of Men, and who lived on, terrible mockeries of what they had once been, into the new age. No one liked to be reminded of the power of the enemy of the Holy Sun.
"As long as you stay within the Sign, and only so long as you do, you will be safe if they come for you. If you break the barrier you will die or worse."
"But what about you?” asked Brandon. "You're going to be outside the circle."
"He's in league with them!" said one of the men at arms. "He's going to run away and leave us here at the mercy of whatever emerges from that barrow."
The knight glared at the man. "Kormak is a Guardian. He swore an oath to stand against the creatures of the darkness and his soul will be forfeit if he breaks it."
"Perhaps his soul is already forfeit," said the man-at-arms. "Perhaps he's already in league with the Shadow. Guardians have been corrupted before."
"And perhaps you’re a cowardly idiot," said Brandon. "I have known Kormak for years. I would sooner trust him than you."
This had gone long enough, thought Kormak. He had better things to do this night than to argue with a coward. "Leave if you like," he said. "If you wish to brave the hills by moonlight I won't stop you. Just be careful not to break the Sign when you go.”
The soldier looked around to see if anyone would support him. Under the disapproving glare of their liege lord no one would; he saw it and did not want to walk through the night alone. “I was just saying," he said.
“You've just said enough," said Brandon. He looked over at Kormak. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going into the barrow," said Kormak.
Everyone stared at him. They were thinking that only a madman would go down there as night fell. Even after all his years of hunting monsters in the dark, Kormak could not blame them.
"Whatever happens," he told Brandon, "don't let anyone out of the circle until I return or the sun rises. This night there may be things in the darkness that you don't want to meet."
"What about you?"
"I would not leave my worst enemy in the clutches of a tomb wight, let alone those children."
Kormak lit a torch. Its flames made his shadow dance eerily as he walked through the entrance into the barrow. The place was dank and dirty and smelled of old, unclean things. The solitude forced him to think about what might be waiting for him down here in the depths of the earth and about the sort of people who would unleash them.
Why would anyone break the warding runes on a barrow? Even the most greedy treasure hunter should know better. He shook his head — it was a naive thought. There were always those too ignorant to heed the warnings, and those too wise. A protected sorcerer might come here looking for some ancient magical device. The tombs of the Death Lords of Kharon were known to contain such soul-enticing treasures. Ever since the Great Comet appeared in the sky such events had become more common. Perhaps that fiery star was indeed a sign of doom for all mankind.
Was there some connection between this and the fugitive he sought? He suspected there was. An open grave mound on the trail of a fleeing necromancer— it was an unlikely coincidence. It was entirely possible Morghael had opened this barrow simply as a distraction for his pursuer. He had proved himself ruthless enough to do such a thing in the past. Perhaps this whole thing was a trap. He pushed such thoughts to one side. It was best just to concentrate on the matter at hand.
The corridor sloped down ahead of him. The smell of dank earth and ancient stone filled his nostrils, mingling with the scent of something long dead. Beneath that charnel tang was something he'd come to recognise over his long years of hunting: the pulse of evil magic, the taint of sour, curdled power. This place had been blighted by the Shadow. That was why it had been sealed with Elder Signs.
He could hear nothing; not the cries of the children, not the sound of stealthy movement that he feared. Ahead of him the corridor opened out into a larger chamber whose ceiling arched high overhead. Around the walls were niches in which lay white bones and mouldering clothes and grave goods: weapons, jewellery and small personal treasures.
He paused, fearing that the ancient bones might spring to life. It had happened to him before. For a long moment he let his hand rest on the hilt of the sword. Force of habit kept him from drawing
it. He had been taught never to unsheathe his weapon unless a foe was in front of him or immediate danger threatened, unless he intended to kill. He stretched his senses to their uttermost limit, ready to explode into action at the slightest threat. There was only the eerie silence and the sense of a brooding evil presence swirling all around him.
Despite the clamminess in the air he was sweating. He felt warm even though his breath misted before him. He told himself it was the heat from the torch that caused it but he knew that it was not. Even after all these years he was still not used to places such as this. He doubted he would ever be. He could almost feel the weight of the earth pressing down upon him and fought down the first, faint waves of panic.
He passed through another arch, and ahead saw a faint eerie glow. He wondered if whatever was out there knew he was here. If it had been human it could not have failed to notice the approach of his torch, but Kormak had learned that often the things he hunted had senses different from men’s and lacked the ones that humans possessed. Perhaps it was unaware of him, or perhaps it was simply busy about some evil purpose. That thought pushed him closer.
An odd blue light illuminated the place. Kormak had seen its like before, and it had never been a good thing. The space ahead was even larger than the chamber he left behind. It might once have been the tomb of a king. Sarcophagi had been overturned from the large stone slabs on which they rested and in their place lay four small shapes. Kormak knew that he had found whathe had come for but it was not the missing children that held his attention, but rather the thing that stood over them, preparing to feast upon their life force.
Once perhaps it might have been a king or a proud and terrible necromancer. It was robed like royalty, although its clothes were faded and torn. A circlet of some pale metal ringed its desiccated brow. Its skin was grey, sagged and sunken. Bones were visible beneath the parchment-thin flesh. It had the form of a man a thousand years dead. Pale blue light surrounded it and something darker and more intense gleamed in its eyes. The chamber was cold and getting colder as the wight whispered evil words in an ancient tongue.