“Who are they going to use?”
“Lady Kathea.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t the way they originally planned it-they were going to use a servant-but Lord Tomas was quite hurt by her infidelity.”
That made the nobleman seem almost human. Kormak did not know whether that made him better or worse.
“What will happen to her?”
“The demon will devour her soul and take possession of her physical shell. It will wear her body. It’s not a bad plan actually. She is weaker than they are and even if the demon masters the body quickly it should not pose too great a physical threat.”
“We must save her.”
“Youthful chivalry is an appalling thing,” said Tarsus. “It makes men stupid.”
“You are not suggesting we should let her die, are you?”
“If the demon is embodied we can kill it.”
“Is there no other way?”
“We can stop the ritual before it goes too far although we may already be too late for that.”
“Anything else?”
“If you can keep them busy, I might be able to compel the Ghul back into the bottle by reversing the spell. It is by no means a certainty though.”
“I’ll take any chance I can get.”
“Very well but if worst comes to worst and the demon becomes corporeal don’t hesitate, strike it down with that sword of yours.”
“First I will need to get my hands on it.”
“There is that,” said Tarsus. “Still I have every confidence in you.”
Kormak was not sure he had every confidence in himself. He was still recovering from his ordeal in the storm. He was not at his fighting peak. He hoped there were not any guards between them and the vault.
They pressed on along the corridor. Kormak felt the oppressive weight of the old buildings above him. He realised that this ancient passageway went a long way down below the earth. The stonework supporting the ceilings looked strong but it did not look modern. The flagstones beneath their feet had been worn away by the passage of countless feet.
“What was this place?”
“It was a chapel to the Old Gods, I suspect,” Tarsus said. “Certainly the altar below bears their markings.”
“That is never a good sign,” said Kormak.
“Not all those who were worshipped before the coming of the Holy Sun were evil.”
“It seems like a singularly appropriate place for a ritual to free a Ghul,” said Kormak. He was starting to feel tense. He could sense the presence of swirling currents of magical energy in the air. He realised that Tarsus must be much more sensitive to these things than he was.
The old wizard paused. He was wheezing and his breath was coming out in clouds. It was getting colder. Kormak wondered whether it was just the chill of being underground or whether this was some sort of byproduct of the ritual.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“No,” the wizard said. “I have not been all right for a very long time but I can go on now.” Kormak realised how desperate the venture was now. It was just him and this old sick man, trying to prevent the freeing of an ancient evil that it had taken the mightiest sorcerer who had ever lived to bind.
From down below, he could hear chanting. He thought he recognised the voices, muffled as they were. They belonged to Tomas and someone else: Wesley. “Why not just unstopper the flask?” Kormak asked.
“There are seals on it that must be removed and spells that must be in place to control the Ghul when it emerges, or at least constrain its freedom of action. They must bind it with a pentagram if they are to force it to do their bidding. They are rightly afraid of what may happen if it breaks free.”
“And you are not?”
“I am terrified. It is all very well telling yourself that you do not care whether you live or die, but I find that when it comes to it I would rather go on living.”
“Most people are like that.”
“But you are not?”
“I long ago learned how to control my fear.”
“The famous discipline of the Order of the Dawn. Alas it is too late for me to learn it now.”
“You are doing pretty well. Wait here, I shall get a bit closer and find out what is going on.” Tarsus sat down on the stair gratefully. Kormak hoped that Tomas and his companions did not hear the old man coughing.
He trod as lightly as he could down the stairs. The chanting became louder as he closed the distance. He found himself standing in the shadows of an archway looking into a large vault. Around the walls were various statues of animal-headed gods. In the centre was an altar, large enough for a human sacrifice.
Lady Kathea was on it, bound by chains of ancient black iron. Around the altar a pentacle had been laid out with salt. At the centre stood the ancient amphora. Lord Tomas read from an old scroll, intoning words in the Old Tongue that made Kormak’s flesh creep. He wore the Elder Signs that had belonged to Kormak as well as some of his own.
Nearby stood Wesley. He had Kormak’s blade in his hands. It was unsheathed. The disrespect filled Kormak with anger. Such a weapon was never supposed to be unsheathed unless you intended to kill. It was one of the oldest and strongest teachings of his order.
The man had no right to hold that weapon. He had not undergone the sacred cleansing or performed any of the rites of initiation. He had not been selected and judged worthy to bear the blade by another Guardian. It was a sort of sacrilege and Kormak, despite all his acquired cynicism, found he still had enough faith in what he did to feel outrage.
Not that it would do him much good while Wesley held the blade. Dwarf-forged steel was far sharper and stronger than any normal metal, lighter too, and there were runes worked into the blade to help it strike true. Those would work for anyone who bore it. Kormak could not help but notice that the runes on the naked blade were glowing. They were affected by the eddy currents of magic from the ritual.
Wesley advanced to where Kathea lay. She looked up, eyes wide with terror. She clearly understood all too well what her fate was intended to be. It was perfectly possible her husband had explained it to her in his calm, mad way. Wesley placed the flask upon the altar near her. It seemed to be shimmering now. Perhaps it was a trick of the torchlight but Kormak doubted it. It seemed that the spells were having some effect on the ancient binding. Or perhaps it was something else. Kormak did not know. He was not a sorcerer. His training had been in how to protect himself from evil magic when that was possible.
The knight held Kormak’s blade at the ready. It was only then that Kormak realised what was intended and that he was too late to prevent the Ghul being freed. He raced forward to make the attempt anyway.
The knight took the dwarf-forged blade and brought its edge down on the seal of the flask severing it. Tomas smiled as a shimmering, shadowy, ectoplasmic form emerged from the mouth.
There would be no forcing the Ghul back into the jar now, Kormak realised. It was broken. They intended to bind the demon or kill it using his blade.
Kormak jumped over the salt lines of the pentacle being careful not to disturb the physical outline, knowing he was most likely disturbing the magical one. He landed close to the altar. Wesley saw him and strode to meet him. His strike was lightning fast. Kormak raised his blade to parry. The dwarf-forged sword notched its edge. Wesley pressed on with his attack and Kormak found himself on the defensive. Wesley was an excellent swordsman and in the peak of physical condition. Kormak was still weakened by his ordeal in the blizzard and the subsequent fever. Wesley was on him, cat-quick. Their swift footwork disturbed the salt, turning straight lines into scattered randomness.
Kormak parried again and again, too slow to find an opening in his opponent’s guard.
“No, you idiots! You have ruined everything,” Lord Tomas shouted. Over Wesley’s shoulder, Kormak could see the ectoplasmic form was starting to take on a roughly humanoid shape.