by Mark B Frost
“Now what?” he asked.
“The fenrirs won’t come down here. They’re afraid of the river wraiths of Ashelon just as they were afraid of the red ogre. But they won’t go away either.” She pointed off to the east and west sides. In both directions, the river bend led back into the depths of the jungle. “The only ways to go are through the river or through the jungle. Without my mysticism, either way means almost certain death for me.”
Atheme punched his fist into his open palm. “Last I checked we’re going south, so the river is the only real choice.”
They began moving slowly toward the river. As soon as they were within a dozen yards, dark specters began to rise up from the water and hiss. Their bodies shimmered with an effect similar to the water itself, but they did not seem to be bothered by the sunlight. There were only a few dozen at first, but more poured out across the length and breadth of the river, and soon there were hundreds. Atheme looked to Serene. “Any idea how we cross?”
She shook her head. “To the best of my knowledge, it can’t be done. Not in our condition, at any rate.”
He mentally sized up the situation. The river was about fifty feet across, so it was probably at least a dozen feet deep. The wraiths were bound to it, but they doubtless had some powerful spells at their disposal. There was an ample supply of wood in the jungle, but there was no way they would be able to gather the wood with the fenrirs guarding it, nor build a bridge over the river that the wraiths would not tear apart. Once again, there was only one sensible solution he could see.
He led the group closer to the river, just within spell range, then reached up and carved a rune structure in the air. The runes flashed brightly once and then vanished, but did not reappear. Atheme was shocked at this behavior, and tried again. Again the structure flashed brightly once and died. Serene offered up an explanation.
“We’re close enough to the ether pole that the currents here are too fast for spells to catch. Your rune is just being eaten by the currents and can’t touch the Asterian plane. You might be able to release any spell matrixes you have, but that’s it.”
Atheme’s mind raced as the river wraiths began to gather at the river’s edge. “I don’t have any matrixes for the spell I need.” He looked around and soon snatched a rock off of the ground. He drew one of his hidden knives and began drawing on the rock. “It’s a crazy idea, but I hope this works.”
Once the rune was finished it began to flare up intensely, but did not burn away the entire rock. Atheme quickly threw it at the closest of the wraiths. The nightspawn dropped into the river, allowing the rock to pass harmlessly over it and land with a splash, then rose back up.
Then the spell caught. Waves of cold began spreading through the river, freezing the water instantly and slowly creeping up the dark figures of the wraiths. Wave after wave emanated, and soon the entire river for as far as they could see was frozen solid. As soon as the last river wraith froze in its place, the jungle behind them exploded with activity.
“Go! Now!” Atheme shouted. He snatched Serene up in his arms again and dashed at the river. He jumped up onto the heads of the wraiths and used them to hop his way across. Abaddon followed suit, and they soon landed on the southern bank unharmed. They turned to see an endless stream of fenrirs pouring down to the river, coming for them.
“We have to keep running!” Serene begged.
Atheme sat her down and shook his head. “It’s no use. I was keeping track of them when we were running through the jungle. Their land speed is nearly twice as fast as either mine or Abaddon’s. And that was even with them running around trees and brush. There’s no way we can escape them.”
“Then what are we going to do!” she was practically hopping up and down with anticipation.
Atheme lowered his head seriously. “Pecoros is a personal friend of yours, right? See if you can call in a favor.”
He joked, but internally he knew their situation was dire. If he could not even combat cast, it was almost certain that Haste would be suicidal. Atheme was a versatile fighter against any foe, but under these conditions his capabilities were significantly diminished. On top of that, he would be working twice as hard to protect Serene, who was little more than an open target with her mysticism disabled.
They were now down to their final option for survival—the one strapped across Abaddon’s back. Atheme had mocked Serene when she had expressed concerns of Kargaroth’s use previously, but that was before they had reached the other side of Jagguron. With Abaddon’s mental state deteriorating rapidly, now he too was terrified of what might happen if they unleashed the sword’s power. But against these creatures, diminished as they were, the odds were stacked too deeply against them. He could see no other choice.
“Ab...” he said softly. The big man turned his gaze slowly, and Serene stared at them both with wide eyes, shaking her head fiercely.
The fenrirs reached the river and tore through the frozen wraith statues. Shards of broken nightspawn flew about as the wolves’ claws pitter-pattered across the ice. When they were about halfway across, just as Atheme was about to finish his thought, they suddenly stopped in their tracks. Row after row of the fenrirs all reached the same approximate distance across and came to an unwilling halt.
Atheme stared hard at them, trying to understand what was holding them back. Then he saw. The fenrirs which had been stopped first had ice creeping up past their legs, beginning to blanket their bodies. He widened his eyes and turned to Serene.
“Do you see what I see?”
She turned and stared for a couple of seconds, then gasped. “Yes! Your ice spell is freezing them!”
“How is that possible?”
“The rock that you threw. Do you know where it landed?”
“Just in the shallows on the north bank.”
“The currents there are still too strong. They’re not strong enough to blow out the rune structure, but they’re overwhelming the stability of the spell. Instead of unleashing a reasonable amount of energy and then shutting down, like it should, the spell is recasting itself infinitely. The strong ether currents here are pulling too much energy from the Asterian plane.”
“So it’s repeatedly casting a Freeze spell. Why didn’t it get us?”
“By standing on the frozen wraiths, we must have been too far away for the waves to affect us.”
His eyes widened. “Abaddon! Quickly, destroy all of the frozen figures on the river.”
The mystic stumbled in an obedient haze back over to the edge and punched his fist into the ground at his feet, unleashing the Tremoring Fist technique taught to him by the monks. A shockwave of energy ripped through the ground and onto the icy surface, and the frozen creatures shattered into pieces as cracks spread through the iced waters of the river. The unfortunate fenrirs that had been halfway frozen only had the lower halves of their bodies broken, and they lay in agony for a few seconds before their remaining fractured halves froze over. Atheme’s spell soon sealed the cracks in the river, and the new ranks of fenrirs continued to be frozen. They were clearly not of cognitive intelligence, and kept trying to make their way across despite the demise of their brethren. All they could see was that nothing stood in the way of them and their food, and they could not halt themselves.
The three wanderers from Felthespar watched in amazement as the entire population of fenrirs tried to cross the river and died trying. Periodically Abaddon would shatter the frozen, making certain the others did not get the idea to hop across them. After about a quarter of an hour, the land lay quiet around a frozen river of wolf blood.
They were all in such amazement at what they had just witnessed that they began heading south again without saying a word. The land before them was sparse, with little vegetation or sights. They traveled in a daze, Atheme and Serene amazed that they were alive, Abaddon concentrating on simply fending off the fierce currents. Finally, after half an hour of quiet journeying, Atheme jerked his head back and gave a broad smile. “Well that was
quite an adventure, wasn’t it?”
Chapter 40.
A Paladin’s Fate
Tomir regained consciousness and rose gingerly to his feet. As he looked around, he saw injured Cainite bodies littering the ground. He could not seem to remember where he was, or what had happened. Slowly, still unsteady on his feet, he turned to look behind him. A large sector in the middle of the Cainite campground was charred and smoking. Images flooded his mind as he remembered the Felthespari assassin, and the mage that had arrived to rescue her.
A cleanup crew that had been assembled rushed to Tomir to see if he was unharmed. He mustered a smile and announced he was fine, then queried as to the condition of the other generals. They informed him that the others had been clear of the blast, so he sent the troops to tend to other injured. He then headed into the crater, moving slowly, careful not to lose his footing on the ash and rubble that blanketed the ground.
When he reached the approximate center of the blast area he began casting about. The mage had possessed a staff, with an artifact of unreal power attached to it. Tomir was certain this gem would not have been destroyed by such an unfocused spell. If he could get his hands on it, he believed he could increase his power by three- or four-fold.
Finally, as his senses became more in tune with what he was doing, he managed to locate the exact spot where the wizard had been standing. He knelt down and swept back a few layers of ash, when a strange impression caught his eye. Bothered by this, he used his mysticism to create a gentle wind from his hands, which blew away the ash and debris.
He straightened his back and gazed north at the city of the Onion Knights. For a rare moment, a smile did not adorn the face of Tomir Dakami. In the ground he had uncovered, a weak but clear trail of footsteps led north, to Felthespar. Five words echoed in Tomir’s mind, and he could not find the strength to cover his fear and apprehension with false cheerfulness.
Kinguin Peet is still alive.
* * * * *
Lathria’s tears poured into Kulara’s chest. They stood in the parade ground behind the city’s front gate, and gradually the rest of the Military Council joined them to hear news of the assassination. She had repeatedly told of Kinguin’s sacrifice, and would not stop blaming herself for his death. Cildar and Myris stood by awkwardly, not sure how to console her. The General gently extricated himself from the weeping mage and handed her off to Karice, then stepped over to the two Grand Councilors.
“Another failed plan—this one at the price of our country’s greatest mind.”
“It’s not your fault, sir,” Cildar assured. “We had no way of knowing Kinguin would take it upon himself to protect Lathria.”
“Maybe we should have. Maybe we should have all taken it upon ourselves to protect her. When did we start resorting to suicide tactics? That’s not what this country is about! That’s not what Atheme would have done.”
Myris turned and headed back up to the battlements. “Though it may be what Abaddon would have done.”
Kulara was about to continue his ranting, but suddenly went silent. He took a step back and his eyes darted back and forth. Cildar did not notice his odd behavior, but pointed over the man’s shoulder and shouted in disbelief, “Kinguin!”
The Lord Archmagus had once again appeared out of thin air, and was busy vigorously trying to shake some dust off of his sleeves. He noticed he had finally gained everyone’s attention and gave an elegant bow. “Greetings, all. We didn’t exactly emerge victorious, but at least we emerged intact.”
Lathria immediately rushed Kinguin to embrace him, but he held up a hand and shook his head. She stopped in her tracks and quickly regained her composure, and he gave her a smile and a wink. Kulara walked over grinning and patted the mage on the shoulder. “Well played, milord. Lathria told us all about your rescue. I have to say, I’m a little surprised. Aren’t you worried that you’ll be kicked out of the Arcanum for violating your oath to never kill?”
“Please, Kulara, be serious. The day the Arcanum tries to kick me out is the day they find themselves in need of a new tower.”
Kulara almost laughed but, realizing that Kinguin was deadly serious, he instead nodded soberly. Just then Myris shouted down from the wall, “Good to see you are yet among us, Lord Kinguin. General, sir, we have company.”
“So soon? This can’t be a good sign. Cildar, get the Dragoons out here pronto.”
The paladin turned and nodded to Shasta, who quickly dashed to fetch the rest of the corps. The remaining councilors climbed the steps to Myris’ position. None of them could see anything below, as night had already settled around the city. Myris assured them that Cainites were approaching from the south, in a force of seven thousand. They patiently waited for this regiment to reach them. When the dark forces finally came close enough to be seen, the troops fanned out and boldly came right up against Felthespar’s walls, leaving an area of a few hundred square yards in front of the main gate clear. Zynex prepared to signal his archers to unleash a few volleys, but Kulara stopped him.
The army was illuminated by the series of hundreds of torches that ran the length of Felthespar’s walls. The Cainite troops came to the position they wanted and ceased all movement. For a moment nothing happened. Then Stratas and Tomir stepped into the clearing that had been formed. They looked up at the wall, and the mystic pointed and whispered something into his Lord Commander’s ear. Stratas nodded and the man fell back into the ranks. Finally the Cainite commander turned his attention to the knights on the wall.
“General Karfa, was it?”
“You know my name, scoundrel. What do you want?”
“I’m afraid you’re in violation of our contractual agreement.”
“I don’t see how. You asked us to try a different assault every other day, and we have upheld that bargain.”
“I don’t remember any attack on my army today. All I remember is a cowardly assassination attempt, unbecoming of warriors.”
Kulara scoffed at this. “If you had been able to, you would have been assassinating my officers one by one since the outset of this war!”
Stratas smiled at the retort. “Perhaps. Still, I’ve taken personal offense to the assassination attempt. So here are my terms—either send me down the mages that broke into my camp, or I’ll release the lich. You have five minutes to decide. I recommend you discuss quickly.”
Everyone took a step back from the battlements and began conferring. “That’s it,” Kulara opened, “we can’t let him have his way again. If we do, he’s just going to spend the rest of this war threatening to send the lich at us whenever things don’t go his way. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to confront this thing head on.”
Kinguin spoke next. “Let him release the lich. I will go down and face it personally. It’s me that they’re after anyway, so it’s the logical decision.”
“No,” Myris interjected, “it was my idea that got us into this. I should be the one to fight the lich. I can at least buy you time.”
Cildar turned away in disgust and walked over to the edge of the wall. “I’m glad to see that so many of you are willing to throw your lives away and accomplish absolutely nothing by it. But why don’t we just send someone who can actually kill this thing?” With that, he launched himself over the wall and landed solidly on the ground below, staring Stratas Ezul in the face.
Myris dashed to the wall. “Cildar, don’t! Kulara, you have to stop him!”
The General stepped up and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Not this time, friend. I think he has a point. Let’s let him kill this thing.”
Myris turned and glared ferociously. “Do you realize what you say? This is a lich. A lich! They cannot be killed by mortals, not by mere humans. And as mighty as you might think Cildar is, and as mighty as he clearly thinks himself, he cannot fight a lich!”
Kulara turned and looked back toward the city. Shasta had led the Dragoons over and they waited patiently on the campground below, ready for action. “The Dragoons
are ready, and you’re ready. If it looks like Cildar’s in danger, we’ll strike fast and hard and get him out of there.”
“Maybe,” Kinguin added, “but there’s still going to be a rampaging lich to contend with.”
“Suggestions?”
“Yes, actually. Liches are still primarily vulnerable to white magic, as much as they’re vulnerable to anything. Send for the Lord Cardinal and tell him to bring the Staff of Ainshen. If Cildar can’t defeat this thing, then the Staff may yet destroy it.”
As this conversation was happening on the battlements, down below Cildar confronted Stratas. “You came to our land and declared war on us, and we have played it your way up until this day. I am here with a message. Felthespar will be pushed around no longer. This is a war, so bring your worst and we’ll bring our best, and we’ll see who overcomes.”
Stratas cocked his head to the side. “I’m not sure I understand. Are you—are you actually daring me to summon my lich? Are you actually going to stand here and fight my lich?”
“No.”
“I thought not.”
“I’m going to kill your lich. Then I’m going to kill you. So unless you wish to die first, you had best get to it.”
Stratas spat in Cildar’s direction. “Fool. You’ll die a death more horrible than a thousand soldiers. Have things your way.” He turned and stepped back into the ranks of Cainites, and as he was walking away gave a clap.
A dark circle appeared across the ground in front of Cildar. He looked around at the Cainite army. They were all over thirty yards away, so there was plenty of room for him to work without fear of interference. He waited as the darkness spread from the ground and formed a cloud in front of him, then lost his patience.
He brought both his fists up high over his head, focused a tight Aura around himself, then rapidly bent over and slammed his fists into the ground shouting, “Holy Wave!”
A massive tidal force of light exploded from his body and engulfed the cloud. The Cainite troops split rapidly to avoid the attack, but a few stragglers drowned in the cleansing blast. When the light faded, a small trail of smoke was all that remained. The dark circle on the ground began to rise up, and soon the lich’s physical form of shrouded cloaks appeared.