Born of Darkness (William King) - William King Page 0,13
be Vorkhul. It means Born of Darkness in the Old Tongue.”
“Perhaps the occupant was an Old One.”
“This chest was delivered today. It was part of the load from the First Fleet. Cetreo came down here to check on the contents.”
Prince Taran stepped closer. He spoke as if he did not want to be overheard. “You are saying that an Old One is loose in the palace.”
Kormak nodded, aware of the ache in his neck muscles. Guiding the Kraken’s Reach through the storm had drained him even more than he thought.
“It cannot have left this vault then,” Taran said. “The chancellor entered just over an hour ago. His escort remained outside while he performed his inventory. They only went in when they heard what sounded like a howl and then Chancellor Cetreo screaming.”
“Did they see anything?”
Taran shook his head.
“Then you are right, whatever did this is probably still in here?”
“How? This palace is warded by elder signs.”
“I do not know,” Kormak said.
“If it’s still in here, the King is in danger.”
“The Light will shield me, brother. And there are my soldiers and Sir Kormak and your own good self if the Light needs a little help.”
Taran looked at Kormak. “What do we do now?”
“We don’t know what we are looking for, so we sweep through the vault as if we were beating for game.”
“Split into parties and move down any avenues from opposite ends, closing off any ways of escape,” Taran said.
“Precisely so,” Kormak said.
“Very well. Remain with my brother. Frater Jonas, come with me.” He gave terse orders dividing the force and they moved off. Kormak had to admit the man was brave. Few would have responded that way in the presence of an Old One.
King Aemon moved to take the lead. Kormak restrained him with one hand. “If it please Your Majesty, it would be best if I went first. In case, we are attacked like the Chancellor was.”
“Of course, Sir Kormak. This is your business and you know best.”
As they moved along the aisles, the two parties shouted to let their fellows know roughly where they were. With every step Kormak’s sense of being watched increased. He felt certain there was something hostile out there in the darkness.
The soldiers shuffled behind the torch bearers. They had lost the swagger of the invincible Siderean infantrymen. Kormak could not hold that against them. Hunting monsters in darkened vaults was not what they had been trained for.
A scream rang out from the end of the line. Kormak looked back. Just for a moment he thought he saw something before the press of bodies obscured his view. He pushed through the crowd and found one of the soldiers was down, his throat torn from ear to ear by a huge claw.
The treasure was piled high here. The top of the stacks made a natural hiding place.
Kormak clambered up. He had been born in the hills of Aquilea. Climbing came easily to him. His main worry was how exposed he would be as he ascended. If something waited for him up there, it would strike him at the moment of maximum vulnerability.
He pulled himself onto the top of the stack.
A shadowy figure lurked at the far end. Kormak drew his sword. Runes blazed along the blade.
“There’s something up here,” he shouted.
The thing pounced, covering the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Weary as he was Kormak was too slow. Claws ripped through the flimsy cloth of the court tunic and pierced flesh. The burning line of pain only stopped when the talons encountered his elder sign. The thing hissed malevolently and drew back as if scalded.
Kormak lashed out with his blade. The creature shrank back, changing shape to avoid it. Its riposte clawed Kormak’s chest, drawing blood.
Kormak made two more strikes and the creature avoided both, as if toying with him. Its return strokes slashed red ribbons in his chest.
He leapt back. The thing came with him. Its shape shifted again. Two long serpents of flesh emerged from its shoulders and reached out like tentacles. Kormak shifted his weight so that the stack of crates overbalanced and sent them both toppling to the ground.
Kormak twisted to land on his feet. His attacker landed on a soldier, whose scream was cut off in an instant. Bones crunched. Flesh tore. Blood spurted.
The press of bodies around him, and the weight of the crates teetering on either side limited Kormak’s movements. His shapeshifting foe did not have to worry about hitting anyone friendly.
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