The Cor Chronicles: Volume 02 - Fire and Steel

by Martin V. Parece II

  The conquest of the Shining West was the topic at hand. The excitement of the last few months made Nadav’s blood boil, and he hungered for action, for blood and for the horrors of war. He would order his lords to form armies, the size of which would be determined by the size of their holdings, and the necromancers themselves would lead them into battle. The Loszian Empire could crush the Shining West, of that Nadav was sure, and now the old man called Palius had opened the door for the terror that the Loszians could bring down upon their world.

  The old man was very concerned about the safety of the west and, oddly, of Losz as well. He spent some time elaborating on Dahken Cor, now Lord Dahken Cor thanks to the queen of Aquis, and frankly, Nadav found the entire story somewhat boring. He couldn’t have cared less about where the boy came from. However, his interest piqued when Palius discussed the Dahken’s plans to invade and free Losz. Later, Nadav would puzzle over this idea, for he had no idea from what Dahken Cor expected to free the Loszians; they were already free, and the Westerners who lived underneath them certainly enjoyed a better life than they would otherwise. At least in Losz they could hope to mate with their Loszian masters and advance themselves, whereas in Aquis, they would always be under Garod’s yoke. Regardless, the old Westerner seemed to think that a Dahken led Western invasion of Losz would, one way or the other, lead to the fall of both.

  It nearly stunned Nadav into silence when Palius suggested an alliance. Perhaps alliance was too strong of a word; collaboration or collusion would be more appropriate. The old man put forth that they could rid both empires of the Dahken with some coordination, starting with an attack on Fort Haldon by the Loszians with a sizeable force. While the garrison fought to repel the onslaught, a group of Westerners chosen by the old man would eliminate the Dahken from the inside - not just Lord Dahken Cor, but all of them, children included. Palius assured the emperor that his time as Queen Erella’s prime advisor had made him many loyal subordinates in her army’s ranks.

  “Why do I even need you old man? Why do I not simply crush Fort Haldon and then the rest of Aquis?” Nadav had asked.

  “Because you cannot win, Sovereign,” he replied. “Garod’s people pushed you from the Shining West ages ago, and you cannot break His power. The men of Fort Haldon have held that pass for centuries with their longbows and will continue to do so, especially with the strength of the Dahken and that damnable woman from Dulkur. A force large enough to break it would be spotted well in advance, allowing them to send for help, and Her Majesty’s armies stand ready. Besides Sovereign, let’s be honest. Both our empires thrive in their own way as things stand. Let us not destroy the peace that has made us both powerful.”

  “Very well,” Nadav whispered, conceding Palius his point. “I will consider your words Westerner, but I make no promises for now. We will discuss this again in one month. Do not disturb me before then.”

  Nadav broke the spell by contemptuously flinging the bowl aside.

  The sack of sagging flesh had no inkling of the insult he had thrown the way of Sovereign Nadav to even suggest that the Shining West could defeat the hordes of Losz, that Garod was greater than Nadav’s own gods. Nadav would visit the meteor, the great vessel that brought the Loszians to Rumedia, and he would prostrate himself before it. The gods would bestow upon him their favor, enhancing his power, and Nadav would raise vast armies long dead. An army never before seen in Rumedia, a hundred thousand strong, would obliterate Fort Haldon and the Dahken. He would crush Aquis with a wave of death, shattering all in his path, and Nadav would sodomize Aquis’ ancient bag of bones queen even as his magic turned her flesh to maggots.

  Nadav leered viciously at the thought.

  The lords gathered in Nadav’s great purple hall. The necromancers, none of them as tall or beautiful as Nadav himself, dressed in their robes ranging in color from blood red to purple to black, carrying markings of their power. There were a number of crossbreeds as well; many of these were not sorcerers, at least not to the extent of a full blooded Loszian, and wore various types of well wrought and beautifully adorned armor. Only a few stragglers arrived as late as the appointed day, a number of malcontents and those who had to ride to Ghal, and Sovereign Nadav was well aware of who the former were.

  He mused that if each Loszian here could raise a small army of one thousand, regardless of whether it consisted of crossbowmen, soldiers, slaves or the dead, the empire would be unstoppable.

  Nadav sat upon his throne, perfectly still and straight, barely moving even to breathe as he glared out at the crowd. He had forced them to assemble here with no slaves or servants and no personal guards. The general paranoia of his race made them mill about uncomfortably, as if each one of them expected at any moment to be slaughtered mercilessly. Keeping one eye on Nadav, the Loszians began to coalesce into pockets of strength, groups that were like minded or even allied with one another. They watched Nadav, but they watched their enemies more closely as they waited for their emperor to explain why he brought them here. He waited until the tension seemed to crescendo before he stood from his throne, a towering giant standing on his dais that brought the whispering crowd to a hush.

  “We are weak,” Nadav began slowly, and the hushed whispers began again in earnest. “We have lost sight of who we are, of what we are capable. We have allowed the Westerners to keep us trapped on our side of the Spine, content to scheme against each other from our towers. We are decadent, happy to eat, drink and fuck our way into oblivion as we attempt to strengthen our powers.

  “My subjects, today is a great day,” he announced, changing his tone as he threw his hands to the heavens. “Today we begin to forge our future, a future where once again the Loszian Empire extends from coast to coast over the west. We shall raise armies such as Rumedia has never seen and retake what belongs to us, the lands of the Shining West. We shall crush their feeble resistance, casting their armies aside as a storm capsizes a fishing boat. Then we shall cast them upon the rocks, shattering their civilization. We shall claim their lands, their riches, their women and children, and we shall defecate on the images of Garod.”

  The mass of Loszians stood quietly, without even hushed whispers breaking the silence. Most of them simply stared back at Sovereign Nadav, their thoughts hidden behind practiced inscrutable masks, while others furrowed their brows in thought as they stared at their feet or the domed ceiling above. None spoke, and it certainly was not the uproarious applause Nadav had expected. He stood sweeping his gaze over them expectantly, and after a moment, some mumbled conversations sprang up within the group, though the lords immediately at the forefront were careful to neither move nor speak.

  “Damn you all,” Nadav swore, “why do you have nothing to say?”

  “Why should we risk our lands, our wealth for your fools errand?” asked a loud voice. Nadav could not see the voice’s owner, though he recognized it well. It emanated from one of the groups to the left of the carpeted main walkway and close to the rear of the hall. Nadav heard some grumbled agreement throughout the hall, and a few of the lords nodded their heads, though perhaps they should have remained still. His temper flashed at this, but Nadav instead focused on the verbal challenge.

  “As if my command is not enough? It is the right and destiny of the Loszian race to rule all of the west, if not the world. Fool’s errand? Words spoken by a coward no doubt!”

  The last brought a great amount of rumbling from the assembled Loszians who could no longer contain themselves. Some shouts went up from the rear of the mass, and a group of about a dozen necromancers came forward on the left side. Those between Nadav and the approaching lords hastened to part and allow them through. At their head was the one who dared to argue with Nadav - Venid’kos, a pureblood Loszian only a few inches shorter than the emperor himself. He stood arms crossed defiantly in all black robes emblazoned with platinum lettering, his stance more reminiscent of a Westerner than a Loszian, and his yellow eyes blazed as he returned Nadav’s long, hard look.

 
; Venid’kos was older than Nadav and had long viewed himself as the rightful heir to the throne. But the lords selected the emperor, and it was a game more of wealth and politics than true power as a sorcerer. Venid’kos often stood against Nadav, and it was widely rumored that he intended to challenge the emperor for his throne. The only thing that had stopped him was lack of support from the other lords; should he defeat Nadav, it would likely bring outright rebellion. This was Venid’kos’ opportunity to dethrone Sovereign Nadav; he knew the emperor asked more from the lords than they were willing to give freely.

  “Reconsider the path you would take us on Sovereign,” Venid’kos said, the threat plain in his voice. “We are strong and secure in the empire. We have no need for anything beyond our borders. You demand that we risk much for naught.”

  “You are wrong Venid’kos,” Nadav countered. “The murder of Taraq’nok at the hands of a Dahken proves it. We are weak and decadent. We drink, we sleep, we fuck and we hide in our towers to prove to ourselves that we are strong. The Loszian Empire has too long stayed in its strongholds behind the protection of the Spine. We will enslave the Shining West and rape it as we desire.”

  “We will not follow you to ruin!” Venid’kos nearly screamed as he pointed a long, spindly finger at Nadav. To this, there were many calls of agreement, but also Nadav’s more staunch supporters edged forward in anticipation. Their eagerness polarized the Loszians, rallying the quieter lords to one side or the other. With a quick mental count, Nadav knew he had more supporters than Venid’kos; many seemed to be unsure, but that would change.

  “You will follow me wherever I should lead! To say otherwise is to incite revolution, treachery, and you shall pay dearly.”

  “I would not call for a revolt,” Venid’kos said. “I would not dare so weaken the empire as to cause a civil war. Nor would I risk the empire by waging war on the Shining West. I do say you are unfit to be emperor, Nadav, and I would see you destroyed. Allow council to select a new emperor, me if they desire or not, but you will fall.”

  “Does that mean,” asked Nadav softly, deadly, “that you dare challenge me?”

  “For the throne, yes,” Venid’kos replied as he stepped forward.

  The other Loszians cleared away from Venid’kos to avoid being struck by errant magic, but the battle lasted scant moments. Venid’kos found his magic virtually ineffective, unable to penetrate the wall of wards that surrounded Sovereign Nadav. The emperor enveloped his opponent with a great black cloud of pestilence, transparent enough for those in the hall to watch Venid’kos’ fate. He screamed horribly as his skin changed from merely pale to gray, and his fingernails grew immensely, feet in just a few seconds. The skin of his face and his scalp pulled tightly around the Loszian’s skull, drawing blackening lips back to reveal white teeth that began to change colors and decay. The screaming ended, leaving its echo as Venid’kos’ skin, hair, ears and eyes turned to dust, and the bones encapsulated by his robes fell to a pile on the floor.

  The other Loszians stared unspeaking, some aghast and others merely contemplative, for no Loszian had killed another in open combat for decades. However, the humiliation of Venid’kos was not yet done as his bones began to rustle and move under the empty robes. Within seconds, they had reformed themselves fully, a skeletal reflection of the necromancer they once were, and the skeleton jerkily climbed the steps of the dais to stand behind Sovereign Nadav, its robes just barely hanging loosely upon its form.

  “And so it will be with all of my enemies,” proclaimed the emperor.

  11.

  While construction on the hall hadn’t even begun, Cor felt it appropriate to hold the ceremony where all future ceremonies would take place. Eventually the hall would be the official meeting place for the Dahken, that is all of the Dahken that chose to reside at Fort Haldon. When Cor discussed it with him, Rael had been against any such ceremony, as they never before existed in Dahken history, but Cor insisted. He wanted to make sure recognition was given properly for those who deserved it. Rael conceded the point of course, but with one parting comment.

  “How very Western,” he said.

  Cor had carpenters build a table of walnut and mahogany, long enough to seat a dozen persons on each side and one on either end. The finished product was a gorgeous piece of polished furniture that gleamed powerfully in the light. It had several pedestals supporting it down the middle, each about a foot thick that splayed out into three stylized griffin talons. Armchairs of the same design lined the table on each side, with a larger chair at each end. These were finished with rich burgundy velvet cushions on the seat and back.

  It would be an evening affair; deep into spring, the nights were staying warm until well late, even here at the edge of the Spine. As the sun set to the west, Cor would speak to those he found in Losz and recognize one for what he was - a Dahken not only in race, but in his strength. As the gloaming thickened from the sun disappearing below the horizon, servers would light torches on stanchions and bring out food. The Dahken would feast in celebration, and Cor hoped it would serve as inspiration to others to become powerful as well.

  In the end, everything was left to them, their choice if they stayed or left. Even if they used him only to learn to feel their blood and then went a separate path, Cor would accept it. Certainly he hoped they would choose to stay and strengthen his ranks, but he would not force them to nor attempt to control their fate as the world had tried to do to him.

  Cor sat in his chair at the northern end of the table and waited. He tried to be patient, but found restlessness getting the better of him; even still, he forced himself to sit and wait. As the sun neared the horizon, the Dahken climbed the hill where the hall would eventually be built. Directed by Rael, Keth and Geoff, they took positions at the table, the youngest toward the middle. It was then that Cor realized just how much work lay ahead of them; he was surrounded by children, over half of whom were less than ten years old. In fact, it amazed Cor how any of them were left alive; somehow, only one had been lost and that one to a Loszian crossbow bolt.

  Thom stood to Cor’s left some two dozen feet from the table. The stolid, reserved commander had become one of Cor’s most trusted advisors, and as such he was invited to the proceedings. He would be invited to all of the Dahken meetings, but he chose to merely observe rather than be directly involved. It was his choice, and Cor respected the man’s sense of propriety.

  Cor felt a presence next to him; he turned his head to his right to behold something that made his heart leap into his throat. A long, fit feminine leg the color of bronze stood out from a red silk dress that nearly touched the ground. The sides of the dress were slit to well up the thigh, and following the dress up, Cor found it to be sleeveless and held up barely by two thin silk straps. The straps crossed and trailed down a bare back to again meet the dress just above Thyss’ buttocks. The front of the dress was no less revealing, the thin red silk accentuating her breasts and nipples. She was beautiful, supple, but at the same time well built for battle. To drive this point home, she carried her alien scimitar by its leather scabbard in her right hand. Cor felt as if his heart were being crushed and simultaneously set on fire, the latter of which was not impossible considering the subject of his gaze.

  “Thom’s wife said I should dress differently for this occasion,” she said. “It seems you approve.”

  “I didn’t expect you to come. I thought you’d be bored. Where did you find that?”

  “I bought it before we left Byrverus,” she replied, and she laughed at his surprise. “Believe it or not, Dahken Cor, I do occasionally enjoy wearing pretty things.”

  Cor opened his mouth to speak, but sudden silence snapped his attention away from the enflaming sorceress to the assembled Dahken. All of them sat watching the pair, not a word passing amongst them. Keth sat immediately to his right and Rael at the other end of the table with Geoff to his right. Cor cleared his throat before standing; he was in full battle regalia with Soulmourn and Ebonwing at his sides,
his black armor clean and polished. He left his insectoid helm off, instead allowing it to sit on the tabletop facing the onlookers.

  “Just a year ago, I was alone in this world. A Loszian killed my parents, and a priest of Garod killed my friend Lord Dahken Rael, leaving me with no one. I took my vengeance on the priest, and I later avenged my parents death by killing Taraq’nok, the Loszian from whom I freed you,” Cor paused for a moment. He had planned an entire speech, but now he could not remember a word of it; he just said what felt right.

  “The Loszians would have us killed for fear of us, and the Shining West would just as soon see us disappear back into history, their version of history. But we have escaped the clutches of those who will destroy and control us, and now we stand poised to build a new world for our kind. The faces you see across the table will be the first. Dahken Rael has been returned to us for this very reason.

  “The history of the Dahken is gone, wiped out by a world who hates us, the last known written accounts wiped out by Taraq’nok at Sanctum. I have told you the story. With the history goes whatever traditions existed. Now, we start our own traditions.

  “When a Dahken has reached the point where we can teach him no further, we will summon all of our race who reside at Fort Haldon, our sanctum, to this very table, in a hall that has yet to be built. There is one such Dahken among us now. He has learned everything there is to learn from Dahken Rael, the most knowledgeable among us. Now, this Dahken must only work to strengthen himself. He will need to answer the calls in his blood; they may lead him to anything - artifacts, other Dahken or even the Chronicler Himself. But for now, he is here with us, and we are content to honor him.