Stealer of Flesh

Stealer of Flesh - By William King



THE DEMON UNLEASHED

ALL AROUND THE unseasonal blizzard raged. Chill flakes of snow landed on Kormak’s face. His feet felt numb, his clothing sodden. Hunger made his stomach growl. Cold leeched the strength from his limbs. He drew his cloak tight about his tall spare form but the wind still cut. He knew that he could not go much further and that he was doomed if he did not find shelter soon.

He pushed a strand of greying black hair from his eyes and squinted into the darkness. Night and snow made it difficult to see more than a few strides ahead.

He was not even sure he was on the road any more, the old route the Oathsworn Templars had taken to the Sacred Lands. The snow had piled up so he could not see the ancient flagstones the First Empire had placed here millennia ago. He was lost in this white wilderness.

This was not the way he had expected to die. When he had sworn his oaths as a Guardian he had thought he would fall in battle with some remnant of the Elder Races who had ruled the world before the coming of Men. There had been times when he had faced death by dark magic or beneath the curved obsidian scimitar of an orc. Once he had seen his end written in the eyes of a lovely vampire. He had not expected to pass in a way at once so terrible and so prosaic, to fall frozen where his brethren would have difficulty finding his body and recovering his dwarf-forged blade.

There should have been no snowstorms in eastern Belaria even this late in the autumn. The weather had been strange ever since the Great Comet had appeared in the sky. Perhaps it truly was a sign that the world was ending.

He wondered if it was worthwhile to continue leading his horse through the storm. There was a reason he was doing so but he could not remember what it was. It was as if the cold had frozen his mind as well as his body. Thinking was as difficult as putting one foot in front of the other.

Perhaps he should simply lie down and rest. Just for a moment, he could pillow his head in the soft snow drifts and gather his thoughts and his strength and then be on his way again. It would be good to rest…

No. That way lay death. If he stopped, he would never start again, would remain frozen in place until the spring thaws hit these vast plains. He would be covered by a blanket of snow which would not warm him but kill him. He needed to move and to keep moving.

And then what, a small, despairing part of his mind asked? What difference did it make? Soon he would reach the end of his strength. Soon his numbed limbs would fail and he would stumble and fall.

He remembered what he planned with the horse. He had heard once of a Kojar tribesman who had survived such a storm by slitting his horses belly and clambering inside it as a sleeping sack. He was not sure he believed that story and he doubted that it would work anyway, but what other hope did he have?

He raised his foot and put it down. Just keep going. One more step. And then another. He had been in worse situations. He had expected to die on other occasions and he was still alive. He needed to stay that way. He must succeed in tracking down the stolen amphora. The demon’s prison could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. The ancient evil of the Ghul must not be allowed to enter the world once more.

He cursed. He had come so close back in Saladar. He had overtaken the thieves and almost caught them. Only one had escaped, carrying the sealed metal jar in which the Ghul had been bound, while the rest delayed him. He had killed them but they had bought time for the last to escape. If only he had been a fraction quicker he would already have been on his way back with the amphora and not stuck out here in this blood-chilling cold.

In the distance he heard howling. His horse, tired as he was, whinnied nervously. On these cold plains hunger sometimes drove the huge wolves to hunt men. They might be led by something worse. He had encountered sentient creatures who loved to hunt with the packs, had killed them when called upon to. There were tales of such creatures hunting in the Mountains of Darkness and those were not too distant. He must be close to the border of Belaria and Valkyria now. Maybe if the blizzard stopped he might even be able to see the peaks. Thinking of the wolves, he reached up to touch the blade that hung over his shoulder. His hands were so numb he felt only its outline in the air, not the texture of the thing.

The wind played strange tricks. It was difficult to tell how close the howling was. Would some huge grey form come loping out of the gloom just ahead or was the pack leagues away on the trail of something else? Almost he would have welcomed the fight. It would warm him up and if death came it would be quick and clean.

What was that? Ahead of him, just for a moment, through the flurries of snow, he thought he caught sight of a light. He told himself he was imagining it, that it was a product of his chilled imagination. There were no lights here. This was a place beyond all hope of human habitation, he was the last man alive on these cold plains. There was no light.

The howling sounded again, coming closer, he was sure. He trudged on, feeling as if he was moving up a rise. It was hard to tell, he had lost all sense of direction and orientation in the storm. From the way his legs felt, from the way he was coming close to stumbling, he was on a slope. Perhaps at the top of one.

There. Again. He saw a light. There was definitely something down there. Was he smelling smoke now or was that a trick of his imagination?

He thought about the wolves. He thought about the lights. It would be a cruel jest if the creatures pulled him down within sight of safety. He felt like laughing. He was assuming too much that he had been trained not to. There was no guarantee that the light represented safety. It could be a fire around which murderers sat or the creation of something far worse, intended to lure lost travellers to their dooms.

And yet would he be worse off if the creatures around the fire turned out to be killers, or things who wanted only to feast on his flesh and perhaps his soul? If they were men, he could fight them and take their fire, and if they were monsters…Well, he had been trained to kill such by those who were expert in the art.

He stumbled on and the light vanished; a cruel will o’ the wisp sent to raise his hopes only to dash them. He kept moving in the direction he thought he had seen the light in, and he still thought he smelled smoke. His horse whinnied as if it too smelled safety. It began to push forward, moving in the same direction as Kormak and that reassured him; he was on the right trail. He let it drag him along in its wake.

The beast had lengthened its stride so that it was difficult for him to keep up. It was as much fleeing the wolves as it was moving towards what it thought might be a safe haven, and there was still the possibility that it might go wrong in the dark. Kormak stumbled and almost fell.

He knew now he was almost too weak to go on, and certainly too weak to face the wolves if they overtook him. He was at the end of his strength. All he could do was try to keep up with the horse and hope that it did not tug him off his feet. He was not sure he would ever rise again if that happened.

Ahead of them something large loomed out of storm and snow and night shadow, and blocked his progress. It took his frozen brain time to realise that it was a massive stone wall. He fumbled with his cold gauntleted hands and found no opening in it, so he started making his way around until he came to a gate. It was a large wooden one and it appeared to be closed. There was no way forward from where he was. He banged on it with his hands and shouted but he doubted there was any way he could be heard over the wind.

He laughed aloud. He had come so far only to be thwarted at the last. No. He would not give up. Gracelessly, he pulled himself into the saddle of his horse. The beast protested against his weight. It was just as tired as he was. No matter, he pulled on the reins and it reared. He gave it the command to kick and it brought its weight crashing down against the gate. He doubted the owners of this place would be too pleased by what he was doing but he had other concerns on his mind. The horse hammered the gate again and again but could not budge it. It seemed like the gateway had been built to withstand a battering ram. Kormak kept at it until the horse could do no more.

He slumped from the saddle, wearily, all of his energy gone. He thought he heard voices beyond the gate and tried to rise, but his limbs betrayed him. Dizziness swept over him and darkness took him.


He awoke in a bed. It was hard and lumpy but it was warm. He was inside in a room with wooden shutters and heavy drapes and a fire burning in one corner. Blankets and furs had been piled on top of him. The first thing he did was look around for his sword.

“Be still, stranger,” said a wheezy old voice. “You are exhausted and you may well have suffered some damage at your extremities where the frosts spirits nibbled on your fingers and toes.”

The accent was an odd one, but it spoke the trade tongue of the Holy Road understandably. Kormak looked up and saw a tall, skinny old man with a forked beard looking down on him. He had a candle on a plate in one hand. Many, many amulets dangled from his neck. All of them were covered in Elder Signs and mystic symbols; so were the dozens of rings on his fingers. A huge, armoured soldier in a surcoat with a rampant griffon stood behind him.

“Where am I?” Kormak asked.

“It is lamentable the clichés to which men resort in situations like this,” said the old man in his wheezing voice.

“Are you going to answer my question or indulge in literary criticism?” said Kormak.

“You are in the mansion of Lord Tomas of Malaride,” said the old man. Kormak kept his face carefully blank. Lord Tomas was the man who had sent the thieves to steal the amphora. It seemed he had stumbled into the place he was seeking. It was hardly surprising. It was where he had been trying to reach.

“Am I back on the Holy Road then?”

“You are lucky to be alive,” the old man said.

“This I know,” said Kormak. “How did I get here?”

“We heard the banging at the gate. Tarsus here insisted we investigate. He thought it might be orcs attacking,” said the soldier. He was a massive man with a shaven skull that showed a lot of old scars. “A very nervous man is our friend Tarsus. For all his claims to be able to read the stars and see the future, he never foresaw it would be you and not orcs.”

“Orcs have not been seen in these parts since the Nations went east at the end of the war,” said Kormak.

“You know that. I know that. Apparently our scholarly friend here does not,” said the guard.

“Be silent, Marcus,” said the wizard. “You speak only to sneer at those more educated than you.”

“Where is my sword?” Kormak asked.

“I trust you are not planning on using it on this wizened ancient. It would seem singularly ungrateful after he has saved your life,” said Marcus.

“I have no reason to do that,” said Kormak. Perhaps, he thought. Not yet.

“What are you doing in these parts?” The guard clearly knew something of the function of his order. “I have heard rumours that there are wolves that walk like men out there in the Mountains of Darkness. It seems the moondogs have rebelled against their liege lord, King Sturmbrand of Valkyria and those spawn of evil Lunar magic aid them. Do you seek them?”

“My sword. Where is it?”

Tarsus tipped his head to one side and inspected Kormak as if seeing him for the first time. “You are a Guardian of the Order of the Dawn,” he said.

“I am.”

“The Order of Assassins,” the wizard added. His tone was a little hostile now.

“Such is not our function but I could understand why a wizard might see things that way.”

“That’s very generous of you,” said Tarsus.

“I see you are intent on giving this ancient reprobate cause to regret using his healing herbs on you,” said Marcus.

“If he has not broken the Law he has nothing to fear from me.”

“You are not a very wise man, Guardian,” said the guard captain.

“Most probably true,” said Kormak, “and I have a feeling you are going to explain exactly why to me.”

“You are still sick and weak and you are threatening the only man present who can heal you.”

“I am threatening no one,” said Kormak, “and only a fool would threaten me.”

“He is correct, Marcus,” said the wizard. “Those who kill guardians rarely live long thereafter. His order is a most vengeful one and they have their ways of finding those who have done them wrong.”

“It seems we have gotten off on the wrong foot,” said Kormak. “I apologise for my tone and I thank you for your aid. You saved my life. I won’t forget that.”

The wizard coughed, covering his mouth with a white handkerchief. When it came away there was blood on it. He shrugged and looked almost guilty for a moment and then said, “You are welcome, Guardian. I would have done the same for any man. If my words gave offence earlier, I apologise.”

“My sword?” Kormak asked.

“You are determined,” the guard said.

“His order live for those blades,” said the wizard. “The worst sin he could commit would be to lose it.”

The wizard coughed. “Your armour and your amulets and your weapons are in the keeping of Lord Tomas. As is your gold. It is all there. Nothing has been taken. Those artefacts are very valuable. Believe me Lord Tomas knows more about such things than most living men.”

“What do I owe you?” Kormak said.

“Nothing,” said the wizard. “As I said, I would have done the same for any man. Now you must take this herbal draught and rest, if you are to heal and regain your strength. I will not have all my healing undone by pleurisy and the wheezing death.”

The two men rose to go. The wizard indicated the beaker and cup beside the bed. “Drink it,” he said.

“I will do so,” said Kormak, making his refusal clear. “But first I have much to think upon and prayers to make.”

He did not want to say he was not going to be forced into drinking any potion by anyone, no matter how well disposed they seemed to be. There were some strange undercurrents here, he felt, although he was too tired to quite put his finger on what. Even as that thought occurred to him, the room seemed to spin. He clutched the bed and said nothing, determined not to let his weakness show. He did not want anyone to suspect how vulnerable he was.

If the men noticed anything, they said nothing, merely moved towards the door. Kormak was glad when they were gone.


Once the wizard had left, Kormak tried to rise. His head spun and he felt sick. Someone had placed a bowl beside the bed and he threw up into it. He realised he was cold and shivering and the room whirled.

The wizard had not lied when he had said Kormak was in a bad way. He had not felt this sick since he had taken an infected wound from an orc’s scimitar. He staggered over to the window and moved the drapes. Outside all he could see was night and snow. The wind still howled down the chimney. He realised that he was very lucky indeed to still be alive.

He checked his fingers. There was no obvious frostbite damage, for which he was grateful. He was a man who lived or died by his skill with the sword.

He tottered over to the fire and stood there for a moment, warming himself. Someone had built it up to a blazing intensity and the heat on the front of his body made him aware of the chill on his back.

He stirred the fire anyway, enjoying the feel of the metal poker in his hands. He let it cool then he staggered back to place the metal rod on the table beside his bed. He inspected the alchemist’s flask that sat beside the bowl. He unstoppered it, and allowed the smallest drop of its contents to fall on his finger. He sniffed, recognising the scent of bitterbloom and winterweed, two herbs used by chirurgeons the world over for the treatment of conditions such as his. He put his finger in his mouth and touched it with his tongue. He detected nothing amiss anyway, so he allowed himself to drink the smallest amount of the potion and waited to see if it had any effect.

Nothing untoward happened after fifteen minutes so he poured some of it into the bowl and drank it. He waited for another period and noticed some diminution of his fever and no other ill effects, so he drank the rest. He propped himself up on his pillows. He felt the potion begin to take effect and allowed himself to drop into sleep.


The stealthy opening of the door brought him instantly back to wakefulness. He opened his eyes narrowly and focused on the doorway. He did not move. In his weakened state he would need any edge he could get against the intruder and surprise was always the greatest of advantages. He saw a shadowy outline move closer across the room. Stealthily he grasped the poker. When the intruder reached the side of his bed, Kormak reached out and grabbed for the throat.

“You are awake then,” said a woman’s voice, surprisingly husky.

“Who are you?” Kormak said.

“You are as suspicious as they said.”

“Probably more so,” Kormak agreed. “You still have not answered my question, and I can assure you that your life depends on giving me a good answer.”

“I am not a robber,” said the woman. “I just wanted to take a look at the mysterious guest the storm deposited on our doorstep.”

“Your name, lady. My patience is not limitless.”

She laughed as if amused. “I am the Lady Kathea. I am the employer of the wizard who looked after you, or rather I am the wife of the man who employs him.”

“And you decided to visit my room in the middle of the night to make sure of their handiwork?”

“I confess I was curious,” she said. “I have never seen a Guardian before. I have read about them in the old tales, of course, but I have always thought they were legends. An order of knights sworn to oppose the Shadow, to protect humanity from the Old Ones. It seems more like a legend than something one would encounter in the light of day.”

“My order is quite real, lady, and not nearly so heroic as the tales would have you believe.”

“I am not surprised,” she said. “Life is full of disappointments. Would you mind if I lit a candle? I am not quite so adept at seeing in the dark as you.”

“Go ahead, but make no sudden movements.”

She stepped away and went over to the fire. With a wooden spill she lit a candle and came back over to where Kormak sat. It was beeswax, not tallow, a sign that the lady or her husband were rich. Of course, he had not needed the candle to tell him that. The fact that they had a wizard in their retinue was evidence enough. She sat down in the same chair as the wizard Tarsus had. The candle underlit her face and he was not surprised to see that she was beautiful. Something about her voice, her movements and her confidence had already told him that she would be.

“You are quite lovely,” he said, studying her golden hair, high cheekbones and large eyes.

“And you are very gallant for a monk.”

“I am not a monk, lady. I am a soldier.”

“And you fight a war against the Shadow.”

“That is an overly dramatic way of putting it.”

“I find it curious that you should appear out of nowhere at this time in this place. Why are you here? Who are you looking for?”

“I was looking for shelter from the storm.”

Her head tilted to one side and he could tell she was studying him very carefully. “I cannot tell whether you are lying or not,” she said at last.

“Why would I lie about such a thing?”

“Because you belong to an order that hunts men and wizards and other things and you are here now, of all times. It seems an odd coincidence.”

“In what way?”

“I cannot believe you would be here, in the middle of this forsaken wilderness, for no reason.”

“I was sent to recover something that was stolen, lady.” He was not exactly sure why he was telling her this but he was tired and it was on his mind and he felt the need to talk. Perhaps it was the medicine and the illness.

“And perhaps to kill the one who ordered it so?” There was an edge to that question, an under-current of nervousness and anticipation. What had he stumbled into here, Kormak wondered.

“I have said too much already.”

“No you have not. I bear you no ill will.”

“I am very pleased to hear it.” She leaned forward and without really knowing why, he reached up to move a strand of her hair that had fallen into her eyes. He was all too aware of the soft curves of her body. Kormak wondered why he was flirting with this woman. If she was, as she said, the wife of the local lord it was a very dangerous thing to do. Of course, that might have been part of its attraction. And there was the situation. It was night. They were in his room. He was affected by the medicine he had taken earlier.

“You are not what I expected at all,” she said. Her voice was soft and thoughtful.

“What did you expect?”

“A fanatic and a killer.”

“A killer I am, lady. One who wonders why you felt the need to visit him alone in the dark.”

She seemed about to say something then shook her head. “I do not think I am any wiser than when I came in but I shall deny you your rest no longer, Guardian.”

She rose from the chair and went to the door, taking her candle with her. When she left the room, more light than its went with her. Kormak lay awake in the darkness for a long time, listening to the wind howl, watching the fire die. Tired as he was, sleep would not come. At some point he thought he heard a scream but it might have been the wind or it might just have been the edge of a dream intruding into the world.


The wind still howled outside when Kormak woke. He rose from the bed and tottered to the window, throwing aside the curtains. Outside it was day but the snow storm made it hard to make out any details. He saw flakes falling hard and fast into a courtyard and beyond that he thought he saw a high stone wall. It was obvious he was in a fortified manor of some sort and quite a large one. His head felt fuzzy and vague and he still felt weak. Someone had come in through the night and put more wood on the fire. It alarmed him that he had not woken. Normally he slept lightly and the faintest noise would wake him. He was in worse shape than he thought.

He moved back towards the bed as he heard footsteps in the corridor. He was sitting upright as Tarsus entered. The wizard looked even older in the daylight. His face was deeply lined, etched with marks of pain. Crow’s feet made trenches around his eyes. His hair was a dirty grey. The whites of his eyes were yellowish. Kormak noticed that his nails were long in the manner of the eastern aristocracy, a scholarly caste who liked to show they did not need to perform manual labour, or even wield a blade.

“You have made a better recovery than I expected,” Tarsus said. “You must be a very strong man.”

Kormak looked at him. “You have come to check up on me?”

“I have. It would do my reputation no good for me to save you from the effects of cold, only to die of something else.”

“Your reputation is important to you?”

“You don’t like wizards, do you, Guardian? I suppose that is understandable.”

“I have seen too much evil worked by wizards.”

“We have no monopoly on wickedness, sir.”

“That is nothing less than the truth.”

The wizard raised one bushy grey eyebrow. “I am surprised to hear you admit it.”

“Only a fool denies what his eyes can see,” Kormak said.

“Sometimes what we see is an illusion.”

“We were doing so well there, wizard. We had found a point of agreement and you have to go and spoil it by your allusions.”

Tarsus smiled. “It was illusions I mentioned but we shall forget that. Let me see your hands.”

“They are quite functional.”

“Nonetheless I would like to inspect my work.”

Kormak extended his hands carefully. He knew of a great deal of inimical magic that could be worked by touch and he was not wearing his amulets or carrying his blade and he was still not sure how trustworthy any of these people were. The wizard took his hands and turned them over. He squinted as he inspected them. His touch felt cold.

“Very good,” he said at last. “No permanent damage. You will be able to wield a sword with what I assume will be your customary proficiency.”

“Do you expect me to have to anytime soon?”

“An odd question, Guardian.”

“I have been asked a few odd questions since I arrived.” The wizard tilted his head to one side. The amulets on his neck jingled together. “By whom?”

“By yourself. Among others.”

“This is an isolated place, people are naturally curious.”

“I am surprised to find a wizard so far from the haunts of men.”

“Why? Did you think your order had killed all of them in the area?”

Kormak wondered if Tarsus and the Lady Kathea had talked. “It is strange that a scholar should choose to live so far from the great cities and libraries.”

“You are one of those that think wizards only avoid the haunts of men if they have something to hide.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“And a very suspicious mind it is, I can see. I suppose that is only natural for a man in your profession.”

“Why do you dwell here?”

“I shall have to show you my patron’s library and his collection once you are well, then perhaps you will understand.”

“Your patron?”

“Lord Tomas is a collector of ancient artefacts and a considerable scholar in his own right.”

“Will I be meeting him any time soon?”

“You seem fit enough to be allowed out of bed so I am guessing yes. You will most likely be invited to dine with us.”

Kormak stared hard at the wizard. The old man met his gaze with rheumy eyes. He coughed and once more his lips were speckled with blood. He noticed Kormak looking.

“I have more trouble healing myself than others,” he said. He got up and limped to the door. He stared at Kormak. “I am not the one you are looking for,” he said. “No matter what you think.”

The door closed behind him. Kormak heard it being locked.


Servants brought Kormak clean, warm clothing. It seemed to have been made for a man his height but somewhat larger about the waist. A servant showed him through the manor to the dining hall. Two men at arms accompanied them. Both looked competent and both were armed and armoured and they watched him closely. He suspected there were others within easy call.

The place was larger than he had thought. Corridors ran in many directions and the architectural style belonged to the First Empire, all clean simple lines, not the more ornate gargoyle and Elder Sign encrusted work favoured by those who ruled the West in this age of the world. The place was vast and echoing and seemed half-empty. He saw servants and men-at-arms moving about, enough so that they would have seemed a decent sized retinue for a mid-ranking nobleman in the west. Here they seemed to be lost in the vast draughty space.

All the retainers had a griffon on their tunics and griffon banners adorned the walls. It was worked into some of the ancient stonework too which suggested that either Lord Tomas’s family had been here for a very long time, or possibly more likely, they had taken their heraldic emblem from the iconography of their mansion.

The servant showed him into a huge hall that contained many tables only one of which was occupied. That table, like the others, was large enough to seat scores but there was only four people there, all clustered at the top of the table, where a bard also stood clutching a harp.

He knew three of the people; Tarsus and Lady Kathea and another man, garbed as a wandering mercenary knight. He clearly recognised Kormak. This was one of the thieves Kormak had been sent to hunt down. He had managed to escape back in Saladar. He glared at Kormak. The Guardian was very aware that the man was armed and he was not. The aristocrat at the head of the table must be Lord Tomas. He was a tall, stately looking man, silver-haired and still fit. He had the authority and the manner of a nobleman at his own hearth.

Lady Kathea met his gaze for a moment, flushed slightly then looked away. Kormak wondered what was going on here.

All of them rose, in the courtly, old-fashioned way of country nobles greeting a visitor. All of them bowed and Lord Tomas introduced them all in formal Hardic. The thief was called Wesley here. After the introductions were made, they all sat down while an array of servants brought food and wine.

“Play something for us, Ivan,” Lord Tomas said, and the bard struck up a tune. He played softly and very well. It was a tune Kormak had heard played at the court of King Brand when the elderly wanted to hear a tune popular in their youths.

“You are from Taurea, Sir Kormak,” Lord Tomas said.

“Aquilea, sir,” Kormak replied. He wondered when they would get to the real business of the evening. With Wesley present there could be no doubt Lord Tomas knew who he was and why he was here.

“I thought you were not a Sunlander. Your order has its home in Taurea though, the fortress-monastery on Mount Aethelas.”

“That is so,” said Kormak.

“There are chapter houses in all the Northern Kingdoms,” said Tarsus. “And once a long way beyond. They say the reach of your order is much diminished now although your presence here would seem to prove that wrong.” There was a note of satisfaction in his voice.

Kormak looked at them all. He had a feeling of being hemmed in by enemies. There were guards around the chamber and everyone except him was armed. He was still physically very weak. It seemed impossible that Lord Tomas did not know why Kormak had come. And yet, so far, no one had threatened him. He had been healed and treated with courtesy. It was not what he had expected at all.

“Kormak. It seems to me I have heard that name before,” said Lord Tomas. “A member of your order distinguished himself in the Orc Wars. As I recall a highlander of that name saved the life of King Brendane. Was that you?”

“I was there. I helped defend the King. I did not do it on my own.”

“That is not the way the tales tell it. The way the bards sing of it, you were found standing atop a mountain of orc corpses guarding the wounded King.”

“I was the only survivor of those guarding him at the time. The poets exaggerate the rest.”

“I wonder,” said Wesley. “There are other tales attached to the name, not all of them pleasant ones.”

Lord Tomas made a small, curt chopping gesture with his hands. “Now, Wesley, let us have no unpleasantness at our table. You are all my guests. I would have us all be friends while we are within my hall.”

Wesley smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. Kormak studied him closely. He was a powerfully built man, with very pale skin, which his jet-black hair, beard and brows made seem all the more pale. His manner was lazily confident.

“I was wondering as to the nature of your association,” said Kormak. “How is it that two such disparate individuals know each other?”

It was time to start getting to the bottom of the mysteries here. Lord Tomas looked from Kormak to Wesley and seemed to come to a decision.

“I am a collector, Sir Kormak. I come from a line of collectors. My grandfather started our collection. My father enlarged it and passed it on to me and I have done my humble best to curate and extend it.”

There was real enthusiasm in the older man’s manner.

“What do you collect?” Kormak asked.

“Ancient artefacts. Old books. Objects of mystical significance from all over the world. We have cloaks woven by the Old Ones. I have a library of First Empire tomes and scrolls, all written in High Solari. I have amulets and wands and staves from the Elder world. A runestone said to belong to the Wizard-King Solareon. I have weapons and armour forged by the dwarves when they still did work for men. You possess some very fine examples of those yourself, I could not help but notice when you were brought through my gate.”

“It sounds fascinating.”

“I understand your order maintains a similar such library at Mount Aethelas. I pride myself that my own collection may some day come to rival it.”

“A worthy goal,” Kormak said.

“My husband has spent a fortune acquiring new samples for his collection,” said Lady Kathea. She did not sound at all pleased by this. A frown marred her lovely face. She ran a long-nailed finger over her full lips.

“Fortunately, my dear, I have a fortune,” said Lord Tomas. “My family own extensive estates all through eastern Belaria and my factors have proven to be merchants of superlative skill. They have done nothing but multiply the wealth I inherited. I can afford to indulge my passions.”

“We have not asked, Sir Kormak, what business brings him to this part of the world,” said Tarsus. His tone was sour. His smile malicious. It seemed that he too wanted to bring things out into the open. “Are you hunting someone, Guardian, or do you seek some deadly monster that has broken the Law.”

“I was sent to reclaim something that was stolen,” said Kormak, fixing his eyes on Wesley. “An ancient artefact as coincidence would have it. It was dredged from the World Ocean off the Sundown Islands by a fisherman and came into the hands of the Museum Keeper in Tanaar. He recognised it for what it was and sent to my order for someone to dispose of it. While I was en route, the museum was robbed and the Keeper murdered. The thieves fled with what they had taken.”

“And what was that,” Lord Tomas asked. There was a strange glitter in his eyes.

“An ancient amphora from the time of the Emperor Solareon. In it was bound a Ghul, one of the demons sometimes known as the Stealers of Flesh.”

“Why would anyone want such an object?” Lady Kathea asked. She was staring hard at her husband. Kormak sensed animosity there.

Kormak looked from Wesley to Tarsus to Tomas. He let his gaze rest on each one in turn. “I don’t know. The thing imprisoned within the amphora is a very dangerous creature, a peril to both body and soul.”

“I believe that is merely a matter of opinion,” said Lord Tomas.

“It is more than that I can assure you,” said Kormak. “The demons are all but unkillable without specially forged runic weapons. They are bodiless, restless evil spirits. To live they must possess the bodies of new victims every few days or weeks. The Emperor Solareon bound them into amphorae. After his death, his successor Justin the Holy, repulsed by the thought of such things being stored in his palace, ordered the jars to be thrown into the deepest part of the ocean. It was a cursed day when this one showed up in that fisherman’s nets. The thieves that took it made a very grave mistake.”

“Did they, Sir Kormak?” Lord Tomas asked. There was a cold smile on his face. Kormak decided he wanted to end this charade now.

“One of the thieves fell from the wall when he left the museum. His leg was broken. His companions abandoned him. He fell into the hands of the local magistrate who was not gentle. Under torture he gave a description of his confederates and the name of the man who employed him.”

“Did he now?” Lord Tomas said. He seemed more amused than threatened.

“I overtook the thieves on the road, in Saladar. Only one of them escaped me. The strangest thing is, I see him sitting at this table.” He pointed a finger at Wesley.

“And I suppose the thief claimed that I was the man who employed him,” said Lord Tomas.

“He did, sir,” said Kormak.

“He did not lie,” said the nobleman.

“I never for a moment thought so,” said Kormak.

“Well that has certainly cleared the air,” said Tarsus. He coughed. Blood speckled his lips. He wiped it away with a napkin. The gesture was surprisingly delicate.

“I am surprised you are taking the news so calmly,” said Kormak. He studied the table. There was a knife there intended for carving meat. It was not much of a weapon but it was better than none at all.

“Obviously it is not news,” said Lord Tomas.

“You won’t get away with it,” said Kormak. “If you kill me my order will send more to avenge me. They always do.”

“Come, Sir Kormak,” said Tarsus. “If anyone here meant you ill, we could simply have left you to die in the snow. I would not have wasted my herbs on you if I had sought to do you harm.”

The wizard, in particular, seemed to want to let Kormak know he was innocent of any evil intention.

“You are my guest,” said Lord Tomas. “You have eaten my food, taken my salt. No harm will come to you here unless you try to harm us. On this I give my word.” He looked pointedly at Wesley as he said this.

“Then I am confused,” said Kormak. “Do you intend to return the amphora and pay restitution to the families of the men who were killed?”

“No, Sir Kormak, I do not. I do however have a proposition I would like to put to you. We can discuss it after dinner while we look at this ancient artefact you have come so far to recover.”


“Well, what do you think?” Lord Tomas asked. He gestured at the amphora emphatically. It clearly had pride of place in his huge collection. Kormak looked around. He was reminded of the Museum in Tanaar. There was the same huge array of shelves with scrolls and alembics and crystal jars on them. A suit of gold-embossed runic armour, the complete war-gear of a Solari Centurion rested on a stand in one corner. There was the skeleton of some gigantic beast, a dragon perhaps, that had been reassembled and stood in one corner. Kormak wondered if his sword and the rest of his equipment were here. The place was certainly secure enough. Lord Tomas had triple-locked the massive metal doors that were the only entrance.

Tomas looked from Kormak and back to his latest prize. Kormak noticed the eyes of all the others were upon him. Tarsus watched him closely, Wesley with malice in his eyes. Lady Kathea had withdrawn to her chambers, not part of the conspiracy or perhaps that was what they wanted him to think.

He moved closer to the object and inspected it.

It looked like a simple metal alembic, made from lead. It was inscribed with Elder Signs and stoppered with a plug of truesilver. The plug was sealed with metal, soldered shut. There was writing on the side. Kormak recognised one of the seals on the side of the flask and he could decipher the inscription. In part it was a name; Razhak. He suspected that he was far from the only person in the room who could do that.

“This is an evil thing,” he said, at last. Lord Tomas’s eyes were feverishly bright.

“Then you think it is one of the Binding Flasks of King Solareon. As I do.”

“It is difficult to be sure without performing certain tests,” Kormak said. Lord Tomas picked up the flask and handled it as another man might handle a baby.

“I would not do that if I were you,” Kormak said. “There is a taint in that thing that might leak out and affect you.”

Lord Tomas put it back on the marble counter-top and placed the crystal shield on top of it once more. “You can see why I am excited, can’t you?” He spoke as if this was the most reasonable thing in the world to say, and Kormak began to wonder about his sanity, about the sanity of all the people present in this vast sepulchral chamber.

“I am not sure excitement is the correct emotion to feel,” Kormak said. “Dread would perhaps be more appropriate.”

“Come now, Sir Kormak,” said Lord Tomas. “Surely a man of your order is not afraid. I have always heard the Guardians of the Dawn enjoyed the special protection of the Holy Sun. Of all of us, you have the least to worry about from the contents of that flask.”

“There is a demon in it,” Kormak said. “A demon of a particularly potent sort; one that was bound by Solareon more than a millennium ago.”

Lord Tomas looked at him. “There is a Ghul confined in that bottle, Sir Kormak. I would not call it a demon in the sense that most people would understand the word.”

“It is immortal, inimical to Men and will perform acts of the greatest wickedness if freed,” said Kormak. “I would say that fits most people’s understanding of what a demon is.”

“But you and I know differently. The Ghuls were once men like us,” said Lord Tomas.

Kormak shook his head. “They were servants of the Old Ones who rebelled against them but they were not men.”

“They were mortals then, and they seized the secret of immortality from their masters.”

Kormak thought he began to understand the cause of Lord Tomas’s excitement and the direction this conversation was going to take. “We do not know that for certain,” Kormak said. “We know only what the Sage Cronas wrote.”

“But Cronas sat at the right hand of Solareon, and Solareon was the greatest wizard who ever lived.”

“All the more reason not to trifle with his work.”

“Your blade could destroy a Ghul, could it not, Sir Kormak?”

“Is that what you would have me do?”

“Eventually, yes,” said Lord Tomas.

“But first you have questions to ask of the monster,” said Kormak. “Questions concerning the nature of its immortality and how it might be achieved.”

“Exactly so,” said Lord Tomas.

“We already know how the Stealers of Flesh achieved their immortality,” said Kormak. “They take possession of the bodies of other living things and consume their life force. They are vampires of a most awful sort.”

“Yes but in the Codicils to the Deed of Solareon Cronas writes that it was not always so. That the Ghul sought the same form of immortality as the Old Ones and that something went wrong with the process. Cronas sat with his master while Solareon questioned the bound demons.”

“Then you have read works by the Sage that my teachers never did,” said Kormak.

“Your order had no monopoly on ancient knowledge, Guardian,” said Lord Tomas. “There are far more books in the world than exist even in the library at Aethelas. I have some of them on my shelves here.”

“And some of them are filled with traps set to lure men to their doom,” said Kormak.

“Spoken like a true witch-finder,” said Tarsus.

“I have had experience of such things, have you?” Kormak said.

“That is why we want you with us,” said Lord Tomas. “With your knowledge and your blade there will be no missteps. We will be able to question the demon in safety.”

“You think I will help you learn how to transform yourselves into Stealers of Flesh? That is insane,” said Kormak. He could not keep his true thoughts hidden. The words were torn from him.

“You misunderstand our intentions, Sir Kormak,” said Tarsus. “We seek no such thing.”

“Tarsus speaks the truth,” said Lord Tomas. “We seek to learn what the demon knows, that is true, but we also seek to learn what went wrong. The Ghul must possess a fantastic amount of knowledge. It may put us on the path to immortality. We can learn where they went wrong, avoid their errors and perhaps all men will be able to live forever.”

There was total compelling belief in his voice. Kormak realised to his astonishment that the nobleman meant every word he was saying. He was quite sincere, and possibly quite mad.

“I do not think that is possible,” said Kormak.

“But the Ghuls did,” said Tomas. “And they went more than halfway towards achieving it. Think of the possibilities, Sir Kormak. I mean really think of them. Think what might be achieved here.”

All of them were watching him closely and it came to him then that any refusal on his part might have fatal consequences. They would not want him free to oppose them, if he turned them down. At this moment in time, weak as he was, he was sure he could overcome a wizard and an ancient nobleman. Wesley might prove more of a problem. And then what? He would be sick and trapped in the mansion having committed murder. Kormak wondered if he should play along at least until he got his weapons back. Something of his doubts must have showed in his face, for the nobleman looked at him sidelong.

“I do not think what you wish to do is possible,” said Kormak. He knew they had seen his doubts earlier and he doubted he could convince them he had suddenly changed his mind. Perhaps, if he seemed to be convinced…

A wintery smile flickered across Lord Tomas’s face. “You may be right, Sir Kormak. You may be. But what if you are not? This could be the eve of the greatest discovery ever made by men. If you are wrong, all of our names will ring down the ages, even yours, for you will be part of this thing.”

“You intend to free a demon bound by Solareon,” said Kormak. Even if he was going to pretend to let them convince him, he was going to make them fight for it. “They were imprisoned for a reason.”

“Even Solareon interrogated them and he did that too for a reason. They have much lost knowledge. Much knowledge that men have never possessed at all.”

“And Solareon found nothing,” Kormak said. He kept his voice calm. “He learned nothing. What makes you think you can succeed when the greatest wizard in history failed?”

“Because great as he was Solareon did not possess the sum total of all wisdom. We have learned new things. We have parts of the puzzle he did not. Given time we could be greater even than Solareon. Or are you one of those men who think our ancestors were titans who could never be exceeded? I can assure you they were not. They were men just like us. Even Solareon. I have studied their works enough to know.”

“Don’t you see that if you unleash this creature it will work terrible evil on the world?”

“If we unleashed it uncontrolled, that might well be the case. But we have the means to compel it. We have your sword, a thing that Solareon did not. We have the means to end its life, a weapon that will prove inevitably fatal to the Ghul if we use it. It will obey us or it will die. And there is your answer, Sir Kormak. If we succeed, we triumph. If we fail, we will kill it and there will be one less demon free in the world. Even you cannot object to that.”

“I need time to consider,” said Kormak.”

“Promise me you will think about what I have asked,” said Lord Tomas reaching out and clutching Kormak’s arm. His grip was surprisingly strong. His eyes glittered. Kormak realised there was more than just excitement in his manner. He was afraid. Given what he was contemplating, that was only natural. “But we have kept you too long. It is late and you must retire and regain your strength. You will need it soon.”

One way or another he was right, Kormak thought.