Darkness and Steel

by Martin Parece

  “They’re getting tired,” Marya said to Cor as quietly as possible, “and so am I.”

  “I know, but we’re getting close. It’s as if very time I turn a corner, I expect us to be there.”

  “Where is there?”

  “Believe it or not, I think Garod’s temple.”

  “The big one? Near the palace? What do we need there?” she asked derisively.

  “I don’t know, but I will when we get there,” Cor replied, and then he stopped dead in his tracks. He felt very suddenly as if the blood in his veins and arteries boiled, and Cor stood absolutely still. He slowly looked upward at the rounded ceiling of the tunnel, and announced in a whisper, “It’s just overhead.”

  “There must be a way in, in one of these tunnels,” Marya said. “Like the palace.”

  “Yes. Stay here, give me a torch,” Cor said to one of the men behind him.

  The torch was little more than a thick, foot long stick with an oily rag wrapped around its head, but it served the purpose well enough. He followed the tunnel, searching its walls and ceiling for some sort of grate or iron bars that would serve as a drain or access point. In the darkness, distance was hard to measure, but Cor counted nearly two score paces before the tunnel ended, intersecting the side of another. Left, and be cautious. Holding his torch behind him, he carefully glanced around the corner, but could see nothing in the soft, flickering glow that pierced the gloom in the tunnel. He felt as if something hovered just beyond his vision. Moving the torch to his left hand, he drew Soulmourn with a sliding ring of metal that carried well in the confines, and he knew that the men behind him would recognize the sound. He paused a moment as he heard someone approaching, and Marya’s form materialized out of the gloom, sword and dagger in hand.

  “What is it, Lord Dahken?”

  Cor almost fell over at her use of etiquette. Generally, he had to impose his will for her to call him Lord Dahken. “Not sure yet. I feel like something’s around this corner.”

  “Then, we’ll face it together,” she said, and something in her tone made Cor cock his head slightly.

  The Dahken turned the corner into the tunnel’s left branch and stopped dead in their tracks at what their weakly flickering torch revealed. A crowd of figures stood completely unmoving, facing away from them, and in the light, Cor couldn’t be sure how many there were. The closest was little more than five feet away from them, and looking over the tattered clothing and exposed rotting flesh, he knew they did not live. They made no move, did not acknowledge the Dahken’s presence in any way. Cor slowly sheathed his sword, the sound of the blade quieter than before but no less noticeable, and he carefully approached the first of the dead. He reached out and touched the thing, even pulled it around to face him, garnering no reaction at all. He turned and strode past Marya, returning to the Westerners they left behind.

  “Why did they not attack?” Marya asked.

  “They only follow the commands they’ve been given, and attacking us is not part of that,” Cor reasoned. “That also makes me think that Thyss was right. Nadav is no longer in contact with his… creations.”

  “Then, let’s end them.”

  25.

  Cor had to admit that though he was rarely intimidated by anything or anyone, Rederick was an imposing man. As tall as any Loszian and three times as wide, the Lord of Martherus seemed as large as a mountain, especially when Cor bowed respectfully to him. He was clad head to toe in battered and dented plate mail that was recently polished to a high shine but was now dull from use. He stood with two other plate clad priests, a man and a woman with only one arm. Cor wondered if she was born that way or if she had lost it in battle.

  The two Dahken had cleaved their way through uncounted numbers of the dead. They merely stood as they were slaughtered, offering no resistance or attack at all, and the act left a gruesome trail down the tunnel for the soldiers behind to follow. It was halfway through the work of laying the poor bodies to rest that Cor glanced upward for just a moment. A large metal grate had been set into the tunnel ceiling, and through it he saw several Westerners watching he and Marya intently.

  When it was done, the guards above pried open the drain and helped them into the room above, apparently a small chamber in Garod’s temple. As Cor’s host made its way out of the sewers into the temple, the guards brought Cor and Marya to a huge room filled with tiered marble benches that could have seated hundreds if not thousands. Here he met Rederick, standing in the middle of the room’s relatively small floor.

  “What do you here Dahken?” Rederick asked, an edge to his tone. “Have you come to remove my head or perhaps strangle me?”

  “No, My Lord Rederick,” Cor said evenly. “I have come with four thousand troops – soldiers, archers and commoners – to retake Byrverus.”

  “For whom? The Loszians have destroyed and control Byrverus.”

  “For the Shining West,” Cor answered.

  “Much has been said of you Dahken. Lord Dahken Cor you are called. It is said that, a few years ago, you slew your own childhood priest and a dozen of Aquis’ loyal soldiers. You murdered our beloved Queen Erella, even after she granted you boons time and time again. And finally, you have allowed our oldest enemy to simply sweep into Aquis with the intent of obliterating the freedom of the Shining West,” concluding, Rederick paused. “What do you have to say to all this?”

  “That perhaps you have forgotten a count or two,” Cor answered with a set jaw. “That I shook off the yoke of your priests and took my freedom, encouraging everyone around me to do the same. You left out that I devoted much of my own wealth, the ancient Dahken’s wealth, to reinforce Fort Haldon’s defenses, and that’s the only reason that we were able to hold so long. Don’t forget that I abandoned Fort Haldon to save my family and the families of my men, and so that I could warn the rest of the Shining West of the danger. Last, I am guilty of slaying one of my own people, a Dahken, for joining with the Loszian emperor against me.

  “Now, I think the accusations are complete. All that being said Lord Rederick, is it possible that we can agree that truth is often subject to one’s point of view?”

  “Interesting,” Rederick answered in a whisper. “You don’t deny your crimes, but in fact seem proud of them as if they’re acts of valor. Again I’ll ask, why have you come here?”

  “I come at the head of a small host – four thousand men, three thousand of which followed me through the sewers. The rest wait outside the outflow tunnels with my son, his mother and the rest of my people. We must defeat the Loszians before they destroy the Shining West. We’ll start by taking Byrverus back.”

  “Why start with Byrverus? I believe that my home, Martherus, would be the obvious place to mount a defense,” Rederick said, and he turned to seat himself on one of the cushioned benches.

  “I would agree, and most of Aquis is marching to do so, if Lord Paton’s reports are to be believed,” Cor said, nodding. “But if Nadav uses the same power he used on Byrverus, nothing will stop Martherus from falling.”

  Rederick’s eyes narrowed on Cor’s face for a long moment, and then he looked down and sighed, a deep almost groan of a sigh. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. “So what do you suggest we do?”

  “First, we must free Byrverus. There are still people alive in this city that can be saved. Nadav can’t allow us to fortify behind him, so he’ll have to return, and he can’t use the same magic to destroy the city that he used before.”

  “Why will that matter against a host of a hundred thousand of the walking dead?” Rederick asked. “We have but three or four thousand, most of which we may lose in the fight for the city.”

  “With my people at the lead of the attack, I promise you that we’ll lose few enough,” Cor said with finality.

  “And if I say no?”

  “That is your choice, Lord Rederick,” said Cor with a shrug, “and I will take my host and free the city anyway. The fact is, you do not actually
have much choice. How long can you stay in this place before you and your people starve? I know something about you, Lord Rederick, and Aquis needs your strength now.”

  Rederick leaned backward against the marble tier behind him and waived his people out of the room. With a glance from Cor, Marya followed, leaving the two men alone in the echoing auditorium. Rederick rubbed his eyes deeply, and when his hands dropped back into his lap, the man looked exhausted and ten years older.

  “Lord Dahken, that is what they call you, isn’t it?” Rederick asked, receiving a slow nod from Cor. “My strength failed Aquis already. With the king’s death, they appointed me Steward of Aquis, and Byrverus still fell.”

  “No one could have expected what happened. There was no failure,” Cor said, crossing the floor to stand just in front of the warrior priest. “Steward of Aquis? Does that mean you are King?”

  “Not King,” Rederick replied, looking to the ceiling far overhead. “I have the power to act as King until the Convocation selects a new king.”

  “You may as well be King,” Cor suggested. “You are the best of those who are left.”

  “That’s not how we choose our ruler, Dahken,” Rederick said as he brought his eyes back to Cor’s face, and his tone was hard.

  “No, but perhaps it should be,” Cor replied, turning away. “The ways of the past have not served Aquis well recently. Lord Rederick, Steward of Aquis, be strong again. You cannot be brave without fear, so a Shet once told me.”

  “Seemed to be a wise man.”

  “He also said that he who acts first often dies last,” Cor said, turning back to face Rederick again.

  “Perhaps he wasn’t as wise as I thought!” Rederick laughed facetiously, but his spirit had clearly lightened.

  “Maybe not, but his advice has served me well.”

  Rederick stood, towering three feet over Cor with the added height of the marble tier. “Lord Dahken Cor, if I trust you, who will command Byrverus once we have freed it?”

  “You are Steward of Aquis, not I,” Cor replied. “That is for you to decide. I offer you my loyalty, so long as you deserve it.”

  “Indeed. Such an oath is as a double edged sword, as Queen Erella discovered. I dare not believe I can trust you, but this evening I shall think and pray to Garod on the matter. At dawn tomorrow, I will give you my answer.” Rederick swept past and crossed the room for the far exit, but then he suddenly stopped and turned. “I have one other question. Did you in fact strangle Queen Erella to her death?”

  To his point of view, Cor took a long time to answer the question, though it was likely only the time it took to take a couple breaths. In the end, he decided honesty had always served him best. “I did.”

  “Had you given any other answer, I’d have killed you where you stand Lord Dahken Cor.” With that, Rederick was gone.

  Cor met Marya in the hall outside along with one of Rederick’s own soldiers. “My Lord,” he said, “your men will bed down in the larger areas in the lower levels, but two small rooms have been arranged for you and your lieutenant.” As they walked through corridors and up flights of stairs, Cor intently looked at the temple’s construction. Where the Loszian castles seemed to be a great feat of magic, the Westerners seemed to rely on engineering, even in Garod’s greatest temple. Plain white limestone made the interior walls and floor of the ground level, and great timbers of hardwood crisscrossed overhead to brace the wooden floor of the level above. They climbed two sets of stairs, went down a corridor and eventually stopped before two ajar doors set into a wall. They were small rather nondescript, made of some plain, unstained wood planking and roughly four feet wide by six.

  “Sleep well My Lord. Lord Rederick will send for you at dawn,” the soldier said, and he returned the way they had come.

  “Not very friendly,” Marya noted quietly.

  “Professional soldier,” Cor replied, and he pushed the door open easily on oiled hinges. He began to enter, but then thought better of it for just a moment. “Marya?”

  “Yes, Lord Dahken,” she answered expectantly, and she moved toward him, a little too close for his liking.

  “I’ll be honest. Sometimes, I’m concerned for your humanity – you seem to take pleasure in the killing that sometimes we must do. You almost seem to enjoy the pain that you both receive and inflict.”

  “It gives me strength,” she interrupted, and she was now close enough that he could feel her warm breath on his face.

  “Perhaps, but regardless, I’ve come to rely on your talents and abilities as a Dahken. I will need you by my side in the coming days. Do I have your loyalty?”

  “I am yours, Lord Dahken,” she said throatily.

  “Good.” Cor abruptly turned and ducked through the small door. “Good night,” he said, and he closed it quickly, sending a low boom echoing through the corridor.

  The room could barely be called such, as it seemed more like a cell in a dungeon or jail. The accommodations were spare – a clean straw pallet on the floor, a clean bucket in one corner and a basin filled with water in another. A single candle burned next to the basin, casting low dim light and flickering shadows on the ceiling. There were no windows, and it dawned on Cor that the lesser priests likely used these cells as their private abode. They had passed many such small doors in the corridor leading to these rooms. He turned to the closed door behind him and found no way to lock or bar it, for why would a priest need to be able to lock himself within his cell?

  Cor sighed. He slid the straw pallet so that it was flush with the corner that would be behind the door when it opened. He drew Soulmourn, backed into the corner, and sat down on the straw mat. He leaned back into the corner, resting his sword on the pallet next to him, and shifted multiple times in a vain attempt to find comfort in the stone walls. When they first reached Fort Haldon, Rael said that he had grown accustomed to sleeping in such a manner. He reached out and extinguished the candle with the tip of his sword’s blade, drowning the room in darkness. Cor thought it was going to be a long night, though he had no way to count the hours. That seemed to make it even longer.

  He started to doze, and then some discomfort or imagined sound would bring his mind screaming back to full awareness. This seemed to go on forever, at least several times, and his aggravation began to build to the extent that he even considered removing his armor to lie down on the straw. The only thing preventing him from doing so was the sudden and extreme effort that such an action seemed to require, and he sat wrestling with the idea for an indeterminate amount of time.

  Then there was a sound, just a hint of the whisper of well oiled hinges moving very slowly. A slight, soft glow from the corridor beyond pierced the room like a lance, and Cor could make out the cautious movement of his door as it swung inward. He could barely make out the shadow of a form on the far wall. The door opened further, and the intruder began to pass through, clearly not having to duck through the low doorway.

  Cor suddenly turned his body and launched both of his feet against the inside of the door, using the wall behind him as a brace. His boots impacted the door with the groaning cracks of wood, and there was a muffled yelp and a grunt as the door crashed into the intruder, pinning the figure against the limestone wall. Cor jumped to his feet and, for good measure, grasped the edge of the door with one hand. He pulled it back and again slammed it back into the would be assassin.

  “Gods damn it, what are you doing?!” shouted a pain stricken female voice.

  “Marya?” Cor pulled the door all the way open, finding Marya’s naked, crumpled form. She had sunk to the floor and was holding her head in both hands. He pulled her into the cell and shut the door, again flooding the room with pitch blackness.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I came to be with you.”

  “It probably would be safer if we slept in the same room,” Cor agreed, feigning ignorance.

  “I didn’t come to sleep,” she replied, and there was a scuffling sound as she stood. Thou
gh he could not see, he felt her move in close, and a moment later, her mouth was on his neck while her hands seemed to search for a way into his armor.

  He gently gripped her by her shoulders and pushed her away. “No,” he said as he did so, “go back to your room and get some sleep.”

  “I cannot sleep until I have you,” she whispered, again pushing herself against him. “You are Lord Dahken, and I would feel your strength inside me. These Westerners and Loszians are nothing to you. You should be King of all you behold. Make me your Queen. Together, we’ll rule it all.”

  “Were I to become a king,” he replied, taking her by the wrists to move her hands off of him, “Thyss would be my queen. Keth can give you the love you seek, not me.”

  “Keth is nothing, a diversion, and Thyss?” Her voice had grown angry at his refusal, and she struggled against the strength of his arms. “What do you think Thyss did while you were away? She rode for hundreds of miles, surrounded by an army of men, four thousand strong. How many do you think she took into her tent during those long hard miles without your touch to sate her? She doesn’t care for you, she cares for your cock.”

  Her words gave Cor pause, weakening his resolve, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands and mouth were on him while he tried to make sense of it all. He couldn’t believe that Thyss had betrayed him, and the very thought made him feel sick and angry at once. A different lover every night, or even every hour, if that’s what I want, she had once said to him. He should fuck Marya just to repay the pain, and the girl was making a strong case as to why he should. She wasn’t as skilled as Thyss, but it felt good all the same.

  Why hadn’t Keth told him? The younger Dahken had always been the most loyal and stalwart of friend, so why had he not told him?