Born of Darkness (William King) - William King Page 0,44

deadly blade with his own flesh. He needed a weapon. He needed armour. He needed those ancient Eldrim artefacts. He needed to push on, to pass those sentries without them giving the alarm.

It would not be easy. His stolen memories told him he would need to find his way through the palace and across a courtyard upon which fell the light of a sunstone. The moongate was warded by elder signs but he felt confident he could enter the place, given time. Once he reached the moongate he would have no need to fear anyone or anything in this place.

He allowed his body to dissolve into a translucent pool that oozed towards the stairwell.

His thoughts were barely above the level of instinctual. He felt the presence of the light on his skin. He felt the sound of men’s voices as a tremor on his flesh, just as if he felt the vibration of their tread pass through the ground beneath him. He existed in a world of simple noise and basic feeling. Amoeba-like he flowed up the stairs, moving as cautiously as he could. As he reached the top of the stairs he sensed the nearness of the living. He elongated a tentacle of plasma and sent it running along the walls.

He became a long snake of living liquid and flowed behind the sentries, avoiding the glare of their lights. He stayed as close as he could to the stonework, using the cover given by tapestries. The need for stealth and the urgency of getting beyond this sentry-point battled in his thoughts.

He slithered into an alcove and rebuilt his old man’s shape, starting with the skeleton, adding muscle and flesh. He allowed some plasma to adopt a simulacrum of rags and blood. It would not withstand close inspection but in the dim light it would fool a casual human glance.

He breathed again and looked upon the world with eyes. His senses were more concentrated and far keener. So far no one had detected him. He was one step closer to his goal.

In the distance, he heard something begin to bark. He cursed. It seemed a hound had caught his scent. He needed to move before the mortals realised what it was whining about.

***

A long animal howl rose to a crescendo, died off and the started again.

Prince Taran tilted his head to one side. His lip curled. His eyes narrowed. “What is that damnable noise out there?”

“A Shadowhound,” said Kormak. “One that has caught the scent of prey. You won’t have time to gather your army. Or summon your sorcerers. Vorkhul is already here.”

Kormak put his hand on the hilt of his sword. He stared right into Prince Taran’s eyes. “With your permission, sire. I shall go and kill it.”

“And we shall accompany you, Sir Kormak,” said King Aemon.

“Is that wise, sire?” Duke Leone asked. Kormak wondered whether he was being provocative. The King had to be seen to pursue now or risk being thought a coward.

“The Holy Sun will shield us,” Aemon said. “Let us hunt.”

***

Vorkhul limped along the corridor. A man moved towards him. He was garbed in cowled robes and bore the symbol of the sun, a priest or monk of some sort.

The monk’s head tilted to one side as if he not quite understand what he was seeing. He was taken aback by the sight of a semi-naked old man within the palace. Vorkhul sprang forward. His arm flowed around the man’s throat. His fingers extended themselves blocking the man’s mouth, preventing him from screaming. Vorkhul extended his dagger-sharp tongue and pierced the man’s skull.

He devoured more essence, claimed more memories, drunk them in as fast as he could. The monk’s life swam before him. A boyhood in a monastery learning to write and pray. An adulthood spent on his knees in the Cathedral offering up praise to an empty battleform and copying ancient manuscripts.

A river of details flowed into Vorkhul’s mind, some fascinating, some trivial. He took them all, overwhelmed by a species of gluttony. When it was done, he took the man’s shape and his clothing and strode through the palace. He hoped the robes would provide him with some protection from the light of the sunstone.

***

Kormak raced out into the courtyard. The King and the nobles followed. Outside the soldiers watched uneasily as Rodric tried to calm Fang. The dog tugged at the leash and sought to break free from his handler’s grip.

“Let him go,” Kormak said. “The Old One is loose and we