by Mark B Frost
Atheme continued to stare at the young woman, not intending to but immersed in thought. Barkus was a notorious band of assassins and mercenaries, offering their skills to anyone who would pay their prices. No one fully trusted them, as they held no loyalties, but many nations often invested in their services. Felthespar and Barkus had clashed on more than one occasion, and Atheme himself had once done battle with their leader, a fierce man by the name of Kalema Dijar. He held a certain respect for Barkus and their leader for their strict code of honor. They had never been known to break an allegiance once forged. As long as their gold was paid in full, they would be a stalwart ally.
He came to himself and realized that Lathria was blushing deeply. He gave an extravagant smile and said, “I agree. It is an excellent idea. Abaddon and I will leave tomorrow to acquisition a boat in Jegan. As for Barkus, we will leave that issue on hold until we see how long it’s going to take to get the boat.” He stopped himself, then turned to Abaddon and said, “That is, if you feel ready to move out again so soon.”
The man nodded stoically. “Of course, milord.”
The Lord Councilor stood again and leaned down on the table. “In closing, I just want to say thanks to all of you. My people are my strength, and your support is what allows me to move forward from this tragedy. Let’s do everything within our power to protect Felthespar, aye?”
Everyone sounded in unison, “Aye!”
Atheme smiled, briefly fighting fresh tears from forming. “I call this meeting adjourned.”
Chapter 16.
The Renegade Tavern
Atheme stepped out the front gate of Felthespar and took in a long breath. The winter weather was cool, but the sun was shining and the air was crisp. He had slept well the night before, and seeing the snowy forest spread out in front of him he felt good. It was a good day for traveling. It was a good day for business. It was a good day to be Atheme Tethen.
After staying in Felthespar for less than two days he and Abaddon were on the road again. This time they brought no soldiers, but traveled alone. Atheme had wanted to leave a couple of hours before dawn to enjoy as much daylight as possible. Several incidents of last minute business had prevented this, so with the sun already in the midmorning position their journey to Jegan was finally underway. It was a week-long trek for a group traveling under normal conditions, using the Jegan Road that ran off to the east and then cutting around the Sarin Plains by following the Keladeps River. The knights of Felthespar typically avoided the road and cut directly through the Plains. With a brisk pace and limited breaks, the two veterans would make the trip in three days.
The first day passed without incident. Atheme’s spirits were high, and he occasionally stopped to enjoy a butterfly, or a rare winter flower blooming in the forest. They took lunch from their backpacks as they walked, then stopped to rest for a couple of hours once they got out of the forest and into the hilly grasslands that spread to the Sarin Plains. From there they marched throughout the night, Atheme using a white magic Aura to scare off any curious nightspawn.
As the sun rose on the second day he started trying to make small talk. Abaddon said little for his part, so Atheme kept talking and telling stories, knowing that his compatriot was listening even when he did not appear to be.
Finally he ceased his ramblings and his face turned serious. Abaddon was the only person he felt he could be completely honest with, and he needed to discuss his darkest concerns with someone. He slowed his pace, then came to a stop. “Abaddon.”
The tall man stopped a few steps later and turned back, but said nothing.
“What do you think about the ambush in Revian?”
His friend at him blankly. “You’re asking about the spy.”
“I suppose I am.” He looked to the ground. “I hate to admit the possibility that someone in Felthespar could be a spy. How could one of our own turn on us? With the recent progress we have made, I thought morale was at an all time high.”
“Felthespar is constantly taking in immigrants. Since communication with Revian has been cut off for so long, it’s entirely possible some of the straggling bands that joined our community over the years were actually planted by Revian and have risen through our ranks.”
The Lord Councilor bounced the idea around in his head. Abaddon turned back to the path and they started walking again. “The only people who knew about the invasion early enough to send a messenger to Revian were the members of the Grand and Military Councils. The public and the soldiers weren’t notified until later. Since the councilors were born and raised in Felthespar, I find it hard to believe they’d side with Revian.”
“Not all. Kulara and I are both wanderers from somewhere else.”
“I know that you’re no traitor. And our soldiers are more loyal to Kulara than anyone, even me. If Kulara was a traitor, he could have easily turned our own army against us and taken over.”
“You’re right. Kulara and I are both loyal to Felthespar. But there’s also the Cainite.”
Atheme slipped into an uncomfortable silence. This was the matter he had wanted to avoid, but knew he could not escape. Like most who knew him, Atheme had grown to respect and admire the Cainite general. He was moral, strong willed, brilliant—he held all the qualities that made a great man.
Abaddon interrupted his thoughts. “It’s been two years since the Cainites arrived in Felthespar,” he said. “We had already lost touch with the west at that time. Isn’t it possible that they’re a clever group of Revians masquerading as Cainites?”
“It’s possible, but only in the most outrageous sense. If Revian wanted to plant spies in our midst, why would they choose the form of our oldest enemies? The odds against us accepting them were staggering. They couldn’t have possibly predicted Cildar’s reaction to the situation he was put in. No one could have, not even Cildar himself. Then there’s the matter of the Cainite magic. The type of sorcery that Myris and his comrades use is definitely Cainite in origin. The best mages in Felthespar have tried for the past three hundred years to duplicate the Cainite rune style without success. Not to mention Myris’ Soul Scythe. Definitely Cainite runes, and they definitely date back to pre-Arocaen. No, Myris and his band have to be the real thing. They can’t be Revian spies. It doesn’t add up.”
“I have tested the man’s resolve. He was uncomfortable, but I could not detect any deception in regard to this matter. He may yet be hiding something, but I do not believe he is our spy.”
Atheme nodded optimistically, finally shaking off his doubts about Myris. “Then there must have been a communication leak somewhere. It’s possible that someone broke into the Chamber Vesovia and read the Council records, or one of the councilors let it slip in casual conversation. We’re going to have to tighten up security when it comes to military matters. Perhaps we’ve grown soft sitting behind our walls, dealing with every rebel nation that challenges us with a wave of troops. It’s been three centuries since Felthespar has seen a real war.”
“You’re getting too philosophical for my taste. War is war. I give each battle my fullest attention. The rest is distraction.”
Atheme chuckled. “That is the perspective of a soldier, not a leader. While you are superb among soldiers, you have a long way to go before you will be a leader.”
“I am content to merely walk a step behind you.”
Atheme smiled and shook his head slowly. His companion’s way of simplifying matters and shrugging them off had always filled the Lord Councilor with a pang of envy.
They continued marching all day and then throughout the night, with Atheme whistling a tune or fidgeting with some buckle or strap on his outfit. Though this was technically a diplomatic visit, he had shunned his ceremonial garb in exchange for his usual red tunic and armor. He was fond of this outfit and had been wearing it for nearly ten years now, with occasional visits to Folitri. It was difficult for someone who fought and traveled as often as he did to keep his clothes in good condition, but Atheme could be as stubbo
rn as any man once he decided he liked something.
Somewhere around midnight of their second night of travel they reached the southern stretch of the Sarin Plains. The demonspawn in the area began to grow in number and strength, so Atheme was forced to intensify his Aura. It scared away most of the creatures, but a few of the more powerful nightspawn were actually drawn to the field. Abaddon engaged them with his Dual Blade, as the enchanted weapon was able to deal damage to the phantom beasts. After a few battles Atheme decided it would be easier to drop the Aura. The lesser nightspawn lacked the courage to attack, and they marched unhindered for the rest of the night.
The battles seemed to put Abaddon in a better mood, and the next morning Atheme was somewhat surprised when the man actually initiated a conversation.
“Have you heard of Cildar’s new grey magic spell?”
Atheme looked up from the pork sandwich he was eating. He took a sip from his bottle of wine and answered, “No. I wasn’t aware of any new spell advancements in Felthespar as of late.”
“I trained Cildar for a while after the exhibition. I managed to increase his skill significantly, and in turn he began to train Myris.” Here, he paused for a moment. “The Cainite has a bizarre innate power. He claims it to be a blessing from their god Vaelius, but I’m unconvinced. It gives him the ability to move faster than normal men in battle. His movements are as fast as mine, which means he’s not quite as fast as you, but in a straight footrace he would beat either of us. After Cildar taught Myris what he knew, he was finding it difficult to keep up with the Cainite in battle.”
“The student surpasses the teacher, eh?” Atheme responded with a repressed smirk, remembering his own challenges in training Abaddon.
The big man did not catch this, and nodded in response. “Thanks to the uncanny speed, Cildar was finding it impossible to overcome Myris. He put in several extra hours every day with me, and though his skill rose at a remarkable rate he couldn’t narrow the gap.”
“Thus the need for a new spell. But it’s been proven that grey magic can’t be used to directly influence a person’s speed in battle. It can heighten the senses, tune the reflexes, but it can’t make a person move any faster than they would normally be capable.”
“Cildar remained undeterred. He spent weeks studying Myris’ movement, as well as my own. He suspected that part of my speed was an effect of my mysticism, so he began pouring over the Arcanum’s archives, as well as some old lore books from the library. Once he had exhausted his research, he used his own ingenuity to devise a unique solution to the problem. As you said, it’s been proven that grey magic can’t increase speed. What he came up with is more of a black magic spell, and it’s actually even more than that. He begins by wrapping his body in grey magic spells, maxing his strength, endurance, and binding his mind and body together. Then he executes a potent Aura and gradually tightens it in on himself, binding spirit to body as well. Once he has united mind, body, and spirit, he pulls ether over from Asteria and executes a partial phase shift.”
Atheme was taken aback. “Phase Shift? A phase shift is incredibly dangerous, and never to be used on a person. Only the highest ranking members of the Arcanum use it, and only then to test theories on object interaction with the Asterian plane. A person executing Phase Shift on himself is preposterous! His soul would be lost to the Asterian currents.”
“That is why he only executes a partial phase shift, and the reason for the layers of grey and white magic binding him together. Once the spells are in place Cildar is no longer bound by our laws of physics. He is quicker, less affected by air resistance, friction, even gravity. He feels less pain from blows done to him, since he is no longer an entirely corporeal being. The technique makes him faster, tougher, more mentally acute, and gives him a constant stream of ether to channel into his spells or healing while he fights. He becomes a perfect warrior in every way. He calls it Haste.”
Atheme absorbed the information for a moment. “Remarkable. Cildar is clearly a superior warrior—and a superb mind—to have successfully tested this spell. He is worthy of the name Emle if any man is.” He took another bite out of his sandwich. “He has tested it, hasn’t he?” he muttered through a full mouth.
“He tried it out on Myris once he had completed the technique, and nearly killed him in a matter of seconds, as I hear it. Myris is struggling to climb to Cildar’s new level, but with little luck. So Cildar decided he wanted to try it out on me.”
Atheme’s eyebrows shot up and he swallowed. “Oh indeed? How did that go?”
“The first good fight that I’ve had in a while with anyone other than yourself. Cildar was able to hold his own with me fighting at my full power. Unfortunately right now he can only maintain the Hasted state for a little over a minute. Then he has to drop everything, or he risks one of his incantations giving out and his spirit being lost in Asteria. Once he was forced to drop his phase shift, I defeated him in one blow. Still, it satisfied him to test his power to its full extent.”
Atheme finished the last of his wine and dropped the bottle back into his pack. “You said Cildar was able to hold his own with you. But was he truly your equal?”
“He was as fast as I am, and as tough, but not quite as strong or skilled. If I had been willing to kill him I could have ended it within thirty or forty seconds.”
Atheme nodded somberly at this statement. And if you were willing to kill me? he wanted to ask. How long do you think I would last, Daemon?
They topped a rise to the south of Sarin, and Jegan came into sight below them. Atheme stopped to admire the view. Jegan was a large city, possibly the town most traded with on the entire continent. Most of the city stretched to the north of the Keladeps, but there were a few sectors on the south side of the river as well. It blanketed seven miles of the river’s length, and more than a hundred large boats could be seen in various docks. Atheme took in a deep breath. He had always loved Jegan. It was one of Felthespar’s most loyal allies, as well as one of the most beautiful places on the entire continent.
He resumed walking and announced, “We’re making pretty good time. Looks like we’ll reach Jegan after only about two and a half days of marching. Might be some kind of record, eh?”
“I don’t see any warships.”
Atheme smiled at the simple observation. “Jegan values its ships above all things. They do everything they can to keep them away from battles. Like us, they fight their wars on land. That’s why there are parts of the city on each side of the river, so they can protect the boats.”
“Do they have the skill required to build us a warship, then?”
His face twisted in contemplation. “The short answer would be no. But I know of one man, or at least I once knew of him. If he’s still alive, we seek the shipwright Corsair DeMorgan.”
* * * * *
The two Lords of Felthespar stepped down a crude cobblestone road, walking carefully to avoid tripping on the potholes. They were deep in the slums of Jegan now, traveling among dangerous company. Atheme smiled to himself, thinking back on old times. He had come here with Calvin many years ago, and thieves and vagrants had constantly harassed them. An elegant noble and a well dressed boy begged to be robbed in ghettos such as this. This time there seemed no one willing to step forward and contend with the dark, domineering figure at Atheme’s side. He realized that he enjoyed a certain immunity when traveling with Abaddon.
They reached a huddled tavern at the end of one road. There was a sign hanging cockeyed above the door that had once read “The Renegade”, but after years of disrepair only “Ren” could clearly be made out.
They entered and Atheme looked around slowly. The bar was surprisingly crowded, with all of the worst kinds of patronage. There were women dancing on tabletops, card games, knife fights, and curses and booze bottles flew freely through the air. Lawlessness seemed to be the rule of the day. Atheme did not let his eyes linger on anyone for long, but instead started walking toward the bar. He took a seat at a stool
on the far end and motioned for Abaddon to move into the corner behind him.
They sat and waited patiently. Atheme sat propped on his elbows staring at some vulgar posters and stickers on the wall. There were literally dozens of people along the bar, so it looked like they would have quite a wait ahead of them. He let his mind wander and started chatting softly at Abaddon, as he was often apt to do.
“All this time, and yet some days I still find myself tempted to use the sword.”
Abaddon tilted his head. “What?”
He looked back. “Sorry. I forgot that you’re unaware. It was before your time.” He cleared his throat. “My mentor, Calvin, left an old heirloom to me before he departed on his final quest. It’s a powerful greatsword, supposedly responsible for the defeat of the Cainites. Its power was unreal.”
“He left it to you?”
“He called it ‘Kargaroth’. A strange name for a weapon, and I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if Calvin named the sword himself or not. It’s not a question I ever got around to asking, unfortunately, and I’ve found no details on the sword in our records.”
“I don’t understand. Why have I never seen this sword?”
Atheme hesitated for a moment. “When Calvin gave me Kargaroth, he told me that it had incredible power, but also that it was alive with a will of its own. It didn’t want its power to be used for good. Calvin had overcome the will of the sword and used this power for his purposes. He made me promise that I would take care of it and ensure that it never fell into the hands of our enemies. But I was not as capable as Calvin. Maybe my will wasn’t as strong as his, maybe it was something more. Regardless, every time I used the sword’s power it became more difficult to control. I started to feel overwhelmed by it. It wanted things that I didn’t, and I began to feel it tugging at my soul, urging me to follow its will instead of vice versa.”
“This sounds very strange for a sword.”