“That’s not what I meant. Can we disconnect him? Will he live?”
“Absolutely not,” Hightower said, looking away. “I’m not even sure we could without him bleeding out, and I’ve got no reason to believe he’d survive the shock to his brain. He’d certainly never survive the way up to the surface.”
“Even in a mini-sub? We could come back with a mini-sub.”
“Admiral, even if…” Hightower began to argue, and now I knew the source of the voice. Hightower sighed, hung his head and looked back at my face. “Regardless, he’d never make it back to AGS. His place is here now.”
“Very well,” said the Admiral. “This installation is useless to us now. We will continue with quarantine procedures. Lock it down. We leave in five minutes.”
“Paul, I don’t know if you actually see and hear us. I have to leave now, and I won’t ever see you again,” Hightower whispered into my right ear, and he placed something in my left hand that sat free in my lap. It was paper thin and smooth. “Dix wanted me to give you this.”
He left then. It took me a long time to convince my eyes to look down and focus on the thing he’d left me. It was a picture of Lieutenant Dixon leaning against a bulkhead in plain deck fatigues. She had written on it in blue ink, and I stared long and hard at it, trying to remember what English letters looked like. It might have been mere seconds, but it felt like months. I wanted to scream, to cry, to die when I finally made out the words, “I’m sorry I never told you how I felt. Love, Dix.”
13.
“I wasn’t surprised when they said a diplomat arrived from Byrverus, but I didn’t totally believe them when they said he had skin like me,” Marya said as she came through the door. She crossed the short distance to Keth, wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and kissed him fiercely.
True to his word, Karak assigned an honor guard to escort Keth to Theron. The Dahken had been surprised by how little time it took, partially due to the Tigoleans quick pace but also the apparent small size of Akor. They reached the city in only five days and brought him directly to the palace, a palace that seemed more like a rich estate. The guards there shoved Keth into a small antechamber to wait.
“Cor did not come himself,” she said, and they clanged as her steel clad body pushed against his. “Why did he send you instead?”
“Lord Dahken Cor masses Aquis’ armies. In a matter of weeks, he will be prepared to do battle with the Tigoleans. I asked King Rederick to come alone.”
“So that you could come back to me,” Marya stated, and it was not a question. “I missed you. I hate to admit it, but I did. This is it, Keth! This is our chance! King Parol is a weakling, but he has the right idea. He’s done all the hard work for us. Now, all we must do is take that which is ours.”
“What about Cor and the Dahken? What about Aquis?” Keth asked.
She sighed and pulled her arms from him. Marya turned away, seeming to speak to the wall, “You are loyal to him.”
“I owe him my life.”
“A debt you have paid many times over by now. Were it not for you, Cor would most certainly be dead.”
“That I’m not so sure of,” Keth replied, cocking his head, “but regardless, I love him like a brother. Come back to him. Convince Parol and the Tigoleans to join Cor and King Rederick.”
“And how do you feel about me?” she asked quietly before turning to face him. “Do you love me? Do you love me like a sister?”
“Like a sister? I should say not.”
She came close to him again and stood on the tips of her toes so that her lips were near his ear. He felt her hot breath on his earlobe and neck and longed to remove both her and his armor. “Tomorrow,” she said, “you will stand before King Parol and a number of his nobles and officially present Lord Rederick’s offer. Parol will refuse, and you will decide who you stand with.”
“You’d make me choose between you and Cor?” Keth asked, his face expressionless.
“Cor has long held you on a leash because he needs your strength. He is powerful, but too weak to make the hard decision to rule. You owe him nothing and owe yourself everything.” She bit his neck hard, but didn’t break the skin. “I offer you everything.”
She took him there and then, heedless of the open door, the guards outside or the occasional passerby. Marya even thought that Parol himself had stridden by at one point, and she didn’t care. In fact, she hoped that he stayed to watch, and Keth for his part seemed unable to deny her anything. After, she led him across the palace to her personal suite. She left two commands with her personal guard - one for food and drink to be brought to them, and the second surprised even them.
“King Parol is not to be allowed entrance to my bed tonight,” she said, and she barred the door after she shut it.
* * *
Keth had seen official court in Byrverus, both under Erella and Rederick, and somehow he expected more formality than what was apparently the norm in Akor. Nobles lounged lazily, drinking or eating, reading or dozing as they willed. Some spoke to each other in hushed tones, while others carried on raucously. There were Tigoleans as well – representatives of the various lords who led Parol’s army. Plate armored guards stood at every entrance or exit, and Marya stood to one side of the royal divan, flanked by her own personal guard. Keth waited patiently about ten paces away, directly in front of the divan. He wore the clothes of a noble; when he tried to don his armor, she stopped him.
“You won’t need that today,” she said. “I promise.”
King Parol arrived mere minutes after Keth and Marya, and Keth had no doubt that she had planned that perfectly. No one bowed or knelt, possibly because Parol was a grossly unimpressive man to Keth’s eye, especially for a king of a nation. He had no golden crown, no trappings of his position. Nor was he even clad in impressive armor; he looked like nothing more than a wealthy merchant. Keth thought about that for a moment. The Loszian Emperor was the most powerful necromancer, and up until recently, the ruler of Aquis was the most powerful or influential of Garod’s priests. Among the Northmen, the chiefs were the strongest warriors. In the context of a nation of merchant traders, the ruler would be the wealthiest and the wiliest.
Akor’s king entered the carpeted marble hall through a rear entrance, a richly clad noblewoman following. Keth’s eyebrow went up for just a moment in surprise before he controlled himself, the realization at the king’s infidelity striking him. That was the first moment that Marya’s words to her guards had really registered with Keth, and he felt as if a freezing stone suddenly dropped into his stomach. As Parol neared his divan, he looked Keth over with an expression of disdain, but it was the unbridled anger in his eyes when he looked on Marya that everyone saw. Marya smiled in response, and the reaction unsettled Keth further. He suddenly didn’t know if Marya actually cared for him or if he was merely a pawn in a game that only she played.
Parol waited until the entire room was silent before he spoke from his place on the divan. This was yet another difference from the court in Byrverus – there everyone hushed the moment the king entered.
“You are Dahken Keth?” he asked.
“Yes King Parol,” Keth replied, kneeling briefly, and Marya momentarily flashed a sardonic smile.
“I have already read the message from King Rederick and need to hear no words from you. Akor staunchly refuses to be held down by Aquis any longer. Aquis has proven its weakness, and Akor will prove its strength to all of the West.”
“Majesty,” Keth said, keeping his voice as even and toneless as possible, “Aquis and Akor have long been allies. Neither rules the other. The Loszian Empire again plans attack, and we need your help to –“
“Yes,” Parol interrupted, “Aquis needs our help. Go back to King Rederick now, and tell him that I claim Aquis for Akor. Rederick will come before me and kneel, accept me as his better, and then we shall see to the defense of the Shining West.”
“Your terms are unacceptable King Parol.”
�
�Then it is war,” Parol replied immediately.
“Majesty, even now Lord Dahken Cor masses Aquis’ armies. You know of the promise he made to your emissary,” warned Keth.
“I’ve heard of this Cor, and I don’t fear him. I have my own Dahken,” rebutted Parol with a nod of his head toward Marya.
“If I may, Your Majesty,” Marya said, as if on cue. With Parol’s nod, she continued, “Cor is powerful, and I believe he could fight any one Dahken for all eternity. But he could not stand against two.”
Parol stared at Marya uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then he jerked his gaze back to Keth as the realization hit him. “You Dahken Keth would offer me your allegiance?”
Marya barked a laugh before Keth could answer, pulling Parol’s attention back to her. There was white hot anger in his eyes, and his face began to turn red with rage. His wife cringed behind him, but Marya only laughed. She raised her right hand from her hip and snapped her fingers loudly. The guards around the room closed any open doors and barred them all tightly from the inside.
“Keth,” she said, “would no more offer you allegiance than any other warrior in this room. You are nothing – a pitiful little money grubbing merchant.”
“What is the meaning of this? How dare you?” Parol blustered.
“I dare because I’m more powerful than you, and that is the only reason I need,” she answered. “You thought you owned me. You thought I was just some pig you could fuck and then slaughter when you tired of me. You thought to use me until I was no longer needed, then poison me or slit my throat in the night. You’re stupid King Parol, King Nothing.”
“Guards!” Parol shouted as Marya moved in on him, but no one moved.
“No one’s coming to help you King Nothing,” Marya replied, standing over him. “They know who has power in this room.”
“They won’t follow you,” Parol replied, but he sounded weak even in his own ears.
“Why not? The merchants don’t care as long as their business continues, and the Tigoleans don’t care as long as their contracts are met. The few warriors Akor has have no respect for you, because they know what you are.”
She bent over and kissed him hard on the lips, forcing her tongue into his mouth. After a moment, he fought back with his own tongue, thinking to dominate her. She allowed it, and once his tongue was fully inside her mouth, Marya bit down hard. Her teeth sheared through the mass of muscle, spurting blood onto her face. Wide eyed, Parol rocked backward, screaming with his hands covering a closed mouth, and he realized too late that Marya had pulled her dagger. Before he knew what happened, she’d jabbed it into the bulge in the front of his leggings.
“No!” screamed Lady Parol as she frantically ran to her husband’s side. Marya swiftly backhanded the woman across the face, sending her sprawling to the ground with blood streaming from her nose.
Keth raised an eyebrow and sighed as he watched the scene play out. The nobles no longer lazed around the court but were all on their feet, unsure as to what they should do if anything. Not one armored guard moved a muscle, as they all knew what was to come, and they owed no loyalty to the newly styled King. Parol had one hand covering his mouth and the other over his mangled manhood, and his eyes had glazed over in shock. Marya whirled, her sword suddenly in hand, and neatly lopped off his head at the neck, taking his right hand at the wrist at the same time. The hand flew to one side, and his head simply seemed to bounce backward off his neck, hit the floor and roll away. A great shock of blood went up from the severed neck to cover the divan, floor and Marya as Parol’s body slumped backward and fell off the backside of the divan. To the symphony of Lady Parol’s sobs, Marya turned to face the assembly, and her personal guard came to flank her once more.
“Tigoleans, tell your masters that I will fulfill the former king’s promises to you. Are there any nobles of Akor who would choose not to support Lord Dahken and Queen Marya of Akor? No? Good,” she said, and she locked gazes with Keth. “And you my love, do you stand with me or against me?”
Keth looked blood stained rugs beneath her feet and then the blood spattered queen herself, and he thought she never looked more beautiful. Or more deadly. He looked at the faces of the two men at her side, one who seemed to leer with a mouthful of broken teeth, and he saw the unquestioned loyalty in their eyes. How has she inspired these men so? he thought.
“Oh, I am with you,” he replied.
14.
The Tigolean riders and Cor’s scouts were well aware of one another as well as the locations of the massing hosts. Even miles apart, it was hard to miss the great plumes of smoke from the near constant cooking fires required to keep a large army fed, and as the outriders from each side became more accustomed to each other’s existence, they also became bolder and more aggressive. The Westerners tested the range of their bows, firing arrows that they knew would not reach the target but made a point nonetheless. The Tigoleans responded by riding in close and hard, hurling javelins in kind or simply making obscene hand gestures that needed no translation.
The first clash happened five days after Cor and his host reached the rally point a few miles east of the border. A half dozen Tigoleans had crossed and were generally riding wild across the picket lines while shouting Western obscenities. Both sides had grown accustomed to this kind of sport, and one of the pickets drew back an arrow. The bowman’s intent was to loose an arrow that coursed just behind a head of one of the riders. Unfortunately, the arrow missed the mark and imbedded itself into the hindquarters of the rider’s horse.
Incensed by the drawn blood, the riders suddenly turned and charged, hurling their javelins as they came. The bowman and one other went down immediately. Other pickets saw the commotion and immediately turned toward the sudden fray or ran for the main part of the host. The Tigolean with the wounded horse dismounted and began blowing into a large horn. As Westerners armed with swords arrived at the scene, so did more mounted Tigoleans. It was only a matter of minutes before hundreds from both camps were engaged, but the fighting was half hearted, almost grudging. Men from both sides knew the affair was premature.
When the word of heavy fighting reached Cor’s ears, he left immediately with whatever forces he could muster. He left Red and Mora to get the rest of the host moving should it turn into a full scale battle then and there. It was a mere two miles, and Cor charged in to the fray at the head of over a thousand mounted men. Soulmourn sang as he struck at the yellow skinned warriors, and it was only moments before they realized that they were hopelessly outnumbered. Most turned and fled to be cut down immediately by the Westerners. Still some escaped, and bowstrings were drawn to finish them as well.
“No,” Cor called out. “Leave them be. They know they’ve been bested. Withdraw to camp. See that new pickets are set.”
Cor looked around him as the orders were carried out and saw that the ground was red with blood, the wild grasses trampled into the dirt. He knew it would be soon that the ground as far as he could see would look the same, and the small river that served as the border with Akor would run red. He felt Soulmourn’s satisfaction at the image, and as it was, Cor felt an odd sensation when looking at the blood that had already been spilled. It was as if he could almost sense it, and he knew that something important was right under his nose. He could feel it, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.
Looking in the direction of the fleeing Tigoleans, Cor saw a new figure some distance away, well out of bowshot. This figure approached on horseback slowly as if to indicate a desire not to threaten, and once he reached the range of Western bows, he held one hand aloft and open. As he closed the distance, Cor could see that he wore some sort of heavy armor made of overlapping steel plates. On his head was a bizarre helm of the same design with a faceplate, and he bore no weapons that could be seen. Though somewhat hard to tell on horseback, Cor was sure the man was not large of frame or stature.
Cor sheathed Soulmourn and then held up his right hand in much the same fashion, and the armored m
an came to a halt. The Dahken walked the last few hundred feet to the armored figure, well aware that the eyes of several hundred of his men followed him instead of carrying out his orders. He mentally shrugged; it was just as well in case this turned out to be some sort of trap. As he closed, he could see that the helm’s faceplate was in fact a sort of mask, stylized as a face twisted in a mockery of insanity. It appeared to be crying. The man removed his helm to reveal a clean shaven yellow face with a long black mustache, almond shaped eyes and a newly shaven head.
“Lord Dahken Cor I presume?” the Tigolean asked in crisp Western.
“I am,” Cor replied guardedly. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t repaid the Tigolean in kind and lifted off his own helm.
“Your armor was described perfectly, and one could not mistake your pallor. I am Karak, one of the Seven Lords that face you across the border. I bring a message from Lord Dahken Marya, Queen of Akor, and her consort Dahken Keth. I suggest you read it and take her words into consideration.”
The man lowered his hand, and in it was a bamboo scroll case. Cor took it and, without opening it, asked, “What does it say?”
“The short answer is that they will arrive in five days time, and then shall begin the invasion of Aquis,” answered Karak. “We shall meet you on the field of battle then. We have at least twice your numbers, so I should think peace would be upon your mind.”
“King Rederick does not bow to the likes of Marya, and I am worthy of a thousand Tigoleans myself. Lord Karak, you don’t know what she has gotten you into.”
“I do not care for war, Lord Dahken Cor, but I have become wealthy and powerful because of it. Personally, I would be honored to duel with you myself, but I’m afraid that Lord Dahken Marya and Dahken Keth will keep that honor to themselves.”
“Don’t worry, I have other good men ready to kill you Lord Karak,” Cor replied, and he slid his helm back over his head.
The Cor Chronicles: Volume 04 - Gods and Steel Page 10
