Born Of Darkness (Book 7) (16 page)

This must work. He could not die now.

Aether flowed out of him and into the runestones. He became aware of the armour as if it were part of himself, as the spells within it responded to his presence. It became a second metal skin, protecting him, strengthening him.

Triumph roared within him. Inside this armour he no longer need fear the light of the sunstone, or the power of elder signs. He was safe. He was strong. He was all but invincible.

Through the faceplate he gazed upon the advancing human. He no longer feared the mortal. He was master of this place.

***

Kormak saw the runes on the armoured suit spring to life. The surface of the moongate reflected their green glow. Oddly coloured shadows skittered along the walls. The eyes set in the armour’s demon mask glittered. A massive gauntleted hand twitched.

The amulet on Kormak’s chest grew warmer in the eddy currents of strong magic. The suit was a powerful artefact. A rune glowed right in the centre of the armour’s chest. It was the largest and brightest. He aimed his blade at it and stabbed. Perhaps destroying the rune would unravel the web of spells woven around the suit.

He felt the rightness of his lunge. He was on target.

Too fast to parry, the demon knocked his blade aside. A massive metal fist caught Kormak in the middle of the chest. A wave of pain surged through him.

***

Power filled Vorkhul. The small spark of magic he had provided to ignite the armour’s systems had worked. Now it sucked in the surrounding aether and filled him with magical energy, enhancing his strength and speed.

Memories flooded into him. He had used such armour in battle in the past. More spells were embedded in it. It would take him only moments to catalogue them and activate them. He parried the human’s strike, no longer worried about the runes on the blade. The armour protected him just so long as the human did not find a weak spot. He would not give the mortal time to do that.

He struck with the force of a battering ram. The human catapulted away, into one of the descending columns of light. Vorkhul strode forward, no longer fearing the glare of the sunstone. The crystal eye-pieces of the helmet filtered out the light’s deadly glare, turned it into a welcome blueish glow.

The human struggled to rise. Vorkhul savoured the moment, knowing that victory was his now. He would first break the human’s limbs, starting with his sword hand. Then his legs. Then he would crush the human’s skull and eat his brain and find out what he really was made of.

***

Kormak tried to move. The metal demon clanked closer till it loomed over him. He lay in its cold baleful shadow as it studied him with malevolent eyes. He could hear a hound giving voice to its hunting call and the sounds of men racing closer. Vorkhul’s eyes lifted from him to gaze at the door.

Kormak forced himself to roll away from the Old One. As he did so, he caught sight of museum guards advancing into the room. In one hand they held shields bearing elder signs, in the other they held blades.

A metal-shot boot descended where Kormak had lain. A hair slower and his arm would have been broken. The Old One pursued him. The guards charged, shields held high, swords raised to strike.

***

Vorkhul felt a brief pulse of frustration. The distraction provided by the guards had given his prey a brief respite. The two foolish humans advanced on him. Their temerity astonished him. How dare such insects attempt to strike him?

Despite the protections woven into the armour, he was still not comfortable looking at their shields. His battle-suit protected him from most of the magical effects of the runes but their shape still made him queasy. No matter. He did not need to look directly at them.

He lashed out with one enormous gauntleted hand. The blow smashed the shield of the nearest guard, crumpling metal, splintering the wood that backed it. His hand passed through the head of the human’s head. Blood and brains shot everywhere. The sight of the jellied grey matter sent a twinge of hunger through Vorkhul. Later. Later.

The dull sound of metal on metal brought his attention to the impact of the other man’s blade upon his armour. Vorkhul grabbed the sword and snapped it in two. He took the jagged shards that remained and drove them through the human’s body.

He sensed the approach of more mortals. They were arriving in scores, not just guardians of this museum but troops from the palace. An army would soon be on top of him.

He would kill them all. Still he would need a more efficient way of doing it. Glancing around he saw the great battle axe hanging on the wall. It was a weapon intended for a Lunar prince, a fine compliment to his armour. With it he could slaughter the humans all the quicker.

A glance showed him that the human with the Khazduri blade was tottering to his feet. His weakness gratified Vorkhul. He was tempted to pursue right now, but he wanted to get the axe before the bulk of the human army arrived. He strode to the wall and pulled it down.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

KORMAK REACHED INTO his beltpouch for a sunflare. He had only two left. The Old One’s back was turned. He needed to get its attention. Grogginess slowed him. His battered body protested every movement.

Vorkhul touched the rune on the axe’s blade to the glowing gem on the breastplate of the armour. The greenish glow transferred itself from armour to axe, filling the weapon with killing power. Darkoth had slain three guardians and an army of humans before the Archmage Pelageus dispatched him. Vorkhul had been a deadly opponent before. Now he might prove invincible.

More guards raced into the room. They gazed with horror on their fallen comrades and what they took to be the animated suit of armour. One of them froze. The remaining four moved forward, spreading out so as not to present an easy target.

Booming laughter emerged from the demon armour, an alien sound, made by a creature with no idea what mirth was. It just wished to communicate its contempt in a manner it knew the humans would understand. The guards’ advance ground to a halt.

“Run,” Kormak shouted. “Run!”

Two of the guards turned tail and fled. The others backed away, keeping their eyes on the Old One. It strode forward, metal footsteps ringing on the flagstones.

“Run! Damn you! Now!” Kormak bellowed. He did not want to throw the sunflare and blind the men. It would make them cattle to the slaughter. A soldier glanced at him. Vorkhul’s axe flashed out, leaving a trail of green light in its wake. It chopped right through the man’s body, splitting him in two. The guards ran.

Kormak tossed the sunflare and covered his eyes. The mad laughter continued to ring out as the weapon blazed. When the brilliant light died, Kormak saw the Old One was almost on top of him. At first the crystal eye-sockets of its visor were pools of ultimate blackness then the green glow returned. The Old One had not been blinded. The huge axe slashed towards Kormak. There was no way he could parry that monstrous weight of metal.

***

Vorkhul revelled in his utter triumph. The magical crystals of his helmet’s eye-pieces had neutralised the sunflare, darkening instantly when it burst. Now they had returned to normal translucency. Ahead of him the human stood, mouth hanging open, shock inscribed on his face.

Vorkhul swung his blade, backed by all the amplified strength of the armour. There was no way he could avoid killing the man. The axe was not a subtle weapon. He hoped to make his blow as painful as possible. He aimed for the body, wanting to preserve the man’s brain. The bellowing of the hounds was near now.

***

Kormak sprang away. The wind of the axe’s passage rippled his hair. Vorkhul killed the blade’s momentum and brought it swinging back. Kormak dropped beneath it and tried to scramble clear.

The axe rose and then descended in a blurring arc. Kormak rolled to the left. The blade buried itself in the stonework. Green sparks fountained upward.

Kormak scrambled to his feet and lashed out with his sword. It bit into the armour, but all he did was leave a nick. Vorkhul began to lift the axe.

There was no way to win this fight by standing toe to toe with the enemy. He was too battered and too tired. He needed to fall back and come up with a new plan. Perhaps if he could lure Vorkhul into the room full of elder signs, he would have a better chance.

***

The human ran as if the hounds of hell were after him. Vorkhul pulled the axe from the stonework, cursing the fact that his pursuer had somehow eluded him again. His annoyance was momentary. He was glad the creature was alive and fled before him. He would have some sport before he put it out of its misery. He would make it beg for mercy.

Vorkhul lengthened his stride and set off in pursuit. This was how things should be. He was the hunter. The human was prey. The Shadow be praised.

***

Kormak ran through the room full of sarcophagi and raced into the space that held the elder signs then turned at bay. Behind him the gigantic metal form of his pursuer lumbered along. It halted at the entrance as if sensing the trap. It set down the axe, then picked up a metal coffin as easily as a man might heft an empty beer crate. It hurled the huge weight. It missed Kormak completely and crashed into the wall. The sarcophagus shattered on impact. Bits of broken stonework and twisted metal caromed around the room.

The Old One picked up another coffin and hurled it at a different angle. It smashed into the other wall. Glancing to his right Kormak saw that all the hanging elder signs were either broken or fallen or both. The Old One picked up its axe and, laughing like an insane thing, strode into the room.

The Old One’s stride slowed as it crossed the threshold but when it launched its first blow, its strength was undiminished. Kormak ducked away from the sweep of the blade, wondering if perhaps the creature was a fraction slower than it had been. It made no difference. It was still too strong for him. He backed away and then sprang through the outer doorway, slamming it closed.

The axe smashed through the wood, splintering it with one blow. Kormak saw scores of troops pouring into the Museum. At their head was Rodric. Fang dragged him along. In the midst of a company of his Household Guard was King-Emperor Aemon. His brother stood beside him. Frater Jonas was at his shoulder. Warriors of the Order of the Dawn dug into their satchels, producing flasks of alchemical fire and sunflares.

“Sunflares won’t work,” he shouted. “Use banefire if you’ve got it!”

He ducked to one side as the door exploded outwards and the massive armoured form of the Old One appeared. It paused for a moment to contemplate the small army it faced.

“Begone from my palace, thing of Shadow,” King Aemon shouted. He raised his hands. A halo of light played around his head and then a bolt of pure incandescent light flickered from his fingers. It hit the Old One right in the chest. The eye-pieces of the demon mask helmet went completely black. The metal of the armour began to bubble and run.

The amulet against Kormak’s chest grew warm as the King’s magic took effect.

***

Vorkhul felt the armour grow warm as the accursed human sorcerer unleashed his power. For a mortal he was strong.

For a mortal.

Vorkhul invoked more of the runes on the armour. Spells of protection shimmered in the air around him. The gnawing beam of light splashed off, sending bolts of golden sunfire slashing through the air. One hit the stuffed mammoth and set it alight, another sliced through the cable holding the skeleton of the dragon. Part of it tumbled to the ground, crushing humans beneath the calcified bones.

Vorkhul strode forward, into the full power of the sorcerer’s spell, letting it glance off the wards. He shouted mockery at the insects who dared pit themselves against him. The human sorcerer’s face had gone from confident and zealous to weary and doubting. He was using all his power in one tremendous burst and it was draining out of him quickly. The sunfire bolt became weaker and sputtered to a stop. The human soldier’s massed themselves around the mage and made ready to die in his defence.

Vorkhul was happy to oblige them.

***

Kormak watched the king’s spell fail. The glow of pure golden power around Aemon’s head dimmed and went out like a snuffed candle. No human being could unleash so much magical energy in so short a time without feeling the effect. The king doubled over like a man having a seizure. Prince Taran shouted to the guards.

A group of them grabbed the king by his arms and began to pull him back through the door. All the while Aemon protested but he could do nothing to stop them. Jonas went with him. He clutched daggers in his hand.

Taran stood his ground. He bellowed orders, making sure the troops stood fast while his brother escaped. Kormak felt something like admiration for the man. There was no denying his bravery or his loyalty. It seemed likely that they going to get him killed.

***

The brothers of the Order of the Dawn threw their flasks of banefire at the oncoming demon. Alchemical liquid clung and ignited. Flames danced over the metal shell, transforming the Old One. An armoured elemental of blazing death strode through the hall.

Then the impossible happened. The flames around Vorkhul dwindled and died. It was a thing Kormak had never seen happen before. Banefire could burn even underwater.

And still the demon came on.

***

Vorkhul moved through the ranks of the soldiers like a bladed whirlwind, killing as he went. Kormak knew there was nothing ordinary men could do to stop him. Sunflares had failed. Alchemical fire had failed. Sorcery had failed. Even his own dwarf-forged blade had failed. There had to be something he could do.

He felt at his belt for the flask of Valen’s Elixir. He did not want to take it. It might kill him but that was not what made him reluctant. Drinking it would be the final admission that his body, his skill and his blade had all failed him.

Vorkhul slaughtered two more soldiers. The men were on the edge of breaking. How many more would die if he did nothing?