The Cor Chronicles: Volume 02 - Fire and Steel (11 page)

Fortunately, Rael imagined correctly. He collected the others and left the practice grounds for the purpose of finding a snack, leaving Cor and Thyss in quiet regard of the blood ghast. Somehow knowing that neither was apparently armed, the ghast wandered back to Geoff and stood over him silently, but it seemed no less ready for battle.

After close to an hour, the thing dissipated. Its skin, for lack of another word, started to bubble and then boil, turning into a translucent pink vapor that swirled in the air around it, not unlike the dust devils Cor had occasionally seen on the farm as a child. Eventually the ghast’s entire body had boiled away into this vapor, a seven foot tall swirling mass that could not be seen through and was more red than pink. A tendril broke away from the blood tornado and snaked its way to Geoff’s nose, followed by another to his ears and yet a third to his open mouth. Several others made their way to his open wounds. The tendrils of blood thickened as the swirl became shorter and narrower and began to lighten. After a few seconds, there was nothing left of the swirling vapor, and even the tendrils disappeared, leaving nothing but a light trickle of blood out of Geoff’s left nostril.

The boy, only three or four years Cor’s junior, opened his eyes as the wounds Rael gave him began to bleed.

“What happened?” he asked when his eyes cleared.

“By Hykan, that was fucking incredible,” Cor heard Thyss say behind him.

“Lord Dahken Drath was the obvious choice to head into the unforgiving Northern Kingdoms,” Rael later explained. “Tannes selected him purely for his ability to spawn the blood ghast. It allowed Drath to search those frozen lands when he felt a Dahken born, as it was common practice among the Northmen to leave them out to die in the elements. The Northmen viewed our pallor and coughs as weakness, an affront to their sensibilities. Drath could sustain his blood ghast for days at a time, even a week, and no one ever defeated him in battle. It was said that he knew how to use his mind to communicate with others through the blood ghast.”

For his part, Geoff felt extreme relief; just this morning he wanted to quit Dahken Rael’s teachings, to run away. All he knew was that before this morning, he had failed at all of Rael’s attempts to teach him anything. He failed at wielding any weapon put in his hand, and he had failed at “feeling his blood” as Rael so often called it. He had the scars to prove it. Now he knew he wasn’t a failure, and he knew that he was more powerful than Keth, who had shown great promise. Over time he would become more powerful than Dahken Rael; for the way Rael spoke about it, the blood ghast was nearly indomitable, and Geoff took quiet pride that one day he may even be more powerful than Lord Dahken Cor.

8.

Larnd managed to get his man into a minor foreman’s position so that he could plan the assassination. The plan was simple. They would strike the night the targets arrived shortly after they fell asleep, as they would be exhausted from their travels. By all accounts, their targets were extremely dangerous, deadly warriors that also wield magic, and it would make sense to minimize their readiness as much as possible.

Lord Dahken Cor and his people would reach Fort Haldon very soon, and they would need housing, as the construction of the planned keep would take at least three years. Most of them could be pushed into temporary tents with cots, the type an army on the move would use. However the Lord Dahken slept with the bitch from Dulkur; they and also his second, the middle aged man, would need something a little more substantial.

The new foreman asked to be assigned the task of building two small shacks, one for the man called Rael and the other for the Lord Dahken and his wench, that one obviously larger. It was a simple squat design, nothing special or particularly inventive, but each building had a false ceiling about two feet tall inside with a nearly undetectable access point near where the bed would be placed. One man could hide in Rael’s quarters and two in the other. All he had to do is make sure his murderers slinked their way into the ceilings after Cor’s group arrived, but before they retired.

If they waited until their prey slept soundly, it would be a quick and easy job. Larnd was always good to him; the jobs were dangerous and required more discretion, but they paid well. It was a simple plan.

* * *

It was a long, cold ride back to Fort Haldon, taking nearly two weeks longer than the reverse trip had taken months earlier. Queen Erella, though she hadn’t seen them off, over tripled Cor’s retinue with everything from accountants to cooks, and while Fort Haldon already had such support staff, more layers would need to be added to support a legitimate castle and its lands. A small number of citizens also came along and more would follow as the families of Fort Haldon’s men came to join their husbands and fathers that were now part of a permanent garrison. The short days combined with the simple amount of time it required to get four score persons, half of whom were women and children, up and moving slowed them substantially. The winter storm that hit them halfway there made the going even slower.

Having grown up in either southern Aquis or a sailing vessel, Cor had experienced few snowstorms in his life. In fact the only one he remembered was the blizzard that struck his home on that one frightful night many years ago. This was nothing of the sort - a ceiling of hard gray clouds dropped wet fluffy flakes steadily for hours. It was actually quite beautiful, and even the warm blooded Thyss found it wonderful to watch. However, after a almost a full day of it, the snow came nearly up to a man’s knees. The footing underneath grew treacherous, and general feelings of those who traveled in the storm grew gloomy as the clouds overhead.

Nothing could be done about it however, and Rael did not let up on his training regimen for the young Dahken. During the months in Byrverus, Rael had rewritten as much of the Chronicler’s histories as he could remember, as closely as he could remember it, and he lectured on it during the cold, snowy nights. Commander Thom would listen in on the history lectures, often quietly smoking a pipe, and occasionally remarking that he had never heard of something that Rael related.

Rael continued teaching the Dahken to fight, something in which Thom joined. Cor watched as the venerable ranger and garrison commander showed great interest in the gray skinned children, helping Rael teach basic swordsmanship, and Thom in fact spent many hours with Keth during the evenings. There was nothing more Rael could teach him about his blood, the boy purely needed to become a more skilled fighter.

Having never before seen a blood ghast, nor ever known a Dahken who had, Rael had no direction to offer Geoff. At Rael’s behest, Cor agreed to allow Geoff to spend time by himself away from the main camp to work on manifesting the creature and controlling it. Rael wanted no accidents. On several occasions, Cor would stand on one of the crests of the rolling hilltops near the Spine and watch Geoff in the small valleys below him. More than once he saw the reflection of Geoff’s meager fire playing off the “skin” of his blood ghast, and sometimes the thing even moved despite there being no foe to combat.

There was something else that concerned Cor about the boy; he would occasionally find Geoff staring off to the east, into the mountains that were now not far away. Cor knew what the boy felt, and Rael had of course explained to all of the Dahken the pulls they would feel as they grew powerful. Even still Cor felt a need to discuss it with the young Dahken, and he did so on an early morning when the sun’s light was just beginning to outline the mountains in purple and blue.

“Something calls you, doesn’t it?” Cor asked, coming to stand to Geoff’s left on a hillcrest.

“I think so. I’m not sure Lord Dahken,” Geoff answered, his stare unmoving. He did not act as if Cor startled him, but also showed no sign that he had heard Cor’s approach.

“Have I told you how I was led to Soulmourn, and how I recovered Ebonwing? As time passes, that pull you feel will become stronger, and sooner or later you’ll have no choice but to go to it.”

“Do you think it’s in that strange place where you found your fetish?” Geoff asked, motioning at Ebonwing.

“No, that would be more south of us than anything. No, you’re looking into the heart of the Loszian Empire past Fort Haldon. If I had to guess, I’d say you are feeling something in the catacombs below Noth’s obliterated tower. We Dahken have a long history of robbing the dead. Perhaps that’s why we’ve always placed our fallen in tombs instead of the ground.”

A shiver ran through Geoff; for the winter morning air, the talk of Losz or other ghoulish things, Cor could not be sure.

“How will I find it?”

“When it’s time, you’ll be led to it easily enough,” Cor said. He turned and placed his left hand on Geoff’s shoulder before walking back to oversee the packing of camp.

It was late in the day when they finally arrived, the winter sun already low in the western sky, and Fort Haldon had changed substantially since Cor had seen it just a few months ago. Activity bustled everywhere as stonemasons, carpenters, laborers and foremen crawled across the area like ants as they performed various tasks. Several new but small buildings had popped up, and there were a large number of workers in an area against a cliff face. He noted also that the wooden palisade protecting the pass was being reinforced on the outside by huge granite blocks. Cor knew it would eventually turn into a true wall with battlements and a massive gate.

On the way, Thom went over the entirety of the construction plans with Cor, Rael and Thyss, though Thyss’ interest was nearly nonexistent. The cliff face was a convenient location for the keep, and a curtain wall would be placed in a semicircle around it. Cor wanted an additional wall that would surround the entire complex on the Aquis side, just in case an attack came from that direction. At first Thom argued the point that such a thing was highly unlikely, but he eventually conceded, though they agreed that it would be the last thing to be built. Queen Erella’s architects estimated that the entire project, excluding the additional wall, would take close to seven years; by then Cor hoped to have over a dozen full fledged Dahken warriors.

Cor took a brief tour of the site with Rael, Thom and a continuously listless Thyss, but they did not spend too much time pouring over details. They had tomorrow, and many months to come, to review the details. Famished, their stomachs ached for a real meal instead of travel rations, and they quickly ended their tour and moved on to dinner. The Dahken shortly settled in to bed early, including Keth and Geoff, sleeping two to a tent much like the last time they had been here.

* * *

It was a simple plan. The “foreman” waited outside the buildings in the darkness dressed in black, tar coating his face and hands. He presumed they would all come together and then separate, but the plan could not be left to such chance. He would wait and watch for the marks to come to their quarters. Once they arrived, the two lovers in one building and the older man in his own, he would pelt each roof with a small stone. The men inside would then start counting down. Each had a half hour glass, and after four full turns, they would kill their marks.

He didn’t have to wait long before the marks approached with the garrison commander. They were exactly as described by Larnd, lean and dangerous, but that didn’t matter. The most deadly warrior would fall beneath the blades of his assassins if that warrior was asleep, and he left nothing to chance. A killing stroke would not be necessary as the blades were coated with a relatively quick and deadly poison. Arms were clasped, and the garrison commander soundlessly took his leave back to his own quarters. The trio separated exactly as expected.

After he heard both doors open and shut, he signaled his men inside and sat down against one of the buildings to wait with his own half hour glass.

The two men in the false ceiling turned their glasses and waited, listening intently for the lack of moving sand that they should turn them again. Their marks were a young warrior and a beautiful witch from the east, potentially two dangerous foes, but the plan neutralized that. They heard the expected fumbling around - thuds from footsteps between the rooms, the clinking of armor as it was removed and the sound of bodies flopping into a soft bed with contented sighs.

They turned the glasses over, starting the flow of sand through the next half hour. As the minutes passed, other sounds came from the bedroom below, and the muffled grunts and moans made it obvious what was happening. Perhaps it wasn’t a terrible surprise now that they had private quarters and a soft bed after a long ride. It was all the better for the two would exhaust themselves even more, and that would make the job that much easier. The assassins turned their glasses a third time.

The sands ran out again, and they turned the glasses the fourth and final time. In a half hour, the sands would run out, and it would be their time to strike. But the couple was still at it, showing no signs of slowing. They could wait, but the third assassin would have no idea that the plan had changed. If the other murder didn’t go well, the two below would be warned, and the whole affair would come apart. Larnd would not be happy, and that is a bad thing.

The sands ran out.

The assassins silently and without delay removed the panels that would allow them into the bedroom below, weak flickering candlelight barely penetrating the darkness. They could make out the form of the woman with her flawless bronze skin and golden hair astride the young man with the gray skin. On his back, he momentarily opened his eyes to look right on the pair of assassins as they prepared to drop. As they came down, landing on the packed dirt floor soundlessly, the warrior had thrown the witch off of him.

The man meant to kill the witch sprung, dagger in hand, and it was then that his world exploded into light, colors of yellow, orange and red. A heat unlike anything he’d ever felt infused every fiber of his being; it was like the warmth of the sun on your face on a winter day, but it was ten thousand suns. He tried to open his eyes but found he couldn’t, and something boiling hot stung the cheeks of his face. Someone screamed incessantly, pausing only long enough to take another breath and again scream. His dagger gone, he could think only of escaping the heat into the cold winter’s night air. He found a door pull, the cold metal very soothing against the skin of his hand, and yanked the door open. The assassin then ran screaming into the night.