Born of Darkness (William King) - William King Page 0,35
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.
So he had done forbidden things, broken taboos among the Eldrim. Perhaps that was the crime he had committed. The thought swirled away in the riptide of the old prisoner’s recollections.
He swam in human memories. Of a distant childhood. Of a strange religious education. Of bizarre untruths about the nature of the cosmos. He saw the faces of friends and betrayers. He saw accusations of heresy because of his misguided beliefs.
Vorkhul absorbed thoughts and memories and language. Some of the words he had heard made sense to him now.
Who’s there? What is it? Have you come to free me? Where has everyone gone?
He felt the last surge of pain and terror and then the ecstatic wave of sensation was gone, leaving Vorkhul replete. He settled down next to the corpse and started to sort through all the things he had learned.
It was time to see exactly how much the world had changed.
***
“Why did you visit the Lady Marketa?” Frater Jonas asked. He had been waiting in the room when Kormak returned. The servants must have let him in.
“I don’t recall inviting you here,” Kormak said.
“Forgive my rudeness. I thought the possibility of saving your life justified it.”
“In what way?”
“In what way am I saving your life? Or in what way is my rudeness justified?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it was most unwise to consult with the Selenean Ambassador without talking to me first.”
“I was invited to break bread.”
“And did not eat anything.”
“You seem particularly well-informed.”
“Little goes on in this palace that Prince Taran or his humble servant, myself, does not find out about.”
“Then you already know what we talked about.”
“Alas, no one was close enough to overhear. Your back was turned and the Lady Marketa spoke in an obscure variant of the Old Tongue. The garden was warded against any sorcerous form of eavesdropping. Not that the Prince would consider such a thing anyway, of course.”
“Of course.” Kormak thought about what the priest had said. His back was turned. The observer could not understand the language Marketa had used. That implied the spy was a lip-reader or that Jonas wanted him to think so. Did he have agents among the bodyguards or the servants? Most likely. There was little the King-Emperor could not afford to offer. No wonder the