Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  “Alright then. So let’s figure out what we’re going to do.”

  * * * * *

  An hour later Atheme and Serene sat in the Chamber Vesovia with Kinguin and Leprue. Aveni had retired to get some sleep, and Abaddon had been left in his bed to recover a while longer. The Lord Councilor had taken an opportunity to talk to his friend again before leaving him, and the man finally seemed like his old self.

  “Alright,” Atheme said after Serene finished relaying the long history of Kargaroth once more, “so the important matter here is determining what to do with this sword to make certain it is no longer a threat to anyone.”

  Kinguin was the first to make a suggestion. “I vote that you allow me to rebuild my rune structure and seal it away again. I’ve thought up enough improvements to make certain that Elzaniru himself couldn’t get to it, if he were so inclined.”

  Atheme shook his head. “We’re not going to try an idea that has already failed. Indeed, we could simply toss it to the bottom of the ocean and would probably not see it again in our lifetimes. But I’m not keen on finding a temporary solution. I want something permanent.”

  Leprue rubbed his chin and offered, “According to Serene, Elzaniru destroyed the spirit of the God of Virtue when he killed dear Calvin. Is it not also possible that we might take the sword to Elzaniru and have him destroy it himself?”

  Atheme’s brow raised at this. “That’s a good suggestion.”

  “No,” Serene disagreed. “Elzaniru is wroth at the attempts humans have made to attack him already. I fear that if we were to carry the sword up to him, he might take it as another assault and decide to destroy Morolia once and for all. Elzaniru is not a force of nature to trifle with.”

  Atheme scrunched his face. “She’s right. What else?”

  Kinguin took off his fedora and began straightening some of the creases in the fabric. He still had not worn in the new cap, and it plagued him night and day. “Alright, let’s approach this from an analytical standpoint. We’re dealing with spirits here—eight spirits trapped in a sword. We know that they can be destroyed, but thus far we know of only two ways to destroy them—Elzaniru himself, and the spirit of Destruction. Clearly we cannot use Elzaniru to our advantage, since that approach might wind up being more kill than cure. So we have only one other option, and that is to use the power of Destruction itself against the other spirits.”

  Leprue sniffed. “That’s ridiculous. The only way to control the power of Destruction is to tap into the sword, and anyone who does that is going to become possessed and they aren’t going to cooperate with us.”

  Upon hearing the herald’s suggestion, however, Serene’s eyes went wide. “It’s not ridiculous! It’s brilliant! The most incredibly brilliant idea I’ve ever heard in all my lives!”

  Kinguin clucked and shook his head. “You haven’t spent enough of your lives around me.”

  Atheme rolled his eyes at this and turned to Serene. “What do you mean? Is there some way to use Destruction’s own power against it?”

  She took a deep breath and explained, illustrating with rapid hand movements on the table. “Like Leprue said, anyone who taps into the deeper powers of the sword becomes possessed by it. On the other hand, we have Abaddon now. He has the affinity with the sword necessary to use Destruction’s powers, but he has also shown the ability to resist and even break away from the sword at his own will. Using this to our advantage, we can take the sword to an ether pole.”

  Kinguin held a hand up at this. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. An ether pole? That’s cute, but do you have any idea how impossible it is to predict the formation and stability of ether poles? I can personally verify that the continent of Itrius has not seen one in at least fifty years.”

  “Excuse me,” Leprue chimed in, “but for those of us who are not masters of the arcane, might you explain what an ether pole is?”

  “An ether pole,” the Archmagus replied, “is a tremendous vortex created when a stream of fresh Asterian ether flows in the opposite direction to a stream of Morolian ether of equal strength, and they both occupy the same parallel space of the two planes. When this happens, sometimes the streams will undergo a strange type of merger, and they will tear a hole in the Veil. This creates a single point where Morolia and Asteria actually collide. Based on that description alone, you can imagine that the occurrence of them is extremely rare. They do virtually the same thing as the vortex that Relm created to break my rune structure, except on a much more tremendous scale. When an ether pole forms, using any type of magic becomes impossible for miles in every direction. Mystics have been known to die as a result of the formation of ether poles too close to where they live, and even after the pole dissipates it can take hundreds of years for the currents to become steady and regular again.”

  Serene nodded. “As usual, Kinguin, you’re correct. However, as a Saint I happen to have access to a piece of information that you do not. On the continent south of Itrius, many months of traveling over the Cerulian Sea, there is an ether pole that has been constant for almost two thousand years. The two colliding streams there are so potent that the Veil seems unable to repair the damage. There is no evidence of the pole ever weakening, and no sign that it might ever die down.”

  Kinguin’s curiosity was piqued by this announcement. “You must tell me more about this sometime.”

  Atheme raised his hands into the air. “Wait a minute. Somewhere here I got lost. I don’t understand how this ether pole relates to the destruction of Kargaroth.”

  “It is about Destruction,” Serene explained. “The God of Destruction does not have the power to destroy gods simply by touching them, or willing it, or anything of that nature. Rather, Destruction’s true power is its ability to create vulnerability where none exists. Indestructible objects, when under Destruction’s influence, can be cut or broken. Immortals can be killed, although it still requires tremendous power. An ether pole would be that power. The point of neutralization at the center of an ether pole is so intense that if we could lure the gods of darkness into it, it would be powerful enough to scatter their spirits across the Veil. If this happened while under the influence of Destruction’s power, they would not be able to survive it. But to make any of this possible, the gods would have to be drawn out of the sword.”

  Leprue nodded. “And you are suggesting that is where Abaddon comes into play?”

  “Abaddon and myself,” she answered.

  “Yourself?” Atheme queried.

  “Abaddon can link with the spirits and activate the powers of Destruction on his own, but at that point he will once again become a subject of the sword. He might be able to resist for a matter of seconds, possibly even minutes, but in any case he would not be able to draw the spirits out. I, on the other hand, know how to do that. If Abaddon stands on one side of the exact center of the ether pole, and I on the other, I can use my own spirit as a counterbalance across the vortex. It would briefly force the gods free of the sword and Abaddon’s body. Once that is done, assuming that Destruction’s powers have been activated, they will be swept into the ether pole before they can respond.”

  Leprue rubbed his temples. “It sounds very complicated.”

  “Relm, doesn’t this pose a risk to you as well?” Atheme asked. “If you’re using your own spirit as a counterbalance to the spirits of the sword, it seems to me that you would also be sucked into the void.”

  “I know what I’m doing, and will take every necessary precaution. Any risk involved is a risk I am willing to take to redeem my mission.”

  Atheme stared at her hard before declaring, “So be it. Gentlemen, it would seem we have our resolution. Thank you for your counsel. We should make preparations for the times ahead.”

  * * * * *

  A week of preparations went by, and sunrise of one early spring morning found Atheme, Serene, and a much healthier Abaddon Daemon standing at Felthespar’s front gate, saying goodbye to their friends as they prepared to embark upon their long journey to th
e southern continent of Arkalen.

  The Lord Councilor shook hands with several old allies, and eventually wandered over to Myris—who had finally been cleared of all charges—and Cildar. Myris no longer wore the dark mask that had hidden his features for so long, symbolically committing to his transformation.

  Atheme extended a hand to each of them. “With Abaddon and I gone, you two are the most powerful soldiers in Felthespar. I am placing a great deal of my faith on the both of you to defend my country and her people from harm.”

  Cildar bowed, but Myris stepped forward and knelt down before Atheme. “Lord Tethen, you took my people in many years ago and have always shown us the utmost courtesy. To me, you have been the firmest of allies even when you had no reason. I cannot begin to extend adequate gratitude for the way you have treated us. I want you to know that I revere you as one the noblest men I have ever had the privilege to meet.”

  “Come now, stand up,” he replied. “Such behavior is not warranted.” The man rose to his feet and Atheme gave him a firm hug. “Myris, I am proud to call you a brother. You may be a Child of Cain, but to me you will always be a son of Felthespar.”

  While Atheme said goodbye to Cildar and Myris, and Serene gave Jessandra a markedly tearful farewell, Abaddon wandered over to Kulara.

  “Heading off on another one of your robust adventures, eh?” the General said with a smile on his weather-worn face. “Hope you don’t get eaten by some sea monster. It would be a sad fate for such a damn fine soldier.”

  Abaddon lowered his eyes. “The last time I saw you I did you a grave injustice. You were a good friend to me, yet I attacked and nearly killed you. There are no words to atone for this transgression. I am deeply sorry.”

  Kulara gave him a firm punch on the arm. “Ha! You thought you were gonna kill me didja? You should know, I was about to break out of that choke-hold you had me in and mop the floor with you, had not the missy interfered.” He noticed that his whimsy did not seem to have an effect on Abaddon, and his face turned serious. “Daemon, I’ve heard about what you were going through. I can only imagine how it must have hurt you to watch your body doing things and not be able to stop it. I know you meant me no ill will. It’s not the first time I’ve stared down death, and I’m hoping it won’t be the last. You’re still a friend of mine and I’m glad to see you alive. Make sure that you come back that way, and we’ll call it squared.”

  Abaddon looked up at Kulara and a genuine smile spread across his normally cold features. He reached to his side and loosened the sword belt around his waist, then handed it to Kulara. “Take this as an offering of my respect.”

  The General took the scabbard and drew the weapon within. He looked up the length of the long broadsword, from the hook at the base all the way up to the tip of the blade, and his eyes shimmered. “Your Dual Blade? I can’t take this. This has been your sword ever since you came to Felthespar.”

  “And when I return to Felthespar it had better be here waiting, in the hands of the man I entrusted it to.”

  He returned the sword to its scabbard and slid it into his belt alongside his Morabet. “Alright, Daemon. I promise that when you return, this sword and I will be here waiting.” The two warriors shook hands, said a final farewell, and Abaddon returned over to the front gate while Kulara disappeared into the crowd.

  Finally the goodbyes were all said, and Atheme announced it was time for the three of them to be on their way.

  “I know it seems that we are saying goodbye more often than we are saying hello as of late, but sometimes this is how life must be. We each walk our path, and sometimes those paths must diverge. Yet Felthespar is my home, she is my first love, and I promise that I will come back to her when I have done what I must. I leave the city in the care of you, my friends, and for now I say farewell.”

  “Hold up!” Kulara shouted over the throng of people. With effort he forced a path through the crowd and made his way to the travelers. “I nearly forgot something. Lord Atheme, I have something you might want before you head off on a quest.” He reached into a satchel at his side and pulled forth a small pole, about two feet long, and handed it over.

  Atheme’s eyes went wide in wonder, and he flicked a switch on the silver tube. It immediately grew out to his sare, eleven feet in length, blade and fan formations both intact. He backed away from Kulara and began spinning the pole about himself at high speeds, constantly adjusting the sizes and pulling the blades in and out.

  “Kulara, I do not believe this. I thought my sare was lost, but this is absolutely perfect. The controls are identical, and unless I miss my guess the reaction times are even sharper.”

  The General planted his arms at his side and gave a huge grin. “I found Calvin’s blueprints for the original sare, and remembering that you lost yours recently I’ve spent the last week working on making a new one before you had to leave. Had to call in a ton of favors from the Arcanum to get all of the transmuted materials the thing requires. Calvin sure didn’t skimp on quality, I’ll give him that. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I almost left it off until it was too late.”

  Atheme shrank the weapon back down to its compact version and set it into the old loop on his belt. “Thank you, Kulara. It is certainly a gift that I shall treasure.”

  “Enough chitchat. Be off! Go save the world, if that’s what you’re going to do. Leave Felthespar with me. I know enough about war to stave off a few Cainites.”

  The Lord Councilor gave another short farewell, then Abaddon and Serene followed him out of the city. As soon as the front gate closed and was locked down, Kulara’s face turned serious. He gave a snap, and his Military Councilors quickly assembled around him.

  “From this day forth Felthespar is not a town, it’s not a city, it’s not a capital—it’s a war machine, and we’re the gears that make that machine turn. This city has never fallen into enemy hands, and I’ll be damned if it’s going to on my watch as General. Get ready for what comes next. It isn’t going to be fun, but it’s sure going to be intense.”

  As Kulara laid plans and the three pilgrims set forth on their walk to Jegan, the dark mountains far to the southwest began to come alive. From a distance it seemed as though they were covered with thousands of ants. These were not ants, but rather each dark moving speck was a Cainite, and each Cainite had only one vision in his or her heart, a vision that they would fulfill at any cost.

  To see the nation of Felthespar turned to dust on the winds.

  Kargaroth II

  War of the Second Arocaen

  Chapter 29.

  Kulara’s Preparations

  Kulara Karfa, Knight of the Moon, General of the Military of Felthespar, stepped into a small room hidden deep within the mansion of Vesovius XIV. Only four people awaited him, but they were the four most important in Felthespar: Regent Shiresta Dauran, administrative and spiritual leader of the Church; Lord Herald Michean Kassil, director of the heralds of the Arcanum; High Scholar Leprue Messe, chief of the Eldram, the backbone of Felthespar’s bureaucracy; and lastly Lord Vesovius himself, the figurehead of the nation, leader of the Dictus and Lord of the Senate.

  Never before had such a meeting been called. The head of each division of the Knighthood was present, but none of their councilors, aides, or even a secretary to take notes. No one else was even aware of the meeting, and each attendee had made careful excuses to explain his or her absence for the next few hours.

  Naturally seeing himself as the highest ranking figure in the room, Vesovius began speaking as Kulara was still moving to take his seat. “General, thank you for joining us. I know that you’re busy with preparations, but there are some concerns with the state of the country at the moment which cannot be addressed in an official manner. I felt that as men—” he paused, then turned and nodded to Shiresta, “and women—of conscience, perhaps a simple conversation might be in order to get everyone on the same page.”

  Kulara took his seat and looked around the room with a squint. Even in such pr
estigious company, the General still wore his simple grey armor and attire. If not for the color of sun and windburn in his scarred face, his appearance would have lacked any spark of color whatsoever. His words were suited to match.

  “Get on with it, then.”

  Vesovius’ smile poorly hid a hint of displeasure. “Nine months now we have endured a state of martial law. This would be cause enough for concern, but it is exacerbated by the fact that no threat to Felthespar’s safety has appeared. It is beginning to become a matter of some concern. Martial law is efficient in some ways, but it drives many things to a halt. A substantial portion of the budget is presently tied up, and many civic projects could have been completed over the past year. Now you’ve begun executing orders to evacuate a large sector of our residential district and convert it to a training ground.”

  Kulara ran a finger down the long scar covering his eye. “The southwestern corner of the residential sector is too close to the front gates. In the event the gate is breached, there will be no way the Military can respond swiftly enough to prevent civilian casualties. I need them moved back, and I need a training area inside of the city’s walls. We can’t keep running drills outside, it leaves too many soldiers vulnerable in the event of an unexpected attack. The solution is a natural fit.”

  “There’s the problem,” Lord Herald Michean responded. “You seem to be doing a lot of planning for an unexpected attack. You can’t run an entire city based solely on expecting the unexpected.”

  “Certainly you can,” the General answered. “I’m in a particularly unique position to do so.”

  “It would just be a bit easier on all of us,” Leprue admonished, “if we understood the full extent of the plan you’re operating under. I know that you were left specific orders by our Lord Councilor, but as we are not privy to them we are unable to judge the propriety of your decisions.”