Darkness and Steel

  Titles by Martin V. Parece II

  Blood and Steel (The Cor Chronicles, Vol. I)

  Fire and Steel (The Cor Chronicles, Vol. II)

  Darkness and Steel (The Cor Chronicles, Vol. III)

  Titles Forthcoming from Martin V. Parece II

  The Path of Gods

  Copyright 2012

  Martin V. Parece II

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be printed, scanned, reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express permission from the above.

  Prologue

  Physically, each Vault is only large enough to admit two fully grown men, and even then, their arms and other protrusions would likely create for an uncomfortable situation. Those that inhabit the Vaults are boundless and immense, yet able to occupy the smallest of spaces as necessary. The Vaults serve a pair purposes – they contain the gods and power the Repository. In a way, the Vaults are prisons, prisons that the gods imposed upon themselves. However, when one is so immense, so powerful, a physical prison means nothing to be certain. The gods may move a small part of themselves between the Vaults for the purpose of meeting with their fellows, but only if the denizen of their destination Vault allows it. Within their Vaults they are wholly alone and shielded from all eyes except for mine – their ever faithful Chronicler.

  There was a meeting of three great beings in an endless yet tiny space beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. The first chose one of his favorite forms – that of a great iron fountain. It was easily forty feet high by mortal reckoning with a great spout at its head and a half dozen circular tiered levels below, ending in a great pool at the bottom. Blood so dark to be black, bubbled from the spout in great volume, and it thinned to appear red as it ran and fell its way through the tiers to collect in the final pool. The fountain never overflowed, and the supply of vitae never ended.

  The second appeared in the only form he had, the only form that suited him. He could appear as a pinpoint of flame, such as that atop a candle’s wick, or as a raging inferno, a huge incarnation of burning death. His very presence could incinerate mortals instantly or light their way, whichever he felt was appropriate at that moment. His hues varied greatly, from the palest yellows, to the angriest oranges and reds, to a wide range of blues and finally white. He roared constantly in the background, though this was an affectation he could control.

  The third sat upon a gilded throne, and it was his Vault in which they met. He appeared as a male Westerner in middle age, tall and well built, though not over muscled. Every time one looked away from him, the viewer would find that his facial features had shifted while their gaze was elsewhere. Sometimes he had young, hard but fair features with a hint of gray in his black hair and trimmed beard. Other times, he was clean shaven with a full head of almost white hair, and sometimes just his head would change to be bald on top with closely cropped graying hair on the sides.

  “I have finally agreed to hear you. What do you want?” he said to the fountain of blood.

  “We three have an opportunity, Garod,” Dahk replied, and one would swear to hearing a slight bubbling sound as he spoke.

  “An opportunity to further upset the balance that you have already disrupted?” Garod asked.

  “I upset nothing!” Dahk replied indignantly, and the blood spouted more heavily from the top of the fountain. “I only attempted to restore my people back to the world.”

  “And in so doing, you have set the Others to war against my people.”

  Dahk ignored the comment. “My champion has fathered a child. He -”

  “He has slain many of mine,” Garod interrupted loudly. “He has murdered my greatest, and now my people will be slow to defend themselves from the coming darkness. Many more of my children will die for the actions of your champion.”

  “We know all of this,” Hykan blazed. “What of it?”

  “Do not accuse me of causing the deaths of the Westerners for the power I have given Dahken Cor. We all know that the actions of the mortals are largely beyond our control, and I influenced him in no way. For what I gave Cor Pelson, I had no strength to involve myself for many of their years,” Dahk explained. “You claim I upset the balance, but I declare that is yet to come. The Others will rend all of Rumedia just as They tried to do thousands of years ago when They arrived. They have never been satisfied unless They attempt to destroy everything we create. You both know this to be true. I fear the coming darkness, as you put it, will be the greatest that Rumedia has ever seen, and I do not believe that anyone, even Cor Pelson will be able to stop it.”

  “So you have a solution then,” Garod said darkly.

  “Garod, give Cor Pelson your power, as he is of Western parents. With it, he could fight the Others.” Dahk paused for a moment before looking back at Hykan. “Then, you each gift his child with your powers, as the babe has the blood of both of your peoples. The child would grow so powerful in adulthood to even destroy the Others entirely. We could rid ourselves of Them once and for all.”

  “What do I care of this? The Others wish to rule The West. So let them,” Hykan said. His flames roared, and Garod’s knuckles grew white as he clenched the arms of his throne, furious at Hykan’s indifference toward their old enemy. “Why should I ask my brother and sisters to give our powers to this child?”

  “If for no other reason than I know how much you like to see things burn, old friend. We have little time, as the child’s birth grows near,” Dahk answered.

  “I will have none of it!” Garod screamed from his throne, and he pointed a finger at the fountain. “Your people are nothing! Abominations that exist by your trickery! I will not give my powers to this child so that you may rule Rumedia.”

  “It is for the good of your people,” Dahk attempted to reason.

  “Get out!” Garod shouted, and Dahk was expelled from the Vault.

  Dahk stayed silent inside his own Vault, keeping his mind clear of thoughts and certainly not mumbling to himself, as he was sure that Garod did. He merely lay on the floor as nothing but a small pool of blood, unmoving and unthinking as he watched his people. He became distinctly aware of a presence outside his Vault, apparently beseeching him to enter. He gave a pool of blood’s approximation of a shrug and allowed it in, and a tiny pinpoint of light, a small flame appeared next to him.

  “It was already done, almost immediately upon the child’s conception,” Hykan whispered.

  “I… I didn’t realize. I don’t think any of us knew. Why?”

  “Because I can,” Hykan answered, and the tiny flame flared for just a moment.

  1.

  Sovereign Nadav watched as armies, his armies, moved across the miniature Loszian landscape toward the Spine. The size and progress of his forces satisfied him overall; his lords had done well. He knew he had more than enough to shatter Fort Haldon with little effort and sweep across Aquis, but the major cities such as Byrverus and Martherus concerned him heavily. As the Westerners overcame their initial shock at the invasion, they would regain their wits quickly and mount a defense. Even with a force the likes of which hadn’t been seen in the West for almost a thousand years, Nadav did not think he could conquer Aquis, much less all of the Shining West.

  There were few in the Loszian Empire well versed in war craft, as the Loszians had not made war in hundreds of years. Even still, simple logic revealed the problem. It seemed to him that a well fortified defending force could hold off ten times as many for hours or days, and many of the Shining West’s cities were well fortified, having been built during the Cleansing or shortly thereafter. However, they were also built upon that which would wreak their own destruction; of this, Nadav was also sure if he could only find the power.

  He
knew what he must do, and he had in fact planned it all along. Only now, it was clearly unavoidable. It was time for Sovereign Nadav to travel to the meteor, the resting place of Losz’s gods and beg their favor. Somehow he knew they would not refuse him, for the Loszians had come to Rumedia and immediately conquered the entirety of the West. Frankly, Nadav knew it to be a mistake that the Loszians hadn’t conquered the world, but that mistake would not be repeated. The gods would bestow upon him the greatest powers ever seen in the West, even Rumedia, and he would use them to the fullest. The Loszian Empire would stretch from sea to sea and eventually rule the lands beyond them.

  He prepared his grandest chariot – a beautifully gilded machine, covered in spikes and drawn by four great stallions. A Westerner of the best slave stock drove this chariot for Nadav, a giant and well formed man whose stamina Nadav had found unmatched at both driving horses and other things. Long ago, he had placed an enchanted beacon near the meteor to allow him to transport instantly across the land. The chariot had been driven into his great hall, and around it, other slaves drew the runes that would allow Nadav to do so. Of course, he would never activate the spell without painstakingly checking the runes himself, for a mistake could be catastrophic. Nadav would be most displeased to find himself part of solid rock or reduced to a puddle of Loszian goo upon the ground.

  His Dahken pet had already left Ghal a week ago, dispatched at the head of a sizable army. The half dozen or so lords that lived in Ghal had pronounced themselves ready simultaneously, having raised combined armies numbering over ten thousand. Pleased, Nadav ordered them on to the Spine immediately, with Lord Dahken Geoff in command of the march. The Loszians first argued as to the need to march, to which Nadav explained they would have much of it to do. They had best get used to it. The second complaint involved the boy, but Nadav’s cold gaze silenced it. Geoff’s arrogance as he marched from Ghal was plain for all to see, but Nadav thought it would likely crumble over the march ahead that would take weeks.

  Satisfied that all was properly prepared, Nadav climbed into the chariot, taking time to admire his lone companion. The man, a well trained slave, did not move a muscle to shift his gaze from straight ahead, and Sovereign Nadav sighed with the knowledge that he could not linger among the pleasures of his tower. He spoke a few short words, and the familiar blinding light filled his being.

  When his vision cleared, they were atop a low rise, overgrown with natural grasses and weeds, and it sloped downwards on either side to the east and west. To the west, Nadav knew he would see the overgrown and almost disappeared remains of the Dahken tower that stood in Losz millennia ago, but it was to the east he focused his attention. The Loszian meteor had dug a great trench as it crashed to the ground, but now it was barely recognizable as such. After thousands of years, the damage had worn away by the weather to look almost natural, and the indigenous foliage had finally returned.

  Nadav looked up into the hot summer sky, which had been clear back in Ghal. Here, a massive thunderstorm threatened as enormous black clouds moved through the sky as one, and a hot wind blew across the land. There was no lightning, no rain, but the thunder rumbled warnings above. Nadav loved this weather, and especially now it seemed so appropriate. However, the summer heat combined with the humidity induced by the coming storm caused his silks to cling to him most uncomfortably. As such, he removed them and stepped from the chariot.

  “Wait here,” Nadav commanded the Westerner, who did not move or show any sign at all, and he started down into the crater stark naked.

  He quickly found the going to be much more treacherous than he had expected, as the grade was far steeper than it appeared from above. Bits of rock, either unearthed by the meteor or broken off the meteor itself, were hidden by the growth, and he tripped over them more than once. The weeds themselves seemed to grasp at his feet and ankles, seemingly intertwining and wrapping themselves around him as he walked. They tried to make him fall or turn an ankle most painfully, and Nadav struggled with them as if in a titanic battle. Eventually, he was free of them as, over halfway down, the weeds gave way to a moss that was the only thing that would grow in such proximity to the point of impact. This created yet another hazard, as the moss was thin and firm to stand upon, creating a rather slick surface. However, he pushed on, for as he approached, he could feel the power radiating from the center even after all these millennia.

  He entered a narrow tract, perhaps only fifteen feet across, and the earth began to rise on either side of him. As he came to stand a mere ten feet from the tract’s termination, the ground on either side stood over six feet over his head. The tract merely ended in a solid wall of dirt, rock and brush, but Nadav could feel the corrupting power of his gods only just beyond. However, it was more than that; eyes were upon him, looking over him intently and expectantly. They bored into him, probing his very being, and the Loszian emperor dropped heavily to his knees. He laid forward, his pale body appearing blue in the gloom of the trench, and pressed his forehead and palms to the mossy floor in supplication. He knew not how long he held the position, only that he did not move until the intense examination seemed to subside.

  “All Powerful Masters,” he said as he climbed to his feet, “I have come before you to ask for your help. When you came to this world, you created us and imbued us with the power to conquer all of the West. The Loszian Empire would have stood for a hundred thousand years if not for the interference of Garod.”

  As he uttered the name, the wind picked up around him, wailing through the trench like a banshee. There was a flash, and lightning struck not far away with an incredible crash. Nadav momentarily dropped to one knee with the impact, and he regained his feet as thunder continued to crash in the clouds overhead. Large drops began to fall slowly from the sky.

  “Lords, the god of the Westerners angers you. The Shining West, as they call it, is an affront to you and your greatness. You know I have raised an army capable of gaining a foothold in Aquis, perhaps even able to lay siege to its greatest cities, but it is not enough. To take our rightful place will require powers unseen since your arrival, but this time we will not stop at enslaving the Westerners. Grant me what I need. I swear to you that all of Rumedia will fall to me, and the Loszian Empire will reign supreme across all of its peoples. We shall find where the old gods dwell and imprison them that they may never again stand in your way!”

  The wind quieted, again reduced to a warm breeze, and the clouds no longer thundered. Yet, Nadav knew he was not alone; instead of scrutiny or anger, it seemed that his gods had turned contemplative. He hoped that they would not think too long about his plea, for he considered that the perception of time to those who are eternal might very well be different to his. The gods gave him long life, but he was far from eternal.

  In fact, he did not wait long before he heard a voice in his head. It boomed in such a way as to bring him to his knees, and yet it was no louder than a whisper. It was in his language, Loszian, and also in a tongue he did not understand. It was a single voice comprised of several, perhaps half dozen and both male and female. “You have our power,” it said.

  Still on his knees, Nadav closed his eyes and something unseen but nonetheless real emanated from the meteor’s final resting place. It pierced his body, energy unlike anything he had ever before felt, and filled him with warmth that was both wonderful and terrible at once. He closed his eyes, leaning back as he absorbed it, his hands open before him in supplication. It began to burn away at him, threatening to rend him asunder, and the pain was unbearable. He screamed as if his entrails were on fire, and yet it continued to come. Just as he thought his eyes would burst in their sockets and his flesh would fall of his bones, the irradiating power suddenly stopped.

  Nadav pitched forward and vomited. He heaved several times until there was nothing left, and he became distinctly aware of warm rain on his naked back. Leaning back onto legs that were folded underneath him, Nadav watched absently as the rain began to wash away the once contents of his sto
mach.

  As he started the arduous climb back to his chariot, Nadav knew something coursed through him. Every muscle in his body contained a soreness unlike anything he had ever felt, and most of his innards seemed to be on fire. Yet he longed to lift his arms and work great dark arts, the likes of which would make men tremble. The desire kept Nadav moving up the slope at a brisk pace, and it seemed that the weeds and rocks that hampered him so before no longer even existed. By the time he reached the chariot, he was positively energetic.

  He stood in contemplation of the slave, who still waited with the chariot’s reins in hand but showed no sign of impatience. Nadav said nothing to the Westerner and climbed down the hill toward the overgrown ruins, the meteor at his back. He had been here before, almost fifty years previously, and he knew where to find the entrance to the Dahken catacombs. Some of the brush and debris had been disturbed, cleared away somewhat recently, Nadav assumed due to Dahken Cor’s visit almost a year ago.

  Looking into the gaping portal, Nadav saw nothing but a darkness that was black as pitch. He selected a small piece of ancient, crumbled rock and wove a spell about it. It was only plain basalt and so would not hold the enchantment permanently, but it would serve his purpose for the short time that he needed it. The basalt began to glow with a dim inner light, as if a flame was lit within it, but it grew brighter with the passing seconds. In a short time, it was so bright that Nadav could not look directly at it, and he hefted the stone into the pit. It shattered when it hit the stone floor below, and a hundred shards of light shot off into a hundred different directions. It illuminated the catacombs below well.

  Nadav sensed a presence below, and the realization startled him. However, it merely shifted to make him aware of it, and it did not seem intent on interference in any way. Nadav assumed if he stayed above, it would stay somewhere below in the black.