The Cor Chronicles: Volume 02 - Fire and Steel (9 page)

“And one last thing Lord Dahken Cor,” Queen Erella called after him as they turned to leave her chambers. “In the future, I expect that you and your subjects will show proper respect when entering my presence.”

Cor simply nodded and continued his exit. It dawned on Cor later that night that Queen Erella had labeled Cor with the same title that Rael had been using. Yet somehow he was sure the title did not carry the same meaning to each of them.

6.

Palius slumped in his chair behind his desk, eyes closed and the bridge of his nose pinched in his left hand. He sat very still, deep in thought as to the state of things, though he was completely conscious and aware of his surroundings.

To look at him, one would think him asleep even dead if not for the slight rise and fall of his ever thinning mass. Occasional coughing broke his peace, and he would sometimes fight for breath. Palius rarely ate these days, and he had originally assumed it was from the constant rigors and stress of his position. A priest had told him otherwise. He was dying, and he knew his time was limited. Queen Erella knew it too, but she had never spoken to him about it. Palius was well aware that most of Garod’s priests could see illnesses in people, especially those that would lead to one’s death, and sometimes even they were powerless to stop it.

For weeks Palius had discussed matters with Queen Erella, imploring her to see reason. Discussion reached the point of pleading argument, as he could not understand how her angry outburst at the Dahken had turned to understanding and acceptance.

“The Dahken are dangerous, My Queen. They cannot be trusted.”

“We should have let the Loszians rid us of him.”

“Kill them now, at least Cor and Rael. They’ve committed crimes against the crown and Garod.”

“If not kill them, exile them from the West, taking Cor’s wealth as reparation for the death of Jonn and your men.”

“My Queen, we cannot trust a boy who slays at will, and now he is rejoined by one we thought dead. Their god, a blood god of evil, has resurrected the one just as a Loszian might.”

“Even if we can trust Dahken Cor, that makes him an idealist, and his idealism will lead us to ruin! Open war has not existed between the West and the Loszians for centuries for good reason! We cannot win such an endeavor! It will mean the end for us as we know it!”

This last argument he made shortly after the Dahken had returned with his sorceress slut with yet another Dahken in tow, and at this Queen Erella grew angry; she became very quiet and fixed Palius with a cold hard stare. In a way, it was better than the way she had been looking at him over the past few months, a soft gaze full of concern and sympathy as she watched him slowly waste. At that point, Palius excused himself from his queen’s presence, and she had not called on him since.

Palius hated them all because he truly believed that Queen Erella’s original interpretation of that first dream long ago was correct. The Dahken would, one way or the other, bring about the fall of both the Shining West and the Loszian Empire. He loved his queen, he loved his country, and he loved the world as it was.

The worst case scenario was unthinkable, disturbing and frightening at the least. Dahken Cor would lead the West to war with the Loszians, and he would turn traitor at just the right moment to allow the Loszian necromancers free entrance into the West. Palius did not think this out of the question, as the blood god was no doubt evil, closely related to those of the Loszians.

Perhaps the Dahken was truly an honorable and honest man, boy. Again, that made him an idealist, and there could be nothing more dangerous than an idealist. He would inspire thousands in the West, perhaps even the Queen Herself, to rally and form armies. They would launch an attack upon the Loszian Empire, with the Dahken at the forefront. And it would not go well. Its armies broken, the Shining West would retreat back to its side of the Spine, only to be crushed and again enslaved for millennia by the Loszians in an orgy of blood, rape and death.

Or perhaps the Dahken would succeed in toppling the Loszian Empire with the help of the West. Then what? Too far from home, the soldiers of the West would be unable to maintain order, ignoring that they would no doubt long for home after such a long and certainly terrible campaign. The newly freed peoples of that land would have no idea what to do with their freedom; total chaos would ensue, perhaps leading to the rise of new powers just as evil as the Loszians. The Dahken, servants of an evil heathen god, would come to be known as the saviors of the West, and the people would throw off the yoke of Garod, destabilizing the strength of Aquis and Queen Erella.

In any case, it meant the destruction of the Shining West, and Palius refused to allow that to happen. He simply would not allow his great queen, for whom he had sacrificed his entire life to secure her power, to let it all crumble because she was caught up in some idealistic fervor. He continued to think, barely moving for hours.

Palius finally opened his eyes and sat straight in his chair, sliding it closer to the oak desk with a spine shivering scrape on the floor. From a drawer he pulled a blank parchment scroll, and he wrote upon it with a quill pen in shorthand that he invented and that only a few people in Aquis could read. Palius was as loyal an advisor as any ruler could ask for, but sometimes he had to handle things in his own way and had for over forty years. At times, things to which Queen Erella would never agree had to be done.

After he wrote his message, he sat and poured over it several times, silently except for the occasional dry cough. Satisfied, he sealed the scroll with plain wax using no insignia and slid it into a soft leather case. Palius could not entrust this message to a palace guard or runner of any sort; he never did when he was forced to use his shorthand. He knew he would have to venture out and deliver this himself.

The old man dressed as warmly has he could with thick cotton undergarments below his white cotton robes that were emblazoned with his queen’s insignias. Over the robes, he wore a heavy brown wool cloak that completely closed around his form and had a hood that he could pull up over his head to hide his face from the elements or other things such as prying eyes. Palius removed his house slippers and pulled on a set of brown soft leather boots, swearing during the entire process as he pushed his feet into them.

Before leaving, he hid the scroll inside his cloak and unlocked one of his large iron banded chests, from which he produced a small sack that was heavy with coin. This also disappeared inside his cloak. He coughed loudly as he exited his rooms.

“Going out for a walk. The night air will do me some good I think,” Palius said to the now ever present guard that stood outside his door. Truly, he needed no explanation, but it was better to have a reasonable answer to the question in the man’s eyes. It did not escape Palius that Queen Erella had always respected his request for no guards, but that changed as his health worsened.

Palius made his way through the palace halls and then to the outside. It was dark, but this part of Byrverus was always kept well lit with torchlight that danced off the white stone walls of the nearby buildings. There was nothing to be wary of in this part of the city; guards were posted regularly, and no one would dare assault a known advisor to Queen Erella. However, that would not always be the case for Palius tonight, at least not where he would have to go.

As he left the palace and temple complex, he passed the estates of nobles and extremely rich merchants, most with their own tall white walls. Many of those villas had their own guards, and their masters knew Palius for who he was. The estates continued to shrink in size until they gave way to large homes, those that belonged to well to do inhabitants. These had no guards, no tall white walls, but they continued to be well lit as the city received the greatest portion of its tax wealth from this class of citizen.

Off of a side street, he picked one of these homes and approached its massive oak front door, pounding the iron knocker loudly. He could barely make out his surroundings as he waited, as this house had no lantern or torch anywhere near it, and he could see only by the moon and the meager light cast by the light sources of other houses. A low voice, barely more than a hiss, whispered from the shrubs that lined the front of the house, and Palius felt as if he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“It is late to be out milord,” the voice said, “perhaps too late for an old man to be about.”

“My affairs,” Palius replied strongly, though his heart hurt his chest it pounded so hard, “sometimes keep me out late at night to deal with the likes of you.”

“How true milord,” hissed the voice. “What needs have you of me?”

“I have a message that must reach Larnd.”

“I shall take it straight away milord, for the right price of course.”

“No,” Palius said; he was calmer and surer now. “No, I must deliver it myself. You are to make sure I am unmolested as I deliver it. For the right price, of course.” With that Palius produced his hand from his robe, two of the queen’s mint gold coins in his palm.

“That, milord, is the right price,” the voice hissed, and a man dressed completely in black stepped out of the bushes into the light.

Palius could barely see the outline of his form in the dim, flickering light cast from lamp across the street, but he wore black boiled leather from head to toe, excepting his soft black leather boots and black cloth cowl. Palius couldn’t even make out any portion of the man’s face or hands, and it occurred to him that the cutthroat likely had some sort of ink or tar on his skin to hide the white flesh. Palius knew the man, and of what he was capable, well. His name was Marek.

“It is quite a walk to Larnd’s place milord,” Marek said, “and I assume you wish to move as fast as possible. Don’t fear if you cannot see me, I will not be far milord. I will have to move ahead to make sure my brothers do not bother you.”

Marek silently turned on his heel and made around the side of the house. Palius followed and caught up to the man around the back of the place as he opened a door set at an angle into the ground. Palius assumed it to be the entrance to a cellar, but upon following Marek down the steps found he was quite wrong. The small staircase opened into one of Byrverus’ many underground sewer passages, and Palius wrinkled his nose in distaste, standing as if he had no intention to go any further.

“It is the fastest way to cross the city milord,” Marek said, and he immediately started down the tunnel to the right.

Palius sighed loudly and resigned himself to following the cutthroat. Palius had no idea that the sewer system under Byrverus was such a twisting maze, and without Marek, he would never have found his way out again. Marek moved through the tunnels assuredly, occasionally stopping to look at markings on the tunnel walls at intersections. After less than an hour, Marek declared them to have arrived at their destination. He climbed a small set of steps and pushed the pine door open from the inside, and though winded, Palius cimbed the steps up two at a time to breathe deeply of the crisp night air.

They had crossed the entire city, and there was a hint of garbage and other refuse in the air, as was expected in the Commons. Commons was a bit unfair; this part of the city was home to the most uncommon and unsavory inhabitants of Byrverus. Queen Erella abhorred criminals and what they wrought, but it was impractical to think the city could be rid of them. Besides, sometimes a little debauchery could be put to good use, as long as the miscreants kept to themselves most of the time. Buildings in the Commons consisted mostly of small granite structures with wood roofs. The granite used was cast off from the larger construction projects around the city as it was too low grade or too small for city walls or municipal structures, and the people in the Commons were able to buy it cheaply. There was little light here, except that of the moon, and what buildings did have lanterns or torches had them to draw business; they were brothels and bars mostly.

Marek wove his way through the streets, down alleys and between the buildings. Palius, on the other hand, stayed to the main roads with his hood pulled up and tight to hide his face from onlookers. More than one cutpurse, thief or whore watched him longingly, but they already knew not to accost the man in the heavy brown cloak. True to his word, Marek had cleared the way for Palius; fortunately, the old man knew where he was going.

When Palius reached Larnd’s home, place of business, abode of dark dealings, whatever one would call it, Marek was already there and leaning against the wall next to the front door. It was a squat structure, perhaps only eight feet tall, made of poor grade granite and fairly long at almost fifty feet. The building had no lead paned windows or any portal at all excepting the heavy iron banded elm door. Palius thumped his fist on it three or four times with a flat quiet thud. The door creaked open just a few inches, spilling warm orange light into the street.

“What?” came a rough voice from inside.

“I have a message for Larnd,” Palius said, producing the scroll case and holding it out in front of the slight opening.

A man’s hand, small and calloused, shot out and roughly grabbed the scroll, and the door immediately pulled shut behind it. Palius looked questioningly at Marek, who still stood leaning against the building, and the man simply shrugged and began picking his teeth with a shiny steel dagger. Though Palius’ eyes had well adapted to the darkness, the man was still hard to see dressed as he was, but his teeth stood out brightly, a shock of white in the darkness. After several minutes, Palius thumped on the door again.

And again the door opened, and the voice issued forth, “Larnd needs payment. A lot of payment.”

Palius reached into his robe and held out the heavy sack that he knew contained exactly fifty gold coins, no paltry sum.

“Leave it,” commanded the voice.

Palius did as he was told, dropping the coins heavily in the stripe of orange light on the ground. He and Marek turned as a hand retrieved the gold, and they returned to the tunnel and the sewers. Upon returning to the palace, Palius realized he stunk horrendously from the sewers, and as he passed them, several guards took obvious note of it.