The thing charged, coming down one of its own webs, and Cor knew he had mere seconds before it reached him. The web it traveled danced and waved wildly, and Cor’s eyes followed it to end at a cluster directly next to him where several strands met. This he cut through and watched as the web holding the spider gave way, the end rebounding back towards the spider. The monster landed heavily on the floor with its own web wound about its body and legs.
Cor wasted no time; he charged the spider while it struggled to extricate itself from its own web, which had it temporarily restrained. Cor ran across the creature’s right flank, swinging his sword in a wide stroke that severed two of the spider’s legs immediately, and purple black fluid spouted from the stumps. The amputated legs jerked spasmodically on the floor. The spider’s other legs began to work with a speed faster than Cor’s eyes could follow; if Cor hadn’t struck as he did, the thing would likely be freed by now. Soulmourn grew warm in his hand as he struck the spider’s other two right legs in alternating blows; again the sword sliced through as if it met no resistance at all, severing the legs with more disgustingly colored blood. The monster fell to the floor again, unable to support itself on one side; it scrambled in panic with its left legs to simply get away from the man who had wounded it so grievously.
Cor moved around to the rear of the creature, not wanting to be anywhere near its mandibles even wounded. He thrust Soulmourn directly into the beast’s horrible abdomen, nearly to the crosspiece; the creature convulsed greatly, and its rearmost left leg shot backwards, catching Cor squarely in the chest. He had no time to notice the pain, as the blow pushed him into the air; his back smashed into a marble column several yards away, and he crumpled forward onto his chest. He never lost his grip on Soulmourn, and the sword came out of the spider with the force of its blow.
Cor lifted himself to his hands and knees, trying to breath; the punch of the spider’s leg, combined with the impact into the column, made every breath a painful struggle. If not for his armor, Cor was convinced he would be truly injured, if not outright impaled on the end of the spider’s leg. He struggled to a kneeling position, his breath coming easier, and he realized the spider had disappeared. A wide trail of its purple black blood led away from its four severed legs deep into one corner of the hall. Cor gathered himself and followed the trail, finding the spider on its back with its legs rolled up tightly. He brought Soulmourn down in a great blow, severing the monster’s head, which brought only a slight convulsion to its frame.
Like most humans, Cor shared a general distaste for spiders, and the fact that he had just fought a virtual spider god was not lost on him. He shuddered as he considered the fate he very nearly could have shared as ventured close to the right doorway. Cor began to hack his way through the thick webs until he reached the doorway itself. It was not a simple doorway, but an actual passage, though it was very short at only five or six feet in length. He continued to cut through the spider webs, but found they ended immediately on the other side of the short passage.
As soon as he entered the next room, light snapped into existence from above. It was pure, bright and white, not unlike the power he had seen Jonn wield against him, though it was not blinding. Looking up, Cor could see that it emanated from the same circular objects Soulmourn had shown him in the vision, though these were set into the ceiling in a recessed fashion. Clearly not all of this magic still functioned after these unknown millennia, as there were dark spots, but there was more than enough light to guide Cor’s way.
The room was approximately twenty feet across and proceeded forward for another ten feet before branching in either direction to the right and left. The floor was thick with dust and debris, but Cor saw no more evidence of giant spiders or any other kind of beast beyond the more mundane insects and normally sized arachnids. Alcoves lined the walls, all of them with gleaming plaques below them with inscriptions in writing that Cor could not comprehend. They were filled with all manner of items, such as pots, weapons, jewelry and even bones. Many of them were damaged, their glass coverings shattered and their contents spilled onto the floor and destroyed or damaged.
Cor simply walked through the room, heedless of direction; he was certain that the fetish was here somewhere and intact. He walked for an indeterminate amount of time, passing hundreds if not thousands of artifacts. He glanced at them as he passed, as he had seen the people of his vision do, but he did not stop to closely inspect any of them. Cor noticed that the light above seemed to anticipate his movements, illuminating areas just before he reached them and darkening others as he left them behind.
He finally stopped, having no will to move further into the building. There were four alcoves set into the wall in front of him, all of them united by one massive plaque that no doubt told a long and involved story. The first was still sealed, but contained a mass of jumbled bones that had fallen out of place. The second alcove’s glass covering was shattered, remnants of glass still hanging in place and on the floor, and amidst the glass and cobwebs in the bottom of the alcove, Cor saw the item he sought.
Cor took the fetish in his left hand while removing wisps of cob and spider web from its head. The thing looked exactly as he remembered it from his dream and the vision from Soulmourn; the eight inch long handle and neck was made of ebony, and the end of the handle itself was leather wrapped. The neck ended in a bleached white skull that looked perfectly human, though was about the size of a cat’s, and two tiny black batwings extended from the fetish’s neck, just below the skull and extended in the opposite direction of the skull’s face.
While holding it, Cor felt the peculiar sensation that he had come to associate with enchanted objects; pins and needles enveloped his hand and ran most of the way up his arm. He rested his right hand on the hilt of Soulmourn, and the feeling intensified and spread up his right arm. He drew Soulmourn, and it was as if a jolt of lightning shot through him from one hand to the other, then back again. Cor could feel these artifacts were meant to be together, and so long as he lived, they would never again separate. They were Soulmourn and Ebonwing.
23.
Cor could not leave Kamar there in the ruins to rot; the man had done exactly as he promised, and he deserved some sort of burial. Cor dragged the man’s body out of the building and into the gorge, where he selected what he felt was a suitable location and built a cairn of rocks over the man’s body. Cor thanked Kamar sincerely and hoped that he rested with whatever god he held dear.
Cor made excellent time back to Worh. Even the tiny crack he had to shuffle and crawl through to pass back into the main gorge slowed him down little. It was only midday and his belongings were as he had left them that morning. He gathered what he needed to make the return trip, leaving most of Kamar’s belongings where they were. He was well out of the mountains and nearly out of the foothills before stopping to sleep for the night. Cor felt amazingly energetic and could barely contain his desire to continue on his way to Worh. Once out of the mountains, he ran most of the way, despite the weight of his belongings and armor.
Cor returned to his room in the inn in the afternoon of the third day, finding everything as he had left it. He half expected the innkeeper or some other enterprising individual to enter his room and attempt some form of thievery or another. Cor opened the chest and reviewed his financial situation; he had taken three large sacks of gold, silver and some gems from Sanctum. One he gave to Cade, and over half of a second was depleted. Though thus far, he had only used gold and silver, and Cor knew he had several gems in these sacks. He fished a few of these out; in a city the size of Worh there had to be shops, perhaps a jeweler of some kind, whose owners would purchase gems.
He left the inn with three gems in his belt pouch; he truly knew nothing about them, but assumed if the Dahken of Sanctum felt the need to protect the gems, they must have value. Cor had never been one to haggle, but he was quickly realizing that gold was in fact finite, and he doubted anything was salvageable back in Sanctum.
Again, sk
illed craftsman seemed to setup their shops in this section of the city, so finding a jeweler was relatively easy. Cor waited patiently while the shop owner waited on a young couple – a pretty young woman and a professional soldier. The man fixed an odd looking apparatus to his eyes and inspected Cor’s gems at length. Declaring them to be of little value, the shopkeeper offered him a relatively paltry sum. Cor pushed the gems back into his pouch, receiving hurried exclamations form the jeweler, who asked to look at them one more time. In so doing, he apologized for making a mistake, finding the gems to be much higher quality than he previously realized and offered Cor nearly three times than the former amount. Cor thanked the man and said that he would come back should he choose to sell them. Cor continued up the street, finding another jeweler only a few shops down. The shopkeeper here was a plain looking man, and he examined the gems briefly before leaning back on a stool staring at them where they laid on the wooden counter. After several minutes, he leaned forward again in the stool, its front two legs thudding on the shop’s floor.
“Sir, at your age, I really do not want to know where you came across these, but I assume they are not stolen? I can offer you fifty for these two. But this one,” he indicated the smallest of the three, “I cannot pay you for today.
“This gem,” he said, picking it up carefully between his thumb and index finger, “must be worked into a special piece. It is fit for nobility, if not the king of Roka himself. I will write you a receipt and contract, paying you one third of the price of the jewelry I work it into. I do not doubt, your share would allow you to live well without lifting a finger for a years.” With that, the jeweler brought out several sheets of parchment and began writing with a quill pen.
“Thanks for your honesty, but fifty silver is less than what I was offered by the last man,” Cor told the man, reaching for the gems. The shopkeeper looked up, his gaze locking with Cor’s, and he placed his hand over the three gems.
“Son, fifty silver? My offer is ten times that. Fifty gold.”
Cor left the jeweler, headed for the docks, with a comfortably heavy purse and a contract that promised to pay him well. It crossed his mind that if the gem truly was so valuable, he may never see the shopkeeper again, but the man’s directness provided him some comfort. The docks, as was apparently the norm, bustled with activity, and Cor couldn’t help but compare the sailors and workers loading and unloading cargo to a colony of ants. He entered every tavern he could find and paid every one of Kamar’s tabs; even with the man’s death, Cor needed to uphold his end of their bargain just as Kamar had.
* * *
“I grow tired of asking, why do you continue to come here?”
Cor turned to see the skeletal figure still sitting in its stone chair, just as he had seen it over a month ago. He stood clad in the armor he had purchased in Worh, Soulmourn and Ebonwing secure at his sides. At this point, Cor wasn’t sure how to answer this question; it was the second time it had been asked, and he truly didn’t know the answer or even where here was.
“I don’t know,” Cor answered.
“Yes you do,” replied the figure, its black lips curling back from its teeth in a disturbing grimace.
Cor turned to his right and saw the black armor that he knew would be sitting on its shelf, the same place it was every time he dreamed of this place.
“You have come for my armor. You cannot have it,” said the figure.
“It calls to me,” Cor whispered. “It begs me to wear it, and use it in combat.” Cor lifted the helm in both hands, feeling the familiar tingle in his blood.
“You cannot have it!” screamed the figure in a voice that rose terribly in pitch. Cor half dropped the helm back into its resting place, turning to face the ghoulish figure, who stood from his chair of stone, inches of dust flying through the air, and parts of his robe began to fall apart from rot.
“How long have you been here?” Cor asked in a whisper. The rage faded from the ghoul’s face as it realized a question had been asked.
“I do not know,” he said, returning to his seat. “But I will remain here always. Tell Tannes to stop seeking me.”
“Tannes?” asked Cor in confusion. “Lord Dahken Tannes has been dead for two thousand years. You’ve been here that long? What is your name?”
“Two thousand… my name,” the figure whispered. He began to stare at Cor, but Cor had the distinct feeling that he was being stared through not at. “Yes, I had a name once, and I was revered among many. I built a great citadel on the eastern side of this continent, and it became a beacon for generations of Dahken. They came here to learn of their own power from me, the greatest of the Lord Dahken.
“Then fire came from the sky, and our great citadel crashed down upon us. My great Dahken screamed in the destruction, their bodies rent asunder from the fire and rain of stone. Few of my warriors survived the carnage, and those who did died shortly after. Their hair grew gray and fell out; their skin darkened with strange burns. They refused to eat, vomiting if they did, and they wasted away to die, their bodies wracked with pain. Only I was strong enough to survive the aftermath, and I have never left here. This place will be my tomb until death finally takes me.”
“That happened nearly three thousand years ago. Your name is Noth, isn’t it?” Cor asked. The skeletal man’s eyes focused on Cor, pulled back into the present.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Noth was my name. I know not what my name is now, for surely I am no longer Lord Dahken Noth. Why do you covet my armor?”
“I believe your armor covets me Noth, not the other way around,” Cor answered. “I feel its call every day through my blood. How long has it been since you wore your armor?”
“I have not worn it since after the citadel fell and the last of my warriors died in agony,” Noth answered. “I wish you to be gone, but I know you will return. This is no dream, but neither do you truly stand in front of me. I do not understand these visitations, but I do know that one day you will truly come, as others have. Come prepared for death, for I will not release my property so easily to you.”
Noth made a flippant backhanded wave with his left hand and Cor bolted upright in his bed in the inn. Wide eyed, he looked around the room, which was exactly as he left it when he lay down in bed. He threw himself heavily onto his back and tightly pulled the down pillow over his face. Cor never really went back to sleep; he tossed and turned in bed for an eternity.
He dozed off on occasion, only to be awakened by his own thoughts. This latest dream, or visitation as Noth had called it, lit his mind aflame with questions and ideas. Lord Dahken Noth was the ghoulish figure he had now seen twice, and the armor belonged to him. It was inconceivable that Noth still lived in the ruins of his citadel; he would be nearly three thousand years old. Many of the Dahken survived two or even three hundred years, and Tannes, the first true Dahken, lived to the oldest age of any recorded. Noth described the Loszian meteor and the ensuing cataclysm with an oddly detached expression, as if he remembered it from a dream. If Noth truly lived in the catacombs where his citadel had been, then he truly had no understanding of the amount of time that had elapsed; it also meant he knew nothing of The Cleansing or the current affairs of the West.
Noth had mentioned Tannes, and that others had come to him before Cor; Cor remembered from his readings that Tannes did send Dahken in search of Noth, or any survivors, over the years. In fact, Cor could see Noth’s face, the black lips of his mouth saying, “Tell Tannes to stop seeking me.” Noth also implied that others had come, not sent by Tannes, but also seeking his armor. Cor thought of Soulmourn and Ebonwing; it seemed that these artifacts sought out new masters when their current ones died, assuming Noth was indeed dead.
Cor had decisions to make, but he needed more information. Sanctum was a smoldering ruin, its wealth, treasure as well as history and knowledge, destroyed by the Loszian necromancer. The Loszian said the location of Sanctum was no secret to him, which meant it was likely he knew the location of Noth’s citade
l as well. The Loszian may have far more knowledge at his disposal, and perhaps it was time to take him up on his offer. Cor opened the chest and removed one of the small scrolls he had taken from Sanctum; he considered it briefly before penning a letter to Queen Erella of Aquis.
24.
Palius ran through the palace for his queen’s chambers, an exercise he was not used to under any circumstances. Servants, courtiers and guards watched him with astonishment as he ran past them, shouting his apologies to those he ran down or nearly collided with. They were certain they had never seen the queen’s chief advisor act in such a way, and seeing the old man who was nearly eighty years old so fleet of foot created fervent discussion and debate. The main doors to Queen Erella’s chambers were open, and she sat at her desk signing various papers and orders. He stopped before her and struggled for several minutes to catch his breath.
“Palius, perhaps you should consider taking a run every morning; perhaps run one mile with one of the guard captains,” she said, without looking up. “When’s the last time I mentioned how difficult I find the more mundane aspects of my position? As Queen of Aquis, I am High Priestess of Garod, and yet I spend far more time signing orders and releases of permission or negotiating disputes with our neighbors than I do leading Garod’s faithful. Perhaps I should create a new advisory position; High Signer of All Mundane sounds nice.
“Are you able to breathe yet?” she asked, now lifting her eyes to Palius’ face.
“Yes Majesty,” he responded. He still puffed a bit, but it was manageable. “This small scroll was brought to me by a rider from Martherus this morning. A lad on a black stallion delivered it to the Temple of Garod in Martherus yesterday. He said that he rode from the town of Hager, but we believe that to be a lie.”
Blood and Steel Page 18