Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  * * * * *

  After Cyprus had safely escorted the archers carrying Zynex far enough away from the Cainite troops, he returned to the battlefield with renewed zest. He was not faring quite as well as the archer lord had. With the weight of his new gauntlets he was finding it difficult to land hits on the wily soldiers. The Cainite’s attacks were doing almost no damage to him, though, and he was still managing to kill one off every couple of minutes. He ran into Shasta at one point, who was still fighting strong, and for a while they watched each other’s back.

  Then he noticed another man fighting with his fists, a brawler he assumed to be a Cainite. The man wore very little clothing, but what he did wear was dark, and he was fighting against Felthespari soldiers. His fists broke through Knighthood shields and armors alike, and he blocked sword and spear with his bare forearms. Cyprus signaled to Shasta that he was separating, and the Dragoon nodded and headed his own direction.

  Cyprus rushed over to where the man was currently smashing Knighthood soldiers and waited for him to finish his fights. The brawler noticed him immediately, turning and raising his fists. “You next, I take?”

  “I am Cyprus Galahe, Lord of the House Saelen on the Military Council. I would like to know your name, warrior.”

  The well-built man gave an easy smile. “Brakken Chardoch. No titles, no positions. I’m just here to fight.”

  The councilor cracked the knuckles on each hand and then raised his arms into a fighting stance. “I think I can help you there.”

  He charged forward and delivered a rapid flurry of punches. Brakken let a few come into direct contact with his face, but dodged most of them. After the Cainite seemed satisfied with testing the man’s power, he did a sudden step back and then forward again, throwing a powerful right hook. Cyprus easily saw this coming and raised his left arm to catch the attack. Brakken’s fist clanged against the iron gauntlet covering his arm, and a horrible reverberation of pain sent itself throughout his body.

  The Felthespari warlord fell back a few feet and looked down at his forearm, expecting to see it broken. His arm seemed fine, and there was not even a dent in the gauntlet. As he was pondering this mystery, he heard Brakken’s voice drifting over to him.

  “Your strength isn’t bad, Cyprus Galahe of the Military Council. But your punches aren’t very good. You don’t really seem to know what you’re doing any more than the rest of these Onion Knights. That disappoints me deeply. I was hoping you might be a fighter after my own heart.”

  Brakken launched himself at his new challenger, punching down at the man’s leg. Cyprus gathered a burst of grey magic for strength and jumped out of the way, then delivered an almost perfect blow to his foe’s jaw with all of his might. The boom of the hit resounded across the ground, but to Cyprus’ shock the Cainite did not go flying away. His head did not even turn from the force of the impact. Again the Military Councilor found himself stumbling back, as his enemy turned his head slowly to look at him. “Your hits,” he announced slowly. “They just don’t hurt me. Didn’t you catch that?”

  The brawler straightened his back and started slowly advancing. Cyprus gathered his courage and launched himself to attack once more. He waited until he was right on top of his opponent, and then slid his left hand around to the back of his head. As he suspected, Brakken was cocky enough to let him try it. The Lord of Saelen held the man’s head firmly with his left hand and delivered his most powerful straight punch directly to the forehead, pulling forward with his left hand at the same moment his right fist came into contact. By all reason it should have crushed his skull, or at least knocked him out cold. Brakken just blinked twice, then raised his left hand and gave Cyprus a swift punch in the stomach.

  He fell to his knees and stared at his enemy’s feet, stunned that he could have been beaten by such a large margin, when suddenly he heard a loud grunt and saw Brakken’s feet go flying away. He looked up to see the tri-pronged Trine Lance hovering over him, a speck of blood on the tip of the center blade.

  Cildar Emle checked his brother for serious injury and, finding none, helped him to his feet. He started to say something, when suddenly a voice came from a few yards in front of them.

  “Good attack. Great power, great follow-through. You’re good with a spear, knight. But I can’t be beaten with just one strike.”

  Cildar calmly shouted back, “How the hell are you still alive?”

  Brakken walked forward until he was within normal voice range, then patted himself on the chest with both hands. “I’m tougher than I look. And if I look as tough as I think I do, then that means I must be really damn tough.” He reached up and wiped the blood from his forehead, then smiled at the interloper. “Can you give me a good fight, Onion Knight?”

  The paladin stabbed his Trine Lance into the ground, then reached up and unfastened his armor. Cyprus could scarcely believe what he was seeing. “Brother, what are you doing? You can’t fight him on his terms! Fight him as you are, with your armor and weapons, and you’ll beat him!”

  He continued to remove his helmet and mask and gave a smile. “Maybe. But I’ve already killed many Cainites today. Where’s the fun in killing just one more? This guy might actually be able to give me a good fight, and until Lord Abaddon comes back I may not see another one of those for a long time.” Cildar and Brakken stepped in close, gave a friendly bow, then proceeded to beat the hell out of one another.

  Brakken struck first, delivering the same right hook he had used on Cyprus. Cildar blocked the attack with his unequipped forearm and, showing no pain from the attack, immediately returned one of his own. Brakken was not expecting such a swift counterattack, since that strike crippled most warriors, and he stumbled back a step from the force of the punch.

  He reached up and wiped a trail of blood from his lip, then gave a huge grin. “Now that’s what I’ve been looking for all day.”

  He took his step forward and laid into Cildar with terrifying fury. Cyprus could only watch in awe as his brother kept up with this beast, taking his blows in stride and continuing to deliver his own. He thought for a moment about going back into the war and fighting other Cainites, but he could not stand the thought of missing this contest.

  He watched his brother’s movements closely, and with effort was able to see the subtle technique Cildar had tried to teach him before. Brakken was a dominating force and should have easily taken Cildar apart, but the Dragoon was moving continuously. He worked twice as hard as the Cainite brawler, using small touches of his hands to interfere with Brakken’s biceps and shoulders, weakening the incoming assault and keeping the stronger man off balance. The paladin’s punches were not nearly as devastating, but Cildar was surgical about his assault, always striking the exact same few spots, wearing down his enemy’s endurance. After the fourth or fifth perfect shot to a location, Brakken began to twitch each time it was struck again, and it slowed his own assaults even further.

  The two competitors stood with their faces only two feet away, delivering a hurricane of punches to each other’s head and torso, yet never once did their feet move a single inch. This went on for about a minute, then they stopped and each leaned on the other’s shoulders for a few seconds. They started up again, fought another minute, rested another half minute. Then they started up one last time, fought for two full minutes straight and, finally, broke apart and each fell back a step.

  Cildar and Brakken eyed each other coolly. They were bleeding from countless cuts and busts, and their eyes were starting to swell shut. They each chuckled for a moment, then simultaneously delivered a huge punch with their right fists.

  Fist met fist, bones were heard to crack, and again each contestant fell back a step. They took another few seconds to recover, then each slowly straightened up and looked to the other as though nothing had happened.

  “You realize,” Brakken said with no sign of pain or excitement in his voice, “that I have a slight advantage, do you not?”

  Cildar cocked his head back slightl
y and gave a bloody grin, rubbing white magic into his shattered right hand. “Yeah. You’re a bit stronger and tougher than I am. It’s not much, but in about an hour it’d probably make the difference.”

  “Then you’ll doubtless admit the only reasonable thing to do is give up now and admit defeat. I mean, we’ve been fighting here all day and the sun will be setting in an hour. No point in dragging this one battle out that long.”

  “Actually, I was thinking the only reasonable thing to do would be to go to full power.”

  Brakken’s eyes widened in surprise and curiosity, and Cildar threw his arms out wide and roared. His body set fire, a bright white fire that blinded but did not burn. He muttered a release word the Cainite could not understand, and then something changed. As the light died down, the paladin stood glowing with an unnatural aura of power.

  “Haste,” he announced simply, then dashed forward.

  The man moved so fast that Brakken actually felt himself panic, and threw a quick punch in response. Cildar caught the punch with his left hand, crushed the brawler’s fist, then delivered a series of five quick blows to his stomach, followed by an uppercut, and finally a forward slap to the chest.

  Brakken rolled away in a cloud of dust and did not get up. He did not appear to be moving, and Cyprus wondered if maybe his brother had already killed the man. The Lord of the Phoenix was not so easily satisfied, however.

  “On your feet, Cainite. Come on. I just want you to hit me once—just once—while I’m at my full power. Come on!”

  Amazingly, Brakken rose gingerly to his feet and spat the blood out of his mouth. “Your name was Cildar, was it? You’re fantastic, Cildar. I’ve never seen a man as powerful as you.”

  “You should have come over when our mightiest warriors were here. I’m afraid I’m only the third best fighter in our army.”

  Brakken smiled at this. “Then maybe one of them will be able to defeat me. Because I’m afraid, my friend, that you will not.” He put his hands together in front of his face and spread his fingers wide, muttering dark incantations under his breath. His hands caught fire, followed by his feet. Not an unnatural fire like Cildar’s, but true fire, flames licking and rising into his face. Then his skin shimmered slightly and began to turn pale, then finally crystallized and turned to a deep blue. When this happened the flames subsided, but his hands and feet still glowed with deep red energy. He continued to chant and yellow bolts of energy ran throughout his body, causing his muscles to bulge and his hair to stand on end. He opened his eyes, which were now twin portals of the same energy.

  He brought his hands apart with effort and a slight ripping sound, then flashed a cold smile. “This is why I am the ultimate warrior. This technique is where I drew my strength from. I was the first Cainite in history with the courage to turn our magic free upon my body. But words are cheap. Allow me to demonstrate. Punch me, please.”

  Cildar shrugged. “Fine by me.” He dashed forward and struck hard into the man’s chest. The ground shook with the force of the attack, but this time Brakken did not flinch. The Dragoon’s hand began to freeze from contact with the icy chest. He quickly pulled it away and shattered the ice by punching his fists together.

  “You see,” Brakken explained, “my entire body is frozen. The power of magical Cainite ice protects me, makes me impervious to damage, and causes my attackers to become injured by their own attacks. That’s phase one. This is phase two.” He threw a fast punch. The paladin managed to get his arm up in time to block the strike, but as soon as Brakken’s fist made contact there was a huge explosion of fire in every direction. Cildar was thrown a few feet back by the blaze and his arm was badly burned.

  “The power of Cainite fire,” Brakken continued. “Any punch or kick I deliver causes the energy I’ve stored up in my body to be released with destructive force. Because of the ice shield covering me, I’m assured that my own terrible attacks don’t destroy me. Thanks to this power, I don’t even have to worry about hitting you hard, I just have to make sure I hit you. Or even something close to you, for that matter. And finally, phase three.”

  The brawler leaned forward and the ground where he was standing seemed to explode. It took Cyprus a second to realize the man had launched himself at Cildar, and the strength of his legs had caused the ground to collapse. Brakken moved with speed even more absurd than the Lord of the Phoenix’s Hasted assault, and delivered a flurry of strikes to the paladin’s body, each one causing an explosion of power. Finally he ended with a fierce kick to Cildar’s face, sending the man flying away and leaving him laying in a small crater, his entire body burned.

  “The lightning that pours through the inside of my body drives me into a frenzy and forces me to fight at paces other fighters cannot even comprehend. So you see, I have the perfect defense, the perfect offense, and the perfect speed. I become perfect. Of course, you’re already dead and can’t appreciate my magnificence. What a shame. No one ever does.”

  “Oh hush. I’m not dead yet.” Cildar stood up and brush himself off. Cyprus could not help but find this gesture ridiculous, given the severity of the burns covering him. “Are you finished with your demonstration, now?”

  “I-I am,” Brakken answered with a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

  “Then I’m going to start fighting again, if that’s alright.” He flexed and a wave of his white energy poured up and over his body. It was blinding for an instant, then he stood revealed to be unharmed, his wounds regenerated.

  He launched forward and punched Brakken hard in the face, then gave him a powerful knee to his stomach. The Cainite’s face contorted with pain at these attacks, but he forced himself to return a couple of his own. The explosions did not seem to bother Cildar this time and he continued fighting on, his wounds healing themselves as they went.

  Still Cyprus watched, still he could not believe any of it. Brakken seemed to be struggling to keep up with Cildar’s intensity in spite of his claims of being perfect. Nonetheless he was keeping up, and it seemed that neither warrior would ever wear down. The two fought with utter disregard for what was around them. They left craters and rubble lying around the battlefield. Then, as Cyprus had become certain this was never going to end, the Cainites began to withdraw.

  Cildar and Brakken both noticed the tides of people around them begin to change. They stopped fighting and stared at each other for a moment. Both were covered in an aura of incredible power, both seemed uninjured and as fresh as when their duel had begun.

  “I guess you’ll be following your commander?” Cildar said casually.

  “Not if you think I’m retreating,” Brakken retorted.

  “You realize, of course, that now I am the one with the advantage. If we keep fighting you will lose, and you will die.”

  Brakken stared at him again for a few seconds, then his hair dropped down and his skin returned to its normal color. “I am nothing if not an honest fighter. You held the advantage. You would have won. But I am no coward. I would have proudly fought you into my grave.”

  Cildar nodded. “I have no doubts.”

  The brawler gave a short bow, then turned and walked in the direction of the withdrawing Cainites. “I hope to fight you again, Sir Cildar.”

  The paladin said nothing, but the bright aura surrounding him died and he walked over to his brother. Cyprus started to say something, when suddenly Cildar fell forward onto him. The younger man adjusted himself, letting his brother lean on him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine. It was just the strain of holding my Hasted condition together for so long. If they hadn’t pulled back when they did I think my body would have flown apart.”

  “Then you bluffed him. He had the advantage after all.”

  “Maybe. But I’m not sure. I could feel the energies around him starting to become unstable. I think his enchantment almost killed him, too.” He looked at the endless black wave of Cainites marching casually away. It clearly was a strategic withdrawal, not a retreat
. He felt certain that the Cainites had been the victors this day. “Come on, help me gather my gear and let’s back to the city. We have to help run a troop count and figure out what our casualties were.”

  As the two tired soldiers stumbled slowly homeward, Cyprus said, “I think I finally understand what you were trying to teach me. About there being more to fighting than strength or power. If you think you can, I’d like for you to help me learn. Help me learn to fight like you. Like an Emle.”

  Cildar smiled softly and patted his brother’s shoulder. “You are an Emle, Cyprus. But if you want, I’ll teach you to fight like a Daemon.”

  * * * * *

  The battle had waged almost the entire day. Nightfall was less than an hour away as finally the Cainites pulled back. For a while, Kulara had begun to worry the dark forces were not going to rest until all of the knights had been slain, knowing that Cainites prefer darkness to daylight. He had been relieved when the withdrawal had been sounded.

  He turned to see a deeply troubled look on Kinguin’s face. The herald had been watching the battle the entire day, going without food, using magically enhanced vision and hearing to monitor various battles the councilors had participated in. The General reached over and cautiously touched his shoulder. “Excellency?”

  “Hm? Oh, yes, Kulara. It would seem the first battle is finally over.”

  “And what is your synopsis?”

  The Archmagus gripped his staff tightly, then turned and headed to the battlement steps, wrapping his cape close about his shoulders. “My synopsis is that, if our soldiers do not get help, they cannot win this war.”

  Kulara watched as the man descended from the wall, pondering the tone of his voice. He realized he had no time to wonder over Kinguin, and quickly headed down from the wall himself to begin debriefing and reorganizing the troops, sending the wounded to the Church and the dead to the Dictus for burial.