Over the ensuing centuries, the Dahken found they never numbered more than a few hundred at Sanctum. They could not rebuild their citadel in the heart of Losz without dishonoring their treaty with the Empire, and messages from Dulkur spoke of constant battles with the people there and began to decrease in length and frequency before they ceased altogether. The Dahken also ceased to care about many things; as a whole, they became enamored with their own abilities, constantly seeking artifacts or other methods to increase their strength. It became a narcotic, and they tuned out the rest of the world; many of them ceased to even look for other Dahken.
Then The Cleansing began, and Werth and his people began to push the Loszians out of the West. As a whole, the Dahken were uncaring about this, having long lost interest in the happenings of the world around them, that is until the final battle of that war occurred. The rending of the world that resulted from Werth’s sacrifice led to great earthquakes across the western continent, felt all the way into the Northern Kingdoms. A great gout of lava spilled forth from the caves in the north, completely obliterating the underground Dahken stronghold. The Dahken, so concerned with the power in their blood, felt this sudden cataclysm as dozens of their kind died in an instant.
As the Loszian Empire licked its wounds, the west coalesced into its kingdoms and became the Shining West. It was then that the Westerners realized the Dahken, with their near immunity to necromancy, could have helped them defeat the Loszians from the beginning. The Westerners quickly became incensed, then enraged. As the veterans of the Loszian campaigns disappeared into history, combined with the apparent absence of the Loszians, the Westerners targeted the Dahken with their ire. The rulers of the Shining West agreed the Dahken must be taught the price of their inaction and that the Dahken center of power must be Cleansed just as the Loszians were.
In fifty two A.C., they fielded a massive army and marched upon Sanctum. They did not anticipate that most of the Dahken would have a natural immunity to Garod’s power, and while their priests had no more luck against the Dahken than the Loszian sorcerers, they could heal their wounded, quickly returning them to combat. The Dahken, having met the Westerners on an open battlefield, found themselves overwhelmed and fled to their keep, losing many of their brethren in the process. The Dahken had never been besieged in history and were wholly unprepared for that type of warfare. The Western army built siege engines, catapults, towers and battering rams from the surrounding forests and nearly battled down the great tower. They breached the walls and rushed inside. The Dahken fought with all the will of their being, but in the end, a mere one hundred fifty could not hope to withstand a siege against thousands upon thousands. The Westerners left none alive and with the castle nearly destroyed, returned to their kingdoms and homes.
Despite this Cleansing, it is nearly impossible to destroy a race, especially one that quite literally appears through the power of a god. Despite attempts by most of the world’s rulers to stamp them out, the Dahken do survive in the world, but only in shadow. All but the most learned have never heard of the Dahken, nor could recognize one for what it is. It is uncertain what role they may play as the world moves on.
9.
Cor awoke to Rael shaking him by the shoulder, his head resting on his crossed arms on the table in the study. Last he remembered, he laid his head down as he organized his thoughts, thinking over the scroll he had read. The history did not make sense to him in some ways, and he, like the Westerners of history, did not understand the disinterest of the Dahken at fighting the Loszians.
“Why did you sleep in here boy?” Rael asked with annoyance.
“I didn’t think I could sleep. I wanted to read the scroll you wrote for me. I just fell asleep here thinking,” explained Cor. “You did write it, didn’t you?”
“I did. I copied it from an ancient Rumedian text, which of course you cannot read. I am also reluctant to allow you to handle many of these tomes, at least until you learn respect for them. In the future, take care not to fall asleep in here again. In your repose, you easily could have knocked over your candles,” he motioned at the large stacks of melted wax surrounding his candelabra. “Come eat.”
Cor mumbled an apology as he followed Rael to the larder where they ate a breakfast of eggs and pork, and a thought occurred to Cor. “Where does this food come from?” he asked.
“Some of the fruit grows wildly around the castle, but most of it I purchase from a farmer,” explained Rael. “The road that leaves Sanctum leads to a fishing and port town a few miles to the north. About halfway there lives a rather prosperous farmer. I pay him well for provisions.”
“Does he know you live here?” Cor asked.
“I am sure he suspects, but I do not think he overly cares. He is a good man, and as I said, I pay him well.”
Cor thought his over for a moment before asking, “Where do you get money from?”
“Cor, you ask too many questions,” Rael said with a piercing gaze Cor readily recognized. Rael quickly stood from the table. “Finish your breakfast, then come outside. We have much to do.”
Rael always started his day with several hours of practice with his weapons. Though for a hardened warrior it seemed unnecessary, he explained that a man’s muscles may forget the actions if not constantly reminded. He would routinely break at least an hour before midday to handle some basic chores, during which time Cor would study whatever texts he had laid out. Cor began to learn Rumedian, the ancient language of the gods and the Chronicler.
Rael also said that it was important that Cor knew how to care for weapons and armor, as poorly maintained equipment could well mean a warrior’s death. Aboard Naran’s ship, this task was handled by the Quartermaster, or delegated to those who already had the skills. They removed the rust from Cor’s sword, and Rael showed him how to restore and maintain the edge. He taught Cor to keep it well oiled and free from rust.
Roughly once every two weeks, Rael would leave to see the farmer for food and other supplies. The Dahken would not allow Cor to come with him, saying they knew not who else would be looking for the boy. The trip rarely took more than two or three hours; Rael headed north up the road, his horse pulling an old rickety wagon attached to his horse. The horse’s discomfort and injury to his pride were quite apparent; he clearly preferred travel or even combat to such menial labor. Rael endeavored to leave enough academic exercises or household chores to keep Cor busy.
This did not prevent Cor from occasionally exploring more of the castle. He knew Rael wouldn’t approve, but his curiosity was unquenchable. He kept his outings short so as not to alert Rael’s suspicions, and he found several more rooms, most of which in perfectly usable condition. More than once, Cor stopped at the stone stair leading down; it was dark and foreboding, but it called to him when he neared it. Once, he edged down the first few steps, only to lose his footing in centuries of dust and slipped, nearly falling down the steps into the darkness. Cor scampered back to the top, returning to his studies immediately.
Fall returned, dispelling the extreme heat of late summer, which allowed Rael to focus more of their time outdoors. He was satisfied with Cor’s ability to wield his sword, striking in certain ways cleanly and with strength when told, and Rael felt it was time to move forward. On a particularly cool autumn morning, Cor joined Rael outside a bit earlier than normal. The sun had only just passed the horizon, casting long shadows from the decaying walls. The air was crisp, and Cor’s breath came in white puffs.
“It is time,” Rael began, “for you to learn how to fight as a Dahken does. It will not come quickly; you will have to focus your mind as well as your body. You have learned how to strike, and your arm is strong, but Dahken do not fence like a noble or strike from darkness like an assassin. Those warriors are afraid of the sight of their own blood. You must let your blood be drawn; a Dahken is most dangerous when he is half dead. Certainly, we wear armor, but that is only to prevent our foes from delivering a killing blow. Most warriors wear armor to avoid injur
y; they parry and move so their enemies swords do not touch their flesh. You must wade directly into battle.
“Do you understand?” Rael asked.
“I think so.” Cor told Rael the story of how he killed a man only a few months ago. It almost seemed like it was another lifetime.
“If what say is true, then you have already started to unlock your strength, and that is amazing. Cor,” Rael said slowly, “you must trust me and do as I say. I will not allow you to be truly harmed, nor will I allow you to harm me. Do you understand?” The boy nodded hesitantly.
Rael picked up a small, battered wooden shield and strapped it to his left forearm. “Strike me.”
“What?” Cor asked, completely bewildered.
“Run me through, as hard as you dare!” Cor delivered a weak thrust with his longsword that Rael easily batted away with the shield. “Is that your best? You killed no Tigolean with that attack.”
Cor thrust again, and again Rael blocked the blade with his shield. But this time, the point of the sword imbedded slightly into the wood and skidded off the shield’s edge, leaving a deep scratch. Before Cor realized what was happening, Rael lashed out at Cor’s leg with his own steel, opening a small wound on the front of his thigh. Shocked, Cor nearly dropped his weapon and simply stared at the cut on his leg; it was not deep, but it bled freely. He remembered the feel of the dagger piercing his shoulder.
“Cor, the wound is nothing compared to what your foes would deal you,” Rael said, eliciting no response. He stepped forward and slapped Cor across his left cheek. “Focus Cor. See the blood, feel the pain. Immerse yourself in it and control it. Center yourself in the pain and attack me!”
Cor did as he was told, but as an automaton; it was as if he watched the entire scene from above, as if he had no actual control his actions. He slashed with his sword from the side, again impacting Rael’s shield, and this time splinters flew from the solid impact. Rael slashed again, putting another fine wound across Cor’s arm near the shoulder. The sudden pain of the strike pulled Cor’s consciousness back with extreme clarity. He felt blood soaking his shirt and trickling down his arm. The wounds burned with a peculiar searing sensation, and Cor suddenly felt as if his body were covered with ants.
He attacked again with no command from Rael; this time the thrust forward, the blade’s flat parallel to the ground. Rael blocked with his shield, taking the sword’s point directly in the middle of the wooden disc. Cor felt the collision, for a moment frozen in time, before the shield gave way under his attack. Rael grunted painfully. Cor stared, realizing that he had imbedded the sword, transfixed it in the center of the shield, and he could see blood dripping from the bottom of the shield, slowly at first, and then freely flowing.
“Boy,” Rael said, his eyes wide, “please pull your sword free.”
Cor gently pulled at the hilt, but then realized it needed a solid yank to free the blade from the shield, causing a Rael to grimace. Cor looked at the sword’s point in wonder; it had pierced completely through the three inch wood shield and was coated in blood. Rael busied himself with releasing the straps that held his arm to the shield, and when it fell to the ground, Cor could see the man’s hand and wrist awash with his blood. The sword’s point had gone cleanly through the shield and Rael’s wrist.
“Cor, you have spilled my blood; know it. Do you still feel the pain of your own wounds?” Rael asked him. In his wonder, Cor had forgotten the shallow cuts on his arm and thigh, and it was then he realized they were gone, just like when the Tigolean stabbed him in the shoulder.
“I don’t understand,” Cor said.
“Let me bandage this. Then we will go inside, and I will explain it to you.”
* * *
“I am very lucky,” Rael said in the larder, pouring himself red wine. “If you had been holding your sword differently, you may have severed my hand from my wrist. As it is, I bled quite a bit.”
“I’m sorry,” Cor said looking at the man’s bandaged wrist. A dark red spot stained it where the sword had gone through, even though Rael had bandaged it twice already.
“No! You do not understand,” Rael started excitedly, “You have accomplished with almost no teaching what took me weeks to unlock with an accomplished Dahken training me!”
“I still don’t understand. What happened?”
“You felt the pain of your wounds; you truly felt it. When you bleed, if you can find the,” Rael paused, trying to select his words, “the center of the pain, it will give you more strength than you can imagine.”
“Will I be able to do this every time?”
“It will likely take some time to master it, but again, it took me nearly three weeks to understand.”
“How old were you?” Cor couldn’t comprehend going through that every day for weeks. Before joining Naran, Cor had never felt real pain before, nothing more than a skinned knee. Learning the ship had caused pain – deeply sore muscles, broken blisters, splinters and rope burns – the pain of hard work. Having one’s flesh opened by cold steel was a pain of a whole different sort.
“Younger than you are now,” answered Rael quietly, gulping down the rest of his wine.
Cor sat quietly for a few moments, watching the man as he poured himself more wine. “Why are my wounds gone, but yours aren’t?”
“That is simple. You drew my blood after I wounded you and quite substantially at that. When you spill another’s blood, your body will heal itself.”
“That’s why,” Cor reasoned, “two hundred Dahken can kill an army.”
“Exactly. Is there anything else you do not understand Cor?” Rael asked after the boy had been quiet for a few minutes.
“You can’t heal yourself?”
“Only if I inflict a wound on another. There were some Dahken in history that had the ability to heal wounded Dahken, but that power was rare. I would not even begin to know how to access it,” Rael explained. Rael sighed as he stood from the table. “Come, you should study for awhile.”
10.
In the ensuing weeks, Cor shocked Rael time and again. He had become adept at tapping the power in his blood, imbuing his own attacks with force that was amazing considering his circumstances. As Rael understood the past, a Dahken’s training would have start as a small child, and it took years before they were ready to even try accessing their strength. As Cor grew, Rael was certain that his combat abilities would far outstrip his own.
The season grew late, the days shorter and the air colder. Rael changed the schedule of Cor’s training, moving academic endeavors into the morning while it was still cold, and having combat training after lunch. The training itself had taken a more mundane turn, and with Cor learning to access his powers with increasing ease, Rael focused more on the technical elements of fighting. It was important Cor learned when and how to strike opponents, especially those who may wear armor, and at the same time Rael taught him how to use his own armor to his advantage. While the Dahken gained strength by being wounded, there were times when one need not risk it. Of course, this was more theory than anything; Rael did not have any armor that fit Cor.
Additionally, the shield turned out to be a problem for Cor; he simply showed no inclination towards using it at all. Rael explained to him on many occasions that it was important to know when to deflect a blow. Often in single combat, it was unnecessary to allow your opponent to wound you, such as when Rael killed the Loszian several months ago. One afternoon, he decided to address the shield problem a different way. They had just lunched and, after waiting a suitable time for digestion, went outside. Cor readied his sword and buckler, waiting patiently for Rael, who was clearly organizing his thoughts.
“Cor, why will you not use your shield?” Rael asked.
Cor was surprised by the question, which stung of criticism, something he wasn’t used to. He had learned to always answer Rael’s questions honestly and with consideration.
“It just doesn’t feel right,” he answered.
“Follow me,�
� Rael said, immediately turning and striding to one of the castle’s outbuildings. Upon entering, Cor saw it was an armory, weapons and shields of every conceivable size and type on large racks that filled the room. The weapons were in various states of disrepair, and he recognized many of them from his first lesson with the sword nearly two months ago.
“Unstrap your shield and put it over there,” Rael said, motioning at a rack of bucklers and small wooden shields. “Cor, do you know what a fetish is?”
“I’ve seen the word several times in the things you have me read, but I don’t really understand it,” he answered.
“A fetish,” Rael explained, “is a magical object, a talisman imbued with power.”
Questions began to flood Cor’s mind, as well as a strange sense of familiarity. “What does one look like? How is it made?”
“Virtually anything can be made into a fetish. Some of them are simple, mundane items, medallions, scrolls or even rocks, while others were crafted specifically for magical or spiritual rites.” Rael disappeared around a large rack into the back of the armory as he talked, clearly searching for something.
“But, what does a fetish do?” Cor felt curiosity tugging at him. He moved around the other side of the large rack, coming up behind Rael.
“Honestly, I can only tell you what I know Cor. I have never felt the strength of a fetish, but I understand that no two are alike. Some were created by the gods, some by sorcerers and perhaps not even by choice, but on accident. Others may date back to the ancients, to the days before our civilization took hold. I know that they grant power to their users, but I can tell you little beyond that, as I do not use one, nor have I ever known a Dahken who did.”
Rael pointed to a glass case that sat upon a wood stand against the back wall of the room. It was relatively large, nearly three feet in length, about six inches tall and twice that deep. The bottom of the case was lined with plush scarlet velvet, on which sat four objects that roused Cor’s curiosity.
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