Cor strode back to the map, heedless of the waiting Lord Paton. He traced a long snaking path across the map from the Narrow Sea, north through southern Aquis, to the once great city and beyond.
“The River Byrver passes near your lands here,” Cor said, placing a finger on the map. “How far is?”
“By horse, perhaps a week. For you and the men, perhaps two, and there is where you cross,” Paton answered, pointing to place perhaps fifty miles north of Cor’s finger.
“Lord Paton, I will lead your men into battle, but it will not be a battle for Martherus,” Cor said, meeting the older man’s confused eyes. “I am going to retake Byrverus for the Shining West.”
* * *
Fully armored and battle ready, Cor walked in the rain that still fell. It had been hours, and the ground had turned to a sloppy mush, mud squishing out from under his boots and threatening to make him fall should he not take care. It was actually fairly miserable. Even though the air had cooled a bit, the constant rain had brought a sticky humidity that made it hard to breathe. The water worked its way under the grooves in his black armor, soaking the garments underneath and chaffing the skin, but Cor paid it no mind.
He idled his way through the encampment, between tents and groups of men, and they gawked, whispered and pointed as he passed. “He’s the one that lost Fort Haldon.” “He says he gonna take back Byrverus.” “Humbert told me ‘e murdered the Queen and bathed in ‘er blood.” All this they said and more, speaking so that they thought he could not hear. Cor heard their whispers, but he paid them no mind.
Dahk’s words from the previous night’s dream, for he did not know what else to call it, still fresh in his mind, Cor tried to feel their blood. Academically, he knew that blood flowed through their veins and pumped through their arteries, and on this knowledge he focused. Actually, he had no idea what he was doing, and that fact frustrated him. He wanted to shake his fist and scream at the clouds above in the hopes that Dahk may hear, and maybe the god would simplify the entire matter. Somehow, he knew that even if Dahk heard, He would do nothing, and so Cor simply walked.
He spent hour after hour amongst the men he would soon lead to Byrverus, until the sky grew dark as the sun set behind the gray storm clouds. He became suddenly aware of the great empty feeling in his stomach and the rawness of his skin, and Cor returned to the dryness of Paton’s small castle. He found his Dahken, all of them, eating heartily with Thyss and Lord Paton’s family in the main hall. He trudged up the steps, stripped his armor and soaked clothes in his room and returned to join them at the table.
The next morning, Cor rose early, just ahead of the sun, strapped on his armor and left Thyss and Cor’El sleeping soundly. The cooks were already laying out a breakfast on the table in the hall below, but he strode past them to again walk amongst the soldiers. The camp had grown slightly, as the volunteers began to arrive, and though the sun had not yet broken the horizon, the men bustled about from one place to another like ants. Having seen him do the same yesterday, most of them ignored him as they went about their business.
After an hour or two, Cor found himself with a grumbling, empty stomach and no closer to feeling the blood in any of those around him. He stopped by one of the roaring cook fires and accepted a spit of some browned meat that he dare not contemplate. Hearing the ringing of steel, he followed it to find several pairs of men sparring, while dozens more watched, wagered and waited. Cor pulled off his helm, lay it on the ground and sat upon it to eat, drawing some long stares and a few whispers from the assembled men.
He chewed, staring absently as he watched the combatants fight without exuberance. They used live steel, swords that appeared dangerously sharp, and none of them seemed willing to cause or interested in receiving a severe wound. All but one of them wore light leathers, as opposed to steel, giving them a bit more maneuverability than their chain clad compatriot. Blows were landed with the flats of the blades or pulled up just short, and every time that happened, nearly worthless copper coins exchanged hands in the crowd.
The soldier in chain mail fought with a bastard sword, a large weapon with a “hand and a half” hilt that was common to Northmen. He was a bulky man, standing several inches taller than Cor and seemingly twice as wide. His opponent landed blow after blow with the flat of his longsword, as his bulk, the heavy chain and his unwieldy weapon hampered the big man. The “bastard” grew more and more frustrated with each point he surrendered, and his anger grew and boiled up inside him. The breaking point came when his opponent, a younger lad about Keth’s age and size who used a shield and longsword, narrowly missed bastard’s shoulder. The big man was momentarily off balance, and the boy planted a hard foot right in his midsection, knocking him unceremoniously onto his back in the mud. The assembled men laughed uproariously, and several of them began to disperse, continuing to laugh and joke, verbally rehearsing the battle.
Bastard climbed to his feet, brushing himself off with one hand, and without warning launched into a deadly assault of two handed blows. “Ho!” exclaimed the crowd as one, and the other combatants ceased fighting completely to watch. The circle of onlookers widened even as more stopped to watch the huge steel blade cut giant, deadly arcs in the air. The boy could do nothing but dodge the attacks, for his one attempt at parrying the giant sword nearly ripped his own blade from his hand. It dawned on Cor that he should stop the fight before someone was actually wounded, but by the time he stood, it had already happened. The huge blade whistled through the air, and the boy miscalculated its path. Finding himself unable to weave away from it, he took the strike to his shield. Splinters showered some of the nearby witnesses, and the blow drove the boy to the ground, his wooden shield completely destroyed. Bastard hefted his sword directly overhead with the clear intention of bringing it down in a killing blow, but before he could do so, the point of a single edged longsword that shined with a purple gleam in the morning light just lightly pierced the skin under the left side of his jaw.
“That’s quite enough,” Cor said calmly. “Save your anger for those who have invaded your homeland.”
Realization that he could be mere moments from death, calm flooded the big man’s eyes, and he grunted as he lowered the bastard sword. Cor sheathed his own sword as the man, more a professional fighter than a disciplined soldier, clinked over to his own discarded sheathe. He retrieved it and strode away from the sparring ground, the circle of witnesses opening to allow him passage. Cor looked down at the younger lad who still sat on the ground, leaning back on his sword arm. He cradled his left arm against his belly, the remains of his wooden shield strapped to it, and he allowed himself to grimace in pain as his life was now safe. Cor helped the boy to his feet, and he saw blood as it slowly began to drip from the hand and wrist to the packed dirt below.
“Your arm?” Cor asked.
“I thinks it broke, milord. Thanks milord for saving m’life.”
“I need every sword in the fight that is to come,” Cor responded. “Do you know where the surgeon is? Good, have him see to that arm.”
As the boy turned and walked away escorted by some of his fellows, the rest of the crowd began to disperse to find other diversions. Cor watched after the boy, young man really, and thought he could almost see the blood droplets as they fell from the slow bleeding wound. He knelt on the ground where the boy had fallen, where blood had made several dark, wet spots in the packed down topsoil. With his left hand, Cor pulled his right gauntlet off and set it to the side. He touched a single finger to one of the points where blood had fallen, and he could have sworn that the skin of his fingertip tingled where it touched the damp earth. He thought he could almost feel the difference between the soaked dirt and the blood, and when Cor pulled his finger away to examine it, he saw a tiny orb of blood just before it lost its form to coat his fingertip.
Taking up his gauntlet and helm, Cor ran, quickly gaining speed so that he was in a full sprint. He charged through the throngs of tents and people and across the drawbridg
e to enter the courtyard within the palisade wall. As he expected to one side, he found Keth and Marya beginning their morning drills with the Dahken, and he slowed to a jog as he approached them. They all stopped to eye their Lord Dahken as he approached.
“Keth,” Cor said, slightly out of breath from excitement as much as the exertion, “I need you for just a minute. Can you come to the side with me?”
They walked off to one side, at least three dozen paces from the others who watched interestedly, suspiciously in Marya’s case.
“Lord Dahken, what is it?” Keth asked quietly.
“I need your trust.”
“Always.”
“I need to touch the flesh of your arm,” Cor said.
He waited patiently as Keth, bewildered, pulled off his gauntlets. They were the high sleeve style, completely covering his forearm all the way to the elbow, and made of chain mail with small pieces of plate hooked to them to protect the back of the hand and fingers. As Keth took both gauntlets into his left hand, Cor firmly grasped the younger Dahken’s right forearm, but he felt nothing. Nothing happened at all, and Keth looked at him quizzically.
“Lord Dahken?”
“Trust me Keth,” Cor replied as he unsheathed a small knife, dirk really. “I think I need you to bleed, just a prick.”
“Yes My Lord,” said Keth.
His mouth twitched just the tiniest bit when the knife’s point broke the skin on the underside of his forearm, and Keth oddly noted that the smaller the wound, the more it seemed to hurt. A point of bright red appeared on his arm and steadily grew in size until it became too large to hold its shape. Some of the blood broke away and began to run around Keth’s arm, creating a thin red trail. When he held it up to look at it, the trail changed course to slowly run toward his elbow.
Cor watched as Keth bled ever so slightly, and something told him that he needed to touch to it, as if the blood itself called to him. As he had before, he touched just one finger to Keth’s arm, to the terminus of the red line, and again his fingertip enjoyed the tingling sensation. He willed the blood to him, and both men watched in wonder as it began to coalesce at his fingertip. Cor broke the contact, and the blood dropped to the ground. He again grasped Keth’s arm, placing his palm just over the tiny point of broken skin, which already slowed its bleeding. This time, Cor’s entire hand felt as if it had fallen asleep and the blood had just begun to return with the sensation of pins and needles. He closed his eyes, trying to lose himself in the feeling. His eyes shot open when he heard Keth grunt in pain. He released Keth’s arm, and for just a moment, a red ball of blood about the size of a large acorn hovered in Cor’s palm before falling to the ground with a wet splat. The small cut in Keth’s arm seemed swollen and angry, and a redness began to form around it that seemed remarkably palm shaped.
“What have you done?” Keth asked, his voice full of wonder as he examined his arm somewhat clinically.
“I think,” Cor said with a slight pause, “I just discovered how to deal with our wayward Dahken Geoff.”
22.
“What are you talking about?” Thyss demanded, her hands on her hips as Cor’El slept in a basinet behind her.
“I’ll be leaving a few days before the army does, and then I’ll rejoin it near Byrverus. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone,” Cor replied.
“Gone from where? No, I’ll be damned if you think you’re leaving me behind.”
“Thyss, I don’t know that I can protect you,” he said, his shoulders slumping as he did so. He knew it was the wrong thing to say.
“I don’t need your protection you corpse colored bastard.”
Cor closed his eyes and held his breath for a long moment. “I didn’t mean just you. I meant you both. I refuse to risk harm to Cor’El.”
“Then you assign some soldiers whose only task is to protect our son and his wet nurse. Why can’t you do that?”
“I will on one condition,” Cor conceded. “You’re never more than ten feet away from him. No one will protect him like us, and I won’t be around for some time.”
“Where in the name of Hykan do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to meet Geoff,” he answered.
“The Dahken shit who tried to kill you? Not by yourself you’re not,” she said stubbornly, and she set her feet wide apart in a stance he knew well.
Cor crossed the small room to sit on the bed before her. He sighed and spoke quietly, “Geoff is my problem and no one else’s. I know what I must do, but I won’t risk anyone else’s life, especially yours or Cor’El’s.” Thyss began to speak, and Cor held up a hand to stop her. “I won’t discuss this with you Thyss. I love you both too much. You can’t come without bringing him, and I won’t have him anywhere near Geoff. Or Thom.”
“What does Thom have to do with it?” Thyss asked. While fully used to never being denied, she couldn’t argue his logic.
“Thom will lead me to Geoff.”
“Can you kill him?” she asked, sitting next to Cor on the bed.
“I hope I don’t have to.”
She sighed and watched as Cor’El stirred softly in his sleep. “You know, I’m still going with the army to Byrverus, and yes, Cor’El is coming with us. What of your Dahken?”
“I don’t see a choice,” Cor said, lying back with his legs still hanging over the side. “They’ll be coming along as well.”
“And what if we all die? You leave no one left to fight your war.”
“Then, I suppose it won’t be my problem anymore,” he answered, “but I don’t think that will happen. I have to go to Byrverus, and I don’t know why. What I do know is that Hykan and his elementals watch over you. Dahk has come to me in my dreams, and even Garod is on my side. Perhaps that’s why I need to free Byrverus. Thyss, our son,” he paused as he collected his thoughts, “our son is beloved by Hykan, Dahk and Garod. I refuse to believe that They will allow us to fail.”
“Dahk told you this?” she asked, turning to look at him.
“Yes,” Cor answered, and he recited his dream in nearly perfect detail.
“I hope it was not just a dream then,” Thyss replied, lying back against his chest. “You never told me how we’re going to retake Byrverus with a mere four thousand against a horde of walking corpses, soldiers and necromancers.”
“Well, I doubt there are many, if any, Loszian soldiers left in the city. Nadav had few left after taking Fort Haldon, and he’ll need their ability to think on their own. There may be a few necromancers left behind, but I think most of them will have moved with their emperor.” He paused to think for a moment. “That leaves the dead, and they could be countless. But I’m assuming that Nadav will have taken most of them with him as well. Nadav has an ego, and he’ll want his host to be the largest ever seen in the world.
“Regardless, someone in Byrverus needs my help. We’ll retake the city from the inside.”
“And how in the name of Hykan will we get inside the city?” she asked, elbowing him in the stomach to push herself up. “Shall we just walk up to the front gates and request entry?”
“No, of course not,” Cor laughed. “We’re going to get in the same way we got out!”
* * *
Cor spent the next two days in Lord Paton’s study learning the mannerisms of the three men who would serve as commanders over his small army. Marya, Keth and Thyss were present for as much of the time as possible as they discussed plans and expectations for the coming months. All were skeptical of Cor’s belief that they could in fact liberate Byrverus or that there would be any survivors inside the city willing to fight. Cor allowed them their questions, keeping the method of their entry into the city to himself and Thyss. He decided that they should not know until the last moment for the protection of the entire host. Also, everything discussed would stay between them only. Already, almost all of the men knew they planned to march on Byrverus, and in fact, Cor asked his commanders to spread around that it was a false rumor. Cor saw spies in every corner
, and he was convinced of one already.
Cor made their orders clear. They would march to the ford and cross the River Byrver and then continue the march north with haste, following the river the entire way. Once his own task was complete, Cor would rejoin the host somewhere en route. All of them, except Thyss, asked what task was so important that he should leave the host he intended to lead into battle, but Cor refused to answer them at all. He said only that it would not take long, but should he not return by the time they made the city, they were to march for Martherus and join the other Western armies.
Cor also made clear that the protection of Thyss, Cor’El and the young Dahken was paramount. Should they run headlong into a superior enemy force, they were to commit some forces to battle in a stalling action to allow the others to escape. If battle was thrust upon them, Cor expected every one of them to die before his child or the Dahken were taken by the Loszians. If something happened to Cor’El, he would personally slay every one of them.
“My Lord, it is folly to have a babe march with an army, not to mention a nursery full of children,” one said, and the other two nodded their agreement. The man who spoke was a gray haired, veteran soldier named Brenden Joelson.
“Normally, I would agree with you, but I can no longer afford to be separated from them,” Cor explained. “When we take Byrverus, I will need them all at my side so I know they are safe.”
“You still have not said how we’ll accomplish such a feat, My Lord,” Brenden admonished, the doubt plain in his voice.
“I haven’t, and I’ll have to ask for your confidence in me on that matter.”
“My apologies, Lord. I am just an old soldier, it is not my place to question,” Brenden said with a nod of his head. “My Lord, I would be honored if you would entrust the safety of your woman, child and people to me alone.”
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