by Mark B Frost
As her mind had a chance to go over the events she had witnessed, Sinjuin Serene collapsed on the floor of the office and sat shivering with fear.
Chapter 23.
Return of Our Lord Councilor
Abaddon Daemon dreamed.
He sat alone in the Chamber Vesovia, staring at the ancient table, reliving the events of the past few days. He was awake—he was certain of that. But the world around him changed and shifted beyond his control, and even his own actions were foreign to him. One moment, he was himself. The next, he was someone else, someone who knew things that Abaddon could not.
Relm—no, Sinjuin Serene, Saint of Order—had told him it was the sword. But he knew better. The sword gave him power. It had from the moment he first touched it. It gave him the power to kill the dragon Ethakarlata. It gave him power to strike down the traitor Myris. When he turned on Kulara, it was pleased and awarded him more power. When he humiliated Sinjuin Serene, it gave even more. He trusted the sword.
No, it was not the sword. It was the voices. The incessant, constant voices. Had they always been there? He could not remember anymore. Now they filled his mind. They were responsible for the dream, he was sure of it. When they spoke, things around him would change. Even now, the walls of the Chamber Vesovia dripped blood. No, they were frozen in solid ice. No, they were growing, spreading toward him like the branches of trees.
He spent every moment fighting them, trying to solve their mystery. In the moments when he began to think clearly, to feel the most like himself, the voices grew louder and more insistent, all speaking out at once.
He had tried to catalog them, to identify each one so that he might begin to sort through the jumble of their noise. He counted seven so far. One was angry, shouting and demanding his rage. One was frightening, screeching for him to show his power, to make the people around him feel fear. Another was calm, but continuously fed his mind with lies, laughing in delight when Abaddon yelled back that he did not believe.
One of the voices was sadistic, offering him images of ways to cause pain that made even his stomach turn. One of them was lilting, downright joyful—the things it said matched each of the others at times, and at others was simply nonsense or said in languages Abaddon did not know. Another was quiet, almost soothing, assuring him of the inevitability of things, promising it was neither within his control nor his fault.
It was the seventh voice that disturbed him the most. The seventh voice was his own. When it spoke he could not think. It stole his thoughts, became them, consumed them. But it said things he would not say, made him do things he would not do. He stared at the table of the Grand Council, remembering meetings of days past, remembering the men he considered allies and friends. That man, the one that he could only remember now—that was him. Why could he not be that man again? He did not want to be like this. He did not want to be the seventh voice.
Daemon.
Abaddon’s back went rigid. His eyelids opened wide and the blackness of his pupils spread, consuming his eyes entirely. This voice was new. It was not like the others. They grew silent, hiding from the authority of the eighth voice. Abaddon wished to hide as well, but the Chamber Vesovia was gone now. He sat alone in a black void.
It is our time now. You are ready for my power. You are ready to become one with Kargaroth.
Abaddon gritted his teeth. “I don’t want it,” he said with determination. “I am done with you.”
Done? We are not done. You must yet complete your mission. Remember, Daemon. Why is it that you sought Kargaroth? Why are we here?
As the last shreds of his identity were overcome by the strength of the voice, tears ran down his face. When he spoke again he showed only signs of obedience, and a slight touch of anticipation. “Revian.”
You are ready for my power. Complete your mission. It is our time.
He exited the Chamber and headed south to leave Felthespar for the last time. Somewhere in his mind, one final voice screamed for him to stop. It told him this was not the right course, that he should talk to Atheme. But one voice could not be heard over the sound of the eight, and the man that passed through the front gate was no longer Abaddon Daemon, Knight of the Sun, Guardian of Pecoros, Champion of Felthespar.
* * * * *
Throughout the course of events since Kargaroth had been unearthed, Kinguin had carefully monitored Abaddon’s activities. He had told Relm where to find the man, then observed the confrontation between them. He was uncertain where her newfound power to stand up to Kargaroth had originated from, but he would focus on her when there were less concerning matters consuming him.
For now he focused intently upon Abaddon sitting, peacefully enough, in the Chamber Vesovia. The man had been there for some time, and Kinguin could not be certain what he was doing. He had eventually realized that the mystic was able to detect his Seeker spells, so he had invented an inverted ether guide which allowed him to gather information from the currents in much the same way as Abaddon’s own mysticism. It was a far more discrete method to monitor the man’s movement, but the information was slower to reach him.
The currents informed him that Abaddon stood and began to head on a rapid course south. Kinguin reacted quickly, snatching his Staff of the Magi and heading out of Halariu. The man’s intent seemed to be to leave Felthespar, and with the delay in the information he could already be at the city gates. The mage stopped by the stables to grab his peist and checked the currents again. As feared, Abaddon was heading toward the front gate at a feverish pace.
Kinguin rode south as fast as the peist would carry him. He was forced to deal with some protocol when he reached the front gate, and already he could feel Abaddon beginning to head south through the Ducall. He lost patience and nearly shot a Fireball at the gate captain, but finally they let him pass. He rode through the forest at reckless speed, but it was not until he exited the Ducall in the south that he finally came within sight of his quarry. Abaddon was heading west over the plains, and was already a fair distance ahead.
The Archmagus gathered himself and rode west at an easy gallop, wanting to carry the upcoming battle as far from the city as possible. The galloping peist gained only slowly, even though the man did not appear to be running. When they had traveled a couple of miles, Kinguin became frustrated and sent a wall of lightning and fire crashing down in front of his target. After closing the distance, the herald dismounted his peist and pointed it back in the direction of Felthespar, whipping it to send it home.
He turned to Abaddon, who had not moved since the spell. “You cannot leave Felthespar,” he announced. “Not with Kargaroth. Calvin placed it in Atheme’s care, and he in turn placed it in mine. Hand it over and you may go as you please. Otherwise, let’s return to the city and await Atheme’s recovery.”
Abaddon stared at the wall of arcane power in front of him. “I have played with the children of Felthespar long enough. I have humored you, fought your wars, and pretended to be your equal. I am tired of the game.” He waved his hand softly, and the spell before him dissipated. “Scurry home, little mage. A coward like you doesn’t deserve death at my hands.”
Kinguin shook his head. “You may be right about me. I may be a coward. In my field, we don’t leave things to chance. I need certainty, and when I don’t have it I freeze up. I have never been certain about you, I confess, so you have always bested me. But I have resolved to stop you, and will do so in the only way I know how—with absolute certainty.” He spun the Staff of Magi in a wide circle, then stabbed its crystalline head into the earth at his feet. He threw his arms wide and a powerful wind swept across the plains.
He chanted a series of unintelligible words, and a slim blue ball of energy appeared around him. “I won’t leave enough of your body to bury,” he cried. Abaddon turned in interest.
The Staff of the Magi, entrusted to Kinguin, was the most powerful artifact ever created within Felthespar’s walls. Its power dwarfed even the holy artifacts of the Church, but could only be used
for destruction. For times when even that power was not enough, the Staff had a final technique. The Crystal of Aeons that powered it could be released, expelling the vast energies collected for centuries in a single, brilliant burst.
He grabbed the Staff with both hands and gave a sharp twist, releasing the binding on the crystal. In fractions of a second, a multicolored sphere exploded outward in a rush of devastation. The speed at which the blast expanded was beyond comprehension, and immediately a gigantic dome engulfed the plains, over a mile in radius. Everything in the wake of this power was destroyed without mercy. Grass, insects, rocks, dirt, even the air itself was unmade.
In the center of this chaos Kinguin stood protected by the blue barrier he had built before the explosion, an invention of his to prevent the attack from being a suicide technique. The Crystal of Aeons continued to reverberate, expelling waves of carnage for nearly five minutes. Finally it emptied its capacity and slowly hummed into silence. The fires of every color that had extended over a mile began to fade, and winds rushed in to fill the vacuum it had created. The Lord Archmagus stood in the center of a massive, smoldering crater, on a slim platform of magic now floating high above the ground.
He smiled at his success as he had the Staff reattach to the Crystal, only slightly remorseful of the life he had just taken. He had never before tested his ultimate technique with the Staff’s full power. There had always lingered the doubt that his barrier would not hold, and he and the Staff would perish as intended by its creator. Now that he had used the ability in a true life or death situation, he was more confident than ever in his own genius.
As he reveled, he noticed a shadow forming in the smoke in front of him, and felt an unmistakable sense of familiarity begin to sicken his stomach. The shadow suddenly moved, as with a wave of his hand Abaddon cleared the air between himself and Kinguin. He stood with a ghastly smile on his face, unfazed by the mage’s attack.
Kinguin stepped back, terrified of the sight before him. Not only was Abaddon unharmed, but around him floated an ephemeral vision of a monster, eyes burning with hatred and black armor that hinted of death. Abaddon raised his right hand into a fist, and with a booming punch Kinguin was sent flying across the crater at shocking speed.
His body crashed into the far wall of the basin and plunged deep into rock and dirt. From neck to waist he had been twisted from the force of Abaddon’s blow, and he sputtered and shook feebly as he tried to move. But his spine was shattered, and the signals from his great mind could not reach his limbs. His skin melted into the rocks around him, scorched by the heat of his own attack, but he was beyond the sensation of pain.
He tried desperately to move a finger enough to form one last rune structure, to send word back to Felthespar. But no amount of willpower could overcome the reality of his disfigurement. His body quit responding, his mind ceased its struggles, and as his favorite fedora lay burning next to him, his eyes shed their last tears of blood.
The black pools that had replaced Abaddon’s eyes watched this struggle until it was over, then he turned and resumed his course toward Revian. Above him, the image of the monster grew darker and more corporeal, and behind him the silver blade of Kargaroth began to pulse with waves of black energy.
* * * * *
Though Kinguin had not been able to send a signal back to Felthespar, his encounter with Abaddon was no secret. The guards on the walls sighted the giant sphere of chaotic energy and word was rushed to Kulara. Just as the General was about to send word to assemble his Military Council, Aveni entered the room with a distraught Sinjuin Serene. She explained that the dome they had seen was from Kinguin, and he would be in grave need of medical assistance.
Kulara began to make arrangements for a search party to bring Kinguin back to the Church, but Aveni was not willing to wait. He called several nearby priests, seized his Staff of Ainshen, and they left with only the guards on hand serving as an escort.
Peists were retrieved and the party headed out, cutting a path southwest through the Ducall. They made progress as quickly as they could, but the priests were not accustomed to riding mounts. When they finally exited the Ducall, they found themselves staring upon a stunning sight.
Less than a mile away began the lip of an expansive crater, running as far as their eyes could see. They took little time to marvel at the spectacle, as Serene quickly led Aveni to where Kinguin’s body lay embedded in the crater wall. The rest of the group followed at a dash. The group inspected the body, and in a matter of seconds the other priests backed away, knowing there was nothing they could do. It was difficult to even tell if the twisted, charred pile of flesh before them had ever been a man. Serene stepped forward and tried several barrages of healing magic, but soon she also gave up and stepped away.
Her voice held strong, but tears brimmed in her eyes and she announced, “He has already passed. Even my divine gifts cannot save him.”
“He has not been dead long,” Aveni argued. “He can still be saved.”
She creased her brow. “Even if we could somehow work the necessary healing to rebuild his body in minutes instead of days, there’s no guarantee the spirit would return.”
He motioned her aside with a gentle wave, then stepped forward to look upon the wreckage that had once been his friend. He did not hesitate, but extended his Staff of Ainshen and placed the glass sphere at the top against the body. A white aura flowed from Aveni into the Staff, and when it touched the ornament there was an explosion of light. When this faded, the priest stood looking down upon a restored Kinguin Peet.
The Lord Cardinal motioned to one of the medics, and the man brought a cloak to replace Kinguin’s destroyed clothing. He stood and looked at Aveni for a second, then fell forward and gave his friend a hug.
“For a while there,” he said with a choking voice, “I didn’t think you would find me.”
Aveni smiled and patted him on the back. “You released your Staff, didn’t you?”
Kinguin sent a spell out to locate the aforementioned artifact, then sent a sentry to retrieve it. “I did. I was trying to stop Abaddon.”
“I take it the safety you designed for it failed. I was required to use the Miracle to save you. I am surprised you were not totally vaporized.”
“No, my spell worked. Abaddon survived it. He did this to me.”
Aveni’s eyes went wide. “Neither of those things seem possible,” he whispered.
The herald took a step back and turned to Serene. She looked to each of them, then exclaimed, “I had no idea the powers of Ainshen still existed on this plane! I assumed when the God of Life fell her artifacts expired as well.”
“God of Life?” Aveni remarked. “I thought Ainshen was a servant of Pecoros?”
“I think,” Kinguin interrupted, “that there’s rather a lot that we don’t know. And I think it’s time for Miss Serene to sit down and explain it to us. Starting and ending with anything that’s relevant to Abaddon, and Kargaroth.”
“I must concur,” Aveni chimed quietly.
“I’ll happily tell all that I can,” she responded hastily, “but I have to stop Abaddon.”
“Stop him!” the resurrected mage exclaimed with a cracking voice. “Take about thirty seconds and look around you. Abaddon was standing at the very epicenter of the explosion that formed this crater. I spent nearly a decade studying the nature of the Staff’s energy in order to craft a finely honed, intricate shadow magic barrier that might—just might—actually protect me from that blast. A barrier which I carry with me at all times in the form of a shadow matrix, because it takes over nine hours to form the spell. Abaddon, however, managed to find a defense for the attack in the one one-hundredth of a second it took the blast to get from me to him. Now whether he dodged outside of its radius in these fractions of a second, managed to create his own barrier to mimic mine, or simply stood there and took it without flinching, tell me this—just how exactly are you planning on stopping him?”
She turned and stared at the crat
er. Aveni responded on her behalf, “Serene is a Saint of Pecoros. She wields divine magic beyond our own. Is that not right, Lady Serene?”
“No,” she answered softly, “Kinguin is right. Even with my gifts, I cannot manage anything approaching this scale of power. Abaddon has evolved beyond our ability to touch him.” She turned to the others with a look of despair. “I do not know how to proceed. I was sent from Asteria to prevent things from ever reaching this point, and I have failed. We are in grave danger, and Lord Pecoros does not have an answer for this event.”
“We should awaken Atheme,” Aveni offered. “He has firsthand experience with Kargaroth’s power.”
Kinguin nodded. “Even if he didn’t, it’s his place to make a decision here. I’ve overstepped my bounds enough for one day.”
“Then if I may,” the Cardinal replied, “let us return to the Church and I will do what I can to revive our Lord Councilor.”
* * * * *
Atheme awoke to find Aveni and Kinguin standing at his side. He smiled softly at his old friends. “It’s been a long time since I woke up in our infirmary,” he said. “Though I suppose it’s always better than the alternative.”
“How do you feel?” Aveni asked. “We forced your recovery quicker than I would have liked.”
He sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. “A little sore, maybe. I feel good, though. Strong in body and mind.” He stood and gave a sigh, moving across the room and changing into his clothes and armor. “Kalema Dijar betrayed me. I was stupid. I pieced it together the moment he stabbed me, but should have seen it coming. He offered to help us for free, as an ‘exchange of favors’. I was counting my blessings, attributing it to his past with Calvin, but it was because he was already working another contract. One for my life, it would seem. I should have seen it.” He finished dressing and turned back to the two councilors. “We’re going to need to regroup. We have to assume that with our failed invasion Revian has fortified their defenses on both sides. Where is Abaddon?”