“To the cavalry!” Cor shouted, and his flowing river of steel surged toward their falling compatriots. He could see no sign of Red, and he fought with an anxiety that he must reach the lord as quickly as possible. The Tigoleans had turned around en masse, facing the new threat that threatened to overrun them at first. Most of them were naked or near to it, not having had time to don any sort of protection, but their sheer numbers caused Cor’s charge to fight to a standstill.
He killed man after man and even some women who fought just as fiercely, but they all fell under Soulmourn’s onslaught. The blade parried blows and cut through blades, flesh and bone without pause or remorse, and more now than ever it felt to be just an extension of Cor’s arm. As he killed and maimed, he took blow after blow. Most caromed off his black armor leaving no mark at all, but others found flesh. Some were even mortal and caused his blood to mix in copious amounts with that of the dead and dying. Even still, he would not quit; he could not quit, and his wounds closed as if they had never been rent.
A gigantic figure loomed ahead, wreaking carnage with an incredibly long yet thin two handed blade. The weapon pierced steel as easily as Soulmourn, but it wasn’t the warrior’s sole method of murder. As Cor fought toward this new threat, he watched as the huge warrior picked up a hapless soldier in each of his giant hands. His chest seemed twice as broad as Cor’s, all solid muscle, and his arms looked made of giant cords of steel wrapped in yellow-brown flesh. The warrior smashed the two Westerners together in a cataclysmic collision and dropped their disfigured remains to the ground. Cor finished his latest foe with two quick strikes just as the great Tigolean retrieved his sword from the ground with the quickness of a striking snake.
“Finally, a man worthy of my steel!” proclaimed the Tigolean over the din on the battle.
It seemed to Cor that all of the other combatants suddenly made way for the pair as they crossed their steel. Both had been seen killing great numbers of the enemy, and Westerner and Tigolean alike were happy to allow the two to each other. This man was different from the others in that his skin tone was more brown than yellow as if from long exposure to the sun. He wore steel plate legguards like Karak’s, but no armor covered his scarred torso at all. He protected his arms and shoulders with plate guards, held in place by crossing leather cords, and he wore a spiked steel half helm that covered the top part of his face.
They clashed with the fury of two rams, their steel ringing more loudly than all of those around them. The Tigolean moved with the speed and grace of a prowling cat, avoiding Soulmourn at every thrust or swipe. His curved sword, easily as long as Cor was tall, came in great deadly arcs at a speed that Cor would not have thought possible considering his foe’s huge size. Cor parried and felt it threaten to rip Soulmourn from his grasp, and when it deflected off of his hauberk, the force would knock him back several steps. Against this man, Cor did not allow himself to be wounded, for a wounding strike from this man could mean instant death.
“What manner of steel do you carry that I cannot break it?” the Tigolean shouted over the raging battle.
He stepped back a few paces to catch his breath as his bulk heaved up and down, and Cor was happy for the break. He couldn’t help but notice that the throngs of warriors surrounding them had slowly stopped their own duels to watch. Cor lunged and feinted, but the Tigolean was not fooled. He brought his sword around with lightning quickness, and they crossed blades at the hilts, bringing their helmed faces only inches apart. The Tigolean dropped one hand from his hilt to grasp Cor by the underside of his hauberk, and the man loosed a great yell as he heaved Cor well into the air. Westerners and Tigoleans alike narrowly avoided the Dahken turned projectile as he flew no less than eight feet to crash hard onto his back.
Dizzied by the flight, Cor fumbled for Ebonwing’s handle as it had come out of his hand on impact with the ground. He found it just in time to roll to his right, avoiding a two handed strike meant to cleave him from head to manhood. The next blow was even worse; it came from Cor’s left, and he could not escape it. Instead, he leaned his helm straight into the blade’s path. It clanged deafeningly inside his helm, and stars exploded into his vision even as the crowd gasped in horror at the maneuver.
As Cor staggered back, the Tigolean screamed his anger, “Gods damn you! Why don’t you just die?!”
Cor could barely hear his reply, “Because I’m Lord Dahken Cor Pelson, and I will die when I choose!”
The huge man stepped backward, as if suddenly stunned into inaction. He released his sword with his left hand, and his right arm went limp so that its blade buried itself into the ground. While the battle raged on elsewhere, hushed words could be heard amongst those who watched, even between enemies. Cor only waited, and he was again glad for a pause, for it allowed him to regain his balance.
“I would have never thought to see you again boy,” said the Tigolean, “and yet the fates have brought us together. I should have known from the gray of your skin, but it is a thing I have seen more often since your departure. What, you do not recognize my voice? Perhaps you will know my face.”
With that the man reached up and pushed off the spiked helm. It fell to one side, clattering off of his plate clad shoulder to thud heavily into the ground. The great man seemed suddenly transformed from a great Tigolean devil to Naran, the only Shet Cor had ever known to captain a ship on the Narrow Sea. Cor mirrored the gesture by removing his own bug-like helm, though he did not drop it to the ground.
“Aye, it is you boy, though you have grown more into a man. There will be no more fighting today!” Naran called out.
The battle still raged on throughout the camp, and the Shet took a great horn from his sword belt. What emitted from the horn nearly deafened all those near it, and swords ceased to clash. More horns went up in answer to Naran’s, and the Tigolean horde stopped attacking their opponents. Some still fell as Westerners’ saw opportunities, threatening to ignite the entire battle once more, but the horns continued to sound. Eventually over a hundred thousand warriors stood facing each other in wonder as to what would cause an end to the fighting.
“What now?” Cor asked once the horns had stopped.
“Now?” Naran boomed, placing the horn back at his belt. “Why now, you take your army back to its camp. Tomorrow night, I shall receive you and your commanders in my tent for a grand feast, a celebration of our friendship! For I’m afraid I will have to kill you the day after!”
16.
“We cannot. The Tigoleans will murder us in his tent, and then it’ll be nothing for their armies to crush our leaderless soldiers,” Mora implored.
She had come out of the battle no worse for wear, just a few mild scrapes and bruises. To her annoyance, she had been well protected by a squad of veteran men at arms, no doubt by order of King Rederick. Red was a different matter however. The cavalry had been spotted, and they had no choice but to charge early lest the element of surprise be lost. They had been engaged for several long minutes before Cor and the foot soldiers had arrived. As such, almost a quarter of the knights had been lost, and Red himself had been swarmed and pulled from his horse. Mora prevented his death by healing the two mortal wounds just enough, but the man still had a broken arm and likely some ribs as well. The two Westerners met with Cor and Thyss quietly in their tent.
“I agree, though I’m not sure they should be so concerned to do so,” Red agreed. He sat awkwardly cradling his arm and ribs, and his face was drawn and haggard. “Our gambit wasted, it will be nothing for them to crush us now. Gods or no gods, magic or no magic.”
Cor spoke to ward off the smoldering looks from both Thyss and Mora.
“No, we’re going,” he said. “Naran won’t kill us in his tent. If he says he’ll kill me on the field of battle the next day, then that is what he’ll do.”
“He is a man of honor then,” commented Red with a look of approval.
“No,” Cor replied with a smile, “honor has nothing to do with it. He just has no reason t
o do anything other than what he says. It’s his way, and it’s how he has always been.”
“This is a formal, diplomatic affair?” asked Mora.
Cor laughed, “I don’t think Naran understands the meaning of either word.”
“I suppose I was asking if we attend his feast armed.”
“Naran would expect nothing less,” Cor replied, and much to the consternation of his fellows, his smile grew broader with each word.
“You’re friends,” Mora stated. “Can you convince him to join us or at least not to fight?”
“Friendship doesn’t protect you from his sword,” Cor replied. “Naran could be friends with an enemy as easily as anyone else.”
“Then how do we stop the Tigoleans?”
“I,” Thyss interrupted loudly, “will reduce their entire army to a lake of bubbling goo before I allow them to harm us.”
Cor looked at her quietly, and he knew that by “us” she meant the two of them and Cor’El, not Red, Mora or any of the other Westerners. She had changed so much in the last year, but the old violence, the danger was still there, hidden in her eyes. Once in a while it flashed hotly to the surface.
“Our only chance,” he said slowly as he reasoned through it, “is to convince Naran and the other Seven Lords to join with us.”
“Fuck politics,” Thyss blurted, bringing silent stares from them all. “Just kill them all. My love, I have the powers my gods grant me, Mora has Garod, and you are Lord Dahken. They are but mortal men –“
“As are we,” Cor interjected.
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “and they are insects to us. Never once have I concerned myself with being outnumbered. I prefer the thrill of the losing fight, the danger of death staved off only by the edge of my blade and the heat of my flames. Let them come with their bows and armor of parchment. I will incinerate the armor on their skin and burn their arrows from the sky.”
“Thyss,” Cor said softly, “I once saw you melt away iron bars while throwing a wall of flame in the path of those that would harm us, and it wiped you out.”
“My strength waned then, sapped by carrying your seed,” she replied harshly.
“How long will you be able to hold at bay an entire army?”
“As long as I must, as long as Hykan favors me to do so, and he will not be quick to abandon two of his servants.”
“It’s foolhardy, Lord Dahken,” Red said, seated on the ground to Cor’s left. “I’ve always placed my trust in men, strategy and steel, not gods. We cannot win. Not now.”
“I have always won, often by the grace of the gods, but I fear you’re right,” Cor agreed. He didn’t have to look at Thyss to know her thoughts.
“Then what can we do?” asked Mora.
“Tigoleans tend to be mercenary by nature,” Cor mused.
“You think to buy them off?” Thyss asked with a sneer.
She then huffed and pushed her way past to leave the tent. Cor sighed and stared at the ground as the flap closed behind him. He looked into the faces of Red and Mora and found them both looking away in various directions, their faces blank.
“I’ll handle Thyss when the time comes,” Cor said, bringing their attention back to him. “She may get her glorious battle yet. I really don’t know the Seven Lords except for Naran, and I have some thoughts on Karak. We may be able to buy some of them, but not Naran, not with money anyway. Naran lives for himself and no one else. He asks for nothing that is not his, nor would he take anything from another without cause. Unfortunately, that it is there for the taking is enough in his mind. He lives for the thrill of life, and he loves battle.”
“So how do you win over Naran?” Red asked.
“I offer him the greatest battle the world has ever seen.”
* * *
“And what is it that an exquisite creature such as you finds in this scrawny lad?” Naran thundered boisterously, his massive left arm hanging heavily around Cor’s shoulders. His right hand held a great wooden flagon full of ale; it was a small barrel really.
Thyss smiled in spite of herself, “I am not sure, but it’s something I have never found in any other man.”
“Perhaps!” Naran replied, “but perhaps you should come to my bed this night and see what I have that other men do not!”
Every muscle in Cor’s body tensed unintentionally, and he felt at once nauseated and ready to fight. He had known the Shet would say something toward Thyss once he had gotten drunk enough. She had recovered her fighting body fully from daily regimented practice sessions, and her body felt firm and incredible under and atop of his. Oddly it wasn’t Naran’s statement that made Cor react so, but the relishing smile on her face. An image of her enjoying the prospect came unbidden to his mind, and he grew even more uncomfortable, even angry.
“Thank you for the tempting offer,” Thyss said, “but I think I am satisfied with what Cor Pelson offers.”
“Suit yourself, but the offer remains open, especially after I kill him,” Naran said with a laugh, and he clapped Cor hard on the back.
“For your safety and the safety of your men, I suggest you reconsider that course,” Thyss said lightly. She still smiled and seemed to be joining in the fun, but Cor recognized the danger in her tone and eyes.
“Naran,” Cor said seriously, “it doesn’t have to be. Let us talk about this.”
“Not until you both have had your share of this fine ale that my riders found in the village across the river,” Naran disagreed.
Naran turned away from the pair and crossed to the far side of the tent to retrieve more ale. The Tigoleans had erected the largest canvas tent Cor had ever seen. So tall that it was visible from at least two miles away, the thing was circular and at least forty feet across on the inside. Food, cooked elsewhere in the camp, had been laid out, and there was ale and wine also. It seemed large enough to hold a few thousand people, and Cor thought he was expected to have brought more than he and three others.
Here they met all of the Seven Lords, and each lord brought a retinue of at least a dozen personal guards and servants. Some, like Naran and Karak, wore their armor as if they expected a fight at any moment, while others dressed in finery as a rich merchant might. There was one other Shet named Peku, and the rest appeared as fairly normal Tigoleans hailing from the various coasts of the southern continent. Cor forgot their names within minutes of meeting them not out of disrespect but for the sheer number of them to remember.
“I see why you like him so much,” Thyss said, her eyes on Naran’s back.
“Apparently not as much as you,” Cor replied snidely, petulantly.
“Ha! I’ve made you jealous Lord Dahken Cor,” she laughed. “I have no desire for that beast of a man. I meant only that he is… fun.”
“If I learned anything from him, it was to live, master life and let no one determine my fate for me.”
“And yet he wants to determine yours,” she replied just as Naran returned.
“Captain Naran the Shet,” Cor said, “was an odd person to say the least, but how did the ocean going Shet become one of the Seven Lords? What are the Seven Lords?”
“Each of us controls a vast portion of the wealth in Tigol. There are many lesser lords who owe me allegiance.”
“But how did that come about?” Cor asked. “I don’t remember you owing any lord your allegiance. I don’t remember Tigol even having lords.”
“It is based on wealth and power, not lands and castles, and no. I sailed the seas to keep my freedom. I am one of the Seven Lords because of this,” Naran explained, and he drew his giant curved sword. “It has one edge only, like yours, and you felt its strike. Have you ever felt steel so hard, so strong? Did you notice that the blade did not ring like yours as we fought? Do you see how thin this blade is? Cor Pelson, there are several different steels in this blade, and they have been folded upon each other sixteen times.”
“Where did you find such a thing?” Thyss asked, leaning in for a closer look.
&nb
sp; “I did not find it,” Naran said proudly. “It was made for me. The process took three weeks.”
“It’s an impressive weapon, Naran, but how did this sword make you one of the Seven Lords?” confusedly asked Cor.
“Because boy, I discovered the secret! I found the only place they can be made, and I have the only two smiths in the entire world who understand the process! Merchants and lesser lords all over Tigol clamber for my swords, and I do not sell them cheap. They want the best steel under the sun for their personal guards, generals and small armies, and I demand everything from them for it! It takes only one demonstration of this sword, and they will kiss my feet or allow me to bed their wives if I wish.
“But enough of this,” Naran said, changing the subject. “Boy, I should have you know that Karak is most put out with you. It took a number of firm words to make him drop the idea of challenging you to an honor duel.”
Cor looked across the tent at the steel clad Lord Karak and saw that the man glared his direction. Cor asked, “Why?”
“Karak felt that your attack on our encampment last night lacked honor,” Naran replied. He then called out, “Is that not so? Come, join us Karak.”
The Tigolean lord merely continued to stare, seeming to smolder as he did so. He held a gilded goblet in one hand that he slowly lifted to his lips. Sipping at whatever it held, Karak grimaced and tossed its contents to one side. He handed the goblet to one of his attendants and marched to Naran’s side.
“It’s about time,” Naran said, placing a hand on Karak’s shoulder.
“I am afraid the company has made me antisocial,” answered Karak.
“I was just telling the boy how you felt. Now I’m a different matter. For me, there was no thrill in crushing his puny army on the open field. I appreciate the boy for bringing the danger back to battle.”
“Lord Karak,” Cor said with a slight bow of his head, “there was no dishonor in our attack.”
“I told you when to expect battle Lord Dahken Cor. You dishonored the agreement,” Karak disagreed.
The Cor Chronicles: Volume 04 - Gods and Steel Page 12
