“I will, of course, recompense your order. For the services you have already rendered me, I feel bound to make an offering in gratitude. Let us say one thousand golden solars. I would double it, triple it even, if you did me this courtesy.”

“Your majesty, I am weary. I do not wish to seem ungrateful, but let me think upon this.”

His answer would be no, but there was no need to tell the king this. He did not want to talk about his fears and doubts with these two formidable men; it was bad enough having to face them on his own.

“Of course, Sir Kormak. I am thoughtless to press you so after such a mighty battle. Go to your rest with my blessing, but please consider all I have said.”

“I will, your majesty. Have I your leave to withdraw?”

Aemon made a gesture of benediction and dismissal. “Walk in the Holy Sun’s Light.”

* * *

Kormak trudged down the stairs and out into the nave of the Cathedral. He had won a great battle, yet he felt defeated. He had been forced to use Valen’s Elixir to give him the strength to defeat Vorkhul. The drug had many side-effects, none of them good. He was too old for this.

All around, servants and soldiers came and went. Most of them looked at him with a respect that he did not deserve. He reached the entrance chamber of the Cathedral and considered making his way to his sleeping chambers. Instead, he turned towards the Sanctum of the Angel.

Even at this hour, people were present. Some were priests and monks following the daily routine of any great religious institution. Others were servants or nobles who had crowded in for refuge when word of the Old One Vorkhul’s rampage spread through the palace.

People slept on the pews or sprawled in the corridors. Some prayed. A few looked at Kormak as he crossed the chamber. Noticing the sword on his back, they made the sign of the five-pointed star over their hearts. He paid little attention to them. His attention focused on the armour of the angel Zhamriel.

The armour was five times his height; it had been made for a being much broader than any mortal man. An elder sign, a pentacle within a circle, dominated the vast metallic chest-plate. The armour radiated a sense of antiquity. It was old, perhaps as old as this world. It had been worn by an Angel of the Sun in his battles with Old Ones in the Dawn Ages of the world.

The metal was scarred. Kormak had journeyed through the Graveyard of Angels in Umbrea. He had seen suits of armour like this.