Darkness and Steel

by Martin Parece

  “It is impressive,” Haria agreed as she turned to face him.

  “I’ve seen you in the Spine before.”

  “I’ve seen you many times,” she replied.

  “Nor’len.”

  “Haria.”

  “Haria, you know I can’t let you go back,” Nor’len said.

  “I don’t think you have a choice,” she replied coolly as she turned and began to walk right past him.

  He was easily a foot taller than she, with a similar slight build. He appeared to be a tall Westerner, but with the elongated fingers and limbs she’d come to associate with the Loszian scouts. He was clad toe to torso in black leather, another common affectation among his fellow scouts.

  As Haria nearly passed him, Nor’len struck out with a dagger that he had seemingly produced from nowhere. She expected the attack and easily deflected the blow, smacking it away with her forearm. He laughed as she stepped back and drew her own. He lunged, and she again deflected the strike, this time with her own blade. He followed with a series of quick blows, which she parried or avoided altogether, and then she saw her opening. She jabbed quickly with her dagger, but she realized too late that it was a trap. Nor’len dropped his own blade, and as it clanged off of a rock, he took her by the wrist and used her momentum to pull her to the ground. Jumping atop her with lightning speed, he struck the inside of her elbow with his forearm. Her arm bent, and still holding her wrist, he plunged Haria’s dagger into her chest with her own hand.

  She lay in shock that he had slain her and could not find the air to scream as he yanked the blade from her. She felt the blood pour from her back, and she could not catch her breath. As he removed her breeches, she tried to take in breath to find the strength to fight, but it was to no avail. As she breathed in, the wound in her chest created bubbles as the blood left her body. She died as he raped her, and her final thoughts were the hopes that one of her fellows made it back to Fort Haldon.

  * * *

  Cor and Thom ran carelessly across Fort Haldon for its infirmary. Several of Thom’s rangers had not come back, and he had sent out more to ascertain their situation. Apparently, one of these had returned bearing one of the missing men, the latter of which had a slow bleeding wound that may have turned mortal. He had been found about a day from Fort Haldon, wounded and unconscious. When they burst into the room, full of empty cots except for one, they found the surgeon leaning over the wounded man. The ranger who had brought him back stood to one side, concern plain on his face.

  “Will he live?” Cor asked as he and Thom approached.

  “I don’t think so,” said the surgeon as he looked up. Cor could never remember the man’s name. He was a short, older man with a ring of unruly brown hair around his head; everything on top had fallen out already. “He has a deep knife wound that in and of itself was not mortal, but it has begun to fester. The infection is in his blood.”

  “Has he said anything? Anything at all?” Thom asked, kneeling next to his fallen man.

  “No,” answered the surgeon.

  “Sir?” said a voice from the side, and all three men turned their heads to look questioningly at the ranger who had recovered his comrade. “When I first found him, he spoke. They were fevered ramblings I’m afraid.”

  “What of?” prodded Thom.

  “Something about the Loszians and an army. Tens of thousands,” he said, and he looked to Cor. “I don’t know milord. A fever could turn ten Loszians into ten thousand.”

  “Just so,” whispered the surgeon as he turned his attention back to draining the pus filled wound in the man’s abdomen.

  “No, it doesn’t make sense,” Thom contradicted, shaking his head slightly as he stared absently across the room. He suddenly turned to Cor. “Lord Dahken, the scouts and spies of Losz and Aquis know of each other’s presence, and the ignore each other, mostly out of courtesy I suppose. Unless there is something important to be protected. I had to slay a number of them to keep my presence in the pass a secret those many months ago in your escape from Losz. Something isn’t right. I sent three to the Loszian side, and he is the only one to return.” This he said with a pointed nod of his forehead toward the prone man.

  “We need to know what he knows,” Cor agreed. He looked back to Thom’s other ranger. “You know Dahken Marya? Good. I need her now, no matter what she is doing.”

  “Yes milord,” the ranger bowed quickly and fleetly left the infirmary.

  Cor hadn’t hesitated calling all of the Dahken together to recognize Marya within days of his return to Fort Haldon. He had underestimated the girl when Keth approached him, and their trials together in Byrverus had shown him such. While she needed more time and training with her own unique style of fighting, Keth was correct that there was nothing more they could teach her. Already a teacher to the children, she had also taken on a more aggressive role in their training alongside Keth. This also gave Marya more opportunities to work with her healing ability. The young Dahken no longer needed to see Fort Haldon’s surgeon, and Marya found that the more she healed, the less drained she was by the magic.

  Within minutes of dispatching the ranger, the infirmary’s door was roughly pushed open from the outside, and Marya sauntered in with an arrogant bounce to her step. It seemed that the trip to Byrverus and back had truly transformed her from girl to Dahken warrior, and she carried her pride with all to see. The effect was profound, and she reminded Cor of his vision of Lord Dahken Rena from long ago. She knelt before Cor on one knee like a warrior knight, and her auburn hair fell forward in front of her shoulders as her head slightly bowed.

  “Marya stand,” Cor said. He did not mean it as much as a command as Marya obeyed.

  “Yes, Lord Dahken,” she replied, and she stood from her kneel to pull herself to her full height. Something in her manner suggested that she seemed taller than she actually was, as both Cor and Thom both towered over her. Yet, she did seem taller somehow.

  “This man has seen something in the Spine,” Cor said turning to the man who lay slowly dying. “I need him alive. We must know what he saw, what happened to him.”

  Marya looked at the prone ranger whose breathing seemed even more labored than it had minutes before and then returned her attention back to Cor. Cor watched her face as the realization of why he sent for her made her thoughts plain.

  “Lord Dahken, I’m certain the physician can attend to him,” she replied. There was the merest hint of defiance in her words, but Cor heard it nonetheless.

  “I can do nothing for him,” the surgeon said as he leaned back to light a pipe. “He will live or die now. Most likely die.”

  “Marya,” Cor said gently. He rested his hands on her shoulders and locked his eyes with hers. “He cannot die. Someone, some Loszian, tried to kill him for what he knows. The safety of all Fort Haldon, the Dahken, may rest with what he knows. If he dies, he dies with it.”

  “I don’t know that my magic will even help him. He’s a Westerner,” she said derisively in a tone that showed even she was not convinced by her words.

  “You will try,” Cor said with a set jaw and a tone of finality, dropping his hands from her shoulders to rest unconsciously on Soulmourn and Ebonwing. “Now.”

  Marya’s brow furrowed, and her lips nearly curled into a sneer. Cor could see that her teeth were clenched solidly, and the entire effect was not attractive combined with her Dahken pallor. She lowered herself to her haunches next to the cot and inspected the wound closely. It was partially scabbed over, oozing pus and clear fluid, but it was not bleeding. She drew the dagger that was both her secondary weapon and the implement she used to draw her own blood. She dug the blade into the festered wound at least two or three inches, causing the unconscious man to squirm and groan in pain.

  “What are you doing?!” screamed the surgeon, and he stood to push Marya away. Thom laid a hand on his shoulder, and gently pushed the man back into his chair.

  “He must bleed for it to work,” Marya answered, though Cor wonde
red if she relished the pain she inflicted.

  She roughly wiped both sides of the blade on the linen sheet that covered the man’s lower half, smearing blood and yellowish gore across it. In a much practiced move, she wrapped her left hand around the blade and swiftly yanked it free. The surgeon flinched, a look of horror on his face, and even the hardened Thom showed a hint of distaste. She held her hand in a fist over the wound and watched as her blood freely dripped into the wound, mingling with the ranger’s. she then pushed her bleeding hand directly up against it, just as Cor had seen her do to Keth when he lay dying. In only a few seconds, she pulled her hand away and began to wipe the blood and pus onto the already soiled linen sheet.

  Marya moved away, and the surgeon incredulously examined the ranger closely, finding no sign of a wound. The ranger began to snore softly.

  “Prad, wake up,” Thom said as he gently shook the man by one shoulder. The ranger’s eyes opened for just a moment before closing again, and his head lolled to one side.

  “Must we?” asked the surgeon.

  “Yes,” Thom responded.

  “We cannot wait until tomorrow? Let the poor man rest?”

  “No,” Cor said, placing his hand on the older man’s shoulder from behind.

  “Fine,” he said loudly, his tone containing an odd sound of submissive defiance. “I’ll be right back.”

  The surgeon whirled and stomped like a petulant child from the infirmary, slamming the door behind him as he went. Cor’s brow furrowed, and he looked at Thom with a confused smile. Thom merely shrugged his narrow shoulders in response. The door swung widely as Fort Haldon’s surgeon returned, carrying a wooden bucket full of water, which Cor presumed came from one of the fort’s many wells. He strode to the foot of the sleeping Prad and unceremoniously emptied the bucket’s contents directly onto his sleeping form. He bolted upright with a great exclamation of breath as his eyes shot wide open.

  “Very well. He is awake now,” said the surgeon, and he tossed the bucket aside in perturbed resignation. It thudded loudly against a wall, and Cor struggled to suppress a laugh at the man’s actions.

  Shivering, Prad’s eyes shot from person to person before landing on Thom. “Commandah? ’M back? How?”

  “Yes, you’re back,” Thom said as he sat next to the man. Prad shivered from the well water that always seemed to remain cool no matter the season. “What happened to you?”

  “I’s ran inta a Lozan, sah. He stuck meh, least I thinks he did, but I got ‘im,” Prad explained, and he seemed to be reliving moments in an attempt to remember.

  His speech annoyed Cor; it had the rhythms and enunciation of Aquis’ country folk. While Cor was a farmer’s son, they had lived not far from the second largest city in the Shining West. Prad’s speech sounded ignorant, as if the only people he had ever talked to lived in some backwoods part of Aquis and spoke the same as he did.

  “Why Prad? Why did the Loszian try to kill you? What did you see?” Thom prodded, and remembrance flooded Prad’s eyes.

  “Sah, it’s terrible. An armeh, sah. The Lozans ‘ave an armeh likes I neva’ seen,” he answered, and he seemed suddenly full of anxious energy. Thom glanced at Cor, who lowered his unblinking eyes to the floor as he listened. “They gots men in black armor, and them sorcers walkin’ all round. They is buildin’ cat’pults an’ such. An’ they gots these copses, dead bodies jus’ stannin’ like they is waitin’ fo’ sumtin. I watched lotsa them arrive, an’ I tink more was comin’. I’s cold, sah.”

  Cor handed Thom a thick wool blanket from the next cot, which Thom wrapped around Prad’s shoulders. Cor asked, “How many were there? How many did you see Prad?”

  Prad shifted his gaze to the Lord Dahken’s face, and Cor could plainly see the fear rising in his eyes like a great wave. “More than I’s ever seen, lawd. Musta’ been fitty tousand.”

  “Fifty thousand?” Thom asked, with a long pause between the words.

  Prad returned his eyes to Thom’s face and said, “Ain’t no liah, sah.”

  “No, of course not,” Thom agreed, patting Prad on the shoulder. “Get some sleep now.”

  Cor and Thom moved away from the cot to stand by Marya as the surgeon carefully helped Prad move to a dry cot. They watched silently as he settled, rolled over and went to sleep.

  “Can we believe him with the hardships he’s been through?” Cor asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

  “Lord Dahken, Prad is as steady as any man under my command,” Thom explained. “He may sound foolish, but he’s as sharp as they come. If he said it is fifty thousand, we’d damn well better prepare to be overrun.”

  “Let them come,” Marya said, a sneer upon her face and bloodlust in her eyes.

  “I’m sure that they will,” Cor replied. He closed his eyes for just a moment to think. “War is coming then. Marya, go find Thyss, Dahken Keth and Celdon. Thom, assemble your Lieutenants. We meet in Dahken Hall in one hour.”

  “Lord Dahken,” Marya bowed slightly as she spoke. She nearly ran from the infirmary, the excitement that her sword may shed a foe’s blood obvious.

  Thom tucked his lips into his mouth and chewed at the lower. “Lord Dahken, if I may?” Receiving no answer from Cor, he continued, “If she is not careful, that one may become a danger to all those around her. She is not even a blooded warrior, yet she lusts to kill.”

  As Thom followed her out, Cor realized that he had never told Thom the truth about what happened in Byrverus. Marya was indeed blooded; amongst her first kills were Queen Erella’s royal guards.

  When Cor left the infirmary, he headed straight for his quarters, the rooms still attached to the Dahken barracks. While the Hall itself was essentially complete, construction on the ancillary rooms had only just begun. The intent was to have all of the Dahken with private quarters contained within the keep and near the hall. He collected a few sundry items and did not linger, except momentarily to note Thyss’ absence.

  Within minutes, he sat in his chair at the head of his table with several pieces of parchment, a pen and ink. The words he needed would not come to him, but also, he knew not to whom to pen the message. With the queen dead by his own hand, Cor had no idea who now ruled Aquis, or even if a ruler had been chosen. When he thought plainly on the matter, he knew of only one person in authority. He doubted that a message to Aidan would be received well, as he was sure that the priest would be out for his head, but he saw no other option. He nearly started his message several times, only to stop himself to rethink it. By the time he had finally penned something that read acceptably, everyone had arrived at his or her place.

  They waited quietly while he finished. Cor looked up at Thom’s face to his left and looked down the table at each of the commander’s three lieutenants in turn. His gaze shifted across the table to Marya, who appeared impatient, and then Keth, stolid as always. He looked last at Thyss, as beautiful as ever, and he lingered there, noting that both her belly and breasts seemed to have swelled slightly. She smiled at him, and it was different from the old, cruel smile he remembered when he had first met the sorceress.

  “You all know what Prad reported?” Cor asked. The query received a mixture of nods and noncommittal stares, so he recapped the ranger’s story briefly. “The time has come to defend Fort Haldon and Aquis. We need to plan now.”

  Thom was the first to speak. “Lord Dahken, my men and I are already working on the problem, but surely you know we do not have the manpower to hold off a host fifty thousand strong.”

  “Just a few months ago, you said we could not fail so long as Thyss and I were here,” Cor reminded him.

  “Perhaps I exaggerated,” he conceded. “Fifty thousand is a number beyond compare. It is twenty five times the size of my command, and I hate to say that I’m not sure your Dahken close that gap. And Lady Thyss, I mean no offense when I say that I’m afraid your condition may make combat difficult for you.”

  Cor watched Thyss’ face as Thom slowly said these last words, and the old,
fiery defiance came back into her eyes. She looked as if she may retort, and for just a moment, Cor thought his garrison commander just might be in danger. He moved his bare right hand to cover hers, and her body noticeably calmed.

  “I apologize, My Lady,” Thom said with a nod.

  “Its true though,” Thyss whispered with a small sigh.

  “I’ve composed a message to Lord Aidan of Byrverus,” Cor said motioning to the parchment on the table, “beseeching him, pleading for assistance. I don’t know if the priests have even selected a new king or queen, but Aidan is the only person of authority I know of in the capital. We need armies. Now.”

  “My Lord, it will take weeks for the message to reach Byrverus and more weeks, even months for any substantial force to form and arrive,” said Rory, Thom’s apparent favorite.

  “Which is why it must be dispatched now,” Thom explained. “Even still, Lord Dahken, we must expect the invasion is imminent. Prad spoke of catapults. If the Loszians are building siege engines, then they are nearly ready. It is the last thing to be done before an assault, and usually an army would do it when they’ve reached the city to besiege. In this case, they are only three days march away, and it makes sense to build them ahead of time. I suspect we may have only a matter of days, maybe a week, and we will have no advance warning. The Loszian scouts more or less have full control of the pass.”

  Cor sighed as he narrowed his eyes at the beautiful table. He looked up and swept his gaze across them all at once. “Then, we had better be ready to fight for our lives and those we love.”

  5.

  Master Acolyte Brenan had forced the Convocation to continue on for two weeks before he was satisfied that all had been discussed thoroughly. Aidan chaffed and anxiously paced through the entire process. It infuriated him that Brenan simply wouldn’t bypass the bureaucratic fervor to reach the conclusion, for everyone, even Brenan, knew who would be made King. When the testimonies ended finally, Brenan called for two days of reflection before the final vote, and Aidan howled his frustration to the heavens behind his own closed doors.