by Mark B Frost
“Fine,” he sneered in an equal mix of irritation and jealousy. “But watch each other’s back.”
“We always do.” The two headed their separate ways, still waiting for the Cainite army to make its appearance.
* * * * *
Two hours passed, and still Kulara stood waiting atop the battlements. As the leader of an army typically on the offensive, he was accustomed to having battles carried out when and where he dictated. It was now an hour past sunrise, and he did not appreciate the Cainites’ tardiness. As he stood musing, trying to quell both his anger and his boredom, Kinguin stepped to his side, his marvelous Staff held in one hand.
“Your Excellency,” Kulara said with a small bow. “I’m surprised you chose to join us today.”
Kinguin had always adored the respect the General showed him, though he was too smart not to recognize the ploy for what it was. Kulara often needed favors from the Arcanum, and had little luck through official channels. The Military and Arcanum were often at odds politically, and as a foreigner the man held even less favor with the ruling members of the rigid branch. The Lord Archmagus knew how to bypass this bureaucracy, and was not afraid to rewrite or even outright defy the rules when it suited him. Kulara often leveraged his favor with the Grand Councilor to his own advantage, skirting process when he needed it most.
Knowing this did not leave the herald any less satisfied by the flattery. Kulara Karfa could easily be listed as one of the three most important figures in Felthespar, and being showered publicly with his praise and adoration—even if false—was something which no other man in the city could claim. Kinguin returned the General’s bow with a soft nod and answered, “I thought that I might like to see how our army holds out against the enemy.”
Kulara smirked at this obvious deceit. “And you thought you might need your Staff of the Magi for that?”
The mage returned a grin, then answered honestly, “If things take a quick turn for the worst, I may consider involving myself.”
“Does not the Arcanum strictly forbid its heralds to use their powers in acts of warfare?”
“This may come as a surprise to you, but the truth is that I’m rather fond of my country and the people who live in it. In spite of any oaths I may or may not have sworn to the Arcanum, I will not stand idly by and allow her to be invaded.”
“It is an honor to have you at our side, milord.”
Just then Kulara noticed movement to the south. He strained his eyes and could make out a shuffling wave of darkness. Cainites were on the move.
“Looks like you arrived at the right time. The fun’s about to begin.” He sent a few hand signals to some of his Majors, and word quickly traveled down the chain of command. The front gates opened and Felthespari soldiers began filing out, spreading onto the plain in front of the city and bracing themselves one last time for the upcoming battle.
* * * * *
Stratas marched with pride at the front of the Cainite army. After a lengthy debate he had convinced Derris to remain behind, leaving command of the battle for someone else. He had argued that the Onion Knights would be looking to kill the Cainite Lord Commander early, and should not be granted such an opportunity. Derris had first been outraged, accusing the man of calling him a coward, until Karrin had stepped forth and agreed with Stratas. Finally their leader had reluctantly handed things over, giving specific instructions on how to account for every little situation that could arise.
So for now, Stratas was in charge. He was number one. He was the man. And he was loving every second of it. Every fiber within him told him that this and this alone was where he belonged—at the forefront of his people, thousands of men and women standing by to obey his every call. Deep within him, a twisting rage in his gut reminded him every day of the man that stood between him and that absolute power.
Work on New Cainis had progressed rapidly, so Derris had reluctantly released a full ten thousand soldiers for this first battle. They estimated it was not enough to completely overwhelm their enemy, but should certainly be enough to hold out against any force the besieged city might have mustered. The priority here, the Lord Commander had reminded him repeatedly, was to gather intel. They needed to see their enemy, to know them, so that they might determine the most effective manner to crush and humiliate them. Defeat of the Onion Knights was not enough—the history books must sing of their legendary vanquishing for centuries to come, to erase the Cainites’ own disgraceful fall.
Stratas could see the silhouette of Felthespar in the distance, set lightly into the backdrop of the mountains which loomed behind it. Many of the Cainites were in this war because they coveted the fabled castle nation, and wished to claim it for themselves. Others, like Derris, were in it solely for the revenge, to reciprocate the injustices of the first Arocaen. Stratas’ own reasons were far more simplistic. He had spent his entire life as a watchdog in the mountains of Cainis, protecting the citizenry from nightspawn and demonspawn. He had become celebrated as the city’s mightiest protector, the people’s chosen champion. In this way he had ascended into the ruling circle. The years as a mere guardian of empty corridors had grown dull long ago, and Stratas sought to prove his merit against new challenges. He was here solely for the fun of it. As the sight of Felthespar’s army came into focus, he saw that his fun was at hand.
He kept the Cainite forces marching until they were within three hundred yards of the enemy forces, then signaled a temporary halt. They were standing in the barren plain that had once been the Ducall Forest. Stratas motioned to the Cainite commanders, and the six of them proceeded forward. On the opposite side of the field, eight Felthespari also advanced.
As the leaders walked to meet each other, Stratas nodded to Karrin. “Did you get a troop count?”
She glared at him for no apparent reason, then answered darkly, “Five thousand. Maybe five and a half. But not so many as six.”
“Sounds like Derris overestimated our mighty foe. No real surprise there.”
When they reached the center of the battlefield Stratas took a moment to look over the men and women standing before him. To his far left was a small brown-haired woman, clearly a war mage, no threat in his eyes. Next was a fully armored soldier, dressed in a green and red assortment, carrying a spear in one hand and a large axe in the other. He looked more like a warrior Stratas would enjoy killing. Next was a man of average height and slim build, dressed in grey apparel identical to a Cainite’s. Doubtless Myris Phare, the traitor that Derris wanted dead so desperately.
In the center stood another fully armored soldier, this time in a white and blue ensemble. A huge powerful lance was strapped to his back, and his physique and stance exuded an aura of power and authority. Stratas considered making this man his target, but a foreboding sense in his gut made him think it best to leave him for Hartik or Brakken. Next in line was a tall woman, armored and equipped with a broadsword. She looked strong, but Stratas had an aversion to women as opponents. He felt they often lacked the brutal bloodlust that men took to so readily.
Next was a well-built man, with long blond hair and wearing only a slim breastplate as armor, and a pair of steel gauntlets as weapons. Then an archer with almost white hair, dressed in shades of blue, an arrow nocked in his bow already pointing at the ground a few feet in front of him. Finally there was a young woman with dark hair, also wearing shades of grey. She was surely too young to be an officer, Stratas thought. There was nothing further remarkable about her, so he paid it no further mind. By the time he had finished sizing his opponents, he had chosen his target for the battle. He was going to show up Derris, and kill the traitor Myris Phare for himself.
Everyone present seemed to be likewise occupied with examining the other side, so he was the first to speak. “I am Stratas Ezul, second commander of the Cainite legion, renowned soldier and tactical expert. I’ll be in charge of our forces during this battle today.”
The tall man in white took a step forward. “I am Cildar Emle, with too many ti
tles to waste breath listing. Similarly, I’ll be in charge of Felthespar’s army today.”
Stratas looked up at the sky. The sun was rapidly approaching a midday position and the air was beginning to heat up. He could tell this was going to be a long, hot battle, and was glad he was not stuck wearing black robes like most of his comrades. “So should we do introductions all around, or just get to fighting? I’ve got fifteen thousand Cainites standing behind me, and I’m sure that each and every one of them has something personal they’d like to say to you.”
“We’re not blind,” Cildar retorted. “You’ve only brought ten thousand with you. There’s no sense in trying to bluff us. You already hold the advantage in numbers.”
The Cainite gave a huge smile. “Oh? Yes, I suppose I do.” He could not stop himself for laughing aloud for a moment. “Ah, Onion Knights,” he forced as his eyes brimmed with tears of enjoyment, “you just don’t stand a chance in hell.”
He turned and walked back to where his army stood waiting, pulling the other Cainites with him. He did not particularly wish to lock them into a direct duel with the Felthespari chieftains. When they were about halfway to his troops he suddenly turned and gave a sharp motion, and the Cainites slowly started their charge across the plain. Cildar also gave a signal, the armies of Felthespar began their own charge, and scarcely a minute later the War of the Second Arocaen had officially begun.
* * * * *
Atheme stepped into the clearing Abaddon had mentioned, Serene just a step behind. Going through the twisted forest had been a surprisingly rough ordeal, and she seemed shaken by some of the monsters they had faced. Atheme, for his part, had been more surprised by the lack of any corpses of those same monsters, knowing that Abaddon must have killed scores of them already. He dismissed the matter, assuming the big man had followed a different path.
When Serene saw the clearing in front of her she quickly dashed around him and headed over to the spring, immediately washing blackened blood from her clothing and face. Atheme’s mouth twisted in a disapproving manner as he watched her for a moment, then he headed to where Abaddon stood atop a small hill staring to the south.
“How goes it, old friend?” he asked with as much cheer as he could muster.
Abaddon grunted softly before answering. “I’ve been better. There’s an evil sword strapped to my back eager to claim my soul. Other than that, same old.”
“If you need my help, you know I’ll gladly carry that monstrosity for you.”
He lowered his head and his face grew sad. “With due respect, Atheme, you were tempted by the sword’s influence even when it was at its weakest. As it is now, it would not take it long to overwhelm you. I continue to resist only thanks to the holy barriers placed within my spirit by Lord Aveni and Saint Serene. Even with that advantage, and the edge of my own mysticism, I feel myself being whittled away. This sword, this Kargaroth, is a monster beyond the one that you know. I am afraid that for the time being, it is my burden alone to bear.”
The Lord Councilor nodded solemnly. “I understand.” The two stood silent for a few minutes, staring at nothing, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Atheme caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked to see Serene heading over to them. Once she was within earshot he resumed the conversation with Abaddon. “At the beach you said you found something worth investigating. Any luck with that?”
He shook his head slowly. “I suppose it could have just been my imagination.”
“I doubt that.” He turned to the approaching Saint. “Would you mind giving the area a scan?”
“If he couldn’t find anything, I doubt that I—”
“So that I can talk with Abaddon for a moment. About something.”
Her eyes lit up with realization. “Oh. Oh, of course. Excuse me.” She turned and headed across the clearing, making a sad facade of scanning the area for nothing in particular.
Still Abaddon stood motionlessly at the top of the hill, staring out across the landscape they would soon be crossing. “Something is bothering you,” he announced.
Atheme raised his hands and began rubbing his temples. “That obvious, is it?”
“Normally you keep your emotions well hidden. Now, your stress reverberates across the currents.”
“Serene wants you to stop using Kargaroth’s powers. She’s afraid that each use of the sword is giving the gods another opportunity to overtake you. I want to say that she doesn’t have faith in you, but the truth is her advice is probably the most prudent. This is not a time for us to take unnecessary risks.”
“That’s not what’s bothering you,” the man responded coldly, turning to look at Atheme.
He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I never was very good at lying to you, was I?” He was quiet for a few seconds, then looked up and met Abaddon’s gaze. “I miss Relm.”
The big man looked over his shoulder at the slim girl kicking rocks by the spring, her red hair and silver eyes shimmering under the midday sun. “Not the same, huh?”
“Sinjuin Serene is brilliant. Wise, clever, and tough, with strong survival instincts. She has a weathered mind, an intellect that can only come from living many lifetimes and seeing wondrous and terrible things. But she’s not the girl I fell in love with. The girl that I fell in love with was young. Maybe not in body, but in soul. She knew how to enjoy life, and brought joy to others, and I loved her with all of my being for that.” A tear slid slowly down Atheme’s cheek and he brushed it away, feeling that he might have opened up too much, even to Abaddon. “I guess you would say that I’m being a slave to my emotions, right?”
“We are all slaves to our emotions. It’s not weakness, as I once thought. It’s just what we are. It separates us from the beasts, or the gods. It is the very essence of being human. You are a slave to your compassion, and that drives you to do great things for those around you. I am a slave to my rage, and it drives me to seek death, to kill or be killed. You lust in your way, and I in mine.”
Atheme’s brow creased with curiosity. He had rarely heard Abaddon talk so openly of himself. He wanted to make full use of the opportunity. “What do you mean? What do you lust for?”
There was a glint of fire in those blues eyes, one that Atheme remembered from years past. “To fight a singular fight. A battle so fierce that it swallows and erases the memory of all other battles, replacing them with its own fury.”
He lowered his head as painful memories forced their way across his mind. “Like my battle with the Hell Knight.”
“It’s strange, is it not, that in fighting me you should receive the one thing that I have always sought?”
“I’m not sure I understand. The Hell Knight was certainly a fight to end all fights for me, but it’s not something for which I would have ever wished. Are you saying that you desire to fight so that you won’t desire to fight anymore? Doesn’t that seem a bit backwards?”
“I only feel alive when I’m fighting. That is why I put everything into it, so that during those brief moments of battle I can be as alive as possible. But they are always so fleeting. They flash away quickly as my foe’s life is inevitably crushed from his body, and I am left with nothing. Some warriors love the feeling of victory, but for me it is an empty sensation. That instant of being alive, that rush of exhilaration that only true combat can give—I wish to take it to its apex. I want a transcendent foe that can push me to my limit, that my flame might burn the brightest it has ever burned, and then to be extinguished. For that one moment of glory to be captured and seared into my eternal soul as it fades, and nothing remains of me but life, through death. Never again to feel empty, never again to be alone. Only then can I be fulfilled.”
Atheme stood for a moment digesting this. He disagreed with Abaddon’s self-assessment. He had seen the good in the man, the nobility within his heart and his desire to improve the lives of those around him. The Lord Councilor had long believed that his Champion sought battle not for the battle itself, but to find a co
nnection to other people. It was a connection that Atheme himself understood well, and enjoyed each time he faced a worthy adversary. But there were other such connections to make in life, and he still believed his old friend could yet find an enduring happiness. He was not certain if this was a point he could impress upon the man, or if it was a lesson the Daemon had to discover in his own time. He started to say something, when Abaddon suddenly jerked his head to the north. “There it is again.”
“There what is?”
“Whatever I sensed earlier, the thing I suggested might need investigating. I’m going to try to catch it. I won’t be long.” He started to dash off, then seemed to remember something. “Tell Serene I will refrain from using Kargaroth. I do not wish to see Hell’s return any more than you.”
With that he darted silently back into the twisted forest. Seeing him depart, Serene came back to join Atheme. “Where’s he going?” she asked immediately.
“He said he felt something. I don’t know what.”
“Did you tell him about Kargaroth?”
“I did. He said that he won’t use it anymore.”
“That’s good.” She paused for a second, then something crossed her mind. “You were talking to him for quite a while there. What else did he say?”
He smiled at her and shook his head. “Nothing really. Just small talk between old friends.”
“Well how long is he going to be? I think it’s time that we got moving. If we spend all of our time exploring every new stretch of continent, we’re never going to get this journey over with.”
Atheme did not answer, as he was not listening to Serene’s complaints. Instead he stared at where Abaddon had disappeared. Son of Calvin, he thought, you bear your father’s blessing of greatness, yet it has become your burden. I wish I could give you the battle which you seek, but I cannot. Never again shall I call you my foe. A nudge from Serene brought him out of his musings, and he assured her with a smile that Abaddon would not be long, and they would soon be on their way.