by Mark B Frost
Cildar mulled this through his mind, then turned and looked over his shoulder. Should the city walls be breached, as many citizens as possible would be evacuated into the Emle castle, where the nation’s final stand would take place. The once magnificent Fortress of Emle had truly seen some raging battles in its past, yet the structure had never been taken. Kulara was confident the army could hold off any size force from the fort, but no one was willing to surrender the rest of the city, nor the majority of the population whose lives would become forfeit.
He turned and looked at Myris, who was trimming his dark, wavy hair with a field knife. Cildar refrained from nudging his arm as he said, “Hey, Myris.”
“Yeah?”
“Have they left yet?”
The man put down his knife for a moment and cast a hand out, dropping some sort of seeking enchantment, then went back to cutting his hair. “No. Before any of my spies come or go they leave a report for me. No one has left here today.”
“Guess it takes a while to get the spells in place, huh?” he replied.
Lathria Grielat, the graceful Warlock, had been selected for the dangerous mission of assassinating the Circle of Command. She was currently with an entourage of the Children of Cain, being carefully wrapped in sorceries and wards that would allow her to pass among the Cainite ranks without detection.
“It is difficult to disguise someone who is not a Cainite as a Cainite. At birth, we are given a barrage of enchantments, markings, and spiritual insignia that clearly identify us as Cainite breed. Lathria does not have these markings and they cannot be easily simulated. Like most Cainite magic, the spells change and adapt to you as you get older, so they eventually become a very developed, sophisticated brand. If anyone stops and looks hard enough at her as she passes through the ranks, they will probably recognize her as a fake, and she will be killed without further questions.”
“And of course, there’s always the fact that you have to make her invisible in order to get her into the Cainite ranks.”
“Also no small task. If she possessed the years of espionage training my warriors have, then she could perhaps get in on her own. But with an army of Cainites guarding the perimeters, no normal stealth will suffice.” He suddenly stopped and stabbed his knife hard into the wooden rail in front of him. “This is absurd! Kulara should have sent me on this mission. I am the only natural choice and we all know it. I would not have to rely on anyone’s assistance. I could get in, kill them all in a matter of seconds, and get out before anyone knew what happened. Why do we put the girl in unnecessary danger?”
“You already know why. No matter how sure you are of success, we can’t put your life at risk. You’re the only one capable of leading the Children of Cain since your second-in-command was slain. You also know that their loyalty is solely to you. If you were to die, half of them are likely to turn back to the Cainites, or turn double agent on us. You have to accept it, Myris. You’re the one person whose life or death could make the most difference in this war.”
He hung his head and stared at his knife. “My whole life, great burdens have been thrust upon me. Lord Vaelius sent me to Felthespar with the most important mission given to anyone in centuries and I failed him. Now similar burden has been placed upon me by Felthespar. I cannot bear the thought that I might fail again.”
“Then don’t. Don’t fail. Don’t waver. Don’t flinch. You’re too powerful for uncertainty, Myris. Be confident in yourself and there’s nothing beyond your reach.”
“A lovely sentiment, but it is hard for a skeptic such as myself to swallow.”
Cildar did not respond, but had pulled off his mask and turned his eyes to the sky. Myris drew his knife from the rail and resumed cutting his hair, knowing that his friend would speak up again when he knew what he wanted to say.
“Something about this plan has been worrying me, but it’s an issue that no one seems to want to bring up.”
“What is it?”
“The last time that Stratas Ezul made an appearance, you and I were about to fight him until he said that if we killed him, the lich would be set free. If Lathria succeeds in her mission, will the lich be set free then, as well?”
“Ah,” Myris smiled at this. “Funny story, that. I found out that Stratas was bluffing.”
“Bluffing? He seemed sincere enough.”
“His reputation holds that he has always had a gift for getting himself out of perilous situations unharmed. The tongue of a diplomat, or a serpent.”
“Still, how can you be so sure that he was bluffing?”
“I managed to get some details on how they are controlling a lich. That is, if ‘controlling’ is even the word to use. Turns out a year or so ago, a newly formed lich wandered into the Cainite mountains and began feasting. A short war broke out, then the Cainites used the many tricks they know to disappear.”
“Disappear? Seventeen thousand of them?”
“Even as you and I speak, my subordinates are taking a small mage girl and making her appear to be a Cainite, then making her invisible and depositing her into the midst of the enemy army, fooling them all. When at home in Cainis, amid the tunnels of the hollowed mountain, the Cainite civilization can easily disappear at will. Even a lich could not find them.”
“Alright, so they disappear. Then what?”
“The lich continued to search, refusing to give up. Apparently it had gained quite a taste for Cainite souls. Considering how enhanced our spirits are, that they have barriers granting protection from white magic, I can see how they would be tempting to a lich. Then Derris came home, returning from some voyage or another. The lich attacked and wiped out his entourage, but he managed to escape with his life. A couple more months went by and the lich finally settled down. It stopped roaming the mountains ceaselessly, but rather took up residence where the center of the city used to be. Derris came out of hiding to approach it and, hopefully, draw up a truce.”
“So for all those months they had been trying to fight it and couldn’t do anything against it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Cainites would never attack a lich. They are considered sacred to us. Remember my mask with the two fiery eyes?”
“Of course. It’s all I saw of you for years.”
“That was based on the appearance of a lich. They are a holy symbol for us, and only the most prestigious among Cainites are allowed to mock their visage. Besides, Cainites attacking a lich is an impotent practice, at best. We have no attacks that can harm them, and most of our powerful spells would actually feed them and make them more powerful.”
“So they had no choice but to hide in fear.”
“More awe than fear. Most among the Cainite ranks still consider it an honor to even have seen a lich and lived.”
“I still don’t understand. How did Derris come to gain control of it?”
“As I said, the fiend had developed a taste for Cainite souls. But if it could not find any Cainites then it was gaining no souls, and getting nowhere fast. So Derris made it an offer. If it would leave the Cainites alone, they would come out of hiding. He told it of the upcoming war, and promised that it could have the souls of any fallen Cainites from that war so long as it helped them fight their enemy. Apparently liches have some sort of Soul Harvester spell which allows them to reap the souls of anyone it is cast upon when they die. The lich cast this spell on the entire Cainite army and, in return, allowed Derris to bind it to a powerful Cainite artifact that would give him a small influence over the creature’s behavior. When Stratas summoned the lich on us, he was using that artifact.”
“Blast!” Cildar exclaimed, slamming both of his hands into the rail and sending splinters falling about.
“What is it?”
“That day in the forest, when you had slain Derris. I was there after your battle and found Stratas. I let him take Derris’ body away, assuming he just wanted to give him a proper burial. He was there for the artifact! And I just gave it to him, like a fool.”
“
Do not blame yourself. Stratas is more cunning than I may have at first given him credit for. It is difficult to remain a step ahead of him.”
Cildar thought for a few seconds. “So anyone who holds the artifact can summon forth the lich?”
“No. There is a special spell to activate it, which only the commanders know.”
“Which means that if this mission succeeds, we shouldn’t have to worry about ever seeing the lich again.”
“I would not say that.” Myris finished with his hair and placed the knife in a hidden sheath. “If my guess is correct, then the lich is only bound for so long as it allows itself to be. If it realizes everyone who can summon it is dead, it will probably simply break the enchantment and begin slaughtering everything in its path.”
Cildar took a deep breath, but said nothing further on the subject. Myris made a few motions, then reached over and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They are gone now. They left sometime while we were talking, invisible to our eyes. We’ll know within the hour whether or not we have succeeded.”
* * * * *
A group of twenty or so Cainites sat in a circle, gambling and drinking, tossing dice, losing their shirts and cussing their buddies. The atmosphere here was of greater levity than the one in Felthespar, and the evening air was as intoxicating as the ales and beers they poured down their throats. These were the soldiers who had the privilege of watching their foe attack them uselessly day after day, the soldiers who got to witness how mighty their army truly was, the soldiers who were confident that within a few more months, Felthespar would be the fortress of the Cainites. Troops back at the city petitioned daily to be moved to the defenses, and those already on the front lines insisted that they were still fresh, ready to handle whatever the Onion Knights might pull. For the Cainites, this war was the best party in three hundred years.
One among the circle took a roll of the dice, winning the entire pot. “Ha, ha! Lookit that, suckers! Evens over odds, double down. Gimme the loot.”
“Come on, Grimkin, ye’ve gotta give us a chance to win it back.”
The Cainite called Grimkin continued to chuckle as he raked his winnings up into his arms. It was an assortment of gold and silver trinkets from the mines, as well as a few fine weapons. “Heheh. Well sure, chum. So long as you’ve got somethin’ to offer me in return. This ain’t no charity!”
Just then a figure clad in a long dark robe topped with a hood stepped into the circle. Everyone went silent. The figure paid them no mind, but continued walking as if they did not exist. Only the Cainite Elite ninjas were allowed to wear full capes and cowls, a mark of their superiority to common soldiers. Most of the Elites did not tolerate the masses, so it was considered good sense that whenever one was around, everyone kept their mouth shut.
But Grimkin was too caught up in his own euphoria to conform to good sense. He looked up at the cloaked apparition and shouted, “Hey you! Yeah, mister fancy-pants ninja. What say you take a moment from your oh-so-serious life and have a little fun, do some gambling? Maybe let us see that sword of yours in the pot, eh?”
The figure froze in his tracks. Everyone in the circle stood up and started backing away, unsure what could come of this. Grimkin started to feel his high wear off, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
A deceptively soothing hiss emanated from the cowled head. “You want to see my sword, do you?” The Elite changed course and headed toward Grimkin, letting his cape fall back and reveal his tight-fitting ninja armors. He drew forth one of his magnificent swords and held it up in front of the loudmouthed gambler. “So tell me, do you like it?”
Grimkin was shivering now, frozen in terror, unable to beat a retreat. “Uhh, yeah. Yeah, of course. It’s a beaut’, alright.”
“You sound unsure. I bet you need a closer look, don’t you?” The Elite slowly lowered the weapon down close to Grimkin’s face, letting the tip point at his right eye. Still the gambler made no move. The Elite gave a powerful thrust with the blade, piercing Grimkin’s skull clean through in an instant. His coveted treasure fell from his lifeless arms as the Elite turned away from the corpse and headed back on his way, wiping his sword clean and returning it to its sheath.
The rest of the group took a few moments to get over the death of their friend—a process which was expedited by the recovery of their riches—then went back to their gambling.
The Elite, for his part, resumed heading south. He was already late for duty, but did not increase his pace. It was unbecoming of an Elite to appear to be in a hurry.
As he was about to come within eyesight of his destination, two other Elites stepped in front of him. “Halt. Where are you heading, Master Ninja?”
The Elite clenched his fists, but bit back his anger. “Greetings, Master Ninjas. I am stationed for guard duty around the meeting of the Circle, which is already in progress. This means that I’m already late, and would appreciate it if you let me pass.”
“It is unlike an Elite to be late.”
“I’m painfully aware of that. I was injured in the last defense and am only today making it back from New Cainis to return to duty. I’ve been forced to do a hundred things to get back into my assignments. I do not wish to be held up any longer.”
The officers exchanged confused glances. “But Master Ninja,” one of them offered weakly, “no one was reported missing from assigned guard duty for the meeting.”
“Well I’m missing, so someone has erred gravely!”
The other officer went into a small tent and fished out some paperwork, then came back. “What is your designation?”
“I am called Feroccatan, Ninja of Ice’s Valor.”
“Lord Feroccatan? One of the twelve Grand Elites?”
“I shall not repeat my name.”
“According to our information, you were slain in the last battle.”
“I just told you not a minute ago, I was only injured. Any reports that list me as slain are mistaken.”
“Naturally you did not arrive for duty, but it says here that a replacement did.”
Feroccatan leaned forward rapidly, a movement indicating surprise. “A replacement? Assigned by whom?”
“It does not seem to say.”
“You fools! It’s doubtless one of the traitors from Myris’ faction! You allowed one of them into our commanders’ meeting!”
The two officers gasped, then turned and dashed rapidly toward the leader’s conference. Feroccatan started to head after them, when a hand was placed on his shoulder.
“Heh. Good detective work there, Master Ninja.”
Feroccatan turned to see who was bothering him this time. He recognized Tomir Dakami, more from reputation than familiarity, and fell to one knee. “Master Dakami, Lord of the Cainite Sorcerers. I am honored by your presence.”
“Oh, don’t bother with such formality, dear friend. I don’t care for it.” Tomir gave the ninja a friendly grin, then walked past him in the direction the other Elites had gone. Feroccatan regained his feet and turned to see the commander smiling merrily at him. “You know, you’re really very good at what you’re doing. If I hadn’t been late for the meeting due to a dire round of blackjack, I would doubtless never have picked up on it.”
“I don’t think I follow, sir.”
Tomir gave a loud snap, magnifying the sound with his magic, and all of the Cainites within earshot instantly hopped up and grabbed their weapons. “You see, my dear, I am a mystic. Magic does not easily deceive my special eyesight. I know that you’re not a man. I know that you’re not an Elite ninja. And most importantly, I know that you’re not a Cainite.”
Tomir sent a wall of energy crashing down on Feroccatan, and layers of enchantments fell apart, leaving a frightened Lathria standing exposed.
“It would seem that Myris’ people have become even more adept at the black arts than I would have imagined. The enchantments that hid you were almost imperceptible.” He paused and gave another smile, one that seemed genuinely friendly and harm
less. “But as I said, I am a mystic. And the benefits of that are quite extensive.” He waved a hand into the air and a fireworks display went off over his head. “That was a signal to the other commanders. They’ll be pulling back from this area now. I imagine you probably came equipped with some kind of powerful bomb. It’s probably best that they get away from you, yes?”
Lathria forced herself to act, drawing out her staff and stabbing it into the ground. A ring of fire spread from the tip, forcing back the overwhelming number of Cainites closing in around her. “Why don’t you fight me, instead of hiding behind your ranks! Or are you afraid that a little girl might be a match for you?”
“Please,” Tomir chuckled, “do give me some credit. I don’t cower behind ideologies of women being weaker than men. Especially not in the field of magic, where the female mind is very capable of excelling. I’m more than happy to meet you in battle as a worthy foe. They are just here to ensure that if I do lose, you don’t win. Follow me?”
Lathria swung her staff and began releasing spells at impressive rates. Doses of elemental energy crashed in Tomir’s direction repeatedly, killing many of the Cainites around him and charring the earth.
The smoke cleared and the Cainite chieftain stood unharmed, a strong aura hovering around him. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to beat me. It is not gender that makes the difference in this battle, it is race. I am a mystic, and you can no more overcome me than you could a dragon.”
“Well then,” a voice seeming to come from the air suddenly shouted out, “I guess it’s a good thing that I have such vast experience facing dragons.”
Lathria could not believe her eyes as the space to her left began to shimmer and Kinguin appeared. He wore an arrogant smile that matched Tomir’s, and held the elegant Staff of the Magi tightly in his right hand.