Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  Strong as these bonds were, they did not alleviate Cyprus’ need to compete with his sibling. In the upcoming war he would be fighting alongside Cildar and his friend Myris. While only a Platinum Knight, the dark Lord of the Cain was every bit Cildar’s equal on the battlefield. Cyprus’ obsession stemmed from a need to measure up to them, though he himself currently only held a rank of Gold Knight. One of his most fervent desires was to fight alongside his brother as an equal, proving to all others—and perhaps to himself—that he was no mere castoff from the House of Emle.

  So he trained obsessively. Despite a relatively slim build, he was known as the strongest man in the heavy infantry, with brute strength that could bring a man to his knees with a single blow. This strength was due to Cyprus’ study of grey magic. Both Emles were gifted with tremendous spiritual strength, but whereas Cildar had mastered the spiritual arts of the Church, his brother had dedicated himself solely to the strength- and endurance-enhancing secrets of the Military. Unfortunately grey magic taxed the body heavily, and Cyprus had taken his blessings as far as he could. Now he needed to push his body to the next level, so that it could sustain ever more potent effects of his enhancement spells.

  His current training had been inspired by an old pair of gauntlets he had found in the armory. They were huge steel and granite monsters, easily over a hundred pounds apiece. He stood in the middle of his training room wearing them, trying to execute his most powerful moves as fast as he could. The pain caused by the momentum of the stone fists was excruciating, and at times he could feel parts of his body on the verge of tearing from his efforts.

  After an hour of this he collapsed. He sat for a while recovering himself, his sweat pooling on the floor beneath him. While he was still resting, Cildar walked into the room and offered him a friendly wave.

  “I figured you were probably somewhere training,” his older brother explained as he came near. “Took me a while to find you, though. I had to check nearly every sparring area in the sector.”

  Cyprus smiled up at his brother through heavy breaths. “Come to kick me off of your property?”

  Cildar rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, my little cabin is starting to feel so cramped. I think if you clear out, I’ll be far more comfortable.” He changed to a serious tone. “My home is your home, Cyprus. You know that. I have no intention of driving you from it. Not today, at any rate,” he added with a wink. “I just came by to make sure you hadn’t killed yourself with this training yet.”

  “Thanks for the concern, but I don’t need you watching over me like when I was a squire. I know my limits better than you do.” He rose to his feet and began once more throwing punches with the weighted gauntlets.

  The paladin watched his brother for several minutes. The short rest seemed to have revitalized the younger man and he was going strong again, pushing himself at an exhausting pace. Shortly the older brother got tired of watching and wandered over to him.

  “This isn’t the best way for you to be training, at your level. You may know the limits of your body, but there is more to fighting than how strong or fast your body is.”

  “Really,” Cyprus responded sardonically between attacks. “I’m no rookie. I know the fundamentals of fighting. The only thing left is to push my body to the next level.”

  Cildar shook his head, then started removing the heaviest parts of his armor. Cyprus stopped what he was doing and gave his brother a strange look. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to give you a quick lesson. It’s clear that you won’t listen to my words, so I’ll demonstrate.”

  As the man tossed his Lance, short spear, Morabet, and other weapons on the ground, Cyprus retorted, “You must be joking. You may be a superior fighter with your weapons and armor, but I’m one of the best martial artists in Felthespar, second only to Kulara himself, and I’ve always been stronger than you. You can’t take me unarmed.”

  The older brother removed his helmet and mask and gave a slight grin. “Alright, with or without those gauntlets. How do you want to do this?”

  Cyprus looked down at his arms. Blood had run down from the straps that held the gauntlets in place. It would have been a relief to take them off for a while. But in spite of his boast, he knew that Cildar Emle was a dangerous foe on any terms, and he needed some advantage. The extreme weight of the gauntlets could give him an unpredictable edge.

  “With,” he answered.

  “Then today’s lesson will be about the limitations of brute strength.”

  Cildar laid his right arm across the small of his back and held his left forearm up in front of him. Cyprus, with effort, raised his arms and smashed his gauntlets together once, then charged.

  The younger Emle began with a strong sweep to the side with his right arm. Cildar caught the attack with his upheld forearm and managed to stop it just before it made contact with his head. Cyprus followed up by coming down with his free hand with a powerful overhead smash. The Dragoon pushed away the first attack, then quickly reached up and smacked the new attack off to the side. Cyprus could not prevent his armored fist from smashing into the stone floor. While he was stuck, his brother gave him a rapid backhand across the face and then hopped back several feet.

  Cyprus took his free hand and used it to smash the ground around his trapped arm, jarring it loose, and looked up at his brother with fury. With the layers of grey magic he was currently using he had not even felt the blow, but he took the insult of the gesture to heart. His brother was mocking him, and he did not intend to take it lightly.

  He launched himself forward and came at Cildar’s face with his fastest right hook. Again the man easily shifted the attack, this time lifting Cyprus’ arm so that it flew over his head. The paladin stepped nimbly to the side so that his brother could land without colliding into him. The younger man turned and planted both of his feet firmly into the ground, then launched into a rapid flurry of brutal strikes.

  Cildar continued to carefully and patiently adjust the Military Councilor’s movement so the attacks missed their marks, still using only his left hand. Occasionally Cyprus would execute a technique complex enough that the Dragoon was unable to handle it with the single hand, so he would add a sidestep or low kick, adjusting Cyprus’ footing and forcing the young man to change stance.

  Finally the Lord of Saelen’s temper got the better of him. He took several steps back, held both of his arms up over his head, and recklessly launched himself into the air at his brother. He came down at Cildar with a powerful downward blow from both fists, using the added speed of his jump to make the attack more difficult to dodge. The paladin finally brought his right arm into play, crossing both arms over his head and catching the attack between them. He brought the blow to a halt, then thrust fiercely upward and threw Cyprus back. While the younger man tried to regain his balance, Cildar took a step forward with one foot and delivered a powerful blow to his stomach.

  Cyprus stumbled a couple of steps back and sank to his knees. He took a moment to recover his breath, then stated dejectedly, “I can’t believe you’ve become stronger than me.”

  The Lord of the Phoenix shook his head, crossing his arms behind his back. “I am not. I’m not as strong as you, and only barely as fast. You are truly one of Felthespar’s premiere martial artists. Your physical prowess is exceptional.”

  “Don’t patronize me. You beat me without breaking a sweat.”

  “I did. Because as I have told you, your training is all wrong. The gap between us is not a result of speed or strength, it’s in how we fight. You tried to beat me by hitting me more, and hitting me harder. Since I knew this, I turned it against you. Instead of trying to counter your blows I changed their momentum, moving them to the side or over my head. When you tried your final attack, I brought my arms up into the attack and then lowered them, moving with the attack, slowing it until I was able to stop it. When I finally went to hit you, I stepped into you first so that my punch had extra speed when it made contact. So you see, without b
eing stronger or faster than you, I appear to be both. As you said, you’ve already mastered the fundamentals of combat. At the level of strength you’ve attained it is not the fundamentals that you need to work on—it is the mastery.”

  “But where did you learn to fight like that? What did you do that I’ve done differently?”

  Cildar reached down and started putting his weapons and armor back on. “Firstly, you’re still many years younger than I am and have been in far fewer battles. Mastery of combat, like most things, comes with experience. But I also had help from a true master. In our one-on-one training sessions, Lord Abaddon taught me what I have shown you. Those and a hundred other little tricks allow me to turn the tides in battle. I was forced to learn them in order to merely survive his training.”

  Cyprus undid the straps on his gauntlets and let them fall on the floor, then stood angrily. “Thanks for the humiliation, brother.”

  “I didn’t wish to humiliate you,” he responded, shaking his head. “I just wanted to teach you a valuable lesson. You’re already an incredibly powerful warrior, Cyprus. There are limits for how much stronger you can make your body. If you discipline yourself first, you can overcome those limits before you reach them.”

  At that moment Shasta entered the chamber in a rush. “Lord Emle, Sir Galahe, they’ve arrived!”

  The look in Shasta’s eyes immediately told Cildar the intent of the man’s message, but Cyprus did not catch on as quickly. “Who has arrived, Shasta? What are you talking about?”

  “Cainites,” Cildar answered ominously. Now that the moment they awaited had finally come, he felt a year’s worth of tension turn his stomach, even as a tinge of excitement began to tickle the back of his neck.

  “They were sighted by border guards,” the Dragoon lieutenant explained, “crossing the Keladeps. They went through the Selledi Marshes and tore apart several settlements, but fortunately they didn’t go as far east as Jegan. Kulara is gathering all personnel to the front gates.”

  “Alright,” Cyprus said enthusiastically, pounding his fists together. “We can’t keep the General waiting. Let’s go bust some Cainite skulls.”

  He turned and dashed to the door, and Shasta and he hurried to the front gates. Cildar followed them out slowly, mulling things over in his head. The last thing he said before exiting the training room was, “Lord Abaddon, I wish you were with us now. We could use a Destroyer.”

  * * * * *

  “General, nine tenths of the army is assembled and ready to march out,” Fujia Tuel reported.

  Kulara stood on the battlements above the front gate, staring down sullenly at the small group of Cainites that had set up a small camp in the clearing between his city’s defensive wall and the sprawling Ducall Forest. For the past hour the invaders had remained virtually motionless, and seemed content to let Felthespar’s forces sit and fret. Kulara did not like to sit.

  “Very good,” he responded. “Make sure that they’re ready to march if I give the order. And get this wall flooded with archers.”

  “I’ve already made the arrangements, sir. Zynex is gathering his unit even as we speak.”

  Kulara nodded and the young woman headed off. Fujia had recently been promoted to the Military Council, filling the vacancy that had been left by Galbion at Karice’s recommendation. She was quickly proving to be an excellent officer. After waiting a few more minutes, Kulara checked to his left and right. Once he was satisfied the archers were in place, he shouted down to the unwelcome visitors.

  “You are trespassers on the territory of the Immortal Lord Vesovius, ruler of Felthespar. What do you want here?”

  One among the group stood and stepped away from the others. His outfit, though the same dark colors, was more elaborate than those of his cohorts. It was apparent that he was their spokesman. “The nation of Felthespar is supposed to be famous for its hospitality,” he announced in a lighthearted tone. “Will you not extend your welcome to a few poor wayfarers?”

  Kulara narrowed his eyes. “No man knowingly welcomes the thief who plans to kill him and burn his home. Take your leave while the blood in your neck remains unspilt.”

  The Cainite’s body shook lightly as he suppressed laughter. “Are you offering to send me to my Lord Vaelius? That would be a welcome favor.”

  “You keep pissing me off and I’ll send you to whatever god you want.”

  “I see you’re not in the mood for friendly banter. To business, then. Here are our terms. If you surrender now, without resistance, we will allow your women, children, and elderly to stay alive. We will only kill your soldiers and government officials, though to them we will concede a relatively swift and painless death. Also you will evacuate the city, for in one week we are going to tear it to the ground.”

  By the time the Cainite was done offering his terms, Kulara’s already meager good graces had been exhausted. He snapped and Zynex Traval—now Lord of the Feather, the highest of archer positions, as well as the new Lord of Lurin—slipped smoothly to his side.

  “Put an arrow in that man’s throat,” the General ordered coldly.

  Zynex’s promotion was well deserved, and not a second passed between word and deed. The Cainite spokesman fell to his knees, the center of his throat pierced straight through, and gurgled uselessly for a few seconds before falling forward onto his face. The Cainites who had been sitting beyond him rushed forward to help, but there was no aid they could offer.

  “I trust that will serve as an answer to your terms, Cainite.” Kulara turned from the parapet and headed toward the steps leading from the wall. When his foot touched the top step, he paused and turned to his archer lord. “See to it that none of them leave here alive.”

  As the General continued his descent Zynex gave a few sharp whistles, and a flurry of arrows rained down from the walls of Felthespar. In a matter of seconds, not one Cainite had less than half a dozen arrows decorating his corpse.

  When Kulara reached the ground he was instantly surrounded by his Military Councilors, as well as Cildar and Myris. Zynex joined shortly, hopping down from the top of the battlement and landing nimbly between Cyprus and Karice Contel.

  “Fujia, see to it that a double guard shift stays on the walls, and tell the troops to set up camp in the front courtyard. As soon as you’ve taken care of that meet us in my command tent.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  As the youngest councilor headed on her way, the others followed the General to his tent. Kinguin, Leprue, and Aveni were already there waiting. Kulara had ultimately decided to end martial law and restore legislative authority to the Grand Council. With the Cainites arriving barely a month later he was finding himself regretting the decision, but he could not go back on it now. Moving forward it would be important to have the Grand Council’s backing in any decisions.

  The tent was fairly huge, having plenty of room for the eleven men and women gathered there. The three elder Grand Councilors had already taken seats in some old wooden chairs. The rest of the councilors decided to remain standing and formed a circle around the tent, leaving room for the General to pace in the center and preside over matters. Kulara motioned Myris over and the two conversed quietly for a moment, then he and Cildar joined the other Grand Councilors. They waited only for Fujia to step through the flap before beginning.

  “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, the guests of honor have finally arrived, straight from the pages of history itself. It’s time to assess the situation and lay the groundwork for strategies. Myris’ spies have seen the bulk of the army and estimate that they have seventeen thousand soldiers.”

  Fujia’s face turned to shock. “Seventeen thousand? Our entire force numbers scarcely eight. They have easily more than double our number! There’s no possible way we can win.”

  Kulara turned and shot her a harsh glance. “I won’t listen to that kind of talk, Tuel. You’re a Military Councilor now, which means you’re supposed to be a leader. If I ever hear you say something like that again I’ll snap you ba
ck to squire so fast you won’t know remember how to use your sword.”

  The young woman quickly bowed in humility. “Forgive me, General.”

  Kulara turned back to the rest of the councilors. “There is an unfortunate point to be taken from Fujia’s outburst, however. We are badly outnumbered. The only way we’re going to have a chance at winning this war is to carefully plan our every move. That is what we are here for. Would anyone like to start out?”

  Everyone was quiet for a moment, so Kulara continued himself. “First, a logistical concern. These are going to be some of the largest battles our soldiers have ever participated in, and there’s bound to be a level of chaos to which even we are unaccustomed. We have to ensure that we don’t wind up attacking our own troops. Myris has assured me that all Cainites wear some slight variation of the same black outfit, so he and his Children of Cain have agreed to cease wearing black and only wear a grey ensemble similar to my own. For the same reason, I want you to spread the news down through the ranks that no knight is to be caught wearing black clothing or armor. If I catch someone garbed in such, I will take it upon myself to beat the living hell out of him. For his own good, of course. Moving on, let’s proceed with a basic analysis of our opponents. What are their strengths?”

  Lathria Grielat spoke first. “Their unique form of heraldry is easily incorporated into their fighting style and weaponry techniques, so they can be devastating on the battlefield.”

  “Also they’re fast,” Cyprus added. “The Cainite fighting style heavily emphasizes speed over other things. This speed, coupled with the power of their heraldric fencing, makes it difficult for even the most experienced soldiers to hold out against them for long.”

  “We cannot neglect their stealth and subterfuge capabilities,” cautioned Shasta. “Myris and his people have proven invaluable to Felthespar over the last four years as spies.”

  Kulara began his pacing. “All true. So then what are our strengths?”