Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  Atheme was not so certain he could have done the same. Determining the nature of Kinguin’s devices, particularly while weighed down in the midst of combat, would have been a daunting challenge. Abaddon’s mystic senses may have aided him, but those were a tool Atheme did not possess. Furthermore, when he and his friend fought, it was just that—as friends. It had been many years since Abaddon had genuinely tried to kill him. Limiter or not, the man was always handicapped when he faced Atheme—by his loyalty. If truly forced to contend with the full, unbridled wrath of The Destroyer, could he still overcome? Could he even stand his ground and face such a storm?

  He shook the thoughts from his head, coming back to the moment and Leprue standing before him. He assured himself that it did not matter, that his soldier’s pride was clouding his thoughts. But even as he spoke his next thought, he could not silence an ominous echo of Kinguin’s persistent warnings in the back of his mind.

  “Meanwhile, there is still much preparation that must be made for the upcoming march. Come, we should make arrangements with Kulara.”

  Chapter 14.

  Revian Gorge

  “Don’t go,” Relm whined with her arms wrapped tightly around Atheme. “You’re the Lord Councilor. You’ve got people for this. Send Cildar and the Dragoons.”

  “We don’t know what’s going to happen when we cross into enemy territory. If this mission goes awry, I cannot risk too many of Felthespar’s resources. I’m already risking our Champion by insisting that Abaddon comes along. I’ve got to balance the scales here.”

  “That doesn’t make sense to me! Why is it so important to protect the Dragoons and not the Lord Councilor of the city? Huh? Huh, smart guy? It’s not, and you’re stupid!”

  He extricated himself from her carefully and held her by the shoulders. “I can’t say this publicly, but the fact is Abaddon and I know how to take care of ourselves. We watch each other’s back. As long as he’s at my side we cannot be beaten. That doesn’t guarantee success, but I promise you I am as safe out there as within these walls. It’s the men and women we bring with us that I must be concerned with.”

  “I still don’t like it,” she said with a pout.

  “And I can’t ask you to. All I can ask you to do is run my office while I’m gone. It’s part of your duty as my Herald, and our relationship cannot come between that.”

  “Yes, I know,” she answered, sticking her tongue out for a moment. “You’re gone a lot. I know how this works.”

  He leaned in and gave her a long kiss, then took his leave. He knew no amount of arguing would improve her mood, so it was best to get the goodbye over with. He left his office and headed directly to the forge where Abaddon had taken to working in his spare time.

  A few hundred yards from his office, he was surprised to encounter Cildar and Myris clearly waiting for him. They bowed and exchanged pleasantries, then Cildar moved quickly to announce their intentions.

  “Lord Atheme, we feel it is a mistake that you do not bring the Phoenix Dragoons or the Children of Cain with you. But at the very least, you absolutely must let Myris and I come. The two of us alone are a match for a good fifty knights. If you’re trying to form a small but elite unit, leaving us out of it is foolhardy.”

  Atheme smiled and shook his head, grateful that Relm was not here to add support to Cildar’s argument. “I assure you both, your absence is in no way a slight. I simply cannot send four Grand Councilors out on the same expedition. I bend the rules enough as it stands.”

  Atheme was referring to the fact that Myris now served as well on Felthespar’s highest ruling body. Terledor’s retirement had broken the Grand Council almost as quickly as Atheme had moved to restore it, and finding a replacement representative to the Dictus had been handled by much more traditional methods. The Council had remained a five member voting block for over a month while awaiting a list of candidates from the Senate. The Lord Councilor weathered this period of having his influence stripped with grace and patience, accepting it as a form of penance for his previous transgressions. In a way it had given him closure, and guilt over Terledor’s retirement no longer plagued him.

  That Myris Phare’s name should appear on the list of candidates provided had come as a shock to all. Atheme was uncertain what might drive the Dictus to allow such a controversial appointment, but to his surprise the Council took to the idea readily. Cildar spoke volumes for the man’s character, while Abaddon and Leprue both supported having a Councilor to the Dictus who cross-served with the Military and might not prove so obstinate as former Senators. Kinguin alone had opposed the selection, and still held onto an open reluctance toward the Cainite’s presence within the ruling circle.

  “Even if we accept that, you must at least take of a few of my Cain with you,” the newest councilor insisted. “They will prove invaluable on a stealth mission.”

  Atheme shook his head again. “I fear we are not yet ready for that, Myris. Your people have grown in acceptance rapidly among the citizenry and military alike, but at this time the sad truth remains that there is much more trust in you than them. When you lead them as a unit little doubt remains, but the presence of a few Cain scattered into the ranks of a normal squadron will cause unease and damage morale, and possibly slow or even reverse the progress we have made. Please, both of you, I understand your concerns and the bravery of your characters, but you must trust to Abaddon and myself on this. You know this assault is already against my better judgement. As Lord Councilor, I must mitigate the risks as I see fit.”

  The two exchanged a disheartened glance, then each nodded their agreement. Atheme offered a few further words of cheer, then moved on his way. Though he had spent the morning disagreeing with them, he could not help but be moved by the concern and support of those closest to him. It served as a powerful reminder of why he loved his country so dearly, and a smile played on his face as he arrived at Abaddon’s workshop.

  The big man disliked remaining idle, especially after periods of confinement to the Church. His work as a blacksmith seemed to renew his spirits and speed his recoveries. When Atheme arrived he was working on a small piece of metal tubing, and a long black blade lay on a bench nearby.

  Making certain that his movements made no sound, the Lord Councilor stepped in close and smacked his friend on the back. Abaddon was not surprised—always easily able to distinguish Atheme’s presence from others—and responded irritably, “Do you need something?”

  He chuckled in response. “Oh, not much. Just thought I’d remind you that we’re leaving for a war today. But don’t let me interrupt.”

  “I’ve already been to inspect the troops. They’re two hours behind schedule. I’ll have this done by then.”

  Atheme’s shoulders slumped, disappointed that he had already said his goodbye to Relm. He shook it off, then asked, “So what are we working on today?”

  He reached over and threw the blade up to Atheme. “Look at these runes from the Cainite’s weapon. I’m working on building a handle for it, but when I inspected the blade I was displeased with how it had been shaped. It was not properly weighted, nor the edge adequately sharpened. So I threw it on the forge to hammer it out.”

  Atheme looked over the blade. The mirrored black surface shimmered with brilliance. As far as he could tell the blade was perfect, and razor sharp. “I don’t see any problems with this blade.”

  “As I said, I tempered it.”

  He raised an eyebrow and looked it over again. There were complicated runes engraved across the length of it, runes that he could not even understand. He tried to cast a Sharpen spell on it, but the runes rejected it. “This blade is runelocked. There’s no way you could have tempered it.”

  Abaddon finished the cylinder he had been working on and threw it into a water trough to cool off. He stood and brushed some lose embers from himself, then pointed to the blade. “That’s the Soul Scythe. Phare claims it’s the last Cainite artifact. Since you came up with the Children of Cain cover story he’
s been nervous about letting anyone work on it. Since he was added to the Council we’ve spoken more, and he was reminded that I was already aware of his true origins and do not particularly care.

  “The runes on it,” he continued, “are what he calls Living Runes. They’re an anathema to our rune magic and block it out completely. Unlike our enchantments, these Living Rune structures are capable of adapting to changes in the weapon. I was able to heat it up and temper it as any normal blade. As I reformed the weapon and evened out the metal, the runes shifted and rewrote themselves. It was a unique experience.”

  Atheme looked the weapon over again. “So, since the Cainites weren’t able to make weapons as good as ours, they made their weapons capable of adapting and being improved upon. Clever move.”

  “I’m working on an adjustable handle that will be able to collapse and lie on the inside of the blade, for maximum compactness. I’m using a special titanium mix to make the handle lightweight, but I haven’t decided how I’m going to counterbalance the blade yet.”

  “I can give you a hand if you want. It’s easier to forge parts with fires that can’t burn you.”

  Abaddon shrugged. “Most of the joy from the profession is from the danger involved, the combination of skill and brute strength necessary to form the weapon from raw materials.”

  “What you’re saying is magic takes all the fun out of it, huh?”

  “Besides, you should inspect the troops yourself and figure out why they were delayed. It’s not like Kulara to let something like this happen. I imagine there’s a deeper issue at hand.”

  Atheme sighed and looked outside. The morning sky still had not brightened, and dark winter clouds threatened to make their trip far less pleasant. “I suppose you’re right. It’s always something. Alright then, but don’t you be late.”

  “If I am late, then leave. I will catch you well before you reach the Gorge.”

  * * * * *

  It was long before Atheme again saw the sun. It made its appearance through snow clouds as his troop neared the western border of Felthespar’s territory. It remained chilly, but everyone breathed sighs of relief that they had traveled far enough west to escape the snowfalls. Marching day and night to risk life for country was something the knights had become accustomed to long ago, but trudging endlessly through the deep snow and biting winds was a joy for no one.

  Being led by Felthespar’s two Knights of the Sun kept the troop’s morale floating high. They talked often of their commanders, exchanging stories of battles against both man and beast the warlords were rumored to have been through, facing down creatures other soldiers had neither seen nor oft even imagined.

  Atheme looked over his right shoulder at the small army assembled behind him. They were an assortment of the best soldiers in Felthespar. While not as lethal as elite forces such as the Dragoons or Myris’ Cain, with two Celestial warriors at their fore they formed an effective force. Still, he could not shake a nagging sense of unease. These troops had been hastily assembled and forced to undergo one of the longest winter marches in Knighthood history, and soon would be facing off against one of their most dangerous enemies within its home territories. He wished circumstances could be different. He wished the Council had heeded his warnings against pursuing this course.

  He turned his attention back to the road ahead. They had marched west for about a month and were well into the heavily disputed territory on the far side of the Tepindus River. There was still a light blanket of snow on the ground, but the weather was becoming increasingly mild. He had mixed feelings that they would not be arriving in harsh winter storms, as a thick snowfall could have kept their approach hidden from enemy response.

  He kept his eyes focused on the road to avoid a misstep, but his mind wandered. Felthespar had limited maps or records detailing the geography of the land on the other side of the Tepindus, and Revian had shown a penchant for ambushes. With each step he expected to hear the screams of those behind him as the first victims fell.

  He turned and gave Abaddon a light punch on the arm, hoping a conversation would liven his spirits. “I haven’t yet congratulated you on attaining Knight of the Sun. It’s a stupendous honor. You’re far younger than I when I received it. I suppose I should feel slighted.”

  Abaddon shook his head with a grimace. “We both know the Celestial titles are a silly thing. The Eldram cannot even accurately decide what they represent. They claim they are reserved for those with achievements in all areas of Felthespar, and give them to men such as yourself or Leprue. Then an impressive soldier comes along with limited achievement in any other regard, and suddenly they are handed out to men like myself or Kulara, undermining their significance.”

  “Don’t look at it that way, Ab. The Celestials are meant to celebrate those who have reached levels beyond what are considered normal human limits. Different knights have simply achieved that in different ways. In your case, the promotion was a response to you reaching the Grand Council, an unprecedented political rise for a man who might have previously been considered a ‘mere soldier’.”

  “Something you had far more to do with than I. Regardless, I will not be comfortable with the title until you once again outrank me.”

  “That would require me to attain Knight of the Heavens,” he said with a laugh, “so you may have to wait until I’m dead.” Abaddon looked up at the sky, and his nose and ears twitched slightly. Atheme watched him curiously. “What is it?”

  “It’s nothing, just some changes in the climate. The weather in Revian is much milder than Felthespar this time of year.”

  “Lucky westerners, eh? On their side of the fence things are nice and cozy, but we’re stuck in the middle of harsh blizzards. They must imagine they’re safe from reprisal for the season. If so, they underestimated our resolve.” Atheme felt his mood had improved, so he resigned himself to the march ahead.

  They rested under the cover of light foliage that night. It was comfortable and everyone slept well, save a few guard shifts. In the early afternoon of the following day they found themselves at the mouth of a large canyon. The walls were incredibly steep and high, extending as far north and south as they could see. Atheme stopped the army and sent scouts to inspect the immediate area.

  The mountain range here isolated Revian from much of Itrius, forming a diagonal across the northwestern pocket of land that formed the nation’s capital. Revian had long been considered the military power in northern Itrius, sometimes being referred to as the “Felthespar of the Mountains” by old veterans. Its trade and influence stretched as far east as Pardol. Felthespar had been content to leave them control of these northern lands, as their harsh terrain and sparse populations had little to offer compared to the lush regions of the central and southern Itrius.

  Where the mountains met the ocean several miles to the south, Felthespar’s territories resumed. These were the territories that had been held by the Cainites before the Arocaen. Since their acquisition they had proven to be of substantial value to Felthespar, adding to its economy gems from the mountains in the southwest, and even further rare and exotic trades from the western continent.

  These lands had flourished under Felthespar’s rule for nearly three centuries until Revian had spilled out beyond the Gorge. The former Cainite regions were not included among the lands Revian had claimed—either unable or unwilling to spread their occupation forces to the ocean—but Felthespar’s routes to the southwest had been cut off. Some degree of trade had been maintained via the rivers thanks to Jegan’s navies, but Felthespar had not been able to collect taxes or take a census on the lands for over five years now, a sizable economic loss.

  Abaddon settled himself over near the cliff face and had a seat on a large rock. Atheme sent orders down through some lieutenants, then walked over to join him.

  “I doubt our scouts will find anything, but we can’t underestimate the value of information on the terrain,” he said.

  “I don’t like this. Why does the area s
eem so barren? If this canyon is the only way into Revian’s territory, they’re bound to have sentries.”

  Atheme shook his head. “We don’t have time to explore. The Gorge is the only known route to and from Revian. If we want to get there quickly, we have to go through. I’ll position war mages evenly throughout our ranks and have them cast a hazing spell to hide our progress. If there are sentries in the canyon, we should be able to dispatch them before they can get word out.”

  Abaddon looked up at his commander for a moment, then stood and looked into the canyon. “I’m behind you. But as extra precaution, I think you and I should march two or three hundred yards ahead of the troops. The two of us may not draw immediate action, and we can dispatch any sentries ourselves.”

  “Good thinking. I’m going to get the troops briefed and ready to move.”

  He headed back to his lieutenants and began sending out orders again. About an hour and a half later, he headed into the canyon with Abaddon a step behind. The army had orders to wait and enter when the scouts returned, which should set the distance between them to the few hundred yards Abaddon had proposed. The two warlords walked for nearly an hour and still all was silent in the canyon. Atheme tapped a Feeler matrix and let it run behind him, and found the army following as planned. The canyon was deep and long, but as they made more progress he felt his misgivings sliding away.

  Abaddon was a different matter. He was tense, his eyes wide and his movements quick but smooth. The fingers on his sword hand twitched slightly as he walked, and his jawline seemed set in stone. They passed an area with boulders and shrubbery formations strewn to either side, and Atheme was comforted to see vegetation.

  Finally he felt confident enough to try to calm his friend. “Abaddon, relax,” he soothed. “There’s nothing here. I’ve been throwing out scanning matrixes constantly and I’m not picking up anything. I know that your mysticism is working overtime, because I can detect waves of ether flowing from you. There’s no one here or we’d know by now.”