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 bones 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 tow
ard 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 willing 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.
The two guards gaped momentarily in shock, but Wrelk, a consummate professional leapt to the attack. His first blow was parried away easily by Cor, who suddenly felt more empowered than ever before in his life, and Cor drove his sword deep into Wrelk’s body near the heart. Impaled, Wrelk limply struck again with a blow that Cor took with his left forearm. Though weak, the blow still cut deeply through tissue and muscle to the bone, but Cor ignored the wound, allowing the pain to fuel him. He kicked Wrelk in the chest, twisting his sword while he yanked it out an angle, rending the man open. He fell to the ground, a huge well of blood forming underneath him.
The shock worn off, the two guards attacked Cor with short swords, and Cor allowed one blow to carom off his helm carelessly. He was vaguely aware of a muffled clang, but otherwise did not notice the attack. The other man attempted to thrust his blade through Cor’s middle, just underneath the hauberk. Cor parried the attack with the dull edge of his sword and came around backhanded, Soulmourn hacking through the man’s black chain mail as easily as Wrelk’s leather armor. He impaled the man twice through his chain mail while ignoring two more sword blows, one of which penetrated his side just under his own hauberk. Cor pivoted to his right, whipping Soulmourn around, and the second guard’s right arm, chain mail sleeve and sword in hand fell to the ground uselessly. Cor again plunged his sword deep into a foe, pushing him hard against the iron bars as the sword sank to its hilt and came out between the bars on the other side. He pulled Soulmourn from the dying guard’s body and turned to see Thyss still leaning against doorway with her arms crossed.
“I just wanted to see if the stories about the Dahken are true,” she said. “I figured you could handle yourself.”
Cor looked around the barred dungeon, finding mixed looks of dismay and horror, but also satisfaction from some of the Dahken prisoners. The steward stood quietly, a completely impassive look on his face, and the slaves stared at Cor incredulously. Cor looked down in quiet consideration; the floor was slick with the blood of the four men he had killed in a matter of seconds, and it suddenly dawned on him that his own wounds were no longer bleeding and in fact were completely healed. Cor motioned to the steward, who approached him quickly though with some reservation.
“What should I do with you?” Cor asked the man.
“My lord, I am the steward of the house. I serve the house in all manners required of me, regardless of its lord,” the man answered.
“Then I want this mess cleaned up immediately and be certain these people are cared for and given whatever they require.”
“Yes my lord, but if I may point something out? You may have little time before you have to deal with the rest of Lord Taraq’nok’s servants,” the steward said before going about his business. Cor waited for the man and the slaves to return upstairs and then walked up to stand mere inches from Thyss, heedless of blood and bodies. She uncrossed her arms and set her hands on her hips in a pose that smacked of defiance.
“And what about you?” he asked her.
“Oh, I am with you Dahken Cor, so long as you keep life interesting,” Thyss said, followed by the laugh that he had heard so many times.
Cor turned again to face the rabble that Taraq’nok had gone to such lengths to assemble. The Loszian had believed Cor would train them into a force that neither the Loszians nor Garod’s priests could harm with their magic, making them the avant-garde in his army to conquer both nations. As he gazed around the room, Cor realized that slaying Taraq’nok had been truly the first moment in his life that he had done something explicitly for himself. Everything else he had done had been a result of other forces that would control him, even if he didn’t completely understand their motivation to do so. Cor looked at the faces turned to him with some expectation, whether for good or ill, and decided that he would not be the decider of their paths. Cor removed his helm, allowing them to see his face for the first time. The young men, women and smaller children did not fail to notice the similarity between themselves and this slayer of the Loszian who had imprisoned them.
“My name is Dahken Cor. I have slain your captor and now offer you freedom to go where you will. I know nothing of you or where you come from, but you are free to return there if you wish. But before you go, look at me well, and you will see that we are the same. We are a race called the Dahken, bor
n of Dahk the Blood God, and we are hated and feared by nearly all the peoples of the world because we represent something they cannot control. Each of you has great power in your veins, power that you must learn to awaken and tap. It will make you strong, if not indomitable. You are now free to go where you will, but stay with me and I will help you find that power. I will help you find the strength you need to make sure no one controls your destiny, and I ask nothing in return. Regardless of your choice, your life will not be easy. There are those who will hate you and even kill you on sight, but I can offer you the chance to fight them.
“Make no decisions now. We have some time before the Loszians realize that the man who imprisoned you is dead. Stay here for now to think over the decision, and if you decide to leave, I will make sure that the steward provisions you with anything you need. I will return in the morning.”
Cor left the room with Thyss just ahead of him, and he could hear the people behind him beginning to talk to each other. It was interesting to him how it was extremely improbable that any of them had known each other before this place, and yet they seemed to speak freely to each other, united in their predicament. He could only hope he made his intentions clear to them. In the library he most literally ran into the steward and several slaves returning to retrieve the bodies and clean the blood and gore.
“Steward,” Cor said, catching the man by the arm, “I am going to dine now.”
“Yes my lord, I will have the kitchens cook a meal.”
“No, there is a cold meal on the table, and that is fine. When you are done, I want all of the guards and soldiers removed to outside the keep and the doors secured. I will inform them of Taraq’nok’s death when I am ready,” Cor said, pausing. “Also, we will have to do something about the slaves.”
“I do not understand lord,” the steward said with a quizzical look.
“Slavery is a disgusting evil, and I will not allow it,” Cor explained. “Not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but soon we will have to change their circumstances.”
Cor strode from the library, leaving the steward behind him with an astonished look, and Thyss kept pace beside him, the entire time with her slight, enigmatic smile. He returned to the dining hall and prepared to sit down to eat his cold meal when a sight caught his eye near the sideboard. He slowly walked over to the table, finding Ania’s body cold and motionless on the ground, lying in the remains of a broken decanter of red wine. Cor kneeled and reached out to caress her thinned hair, but hearing Thyss walk up beside him, thought better of it and instead closed the dead girl’s eyes.
“When you killed Taraq’nok, his power over her was broken,” Thyss explained. “I do not doubt there are many more in the castle elsewhere.”
“Well, she is at rest now,” Cor said, standing up. “I will have to ask the steward to prepare her whatever burial rites are proper.”
Cor returned to the dining table and ate ravenously at the meal of chicken and some sort of soup. The food was cold and greasy and the soup congealed; the meal was simply awful, and Cor wasn’t certain it would have been much better hot. But it was the most satisfying meal he had eaten in months, and he chewed his food staring with relish at the empty chair just to his right at the end of the table. Thyss sat across from him, leaning back in her chair with her legs crossed, her feet pushed against the table. As he ate, he felt as if something had not occurred to him or he was missing an important fact; it was as if he had forgotten to feed his horse.
“Do you really intend to train those people as Dahken?” Thyss asked; her face was hidden in the shadows, but Cor could hear her smile.
“If that’s what they decide.”
“And what will you do when the Loszians come for you?”
He stopped chewing and focused his gaze in her direction. “I suppose I’ll offer them a choice. They can leave us alone, or I will kill them.”
“All by yourself?”
“I thought you said you would stay with me as long as I keep life interesting. Have you deserted me already?” he asked her by way of reply, causing her to laugh.
“Of course not,” Thyss said, taking her legs off the table and causing her chair to fall forward onto all four of its legs with a thud and scrape of wood on stone. There was mischievous glint in her eyes. “It will be interesting to see if Loszian necromancy can stand up to the power of my gods.”
Later that night, Cor and Thyss made love vigorously for hours on the satin sheets of his bed. Clearly, Thyss enjoyed the challenge of exerting her dominance over her lovers, and enjoyed it even more when her dominance was met with forceful resistance. It was not until after, when they lay entwined, their bodies and the bedding still moist, when Cor started with an epiphany. He looked at Thyss; her eyes were closed and her naked chest rose and fell with her breathing, but Cor was certain she was not yet asleep.
“You said something before. I want to ask you about it,” he said.
“What is that?” Thyss asked, opening one eye lazily.
“You said that the spell over Ania was broken when I killed Taraq’nok. That would have broken the spell over all of his raised servants?” Cor asked.
“As I understand such enchantments, yes. In fact all of his spells would cease to function,” she explained. She then shifted to her side, resting her head on one arm. “Why?”
“Taraq’nok,” Cor sighed, “He killed one of the Dahken and then raised him. He gave it to the emperor as a gift, to show his loyalty.”
Thyss rolled onto her back, laughing, which confused Cor, as he did not see the humor in the situation. She then climbed atop him and kissed him fiercely.
“Life is about to become very interesting,” she said, still laughing.