Blood Betrayal

by Martin V Parece

  Cor’El

  “Where is your father, boy?” Rederick asked, firmly but not unkindly from his place at the head of the Council table. Even sitting down, the man looked immense, still seeming almost as tall as Cor’El when standing.

  “He’s not coming,” Cor’El answered, closing the door behind him to the confused exhalations of those assembled.

  He turned to take in the scene and smiled inwardly at what he saw. Most of the Council had answered the call, including the Loszian, Menak, Rederick’s equally giant son and the snobby, white robed priest. Off to one side stood his exotic and ever beautiful mother, leaning against one wall, her usual disinterested glare evaporating quickly. Marya waited just next to her. More importantly, Cor and his lapdog, Keth, were not present, and neither was the Tigolean that sat the Council. In a way, that was too bad, for the yellow man’s pragmatic approach to his business may have helped somewhat. It didn’t matter.

  Thyss spoke first, concern plain in her question, “Where is your father?”

  “I don’t know,” Cor’El shrugged. “Last I heard, he and his beloved Dahken were out training outside the city somewhere.”

  “Why did he call the Council?” Rederick asked.

  “He didn’t,” Cor’El replied as he approached the table. He pulled Cor’s chair out as if to sit in it, and then changed his mind, tossing it to the side with a clatter on the stone floor. “I did.”

  “Why?” this came from the pregnant queen.

  “Who are you to do so?” demanded Red.

  “I’m your new king,” Cor’El explained, with such a matter of fact tone as to imply that the answer was obvious.

  Mostly confused silence met his statement, though Red snorted derisively, and the priest hissed, “Blasphemy!”

  Thyss lurched forward off of the wall to stand solidly on her own feet and blurted, “Cor’El!”

  Cor’El held a hand up toward his mother to ask her patience. “Mother, please let me. This is it, this is the time. I cannot wait until breakfast tomorrow morning to discuss this with Cor. I’m taking my destiny. Now.

  “This is no jest. I am declaring myself King of Aquis, Emperor of Rumedia, actually. Everyone here has a choice to make. Either offer me total loyalty or die here, now.”

  “Madness!” cried the priest, bounding up from his seat.

  “Utterly ridiculous,” laughed Red.

  “That’s enough!” Thyss shouted. “Go back to the Crescent!”

  Cor’El looked to his mother and sighed heavily. He flicked one finger toward Marya, and the armored Dahken suddenly had a fistful of Thyss’ hair in one hand and the point of a dagger pressed into her neck.

  “You are stupid,” Thyss sneered to Marya. “You know I can burn you where you stand.”

  “And you know it’ll only make me stronger,” Marya returned, “strong enough to make sure this blade severs every vein in your neck. I’ll heal, and you’ll die.”

  “You betrayed Cor once. What do you think will happen now that you’ve done it again?”

  “Nothing, because I have him,” answered Marya jutting her chin toward Cor’El, “and he’s more powerful than Cor ever could be.”

  “You’re a fool. Cor’El, stop this!”

  Cor’El made no answer, but instead looked at those assembled. Menak stared straight ahead, and the Westerners’ outrage was obvious. The four plate clad guards, two flanking the doors on either end of the hall, stood quietly, either in indecision or waiting for some command. It seemed that mixed emotions washed over the king’s face, but as he looked at Cor’El and then over to Thyss, the gravity of the situation began to settle upon his brow. He placed one hand on Mora’s and stood from the table, causing his own chair to skid gratingly on the stone floor as he did so.

  “This is all foolish, son. End it all now, and I will leave you to your father rather than have you imprisoned or worse,” Rederick authoritatively said, and almost anyone else might have listened.

  “It is not foolish for the powerful to take what is theirs. You see, I am the most powerful person in Rumedia. None can stop me. I have all of Cor’s power, all of my mother’s, and I have the will to use it! And Dahk in His wisdom has also made be able to beget children,” Cor’El explained, looking at each person in the room in turn, ending his gaze on Thyss. Fear and defiance shown on her face, and he thought she was never more beautiful. The he asked, “Do you yield to me?”

  Rederick looked to his wife, who smiled grimly, and then to each of his Counselors. Finally, he turned his gaze on Thyss and said to her, “I am so very sorry.” He straightened his spine, somehow gaining a few more inches, and brought his eyes back around to lock stares with Cor’El. “Of course not. So, what do you intend to do?”

  “I’ll start with that which is most important to you.”

  Cor’El broke away from the king’s stare and looked down at Mora. She suddenly grunted and doubled over in her chair, whipping her hand out from under Rederick’s to wrap it around her belly. The king, immediately at her side, wrapped a protective arm about her shoulders, as if would shield her from any attack.

  “What is it?” he asked urgently.

  “The baby,” she hoarsely whispered back. Her one hand disappeared for a moment, and when it returned, it was covered in dark blood for all to see.

  “What have you done?” Rederick thundered, already striding toward Cor’El.

  Though he should certainly have expected it, the giant’s outburst and aggressive movement toward him caused Cor’El to absently step backward and to the side, as if to keep the table between them. However, he did not falter in his confidence or his reply, “It’s gone. I did what Cor would have done if he were brave enough. I turned it to blood.”

  Screaming exploded from all sides of the room. Mora wailed and cried, either at the pain or the anguish as what should have been her second child with her king ran from her body. The priest called for Garod’s aid as he rushed to Mora’s side. Thyss screamed something he couldn’t hear over all the rest. Rederick raged incoherently and took gargantuan strides to reach Cor’El, who edged the other way, but it was the king’s eldest son who truly acted first.

  Never without his greatsword, Red was on his feet, the weapon in hand, in the blink of an eye. As Cor’El moved away from the king, he wandered directly into a deadly, sidelong swipe of the steel. He caught the glint of it just in time to avoid being cut clean in two at the waist, but instead the steel severed his left arm at the elbow and took a great gash from his side as well, flinging bits of flesh and innards across the table as it exited. Wounded mortally, his blood pouring on the burgundy carpet next to Rederick’s Council table, Cor’El looked almost surprised for just a moment. Everything had suddenly stopped, except Mora’s sobbing – the king no longer pursued him, Red held fast, ready for a second blow, and Marya allowed the blade at Thyss’ neck to drop uselessly as she leaned forward in interest at the scene.

  Cor’El stumbled backward a step or two, and then he closed his eyes to clear his mind, knowing he may only have moments left before the loss of his blood closed them forever. A soft warm glow of yellowish orange gently came into being around him, and when he again opened his eyes, he was whole again.

  Lord Red swore, but before he could bring his sword around to strike again, he coughed once. A fit overtook him, coughs wracking his chest, deep and wet. His sword fell from his grip, the blade clattering on stone floor as the hilt and pommel made a muffled thump on the carpet. He coughed again, a great pushing force as he tried to breathe, and water spewed from his mouth. The more he coughed, the more water erupted from his lungs. His eyes bulged, and the hue of his fair, freckled face changed with the inability to breathe.

  Cor’El paid no attention as his mother took sudden action, the danger of a slashed neck gone. She took Marya’s wrist with both hands and struggled for control of the dagger. A Dahken warrior Marya may have been, but she was no match for Thyss’ strength, so long as the sorceress did nothing to draw the Dahken’
s blood. However, Marya’s grip on the weapon was not to be broken easily, and Thyss whipped her leg behind the Dahken’s knees. They went down in a heap together, Thyss on top, and the dagger found an opening beneath the steel hauberk, plunging its full eight inches of steel into Marya’s gut. Knowing success, Thyss quickly gained her feet and backed away from the Dahken. As the younger Marya found her strength, Thyss lifted her arms to the heavens, and a pillar of white and blue flame engulfed her foe. Hair melted instantly, steel heated as if it were being newly forged and skin blackened, cracked and split.

  King Rederick again charged his quarry, howling some curse to Garod, as Cor’El continued to back away, feeling the heat explode behind him. The king suddenly found it difficult to continue forward, as if his feet would not move. He forced his legs forward, and they completely broke free from his now immovable, petrified feet, and the once great and powerful man sprawled forward. He begged Garod for aid as whatever magick turned his flesh to stone made its way inexorably up his legs.

  Cor’El turned to face the blazing heat that had caused a sweat to break out upon his forehead. He found that his mother had backed well away from his former conspirator as she burned in one of the hottest blazes he’d ever seen. She still lived, but only barely as her Dahken strength quickly waned with no ability to harm anyone.

  “My King save me!” beseeched a barely human voice over the roar of the flames before the lips melted from Marya’s once pretty face.

  Cor’El laughed with a shrug, “Why?”

  He turned to address his mother but stopped short as the effete snob of a priest appeared, kneeling beside his king, beseeching Garod for some help as the petrification reached Rederick’s manhood. So preoccupied as he was, the robed man never saw Cor’El’s booted foot as it smashed into his face, crushing his nose. The priest fell backward onto his ass in shock, blood running down both his face and his throat from the ruined nose, but he never lost his senses despite the attack. He pointed at Cor’El, and a ray of light shot forth from the finger to pierce the young man right in the middle of his chest. Cor’El paused, as if he expected something to happen and even thought he felt a slight warming sensation before the priest dropped his hand to the floor in defeat.

  “Foolish,” Cor’El said. “I am both blessed by your Garod and loved by Dahk.”

  Cor’El reached forth his hand toward the priest, as if attempting to grasp something or perhaps pull something toward him. The blood running down the priest’s face lifted itself away to hover in the space between the two, and then more joined as it streamed from the man’s nose. His eyes rolled white, and he began to quake bodily as every ounce of vitae in his form left through his nose, mouth, eyes and ears. King Rederick’s prayers for help ended with one final gurgling sound as his body became a statue, one that perhaps would be looked upon one day as one of the greatest, most detailed pieces of art ever crafted, and the priest’s blood splashed noisily upon the stone form as Cor’El released his hold upon the undulating orb.

  “Cor’El, stop!” his mother shouted from her place not far from the still burning Marya.

  He looked about the Council Hall, taking in all of the carnage, taking joy in his part of it. He felt nothing for the fiery heap that was once the Dahken who taught him the act of love, and the sickly sweet scent of overcooked flesh filled the room. No doubt the woman’s innards were boiling away even now. The guards flanking the doors slumped on the floor or against the doors in various positions; in all of the excitement that surely lasted perhaps only a minute, he’d lost track of when he’d suffocated them where they stood. His eyes stopped on the still seated forms of Mora and the one legged Loszian, Menak, the latter looking rather impassive and accepting as his eyes took in the entire nightmare.

  Cor’El drew his sword and stepped over the drowned Lord Red. He lightly padded his way to stand behind the queen who sobbed terribly, her Paladin strength having lost to the sorrows of a mother and widow, as a pounding beat against the door leading to the palace’s throne room.

  “Damn you!” Thyss screamed, drawing her sword as the door burst open and two more guards stumbled in over the forms of their fellows.

  “You will understand,” Cor’El implored with a sigh, and then he added, “I love you.”

  Thyss jumped to the attack, intent on saving Queen Mora, as did one of the newly entered Westerners. The other only dropped to his knees, stunned at the carnage around him. Cor’El let loose a deep, exasperated sigh and held the two in place, his mother mere feet away. His eyes narrowed on her beautifully deadly, curved sword, disappointment showing plainly on his face for just a moment before it vanished. In an exaggerated motion, he softly blew air from his mouth, and Feghul’s Claw turned to smoke and was taken away in the breeze. His mother’s eyes registered shock, awe and fear, either at her inability to move or the sudden loss of the sword which she had wielded for so long.

  “How do you do this?” she whispered.

  “It’s very simple, mother,” he replied, and he took a fistful of Mora’s dark hair, yanking her head backward painfully. Her face was awash with a flood of tears, and drippings from her nose ran down her lips and chin. Cor’El placed the blade of his sword upon her neck.

  “No! Don’t!” Thyss screamed. “Please!” she begged.

  “Mother that’s enough,” Cor’El admonished, and she found she could no longer speak. In fact, she could barely draw in just enough air to breathe.

  “Why?” Mora begged to know, tears still rolling back down the sides of her face.

  He shrugged. “Because I can, I’m chosen to,” and he pulled the sword across her neck, causing a great gout of blood to wash downward onto the queen’s breasts, into her lap and over the edge of the table. He released her hair and wiped the blood from his sword upon the sleeve her white robe while her life flowed away.

  Menak had yet to move, his eyes only flashed at each new event. The guard Cor’El held in place had already collapsed dead, and his fellow still knelt on the floor near the entrance. The poor man, really a boy not much older than Cor’El, had removed his basinet helmet, vomited once and now just cried. Cor’El sheathed his sword and approached his mother. He removed his hold just enough to allow her to breathe more deeply.

  “Gods damn you,” she hissed. “Release me.”

  “Not until you understand.”

  “By Hykan, how do you hold me so?”

  “It’s one of Hykan’s sisters that allows me to do so. Surely, mother, you realize that we are all surrounded by air. It moves as you move through it. All I’ve done is make the air around you so that it cannot be moved. I’ll let you go when you understand.”

  “Understand what? You’ve murdered the king, his wife,” she accused.

  “Much as Cor murdered a queen once,” Cor’El shot back, “but the difference is that Cor wasn’t strong enough to take what should’ve been his then. I am, I will. I claim all of Aquis as King. The rest of the West will bow before me, then Tigol and then Dulkur. Then, the one Dahk calls Admiral Zheng will take me to the stars, and I’ll conquer those, too.”

  He casually stepped toward his mother and gently stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers and told her softly, “Don’t worry, mother, you’ll be with me. I love you like none other, and now you can love me, too, the way I love you.”

  Thyss tried to yank her face away from his touch, but still found herself immobile. Even still, she spat, “I’d rather die.”

  Cor’El’s face hardened, and the sorceress suddenly found it impossible to breathe. He held the magick until her eyes lolled with panic, and her golden skin began to take on a decidedly bluish hue before he finally released just enough of the air to allow her some breath. Despite this, her eyes still rolled into her head as she lost consciousness. He released her, and she slumped to the floor in his arms. He kneeled down next to her crumpled form and caressed her cheek once again, watching her torso rise and fall gently.

  Satisfied that she breathed easily enough, Cor’El
stood, turned to Menak and asked, “So, Loszian, where does your loyalty lie?”

  With a very deliberate slowness, Menak raised himself from his chair and hobbled around the table, his false leg thumping sickeningly on the carpet and the stone underneath. Once before the young Dahken, he knelt down, an extraordinarily difficult task with a leg that would not bend under any circumstance. He folded his right hand over the stump of his left wrist and calmly said, “I live to serve you, Majesty.”

  “Indeed, and… uh… how would you best do that?”

  “I’ll return to my lands and spread the word in East Aquis that you have been crowned King,” Menak replied easily, as if he had planned his words while the boy wrought his carnage. “The people must be ready for your rule, especially if you are soon to rule all. You will need help with the… management of it all.”

  Cor’El’s eyes flashed angrily, and he sneered, “I need no help, Loszian.”

  Menak bowed his head as if to ward off some impending blow or magick, quickly responding, “Majesty, I meant only that the day to day tasks of running your empire will be mundane and all too boring. You’ll not have time to conquer if you spend it all counting coin and balancing accounts.”

  “Very well,” he replied, his sudden ire somewhat abated by Menak’s calm tone, and the words surely seemed to have some truth to them. “Do that.”

  “And I suppose Your Majesty will plan a journey to visit all of his new kingdom? It would be important to make sure all understand your rule plainly.”

  “I suppose,” Cor’El mused uncertainly.

  “Majesty, before I take my leave, I believe you should make an appearance in the throne room, claim it to all. While I certainly have no doubt of your power – after all, I have seen it myself – it would be helpful if you did not have to slay all of the palace guards or the entire populace of Byrverus.”

  “The priests will stand against me,” Cor’El reasoned, “I probably will have to kill them.”

  “To be sure,” Menak agreed, nodding his approval. The Loszian struggled to his feet, receiving no help from his new king, and he thumped over to the lone Western guard, who still knelt on the floor in his own tears, piss and vomit. He slapped the young man to break him from some shocked reverie. “Do you pledge yourself to your new King, or would you prefer to join the previous one?”