Blood Betrayal Read online

  “He still fears losing you, I think. Thyss of Dulkur – the fire witch that roamed Rumedia for thirty or forty years, going only where she desired or the wind blew her – now bored in a life of family, home and luxury.”

  When they had first met, Mora might have said similar words to the woman that sat across from her, but their tone would have been derisive, the meaning insulting. Now it was meant purely as a jest, a playfulness between friends based on a trust they had built over years, beginning when Mora was pregnant with Lurana. The women began to talk to each other, first brought together by motherhood, but then finding they had much in common as warriors and women despite histories that could not have been any more different.

  “He should know better. Though, it’ll only be a few years before Cor’El seeks his own path, and when that happens, I may find myself wishing to move on to the next adventure.”

  “I hope that will not happen soon,” Mora said with a soft sadness.

  “Perhaps not, but don’t fear. I’ll be sure find my way back to Paladin Queen Mora once in a while,” Thyss assured her with a grin.

  Mora returned the smile and asked, “What path do you think your son will take?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose whatever path his Dahken blood forces upon him.”

  Dahken Keth

  The breath of the assembled Dahken came in white plumes in the early morning air. It was cool yet, and Keth had decided to wake the Dahken early and start with a several mile run through Byrverus, ending in a grand plaza just on the western side of the Crescent. Normally, such training regimens were the task of Brenden, a task he continued with great pride even in his advancing years approaching sixty, but Keth wanted to throw some chaos into the normal order. All of them ran armed, and those old enough to have been fitted with armor carried it as well. There were sixteen of them in total, including Marya and the six who had made the journey into East Aquis a few years ago. The other nine had been too young, but the oldest of them now were well into their teens, about the same age Keth had been when Cor found him so many years ago.

  Now, Dahken Keth was almost middle aged by normal Westerner standards, having past his thirtieth summer over a year before, but Keth had barely noticed the passage of the years when he gazed at himself in a mirror, his Dahken blood keeping signs of age from touching neither his face nor his body. He had not even the first gray hair. But when he looked at those around him, it was plain that time did in fact pass, though almost nothing had changed. The world just did not change.

  Byrverus was a perfect example of this. Keth had seen the city before Nadav’s cataclysmic destruction, and he had seen it in the immediate aftermath as well. It was the work of years and mountains of coin to return it back to its former glory, but that is exactly what happened. Byrverus retained its luster, with protective walls of light gray granite wrapping white marble and limestone buildings and streets that reflected the sun with so much intensity as to nearly blind those not used to looking on it daily. In the rebuilding, Cor had the chance to effect change; he had the chance to suggest that the city should look different, more inclusive of the city’s new and more varied denizens such as Dahken and Tigoleans. Instead, the city retained its bleached whiteness, continuing to be a beacon for Garod’s priests and people.

  Keth grimly, quietly enjoyed assembling the Dahken and parading them across Byrverus. While he respected the king and his wisdom, he also generally thought that it was important to remind everyone who was really to thank for the West’s freedom. As such, he took great pride in the watchful eyes of the people of Byrverus, as well as the longing stares of its younger soldiers, as his Dahken moved throughout the city, wearing black plate armor styled very similarly after the armor worn by their own Lord Dahken.

  As one ventured closer to the temple and palace, the streets widened and often formed large squares and plazas at intersections, similar to this one. A hundred foot wide avenue ran north to south with another half as wide intersecting it from the west which traveled only a short distance further before ending at the Crescent’s westernmost entrance. The limestone paving gave way to slabs of smooth, gloriously golden flecked white marble, over top of granite set low into the ground of course. At the four corners of the plaza were ten foot by ten foot gardens of many colored flowers surrounded by seemingly makeshift walls of translucent feldspar, both reflecting the morning sunlight and allowing it to illuminate the mineral at once. Bees started to buzz about these, having just begun to shake off the lethargy of the morning chill. In the center of the plaza once stood a seven foot tall, three tiered fountain, also made of marble, but it had been destroyed by Nadav, reduced to a pile of rubble. One of copper now stood in its place, and somehow, Keth thought it likely accentuated the rebuilt plaza well, contrasting with the marble street instead of blending in with it.

  And it was in this perfect representation of beatific Westernism that Keth paired the Dahken off to fight one another, choosing foes based on his knowledge of both their proficiency with their weapons but also their strength in their blood. Seven individual duels raged with varying intensity. The younger Dahken were more tentative, trading weaker blows for fear of truly harming one another, but those in their teen years fought with more reckless abandon. They knew their armor would protect them from wounds that would be mortal to normal persons, but they also knew that they needed land only a single bloodletting blow to heal their own injuries. Also, Marya stood nearby in the case that something got out of hand. No Dahken had ever died training under Keth and Marya.

  A movement on the far side of the plaza caught Keth’s eye, and he pulled his attention away from the flashing steel to see the golden haired Cor’El enter the plaza from one of the doorways into the Crescent. He nodded politely as the boy, a young man really, slowly and deliberately moved around the perimeter of the training Dahken to approach Keth and Marya. Keth had seen Cor’s son rarely in the last four years, since East Aquis, and he hadn’t completely realized how tall he had become.

  “Good morning. To what do we owe the honor?” Keth asked once Cor’El had come close. It had never really been clear to Keth where in the almost nonexistent Dahken hierarchy Cor’El sat, and certainly there was a strong argument to be made that as one of King Rederick’s Counselors, Keth was certainly over just about anyone. But given Cor’El’s parentage, Keth always attempted to at least show respect.

  “I thought I might train with the others this morning,” Cor’El answered with a flat, almost empty voice as he looked across the plaza. The closest of the combatants actually stopped their duels at the statement.

  “Ow!” shouted one Dahken boy who had stopped fighting at Cor’El’s words. His rather opportunistic opponent took the advantage and pounded his foot with a warhammer, snickering at his painful indignance.

  Keth’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he quickly adopted his normal impassive, reserved look before Cor’El returned his attention to him. “It has been years since you have last trained with the others.”

  “Am I unwelcome?”

  Keth quickly smiled despite the dangerous tone in Cor’El’s voice, and replied, “Of course not. I am afraid I do not have an opponent for you at the moment. Unless you would fight me?”

  “No, I’ll fight them,” Cor’El said, and then he added, “All of them. At once.”

  The fighting had stopped completely as all of the Dahken faced their lord’s son. Keth looked at the confusion showing on all of their faces, and he had to admit to himself that he shared it. While these Dahken were young, several had reached the point of being true warriors, and even the youngest amongst them had unlocked their power on some level, though not all of them had learned of what they were fully capable. To combat all of them at once seemed suicidal. Keth hazarded a quick glance at Marya, who said nothing, but the interest shined brightly in her eyes.

  “Are you sure, Cor’El? I do not think your father would approve.”

  “I don’t really need his approval, I think,” Cor’E
l answered, and he drew his own rather plain longsword as he stepped toward the trainees. They parted a bit as he approached to form a semicircle around him.

  “I do not think this is a good idea,” Keth admonished, “but I am sure that you all will show the proper restraint?”

  Nods and faint assents were given as the Dahken looked over the son of their lord as he shifted his gaze from one to the next, looking for some sign of which would be the first to attack.

  The first to attack was Hun, the Tigolean boy who had broken his leg playing plague with Cor’El and others some seven years ago. Hun had grown large and strong, and he had to be fitted for armor three different times. At his age, there was nothing more Keth could teach him about either fighting or Dahken power, and it was a matter of formality for Hun to be announced a true Dahken warrior by Cor himself. Hun stood truly resplendent in black plate armor, not too dissimilar from Cor’s in its overall shine if not design, and he came at Cor’El with a heavy bastard sword in a sideways strike that belied catlike speed, despite the weapon’s size. Cor’El barely dodged the attack, and Hun parried the return blow so easily, that it was apparent to all that Cor’El’s proficiency with weapons was far less advanced. The two traded and parried several more blows, before Hun just barely sliced across the front of Cor’El’s tunic. The younger Dahken looked down at his chest now bared by the split across his clothing, and blood began to well up to the surface. Hun chuckled softly.

  Cor’El’s nostrils began to flare, like that of a great bull’s, and his eyes suddenly burned with a rage that made Hun cease his laughter. Cor’El shot his free hand out toward Hun, and the Tigolean grunted and shuddered, suddenly unable to move. His arms were thrown out behind him, and it was as if he was held aloft by his head by some force no one could see. Blood began to stream from Hun’s nostrils and ears.

  “Cor’El! Stop!” shouted Keth.

  Before he could act, the other Dahken jumped forward into action. The first to reach Cor’El, a relatively common looking girl about a year younger than he, came down with her blade meaning to sever Cor’El’s outstretched hand. He caught the gleam of her blade out of the corner of his eye, and pulled it back in time to just lose the tip of his index finger. As Hun fell to the ground, moaning, Cor’El brought his sword across his body. The Dahken girl should have easily parried the blow, but the blade of her own longsword turned to blood to rain upon the ground as Cor’El’s sword ripped over halfway into her midsection.

  “Everyone stop!” Keth shouted, but to no avail as his Dahken closed a full circle around Cor’El. They launched attacks at him from all directions, often drawing blood, but his responses were far more terrible. One of the Dahken suddenly screamed in horror, running in circles as he was set ablaze, and another found he could not move at all, could not even breathe. One young girl had managed to sever Cor’El’s arm above the elbow, and before it fell to the ground, tendrils of blood from the stump of his arm and the severed end reached out to each other, drawing the arm back until it was again one with its owner. She paid dearly as Cor’El’s sword rent into her between the neck and shoulder almost clear down to her sternum. Even still, Cor’El seemed to be faltering under the weight of the attacks. Just as Keth hoped the Dahken may subdue Cor’El, the brightest of white lights flashed, accompanied with a thunder clap, and several of his attackers were thrown into the air to land several yards away. Another Dahken fell, unconscious because so much of his blood had been pulled from his body to form another sword for Cor’El to wield, not unlike that of a blood ghast.

  None of the Dahken appeared dead, but only five besides Keth and Marya even still stood, and those seemed loathe to engage Cor’El in any more combat. Keth used the break in the action to lay a hand on the young man’s shoulder. Cor’El wheeled his swords around, but Keth anticipated the move and caught his wrists. They struggled for a moment, their faces mere inches apart, and Keth saw the fire blazing in the younger Dahken’s eyes, a fire at complete contrast to the complete impassiveness and lack of concern on his face. Keth’s far superior strength began to control Cor’El’s motions, and he wondered if Cor’El may attempt to kill him with some Dahken or even elemental power.

  “That is enough,” Keth growled fiercely, and feeling Cor’El’s resistance fade, he released his wrists. “Marya, quickly find who is injured the most. Heal them.”

  Marya began to move toward the girl who had been cleaved almost in twain, when Cor’El said with a shrug, “No need.” Another blinding white light filled the plaza for the space of a heartbeat and then was gone. When Keth’s vision cleared, all of the Dahken seemed completely healed, and they climbed to their feet, checking to assure even themselves that they were alive and well.

  “Thank you for the training,” Cor’El said to those around him, and his slight, wicked smile unnerved Keth mightily. He turned and walked away toward the doorway that would once again lead him into the Crescent.

  “Cor’El, this matter is not over,” Keth called after him, but to no avail. He then turned to Marya, “Go with him. Make sure he makes it to his rooms and stays there. I need to find Cor.”

  “I think I saw him headed for the palace this morning,” Marya said, almost breathless.

  They nodded to each other, and Keth paid no attention to her quick step, nor had he noticed her gasps while Cor’El hacked, hewed and magicked his way through their Dahken. Keth had seen something like this once before, but never to such an intense degree. The last time, he had done nothing, and a lot of people had died when Geoff joined Emperor Nadav in the invasion of Aquis. He hoped he would find Lord Dahken Cor quickly.

  Dahken Marya

  By the Gods, Marya’s heart thudded in her chest as if it wished to burst free and pump her blood all over the floors of the Crescent’s hallways. It had nothing to do with the quick pace that Cor’El had set once he realized that she followed him through the old corridors which would seem a maze to anyone not familiar with their layout. He hadn’t stopped once to talk to her, despite her calls after him, nor did he slow enough to allow her to keep a leisurely pace. No, he stormed through the place, and she appeared to storm after him, her steel armor clinking and clanging as she went.

  It had been a long time since Marya had seen such a display of raw power. She knew Cor was powerful long before his great feat at Bloody Gorge, but the Lord Dahken long since rejected her. She thought she was powerful enough to challenge anyone, even Cor himself, especially with Dahken Keth at her back, much in the same way that Cor and Thyss seemed unstoppable at any great task they attacked together. But that turned out not to be as Keth was happy to be a second to Lord Dahken Cor. Eventually, she had accepted that being an important part of Cor’s small Dahken army was not a bad life, especially with someone to share a bed with who was as efficient as Keth.

  But this spectacle, this mortal maiming of so many others with either steel or sorcery in the space of a few mere breaths was unlike anything Marya had experienced in years. And they were Dahken, too! Young Dahken, some only learning of what they are capable to be sure, but Dahken nonetheless. He used powers of Thyss’ elemental gods, Dahk and even Garod, whose power should be as harmless to a Dahken as a fly is to an ox. And then he healed them just as quickly. Faster! Instantly!

  Marya had felt her pulse quicken the moment it began. At first, she thought it to be the normal reaction to impending battle, even battle in which she herself was not engaged, but it pushed harder and harder. She seemed to gasp for breath, and for just a moment, her knees even felt weak. As they walked, she thought over the scene, recalling every detail, and yet again, her heart raced.

  This boy – no, he was basically a man now – was the one who would rule everything. All he had to do was take it.

  They reached the door that opened into Cor’El’s rooms. It was just down the hallway from the suite shared by his parents, and it was little different from any of the other iron banded oak doors in the Crescent. It was brown, solid and heavy.

  “So, I’m h
ere,” Cor’El said as he turned to face her. “What are you going to do? Stand outside until Keth finds my father? Make sure I don’t leave?”

  “I,” Marya faltered for a moment, and then she laughed lightly, her hazel eyes matching the laughter, “I hadn’t really thought about it. Keth told me to go with you. He didn’t say what he wanted me to do when we got here.”

  “Whatever you will, then,” Cor’El mumbled as he entered his small suite.

  “May I come in?” she asked as he began to close the door behind him. Cor’El merely shrugged and turned away from the door. Marya took the noncommittal silence as assent and followed him into the room, closing the door behind her.

  It dawned on her that she’d never seen Cor’El’s rooms, not since he’d asked for his own space not immediately part of his parents’ suite, but to be honest, it wasn’t much to look at. As much as he was his mother’s son, Marya expected the room to be luxuriously appointed with plush carpets, comfortable divans and couches and a large, soft bed. It seemed that none of these things were the case. Two worn and faded tapestries hung on the long wall opposite the door, their depictions long lost to time. A thin, old and partially moth eaten red rug covered the floor of the main room, upon which sat two small and plain wooden chairs. Cor’El sat in one of these, busying himself with removing his soft leather boots.

  The first room should have felt cramped, as it could have only been about six feet deep and eight feet wide, but the pure, spartan lack of furnishings made the room feel oddly empty. The wall to her right had an opening that took up half of its width, an arched doorway that led straight to where Cor’El slept. She could see from her place at the door that it too was barely furnished. A mattress of some sort, the comfort of which she doubted heavily, lay with disheveled bedding on a plain, pine frame. It seemed clearly large enough for one, but doubted it would sleep two comfortably. A pile of discarded clothes lay in one corner.