by Mark B Frost
“Lord Kinguin!” she shouted and dashed to his side. “How are you here? Why are you here?”
“You didn’t really think that I’d leave you out here alone, did you? I couldn’t get the Councils to approve of giving me this mission, but there’s no way they could have stopped me from participating. I observed as the Children of Cain cast their invisibility spells over you, adapted them, improved upon them, then used them on myself. I wasn’t going to get involved unless need be, but I feel it’s time for an intervention.”
Tomir’s pleasant smile was imperturbable, and he gave a friendly bow to the newcomer. “One mage-ette, two mages, it makes no difference to me. You’re both still outclassed. I fear I must bid you a fond farewell.”
The mystic waved his arms out in a grandiose fashion, bringing them together in front of his face. A wall of fire and electricity came at the two Felthespari. Lathria cast a powerful ice spell in defense, but it was absorbed uselessly into the wall. She dashed rapidly behind Kinguin, who remained completely calm. He waited until the spell was nearly atop him, then held up his left hand and drew a small rune. The wall of death came to a grinding halt and was rapidly sucked into the tiny rune, which faded without a trace.
Tomir applauded sincerely at this display. “My, that was impressive indeed! I’ve never seen such a spell. You must tell me what it was.”
Kinguin brushed a bit of dust off of his shoulder. “You’ve never heard of it either, because I just now made it up. I think I’ll call it a Vacuum. Seems to fit.”
The Cainite mystic brought up a finger and tapped his chin. He smiled even more broadly. “Either you’re brilliant, or you’re bluffing.”
The elder herald returned the smile with equal audacity. “I hope you would like to test that. I do so excel at tests.”
“As you wish. But first I must know your name. I am Tomir Dakami, Lord of the Cainite Sorcerers. And you are?”
“Lord Archmagus Kinguin Peet, Grand Councilor to the Arcanum.”
“Ah, very good. I shall commit that to memory. And so, with the pleasantries out of the way...” Tomir immediately threw his arms out in front of himself and began humming. Ether poured into his body and his aura grew increasingly brighter. When he felt he had gathered sufficient power, he released a ball of raw Asterian energy.
Kinguin slammed the butt of the Staff of the Magi into the ground between his feet, then smacked his left palm down hard onto the Crystal of Aeons at the top. As a small amount of his blood mixed in with the crystal, his eyes turned into slits of light. Again, just as Tomir’s attack was right on top of him, he launched his defense. He raised his right hand forward and shouted. His voice was guttural, almost unnatural, and Lathria was almost blown back as the ground around him began to upheave. A sixth sense kicked in Tomir’s mind and he threw himself flat to the ground, just as a blast of energy shot forth from the Archmagus. Later, Lathria would comment on how there was no way to describe it, as there was no way to focus the mind on it due to its overwhelming intensity. It ate Tomir’s attack in the manner that the sun might eat the moon, then blasted out over the Cainite forces, grazing over the prostrate mystic’s back and singeing his colorful clothes even through his barrier.
Everyone stood stunned for a moment, trying to ascertain what had happened. Tomir gained his feet and looked about. Kinguin had been knocked back by the force of his own attack, so it had fired at an angle into the sky. Tomir was relieved to see this was the case, since Stratas and the other Cainite leaders were probably still somewhere south of them and could have been easily destroyed by the attack.
Kinguin separated himself from the Staff of the Magi almost reluctantly, relishing the feeling of such power. He had learned years ago, during the time he had studied Abaddon, that by merging his body with the Crystal of Aeons he could temporarily gain the same powers as a mystic. Unfortunately it was more than his human spirit could endure for long, so he was forced to use it sparingly.
Tomir stared at the man for a few seconds, then said quietly to himself, “Something tells me I should probably be somewhere else about now.”
Kinguin heard him and locked eyes with a fierce gaze. “That would be your common sense.”
The commander delayed no longer, but turned and began walking away. He ordered the nearest Cainites to rally the others and kill the two intruders. Kinguin knew he did not have much time left, so he took the remaining seconds of confusion among the surrounding forces to turn to Lathria. “Now, young Warlock, it is time for you to retreat to Felthespar.”
“No,” she countered, “I will not leave you by yourself, Lord Archmagus.”
He smiled softly and patted her shoulder. “I’m afraid there’s no great assistance you can offer me, my dear Lathria. Go home, be safe, and live to tell what happened to me in case I do not make it back.”
She shook her head stubbornly, her eyes brimming with tears. Kinguin was her mentor, her idol, everything that she wanted to be and more. She could not bear to just run away and let him die alone. She would have rather stayed by his side and died a dozen deaths. At least there was honor in that.
But she could not find the words to say this to him, and he waited no longer. The Cainites were starting to recover their heads, so he tapped the Staff of the Magi onto the ground twice and gave a snap. The pearl at the head of Lathria’s staff lit up and surrounded her in its soft barrier. She started yelling, and even tried throwing the staff away from her, but it did no good. She floated gently into the air and began heading north at a high speed.
The Elites left in charge reacted swiftly, dividing the nearest troops and sending a wave at Kinguin and a wave following Lathria. The Archmagus was caught off guard by the sudden rush, and by the time he recovered he found hundreds of Cainites swarming around him, with limited room to cast spells. He did the best he could, sending scatterings of fire, lightning, and ice energy whipping from his spell matrixes and the matrixes on the Staff. Once he gained a bit of room he waved the Staff about in all directions around him, and waves of fire or ice swept over the Cainites as lightning storms crashed down to pick off survivors.
Soon the herald had cleared out enough space to take a breather, and looked in the direction where Lathria’s bubble could barely be seen on the horizon. He knew she was fine now, and would make it to city. As the Cainites around him endeavored to work their way over the bodies of their fallen comrades, he finished his last request to her. “Tell them that Kinguin Peet would not die a coward.”
He held his Staff close to his body, began chanting a series of indistinct spells, and huddled down close to the ground. Just as the fresh Cainite troops came upon him, their weapons upheld and ready to swing, his body exploded. Elemental energies—fire, wind, ice, earth, lightning, all meshing together in a giant chaotic blast—flew in every direction and turned Cainites into shrapnel. Even from where she hovered just beyond Felthespar’s outer wall, Lathria could see the blast, and a fresh rush of tears blanketed her cheeks.
Chapter 39.
Fanged Forest and Black River
After a week of cutting through vines and brush, Atheme’s party had seen neither hide nor hair of the creatures from which the jungle drew its name. Serene was growing increasingly nervous and agitated, but the Lord Councilor was preoccupied over Abaddon’s condition. The mystic seemed to grow more exhausted with each step, and about once a minute he would shake his head vigorously as if trying to wake himself up. Atheme was less concerned with the appearance of the nimble wolves and more concerned that his friend was going to die from duress.
Serene walked up to Atheme and gave him a light nudge. “Do you have any idea where we are?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t you?”
“Without my mystic abilities, I’m easily lost.”
“My travel instincts are still fine. We’ve been making a good pace and we’re nearly through the jungle now. We’ll be hitting the river within another hour, if everything keeps going the way it has.”
Serene began to slow her pace, and the knights took the lead. After about another half hour’s march, Atheme looked back to see she had fallen more than a couple of yards behind, so he slowed his pace and allowed himself to drop back with her, leaving Abaddon on point.
“Something wrong?” he asked disinterestedly.
“We should have been attacked by now. We should have at least been surrounded and followed by a few packs. From what I recall, fenrirs don’t care about stealth. They make lots of noise once they have their prey surrounded in order to frighten them.”
“So what’s your point?”
“To be honest, if the fenrirs have gone into hiding then they must be hiding from something. And I’m worried that we’re going to run into whatever that something is.”
“You shouldn’t fret so much. We’re nearly through now. Whatever the danger might be, there’s no need to dwell on it until we’re making our way back. Besides, it’s likely no one has charted this area for decades, maybe centuries. It’s entirely possible the fenrirs starved to death, or died due to some sort of climate change, or simply migrated away.” Atheme’s jaw tightened as he continued. “That is, unless you’re keeping yet another secret from us. Perhaps some ancient creature of incredible power that you already know is here, but don’t want to mention because you hope we don’t run into it?”
“What?”
“Don’t act innocent. This entire journey you’ve been holding information out on us, only offering up potentially helpful advice after it’s already too late. Maybe if you’d start telling us what you know ahead of time, we’d be able to take preventative measures!”
“Atheme, what are you so angry about?”
He whipped around and grabbed her arm, glaring hard. “You knew how intense the currents were going to be once we crossed through the mountains. You had turned off your mystic abilities before we even stepped through, in preparation for it. Yet you didn’t share this with anyone else, even though you also knew how hard it was going to be for Abaddon! If you had told us, then maybe all of those idle hours we spent in those caverns could have been used to find a way to shield him!”
She stopped walking and tried to match his gaze, but somehow she could not bring herself to be fearless against his fury. “As far as I know, there’s no way to protect a mystic from these currents,” she stammered out.
“Was this journey your idea?”
“Huh?”
“You heard me. Was this journey your idea? Did you come up with every single nuance of the plan? The idea of using Kargaroth’s power against itself? The barrier that protects Abaddon’s spirit? The way we reached the southern continent? How we made it across the Jagguron Mountains? Were all of those your ideas?”
“Well no, I can’t take complete credit, of course.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s because when people work together, and pool their knowledge and ideas, they can come up with plans that a single one of them could never devise alone. You assume that because you have more centuries of knowledge and experience than us, that you’re also wiser than we are and don’t need our help. But you’re not perfect! You’re not any better than we are, you’re not any smarter than we are, and gods be damned, you don’t always know what’s best!” He finally released her arm and walked a few steps away, then paused and looked back at her. “Either you start working with us and behaving as if you’re actually a part of this team, or finish this journey on your own and call us allies no more.”
Serene’s indignation clashed hard with her sorrow at this reproach, and she dashed forward to catch up with Atheme as she tried to think of what comeback to use. Once she stood beside him, however, nothing came to mind. She felt hurt and ashamed, so she hung her head and said nothing.
Abaddon was still about ten or fifteen yards ahead of them. Atheme thought about shouting for him to slow down, then decided he did not feel like it. The big man seemed to get the message anyway, suddenly coming to a stop. As Atheme was pondering why this had happened, a giant tree suddenly exploded through the jungle where the man was standing. Smaller trees and plants, as well as Abaddon himself, were blown away and sent flying. Atheme stopped and stared in shock as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Then a giant cyclops with thick leathery skin lumbered out into the clearing he had just made.
The Lord Councilor drew his sare and started to dash forward, but then had a thought. He turned to Serene, and she answered his question before he could ask it. “I swear I know nothing about this!” He nodded in apology, then ran at the red giant.
The ogre detected the man’s approach, and with surprising speed for a creature its size swung out with its right arm. It was then Atheme realized it had not been a tree that had crashed through Abaddon, but rather the cyclops’ giant club. He jumped and spun upside down in midair, his feet landing on the underside of the club. He ran around it as it crashed down, narrowly escaping a crushing doom, and hopped up onto the giant fist. He drew out his Morabet and slashed at the soft red skin under the wrist, and extended his sare to its full length of nine feet and struck at the solitary eye.
The ogre took the slash to its wrist deep, but jerked its head away so that the blunt sare grazed uselessly across its cheek. It was annoyed by the relative success of this attack, and reached across with its other hand to smack Atheme, who leaped nimbly away. The cyclops looked up at him and its eye went wide, and his body stopped suspended in air. The entrapped man thrashed about trying to break free, as a huge energy beam fired from the demonic eye. He spun the sare in a rapid circle in front of him, warding off the attack with a grey magic field, then fell freely to the ground.
Serene ran over to him to check on him, but he waved that he was fine. “What is it with the creatures on this continent and paralysis spells?” he ranted quietly to her. “It’s bloody annoying.”
“Can you beat him?”
“Oh, easily. He’s too big and slow to be any kind of real threat. But if that eye trick of his can target multiple foes, I see why the fenrirs are afraid of him. That, and his skin is probably too thick for them to tear through and do any real harm.”
“Maybe we should just leave it alone, then?”
Atheme thought about it for a second. “That’s a good idea. We can easily outrun this thing and make it to the other side, and it’s not nearly as dangerous as a thousand wolves would probably be. But I should at least injure it a little, to discourage it from following us too zealously.”
The cyclops turned and stared at something to its right, then roared and swung its club in that direction. Atheme took a couple of steps forward and saw Abaddon standing there, Kargaroth discarded and thrown to the ground behind him, motioning the ogre to come at him.
As the club flew in his direction, Abaddon crashed his fists together above his head. Intense waves of energy roared in every direction, blowing apart nearby trees and rocks and tearing the ogre’s mace into splinters. The mystic warrior smacked the ground, sending a wave of earth into the ogre’s leg, breaking its shin and bringing it crashing down. As the ogre braced itself on its hands and knees, the big man snatched the largest splinter from the destroyed club—a giant wooden spike over ten feet long. He leaped straight into the giant’s face, and immediately speared the stake straight through the eye as the ogre tried to cast its paralysis spell. The shard sank into the ogre’s head with sharp velocity, and Abaddon leaped over the creature and ran across its back as it fell to the ground for the last time.
Atheme collapsed and sheathed his sare, then slapped his own forehead. “The next time that we decide to not kill something, we have got to make sure that Abaddon is in on it.”
Abaddon retrieved Kargaroth as the other two came over and joined him. He was breathing heavily, and seemed to be in significant pain even though his body was virtually unscathed. Gradually, large amounts of activity began to be heard in the background as rustling sounds spread throughout the jungle.
Atheme looked at his friends and announced simp
ly, “They’re awake.”
The three immediately took off running, heading south at an inspired pace. They were too close to the edge of the jungle to deal with battling an endless army of demon wolves, and needed to conserve their energy for upcoming challenges. Coupled with Serene’s loss of her mystic powers and Abaddon’s ever-increasing vulnerability, there was only one sensible option. Discussion of the matter was not necessary.
The two men flanked Serene, and as the occasional wolf grew brave enough to hop out of the forest and snip at them, one of the two knights gave them a firm bonk on the head. They were as fast as promised, and every so often one would get a hold of an arm or leg on someone, tearing the skin deeply. Atheme took care of his and Serene’s wounds while running, and Abaddon ignored his. At the edge of the jungle, just as it seemed they might make it clear, two ranks of wolves stood blocking the way out.
It was the first time Atheme got a good look at them. They were large canines, half as tall as a man, with alternating patches of fur and scales. A triangle of eyes decorated their heads, and their series of tiny needle-like teeth were so closely serrated that it looked as if saws had been bent and placed in their mouths.
Atheme could not think of any easy way to kill so many creatures, so he snatched Serene up in one arm, grabbed his sare with the other, and vaulted the two of them over the pack. Abaddon merely crashed straight through, stepping on the neck of one beast and shoulder-ramming the others, taking at least a dozen fang and claw wounds in the process.
They cleared the jungle and reached a small stretch of grassland on the other side. The river Ashelon stood before them. They stopped before coming too close and Atheme checked over his shoulder. Seeing no fenrirs pursuing them, he set Serene back on her feet and again sheathed his sare.