by Mark B Frost
Atheme dropped down and snatched up his sare, dashing quickly to where the man lay. The dully dressed attacker tried to roll over and bring his left arm into play, to execute another of his mystical moves, but could not before the single blade of the sare was pressed tightly against his jugular.
“You’re about to die. However fast you may be, you’re crippled now, and in the time that you could try anything I can spill your blood over these rocks.”
Suddenly a powerful gloved hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Atheme’s sare just below his own grip. “That’s enough. You don’t have to kill him.”
He looked up with surprise to see the man who had magically appeared right next to him. “Abaddon?”
Chapter 35.
Duel of Legacies
Stratas and Karrin met in the Lord Commander’s tent for the debriefing of the battle. It was customary that only the leader of the expedition debrief to his commander, but Derris did not entirely trust Stratas’ word, and thus had invited Karrin along to keep things objective.
“Alright, Stratas,” he said as he toyed with a knife on his desk, “tell me how you think the battle went.”
Stratas grinned with his usual impertinence. “I have to admit, the Onion Knights fared better than I personally expected. I suppose you were right, and they’re not entirely useless as enemies. We took in the area of eight hundred casualties, and we estimate they took nearly a thousand.”
Derris narrowed his eyes, then turned to Karrin. “What do you say?”
“Eight hundred casualties is no lie. But we also have well over three hundred seriously wounded. And when he’s counting the number of defeated Onion Knights, he’s counting their wounded among that number, so to make a valid judgement, we should do the same.”
“So we lost well over eleven hundred,” he responded with a nod, “and they may have lost as many as a thousand. Unfortunately, the Onion Knights have powerful healers. As many as one or two hundred of that number could make an appearance in a future battle. And despite the excellent progress Thian has made so far with New Cainis, it will be at best a matter of weeks before we have a hospital manned with enough trained medics to take care of our wounded.”
Still Stratas shrugged. “No big deal. So we took a little bit worse of a beating on the first battle. The edge isn’t high enough to ensure them the war.”
Derris noticed a look on his trusted commander’s face suggesting she had something to add. “Karrin?” he prompted.
“Also, milord, Hartik was among the seriously wounded, my Mammoth Scythe was destroyed, and possibly worst of all, Brakken fought the strongest Felthespari and came to a draw. A Dragoon by the name of Emle.”
At this final news, the Lord Commander shot to his feet. “Came to a draw? You mean their Emle is actually as strong as Brakken Chardoch? He could prove to be a real threat. Why did Brakken not go to full power and finish him off then and there?”
“He was at full power, sir.”
Derris said nothing, digesting this information. At full power, Brakken was considered to be a god. His technique had allowed him to advance so far beyond men, so far beyond demonspawn, that there was nothing else to liken him to. If Felthespar also had a warrior who fought as a god, it could prove to be a monumental hurdle for the Cainite army.
Karrin had one last thing to add. “I spoke to Brakken before coming here. He says he overexerted himself, was forced to maintain his powered up state for too long in the battle. He doesn’t know if he will be able to use it again for quite some time, until his body and mind have done quite a bit of recovering.”
“So we are currently three chieftains down and our two strongest warriors have been temporarily taken out of commission.”
Stratas felt he was being cut out of the discussion, and it infuriated him to no end. “Look, there’s a simple solution to this. Throw another wave of troops at the fortress. The Onion Knights met us with their entire standing army, or at least the bulk of it, and if we draw them into a series of long battles they’ll have more soldiers in the infirmary than on the battlefield. Then we can draw out the war for as long as we want, toying with them and grinding them into submission until they beg to surrender.”
Derris put his mask on and tightened his sword belt. “As usual, Stratas, your tactic is alluring but it is not sound. We need time to recover, same as they do, as well as time to examine the battle information we have. Karrin, I want you to go and immediately consult the tacticians that joined the battle today. Confer with them and determine what is the best new regimen under which to start training the army.”
“Aye, Lord Derris.” She left the tent, leaving the two men alone.
“As for you, I leave temporary command of the army to you while I am away.”
“Away? Where are you going at this time of night?”
“It is time for me to settle things with my cousin.”
“What makes you think you will be able to find him now?”
“He will be there. I am certain of it. Traitor or no, he still has the mind of a Phare.”
Derris exited the tent without further explanation, and his subordinate stepped out after and watched him walk away. As the man disappeared into the woods a thought sprang to Stratas’ mind, and he slyly edged forward and followed after his commander.
* * * * *
“So why was I attacked?” was the first question on Atheme’s mind.
Abaddon had finally made his reappearance, bringing with him a band of ten powerful monks. He had explained to Atheme that the monks had helped him defeat the overwhelming numbers of draconics that had ganged up against him, then nursed him back to health over the course of the night.
“When we left this morning I told them we were on a quest, and about you and Serene. I described you as a man whose power was a match for my own, and they insisted they had to witness this for themselves. So they wrapped us in some sort of impenetrable cloaking aura and the most powerful among them attacked you. Naturally, you didn’t disappoint.”
The leader of the monks had already recovered from the wounds Atheme had inflicted on him, possessing a highly advanced healing ability much like Abaddon’s. He spoke following the explanation. “Forgive my brashness, Master Tethen. I simply wished to see your abilities when you were fighting without reservation, and there was no surer way to accomplish that.”
“Forgiven. But you should know that you nearly lost your life. This continent has quickly forced me to become accustomed to killing anything and everything we encounter.”
“The continent of Arkalen is indeed a dangerous place. Which is why my men and I struggle to clear it of the hordes that overrun it. Sadly, we make little progress. The beasts seem to spawn faster than we can slay them.”
Atheme looked at the ten monks standing around him. They wore simple attire—tunics and breeches, robes held on with sashes, all the same plain grey color. Wherever a trace of skin could be seen, a light blue pattern of runes could be traced across it. He surmised these patterns probably decorated the entirety of their bodies, and doubtless had something to do with their considerable power.
“It would seem you know quite a bit about us and our journey. I think it’s only fair that you reciprocate. Tell me about you and your men.”
Serene cast a glance at his direction, indicating her impatience to resume their travels. The Lord Councilor diplomatically failed to notice it and focused intently on the monk’s answer.
“We are descended from a race of people who served Tria, the God of Mercy. Many centuries ago, our people were at war with a race serving the god Anji. They were a powerful warrior people, and our people were passive. We stood no chance and quickly lost the war. But Tria would not let us be completely wiped out. She gave us a very special gift.” He lifted one of the sleeves on his robe up to his shoulder, and showed a complex series of runes completely covering it, just as Atheme had suspected. “These runes are in a unique language, I believe it is called ‘Human Script’. We do no
t know the language ourselves, but we know how to reproduce this exact pattern. We use it to renew our ranks with younger entrants every couple of centuries.”
Atheme’s eyes widened. “Every couple of centuries?”
“The runes grant us many enhanced powers. In addition to the speed you witnessed earlier, we are given mastery over magic, which we can control at will. Also transcended physical strength and a superhuman healing factor. Finally, we are resistant to the passage of time, and live anywhere from three to four centuries.”
“Marvelous,” he replied. He shook his head and smiled in amazement. “I wish Kinguin were here. He’d crack the code of that rune structure in no time. The possibilities for what he could do with it would be endless.”
“I am afraid we do not share our gift indiscriminately. We pick our disciples very carefully, and do not keep any tangible copies of our rune patterns other than the ones on our bodies. We fear that allowing others access to our power could cause much more harm than good.”
“I can understand your concerns. Power corrupts the human heart far too easily.”
“Atheme,” Abaddon interrupted, “Tenkahn and his men have offered to escort us over these mountains.”
“That’s a very generous offer, but we cannot impose upon you. This journey is ours and we do not wish to put anyone else at risk.”
Tenkahn gave a humble bow, his hands open with uplifted palms. “It is what we do. We know this land and the demonspawn of it well, and whenever we have an opportunity we consider it an honor to help travelers gain safe passage. Besides, your friend there has requested we teach him some of our combat techniques. It would be rude of us not to accompany you, with such an entreaty upon our honor.”
“I’m not going to put too much effort into talking you out of it.” He gave a quick wink to Serene. “Let’s start packing up. There’s still plenty of daylight ahead of us and I’d like to try to make some progress as soon as possible.”
Abaddon went over and retrieved Kargaroth. The monks gladly took up the small amount of camping gear the trio had left, carrying it with their own rations and supplies. While there was a moment of activity, Tenkahn motioned Atheme off to the side and spoke with him.
“Master Tethen, I sense a great evil that haunts your friend. He did not tell me the precise nature of your quest, and I am not asking to know it. Yet I feel compelled to speak to you of this shadow that blankets his soul.”
“I know of it well. Yes, a great evil, a powerful demon, has been bound to Abaddon. He bears it even now, fighting off its influence every day, trying to contain it until we can destroy it once and for all.”
“And that is why you travel to the unforgiving Lifeless Vortex? In hopes that it has the power to crush this demon?”
He nodded. “It’s also why we are in a hurry. Every day there is an increased chance the demon will overcome Abaddon. I believe no other man would have the strength to hold out against it as he has.”
“I do not doubt your word. My men and I quickly sensed something special about Master Abaddon. He is like us. He controls magic by will alone, and time does not lay its heavy hand on him. Yet he does not have the divine blessing of our runes, so we were baffled by this at first, thinking that perhaps he himself was a demon.”
Something clicked in Atheme’s mind. “Which is why you felt you had to see my power when Abaddon said I was like him.”
“Yes. And please do not take this as offense, but while your power is formidable it is nothing like his. His strength is something to be terrified of. But as I said, it is marred by the torch of evil. Potent evil, malevolence even.”
“As I explained, the demon bound to him is powerful. I can tell that you have much experience with your own threats and dangers, but whatever you may have seen, I promise you cannot imagine its like.”
Tenkahn offered another humble bow as the rest of the party began to approach them. “Then for all our sake, let us make haste across this land and get you to the Lifeless Vortex.”
* * * * *
Not all of the Ducall had been burned down in the Great Fire. A stretch of the forest running the breadth of Felthespar along its west wall had been left standing, to maintain the natural barrier that had protected the city for so long. Since this patch could be used to assist the Cainites, a squad of archers guarded over it constantly, and at least one of the Children of Cain patrolled at all times.
Myris himself was currently on duty, having relieved one of his lieutenants just a few hours prior. He stood in a clearing not far from the city wall, waiting patiently. His personal mission was not to prevent Cainites from getting into the forest, but rather to make certain to lure one in. It would have been easier to wait out on the plains, but he wished to avoid interference from the city. He had left a clear trail running from the plains to his current location, and was certain that any Cainite could pick it out. He had only been waiting for about an hour when Derris stepped from the trees and offered him a harsh glare.
“Myris Phare. I see you choose to appear before me as a Cainite.”
The Lord of the Cain was indeed wearing his old black costume, including the cowled mask with twin fiery red eyes. “It seemed appropriate to fight this battle as the warrior I once was. I wish to see which of us has the support of Lord Vaelius.”
Derris looked around, but did not address this comment. “I approve of the battlefield you have chosen for us.”
“And I approve that you were able to come without being seen by Felthespar’s guard. Cainite blood indeed fills your veins.”
“Which is more than can be said for you.” Derris seemed done with the friendly banter, and began berating his cousin. “You betrayed us. It is not enough that you deserted your people when they needed you most, but you deserted us by joining forces with our age-old enemies, those whom we despise more than anything, the accursed Onion Knights!”
Myris shook his head slowly. “In my time here I have met many wondrous people. I do not know if Felthespar is always full of such minds, or if perhaps it is only this era, but I have learned much from the way they live their lives. Unlike us, they do not dwell in the past. They embrace the future, they set new goals for themselves, they forget their past mistakes and the mistakes of others. Our people fight to change the past, yet the past will never be changed. You are here on your holy war, claiming that it is Vaelius’ will, but what you do not know is that I was raised by a Saint of Vaelius. It was this same Saint who gave me the blessings I carry, and told me of my destiny to seek Kargaroth. Never once spoke he of the importance of the Arocaen, or of revenge against Felthespar. This war has no true purpose, it is not the will of Vaelius. You are leading our people down an empty path. You give our race no destiny.”
Derris punched the tree closest to him with all his might. Shattered bits of bark and drops of blood spattered out. “You sound like Thian!” Myris made a mental note of this insight into the third Phare cousin. “Am I the sole Phare who has not become a coward? There will be time for our people to find their path later, when our enemies have been wiped out. Where is the point in trying to create a new race as long as the Onion Knights live? They will hunt us down again, wipe us out, and try to kill us the way they once did!”
“How can you possibly believe that? I brought my people here claiming we were the last of the Cainites, and this country graciously accepted us in. Even when there were rumors of spies in Felthespar, my people were treated fairly and never once irrationally accused. The Onion Knights do not care about the past. They do not care about the First Arocaen. And if you were not here trying to destroy their livelihood, they would not care about the Cainites!”
“They accepted you and yours in because you were small, and posed no threat! If there had been five thousand of you they would have slaughtered you all. Enough! You understand nothing. Nothing! I see now that you are not the cowardly traitor I once thought. You are simply misguided. Tainted, by living their life for so long. As a favor to you, my cousin, my brother
, I will set you free of your own delusions.”
Derris drew his katana and launched himself forward, striking rapidly. Myris drew the Soul Scythe from his robes and blocked the attack, keeping the blade closed against the pole and using it as a small shield. The Cainite commander leaped into the air and flipped over his foe, striking at the small of his back. Just as the katana made contact with black cloth, the Lord of the Cain dashed a yard forward, spun about, extended the Soul Scythe to its full length, then came back at his opponent. He deftly knocked the katana out of his way, then spun the Scythe about and slammed the butt end into his cousin’s stomach. He finished with a fisted backhand across Derris’ jaw, then waited patiently for the man to regain his feet.
The Lord Commander nimbly rolled a few feet away, then reversed direction and charged, attempting to cut his adversary down again. This attempt was as futile as the first, with Myris all too easily dodging his blade and knocking him roughly to the ground. Derris climbed slowly to his feet, bleeding from a wound on his shoulder.
“I see your training here has done you well.”
“That could be said,” Myris replied with a nod, letting his scythe lower slightly.
“Normally in a fight such as this I would begin utilizing my talismans, casting an array of spells that would dizzy any normal opponent. But that will not work on you, will it, dear cousin? Your reflexes are far too fast to become dizzied, and my people’s holy scythe will protect you from any magic I might conjure.”
“The Scythe was lost to our people, buried in an unmarked box miles beneath the surface, where likely no man would have ever found it. It was unearthed by the Saint of Vaelius who raised me, located via his divine gifts and bestowed upon me. If you are trying to cast aspersions upon my right to wield it, you will find my faith in the matter quite unshakable. You are correct in one thing, however—you cannot overcome the Soul Scythe.”