Apparently no one in the city of Byrverus slept much beyond sunrise, for once the sun rose high enough to shine over the city’s walls, the rays of sunlight reflected off every surface of every building. The entire city lit up almost instantaneously, casting near blinding light through curtained windows. Cor had not slept well, and he was not pleased by the early morning light.
His room was more than well appointed, containing a bed that he was certain was big enough for three or four persons, and which he did not doubt it occasionally contained. The room was impeccably kept, exceedingly clean and not one fold of linen or blanket out of place. It was also the most advanced room he had ever seen, with a small side room containing basins and a sort of hand driven contraption that produced water from a spout. There was a second basin, low to the floor and physically attached to it, for relieving oneself, after which one could pour water from the spout into it and wash away the waste through a round hole in the bottom of the basin. Modern engineering was clearly its own kind of magic.
In the bedroom itself, a floor to ceiling mirror hung on one wall, clearly for those merchants, diplomats or members of other professions in which it was necessary to always look one’s best. Never before prone to vanity, but with the mirror available, Cor looked at himself at length while buckling on his armor. He surely looked like death’s messenger; deep black and purple rings under his gray eyes from lack of sleep accentuated his corpselike pallor and straight near black hair. Ebonwing, with its skull and batwings, did nothing to dispel the image, and Cor’s scale mail hauberk and armguards, polished to a high shine the night before, added hardness to his appearance.
Hopeful that his appearance denoted someone not to be trifled with, Cor retrieved his palomino from the stable. He would ride to the palace, hopefully adding to the image of strength he wanted to project, and his silver armored countenance contrasted well with the golden horse. Cor rode through the paved streets of Byrverus, not completely certain of his destination, but he knew both Garod’s temple complex and the palace were both near the dead center of the city. Again, he knew he was being watched and followed, and those who monitored him did little to hide themselves at this point.
Garod’s temple and the palace of Byrverus were the two most astounding buildings Cor had ever seen. Made of the same white stone as the rest of the city, both buildings were incredibly immense. The palace had one tall spire that rose at least one hundred feet in the air, as well as two smaller ones, all of them accented with silver and gold. Banners and flags of rich silk hung from every window and spire with the heraldic symbols of Aquis.
The temple was even taller than the palace, no doubt because Aquis was truly a theocracy as opposed to a hereditary monarchy. The giant structure was geometric and unimaginative in design, appearing as one huge block of white stone standing on end, with squat cubic towers at each corner containing huge polished copper bells. The temple complex stood on a white stone platform with a dozen basalt steps leading up to it; whether this was a natural formation covered with stone or something specifically built to elevate the temple above the other buildings Cor did not know. Twelve foot tall marble statues of Garod, a fair young man in robes, lined the steps leading up to an open portal.
Plate clad soldiers wearing royal blue surcoats with the emblems of Aquis and robed priests of Garod filled the plaza around the two buildings, and access was unlimited to the public areas of the complexes. Keeping his horse at a slow walk, Cor headed straight for the palace’s main entrance, and eight soldiers in two columns of four with a ninth at their head marched directly towards him. Citizens endeavored to stay out of the soldiers’ way, while priests watched warily, some of them likely aware of what was to transpire. The soldiers, all of them clad in highly polished steel plate armor with royal surcoats, shields and swords, stopped ten feet short of Cor, and he pulled Kelli to a halt facing them.
“Dahken Cor,” said the leader, his voice rose in a tone practiced at addressing crowds, “Her Majesty Queen Erella of Aquis welcomes you to Byrverus. We are to escort you into the palace, and her Majesty shall receive you in court presently. This is to be a peaceful meeting, is it not sir?”
“As stated, I come peacefully,” Cor answered.
“Perhaps you would surrender your sword, sir. It will be returned after your audience with the queen is concluded.”
“And will every soldier in Byrverus also lay down his sword? I somehow doubt I could escape the city were I to commit violence,” Cor reasoned. “I go as I am.”
“Then sir, I beseech you to maintain your honor,” the captain concluded, motioning for his men to take up flanking positions on either side of Cor, and the fact that he was surrounded was not lost on him. He idly wondered if he could defeat them all.
The small contingent continued to the palace, Cor and his horse at their center, and guards opened the double doors as the group marched into an antechamber. The interior of this room was not made of the same stone as the palace’s exterior, but sandstone with marble floor instead. Inside two more royal guards opened doors allowing Cor to ride Kelli forward at a walk, still surrounded by his escort. The mare tossed her tail from side to side in annoyance at the soldiers’ proximity. The antechamber opened into the great hall in which the ruler of Aquis kept court. The room was immense, roughly eighty feet wide and over twice as long with a domed ceiling nearly forty feet in the air, and easily a half dozen passages led away from it. The hall was also made of sandstone and marble, and a rich burgundy carpet led from the entrance straight ahead to a raised dais, centered on which was a single throne. Cor wondered at the need for architects, or perhaps monarchs, to place thrones on raised platforms.
Perhaps forty or fifty people, mostly priests and soldiers, milled about the room at a respectful distance from the throne, and they all froze as soon as Cor rode his palomino into the hall. The silence in the room was palpable, and Cor could feel every eye fixed upon him. He walked Kelli until she was about ten feet from bottom of the steps leading up to the dais, and then he dismounted, bowing to the figure on the throne in what he hoped seemed a respectful manner.
The woman on the throne was ancient, older than any person Cor had ever seen before, and everything about her seemed to be a badge of office. She wore white robes marked with symbols of Garod and Aquis, a heavy gold and jewel crown and a scepter lay across her lap. Queen Erella had pure white hair and extremely fair skin that seemed stretched across her face, and the image of Noth appeared unbidden in Cor’s mind. The queen regarded Cor intently, and he allowed her to inspect him as long as she liked. He stood before her, just an inch or so shy of six feet tall, and he had no doubt he would tower over her should they stand next to each other. The pigmentation, or lack thereof perhaps, of Cor’s skin blended somewhat with steel shine of his armor and gray eyes, but contrasted sharply with shoulder length near black hair that he made no effort to restrain. He became suddenly aware of somewhat scraggly growth on his cheeks and chin and began to think he should have shaved it off with his knife before coming to the palace.
“Dahken Cor, for years you have avoided my rule, even to the extent of slaying my subjects, and yet now you come before me willingly, with a plea for formal parlay. What do you here?” asked the queen, her voice surprisingly strong for her obviously advanced age. Her face remained impassive as she spoke, and yet there was hardness in her gaze. Cor knew he was expected to show all manners of respect and deference to this woman, but Rael and his death had driven those sentiments out of him.
“I’ve come hoping to end any hostility between us. I am not evil and wish no harm to anyone in the West. I don’t want to have to avoid your spies any longer,” Cor answered, though somehow it seemed inadequate.
“I cannot help but question your honesty Dahken Cor. You are responsible for the death of twelve of my soldiers as well as a venerable priest, a priest that you knew, that served Garod faithfully for over sixty years.” The queen’s manner remained impassive,
but her voice developed an edge. The accusation brought a sense of guilt that Cor pushed away with his response.
“Your soldiers were obviously under orders to take me regardless of whether or not I was willing. You would have people believe that they in Aquis live in freedom from tyranny under the care of Garod, but apparently that freedom from tyranny only exists for those who accept Garod’s care without thought. Your priests have changed history over the last seven hundred years, and I doubt even Her Majesty knows the true history of the West or especially the Dahken.”
His challenged her with his tone, and though he used the title, his words contained no respect. This brought fire into the queen’s eyes, but she allowed him to speak his piece; extreme silence had come over the crowd.
“You blaspheme,” she said, quieter now than before, “and you dare to throw accusations at the god to whom you and all Westerners owe their freedom. You come before me, showing no respect before Garod. You worship an evil god who did nothing to end the enslavement of the West at the hands of the Loszians, and your people allied themselves with the sorcerers. Were it not for your letter announcing this parlay, I would do as my advisors recommend and have your life ended here and now.”
Though the queen’s face was honest in her dire warning, Cor could not help but smile at the threat. He was keenly aware of Soulmourn and Ebonwing’s presence at his belt and could almost hear them urging him to do battle and shed blood. And for a brief moment, Cor considered whether he could in fact reach Queen Erella to slay her first before her guard would be upon him. He felt a mirthless laugh well up within him, but he stifled it and pushed these thoughts away.
“I don’t see the need to discuss history, nor epistemology, with you Queen Erella,” Cor replied with contempt. “Suffice it to say, almost everything you know and teach about the Dahken is untrue at best. I’m here for a specific reason, and I would have it heard.
“I ask free passage through the Shining West at my will, and I will harm no one except in my own defense. I require free access through one of the mountain passes into Losz and safe passage back into Aquis when my business is concluded.” This created quite a stir and some guffaws amongst the small crowd.
“Entrance into Losz is strictly forbidden to all,” the queen replied succinctly.
“Majesty, I don’t need your permission,” he said, beginning to clench his teeth; his defiance was clearly appalling to both the priests and soldiers. “I have traveled the breadth of the West and avoided your spies for months. I will find a way into Losz without you if necessary, but frankly I require the fastest path available.”
“What business could you possibly have in the Loszian Empire that does not involve harm to the West? The Dahken and the Loszians have long stood against us.”
Cor unbuttoned one if his saddlebags and removed the preserved tattoo Rael had cut from the Loszian assassin so long ago. He held it up for Queen Erella who motioned with her right hand, and a plated soldier stepped forward, took it from Cor and brought it to the queen for inspection. She looked at the design on one side for a long moment, before turning it over; her impassiveness turned suddenly to revulsion, and she cast it back towards Cor with revulsion.
“You dare to defile my hands with a trophy cut from human flesh!” she very nearly screamed at him. “Perhaps the honor of peaceful parlay is not for you; you are no more man than the Loszian necromancers who slay at will in their own orgies of evil.”
Her guards and soldiers, including the nine who still flanked Cor, rested hands on weapons, their weight shifted to the balls of their feet. Should she order it, they were ready for combat, and Cor heard the weapons at his belt singing in the back of his mind. They wanted blood. He willed them from his mind, and Cor made certain his voice reflected level calm as his next words could mean his death.
“My apologies, Majesty. The marking is a tattoo cut from the arm of the Loszian who murdered my parents two years ago. The Loszian lords mark their servants so that other lords know whom they serve. The Loszian necromancer who claims this mark came into Aquis by way of a smuggler in the town of Hager and completely destroyed Sanctum. While the three servants he brought with him did not live to return to Losz, he unfortunately escaped me through magic.” Cor paused a moment, holding the queen’s gaze and hoped she would come to the same logical conclusion as he. “I would like very much to meet him again.”
“My queen, may I speak with you?” asked a voice from the periphery of the hall.
Cor looked to the left where an old man, though not as old as the queen herself, stood in a doorway of an adjoining corridor. The man had stark white hair and beard that looked as if it had begun to thin only recently, and his back was bent in a way common to those of advanced age. He approached the queen with a speed that was unexpected for his apparent age and physical condition and leaned over her in a most familiar fashion with his back to the assembly. He whispered at an inaudible level, and Cor could not see the man’s lips for he kept his face pointed directly away. After only a few seconds, the man stood up and planted himself to the side of and slightly behind Queen Erella.
“Dahken Cor, I see little reason to grant you this request, and I have little doubt that you will turn out to be treacherous like those Dahken before you. However, provided you leave Byrverus without incident, I will allow you access through the mountains. I will send two of my guard captains with you to ensure your safe passage; they will cease to accompany you once you reach Fort Haldon in the mountains.
“Dahken Cor, I do not expect I will ever see you again. Either the Loszians will slay you or pervert you to their wills, assuming they haven’t already. If by some chance you are a man of honor, and by even less chance you survive your endeavor, I expect you to present yourself before me once more.”
Queen Erella stood, turned and walked slowly, but not without strength, exiting through a corridor to the right of the throne and dais. Two armored guards followed behind her, while the old man selected two armored men, one of whom led Cor into the palace, and spoke with them in hushed tones. Cor stepped forward to the bottom of the steps leading up the dais and picked up the tattooed skin, placing it back in a pouch at his belt. He patted the horse, deciding the entire affair went about as well as he could have expected. Now, he only had to hope he was right.