Darkness and Steel

by Martin Parece

  Cor suddenly realized he had completely stopped in his tracks, and he shook his head to clear the thoughts that had slowed him to inaction. He looked around, finding himself on an unpaved village road like any other, like all the others that sprawled beyond the huge while walls that now looked like broken teeth. There – a few hundred feet away was a temple. Boring and completely like every other small, village temple, it had one single spire with a bell at the top that stood perhaps twenty or thirty feet in the air. He found its doors open and the main room inside completely empty, at least empty of anything of value as it looked as if it had been ransacked long ago. He jumped his way up the stairs at a run, climbing two flights of white washed, planked steps.

  He reached the top and the plain copper bell that hung in the wind, beginning to turn green from age just at its edges and inside where the clapper banged against its interior. He was closer than he had realized, for less than a mile to the west Cor could see a great writhing mass as it slowly pushed its way into the city. From this vantage point, he could not see Nadav or the other sorcerers, but he knew they would be on chariots at the host’s rear. He would need to move south for a short time, just long enough to cover a few miles before turning west again. That should bring him up right on the Nadav’s rear guard.

  Cor nearly tumbled his way back down into the temple, moving as fast as he was, and he charged out the doors, running so as to keep the sun to his right. He forced himself to slow from a sprint to a lively jog, for it would do no good if he faced Nadav winded, huffing and puffing from running in full armor in cool air. He cursed his poor sense of time, and it seemed that the sun had not dropped in the sky since he began his run south. He changed directions, running toward the sun, thinking only that the time felt right. After a short distance, he entered a nearby barn, also completely vacant, and climbed into its hayloft.

  Precariously hanging himself out of its portal, he located the Loszian host – at most a half mile to the northwest. Village buildings obscured Cor’s view, but he could barely make out the rows of gilded chariots and the robed figures upon them. Sun glinted off of black plate and chain armor, reflecting the afternoon sun from all directions around the Loszian necromancers. Near as he could tell, there were few soldiers, guards or men at arms left to the Loszians, likely only each lord’s personal guard. Nadav’s mindless dead were no substitute for thinking, armed and armored troops; that much was clear.

  Cor dropped from the hayloft and began his final march toward the Loszians. He saw no value to stealth or subterfuge. There was no point in trying to skulk his way up behind Nadav for a sudden and unforeseen killing blow. He’d never cross the final gap between himself and the Loszian emperor without being seen. He knew he would never make it within the reach of his sword. A rushed charge would only result in his being swarmed by dozens, hundreds of armored men. No, he would simply stride confidently into Nadav’s clutches and allow the Loszian’s conceit to take its course.

  He cleared a small cluster of buildings and then easily located the emperor, standing next to a grand chariot in deep concentration. Cor made no pretense at staying hidden, walking into plain view, and a number of soldiers quickly converged on him. He watched as another Loszian dismounted from his own chariot to whisper into his emperor’s ear whiling eyeing Cor warily. It almost seemed that one could see Nadav’s consciousness return to his eyes, and he affected a wide smile as he watched Cor approach under close guard.

  “That’s well close enough,” Nadav called as Cor closed to about twenty feet. “There’s no need for you to come so close that your sword might accidentally take off my head, is there? Lord Dahken Cor, it’s a real pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

  “I have you at a disadvantage. Once before I was within a spear’s throw of you. Had I known things would happen as they have, I would have ended you then,” Cor responded, and Nadav’s face registered surprise for just a moment before shifting back to its normal arrogant façade.

  “I did not take you for a liar, but even I sometimes poorly judge one’s character.”

  “It’s no lie, Nadav. I stood right in your putrid hall, before your platinum throne in Ghal, surrounded by naked boy and girl slaves as Taraq’Nok defended himself,” Cor explained. “Yes, I stood there completely clad head to toe in Taraq’Nok’s house armor. If you had but demanded to see his guards’ faces, but you are too stupid to know when you face real danger.

  “You know, I should have followed along with Taraq’Nok’s plan. I could have murdered you then, subjugated your entire empire to my will and eliminated Taraq’Nok at my leisure. I admit, I acted a little impulsively when I hacked his head off.”

  “Taraq’Nok was nothing! A half breed, a part Loszian! He never deserved the honor of lordship.” Nadav’s face began to turn purple, and the veins that crossed under his pale skin almost seemed to bulge and pulse with his anger.

  Cor didn’t know the exact seat of the emperor’s anger for his murdered subject, nor did he care. “But he was a lord. He was a lord with enough ambition and foresight to plan his own schemes. He never went running to his gods, your gods for help because he wasn’t strong enough to accomplish his ends without them,” Cor retorted, pushing the matter.

  “Silence!” Nadav screamed. “You go too far! I will watch the flesh rot from your bones!”

  Cor laughed, still keeping his hands loose at his sides, forcing himself to do so even though they longed for Soulmourn and Ebonwing. His laughter only seemed to drive Nadav’s rage further, and the Dahken said, “Have you forgotten that the Dahken are immune to your arts? Idiot Loszian, I’ll crush the life from your throat with my own two hands. I need no sword for the likes of you.”

  Cor began to step forward slowly. The various Loszians, both soldier and necromancer, seemed to part and step away from both the Dahken and their emperor. Whatever was about to transpire, all of them were certain that they wanted no part of it. If somehow the Dahken managed to slay the emperor, there were still enough of them to bring him down. But for now, all watched silently to see who would triumph in this particular battle.

  “The light in your eyes is no brighter than anyone else’s, is it Lord Dahken Cor?” Nadav asked. He watched Cor approach, and if he was afraid, he showed no sign of it. “It is not my power that will bring you down, but the power of my gods! Do you remember what happened when your people were exposed to it millennia ago? Do you? My gods destroyed your Dahken tower in their descent from the heavens. The energies that created the first Loszians corrupted your people; it did not mix well with your Dahken blood. They died. All of them died horribly.”

  “Not all of them died,” Cor responded quietly, remembering the ghoulish face of Noth. He had stopped walking, perhaps only ten feet from the Loszian emperor. “I recovered my armor from the lost depths under that tower. The Lord Dahken of that tower in that time, Noth, still lives, such as his life is. Even now, I know he is still in his crypt below.”

  Nadav faltered for just a moment at Cor’s words. He had felt some presence below those months ago when he raised the dead, looking down into those catacombs. Could it be true?

  “Even still,” Nadav said, “his life ended that day. Would you make the same sacrifice? Would you sacrifice yourself to save thousands who would just as soon see you dead?”

  “To end you and your kind?” Cor retorted. Then he answered the question. “Yes.”

  Faster than one could blink, Cor lunged forward with his sword and fetish in hand. The distance was a mere ten feet, and he should have had the necromancer’s blood running down his blade.

  But he was caught by a sudden power, an unseen energy, and he could see nothing except for clouds of black and purple explosions. Thunder cracked in his ears, and just beyond it he could here Nadav’s cackling taunts. Cor’s armor tried to repel the magick, but it was to no avail as the energy sought the gaps in the black steel. It found his flesh and sank into his skin, and it worked its way into his helm to fill his ears and nostrils. He fe
lt as if he could not breathe, as if Nadav’s power tried to drown him, and he opened his mouth for a deep breathe of autumn air, only to have his mouth filled by the vile energy. It worked deeper into his flesh and into his bones, threatening to twist it in unnatural ways. It traveled through him and penetrated his mind and heart.

  Cor’s vision cleared for just a moment to behold Nadav’s face, and the two held a long gaze, for Cor did not see satisfaction and arrogance on the Loszian’s face. He saw confusion. And fear.

  “Impossible,” Nadav whispered, and then louder, “Impossible!”

  It was then Cor felt it – a warm, unwavering presence that promised to be with him always. It was a power in and of itself, a power of glowing yellows and golds. It felt like fire that cleansed without burning. It seemed to drive the corruption from his soul, then his bones and finally his flesh. Nadav’s magick left Cor’s body, and the darkness cleared from his sight. Cor could see as Nadav’s cruel magick was driven backwards by a great white light that emanated from somewhere he could not see. Looking about him in all directions and finally down, he knew that the light of Garod’s power came from himself.

  “You’re over Loszian,” Cor said threateningly as he resumed his walk.

  “Kill him! Now!” Nadav screamed. “Protect your Emperor!”

  Cor halted for just a moment to watch those around him, to be certain that no attack came or to be aware from whence it came. It did not. Some of the Loszian necromancers stared at the ground, while others turned their backs on Nadav and climbed back aboard their chariots. The soldiers, who surrounded Cor and could have swamped him in steel if they so dared, simply gazed on the two in indecision. Their lords commanded no such attack on the Dahken, and they answered to their lords, not Nadav. Half of Nadav’s own guard suddenly melted into the crowd, unwilling to risk their lives against a foe that could repulse the sovereign’s power, and the other half found themselves suddenly restrained by their cohorts.

  “Damn you all!” Nadav raged.

  The warring magicks had begun to dissipate, and Cor’s blade suddenly flicked out into the space between them. Perhaps it was fate or perhaps it was simple clumsiness, but as the Loszian emperor reared backward in some last ditch attempt to avoid the razor edge of Soulmourn, he tripped on some unseen rock or tree root. He fell backward unceremoniously onto his ass, evoking some laughs from those around him.

  Cor stood over the Loszian and said, “I forgot. I promised to crush your throat, not behead you.”

  In that moment, Nadav remembered his final chance. He brought his hands up together as the end of a much practiced incantation, and Cor, having seen it more than once, knew it for what it was. Soulmourn cut through the air, but it was not quick enough. As Nadav’s hands clapped together, a flash of light blinded all in attendance and when their vision cleared, all that remained of Nadav was a pair of long, severed fingers.

  Other flashes followed, clouding Cor’s peripheral vision, and as he looked around, he saw that several other Loszians had disappeared. Dozens of chariots already drove east at a quick pace, hundreds of armored Loszians marching in a double step in vain attempts to keep up with their masters. Cor counted four necromancers still present, no doubt intent on the honor they would reap at his demise, and dozens of foes wearing various types of armor. In the distance, an army of the dead lay at the gates and broken walls of Byrverus, and they did not move.

  Cor smiled.

  The next hours were a blur of blood and death as limbs, heads and entrails flew in all directions. He was mortally wounded, over and over again, only to have his insides become whole again, only to have Soulmourn and Ebonwing wail their blood battle song. In the end, no less than a score of men ran screaming away from the capital of Aquis, and Cor’s laughter echoed against the city’s broken walls as he chased and cut them down.

  31.

  “By Garod! By all the gods,” beamed Rederick, “I refused to believe it possible! We’ve won the day, and Emperor Nadav is dead!”

  The hulking priest had stood so suddenly upon Cor’s entry that his chair went flying to the stone floor behind him. He strode around the table to greet Cor with a bear’s embrace that felt as if it may crack every rib Cor had even through his armor. Cor looked around the once great hall with its ripped and tattered carpets and tapestries and mentally noted that everyone seemed to be present. Keth and Mora sat in their chairs quietly, and Thyss was off to one side, immodestly nursing their son. She smiled when she saw him.

  “Nadav isn’t dead,” Cor said once he could again breathe.

  “What do you mean?” Rederick asked in confusion. “You said the dead would fall when he died, and they are at peace. It happened all at once. Surely you slew the Loszian bastard.”

  “He escaped me,” Cor replied, wistfully. “The Loszians have a magick that allows them to travel instantly. He vanished as my stroke fell. All I have to show for it is this.”

  Cor unraveled the bloody, oily rag he’d been holding to reveal two severed fingers.

  Rederick grimaced. “Did you feel you needed to bring proof?”

  “Not at all,” Cor replied. “I thought I might keep these for our good Emperor Nadav, perhaps preserved in some sort of jar. He may want them back some day.”

  Rederick’s face blanched slightly. “You are a dark, hard man Lord Dahken Cor, but I am proud to call you a friend. Very well,” Rederick said more loudly than necessary as he turned to stride back to his end of the table, “tell me of this transport spell. Where has Nadav gone?”

  “I’ve seen it before,” Cor said, taking his seat. A commoner poured him a goblet of a red wine. “The way he did it, he went to a particular place, someplace predetermined. If I were to guess, I’d say he’s back in Ghal.”

  “Ghal? Is it possible for him to go so far? That’s over a thousand miles away.” Awed disbelief was plain on Rederick’s face.

  “The Loszian who killed my parents vanished before my eyes at Sanctum on the southwest coast of Aquis and traveled all the way back to his castle in Losz. He went further than a thousand miles. I’m not sure the distance matters,” Cor explained.

  “And why did the dead cease to attack?” Mora asked.

  “You Westerners are so stupid sometimes,” Thyss’ voice shot out from the side, and all turned to look at her as Cor’El lay in her arms. “I’ve never seen people who wield magic and have no idea how magic works. It’s obvious. Nadav couldn’t keep his hold on them from so far away.”

  They all sat at the table feeling as if an impatient parent had chastised them. As Cor thought about it, the answer was in fact obvious and another obvious fact occurred to him. “Is the spell broken, or if Nadav returns will he be able to take control of them again?”

  “There’s hope for you yet,” she replied, and she paused as she lightly stroked the gray cheek of her son. “The spell is still there. Just it’s out of his reach. Burn them. Burn them all.”

  “It would be wise,” Rederick concluded slowly and softly, “for us to burn all of our dead from now on. We must never let our fallen, our loved ones be turned against us again.”

  They sat and discussed their next steps, and as they did so, exhaustion turned to hunger. They drank and feasted, thoughts of what must be done tomorrow fading into the darkness, and Rederick ordered as much wine and merriment as possible for the thousands still alive in the crumbling city of Byrverus. Thyss handed a sleeping Cor’El off to his wet nurse and joined the table. Beds were shared that night, but most went cold and empty, as the majority of the soldiers had no one with which to share their beds. Even still, happiness and contentment filled the air.

  At the table in what was once the palace’s great hall and throne room, only Keth remained pensive, and no one took note of it once the wine began to flow. His belly full, he left the others behind to their joyful noise and walked the palace grounds. He found himself drawn outside, into the chilled autumn air that had begun to turn cold at night, and walked through the plazas and lanes near the p
alace. Having not found what he sought, he returned to the palace and idly climbed its steps to some of the upper levels where he could again reach the air outside. He walked the decorative battlements, such as they were, and looked up into the starred sky. No moon was present. He gazed to the southwest, but could see nothing for the dark of night.

  Most in Byrverus started late the next day with pounding heads and sour stomachs, and that suited Keth just fine. He had fallen asleep in his armor on the palace’s battlements above, and his bones and muscles were stiff from the cold. A gruesome task awaited them, a task that no one wanted to begin, so the hangovers were a convenient excuse to procrastinate. Eventually, there was no longer a choice, for the work must be done, and the longer they waited, the longer it would take.

  Everyone able bent their back to the labor, even Cor and Rederick, as the bodies were collected from across the city. There were no funerals, no honors or eulogies given even for fallen soldiers or on the rare occasion that one discovered a friend amongst the dead. There was no time for it, so silent prayers and tears were all that the dead received. It was painstakingly slow work as bodies are heavy, and there were few horses and even fewer wagons to make it easier. As the search for more horses expanded, Cor thought of Kelli, the beautiful palomino he had left behind months ago, and he vainly hoped that he might yet find her. More than anything, he hoped she hadn’t become food for the starving. Or the dead.

  As the piles began to grow, they discussed the most suitable place to begin the burning. Many parts of the city were completely blocked off by granite and limestone, and some thought this would be ideal. Others thought the bodies should be hauled beyond Byrverus’ outer walls somewhere into the villages beyond. The barns and other large buildings could house the dead until they were all collected, and then they could burn at once. However, Aquis was not known for its rain late in the year, and this had been a particularly dry autumn. It was feared that such a large fire would be too difficult to control, and they would be condemning what was left of the great city to destruction.