“Lord Dahken Cor, stop and hear me out for a moment,” Nadav pleaded, holding his hands up in supplication. He couldn’t be sure because the room would not stop moving about, but he was fairly sure that Cor still came toward him. “You are powerful, more powerful than I possibly imagined, and I am the strongest Loszian sorcerer who ever lived. Think about this for a moment. Together we can rule the entire world. No one could stand against us united. Unlimited power and wealth shall be yours for the asking. Gold, jewels, women, anything you could possibly desire, and I shall be your humble servant. You are a god to those around you. You owe them nothing. I beg you, join me and rule as you ought.”
By the time Nadav finished his speech, the hall and stepped dais had finally ceased its sickening movement. He searched Cor’s being, but could make out nothing behind the Dahken’s inscrutable helm. However, the gray skinned man had stopped his threatening advance, still standing several steps from the bottom. He seemed to tower menacingly over the seven foot tall Loszian, a first in Nadav’s experience.
“You’re right Nadav,” Cor said with a nod. “I have become powerful. You are the most powerful Loszian ever, and I am the most powerful Dahken ever. Let me show you what I now know I can do.”
Cor removed his black chain gauntlets one at a time and dropped them onto the steps at his feet. They clinked even through the rich, padded carpet. He held out both of his hands, palms facing the Loszian who still sat on his ass in a most undignified fashion. For just a moment nothing happened, and Nadav thought as though he might laugh.
Then he felt the most bizarre sensation, as if someone or something pulled at every vein and artery in his body. Something dripped onto the front of his robes, and he wiped the back of his hand across his nose to find dark blood smeared there. He watched in awe as the blood lifted itself off of his hand and robe and floated slowly through the air to stop about halfway between him and the Dahken. The nosebleed intensified, and his blood ran freely out of his nostrils onto his silk robes, but before it could soak into and stain the silk, the blood pulled away to join that which floated in midair. Then the blood that ran from his nose simply flew straight toward the small glob that had begun to form. Nadav clawed at his nose, as if with his hands alone he could stop it, but his blood only ran through his fingers. A burning sensation filled his ears and eyes. He could see nothing but red and hear nothing but the sound of rushing water as more dark blood streamed from his eyes and ears. Pain and fury filled his entire being, and Nadav covered his ears, trying to block out the maddening sound. He closed his eyes, and yet his eyes felt as if they would explode from their sockets. A globe of blood about six inches across had formed, and yet it continued to grow, producing a terrible gargling sound. When he began to scream, a gout of nearly black blood cut off his voice. His skin began to rupture forth as his very pores began to emit streams of red, appearing almost as a mist. His skin grew even paler than before and began to wrinkle as if he had been in a bath for too long.
Within moments, Nadav no longer moved. His body lay on the cold, carpeted stone floor, its very position a visage of terrible horror and suffering. The dark red, almost black, irregular sphere that hung in midair was about three and a half feet across. Cor dropped his hands to his sides and the blood globe fell with them. As it hit the floor, there was a great splash as the stuff covered the floor, Nadav’s corpse and even the bottom few steps like an ocean wave breaking upon rocks. It lapped up Cor’s boots and sabatons and stained the carpet, flowing in every direction across the hall’s floor until it could spread no more. Cor stood over the bloody carnage like a general surveying the lands he had conquered.
“By the gods,” whispered Menak, wide eyed wonder plain upon his face, “in all my life I have never seen such a thing. Perhaps you truly are a god.”
Menak knelt as well as he was able with whatever implement was under his robes that allowed him to stand upright. He planted his open palm on the floor and dropped his head as was the Loszian fashion, paying no heed to Nadav’s blood wet under his hand as it stained his robes. A strong hand gripped him by the shoulder and pulled him too his feet, though not roughly.
“You needn’t kneel to me, Lord Menak,” Cor said. “You have proven yourself in my eyes and, soon, King Rederick’s. Now, how quickly can you get us back to our friends?”
31.
Keth and Naran led those on foot, and it appeared that they reached the battle just in time. The knights and heavy cavalry had come to a complete halt, fighting from horseback at a standstill as long as they could before dozens of clawing hands pulled them down. Somewhere deep in the sea of walking corpses, still corpses and flashing steel, he caught glimpses of Lord Red. Though he too had been pulled from his horse, the man was on his feet and fighting either from his own resiliency or the help of his fellows. Even still, Keth thought that he could have little time left before the sheer mass of the enemy finally pulled him down. They slowed their charge to a brisk, almost nervous walk as they waded into the enemy. Their steel seemed to be a cleansing force, driving their foe from the field as a bucket of pure water washes away a foul fluid. Perhaps it was the thrill of battle, but it seemed so easy to cut down the mindless automatons in droves to reach their comrades who fought so desperately.
They continued to push, and though men fell, their enemies dropped in numbers at least tenfold. Driven by their master’s will, the mindless walking corpses were no match for organized strategy backed with cold, hard steel. The faces of those around him showed battle fervor and grim determination, but they also showed hope, for those who fought saw the successes. Ever pragmatic and logical, even Keth allowed himself a glimmer of the emotion, and his sword and shield felt lighter as his limbs enjoyed new energy.
Soldiers began to fall, and while some managed to stumble away from the carnage to seek healing, most did not rise from under the press of the enemy. And press the enemy did; the walking dead just shambled continually toward the Westerners, completely uncaring as to how many of them were cut down. They were everywhere, in numbers that stretched as far as Keth could see. Naran had taken to swinging his sword in great two handed arcs that sliced through three, four or five foes at a time, and yet they came.
Keth hazarded a glance backward and saw Mora galloping full speed his way, and it was then he realized their mistake – it was so far. In their success and fervor, they had pushed too far into Nadav’s mass of death. He looked all around to further judge the situation, pausing long enough to bash a skeleton’s bones apart with his shield. In reaching the floundering cavalry, they had charged right into the heart of the enemy, and now the enemy pushed in on them from three directions. Hundreds if not thousands of the dead separated the Westerners from the flames meant to guard their flanks. If Nadav saw this and moved around their rear…
Keth dropped back through the ranks to meet the approaching Mora, weaving in between steel clad forms. Once he was free, he saw that she had pulled her horse to a walk. They came together, the battle raging only a few yards away.
“I am glad to see you,” he said.
“I’m here to help, heal if I can,” she replied as she dropped off her horse. She pointed the mount back toward their camp and smacked his rump roughly. As the horse took off, she turned back to him and said, “You’re too far forward.”
“I know,” he nodded, “we must back away now. Back away to where the flames will force them into a smaller front line.”
“Then what are you waiting for, Dahken Keth? I will be the rally point behind you,” Mora said as she turned and jogged away.
“Pull back!” Keth shouted, receiving only confused stares if he received any reaction at all. He looked for any of the older soldiers, grizzled veterans whose names and faces he forced himself to recognize, but everyone around him seemed a giant blur. He just saw men everywhere, fighting and some were dying. He shouted again, “Pull back now! We must fight away from the center! Spread the word, and begin the retreat!”
In his mind’s eye, K
eth saw an organized, cohesive retreat. He saw the host coming together as one, walking backward carefully to avoid fallen friends and foes alike and striking at their enemies if they came too close. In this way, few fell, and they fought their way back to safety with ease.
What happened did not match what he saw in his mind, but it would not have surprised a veteran commander. The word went up and traveled through the air to more and more ears as more men took up the cry. There were some attempts at a fighting retreat, but mostly, the men simply turned and ran. They were faster than the dead and didn’t think to defend themselves as they attempted to escape. Despite their apparent speed, some were still grabbed as they fled and pulled into the mass of death, while others tripped and fell. Broken ankles were the least of their worries as Nadav’s servants almost literally fell upon them. Some of their more valiant fellows turned and fought to rescue their friends and cohorts, and others bravely tried to hold the line to buy their cohorts time to escape.
Word of the retreat reached Naran’s ears, and the Shet turned to survey the field behind him. He found Keth calling the order again and again across a field of carnage, and screamed furiously at him, “You cannot be serious! We’ve nearly won the day!”
“We’re too far forward!” Keth shouted back across the cacophony of men dying. He wanted to explain further. He wanted to tell the Shet that the dead already started to crush their flanks, and it would only get worse until they collapsed altogether. It was only a matter of time before Nadav moved his forces to their rear, cutting them off from the rest of the host. Not to mention that none of the truly dead had risen yet, or again, and that was only a matter of time.
Keth had no way to relay all of this information quickly, and instead, he hesitated as it all went through his mind. In that moment of hesitation, he watched as a bony hand clawed at Naran’s right shoulder. The Shet simply shot his elbow backward, dislodging a skull from its bony neck and causing the skeleton to drop lifelessly. Another hand grabbed at him; this one still had flesh on its fingers, but it tapered so that the ends of the fingers themselves were bony claws. Dead hands suddenly were all over the Shet’s huge form, and then came the teeth, biting into any exposed flesh they could find.
Naran turned with the force of a bull, whipping his sword around in the most deadly of arcs. Keth couldn’t see how many fell from that blow, but it didn’t matter. Within moments, dozens or even hundreds of forms surrounded and swarmed over the Shet. More filled in the space between Naran and Keth so that the Dahken could no longer even see Naran. Keth began to move the Shet’s direction, thinking he would fight his way to the big man, but he suddenly found himself restrained. He was vaguely aware that his own men dragged him forcefully away from the flood of the dead, and he thought he shouted over and over, “No! Let me go!” He caught one last glimpse of Naran as he burst into view, flinging corpses in all directions as he used any and every part of his muscular body as a weapon any way he could. Again, Keth lost sight of him under the press of Nadav’s attack, and before he knew it, the men released him to let him drop onto his ass at Mora’s feet.
He looked up at her. Her head just barely blocked out the bright afternoon sunlight, making her face appear dark and featureless. “I lost Naran,” he said.
“And you tried to lose yourself as well,” she replied, offering him her arm. As she helped him to his feet, she intoned a piece of wisdom that he thought he had heard before, “You’re young. You haven’t yet discovered that there is a difference between bravery and foolishness.
“We don’t have much time,” Mora continued as she looked at the slowly oncoming horde. “The men are reforming. We must hold this line. I hope Lord Dahken Cor is quick.”
“So do I,” Keth agreed quietly.
* * *
Golden laughter, full of ecstatic fury filled the air as pyroclasms burned this way and that, thrown by willful fingers. The fire ignited unnatural things, walking dead in various states of decay or even just bones, immediately on contact to lay them down to a rest from which they would not awaken. A sorceress with bronze skin and hair to match her laughter invoked the hateful flames, burning down anything that came near her.
Thyss had waited as long as she could. She watched Keth and Naran lead their charge into the enemy, and she watched them push forward victoriously before inexplicably routing. She watched them form into ranks again around Mora, and she watched as the dead came down upon them. Despite having lost numbers, the Westerners fought well at first, holding a solid line of steel against the oncoming dead, but eventually the full weight of the enemy pressing in on the line at one point started to cause damage. It began with just a few men falling to be replaced immediately by those behind, and some of the fallen were even dragged to safety. But more fell, and the line was physically pushed back. The Westerners began to break and chaos ensued.
Some of the armored soldiers fought valiantly, stalwart in their cause, while others turned and ran. The bowmen and archers, some clad in leather armors but most in plain woolen clothes, charged with daggers and shortswords to bolster their friends. Even King Rederick left the safety of his post and joined the fray with his personal guard, leaving the tent with the wounded to their own devices. The dead, like a great flood that had finally breached an offending dam, spread across the Westerners’ side of the valley. Thyss waited until she could wait no longer; she waited until the first of them stumbled their way to the foot of the slope that led to Cor’El.
She charged into them with Hykan’s might and Feghul’s green blade, cutting down three in moments while erecting a wall of flame to hold off more. She dispatched two others, dispelled the wall and breathed fire into a crowd of a dozen more. Her sword flashed in the most deadly of arcs over and over again, a whirlwind of greenish steel reflecting the sun’s light in every direction possible. She knew she could handle these slow moving things easily enough with her sword in twos or threes, but she called on Hykan’s strength to burn down the larger groups. Before long it seemed that only large groups of the shambling corpses still remained.
With all the fury of her gods, she threw sheets of flame from her hands, breathed it from her lungs and called pillars of fire from the sky. They burned, oh yes, they burned. Blazing heaps of melting flesh and cracking bones lay everywhere within fifty yards of Thyss, and she added to it with each passing moment, calling on Hykan and laughing with brutal clarity. Some few, including King Rederick himself, caught sight of the devilish elementalist, and they thought her mad. Sweat poured off her face and rolled down the exposed skin of her arms. It soaked her black silk tunic and breeches, formfitting and hard as steel. She reveled in the joy of the carnage, for it came so rarely – her new life with Cor had forced much civilization upon her. She refused to stop, refused to be beaten, but even she grew tired eventually.
Thyss retreated temporarily up the slope toward her tent, panting heavily and soaked with the sweat of her labors. Just over the din of the fighting below, she could hear Cor’El snoring loudly. As she rested, just briefly, she took stock of the field, and the gravity of their situation became plain to her. There was no host anymore; Nadav’s dead had completely enveloped it. Pockets of Westerners and Tigoleans could only be seen for their quick movements and the flash of their steel, and she thought there could only be a few thousand left. Rederick and Mora desperately fought back to back, cleaving and bashing all that came near. Soldiers fought to reach their king, but only found themselves pulled down from behind.
The dead had begun to rise as purple magicks floated across the battlefield. It wasn’t the great spell she had seen Nadav weave, but rather the work of many smaller, less powerful spells. She suspected that normally, such a spell would be used to raise a single subject, or perhaps two, but bodies and bones lay strewn across the valley in great heaps and masses. They began to rise and walk by the tens. Nadav’s in Ghal, Thyss thought, The other Loszians cause this.
She quickly blasted half of a dozen forms as they neared her and continued
scanning the battlefield. She finally found what she sought – Keth still alive and fighting alongside a plate armored figure that stood only to Keth’s shoulders. Squinting, Thyss couldn’t mistake a woman’s long hair and the gray skin of a Dahken. She hadn’t seen the girl arrive, but she allowed herself a brief smile.
Thyss steeled herself as a cohort of corpses and skeletons, a hundred at least, began the slow trek up the slope. She picked up a fist sized loose rock and hurled it at them, and she nearly lost her balance and tumbled down the hill with the momentum of the action. The rock hit a decayed corpse and cracked its skull before caroming into the jaw of a mostly clean skeleton. She smiled with satisfaction as both fell to the ground. Thyss lifted her open palm into the air and brought forth her signature fire wall, cutting the mass in two. She then charged down the hill into the rest, sword held high and uncaring what happened beyond her wall of flame.
The first three fell quickly, and then something amazing occurred, something that gave even Thyss confused pause – the remaining foes in front of her just fell lifelessly to the ground. She waived her hand to dismiss the flames so that she could survey the field again, and she found the same across it. Hundreds of thousands of corpses and skeletons, including their own slain, lay unmoving throughout the valley. Scattered cheers went up among the survivors, embraces were had and tears shed.
Thyss bowed her head to intone a prayer to Hykan and the other gods, but stopped herself short. This was the work of Lord Dahken Cor Pelson, not gods. Nadav was dead at Cor’s hand.
The Cor Chronicles: Volume 04 - Gods and Steel Page 24
