The Cor Chronicles: Volume 04 - Gods and Steel

by Martin V. Parece II

  The Chronicler compelled Ja’Na to write until it was done, and he did so frantically, filling many of his tower’s stones with the characters of his language. When it was finally finished, the old man’s hand ached and cramped, and he stood staring dumbfounded at the Chronicle that was now scribed across the outer wall of his tower. He had neither written nor read anything of its like, and the implications and revelations the story contained frightened him. He read it over and over again and ignored both hunger and the need to urinate, as he did frequently at his age, until the story was emblazoned in his mind.

  Ja’Na disappeared into his tower and rummaged around for several minutes before returning outside with arms spilling over with papyrus scrolls, scroll cases, feather pens and vials of ink. He stomped into his now forgotten garden and unceremoniously dumped all of the implements on the ground. He then followed them, sitting down roughly, totally heedless of the tomato plants he crushed underneath him. He copied the Chronicle in his own native language twice and then proceeded to translate it into Western, Loszian and all of the other seven languages in which he was fluent. When he was finished, Ja’Na sat in his ruined garden completely surrounded by copies of the new Chronicle. He gently rolled each one up and slid it into a bamboo scroll case, placing a mark on each one’s end to remind him of to whom it would be sent. He then copied it one more time into Western, taking care with his penmanship more than he had with the others.

  He stood and took this last copy back into his tower where he again rummaged around for some time. Finally and at the bottom of a chest, he found what he sought. He reached into the chest and removed what appeared to be a rectangular block of ivory about a foot long and eight inches wide and tall with smoothed edges. He lovingly laid the ivory on a workbench and gently felt around its sides for the seams. Finding them, Ja’Na slid the off the top to reveal a velvet lined depression, inside which he placed the Chronicle. He gently slid the ivory scroll case back together.

  Ja’Na dumped the rest of the chest’s contents unceremoniously on the floor, and then he turned and ran outside, trampling the remains of his garden. He retrieved all of the copies of the Chronicle even as a distant thunder sounded overhead and ran back inside to dump them in the chest. He turned to do the same with the ivory box, but thought better of it for a moment. He fumbled for a pen and dipped it into a nearby puddle of spilled ink. It was a shame to deface such a beautiful and expensive item, but he saw no choice. If something should happen to him, it must be known for whom this copy of the Chronicle was meant. He carefully wrote in several different languages, “Please place in the care of Lord Dahken Cor Pelson of Byrverus.” He knew that Cor currently would not be found in Byrverus, but certainly the people there would take care to see that the ivory case made it to the Dahken. He closed the lid to the chest and dragged it outside.

  Ja’Na spent the next several hours feverishly running about his abode taking this and that. He knew his journey would be long, but he didn’t truly know how long. As such, he didn’t want to be without anything that could come in handy. He loaded odds and ends, knickknacks, tools, writing implements, scales and any number of devices for which only he had the names into various chests, boxes and cages. Once full, he moved all of it to a pile outside. The thunder was more continuous now, louder and closer, and he looked to see a storm moving in from the southwest. Ja’Na sighed.

  He found his mule grazing nearly a half mile away and silently trudged his way out to the beast. Had he been younger, he would have sworn the whole way. As it was, the stubborn animal had no interest in paying heed to his master, no matter how much Ja’Na coaxed and cajoled. He took to pulling on the animal’s harness to no avail, as the mule made it obvious that he would only move when he was so ready. Ja’Na threw his hands up to the heavens, heavens that began to drip a cold rain, and he turned to trudge his way sullenly back to his gray tower. To his amazement, the ugly animal followed him obediently with no further encouragement.

  Ja’Na turned, held his arms out from his sides and said, “You just couldn’t make this easy on me, could you?” The animal only snorted.

  He loaded the mule, who did not complain further, with his pile of belongings, using ingeniously designed leather straps to hold everything on the animal’s back. By the time they started their short journey to town, the sky loosed big, cold and wet drops that went plop! on any surface they struck. Ja’Na worried slightly for the safety of his chests’ contents, but staved off the urge to check on them with the knowledge that everything important was stowed in something waterproof or close to it. The town was only perhaps a mile away, but by the time they reached it, both were thoroughly drenched.

  Ja’Na sought out the fat merchant with whom he always dealt, and he found the man in his normal place – in the darkest corner of the inn’s smoky common room. The round Tigolean, dressed in silks of red and burgundy, shooed away the harlots that hung about his shoulders as he saw the white haired scholar slowly cross the room. He stood respectfully and motioned at a chair.

  “Ah, my best customer returns. Please sit with me and drink!”

  “I do not partake anymore, but I will take the seat,” said Ja’Na.

  “You haven’t been out in the damp, have you?” the merchant boomed as he again sat. Ja’Na winced every time the man spoke, for he was always too loud. “The weather is no place for an old man.”

  “I had no choice,” Ja’Na nearly whispered. “I have most urgent need of you again.”

  “You have more of your scrolls to dispatch into the world? As much as I hate to put off my best customer, this is not a good time for such. Surely you know that most of the ships in Tigol are away. The Seven Lords have called all of their people together to make war or some other foolishness.”

  Ja’Na nodded slowly as the man talked. “I am well aware of what occurs in the Shining West, likely more so than you. Regardless, such facts do not change my situation. The scrolls must be sent out, but more importantly, I must reach Byrverus with haste.”

  “With haste? Most men your age worry not about haste,” the merchant replied with a chuckle. Seeing no humor on Ja’Na’s face, he leaned forward to do business. “Very well. There are few ships available to us these days. It will be expensive, especially if you want me to find a runner.”

  “Payment has never been a problem,” Ja’Na said, and to accentuate his point, he dropped a small but heavy sack onto the tabletop. It jingled and the flickering firelight in the room glinted off gold and silver.

  “I can get you to Roka. After that, you will have to arrange your own transportation through the Shining West to Byrverus. That is, if you make it to Byrverus before the Seven Lords raze it to the ground.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” Ja’Na replied dismissively. “Is the payment adequate to handle the shipment of my scrolls to their usual destinations?”

  The merchant’s eyes glinted as he mentally weighed the sack of coin, and the room must have been suddenly hot, for he began to sweat. “Of course, my friend. You’re always a good customer.”

  25.

  The host would have filled the entire pass between Losz and Aquis. If they had marched all of their forces forward at once, the first ranks would have met the Loszian walls before the last ranks even left Fort Haldon. Based on reports from the scouts in the area, such force was unnecessary and even wasteful. The host would incur more casualties from tripping over itself than needed to take Menak’s holdfast, so therefore only about thirty thousand were devoted to the field. Karak and Red led the attack, and Cor attended, though he merely observed.

  The siege lasted no time at all when compared to Nadav’s attack on Fort Haldon. The host ignored the Loszian scouts and spies, marching through the pass straight for the walls. The Tigolean bows outranged the Loszian crossbows, picking off defenders by the dozen. The Loszians had placed their catapults just far enough back so that their stones would clear the top of the walls. Again, the Tigolean longbows had better range, and flaming arro
ws soared over the walls to imbed themselves into the war machines. The Loszians put the first few out quickly, but the arrows came heavier and heavier, until they abandoned the catapults.

  They assaulted the wall and it’s gate with battering rams and ladders, and the defenders could do nothing lest they be riddled with arrows. To their credit, the Loszians held the invaders to the top of the wall for a time, creating a choke point with their melee and supported by their crossbowmen. Even still, the host outnumbered the Loszians by at least six times, and they began to fall back. They killed and killed, but the onslaught kept coming.

  Eventually enough men stormed over the walls to open the gates from the inside. As Westerners and Tigoleans swarmed in, the Loszians either broke and ran or surrendered. Yellow and bronze skinned Tigoleans took great joy in stealing Loszian horses for the purpose of riding down the deserters. They laughed and cavorted as they did so, finding the murder to be great sport. Karak only sighed, and Red turned a blind eye.

  Runners returned to Fort Haldon carrying news of the great victory, and by the end of the day, the rest of King Rederick’s great host arrived. The soldiers, warriors, knights and archers spread across the countryside as they made camp, covering the land for miles. The Council came together outside of Lord Menak’s former quarters. Menak had proposed that it would be the most likely place from which to make plans, as he did have a full and detailed map of all of Losz.

  Inside, waiting patiently was one of Menak’s former lieutenants, now turned commander of the garrison. The man was ugly and boring of appearance, clearly with some small amount of Loszian blood, though it was mostly Western. He sat in Menak’s chair behind Menak’s great table, calmly watching as the Council entered and stood before him. When the holdfast fell, the man gave no resistance; he just waited in his quarters, Menak’s quarters. Three heads sat in glass jars filled with fluid atop the desk, and they all had the obvious racial qualities of full blooded Loszians.

  “Majesty, may I?” Menak asked with a bowed head, and at Rederick’s nod, the Loszian stepped forward. “Zachar, is it not? I see you have held my lands in my absence. Might I ask, to whom do you owe your loyalty?”

  The man paused, searching Menak’s impassive face before suddenly standing. He dropped to one knee and said, “You of course, Lord.”

  “Indeed, and to Nadav before me and me before that I assume,” Menak replied, motioning to the heads. “You know how to use my embalming agents then?”

  “I have seen My Lord use them often enough.”

  “Who were they? Loszian nobles?”

  “Deserters, My Lord,” the ugly man replied, still kneeling. He hastily added, “I only did the will of Sovereign Nadav. Any fleeing his wrath were to be captured and killed.”

  “Indeed. No doubt the same applies for me? Zachar, your services will not be needed. Thank you,” Menak said finally.

  He produced a jeweled and curved dagger from his sleeve, and before anyone could say or do anything else, he slit the man’s throat. Zachar fell to his right and squirmed on his back while clutching at his throat, gargling as blood quickly left his body. Walthur jerked to move forward to help the dying man, but found himself held back by others’ hands. Zachar silenced within seconds and stopped breathing seconds after that.

  “Thank you, Majesty,” Menak said with a brief bow.

  “Was that really necessary?” Walthur asked.

  “These are my lands, and I exact whatever justice I desire. I need not explain it to you, priest,” Menak spat. “However, the answer is yes. Zachar could not be trusted. Had I accepted his loyalty, again, he would have no doubt turned on me the first chance he had.”

  “No doubt,” Rederick solemnly, quietly intoned, and no one was sure as to the terms of his agreement. “Our troops settle in. Shall we do the same for today? We will convene Council here tomorrow an hour after sunrise.”

  There were only bows and nods at the king’s decision as no one was ready to face what would come next. As the king, Counselors and the Seven Lords filed out to attend to duties and find their own accommodations, Menak caught Cor’s gaze, and the two looked at each other idly for a moment. Cor thought nothing of it, but the Loszian noticed something was different about the Lord Dahken.

  “Curious,” Menak mumbled.

  * * *

  “The Loszian Empire is dead, Lord Menak,” Rederick said loudly, thumping his fist on Menak’s large, round table. “Whether Nadav conquers us all or we survive to defeat him, the old ways of your empire are over. It will be joined to Aquis, under my rule or whatever king or queen succeeds me, and all of its subjects will abide my rule. You have no choice. Otherwise, we shall just pack up our host and return to our side of the Spine and wait for Nadav to slay you all.”

  “And what of the rest of my people? Would you stamp us out with our way of life?” Menak asked quietly. His eyes blazed angrily, and he had set his jaw.

  “Your way of life was an affront to all that is decent,” Rederick replied firmly. “I will not commit genocide upon your people, but I do demand they conform to my rule. I will punish anyone guilty of crimes against the crown in accordance with my law. If your people agree to live under my rule, they will live long lives. Perhaps you will even rebuild your race. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Majesty,” answered Menak, but the anger did not leave his eyes.

  “Then the matter is closed,” Rederick concluded. “Now we can move on to more important topics, our battle plans primarily. Lord Menak, will the other nobles join us?”

  Menak caught himself staring at Cor, lost in thought, and he shook off the fog when he realized all eyes were on him. “I cannot say with all certainty. All I can do is contact them. They understand the situation. They’re dead if we lose to Nadav, whether they join us or not.”

  “Then they have no reason to say no,” reason Karak.

  Menak snorted before he replied, “You do not understand Loszians. I will do all I can to convince them.”

  “We can ask for no more,” Rederick said, closing the matter. He pointed to a place on the map in eastern Losz. “We believe Nadav’s army to be in this region, north of a city named Veron. By all accounts, it’s an army of countless dead, at least a thousand thousand or more. How do we draw Nadav west, draw him into battle?”

  “Fear not, King Rederick,” said Menak. “I am sure he already knows and heads this way.”

  “Solved that problem,” Red mumbled wryly. “How do we engage so many with any hope of victory?”

  “Do not think so little of our fighting spirit!” boomed Naran, thumping his chest. He motioned around the Seven Lords as he continued, “Our people are worth many times their number!”

  “Even still, the walking dead fall easily, but they do not stay down,” Mora replied calmly. “The living, no matter how strong, wear down and fall, and then they rise to join Nadav’s dead. Only fire lays them to rest permanently.”

  “And I shall take joy in burning them all down,” Thyss nearly shouted. “Hykan will not fail me in my time of need.”

  “Even you cannot burn them all,” Cor disagreed softly, and he placed his hand over hers to calm the coming anger. “The dead are slow and mindless, and we will fight fast and smart. I know we can cut down their numbers in great numbers with minimal risk, but as Mora pointed out, they won’t stay down with Nadav’s magic. The only way is to kill Nadav. Otherwise, his army will eventually wear us down.”

  “And again Lord Dahken Cor, I ask… how?” questioned Rederick.

  “I only need to get close to him.”

  “And he will just teleport away,” Menak concluded.

  Cor sighed and leaned back in his chair to consider the problem. He’d honestly expected an answer to it by now, but it still escaped him. He stared silently for a long moment at Menak’s ceiling, and when he looked back at the over a dozen faces around the table, he saw mixed reactions and expectations. Then, the answer dawned on him, and he suddenly shot forward in his seat.

  “
Where will he teleport to?” Cor asked Menak.

  “To wherever he placed his beacon,” the Loszian answered, “his tower in Ghal most likely.”

  “Can he not have more than one beacon?” Cor asked.

  “Not for instantaneous transport. He would be ripped apart as the spell tried to take him two different directions.”

  “So,” Cor reasoned, “when he slaps his hands together, that takes him to one predetermined place, wherever he placed his ‘beacon’. Then that’s it!”

  “What’s it?” Rederick asked, and he looked around the table to see everyone was just as confused as he, everyone except for Menak. The Loszian slumped back in his chair sullenly.

  “Nadav will go back to Ghal to escape me, because he knows he can’t kill me. When he does, Menak will transport me to Nadav’s tower so that I can kill him,” Cor answered. “You’ve done it many times, haven’t you? You can get me there.”

  “Yes…” Menak replied with a sigh, but he did not move. “The only problem is I have to go with you, and I’d rather not step foot in Nadav’s tower again. He will know the moment I enter.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cor said dismissively. “The way I understand it, he’ll know that I’m there as well. He’ll be running from us, not trying to find us.”

  “You must be swift,” said Red. “The battle may turn against us quickly. How will you return?”

  Menak answered the question, “That’s why I must go with Lord Dahken Cor. I will have to bring my beacon to the field of battle. Then, I can return us both with a clap of my hands… hand.”