Born of Darkness (William King) - William King Page 0,43
the human religion was woven from distorted memories of the elder race. Perhaps it was deliberate. His own people had used the primitive beliefs of others as a tool of domination. Perhaps the Auratheans had learned to do the same.
He had been reborn into a strange new world. He was starting to suspect that with the knowledge he possessed he could dominate it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE PALACE BECAME busier as Kormak approached the Cathedral. The courtyard blazed with light. Soldiers moved back and forth. Messengers raced along bearing satchels full of documents. Sentries with torches stood in doorways. The surviving warriors of the Order of the Dawn saluted Kormak as he passed. Rodric held Fang on a leash. Both of them appeared to be in mourning for the fallen.
Kormak entered the Cathedral and the servant led him to a large chamber that had the look of a library converted to other purposes. The King’s councillors sat around the large central table. Kormak recognised Prince Taran, Jonas, Admiral Lorca, Duke Leone. The King himself stood in the corner of the room, fingers interlocked in prayer.
“Ah, Sir Kormak, good of you to join us,” Prince Taran said. “I was about to send out a servant in search of the servant I had sent out in search of you.”
The man who had led Kormak in said nothing. His face was blank.
“I am here now, sire,” Kormak said. Frater Jonas winced. All eyes went to the King. He smiled and looked up at the ceiling so all of the men’s expressions went mild as well. All except the Duke’s. His smile might have been a fraction warmer.
“And I thank you for it,” said the King. There was no mockery in his tone, only a gentle friendliness. Kormak wondered whether the King practised his manner in front of a mirror. “I believe my brother has a few more words to say.”
Aemon made an expansive gesture with his hand towards Prince Taran then walked over to the bookshelf, took a leather bound tome from it and started to read. He gave the impression of being engrossed but Kormak did not doubt he was paying careful attention to everything said.
“We have a problem,” said Prince Taran. “The Old One is still at large. It killed Abbot Gerd and his hounds. A large section of our own palace is denied to us. The creature may emerge at any time and kill more of us. Does this seem like a reasonable assessment of the current state of affairs?”
Frater Jonas looked up. “There is nothing to suggest the creature will come hunting us. The sunstone still glows atop the Cathedral of the Angel. It’s holy light will drive back the darkness.”
“Let us pray that is the case,” said Prince Taran. “I think we can all agree that the situation is untenable. Once word gets out that the thing is loose in the catacombs, our enemies will have a field day. They will say that we are cursed, that the palace is haunted, that we cannot protect our own subjects in the heart of our realm. This is a crisis for the state. And it must be resolved, quickly, firmly and decisively.”
Everyone around the table nodded.
“And how do you propose doing that?” Kormak asked. “Sire.”
“We know the creature is vulnerable to fire, to essence of truesilver, to various alchemical substances. It is also vulnerable to sunlight, sorcery and your own dwarf-forged blade. Correct?”
“It can be harmed by all of those substances and killed by fire and sunlight and my blade. Also by sufficiently powerful magic.”
“Good. We shall equip our soldiers with all of these things, summon every mage in the city. We shall flood the catacombs with our troops and we shall hunt down this creature until it is dead. It is what we should have done from the very beginning.”
Kormak could see which way the wind was blowing. The blame was to be put on himself and Abbot Gerd. Any failure would be his. Any triumph would be the royal family’s.
“There will be a lot of casualties,” said Kormak.
“There always are in wars,” said Prince Taran.
***
Vorkhul stalked to the foot of the stairs leading up from the catacombs. Up there armed men waited, with weapons that could hurt him and magic that could slow him down. He thought about the mortal he had fought, the one with the awful sword.
It would not do to meet him again. Vorkhul’s claws would burn on the truesilver armour. He could not hope to parry that