“She bleeds from her womb, milord,” one had said after a few minutes, and Cor felt suddenly faint as he understood her words. “We have precious little time to save the Lady’s life. I’m afraid the child is lost.”
“No!” screamed Thyss. “I can feel him, he lives!”
“Alive or not, she must try to birth him, but we must hurry,” the midwife responded. She was a middle aged, understated woman, and Cor knew by looking in her eyes that she had done this uncounted times. She pulled him to the side and whispered, “If she cannot soon, we will have to cut the child from her so that we can do what we must to save her life. Milord, I suggest that you leave to allow us room.”
“I’m not leaving,” Cor replied.
“I warn you milord, childbirths of this sort will make even the hardest warriors collapse,” she said. Seeing his mind unchanged, she continued, “Try to keep your eyes on your Lady’s face, and she will say things to hurt you. It is the pain, not your wife, and there will be plenty of it.”
The midwives coached Thyss through the process for the better part of an hour, the same through which they had helped countless women over the years, both commoner and noble. The helped her to breathe a certain way as the pain came and went and explained exactly what they did as they did it. They firmly but carefully pressed on her belly and did other examinations that Cor was careful to avoid watching. She continued to bleed steadily, and the bedclothes slowly became soaked with blood. One woman left the room to return shortly with more wool blankets and linen sheets, and it wasn’t long before these too were stained.
Heads shook, and Cor’s heart sank into his gut when the lead midwife stood and spoke, “We have no more time. Lady Thyss, your body is the body of warrior, it is too strong. Your muscles fight against the labor, and you slowly bleed to death. I’m sorry, but we must tie you down while we work.”
“You stupid, gray skinned, bastard son of a whore!” Thyss screamed between clenched teeth. “Next time you keep your cock to yourself!”
“You must breathe like we told you, milady,” said one of the midwives in a tone that was at once soothing and chastising. “Perhaps milord should wait outside.”
“No, Hykan damn him!” Thyss shouted, turning her ire onto the midwife. “He stays. I want him to see what he’s done to me!”
One of the women produced several wide leather straps and a wooden rod that was perhaps a foot long and an inch thick. The rod vaguely reflected light as if it was polished, and Cor saw teeth impressions in the hardwood. Thyss shook her head at first, but the young woman said, “Milady, it would not do for you to bite your tongue off. Please bite down on this.” Thyss did so as the other two midwives used the straps to secure her hands and feet, also placing one more tightly across her thighs.
“Milord, we will need you to weigh down her shoulders. She must not struggle against us.”
Cor did as he was told, leaning over Thyss and placing his palms on her shoulders to keep her on the bed. As he looked at her face, he saw something he had never once seen before; fear showed plainly in her eyes. He smiled, but he knew it would not reassure her. He was truly frightened to the point of tears.
She suddenly inhaled sharply, her body shuddering, and Cor hazarded a glance backward at the midwives. He caught a glimpse of small razor slicing a crescent shape into Thyss’ abdomen. Blood quickly beaded around the incision and then began to flow freely down her sides to the already soaked bedclothes. Cor’s face suddenly burned, especially his cheeks and ears, and he ripped his gaze away to focus on Thyss’ tear stained face. She began to scream, biting down on the hickory rod as hard as she could, and he swore he heard something crack.
“I have the baby,” said one midwife, Cor wasn’t sure which.
Unlike most firstborn farmer’s sons, Cor had never been anywhere near a childbirth before. Most farmers had many children over the years, for more children meant more hands and less hired help. Cor’s parents had never had another child, and if his birth had been anything like this, he understood why. Though he had no experience with this, he was fairly certain that babies were supposed to cry, and he heard nothing.
“I’ve removed the afterbirth,” a woman said.
Cor wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was certain that he did not want to know. A wail, the sound of a baby’s cry, came from the corner of the room behind him.
“I’ve got him! I’ve got him!” shouted the midwife in the corner.
A female face came into Cor’s vision, which he suddenly realized had an oddly glowing purple haze all around its periphery. “Milord, you may ease off your lady. She sleeps now,” the midwife said, and Cor looked down into Thyss’ face to see it was true. “Milord, she has lost far too much blood. Even if we stop the bleeding, she won’t survive for long.”
Cor’s vision cleared as he stared into the midwife’s face, and he didn’t know how long he stood staring dumbly at the woman, while his child cried loudly behind him. I’ve lost too much already. Cor straightened and walked around the bed toward the room’s closed door, wary of the slick floor. The midwives only stared after him in surprise as he opened the door to find Keth and Lord Paton waiting patiently outside.
At first, he could not find his voice; his lips moved, but no sound came out. “Marya,” he croaked, and then his voice returned with strength. “I need Marya, now!”
Keth wasted no time charging headlong down the stairs to find his lover, meanwhile two of the midwives continued their work with silk threads and needles. Cor endeavored to keep his eyes away from their work. Curiosity of the tiny wailing form in the room’s corner tugged at him, but his fear for Thyss outweighed it. He went to one knee on the floor next to the head of the bed and pushed her sweat soaked hair from her face. She opened one eye and looked at him for just a second before closing it, and Cor wasn’t sure that she even knew she was awake.
“By the gods,” Marya gasped as she came into the room. Her feet slid in the blood that seemed to be everywhere when she suddenly halted. “Is she dead?”
“Not yet. She hasn’t long,” said one of the midwives, not looking up from their work.
“Marya, bring her back,” Cor pleaded.
“So much blood…” was all she could say as she slowly walked to Thyss’ side.
“Marya, I need you to save her,” Cor said more firmly. “Whatever the cost. Only you can do it.”
Marya’s shock at the room nearly coated in Thyss’ blood seemed to wear off slightly, and she locked gazes with Cor in challenge. “It costs you nothing, Lord Dahken. The cost is mine to bear alone.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” Cor shouted, jolting everyone in the room excluding Thyss. He stood and shot his hand across the bed to take her by the neck of her chain shirt. He pulled her close so that they both hovered over the bed, and their faces were less than a foot apart. “That’s Thyss lying there! My Thyss! I would kill you where you stand to save her, don’t doubt it. But even that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you owe her. She has saved your life, our lives, more than once. You’ll do it. Now!”
When he released her, he pushed her backward with a jingle of her chain armor, and she very nearly fell onto her rump. She stood facing him, a sneer on her face and her hands on the hilts of her sword and dagger. Cor knew he would have Soulmourn drawn and severing her neck before she pulled more than two inches of steel, and he was ready should her muscles so much as flinch the wrong way. She softened her glare, breathed in deeply and sighed through clenched teeth.
“Yes, Lord Dahken,” Marya said softly.
She knelt next to Thyss, just as Cor had just knelt, and the midwives watched in hushed amazement at what transpired. They gasped as Marya retrieved her dagger from its sheath and quickly drew it deeply over her left wrist and forearm, severing the artery there and all manners of other blood vessels. She held it over Thyss unmoving figure, allowing the blood to pour onto her. Every second or so, a gout of blood would pump in rhythm to Marya’s heartbeat. Cor did
n’t remember her shedding so much blood in her healings ever before, even when saving Keth from death, but he chose to say nothing of it. Their blood well mixed, Marya pressed her ruined wrist and arm to the large incision below Thyss’ belly, and in moments, all signs of their hurts had vanished except for the massive amounts of spilled blood. Marya rocked backward and slumped against the wall, quickly asleep.
“Keth?” Cor called, and the Dahken cautiously came through the open door. “Perhaps you should carry Marya back to your bed. After, please ask Lord Paton if Thyss and I may have other accommodations.”
“Milord, how long do you think she will sleep?” the elder midwife asked.
“I can’t say,” Cor said, caressing Thyss’ forehead.
“Then I should call for a wet nurse to care for your son.”
Cor’s eyes went to the corner, finding the youngest of the three midwives holding a tiny form wrapped in wool. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to hold the baby, his son. As he slowly stepped toward the now quiet newborn, he suddenly realized that he had no idea what the boy would be named.
“Hold your arms like this,” the midwife said, and as she handed the baby to Cor, “He is a little small, for he is early, but he seems healthy enough. Milord, he is most definitely your son.”
As Cor took the babe, the smallest and most delicate thing he’d ever held in his life, it scared him that he may so easily crush it. He was sure the mere size of his hands would cause the baby harm, but the midwife encouraged him gently. He looked intently in the failing light coming through the open window, and he could just barely make out the thin golden hair on his son’s head and the coloration of his skin, skin that was as gray as that of a corpse.
19.
Dahk waited outside Garod’s Vault for weeks by mortal reckoning, but to him, the time passage was nearly instantaneous. Actually, only a small part of him waited, a single drop of blood, while the rest stayed within his own Vault. While time meant nothing to the gods, Dahk couldn’t understand Garod’s desire to wait. In truth, it wasn’t desire; it was just plain, old fashioned stubbornness. Garod had always been stubborn, even before they started calling him Garod, which was so long ago that none of them even remembered what they used to be called. Eventually, Garod would have no choice but to act, and the longer he waited to do so, the harder it would be.
And Dahk couldn’t wait much longer. Well actually, he could wait essentially forever, but he had a visitation to make. The visitation would require power, and he wouldn’t be able to make another for some time, again by mortal perception. It would be so much better if Garod would just get on board now, rather than wait until after Dahk’s visitation. They both knew that he now had no choice, but damn he could be cantankerous.
Dahk was about to give up when the door opened ever so slightly. He knew if he hesitated it would shut again, so he fleetly rolled through into the Vault. There was a small circle of light produced by four torches on silver stanchions, but the circle was perfectly round and unmoving, the light from the torches constant and unflickering. Garod sat upon a silver throne within the circle’s center in the form of a fair, young man with silver hair. As he rolled his way toward Garod’s feet, Dahk would have raised an eyebrow at this particular affectation, if he in fact had eyebrows.
“I have felt you outside my Vault,” Garod stated the obvious. “Why?”
“Why ask the question? You know the answer, my friend.”
“I cannot do as you ask, as you expect,” Garod said, looking away and shaking his head.
“Then why let me in? Just to tell me no?” Dahk asked rhetorically. “You know that you need Cor Pelson, your people need him. How many of your people have fallen, and how many more will you allow to die? How many of your priests still pray to you? I know you hear their prayers, so you must know how many or rather how few still live. Even your Paladins stood no chance against the darkness that the Others instilled into their Champion.”
“The Others learned from your example it would seem,” Garod sniped. “You upset the balance once. Now they’ve decided to tip it the other way, and you want me to make it even worse.”
“What balance?” Dahk asked incredulously.
“The balance of power,” Garod answered as if the answer was obvious enough.
“The balance of power only guarantees either mutually assured destruction or that we remain locked in war forever! But if balance is so precious, only you can restore it. You know what must be done. Cor Pelson can restore the balance, push the Others people back across the mountains.”
Garod brought his eyes back to the lone drop of blood on the floor mere feet away from him. “The last time you came here, you talked of destroying the Others, but now it’s about balance.”
“And that may one day come, but for now, we must stop the Others in their tracks, before they enslave all of Rumedia.”
“It is too much power for one man,” Garod said absently, but he himself no longer sounded convinced. His eyes wandered around the circle of light and came back to the lone drop of blood. Garod sighed and lowered his eyes to his feet. “It is done. Now get out.”
Suddenly expelled, Dahk found himself alone and complete within his own Vault. He smiled, at least he wanted to smile as much as a puddle of blood could smile. There was no longer any need to stall.
20.
Sleep had been almost impossible for Cor to find over the last few nights, especially with the tiny boy that lay in the crook of Thyss’ arm. The babe had gone two full nights and one day without a name, as that was how long Thyss slept after Marya’s healing, and Cor wanted Thyss to name him. Cor’El she named him, combining his father’s name with something of significance from her own past. What that was, Cor did not ask; he was satisfied that his son now had a name.
When she awoke, Thyss bounded out of bed with the strength and agility of a tiger, fully and completely healed. One younger midwife stayed nearby to assist Thyss in her new role of motherhood, and she gasped at Thyss’ sudden activity, afraid that the sorceress would bring great harm to herself. But there were no stitches to avoid ripping, no torn flesh to heal, and Thyss’ annoyance at the young lady’s doting made it clear that she was well enough. All of her appetites returned almost immediately, including forcing herself upon Cor during one of Cor’El’s many naps.
“I thought,” Cor said between fierce kisses, “you told me to keep my –“
“Shut up,” Thyss commanded.
However, Thyss agonized over her body, for Marya’s healing hadn’t reversed the effects of carrying a child. Her breasts began to swell and sometimes hurt as they filled with milk, and she actually found herself wanting to feed the baby as much as possible. She was a little soft around the middle, her usually well defined stomach muscles lost in a layer of baby fat. “I don’t care,” Cor tried to reassure her. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Her baleful glare made it clear that his comments did not have the desired effect, and Cor decided to leave Thyss to her obsessing.
Despite all the anger and resentment that she had built up over the last eight or nine months, Thyss doted on her child. She spoke to him softly in her hissing native tongue, most of which Cor understood, and she constantly felt his smooth skin. She whispered of how she would teach him the ways of Hykan, the ways of the elementalist, and that fire and all the elements would bend to his will. She marveled at the softness of his skin, with its wholly even and gray tone, and the first time he began to cough, she simply held him until it passed, whereas other new mothers might have screamed hysterically for help.
Tonight’s insomnia was different from before, in that it truly was sleeplessness. Cor’El generally seemed to do whatever he could to interrupt their sleep almost constantly, driving both of them to the point of frustration that Thyss again called for the wet nurse, and this she did more than once. However, tonight the babe had been silent most of the night, and she had learned how to feed him without waking. The silence left Cor alone with his tho
ughts, and every time he began to doze, his questions would again wake him.
Disgusted, he flung his feet over the side of the bed and silently left the two to their sleep. He walked the halls barefoot and with nothing on at all except a pair of wool leggings for modesty. It was dark and silent in Paton’s small castle, and only a few torches set into sconces in the walls at great distances from one another burned smokily. He appreciated the gloom and the quiet, for it left him to puzzle over the last few days, and even the occasional guard seemed to ignore him. Perhaps they slept standing at their posts.
“I can feel the fire of Hykan burning within my belly,” Thyss had said in Queen Erella’s dungeon.
She had known for some time that her baby, their son, would be gifted with the same powers that her gods granted her, but he was more than that. He was a Dahken, and how could that be? Cor thought about it long and hard, and he could not remember one single instance of a Dahken fathering or giving birth to another Dahken. In fact, he didn’t remember anything ever written about a Dahken woman giving birth at all. Rena was very active, taking many lovers and describing her encounters with them in almost poetic detail, and yet never did she write about pregnancy. He was sure that Rael once had a child, or even children, but he had never trained his own child.
Dahken blood is unpredictable, Cor thought. The history of the Dahken shows there’s no way of knowing when or where a child will be born with Dahken blood. What chance was there that my boy would share it?
Cor absently wandered the halls and down the stairs to the stronghold’s ground floor, where they ended in a plain and unadorned door. Standing before the door, the entire situation felt suddenly surreal, for he knew the door had never been there before. And he would have remembered this particular door had he ever seen it, for it seemed to be made wholly of rusted iron with no apparent way to open or close it. Cor approached it cautiously, and he suddenly realized that the stairs behind him had vanished. In fact there was nothing at all within his sight except the iron door set into the granite wall, and darkness stretched in all other directions.
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