by Mark B Frost
“But what of your dream? Your desire for that singular fight?”
“I have not dreamed in a long time, Atheme. While my eyes are open I see only the chaos of unrelenting screeching currents, and when they are closed I see and hear the deaths of innocents at my own hands. I may have once sought such a fight. Now, I humbly beg for silence.”
For a while they said nothing more, each absorbing the dire nature of the situation they were in. On the one path lay Abaddon’s demise. On the other, the possible condemnation of every living soul. There was no real choice, Atheme knew. He could not sacrifice the entire world so that one man might live an empty existence he did not even want.
“You really want to go through with this?”
“What would you do were you in my stead? What guidance would my master offer me in this?”
“I can offer you no guidance, Abaddon. Not this time. I am no longer qualified to be your master. I think I have not been for some time.” A tear slid down Atheme’s cheek, and he turned and offered a hand. “You will always be a brother to me. I hate knowing that I will live the rest of my life without you by my side. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you before, and I know that it might not be appropriate between soldiers like us, but I want you to know that you are my family.”
Abaddon extended his hand as well, and they grasped each other’s forearms in a soldier’s handshake. “You’ve been father, brother, and teacher to me. But I was always happiest when you called me friend.”
They said nothing more for a time, then headed back to camp. Serene was sitting there by herself, as far from Kargaroth as she could get. Her silver eyes were fierce now, and she seemed impatient to be moving again. Abaddon seized the sword and laid it across his back, and they all exchanged glances.
They headed south again, navigating their way between rocky spires that reached for the stars. About an hour later they stepped free of the natural barrier and found themselves standing before a massive crater, two or three miles across, with suddenly steep canyon walls. It looked as if a giant scar had been torn into the earth’s surface.
“Well,” Atheme pondered, “how do we get across this one?”
“We’re not going across it,” Serene pointed out. “We’re going straight into it. The ether pole is at the very bottom.”
He nodded somberly. “So this is the final leg, then. No reason to linger now. Let’s move.” With that, the three began carefully descending the sloped walls.
* * * * *
The Cainites closed in quickly on Cildar, hoping to easily cut him down en masse in his weakened condition. By the time the first Elites had reached his position, so had Myris Phare. Waves of fire and lightning flew from his katana and Soul Scythe as he shredded anyone bold enough to come near him. He was everywhere around his wounded friend, using his uncanny speed to fend off attackers from three different positions simultaneously. It appeared that he would have held off the entire Cainite army single-handedly.
Kulara did not leave him unsupported, however, quickly giving the signal to have the front gate opened and bellowing out, “Dragoons! Save your lord! Military Councilors, to arms! We’re going into this one ourselves.”
The General jumped recklessly over the wall and unsheathed his Dual Blade, dashing into the tide of enemies. A wave of bold Cainites tried to take advantage of the opened gates and charge into the city, but they were soon left lifeless and broken across Dragoon sword, spear, and shield. Kulara’s Military Councilors sent a few orders down through their lieutenants, and soon the full standing army was brought forth and marching into battle.
The Dragoons quickly made their way to Cildar and Myris, the Lord of the Cain still cutting down every foe within range of his attacks. The infantry and war mages joined the fray, but the Cainite forces were not deterred. They dropped back from the city to regroup, and Stratas stepped forward and led a united charge. Kulara made certain that a group of medics had intercepted Cildar and were making their way safely back into the city, then launched a countercharge.
“The city gates are wide open and the battle is met,” he bellowed. “Either we win this, or every last one of us dies here trying. Forward!” Every soldier from Felthespar let forth a ferocious roar, and the city walls themselves shook with reverberations. The two sides clashed together for the first true battle in many moons.
The numbers were closer than they had been in past encounters, but the Cainites still held the advantage, seven thousand over four and a half. Kulara lost himself in the lust for battle, using a combination of sword techniques with the Dual Blade and his own vicious martial arts killing blows to belabor his foes. He came to himself about half an hour later, amazed that he had been fighting for so long, then called some nearby officers to him and took stock of the situation.
The Felthespari forces had been doing fairly well at keeping their casualties down, with the front rank of Dragoons holding the Cainites at bay. Still, they had lost a few hundred soldiers and been steadily driven back against the city walls. The General tried to invigorate the attempts at pushing the Cainites back, but he knew he did not have enough troops. His heart begin to sink and he wondered if this was to be the end.
Then there was a loud crash. It was barely noticeable over the clamor of the battle, but Kulara was able to distinguish it. It sounded as though a fresh unit had joined the battle, though he could not say from where, or whose side they were on. He ran forward swinging the Dual Blade wildly, forcing his way deeper into the Cainite forces and trying to gain a vantage point where he could tell what was happening.
He pushed in too far and left his back exposed. When some Cainites attacked him from behind, he was forced to turn and contend with them. He was surrounded and outnumbered, but he managed to tear down a score of foes before wounds and exhaustion began to get the better of him. A trio of Cainites rushed him at once from the front and, though he knew his life depended on it, he could think of no way to kill them all without dying himself.
Then a huge man wielding a mighty war club charged through and ripped off the heads of the soldiers attacking Kulara. Cainites tried to swarm him as well, but he quickly drove them back with a long pike, using his club to crush skull and spine of anyone who made it close enough to strike a blow. Shortly Myris joined them, and a well-placed Fire Draw sent the Cainites retreating from the Felthespari general.
“Who are you, and want do you want?” Kulara immediately asked of the stranger.
“I am Kalema Dijar, Lord of the Barki. As for what I want, I have come to kill Cainites.”
Kulara delivered a few swipes of his Dual Blade at an attacking Elite. “I’m not going to deny you the pleasure, but I thought Barkus only put their neck on the line for money.”
The King of Shadows likewise lay into some nearby Cainites with his pike and answered, “This is a matter of integrity. I owe a debt to the Onion Lord Atheme Tethen. My honor will be restored even if I must spill my life’s blood.”
Kulara smiled upon hearing Atheme’s name. Even a continent away, the Lord Councilor’s hand could still be felt protecting his city. Myris turned and began cutting the warlords a path back to the main army, when suddenly the area around them was flooded in a rush of Dragoon and Barki warriors, all fighting in the fervor of their newfound alliance. In the darkness of the night Kulara could not get a decent count of how many fighters Kalema had brought with him, but neither could the Cainites. Unsure of the force they were up against, they began to fall back rapidly. Stratas finally sounded a reluctant retreat when an Ice Arrow from Zynex took his shoulder, disabling his entire right side. The Dragoons and Barki began pursuit, anxious to kill as many as they could get their hands on, but Kulara sounded his own withdrawal and everyone poured back behind the city walls.
Once they had regrouped within the city, the General called a full Council meeting and sent a squad of medics out to retrieve the dead, accompanied by a group of archers and a few Children of Cain for protection. Soon everyone was assembled in Kulara�
�s command tent, mostly uninjured, with the addition of their new ally.
“For those of you who haven’t already heard,” he opened, “this is Kalema Dijar, King of Barkus. He has brought his warriors to reinforce ours.” A loud cheer immediately went up from those assembled, and it took Kulara a full minute to order them silent. “Kalema, what do you bring to the battle?”
“Nearly three thousand of my finest warriors, each ready to fight and die at my behest.”
Kulara took a long breath, and sat down on a stool with a tranquil smile across his grizzled face. “Lord Cardinal, if you would, assemble the Templar squads and tell them to report to me in the morning. Cildar, tell the Cavalry to ready their mounts. We’re bringing them out of reserve. And have a peist prepared for each Dragoon. Myris, pull all of the Children of Cain back into the city and gather the final intelligence reports from them. Kinguin, put the final touches on your little surprise. The next time we meet the Cainites in battle, we hit them with everything we’ve got.”
Chapter 42.
The Plan!
A few minutes before dawn, Zynex, Fujia, and Fujia’s young wife Apollina sat in the main courtyard lounging. The three officers were old friends, Zynex and Apollina having grown up together, with Fujia later marrying her way into the group. Apollina had followed the archer lord to Felthespar when he had left Jegan over ten years ago, and he had long mentored her in her pursuit of archery. They were as close as siblings, but since her marriage they had not spent much time together. Zynex was uncertain the gloomy young woman was the best thing for his “sis”, but he had never attempted to interfere with her decisions.
Fujia stood aside quietly as the two archers conversed. “So,” Apollina asked of the Lord of Lurin, “what do you think about the rumors going around? They say these new soldiers are so good, and there are so many of them, that the next battle is going to win us the war by itself.”
He nodded. “I happen to know the rumors are coming directly from Kulara himself. He mentioned it to me just earlier this evening when I was making final arrangements for archer placement. He seems confident enough about it, and the General usually knows what he’s talking about.”
“I don’t know. It sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? One minute we’re losing the war by this huge margin, being beaten back against our own walls, then in rides reinforcements and we overthrow our enemies in one mighty blow.”
He smiled broadly. “All you need for a fairy tale is a little magic.” He removed the Bow of Traval from his back and raised it proudly. “And right here, I’ve got all the magic you could ask for.”
“Oh yes! I heard about your ancestral bow, but you still haven’t given me a demonstration. How does it work?”
Zynex drew one of Kinguin’s magical arrows from his quiver and explained, “First of all, the bow is perfect. The string is always perfect tautness, the frame gives perfect support, and the shots are the most accurate and powerful that could be desired. But that’s just the little perks. The real power comes when you use these blank magic arrows, and fire them through one of the colored slots. Each slot gives a special enchantment and causes the fired arrow to have explosive elemental properties. I can pretty easily use the ice slot, but the fire slot gives me a little bit of trouble, and my Lightning Arrows are barely accurate at all, so they’re next to useless. I haven’t been able to get an arrow lined up on the fourth slot to save my life. I don’t think it’s even possible. Makes me wonder why the bow was built this way, when it was supposedly designed by such brilliant magicians.”
“So how are the arrows activated?” she queried.
“Huh?”
“Well, what gives them their magical properties?”
“Oh. The way Kinguin explained it, they gain the attributes of the spell when they hit the strip, then the spell is released when the arrow experiences an impact of a certain magnitude. He said it was pretty important that I didn’t ever start to fire an arrow, let it hit one of the notches, and then stop my shot, because it would basically make a little impact grenade.”
“Do they have to hit the strips at a certain speed, or with a certain amount of force?”
“Uhh, I don’t think so. Why are you asking so many questions?”
“You just said that you have a hard time firing from some of the higher slots. I was wondering why you don’t take one of your blank arrows, strike it to the slot that you want it to gain the magic from, and then fire it from the normal position.”
Zynex stared at her blankly for a few seconds, then turned his gaze upon the bow and arrow in his hands. “Well. Er, that is... I guess...” After he finished sputtering he lapsed into thought for a few moments. “Kinguin did say that the actual release of the spell was triggered when the arrowhead hit something with enough force. So if I power an arrow up, and make certain that the arrowhead didn’t strike the front of the bow, that could work.”
He took the blank arrow and struck it against the weakest slot, the ice elemental, and fired it out over the city wall. The instant it left the bow, Zynex cheered that it had not exploded in his own hands, then dashed to the wall and up the steps to the battlements. Apollina stood quickly and followed, but Fujia remained where she was comfortably seated on the grass. As the sun made its first appearance the archers spotted a large patch of ice on the battleground below, and gave each other an excited hug.
They dashed back down to Fujia and gave their excited rendition of the story, even though she had been present the entire time. She gave a soft smile to her wife and then turned to Zynex with a serious look. “Sun’s up. We should be getting to the command tent. Kulara doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Zynex agreed and they bid Apollina a good morning. After she and Fujia exchanged a kiss, the two councilors headed off.
* * * * *
On that same dawn, Stratas Ezul laid about the heads of the troops meandering about outside of his command tent, shouting obscenities in a variety of Cainite languages and generally venting his rage. He knew better than to enter the tent angry as he was, since either Hartik or Brakken could easily kill him with a single blow. He made certain his temper was fairly cooled before heading into the meeting.
In spite of his efforts, the first words out of his mouth were, “Someone tell me what the hell happened out there!”
Hartik lifted his massive sledgehammer and slammed it lightly onto the ground, causing the tent to shake slightly. “You were in charge of the operation. You took only Tomir with you, choosing to leave us behind and take the bulk of the army under your personal wing. You tell us what went wrong, Lord Commander.”
Stratas looked around the room and was met by a series of harsh glares from all save Tomir, who seemed usually cheerful and unaffected. The young Cainite warlord felt the reins of power slipping from his hands, and his nervousness rose rapidly as Brakken climbed to his feet.
“Answer the question, Stratas. We’d all like to know.” Brakken’s arms hung at his side with a poised calm, and a dangerous light played in his eyes.
Stratas’ throat felt tight and his fingers twitched. “After you headed back to the city, I rendezvoused with Tomir and found out about the assassination attempt. He told me that the mage was a threat to us, so I took a force to quickly retrieve him. It wasn’t intended to be a pitched battle, else I would have been more organized about it.”
Tomir nodded. “I did say the mage was a threat. But so is the Dragoon, and the traitor Myris, and now the Lord of Barkus. Should we mount personal crusades against all of them? I certainly never suggested such a thing,” he commented with a debonair smile.
Stratas took a couple of steps back and shook his head thoughtfully. “I made a mistake. A good leader can admit when he makes a mistake, so I admit it. A mistake was made.”
Karrin lifted her rebuilt Mammoth Scythe and pointed it forward accusingly. “You lost us our lich. You allowed a new rank of troops to link up with the Onion Knight corps. Your careless, unorthodox, hands-off approach to th
e war up to this point has nearly lost us our advantage in numbers. We agree that a mistake was made—when you assumed command, that was a mistake.”
She made a motion with her scythe, and Brakken started walking toward Stratas. “You kill me and you’re the new leader, Brakken!” The imperiled man shouted, keeping his voice barely a notch below panic. “Is that what you want?”
The brawler halted his approach and stared for a few seconds. Under Cainite law, if a standing commander assassinated the Lord Commander, then he or she had to assume the position until death. It was the Cainite way of assuring that skirmishes between commanders did not result in assassinations, as a leader appointed for life had historically proven to serve remarkably short terms.
Brakken, of course, did not fear a future assassination. Rather, he held no desires for leadership under any circumstances, and the notion of being leader for life was even less appealing. He gave Stratas a smile, a bow, then returned to the edge of the tent and had a seat. In light of this, Hartik lifted his sledgehammer and looked to Thian for instruction. Thian shook his head and lowered a hand, so the mountain man set the boulder back on the ground.
Tomir sat passing a rock back and forth between his hands, amused by the whole show. Clearly he had no malicious designs, so Stratas turned to Karrin. “Well, Miss Tranch, that just leaves you.” A relieved smile already decorated his features and his hand rested lightly on a weapon on his belt, a small two-foot mace with a plain steel ball at the top. Karrin could not beat Stratas, and they both knew it. She let her scythe drop into the ground and turned her back to him.
“I’m glad we have that out of the way,” he announced calmly. “I’m not going to hold any of you accountable for your actions here, because it’s only natural that when something goes wrong people want to hand off the blame. Instead, let’s look at our situation rationally. The Onion Knights have a fresh number of troops, somewhere between two and three thousand estimated. This puts their forces at an absolute max of eight thousand soldiers, and almost certainly no more than seven thousand capable of war right now. We can still at leisure pull out a force of healthy troops of over ten thousand. Felthespar is far from turning the tables.