“Lord Dahken Noth,” he whispered.
Thyss glanced at him before placing her lit torch in one of the two stands that flanked the door, discarding the dead torch that the stand held. She lit the torch in the other stand and then drew her sword from its scabbard on her back. It was the first time Cor had ever seen the weapon unsheathed, and it was quite wicked and beautiful at once. The blade was as long as Soulmourn and curved down its length dramatically; he believed it was known as a scimitar. The weapon had one razor sharp edge on the outside of the blade’s curvature, and the steel seemed to have a green tint to it, just as Soulmourn occasionally gleamed purple.
“Impressive,” Cor said, a word that he seemed to use regarding Thyss more and more often, and some part of him hoped she felt the same of him.
“This is Feghul’s Bite,” Thyss said, virtually preening the sword. “One day, I will trouble you with its story.”
Cor again regarded the door, seeing little other option at this point but to open it. Every urge within him screamed to delay no longer, but he knew that some confrontation or another awaited him on the other side of the heavy wood door. He knew Noth lived, and the man, or whatever he now was, would not relinquish his property so easily. Cor removed the chain mail from his body and left it in a pile on the floor, stripped down to his black tunic and breeches.
“What are you doing Cor?” Thyss asked him.
“I won’t need it in there.”
Cor braced himself against the large door and nearly fell into the room as it opened smoothly on hinges that made not the slightest sound. Thyss followed behind him and immediately lit the first torch she saw which was on the wall opposite the door. Cor, his balance regained, saw Noth’s armor directly in front of him on a stone shelf, exactly where he knew it would be. He could feel the helm, hauberk and legguards singing to him, begging to be worn in battle. He coveted them more now than ever, but Cor knew something else must be dealt with first.
He turned to his left and was not shocked to see the ghoulish figure in a decaying gray robe staring at them intently. Noth was exactly as Cor expected him; skin as gray as Cor’s was stretched across his skull in a disturbing caricature of humanity. Noth’s lips were black and slightly pulled back against his white teeth, and his scalp was completely hairless. He sat in stone chair, carved right out of the wall, that Cor had seen him in twice before. Thyss turned slowly, looking around the room, and gasped when she saw the ghoul.
“Why do you return again?” Noth asked. He jerked the fingers of his left hand towards Cor, and an unseen force buffeted him, forcing him to take a step backwards. Noth cocked his head sideways, his unblinking eyes considering the situation. “So, this is real then. I knew one day you would come.”
“Lord Dahken Noth,” Cor said, dropping to one knee as he felt was proper, “I have come to request a great boon. The Dahken are scattered, and perhaps we are the only true Dahken left. Your citadel was destroyed by fire from the sky, and the Westerners turned on and destroyed the Dahken of Sanctum two thousand years later. I have no wish to quarrel with you, but I covet your armor and it me.”
“You cannot have it,” Noth responded.
“I need its strength to return the Dahken to the world.”
“What care I for the Dahken now? We were aberrations, mistakes of the gods. Let us be destroyed.” Noth spoke with venom, and his vision seemed clouded with darkness only he could see.
“Then stay here in your tomb, Lord Dahken Noth, and allow me your armor so that it may once again go forth into the world.”
“You cannot have it!” the ghoul screamed at him, rising to its feet. Parts of Noth’s gray robe disintegrated with the sudden movement, revealing dead gray skin underneath stretched thinly over bones.
Cor stood, holding the ghoul’s gaze, and shrugged. “You will have to stop me,” he said, turning toward the black armor, gleaming in the torchlight.
Noth screamed in fury and pumped his left fist in the air; another unseen force hit Cor squarely in the back, nearly knocking him off his feet. Noth curled the near skeletal fingers of his right hand into the shape of a claw, and Cor yelled in massive pain; he crumpled over, feeling as if someone were crushing the organs inside his ribs. Thyss extended her hand out towards Noth, her fingers extended and palm up, and blue white flames shot from her hand and enveloped the ghoul. Engulfed, the remains of his robe disappeared almost instantaneously, and his eyes, ears and thin skin began to melt from his body. Noth turned toward Thyss surprised, as if seeing her for the first time; he released Cor and turned his ire on her, the skin of his fingers peeling back from his bones.
The pain gone, Cor leapt from his position, closing the distance between himself and Noth almost instantaneously with his weapons drawn. Soulmourn came down swiftly, and cleaved through Noth’s right forearm, which was now little more than bone, crackling in the flames like a dried log. His right hand and wrist fell to the ground, and Noth looked at it slightly confused. Before Cor could strike again, Noth pushed the flat of his left palm at the Dahken, and he flew across the chamber and landed with his head hitting hard against the wall.
Thyss came at Noth, whose skin was completely gone and his bones beginning to blacken, and she brought her scimitar around to strike. Noth lifted his remaining hand as if to grasp her neck, and an invisible grip of steel took Thyss’ throat, physically lifting her off of the ground. She dropped her sword, arms and legs flailing as she felt her throat crushing under Noth’s mystical grip. Just as the blackness overtook her sight, she was suddenly released and fell to the ground fighting for breath, the horrific pressure around her throat gone. Thyss’ vision was clouded over, but she could make out the shape of the still burning ghoul. Cor stood, sword in hand, over Noth’s other severed arm.
Cor looked at Noth in amazement, wondering how to defeat the former Lord Dahken. There was no flesh left of the man; what stood before Cor was a mass of horribly blackened bones, animated by some disturbing power Cor did not understand. But with both arms severed, Noth was apparently powerless, and he merely stood before Cor making no move whatsoever. Noth’s skeletal jaw opened and moved as if he attempted to speak, but with no flesh, he could not vocalize his thoughts. Noth’s skeletal remains took a step back and once again sat upon its stone chair; he did not move again. Cor backed away from Noth and kneeled down next to Thyss, who was beginning to breathe more easily.
“What now?” she asked, her voice somewhat quiet and ragged.
“I take what I came for and leave Noth in peace,” Cor answered.
“It was never about finding a Lord Dahken, was it?”
“No,” he admitted, putting on Noth’s armor. If the skeleton reacted at all, Cor could not tell, though he did keep one eye fixed on it. “There has not been a Lord Dahken here for nearly three thousand years, not since the meteor struck and he became something else. We’ll leave him to whatever perdition awaits him.”
33.
The armor was incredibly light, to the point that Cor could easily forget he wore steel of any kind. The plate hauberk did not restrict his movements in the slightest, and he didn’t feel weighed down as he did in Taraq’nok’s chain mail. It was the helm that gave him the greatest shock however. The helm had no visor of any kind; it was simply solid plate steel that had been molded in a rather bulbous fashion and resembled the head of a beetle or large insect. When Cor placed it over his head, it amazed him that he could see right through it as if it were not there. He even touched his hand to the face of the helm and could see his hand encounter something that from his perspective was invisible. The longer he wore Noth’s armor, his armor, the more he knew it belonged to him, and new strength and power coursed through his veins.
They left the remains of Noth in his crypt, uncertain if any consciousness remained within his corpse, as he did not move again, and ran their way back through the catacombs. Thyss snaked her way up the silk rope with impressive agility, and with the exception of her well formed biceps flexing as she pulled
herself up, the task seemed nearly effortless to her. After a moment, his body remembered its sailing days with Captain Naran, and he climbed his way out with ease.
Cor wasted no time standing and beginning the walk back to where Wrelk should be waiting with the horses. He wanted to return to Taraq’nok’s castle as quickly as possible, though the urgency of his mission had somewhat abated. Thyss stared at him somewhat on the walk back, and several times he nearly asked her what interested her so, but stopped himself remembering that his head appeared encased in steel.
“You look like something that crawled out of an ancient abyss,” she said. “You appear as a beetle that walks upon two legs. And you can see?”
“Yes,” Cor answered, “it’s as if I have nothing on at all.”
“I will never understand the need to wear steel,” Thyss sighed.
“Protection isn’t enough reason?”
“If there is no risk of death, then why fight?” she shrugged in response. “I am curious. I wonder if Taraq’nok will have fulfilled your demand by the time we return.”
“Which demand is that?” Cor asked.
“Your demand that the Dahken in his magically hidden cellar be released from his spell.”
Her words brought Cor to a halt, and he turned to face her. “You know about them?”
“Of course, I stumbled upon them before you arrived, though Taraq’nok does not know it,” Thyss answered him. “Honestly, it was a poor piece of magical trickery that hid them, and he is lucky none of the higher nobles have paid his little library a visit.”
“I need to ask you something,” Cor said, placing his hands on either side of her face. “Can you release them from the spell if he doesn’t?”
“No, it’s a magic based on charms and enchantment, something I have no control over,” she answered. “But, I assume he would, considering that both you and they are pivotal to his plan for conquest. Eventually, he has to start giving in to your wishes.”
“How do you know that?”
“I am no imbecile, Dahken Cor,” she said, shrugging off his touch. “He needs you because no Loszian’s necromancy will affect you. And what would be better than one Dahken except an army of Dahken? His plan is transparent and simple, yet quite feasible, assuming you intend to go along with it.”
They continued walking in silence, meeting Wrelk in precisely the place in which they left him only a few hours ago. Wrelk made a point of not looking at Cor’s new armor, and he did not ask what transpired. With plenty of daylight left, they began the ride back, Wrelk wanting to put as many miles between himself and the place as possible before it became too dark to travel. The weather remained fair, though a chill remained in the air, and they made good time. They rode at a slightly slower pace, but they arrived at Taraq’nok’s courtyard close to sunset three days later. In a way Cor was happy to be done with the ordeal.
Wrelk took the horses around to the stable, and Cor and Thyss entered the castle, finding that Taraq’nok awaited them for dinner. They entered the dining hall, finding the Loszian in his usual chair sipping wine, and he appraised Cor’s new armor with an interested gaze. Cor did not care what this man thought of him at this point. The room was even more darkly lit than usual, only a few candles burning, and the fireplace cast flickering shadows about the room’s floor and walls. Off to the side, Cor could see a white form lurking about the sideboard where the steward kept the wine, but he could not see whom it was.
“Dahken Cor, it seems that I was wrong, and you are somewhat practiced in subterfuge,” the Loszian called to him as they approached. “You return wearing armor you did not leave with, armor that does not hide your somewhat obvious nature. Perhaps you did not seek Noth after all then?”
“Lord Dahken Noth,” Cor said slowly, “has been dead for nearly three thousand years. I don’t know whom or what we fought with in those catacombs, but it was no Dahken.”
“I am not surprised,” Taraq’nok said with a sigh. “Regardless, perhaps we may dine together? I doubt Wrelk’s provisions did much to sooth hunger.” Thyss took her customary chair and leaned back, kicking her feet onto the table and receiving a pained look from The Loszian.
“Did you release the Dahken?” Cor asked, not moving to sit.
“We’ll discuss it in due time Dahken Cor. First we eat.”
“Did you release the Dahken?” Cor asked again, nearly shouting the question.
“Yes, damn you. Dahken Cor, you are as relentless as a rhinoceros, or at least based on what I know of a rhinoceros. I will take you there after we dine, and I have no doubt that my steward is working hard to attend to their every wish right now. Now please, take off that ridiculous looking helm. Ania, please bring Lady Thyss and Dahken Cor some wine.”
Cor had forgotten about the helm, as he had done since placing it on his head; the thing impacted his senses not at all and weighed nothing. Often he only remembered it when he lay down to sleep. He removed the helm, setting it on the table, and turned to see Ania shuffle from the sideboard to the table in a slowly deliberate fashion. Ania, her hair thinned and falling out and her skin as gray as Cor’s, stopped next to the table and poured red wine into the goblet in front of him. He stared at her, in open mouthed shock at the mechanical movements and the unblinking eyes that always looked ahead levelly with no spark behind them. As she poured, Cor saw that gaping gashes rent open her wrists and his goblet full, she shuffled to Thyss’ side of the table.
Cor dove out of his chair and around the table, knocking over both his and Taraq’nok’s wine, and clenched the necromancer’s robes in his fist. Cor pushed with his momentum, driving the Loszian and his large chair over onto its back. He had drawn Soulmourn and had the point of the blade hovering mere inches from Taraq’nok’s face. Thyss watched idly, but did not move while Ania continued to pour her wine, taking no notice of anything.
“Release her!” Cor shouted at the Loszian.
“Cor, why does it seem that we always end up in this position?” the Loszian asked, calm though somewhat jarred by his impact with the floor.
“What have you done to her? Release her from this!”
“She clearly was no use to me living; she couldn’t even seduce a boy barely out of adolescence. She was no good as a whore, so she will serve me in other ways,” Taraq’nok answered, his voice perfectly level and matter of fact.
“You do know I am going to kill you,” Cor growled at the Loszian.
“Perhaps, Dahken Cor, but first let us eat. After that, I will show you how I completely acceded to your demand regarding your fellow Dahken, and then you may kill me if you wish.” The Loszian smiled at him, and Cor sheathed his sword then righted the necromancer, chair and all.
“Is it safe to assume you have told Thyss of the Dahken below and completely informed her as to our plans?” Taraq’nok asked.
“No,” Thyss interjected, the Loszian turning his head toward her, “I discovered them well over a week ago, and it took little to divine their purpose.”
“Indeed. I apologize for underestimating you,” Taraq’nok said with a slight bow of his head.
Dinner commenced, and Cor did not eat his food nor drink his wine; he sat and watched the fire as Thyss and Taraq’nok ate and talked animatedly. She discussed their journey to the meteor and the catacombs, and Taraq’nok listened with rapt attention to every detail. He was particularly interested in the encounter with the thing that had once been Lord Dahken Noth. He hypothesized that the Loszian meteor had a different affect on the Dahken as it did other humans, and only Noth had been powerful enough to survive the metamorphosis. Noth had apparently been turned into some form of undead creature, though extraordinarily unlike the reanimated corpses that Taraq’nok created. Noth’s use of an unknown magic, some sort of force of will telekinesis Taraq’nok hypothesized, was also most interesting. Cor listened to all of this showing no reaction at all; he was tired of the Loszian and had no more use for his interests or pleasantries.
“You would not be wi
lling to await time for digestion, would you Dahken Cor?’ Taraq’nok asked once the meal was concluded.
In answer, Cor stood from his chair and replaced his helm, drawing an exasperated sigh from the Loszian who pushed his plate away and led the way to his library. Cor followed closely, somewhat annoyed at the Loszian’s leisurely pace, and Thyss came last with her arms crossed over one another. Taraq’nok dispelled the illusion hiding the stair, and the trio made their way down. The Loszian simply stood aside, allowing Cor to appraise the dungeon himself.
Wrelk and two other guards stood just inside the entrance, facing the room itself. Cor walked past them and into the large room, which he saw was still broken into cells by floor to ceiling bars, but the doors were now completely gone. Every cell now contained clean bedding and a water filled basin, and Cor saw the steward with several slaves moving through the area with meals. Cor saw that the children had gravitated to one another, regardless of age differences, and a wet nurse attended to the infant. He looked over the group, briefly counting over two dozen, and several of the erstwhile prisoners looked upon him with interest and perhaps fear. Cor hadn’t considered that, especially in his new armor and helm, he was likely quite imposing.
“Dahken Cor, I assume this meets your expectations?” asked Taraq’nok, who had come up directly behind him. “I needed some odd components, and it took until yesterday to work the spell necessary to free them. The steward has been working since then to make them more comfortable and provide care where necessary. You see they are healthy, and we intend to keep them so. What else do you require of me?”
Cor’s movement was so fluid to be nearly instantaneous, but all who saw it would remember as if it were mystically slowed, almost as if time came to a halt. He whirled to his right, Soulmourn in hand before he had even turned halfway. Cor could see Taraq’nok’s face with its smug, ever present smile and calculating glare. A sphere of black light surrounded the Loszian as Cor’s sword cut through the air toward its target, and the sword passed right through it effortlessly. It was not until the blade’s edge met the soft tissue of Taraq’nok’s neck and the torchlight reflected from the blade danced across his face that the Loszian realized all of his calculations were for naught. Before his instinct of self preservation could recognize what was occurring, the sword had already cut through veins and arteries. His knees crumpled underneath him as a spray of blood shot through the air, and Taraq’nok’s head bounced on the ground to rest next to iron bars, a look of wide eyed, open mouthed surprise on his face.
Blood and Steel Page 27