* * *
Cor woke confused; he lay in an extremely comfortable bed with smooth satin bedding, and an attractive dark haired woman lay almost naked next to him. On top of that, a plain faced man with a beard hovered over him. The sunlight coming through the open window slanted at a steep angle, and Cor knew he’d been asleep for several hours. He had not meant to sleep so deeply, and it took a moment for the last day’s occurrences to return to him.
“Sir,” said the steward, “I apologize for waking you, but it is very nearly time to serve supper. Lord Taraq’nok has of course requested your presence for a fine meal. Please prepare yourself, and I will wait outside until you are ready.” The man turned and again closed the door behind him.
Cor slowly sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, and rubbed his eyes with both hands. He panicked for a moment, realizing that he had slept heavily, but the few belongings he had brought into the castle were still right where he left them. He stood and stretched his back, realizing that he felt more rested after this brief nap than he had in months. Ania did not stir, and he watched her sleep briefly, noticing that she really was an attractive girl. Cor began to wonder what her soft body would feel like pressed up against his.
These thoughts he put out of his mind as he focused on what was to come. He knew that the girl, while she may be part of the accommodations, was also an attempt by Taraq’nok to distract and sway him. Cor needed to make sure the Loszian knew that his will was unbreakable, and he cannot be diverted from his task. He must show no deferment to the necromancer; as such, Cor decided it would be best to appear as if he would leave or kill at a moment’s notice. He prepared himself with both armor and sword, the sound awakening Ania. He favored her with a kind smile and exited the room. The steward waited outside, as promised, and Cor took note of the two mailed and armed guards that stood on either side of his doors.
“Thank you for sir for your alacrity,” said the steward. “Pardon these gentlemen; with no locks on the doors, Lord Taraq’nok uses them to make certain his guests are safe.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Follow me please sir,” said the steward, going back the way they had come a few hours ago. It was not lost on Cor that the two guards followed them.
“Sir, I hope you found the rooms accommodating to your needs?” the steward asked, and Cor was certain the man looked at him through the back of his head.
“I am satisfied, thank you,” Cor answered.
Somehow the man’s civilized tone and manner of speech was beginning to grate on Cor’s nerves, to the extent that Cor wanted to ram Soulmourn down the man’s throat. Perhaps it was the fact it was expected that Cor would have raped Ania until he was sated, as was apparently the custom in Losz. Once, Taraq’nok had told Cor they would together overthrow both the Loszian Empire and the Shining West. Cor was coming to the conclusion that, at the least, he would destroy the Loszians one by one, castle by castle and block by block if need be; they disgusted him already. His mind headed in this direction, he could feel Soulmourn and Ebonwing suddenly warm at his side, and he suppressed the urge to hack the steward into pieces. He wondered if he would ever get used to that feeling, or if one day it would overwhelm him.
They progressed back down the stairs to the castle’s main level and crossed the hall in which Cor had met his host. They entered another corridor, this one directly across from the last, which ended at a tall door after only a few feet. The door was of a dark solid wood, and the steward opened it, motioning Cor inside. He then closed the door, leaving the guards outside in the corridor.
The following room was a large dining hall with a thirty foot long mahogany table in the dead center. There were multiple window portals to the outside, but they were all shuttered, no doubt to keep cool autumn air outside. A small fire blazed in a stone fireplace at one end of the room, adding unnecessary heat to the air. The table had eight comfortable looking armchairs on either side, as well as another on one end. The chair at the other end of the table was massive at three feet taller than the others and carved arms that were at least six inches wide.
“Sir, if you would please?” While Cor had been looking around the room, the steward had moved to the other side of the table and pulled out a chair immediately to the left of the large chair at the table’s end.
“Does he always entertain as many as this table will seat?” Cor asked while moving to take his seat. He removed Soulmourn from his belt, leaning the sword in its scabbard against the left side of his chair as he sat.
“No sir, I am afraid not,” he answered. “Lord Taraq’nok sometimes dines with his officers, but you have his full attention tonight. Sir, please wait here.”
The steward left the room the way they had come, and Cor sat quietly for several minutes, questioning the wisdom of his entire plan while he looked around the dining room. It was actually quite large, and light from the few torches and candles did not illuminate the far corners of the room. Cor looked at the ceiling, which was about twenty feet overhead, and marveled at the construction; it was made of black stone blocks with no support beams or timbers of any kind. The Loszians must employ magic of some kind in their buildings.
The door opened again, producing the steward, but it was who followed behind him that made Cor hold his breath. He walked into the room and held out the chair immediately to the right of Taraq’nok’s for the most exotic and beautiful woman Cor had ever seen. She was three, maybe four inches shorter than he with a lean, but muscular frame. She had hair of gold that was held in a ponytail high on the back of her head with a black silk cord and hung halfway down her back. In fact, her attire was made entirely of a black silk that seemed to have a slight shimmer but was not at all translucent. She wore a tunic and pants that were completely formfitting, and she walked with a slight sway that made Cor wonder what she looked like when walking away. Her pants ended just below her knee, and on her feet, she wore a set of soft soled sandals with black silk cords that ran around her shins. As she came closer, Cor could see her face had an angular, almost feline look, and her bronze skin was not a trick of the torchlight. He had never before seen anyone of the ruling class from the continent of Dulkur, but it was plainly obvious that she hailed from that land.
Before sitting in the offered chair, she unclasped a thin black leather belt that ran from over her right shoulder to under her left arm. Cor realized it was a kind of swordbelt, and attached to it was a curved sword of roughly the same length as Soulmourn. The weapon curved along its length in a bizarre arc, and the leather wrapped hilt bent slightly in the opposite direction. The sword’s guard was geometric with six uneven sides. She placed the weapon nonchalantly on the table to her right and sat down.
The steward walked in his ever purposeful way to a sideboard, which Cor had to turn his head to see as it was slightly behind him and returned with three gold goblets and a decanter of wine. He placed the goblets on the table, one each in front of Cor and the woman, and the third in front of the large and as yet unoccupied chair. He poured a red wine from the decanter into each of the goblets and then returned to the sideboard, clearly waiting. Cor did not touch the wine, though he did not fear it poisoned; it simply made little sense for Taraq’nok to poison him when the Loszian had several opportunities to kill him already. Again, if he wanted him dead, he would have let Cor simply walk up to the Loszian wall and filled with crossbow bolts.
While waiting for their host, Cor made a conscious effort to not stare at the exotic woman, though she did not return the favor. He felt her watching him the entire time they waited together, which felt interminable though it could not have been more than a few minutes. He reverted to staring straight ahead impassively; he met her eyes one time and felt himself enraptured by her unwavering gaze. From only a few feet away, he could see her face more clearly. Her eyes were slightly almond shaped from epicanthic folds at the corner, and her irises were silver, not gray but truly si
lver.
Cor could not have been more relieved when the Loszian finally arrived, coming from the same corridor from which Cor and the woman had arrived. He crossed the room, approaching the large chair at the table’s end, his robes making it appear as if he glided rather than walked. As he sat, the steward exited the dining room through a smaller door on the other side of the room.
“I apologize for by tardiness,” said the Loszian. “I was held up by a matter that required my immediate attention. I assume the two of you have become acquainted.”
“In truth no Lord Taraq’nok. Your guest here seems to prefer silence,” said the bronze skinned woman; her voice was soft and melodious with an underlying strength. She had an extremely strange accent that seemed to linger on certain consonants, and Cor wondered if all of those from Dulkur spoke the same way.
“How rude of him, though I imagine if he is still trying to decide if he wishes to kill me or not. My dear, our silent dinner partner is Dahken Cor, originally of Aquis, though I understand he no longer pays Queen Erella any allegiance.
“Dahken Cor, allow me to introduce Lady Thyss of Dulkur,” Taraq’nok said motioning with his right hand. At this she laughed heartily in dulcet tones, leaning back in her chair. The Loszian sat impassively with his hand frozen in the air, apparently not understanding the humor.
“My Lord,” she explained, stifling her laugh, “I gave up any claim to titles or worship when I left Dulkur. To call me Lady is only accurate in the purely feminine sense of the word.”
“Indeed that is likely so,” agreed the Loszian, ”though I must point out that in your case, there is more than enough reason to recognize your femininity.” At this, she laughed again, deeper and richer than before, just as the steward returned with several slaves in tow. The first course, a light concoction of vegetables and some pork, was served.
“So Dahken Cor, you intend to kill Lord Taraq’nok do you?” Thyss asked, the bluntness of the question surprising him. He looked up from the plate to see her again looking at him, a facetious half smile lifting one corner of her mouth.
“Honestly, I haven’t decided yet. I’m still waiting for him to give me a reason not to,” he answered, eliciting another laugh from the woman.
“In due time,” the Loszian said, leaning back from the table. The steward appeared seemingly out of nowhere and refilled everyone’s goblets; Cor found the wine to be far more appetizing than the stuff Rael drank almost daily, which meant he had to be careful that he did not imbibe too much.
“I’ve never seen a Dahken before,” Thyss said as slaves removed plates and delivered what was apparently a main course involving beef and an oddly orange colored sauce. “I understand their resilience in combat is unmatched. Is it true you are immune to the effects of Loszian sorcery as well as Garod’s?”
“Garod’s yes, but as far as Loszian,” he answered with a sidelong glance at Taraq’nok, “I have not yet had the opportunity.”
“I believe,” interjected Taraq’nok, “that resistant is the proper term. No one is completely immune to our necromancy.”
“I wonder how resistant he is to my magic. What do you think Lord Taraq’nok? Do you supposed I could light his hair on fire as easily as one of your slaves?” she asked, leaning back in her chair again. Her head was slightly turned towards the Loszian, but she kept her gaze locked on Cor.
“I invite you to try,” Cor answered her, his eyes narrowed and his voice low and with a hard edge to it.
She lifted her right hand and held it in front of her face with the back of it facing Cor, and he realized the woman held something that seemed to flicker, splashing light across her features. She tipped her hand his way and opened her fingers slightly, revealing a small ball of blue flame that did not burn her; in fact it caused her no discomfort at all. Cor was not sure what her next action would be, but he hardened his jaw and returned the threat in her eyes, completely unblinking. After a seemingly long moment, Thyss’ eyes opened slightly, and Cor could see the humor within them. Yet again, she laughed loudly and closed her hand around the flame, extinguishing it. Cor relaxed slightly, knowing that he had passed some sort of test she had devised.
“My dear Thyss, I must warn you,” said Taraq’nok, “Dahken Cor has proved himself to be a man of iron will, defying not only myself, but Queen Erella of Aquis at many turns. I would suggest that you not push too far, for you may find that even you are unable to break him.
“And Dahken Cor, I would issue a similar warning to you. Lady Thyss is an accomplished warrior, perfectly capable of slaying with her steel, but the elemental gods have gifted her with powers very different from Loszian necromancy. I would not antagonize her, lest she in fact sets your hair aflame.”
The two looked at each other intently while the Loszian spoke, sizing one another up and surmising what they could of each other. Cor had read some history of Dulkur in his time at Sanctum, though the knowledge there clearly leaned towards the West. He had long assumed that the Dahken repositories in other parts of the world also focused on their areas, but he knew that those blessed with the powers of the elemental gods were priests and rulers in Dulkur, revered, worshipped and feared among the masses. Also, she clearly favored powers of fire, and the god of fire, Hykan, was considered the leader of the elementals. What could possibly entice someone with such power to leave her homeland behind? Cor realized that they had been staring at each other for several minutes, while the Taraq’nok merely sat watching them. He could see a slight, enigmatic smile touching the corners of her mouth and had the distinct impression that a great predator was about to eat him.
“I am still waiting to hear why I shouldn’t simply cleave your head from your shoulders,” Cor said, turning to Taraq’nok. He could hear Thyss laugh softly.
“Ah yes Dahken Cor, you truly are of a one track mind. However, I mean for this to be only a relaxing occasion. Should we not be able to come to an understanding, there is plenty of time for us to kill each other tomorrow. I simply assumed you would appreciate good food, a soft bed and fine company for one night at least.”
Cor sighed disgustedly, pushing his plate away. He couldn’t understand how his Loszian could be so infuriatingly calm about this entire situation. Yes, Cor did come seeking information, but he also came to kill this man. The Loszian seemed completely at ease or even oblivious to the fact. The two exchanged looks, and it was then that Cor knew he had grossly underestimated Taraq’nok. The necromancer had thought through this entire encounter years ago, and it was playing out no different than he expected. The plates were cleared, and a cold dessert of some type was served.
“Do not be petulant Dahken Cor,” Taraq’nok said. “This is a social occasion, and you can at least attempt to enjoy yourself. Do you see Thyss? We all strive to hold onto youth for its strength and virility, but as we grow older, we forget the flaws of youth such as fervor, inflexibility and rashness. I suppose Dahken Cor will one day learn as we have.”
Cor sat back in his chair and watched the two finish their meal, wondering just how old the two sorcerers were, as they appeared no more than ten years his senior. The more he thought about it, the more disgusting the Loszian and his entire lifestyle became to Cor. Cor now knew that no matter how antagonistic he became, Taraq’nok would not rest until he got what he needed from Cor. Cor realized that if he played by the same set of rules, he would get what he needed from the Loszian that much faster. Cor leaned forward and tried the dessert, and finding it delicious, he ate most of it. Taraq’nok did not fail to notice, despite his continuous small talk with Thyss.
The dinner lasted a little longer, the steward producing a heavy citrus flavored liquor of which Cor consumed little. Following promises from Taraq’nok that tomorrow they would discuss how they could help each other, Cor returned to his set of rooms, with his guard escort of course. He found Ania, clothed, though scantily, lounging carelessly in the bed, and she immediately sat upright upon his entr
ance. Cor waved her off, saying that he would simply like to relax, and he removed his armor noisily.
Looking for some sort of basin, Cor explored the next room and found a huge marble tub inlaid into the black stone of the floor. Two round holes about half the size of his fist were set in the deepest part of the bottom, and four silver ropes hung from a pulley system down to a level where someone in the tub could operate them easily. Ania had followed him into the room and explained that pulling the first and second ropes controlled how much hot or cold water filled the tub. Pulling the third rope slowed or stopped the filling of the tub, and the fourth rope when pulled would drain the water. Cor marveled at the ease in which one could take a bath and wondered if it was a feat of ingenious engineering, magic or both.
Cor had not left Soulmourn and Ebonwing with his armor. He put them down gently on the floor and completely oblivious to modesty, Cor removed his clothes, stepped into the tub and began to work the rope system. Steaming water began to fill the bottom of the tub from one of the two holes he assumed were drains. Once the water was above his ankles, Cor sat down in the tub and rested his arms on its massive sides while leaning his head back with his eyes closed.
A soft splash and disturbance of the water made him open his eyes to see that Ania, completely naked with her garments in a heap on the floor next to his, had climbed into the tub with him. She leaned over him on her hands and knees, kissing his neck, and her closeness evoked a sudden reaction in him of which she was quick to take advantage. He allowed himself to enjoy it for just a moment, letting his mind wander. It wandered to the filthy, beaten and whipped people sullenly boarding Kosaki’s ship in Hichima.
“Ania, please don’t. I can’t let you do this,” he said softly. He gently but firmly took hold of both her wrists, at once removing her hands from him and receiving a confused and dejected look from her. “I’ll make you a promise. I’ll make you free one day, and then you can do this of your own free will, not because it’s your lot in life.”
She did not understand his unwillingness, and Cor wasn’t sure he could make her understand. On some level, he didn’t understand himself; it wasn’t as if he were forcing her to do anything. She left the bath and dried herself with wool towels before putting back on her less than concealing garments. She made certain that there were two towels ready for him and even brought him a fresh set of clothes. When she finally left and stayed in the other room, Cor let out a long sigh.
He didn’t doze off in the tub exactly, but hot water has a tendency to relax one’s mind as well as the body. Cor stayed comfortably in the bath for some time. He finally roused himself when he could feel the water was only a little warmer than the air, and he pulled the last of the silver ropes. The water slowly drained out of the tub by way of the other hole in its bottom, and Cor forced himself out of the bath. The marble was slick with the water, made even more difficult by his well relaxed muscles. He carefully dried himself and dressed in the clothes Ania had left out for him – soft cotton breeches and a tunic that buttoned all the way up the front, a fact that Cor found annoying.
He walked into the bedroom, his hair still dripping, and found Ania lying naked on the bed. He sighed quietly, wondering what it would take for her to understand that he would not be taking advantage of her hospitality. Before he said something, Cor noticed that his belongings that he had left with Kelli were laid out on top of and next to the large desk in the room. He walked over to it, taking a mental inventory to make sure nothing was missing.
“My Lord, the steward had them brought up while you were at dinner,” Ania called across the room. He didn’t remember the steward ever leaving the dining hall; the man must have made the arrangements ahead of time.
Without warning, the doors to his quarters opened forcefully, and Thyss stormed in, seemingly ablaze with purpose. She looked at the naked Ania and jerked her head hard at the open door behind her. Ania leapt off the bed, picked up her few thin garments, ran past Thyss, and a guard closed the door behind her. Cor’s armor of course lie in a heap between he and Thyss, but he suddenly realized he had left his weapons next to the marble bath in the next room. Thyss carried her curved sword by its scabbard in her left hand, and he highly doubted he could dart in there to retrieve Soulmourn before she could strike. With no other options, he simply held his ground, hoping to overpower her should she come that close.
She strode right up to him, dropping her sword on an animal fur several feet away and embraced him with a kiss harder than he thought possible. Thyss tore away his clothes and, fondling him, pushed him down onto the floor. Cor grabbed a hold of her tight silk tunic at the neck and tried to tear it open, only to find that the material was strong as chain mail and his muscles strained against it. She laughed at his shock and pulled the tunic over her head, revealing her naked breasts and her well toned, strong upper body. She laid her half naked body across his muscled chest and kissed him fiercely, moving her mouth to his right ear.
“I will break you,” she hissed.
Cor allowed the bronzed skinned woman with the golden hair and silver eyes to do as she willed, taking pleasure from it all. She did things the harlot in Worh had not even dreamt of, and he accepted her fully. Cor did everything she ordered of him, but he did not surrender himself to her. She could not break him.
29.