by Mark B Frost
“May I be of assistance?” the man asked quietly as he reached the General’s side.
“Perhaps. I was wondering if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.”
Myris glanced over the forest and to the distance horizon. “You mean is the forest actually as barren and lifeless as it looks?”
“Aye.”
“The Cainites have not yet reached us,” he answered with a soft nod. “Although they certainly could have made their way to the city by now. In the event that they are using stealth, I shall send one of my people to inform you when they arrive. But in all likelihood, I suspect they merely paused to take precautions before breaching the forest.”
Kulara squinted. “That sounds dangerous for us.”
“Indeed it could be. Cainites are viciously cautious.”
The General returned to his position at the edge of the wall, Myris just a step behind him. “Do you think they’ll bring all of the troops into the forest?”
“It is a difficult question to answer. The Cainite hierarchy changes chaotically, and often. From what I remember—keep in mind that I have been here for some years now—there is a heated dispute among the Cainite leaders about how this war should be handled. Some of them would want to bring all of the troops out for the first battle in a show of arms to damage our morale. The more cautious, however, would keep most of the soldiers back in relative safety, in case something went awry.”
“Something like our trap.”
“Precisely.”
“And which kind of leader do you think we’re going to be dealing with?”
Myris turned his back to Kulara and started to walk away. “Unless I miss my guess, we can look forward to meeting my cousin, Derris Phare. It is said that he is ruthlessly brilliant, and careful to a fault. If he is still in command, there is no danger we will see the entire Cainite army this day.” He halted just at the inside edge of the battlement. “By the way, my people captured the first wave of Cainite spies. They have been executed and placed somewhere where they are certain to be found.” With that, he disappeared quietly over the side of the wall.
Kulara did not respond, certain that the slim man was already beyond earshot. Michean became bored and decided to recheck the ranks of Arcanum heralds, and he headed along the wall to do just that. He wore a much more elegant outfit than Kinguin’s simple attire, and his majestic headpiece gave him an air of authority. Of the two, Michean certainly appeared to be the more adept mage, but no one who knew Kinguin Peet dared utter such a thought.
Thinking on these things, Kulara softly elbowed the Lord Archmagus to get his attention. “I have to admit, I’m surprised that you agreed to allow Lord Kassil to oversee this operation.”
Kinguin glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “You doubtless realize that the Lord Herald technically does outrank me, and is in fact in command of the Arcanum?”
“Aye,” he responded sarcastically, “just as Shasta is really in charge of my Military.”
The mage grinned smugly, then turned back to staring at the ground below. “Michean can ‘oversee’ to his heart’s content. But if anything should go awry, I shall be here to make certain it is handled efficiently.”
Kulara discontinued the conversation and began cracking his knuckles impatiently. “This is getting old fast,” he muttered under his breath. “I’d rather be fighting and dying than sitting here waiting like this.”
Even as he was saying this, the first few Cainites stepped out from the trees of the Ducall. Initially it seemed there were only a few score, but once those soldiers formed a row less than a hundred yards from Felthespar’s front gates, hundreds more began to pour out and fall into ranks behind their comrades. In a few short minutes well over a thousand Cainites stood between Felthespar and the Ducall Forest, and there were obvious signs of further forces gathering in the woods.
Zynex wandered up to Kulara’s side furtively, an arrow already nocked in his bow. “Looks like they’re here in full force, eh?”
“I doubt that. But there are a lot of them beyond the forest. Do you think your archers can hold them off if they make a rush?”
The Lord of the Feather nodded. “I have half of my archers on fire arrow detail and the other half ready to drive the Cainites back. The oil that we ran through the forest was magically enhanced by Kinguin himself, so it should only take a few seconds to start the blaze. Once that’s done my archers will turn their full attention to the Cainites. As many war mages as we could fit are stationed up here and will assist us with showers of lightning. Rest assured that not a single man will reach the city walls.”
Kulara offered no response, but watched as the Cainite leader stepped from the front ranks and assumed a position ten yards ahead of his troops. In less than a second, hundreds of arrows were nocked onto a bowstring and pointed at his throat. Being the commander of an army entailed certain risks, and the air about the man suggested he knew those risks well. His outfit was solid black, without an ounce color. The face mask he wore was reminiscent of Myris’ former mask, made of cloth so dark that no facial features or even folds in the cloth could be made out. Two dark blue flames hovered over the eyes, masking the last inch of the man’s humanity from view.
“I am Derris Phare,” he announced loudly to the knights gathered atop Felthespar’s wall. “I stand as Lord Commander of these Cainites. I have no lengthy speech to offer you, as perhaps some of my compatriots might. Our intentions are simple, and so I believe should be our precursor.”
“He’s clever,” Kulara whispered to the Archmagus at his side. “His speech pattern gives it away. I suspect he’ll be a dangerous opponent, that one.”
Kinguin answered with his usual conceit. “Then let us hope that one of your archers strikes him down with a well-placed arrow. I imagine that, like all men, he dies when slain.”
The General was about to shout something back to Derris, but Michean cut him off.
“I am Michean, Lord Herald of the Arcanum, the noble brotherhood of wizardry of Felthespar. In the name of this city, I extend the Immortal Vesovius’ invitation for you to leave our land at once. Otherwise we are left with no course other than to defeat and humble you.”
Derris cocked his head slightly to one side. “So your armies plan to hide behind a wall while your wizards strike us down with magic. That is how you plan to wage this war?”
“Actually,” Michean retorted, “the heralds of the Arcanum have sworn a solemn oath to never use our power to harm human life. And, though I hate to admit it, Cainites do technically fall into the classification of human.”
“Then if your wizards have no intentions in hurting my soldiers, why do you bother appear here today?”
Kulara put an arm forward and pulled Michean back. “Less words, more action! Fire!”
* * * * *
The brothers Telchar and Siknul Chremn wandered aimlessly about the eastern reaches of the Ducall Forest, poking here, scanning there, not really looking very hard for anything.
Siknul, the younger of the two, finally got tired of the charade and had a seat against a mossy oak. “Why are we wasting our time? There’s nothing out here. All of the Onion Knights are locked up safely in their little castle.”
The older brother stalked over to where Siknul sat and stared down at him haughtily. “Because, Siknul, we were among the soldiers dispatched to search for traps or ambushes. That is what we were told to do, and therefore, that is what we will do.”
“It’s a bloody waste of time. We’re seventeen thousand strong. Only a fool would try to lay an ambush or trap against an army that big. I mean, honestly, what could they possibly do that would even begin to chip our ranks?”
“First of all, only five thousand of our troops are in the forest right now, which means the Onion Knights might very well be able to match our force, or have a trap capable of doing serious damage. And secondly, we are not leaders, and there is probably very good reason for that, so it is not for us to question the decisions that our le
aders make.”
“Bah. The only reason we ain’t leaders is ‘cause we were born to a miner, and so ain’t no one gonna take us seriously. There’s no good reason for it.”
Telchar became so frustrated with his brother that he could think of nothing more to say, so instead he stomped as hard as he could. Immediately the ground erupted and spewed forth a light liquid with such intensity that the standing man was nearly blown off of his feet. Both brothers were doused before the short shower ended, then they stood for a moment staring at each other in confusion.
“What the hell do you suppose that was?” Siknul finally spat.
Telchar shook his head and looked himself over. He raised his mask slightly and took a sniff. The odor was so overwhelming he nearly fainted. He quickly slipped his mask back on and grabbed his brother’s shoulders. “It’s oil! We have to get to the commander and warn him, quickly!”
It was just about that time a wave of fire ripped through the forest, mercilessly devouring everything in its path. The brothers Chremn, already doused as they were, stood no chance of survival.
* * * * *
“Fire!” Kulara’s voice echoed from the wall and into the trees, and there was an instant response from the stationed knights. Derris swiftly tapped a talisman hidden on his belt, only barely summoning an icy barrier in time to shield himself from the hundreds of arrows flying for his neck. He fell back into his ranks and was about to give the command to counterattack, when suddenly his vision was engulfed in a flash of red heat. He turned to see a column of fire engulf dozens of his soldiers. He spent a moment trying to route troops away from the flames, but within seconds it seemed to be everywhere, a blaze stronger than any natural fire he had ever seen.
He quickly realized that retreating through the forest would be incredibly hazardous, but he was not yet willing to write the situation off as a complete loss. He shouted out for all Cainites to rally to him, and soon hundreds of his troops cut through the flames and came to his side. He quickly redirected them, sending them straight at Felthespar.
“Get as close to the walls as you can! Try to pick off as many of their soldiers as possible! We are not going to die unless we take some of them with us.”
The Cainite warriors bravely endeavored to obey Derris’ command. A hail of arrows immediately began tearing into them as they charged forward, but they were still outside of their spell range. They did not waver, and many of them managed to break through the barrage of arrows and come within a dozen yards of the city wall, where they were swiftly met with a fatal rain of lightning bolts. The few spells that the Cainites managed to cast bounced harmlessly off of an invisible barrier around the city, and Derris finally understood why so many of Michean’s mages were present.
When nearly the entire force he had sent forward was wiped out, he reluctantly admitted defeat. “Enough! Retreat, retreat, get out of the forest! It is every man for himself. Try to ensure your own survival and rendezvous with the rest of our forces. Go, retreat!”
Then, just as Derris himself was turning to leave, he noticed a lone dark figure standing outside of the city’s front gate. He focused his eyes carefully and was barely able to make out a Cainite dressed in grey attire, with a shock of brown hair sticking up from his cold features.
“Myris,” he hissed in hateful recognition. “You may have won this encounter, traitor, but I swear that I will come back for you. Soon.”
He raised his left hand while using the other to tap a talisman within his cloak, releasing a scattering of flames into another wave of arrows coming for him, then turned and disappeared into the blazing forest.
* * * * *
Once the last Cainite disappeared into the trees, a loud cheer arose among Felthespar’s forces—save the heralds, who were still deep in concentration holding the barrier around the city. Kinguin gladly relinquished authority of the operation to Michean, then followed Kulara and Zynex down for an immediate Council meeting. The troops seemed anxious to celebrate and Kulara gave them permission, with the exception of a small guard shift he assigned to stay with the mages.
Once everyone was again gathered in the General’s tent, praises all around seemed in order. When everyone had finished congratulating, each other Kulara began debriefing.
“Alright, the operation went without a hitch. Although I could have stood without Michean tipping them off to the Arcanum’s vow of pacifism. They’d have a lot more to fear if they still believed we had a whole contingent of deadly mages ready to contend with them at a moment’s notice.”
Kinguin nodded sadly. “I shoulder full blame there, General. Next time I will certainly not allow Michean to attend such a serious proceeding.”
Kulara barely repressed a chuckle at this statement, then moved on. “Regardless, there wasn’t a single casualty on our side, and there’s no telling how many Cainites died in the flames. We’ve started things off well. We did damage to their numbers without hurting our own, diminished their cozy confidence, cleared out a level battlefield for us to wage war on, and established ourselves as a foe not to be taken lightly. The obvious question is, what next?”
“I think the next move is theirs to make,” Cildar offered bluntly. “We made the first move and have done everything we can to prepare for this invasion, but we hold no further advantages to push. We don’t know enough about their soldiers and tactics to make a plan against them.”
The General shook his head, reluctant to admit to that situation. He paced back and forth a moment, as the other councilors weighed the matter in their own hearts. “Cildar’s right,” he finally conceded. “I don’t like waiting around, but we need to have a pitched battle before we can make our next plan of attack. On the bright side, we have a few days before the fire of the Ducall will die down. Until then we should be unreachable.”
Leprue rose from where he was sitting and clapped his hands together. “Well then, if that’s all settled, I recommend we stop worrying over things for now and go join the festivities. After all, we’re going to need all the levity we can get in these times.”
“Aye,” Kulara agreed gruffly. “Let’s go have fun with our soldiers. We earned it today.” With that, the two Councils adjourned and headed to The Camarilla.
* * * * *
Elsewhere, a far less jubilant meeting of leaders was being held. A dark makeshift tent had been raised, and there Derris Phare and the other nobles of the Cainites were gathered. It was only in this company that Derris allowed himself to remove his mask, and he sat now treating the burns on his face with a soothing ointment.
The Circle of Command was a strange assortment of personalities. First there was Derris, the meticulously calculated and compulsive leader who planned for every circumstance, and could not abide when events did not match his designs. He was irate over the trap in the forest, and for half an hour he had been nearly incoherent in his rage. The same height as Myris, he was the typically dark Cainite, wrapped in loose black cloth so that his movements were impossible to detect before it was too late. He was feared among the Cainites, and it was rumored that he had developed a technique which allowed him to strike down any man with a single blow. This technique had already allowed him to overcome three assassination attempts.
Next to Derris stood Stratas Ezul. Stratas had a reputation for being cruel and vindictive, bordering on reckless, but his combination of strength and intellect made him the clear second-in-command of the army. He was both tall and broad for a Cainite, at an even six feet. It was said that he was as good of a fighter as Derris, but not yet an equal tactician. Stratas had long desired to overthrow his commander, but he knew the man’s ultimate attack well and dared not risk it. He opted for a less traditional attire than Derris. Instead of flowing garments, he kept his entire body wrapped tightly in strips of cloth he tied himself every morning, and in lieu of a mask he wore a single red strip around his forehead. He claimed that the morning ritual allowed him to focus his mind for the new day, and that the snug fit of his outfit made
movement easier and was more suited for combat. Most Cainites believed it more likely that he wore the nontraditional outfit to grate on the Lord Commander’s nerves. Still, this choice was not without its costs. Stratas’ scant attire made it impossible to hide the myriad of runic talismans most Cainites kept sewn throughout their clothing, thus sorely limiting his access to combat heraldry. He compensated for this by being the nation’s foremost expert in heraldric fencing, using two custom-built sabers that channeled extra lethality into his weapon arts.
In the back of the tent, rolling a rock around idly in his hand, was Tomir Dakami. He was a Cainite mystic, the first in decades. Though he lacked physical prowess—being both of average height and skinny—his powerful magic made him more than a match for twenty soldiers. The mystic had always held clear superiority over those around him, but somehow his talents had not driven him to arrogance. To the contrary, Tomir was the most relaxed and casual of all Cainites. His carefree attitude was an annoyance to his fellow officers, but he always smiled away their complaints and offered a kind apology. His clothing was the most colorful outfit that any Cainite was permitted to wear, a simple assortment of red and purple robes. He wore no mask, but a few streaks of paint decorated his cheerful face.
Behind Derris and Stratas, as far away from Tomir as she could possibly position herself, was Karrin Tranch. She was a tall and built woman, nearly a match for Stratas in stature. She was conceited, pessimistic, and unnecessarily critical of others. She considered herself to be a haunted and misunderstood soul, outcast because of her nonconforming ways. In reality she was quite the celebrity among the troops, considered by many to be the ideal Cainite woman. She would have been well liked, if not for the frosty disrespect she showed everyone who tried to get close to her. Her disgruntled personality aside, Karrin was a brilliant mind both on and off the battlefield, and was quite possibly the only human on Morolia that Derris trusted without reservation. Like him she wore a traditional dark Cainite attire, but she opted to go without a mask, and various cuts and rips throughout her outfit allowed her pale skin to show through.