by Mark B Frost
Also present was Thian Phare, another member of the Cainite noble family. A short man at only five and a half feet, he was neither of the same branch as Myris nor Derris, but rather a third severing from the original chain. Thian was a pacifist, and therefore the one Cainite who was held in higher disdain than even Tomir. He believed the first crusade against Felthespar had been a mistake, and this second an even larger mistake. He rejected Vaelius entirely, and wished for his people to forget the religions of the past and move instead toward a new future, rising from their mountainous exile to be born anew as a peaceful force on the continent. Thian’s views were not popular, nor even tolerated, so he had been forced to follow the will of his people. He had always admired his cousin Myris, even after his betrayal, and his outfit was a mock up of the former Cainite’s. He wore a mask that covered his nose and mouth, but he left his long black hair to flow unchecked down his back.
In the center of the tent, standing next to Thian, was Hartik. Hartik was not a Cainite by birth, but rather a large man they had found wandering in the Cainis Mountains. He had been badly wounded by some beast of the night, and Thian had nursed him back to health. He stood three inches over seven feet tall, and his body was covered with so much muscle that he would have dwarfed even Felthespar’s legendary Destroyer. The weapon he used in battle was nothing more than a giant boulder pierced by a solid steel pole. By covering his body with the shields of vanquished foes, he had developed a fighting style that was such a powerful mix of offense and defense that he was considered to be unbeatable. The man was doggedly loyal to Thian and no one else, and many soldiers were certain this was the only reason the youngest Phare had not yet been assassinated to silence his infidel tongue.
Finally, sitting in the darkest corner of the tent, cleaning his teeth with a small dagger, sat Brakken Chardoch. He was not much of a leader. He was an unaffected ruffian who fought solely for the thrill of combat, and his position as a Cainite general was merely honorary. In truth, he was the nation’s ultimate weapon. Brakken was the one man that even Hartik would never dare challenge to personal combat. Like most Cainites he was slim and lean—though tall at six foot two—but the vigor of his punches was known to shatter rocks and split diamonds. As unreal as his physical strength was, it was only a lingering side effect of his true power. He was the first Cainite who had successfully developed a method to use heraldric fencing on his own body. The Cainite seers and mages swore that his technique was impossible and would eventually backfire, consuming his body and his life. But ten years had passed, and Brakken’s strength had only grown. By many, this continued survival was seen as a sign that the man had signed a pact with the Reaper himself. Brakken wore little clothing, believing that even Stratas’ simple attire only served to slow the human body in its prime. He wore only a pair of loose black shorts tied off at the waist with a purple sash, and a thin black vest which he usually discarded during battle.
These were the warlords of the Cainites, the men and women who had come to wage war on the nation of Felthespar. Their next step was determining how that war was going to be waged, and there was some dissension on the subject.
“I just got the casualty report,” Stratas was announcing. “Only about three hundred and fifty of our soldiers were lost. That’s just barely two percent, hardly even worth consideration. The operation was not at all the disaster you’re making it out to be.”
Derris dropped the rag he was blotting on his face and stood slowly. He glared at Stratas, who returned the gaze unflinchingly. “Karrin, what was the purpose of this operation?”
“To engage the Onion Knights in an introductory battle so that we might learn about their ranks, numbers, and the fighting techniques they may have developed in the past three hundred years,” the pale woman answered from behind Derris.
“I don’t know about you, Stratas, but that is not what I remember happening. What I remember happening was our army being forced to run for their lives after struggling in vain to break through a swarm of arrows and Felthespari magic.”
Stratas shrugged. “Big deal, so it didn’t work. It’s not like it was a crucial plan. Obviously we’re going to get another chance at it. What Karrin just described is simply what every first battle is. If we’re going to have a war at all, there’s going to have to be a battle sooner or later. I don’t see what you’re so aggravated about.”
Derris grabbed Stratas by the throat and pulled him close. His voice grated against his clenched teeth, “This is our war. This is not about defeating Onion Knights, it is not about saving our people, it is not even about serving the will of Vaelius. It is about avenging the exile and near extinction they drove us to in the time of Arocaen. Everything is to be perfect. We are supposed to appear to be an invincible force, arisen from our ancestor’s graves to strike fear into the heart of every man, woman, and child that lies within the walls of that city.” Derris’ temper slipped another notch, and his grating tone transformed into a violent shout. “How are we supposed to appear to be invincible when they open the war by killing three hundred of our troops without a single casualty?!”
“Unless you want to fight me,” Stratas gurgled with effort, “release me at once.”
Derris let go and took a step back, but his left hand rested on the sheath of the katana that hung from his belt. Stratas recognized that he had pushed the enraged commander too far, and decided to change tact. “Listen, maybe you’re right and this operation didn’t go so well. But think of it like this—the war has only just begun, and they’ve already been forced to use their trump card. I think that burning down that forest was their desperation move. Instead, they panicked at the sight of us and were forced to use it early. Now they have nothing left, no more moves to make, and the only thing they can do is sit behind their fortress and wait for us to kill them.”
Just then a voice sounded from outside of the tent. “Lord Derris, we have something you should see.”
The Lord Commander quickly snatched his mask up and gingerly swept it back over his blistered head, then stepped out of the tent flap, Stratas a few feet behind him.
The sight was not a pretty one. Five Cainite bodies were laid out in front of the tent, each one with his head, hands, and feet removed. There was a note pinned to the body in the center, and Derris bent down and removed it.
So long as a Child of Cain lives within
Felthespar’s walls, no spy shall enter.
~Myris Phare
“It’s the men we sent to infiltrate the city and bring back a troop count,” one of the Cainites reported. “We found the bodies at the rendezvous point where they were supposed to relay their findings.”
Derris signaled for them to get the bodies cleaned up, then returned into the tent. He shot Stratas another glare. “And now we have lost our ability to spy on the enemy. Do you still think this is going well, Ezul?”
As usual, Stratas’ confidence was undaunted. “Our people have won battles without spies before, we’ll do so again. We just need to step things up a notch. When the fires of the forest die down, take all of our troops and send them straight at the city. We’ll goad the Onion Knights into a giant pitched battle, force them to realize how much of a disadvantage they’re at, then we’ll toy with and demoralize them as we please.”
Derris actually seemed to consider this suggestion for a moment, then shook his head. “No. We will demoralize them, since that is a part of our reason for being here. But first we have to learn as much about them as we can and ensure that we have whittled them down until they no longer hold the potential to launch a decisive counterattack. Then, and only then, can we toy with them as we see fit.”
“In any case,” Thian offered softly, “it would seem that we are settled here for quite some time.”
“Yes,” Derris agreed. “Siege battles can last indefinitely, so we should make ourselves at home. I noticed the flames of that fire they started seemed to be magically enhanced, so it is clear they intend to burn the forest to the grou
nd. No doubt they are trying to neutralize our stealth. A clever move. I suspect the fire will last for several days, maybe even a couple of weeks. We should use that time to make ourselves as comfortable as possible.”
Stratas raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”
“We are going to build a city. A New Cainis.”
Tomir chimed in from where he was tossing his rock up into the air. “Heh. Sounds like a fun idea to me. I hope someone builds a coffee house soon. Haven’t had a decent cup since we left home.”
Now it was Stratas’ turn to be angry. “Are you telling me that you’re going to reroute manpower into building a city? Are you daft?”
“Actually, Stratas,” Derris retorted, “unlike you, I am very much not daft. I saw the size of that city and estimated the number of civilians it could hold. It fits a capacity of just over two hundred thousand, women and children counted. Two hundred and fifty thousand, at a maximum. This gives them an optimum army size of maybe twelve thousand. If we wanted to match them man for man, we still have five thousand extra troops to keep on reserve. And since the odds of them actually allowing their entire army to leave the city and join the attack are slim at best, I have no intentions on trying to match them man for man.
“Thian,” he continued without waiting for Stratas’ reaction, “you will be in charge of the New Cainis project until everything gets underway. I’m going to put a full ten thousand soldiers under your command until the fires die down. Then we’ll see how things are coming along and reallocate our forces accordingly.”
Thian bowed to his cousin. “Thank you, Lord Commander. As it happens, I noticed a large crater slightly to the west that we passed close to, and I think that it would easily serve well as the foundation for a small city.”
“See to it. As for the rest of you, you can help get the city underway or set about training the rest of the troops, whichever you desire. Dismissed.”
Chapter 32.
Prelude to Chaos
As the rest of the week passed in Felthespar, what had become known as the Great Ducall Fire continued to burn. Kulara spent his days drilling troops. Cildar and Myris had separated themselves from the General, noting that he was in foul spirits. They had taken to sitting in as guard captains on the night shifts. On one such night Cildar noticed his friend seemed on edge, especially given his usually calm demeanor, so he wandered over and tried to force some small talk.
“I think the flames are starting to die down, don’t you?” the paladin opened.
Myris gazed out into what was once the Ducall. The fire had already settled to less than half of its original blaze, and not a single stump or branch had been left intact. There was no moon out, and the stars were blocked by a dark smoke cloud that hung over the city. Aside from the still-burning flames, all that could be seen was a deep layer of black soot that blanketed the ground. “If they are indeed dying down, then battle will soon be upon us. I worry our soldiers will find it difficult to keep a foothold on the ground, covered as it is.”
“No worries there. One of the many uses of our Aura Blast technique is that it can clear away the remnants of dead Morolian creatures, plants included. Once the fire is finished and the heralds drop their barrier, my Dragoons and a complement of Templars are going to run a sweep over the area, which will give us a nice clean battlefield and give the grass and trees a boost on their recovery.”
“Trying to undo the damage we have caused?”
He shrugged. “It will be years before the trees grow back, even with the best of care and constant infusions of white magic. Hopefully this war won’t last long enough that we’ll be forced to burn them down again.”
“I am not so confident.”
Cildar put a hand on the man’s arm. “That’s enough, Myris. You might as well go ahead and tell me what’s bothering you. You know I’ll get it out of you sooner or later.”
The former Cainite smiled coldly at his friend. “The first critical battle is about to be upon us. It could determine the course for the rest of this war. If we win, we might have a chance at holding out against this army. If we lose, we may find ourselves quickly plummeting into a state of despair.”
He let his arm drop. “I take it you aren’t talking about our first skirmish.”
“You have learned to read me well. Indeed, I speak of a different battle that is to take place—my battle with my cousin, Derris.”
“Are you worried that you can’t beat him?”
“It is impossible to know. He and I are from distant branches of the family line. We have never fought one another. We have barely even met. He is almost ten years my senior, and when I still lived in Cainis I often heard stories of how he was the most incredible warrior the Cainites had ever been blessed with. The intelligence my spies have gathered does not seem to indicate contrary to this.”
“What makes you say this battle is so crucial to the rest of the war? Aside from the obvious detriment that your death would cause us.”
He paused before answering. “Derris is a brilliant strategist, and a pensive leader. More importantly, he is cautious and does not allow himself to make mistakes. From the reports I have gathered, his second is a presumptuous, impatient man, who would probably conduct the war in a much less organized manner. If I can kill Derris, I might be able to give Kulara a strategic advantage. With Derris in command, I hold grave doubts for our chances.”
Cildar turned back to scanning the ground below. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe this upcoming battle with your cousin will be a key point in the war. Even if so, you shouldn’t put so much pressure on yourself. You must fight it as you fight every battle, focused solely on coming out alive. I have no doubts he’ll be doing the same. If he’s as good as you say, it may take your full attention to defeat him.”
Myris lowered his head and shook it slowly, his eyes hooded. “What if I fail, Cildar?”
“Whether you win or lose, I promise you that Derris Phare will not leave alive.”
He raised his head and met the Dragoon’s gaze, and the steel in those green eyes was unmistakable. “Then I shall endeavor to merely survive.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” As he once again turned his sight to the ground before him, the last magically sustained flames gave a slight sputter and went out, leaving the night air dark and rich with a taste of charcoal. Cildar drew his Trine Lance and tapped the butt against the ground. Immediately the blades erupted with a soft white light, illuminating the ramparts. “Looks like it’s time for me to round up the Dragoons and start to clean up. Think you can handle the rest of the shift?”
“My eyes are most suited to the night. I will have no problems here.”
The paladin waved over his shoulder, heading down into the courtyard. “You should take a relief soon though, and get a few hours of sleep. If we’re lucky we might actually see battle in the morning.”
The Lord of the Cain stood alone staring out into the dark night, watching for any signs of movement. Soon the city would be surrounded by an ephemeral wall of holy energy. That alone would be enough to deter the Cainites until morning, as in spite of their spiritual defenses, the holy warding still interfered with their stealth capabilities. He thought about taking his friend’s advice and catching some sleep, but he feared this might be his last opportunity to watch the sunrise. He dared not miss it. As he stood staring into the night he felt the darkness reach out and comfort him, making him feel at home. As his resolve grew, he whispered quietly, “I will not fail my country. I will never fail again. I swear it to myself.”
* * * * *
Cildar clapped and his Dragoons instantly came to attention, arranged into perfect ranks and columns. He watched for a few moments as Kulara gave the bulk of the army a final briefing. All of the infantry troops were present, both heavy and light, as well as the Military’s war mages. In total they comprised a ground force of over fifty-two hundred. Most of the archers were assembled along the walls, but a small elite unit had been picked out
by Zynex to march with the rest of the ranks.
This current speech was one the troops had heard a dozen times already, but Kulara was clearly getting anxious and did not seem to know what else to do with himself. Cildar smiled at his commander and waited for the man to finish before heading over to him.
He gave a formal bow as Kulara walked past him. “General.”
“What is it? We’re about to start a bloody war here. I don’t have much time for chitchat.”
“Of course not, sir. You do realize you can’t participate in this battle, don’t you?”
Kulara spun about indignantly. “What do you mean I can’t participate? I believe I can do whatever the hell I feel.”
Cildar shook his head. “The Military Council disagrees. You have said yourself that the only purpose of this battle is to test the ability of the Cainites against our own soldiers and that we should take no unnecessary risks. I discussed it with the councilors, and a majority of us agreed that your fighting in this battle is a most unnecessary risk. You must stay behind.”
Kulara glared for a moment, deep in thought. Finally he sighed loudly. “Very well. I am forced to agree with you on the matter. However, in that same vein of reasoning, I don’t want the Phoenix Dragoons participating either.”
This caused Cildar to become indignant in turn. “Holding back five hundred Dragoons is like holding back two thousand regular soldiers. It’s not a sound tactic!”
“I don’t want to risk taking extensive damage to the Dragoons this early in the war. Come to think of it, find Myris and tell him to hold back the Children of Cain as well. They’re even more invaluable than the Dragoons, if such a thing is possible.”
Cildar bowed and surrendered the argument. “If you insist. But if you want to hold Myris and I back, you’re going to have to kill the two of us personally.”