He gingerly pushed against the door with two fingers, and it opened readily. He passed into a massive room that felt oddly claustrophobic with its complete and utter darkness, and the iron door swung quietly shut behind him. Cor stood enveloped in darkness for a handful of heartbeats before a light appeared some indeterminate distance in front of him. He walked toward it, knowing that he dreamt, but also knowing that much had happened to him in dreams before. As quickly as he started walking, he stood in the white light. He looked up to see a long tube from which the light emanated, and it was so bright that it should have burned his eyes to stare at it. He thought of the lights he had seen once in the ancient building from which he had recovered Ebonwing.
“Thank you for joining me, Cor Pelson,” boomed a man’s voice, somewhat high pitched. It was so loud that Cor fell to one knee, covering his ears with his fists, but it seemed that it boomed in his mind as much as his ears.
“My apologies,” the voice said, much quieter this time, “I sometimes forget how loud I can be to you mortals.”
Suddenly feeling watched very much like when he dreamed himself into Noth’s tomb, Cor whirled to find an awesome sight that had not been there before. A great fountain stood before him, in fact towering over him. It seemed to be made of solid, gray iron, and instead of water, blood flowed down its tiers to a great pool at the bottom. It bubbled from a small spout at the top, and as it filled the tiers below, the blood ran to the next in greater and greater volume. However, the pool at the bottom never spilled over.
“Dahk,” Cor gasped, and he sank to his knees, resting all of his weight on his legs as they folded underneath him. He breathed out deeply, and his shoulders and face seemed to almost sag tiredly, as if he no longer needed to carry whatever weight he bore. His hands fell limp, palms open before him almost in supplication.
“Indeed. Are you surprised at my existence?”
“I only half believed,” Cor said honestly, and he felt that were he to lie, Dahk would know it. “I only half believed in any of the gods.”
“I suppose now you will wholly believe then.”
The emotion waning, Cor looked up at the huge fountain, and tilted his head to one side. “What do I call you? My Lord? My God?”
“Seeing that I called you here to talk as men, how about you just call me Dahk?”
The iron fountain was suddenly gone. In fact, Cor was not even sure it had ever existed at all, and in its place stood a rather unimpressive, unassuming man. He was short, perhaps only a few inches over five feet, and relatively small of frame. He wore some sort of tunic, blood red and made of something that shined like silk. It had sleeves that extended down to his wrists, where they had been folded back upon themselves so that the sleeves ended at the middle of his forearm. This tunic seemed to close at the front through the use of a half dozen circular objects that were no more than a half inch across and slightly translucent. They ran in a row right down Dahk’s chest and paunchy belly, which hung over the waist of his breeches. These were blue, made of a heavy material the likes of which Cor had never seen and appeared to have a number of tiny, shiny metal objects set into them, mostly around the waist. His blue clad legs ended in a sort of brown leather shoes that seemed to slip right on or off and were well worn. His face and neck were somewhat chubby and clean shaven but otherwise unremarkable, and he had reddish hair like a Northman, though it was cropped close to his skull.
“Dahk?” Cor asked.
“Of course, my boy. I like this form because it’s a lot less ostentatious. I’d just as soon leave that to my brother.”
“Your brother?” Cor asked. He felt like the room spun around him.
“Garod,” Dahk said, smiling. “Well, he’s a brother of sorts. Listen, there’s some stuff we need to talk about.”
“Stuff? What is stuff?”
“Sorry, my colloquialisms,” Dahk said, still smiling. “I think you need to sit down.”
Cor followed the motion of Dahk’s hand, turning to see a chair of some sort. It was high backed with large arms, sized somewhere between a throne and the chair Cor used at the head of the table back at Fort Haldon. The entire chair seemed to be encased in a sort of rich brown leather that appeared to be somehow quilted in the bottom cushion, back and around the arms. As he sank down into it, he found the chair to be incredibly comfortable.
“Where am I?” Cor asked.
Dahk chuckled softly as he answered, “That is a complex question. Physically, you are asleep next to your woman and son, but I have expended a great deal of energy bringing your mind here.”
“Where is here?”
“Suffice it to say, it’s where I exist, always.”
“You brought my mind here,” Cor repeated.
“Yes, so that we may speak to one another,” Dahk elaborated.
“Something like this happened to me before,” Cor said, looking to a ceiling that was not there. “It happened a few times. I dreamt and found myself in a place that I had never been before, never seen. I discovered Lord Dahken Noth, what was left of him. We even had short conversations in these dreams, and when we actually met, he remembered our meetings.”
“Interesting,” Dahk said. “I assumed you found the place because your blood pulled you there.”
“I did mostly, but I still met Noth in dreams before I actually found his tomb.”
“Perhaps it was the armor itself,” Dahk mused, and he started to pace as he spoke while staring into the distance. “Cor, you have collected some impressive objects in your short travels. There are not many in the world, not as many as you would think, and they seem to have their own wills.”
“Who created them? The gods?” Cor asked.
“Sometimes, maybe. I don’t honestly know. Not my department,” Dahk said as he suddenly stopped. He looked down at Cor with a mischievous grin, as if he had made a joke that Cor did not understand. “My legs are stiff. Pardon me while I sit.”
Dahk sat at Cor’s feet on a rectangular piece of furniture covered in the same sort of leather as the chair. It was an odd sensation, for it seemed to Cor that the thing had been there the entire time, yet he had not seen it.
“Now, that’s much better,” Dahk said as he leaned forward on his knees. “Okay, Cor Pelson, I’m going to try to make this as simple as I can.”
“O-kay? What is o-kay?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dahk said with a wave of his right hand. “Do you know why you’re Lord Dahken?”
Cor looked blankly at this strange little man that sat before him. The room had stopped spinning, but his mind had not. This was all a little overwhelming, not to mention very bizarre. As he understood the story of Tannes, Dahk made him drink blood from the fountain, and all the knowledge he needed came to him like lightning. Why didn’t Dahk just do the same now?
“I’m not sure,” Cor replied after he thought for a moment. “I’m the strongest?”
“Yes, but you don’t know why you are the strongest, do you?” Dahk asked, and he saw Cor’s difficulty in answering. “Let me back up. The Dahken have been persecuted by everyone for hundreds of years, correct? Why?”
“We’re different, we’re powerful,” Cor said immediately. “We’re hard to control because we resist them and their magic. They fear us.”
“Yes, good,” encouraged Dahk. “What have they said about your people? What words have they used for you?”
“Abomination.”
“Yes. Abomination, aberration. Cor, what if I told you those words, while harsh, are essentially true?” Dahk asked, and he watched as Cor’s face first registered surprise, then a dark thoughtfulness. “Have you ever wondered why there seems to be no rhyme or reason as to when a Dahken is born? I don’t want to make you angry, but I’m just being honest here. The Dahken were a mistake, an accident, an anomaly in an experiment. The Dahken are a mutation.”
“Dahk you speak strangely,” Cor said, “and I only half understand what you’re saying.”
“It doesn’t mat
ter,” Dahk said, again waving his hand as if to dismiss Cor’s statement. “You understand enough. Cor, the Westerners, Garod’s people, were never meant to fight the Dahken. You know how the peoples of Rumedia came to have their powers?”
Cor leaned forward at this question, for it was the first that seemed easy enough to answer. “The gods, of whom Garod was leader, each took a people of the world as their own, and the gods each bestowed Their powers upon Their peoples.”
“That’s right,” Dahk said, nodding, “and you see, I was the one who brought it all together. It was me that showed the gods how to grant powers to their people. In so doing, I accidentally left a door open.”
“And that’s where the Dahken came from?” Cor asked. He still felt somewhat bewildered, but he thought he understood.
“Exactly,” Dahk agreed, nodding. “Honestly, I never actually intended the Dahken, and for a long time I didn’t pay them any mind. After awhile, I decided to let them know who they were and see what they could do.”
“That’s when you appeared to Tannes,” Cor said, following Dahk’s lead.
“That’s right, and he built an impressive legion of Dahken warriors. When the Others attacked my people, I was so proud at how soundly we defeated them, but I was disappointed when my Dahken didn’t push the attack. I think we could have destroyed the Others then.”
“The Others?” Cor asked, but he was sure he knew the answer.
“You call them Loszians. Too many Dahken were lost when their vessel crashed into the West, but even still, Tannes and his people could have turned the tide.”
“But they didn’t,” Cor continued, “and they paid dearly when the Westerners turned on them during The Cleansing.”
“Exactly right again. So, now I am back to my original question. Do you know why you’re the strongest of the Dahken?”
“I…” Cor said haltingly, “I don’t think you’ve explained that.”
Dahk sighed, “No I suppose not. When I saw what my Dahken were capable of, I became proud, like a father. I’d always left such feelings to Garod and some of the others, but I couldn’t help it. I kept waiting for my children to rise up again, bring their strength back to the world, but it never happened. There was always a few who knew what they were, wandering aimlessly, following their blood, but never did they endeavor beyond that. Perhaps they weren’t strong enough. I don’t know.
“But you, you’re different. I reached out to you in your mother’s womb and gave you strength beyond that of the other Dahken. I made you special.”
“How?” Cor asked, now rather interested; finally, there would be answers.
“Well for one, the Dahken are like mules, and you are not.” At Dahk’s words, Cor’s brow furrowed and confusion again clouded his eyes. “Maybe that’s a bad example, but it still holds. A mule is the offspring of a horse and a donkey, right? Not something just found in nature. There’s no way to create a mule other than breeding a horse and a donkey; mules can’t breed with other mules to beget more mules.”
“Dahken can’t have children,” Cor concluded, “but I can.”
“You can, and your Dahken blood will carry to your offspring, which you’ve already discovered. Cor, the flaw in the Dahken that doesn’t let them have children – well, I spent some time on it, and I fixed it in you. You will pass on your strength, your power just as Westerners or Loszians do. Just as Thyss does.”
“Wait a moment, I don’t understand,” Cor said, leaning back in the comfortable leather chair for a moment. “You say Dahken cannot have children, but I know for a fact that Rael did. At some point, he had a wife and child or children.”
“Perhaps Rael did not know as much about his wife or son as he may have thought? That’s the only answer I can offer you there. You’ll have to come up with you’re your own conclusions,” Dahk replied. “Anyway, your son has the strength of the Dahken and the powers of Dulkur’s elemental gods. Hykan saw to it Himself, but there’s something else. You are a Westerner by birth, and your son is half. Garod has given in to my wishes that both of you be granted the same powers that His priests wield.”
“What? Why would Garod do that?” Cor asked. “I’ve always thought that Garod and his people hate the Dahken.”
“He hated the Dahken only out of spite towards me and perhaps because of the Dahken’s unwillingness to aid His people,” Dahk explained. “Cor, those times must end. Garod agreed because He needs you to help defeat the Loszians and, hopefully, rid Rumedia of the Others forever.”
“The Others are the Loszian gods. Who are they?”
Dahk sighed, and his voice became oddly distant. “An ancient and evil enemy. One we thought we’d left behind thousands of years ago, but They are not content to allow our quiet existence here.”
“How would I destroy gods?” Cor asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I couldn’t even defeat Geoff’s blood ghast.”
“Ha!” Dahk suddenly laughed, and he slapped his knee as he did so, causing Cor’s anger to flare momentarily. “First let me say, Cor there is no such thing as gods or magic, only what you perceive to be either. Or both. Not sure the proper grammar there. Anyway, I don’t know that it will be you to destroy the Others, but perhaps your son.
“Cor, the blood ghast as you call it is nothing to you. I saved my energy for centuries and spent myself all at once, imbuing your very being with powers far beyond the blood ghast.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you?” Dahk shot back at him, and then he looked away. “I don’t know. Maybe I just got tired of waiting for the right time.
“The fact is,” he continued, bringing his gaze back to Cor, “Rael could only teach you what he knew, and what all you Dahken can do, you had essentially discovered on your own. You all feel your own blood, draw strength from it when it is shed. You shed your foe’s blood and use it to heal yourselves. Cor, what you must learn is to feel all the blood around you. You can bend it to your will, make it do as you desire.”
Cor nodded slightly, and then his nod turned to a slight shake to the right then left. “I don’t understand, but I do. I think. I suppose I’ll have to discover it on my own.”
“I suppose you will,” agreed Dahk.
“What of these powers Garod has gifted me?”
“Of those,” Dahk said, standing and sighing, “I cannot tell you a thing. I can only hope He will help you. It’s time for you to leave, Cor Pelson.”
Cor prepared to push himself out of the plush, leather clad chair, but he hesitated as something occurred to him. “May I ask you one more thing?”
“Certainly!” Dahk responded with an odd exuberance.
“That really wasn’t Rael that you sent back to me, was it?”
Dahk’s face broke into a wide smile. “You people are smarter than we sometimes appreciate. Good luck, Cor Pelson.”
21.
“There have been a few responses to my dispatches,” Lord Paton said as they stood over his map in his library. “I am actually hoping that most of our fellow Lords and Ladies won’t bother with sending a response. Regardless, I know who fields forces and march toward Martherus. The King of Roka has promised a host of ten thousand men – substantial for the size of his kingdom.”
Paton’s leather map was unfurled across his great table, and now a half score tiny flags dotted the Shining West. Some of the flags had solid colors, while others were painted with sigils or symbols of lords. They were about an inch tall and set into tiny round bases to both help them stand upright and make them easy to slide across the map. All total, Cor thought the flags represented about sixty thousand, all marching for Martherus.
“It’s not enough,” Cor said, flopping into a chair dejectedly. “Byrverus fell in hours, maybe even minutes, attacked from the inside. Nadav will do the same to Martherus and every city in the Shining West.”
“Then, what should we do Lord Cor? Nothing?” Paton’s tone commanded Cor’s attention, and when he looked up, he saw that the middle aged man’s glare s
moldered.
“No, of course not,” Cor said, leaning forward. He placed a light finger on the flag at Paton’s stronghold. “How many?”
“Three thousand now, with another thousand volunteers joining us from the outer areas. They should be ready to march within a week.”
“If Roka’s army takes the most obvious path, they’ll pass right through here,” Cor said, placing a finger on a small town to the west. “That would be the place to join your men with his. Will you be leaving as soon as the rest of your volunteers arrive?”
“Well uh,” Paton stuttered. He scratched at the front of his head and very suddenly looked uncomfortable in his own skin. “I was thinking you would lead.”
“Me? They’re your troops. Mine all died at Fort Haldon.”
“Lord Cor, I am a scholar and a bit of a merchant. I’m even minded, just and fair, but one thing I am not is a warrior. I have a servant who regularly oils my sword and armor, and I don’t even know why. I’m not sure I could even swing a sword once clad in all that steel. No, you are a fighting man. It would be better if you led them to war.”
Cor sighed. He stood and walked to one of the library’s windows and leaned heavily on the stone. It was cooler today than it had been, as the hot summer had finally passed, and a steady, soaking rain fell on those below. There were tents throughout the courtyard and all around the palisade. Cor heard the familiar sounds of a garrison – hammers falling on steel, cooking fires sizzling in the rain and the raucous laughter of soldiers. His eyes drifted around the encampments, and then up to the northwest horizon, and there they lingered for several long breaths. He felt almost as if he could see Byrverus, and he suddenly knew that someone in the white city needed him.
Darkness and Steel Page 17