Blood Betrayal

by Martin V Parece

  * * *

  The party slept a few hours past sunrise, as it seemed that both Ja’Na and Cor needed the extra rest. Cor hadn’t slept at all, or at least felt like he hadn’t, because the Chronicler’s words rattled around in his head all night. He thought about the plan into the morning hours, worked to find some fault in it, some “other way” as Thyss had said, but no other options presented themselves.

  When he awoke, Cor was shocked to realize that the camp had grown at least four fold overnight, dozens of Westerners having joined them. “They began arriving shortly after we stopped,” Keth explained, and Cor knew his preoccupation with Thyss likely kept him from noticing much around him. They didn’t continue their ride until all of the Westerners had broken camp as well, much to Cor’s chagrin.

  “We should stay with them, protect them,” Keth said.

  “They’ll slow us down. We need to move more quickly,” Cor argued.

  “If what the Chronicler says is true,” Keth replied with a glance at Ja’Na, who still seemed weak from the experience, “We are in no danger, at least not any time soon. He cannot find us. Besides, we will be in Fort Haldon in a few days. An extra day or two will not matter.”

  Cor didn’t argue the point.

  “What do you think of it?” Cor asked after they had crossed perhaps ten miles riding in silence.

  “I am…,” Keth drew out a pause with a sigh, “still considering it.”

  “So am I,” Cor agreed, “but I know you have thought it through already.”

  “I cannot find fault with the Chronicler’s plan for now, except the obvious.”

  “What is the obvious?” Cor asked, somewhat perplexed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Thyss interjected, cutting off Keth’s words. The Dahken closed his mouth as she continued, “There has to be another way.”

  “I can’t think of anything,” Cor argued.

  “Lord Dahken,” Keth said carefully, knowing that Thyss eyed him with a hateful scrutiny, “I tend to agree with Thyss. The sacrifice is too great.”

  “Too great?” Cor asked incredulously. “You want to tell me it’s too great? Aren’t you the one who lectured me years ago about my responsibility to the world?”

  “I am, but -,”

  Thyss cut off his words powerfully, crying out, “You’re not doing this! I’ve lost my son already. I’m not losing you, too.”

  “I won’t be lost,” Cor tried to reason, but the words sounded a lie even to his own ears.

  “You’ll be lost to me, you gray skinned shit! I’ve already lost him. How could you do this to me?” Thyss almost screamed at him, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

  “Because of what he did to you.”

  Cor instantly regretted the words, but they were the absolute truth. Thyss closed her mouth, her eyes ceased to smolder, and she turned her face to stare straight ahead on the worn path that served as the road to Fort Haldon. A lone tear rolled down her face, following the edge of her nose, and he wanted nothing more than to stop the entire procession just so he could fold her in his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gently, reaching over to place his mailed hand over hers. She jerked away, saying nothing, and urged her horse forward ahead of the two Dahken.

  “I am truly sorry, Lord Dahken,” said Keth, keeping his voice low.

  “It’s nothing you can help. I can only hope it heals and soon” Cor said, watching Thyss. It was so strange to see her without her black silk tunic, the green hued scimitar slung across her back. Something occurred to Cor, and he looked back at his friend. “How are you holding up?”

  “I am fine,” Keth answered, his voice monotone, his eyes staring straight ahead.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I hope she burns forever in blazes hotter than the one in which she died.”

  “You’re a hard man, my friend.”

  “Life is hard,” Keth replied, still not pulling his gaze from ahead of them.

  Cor let silence reign for the time it took them to cross another mile or so, then he turned to his friend, “If you can come up with some other way to defeat them – Cor’El, this Admiral, whomever else – I would be most interested to hear it.”

  “You will be the first to know, Lord Dahken.”

  “What is that?” he heard Lurana ask behind them.

  Ja’Na answered, “I see nothing, child.”

  “Right there,” she insisted.

  Cor turned in his saddle to see the little girl pointing upward into the clear sky. He followed her outstretched arm and finger south into the blue expanse with its few light, wispy clouds, and at first he too saw nothing. Seeing her earnestness, he searched the skies, squinting to block out the light that would overpower the sight of whatever it was he sought. After a moment, he finally found it – a tiny speck, reflecting the sunlight off of a white or silver surface from somewhere far off. Were it not day, Cor would’ve certainly thought it a star, though he somehow knew it to be moving.

  More eyes discovered the object, with hushed whispers of, “What is it?” answered by confused shrugs. Sickness formed in the pit of Cor’s stomach, and it only grew the more certain he became. Something akin to thunder split the summer air, a deafening boom that at once echoed softly in the distance and threatened to cause ears to the bleed. All around covered their ears suddenly, some ducking their heads for nonexistent cover, but most kept their eyes on the thing above. The silver reflection of the sun’s light changed to yellow and orange, as it appeared to catch fire. There was no doubt to anyone of its movement now, as a white streak that seemed both mere inches and miles long flowed well behind it.

  With Ja’Na’s, the Chronicler’s, scrolls tucked safely into a saddlebag, Cor knew what the thing was and where it was headed. He urged the group faster, wanting to make it to Fort Haldon and past the Spine now more than ever.

  Cor’El

  When a thunderclap shook the palace, it seemed at once a great distance away and ear splittingly loud around Byrverus. Cor’El not only heard it, but he felt it as well, as if it reverberated through his very guts. He jumped from the breakfast table, as he had slept late into the morning yet again, and ran up steps to one of the palace’s three white spires, blue pennants of Aquis fluttering in the breeze. The idea that he should destroy them crossed his mind, but instead he looked to the southern skies. As he surely expected, a ball of fire streaked its way across the clear blue sky further above than he had ever seen a bird fly.

  For a moment, he almost ran headlong back down the stairs to find one of the few soldiers that remained available to him and demand a horse to go riding. Cor’El stopped himself just short and cursed himself for a fool. Horses were for mere mortal men, certainly not for gods such as himself. The thought brought forth a sudden memory of his mother whispering in his ear as a babe of his power, and his eyes threatened to betray him with tears.

  He pushed it away and willed his body to change forms, to turn to the curious mix of water and air, a mist to be carried south on the wind. Dahk had warned him not to be too close to Zheng’s vessel as it descended from the heavens, as it landed on a patch of fallow ground some miles south of the city, but even he had forgotten that Cor’El didn’t even need to be there in person. He drifted on the air currents, willing himself generally toward the thing in the sky.

  The apparent fireball started to abate, showing something like bright steel reflecting the bright late morning sun where the orange and yellow of flames no longer concealed it. As it descended, he could see it more clearly – it was certainly made of a metal polished to a high shine – and had he had eyes, it most certainly would have threatened to blind him. It passed through a light wisp of cloud, now at a height that Cor’El had seen seagulls fly, the seagulls that followed the river Byrver and its trading vessels north from the Narrow Sea so far away.

  He saw its shape clearly now, and it was certainly nothing the likes of which he’d ever laid eyes upon before, neither in dreams nor nightmares – a gre
at metal beast with an enormous bulbous head, more or less round and spherical but with a pointed nose of sorts, almost fifty feet across and at least thirty tall. A spinal column left the back of the head, as that was most certainly what it resembled, travelling many times the length of the head to terminate at a tail that seemed to have been bluntly cut off, as was done to some dogs. Several roughly cubic shaped apparatus, also apparently made of steel and each one about as wide as the vessel’s head, attached to the spine on either side. They seemed oddly separate and out of place, and yet were clearly connected to both the spine and each other.

  It closed on its destination, and Cor’El began to plainly understand Dahk’s warning. Besides its ominous size, whatever magick allowed the thing to fly was louder than anything he had ever heard. He wasn’t far from it, perhaps only a few hundred feet as it ponderously lowered itself from the sky, and had he actually been standing next to it, he would surely have lost his ability to hear, at least for some time. It hung in mid-air, perhaps a hundred feet above the field, and the roar turned high pitch and somehow managed to rise in volume.

  The ship dropped with excruciating lethargy, perhaps not even losing a foot for every second that passed. Air began to buffet the knee high grasses and weeds, flattening them under the onslaught to the ground. They tried to lift themselves again, only to be pushed back down. About halfway down, it became so intense that top soil and mud was thrown into the air, deflecting away from the vessel. A hum briefly emanated, barely heard over the barrage that clearly kept the ship aloft, and eight pieces of mostly flat metal about twenty feet across lowered themselves into view. There were four to each side, spaced evenly down the sides of the ship, which deliberately, finally lowered itself fully to the ground to rest upon them. The brown black detritus of Aquis’ soil shot into the air like a geyser on either side of the ship for just a few seconds before the immense roaring finally disappeared.

  Cor’El solidified himself on a slight rise to view the most hideously terrific thing he’d ever seen, some bulbous arachnid or insect apparently made of steel and capable of visiting whole other worlds among the stars. This Admiral Zheng was truly a man of great power, in his own right at least. With a glance over his right shoulder at the shining city of Byrverus perhaps two miles distant, he cautiously walked down the rise toward the field and its new occupant. All the fire and fury from before gone, an eerie quiet settled over the field, the only sound being the soft squish as Cor’El stepped across ground damp from an overnight rain.

  He stopped as a scraping hum accompanied by a hiss the likes of which sounded when water is thrown upon a fire emanated from the section closest to the head. A rectangular panel, roughly the size of a doorway, recessed into the vessel a few inches, and then it slid out of view to the left. It clearly was meant as a door, for a man stood at the portal. He manipulated something out of view with his right hand, and a steel plate extended from just under the doorway straight out from the ship. The extended end then dropped to the ground with a muffled crash, and the man strode from the doorway down the plate that seemed little different from a gangplank used by galleons at Byrverus’ docks.

  Three more followed behind him, coming single file, spaced precisely two feet apart. Cor’El had never seen men such as these, though they had coloration most similar to Tigoleans. They wore strange, black half helms that gleamed in the sunlight, and appeared to offer no ability to see, much like his father’s own. But these clearly were not wrought of metal, but some other material that shined like the body of some spiders. Their torsos and legs seemed to be covered by one large garment, perhaps made of some sort of canvas, and it was dyed maniacally in mottled dark greens, browns and blacks. It covered their arms down to their hands, which wore black gloves, and the legs ended in black boots that clanked upon the metal. They certainly seemed to be made of leather, though the design was decidedly foreign. There were two other items of note – the first being that each of the four wore some sort of heavy black vest over their tunic. These reminded Cor’El directly of some sort of hauberk or breastplate, but the protection they offered to attack seemed dubious at best, as they clearly were made of something other than steel. Lastly, they each carried a strange device seemingly made of gray and black metal. It required two hands, the right of which was wrapped around a sort of grip not too dissimilar from that of a crossbow’s. The left hand supported a rod, of sorts, that extended several feet from the grip. It had other protuberances and appliances of what use he could not begin to divine, but he was certain the devices themselves were some kind of weapon.

  The four soldiers, for they were clearly professional soldiers with regimented appearance and movements despite their strangeness, reached the bottom of the plank and quickly fanned out to check the area’s surroundings. They made no threatening moves at all toward Cor’El, and in fact barely seemed to recognize his existence. After only a few moments, the men seemed satisfied that all was as they expected, and they took flanking positions, two to each side of the ramp’s end.

  The sound of someone upon it brought Cor’El’s eyes up again to the doorway, and there he was, the man he’d come to know as Vice Admiral Zheng Huojin precisely stepping his way toward him. The man looked so much like a Northern Tigolean, but his hair, beard and moustache were kept so impossibly short that he must have someone whose sole purpose in life is to make certain it is always perfect. He wore some sort of tunic that seemed to fold over itself at the front, dyed to the deepest, darkest blue that could be found, and his breeches matched perfectly. He wore black shoes instead of boots, polished to a high shine and that clacked upon the metal, demanding attention in the sound.

  As he reached the bottom, the right hands of his four guards shot from their weapons up to their helmeted foreheads in the salute that Zheng had used when they first met. Zheng stepped into the soft earth, his face completely impassive though his nearly black eyes saw everything around him, and he bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving Cor’El’s face. For the first time in a while, Cor’El felt a degree of inadequacy under the appraising glare of Zheng, and he returned the bow to the exact depth and degree. As they released the pose almost simultaneously, it dawned on Cor’El how short this great man seemed, a man clearly wielding great power and yet he was little more than five feet tall.

  “I have come,” Cor’El said, but he received no answer from Zheng except a slight look of annoyance.

  Zheng turned to face back up the ramp and he waived at someone Cor’El could not see. Within a few seconds, another man made his way down to stand just behind the admiral. This one appeared much like a Westerner with light skin and dark hair, and he was nearly six feet tall, which made him look to lord over the man who was his better as he still stood on the ramp, a few inches off of the ground. The white man wore clothes just like Zheng’s guards, but without the strange black armor or helm.

  Admiral Zheng began to speak, but Cor’El could not understand him, despite how familiar it sounded. However, the tall man began to speak Western, “Emperor Cor’El, Admiral Zheng thanks you for coming here today so that we may meet in person. It is an honor to stand in the presence of one with so much potential. He hopes that today will begin a great future for both of us.”

  Cor’El looked from Zheng to the man behind him and back again, and he really didn’t know what his answer should be. He opted for silence and simply nodded his agreement.

  Zheng continued, “In the spirit of this, I think it’s important that we each demonstrate our strength, so that we may understand each other as equals. I would be happy to begin. Would you care to step aboard my ship?”

  Cor’El slowly, not so much out of caution as simple confusion, began to step forward, and as he did so, Zheng as well as the tall man behind him stepped aside to allow him onto the ramp.

  “I’m surprised you don’t speak Western,” Cor’El said, stopping at the ramp. He spoke to Zheng, who did not reply at first, but almost as soon as he finished the sentence, the tall man began speaking
to Zheng in the other language.

  Zheng spoke, “I do not, but a language we know as English is very similar. This man is an expert, shall we say a scholar, in languages. It is through him that I can speak with you. He is a translator.”

  “When I met you in Dahk’s Vault, it seemed you spoke Western, but your words didn’t match your mouth.”

  “And to me it seemed you spoke English,” Zheng nodded, then he explained, “Dahk and his Vault are part of a computer system that includes a full series of linguistics programs and algorithms.”

  Bewildered, Cor’El only stared back at him and made a slight dumb nod.

  “Shall we?” Zheng asked with a motion up the ramp. The translator said it with such an inviting tone, but no warmth shone in the admiral’s eyes. At Cor’El’s nod, Zheng started back the way he’d come. Cor’El followed with the translator in tow, but the armed men below stayed behind.

  The first room they entered was about thirty by thirty feet with a ceiling perhaps fifteen feet overhead and entirely made of steel like the outside of the ship. It was clearly an armory of some sort, as what he presumed to be weapons just like those held by the men outside lined the walls. A few varied in size and shape, but the existence of the crossbow-like grip on each one showed them to be close cousins. Light shined down from the ceiling above, a dazzling white light that seemed like it should blind one who looked upon it, yet it didn’t. Zheng led him to the other end of this room, to a steel ladder which they climbed only a few feet to a landing. The ladder continued up a bit more to an upper level that looked identical to the lower. Two men stood here, saluting the admiral as soon as they saw him, but otherwise making no other motion or sound.

  Zheng approached a steel plate that appeared to be cut from the wall itself into the shape of a doorway, and it slid to the left swiftly with a hiss. They emerged into a hallway, perhaps ten feet across, where two more guards flanked the outside of the doorway, and another such doorway was set into the opposite wall. When Cor’El stepped into the corridor, the sound of his boot on the floor below him changed from a metallic thud to a more noticeable clang. The floor here was not a solid plate, but made more of a steel grid forming slightly uneven hexagons just barely big enough for one to put a finger into.