by Mark B Frost
That was three battles ago. Since then, both sides were going through the motions. The daily assaults from the Knighthood had dropped to every two days, then every four. Both sides had stopped using black magic, in an unspoken truce. Casualties were the lowest they had ever been. It amounted to little more than two disheartened armies beating on each other’s shields.
Vantrisk’s soldiers showed no signs of leadership. Cildar reckoned their last breach had caused some kind of political tipping point internally, and the city was crippled. Every inch of him longed to take advantage of it.
“Anyone got any ideas?” Shasta asked dejectedly, taking a drink from his mug. They had exhausted their supply of wine from the commanders’ rations and were left drinking bad ale.
Galbion shook his head. “I’m too tired for ideas.”
Cildar patted the young man on the shoulder. “You can only fake the effects of sleep for so long. You need the real thing. Go, get some rest. That’s an order. If I find you anywhere near the medic stations, I’ll demote you where you stand.”
The priest gave a nod and left the small campfire. The two Dragoons remained with Myris and a female Cainite, possibly Myris’ second-in-command. She never spoke in the presence of Knighthood soldiers, so Cildar was uncertain of her stature.
Though he hated to admit it, the paladin had developed quite a fondness for the Cainite lord. Myris made an effective ally in battle, and had a peculiar sense of humor. At first Cildar had found his biting tone and dark jokes frustrating, but after a few conversations he grew to understand that it was another part of the man’s mask. As a Phare, he was the last remaining member of any of the ancient Cainite family lines. With no leadership structure remaining, his people had placed their faith in him. It was a heavy burden, and he coped however he could. In reality Myris was as lost as his people. He could not see the path to a brighter future. As an Emle, this feeling of being both honored and overwhelmed by one’s place in life resonated with Cildar. He felt he and the Cainite had grown to understand one another.
In that spirit, he decided to bring up a subject he had not previously had the courage to approach. “Myris, I’ve been curious. We at the Knighthood know nothing of the Cainites since the Arocaen. What happened to your people the past few hundred years?”
“After the Arocaen, our forces were virtually annihilated. We were weakened and without hope. Fearing persecution for our actions—which was a very real threat—we had no choice but to abandon the northern parts of the continent. We escaped to the mountains in the south. It was decided that living on the slopes might attract undesired attention, so we hollowed out the largest mountain and made it our city. We used complicated heraldry to direct the flow of light, heat, and air to the proper places. In this way, we were able to survive.
“It was not without problems. The mountain’s interiors were a poor place for growing food, but while hollowing out Cainis we found the mountains were rich in ores and semi-precious stones. We turned ourselves to crafting jewelry. Several times a year, we traveled to nearby villages to trade for food and supplies. For about two hundred years we flourished. But eventually we began to strip our mines of ore, and it became harder to trade for enough food.
“Soon our population began to dwindle, and we became desperate for a better life. We held a discussion lasting several days and decided that we could endure exile no longer. We hoped that the outside world had forgotten the past, as we had. Mostly that has been true. Many of the cities we have passed have not even recognized us. Still we have found no home. Some villages have offered us food, some even a place to rest for a night, but none would take us in for long. We were coming to Vantrisk to see what they might offer. We had heard that the city was flourishing, and the bounty from the sea served them well. We hoped they might make room for a few wayward souls. In return we have soldiers, men and women fit for fighting, and we would offer our services.”
“Instead you ran into us,” Cildar added.
“It made no difference to us whether we joined you or them. It became a simple logistics issue. Your army would not have let us reach Vantrisk and aid your enemy. We could not risk our women and children in such an assault. So it was decided that we would attempt to bargain with you, our ancient enemies. Had you declined, we would have left, perhaps traveling to Jegan in the north. I have heard good things of it.”
“Jegan’s a lovely place,” Shasta chimed in. “They have no quarrels with anyone. It’s probably the safest place on the continent.” He took another drink, then moved to refill his cup. “When we finish up here, you should go there. They’ll take you in. If you can work, Jegan accepts everyone.”
“Except Cainites,” Cildar disagreed. He turned to Myris to explain. “Jegan has no quarrels with anyone because they make careful decisions. They don’t take sides, and they deflect trouble. Their magistrates are good at this. Jegan’s the closest major city to Felthespar, and it’s that relationship they value most of all. They won’t take in a large group of Felthespar’s enemies, Cainite or otherwise. They’d run it by our Grand Council, they’ll receive an emphatic ‘no’, and you’ll be asked to leave.”
“Does Felthespar truly still hate my people so?” Myris asked softly.
Cildar waved a hand. “They just fear what they don’t know. We, I mean. Look, Felthespar’s never going to let you settle in nearby. But we can perhaps bring you into the fold directly, where we can keep an eye on you. I’m not making promises, because I’m not my government. And it won’t exactly be nice, certainly not for a while. You’ll be treated more like prisoners than guests—under curfew, escort, limited freedom of movement. But if you’re most concerned about your people’s survival, I can guarantee you’re not mistreated. Maybe in time, we can carve up a little section of the city and give you your own neighborhood. In a few years, who knows. There’s at least a chance.”
“That’s all we hope for,” Myris responded.
Shasta cut in, motioning back to the city below them. “Like I said earlier, ideas?”
Cildar rubbed his head in frustration. “There’s nothing we can do, Shasta. I told you when this began, we’re holding out for a response from Felthespar. Just because the war has gone slightly better than expected doesn’t change that. We still can’t beat that dragon. Not without our magic, and not without the Dragoons.”
“My people are willing to face this beast,” Myris said.
“I have no doubts,” Cildar replied. “Your people are fearless in combat. But I have seen you fight with and without your magic at full strength, and it is a dramatic difference. Under normal currents, you may be a match for anything. But here, you have no business facing a dragon.”
At that moment a runner came to the campfire and gave a bow. “Sir! Reinforcements are approaching from the north.”
Cildar stood swiftly, cleansing the effects of alcohol with a surge of white magic from his Lance. “They must bear news. How many?”
“Two thousand, sir.”
Shasta leaped to his feet in excitement. “This is wonderful!”
Cildar made a slashing motion with his hand, demanding silence. “Are the Dragoons with them?”
“No sir.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t good news. If they’re doing a troop refresh, it means they intend to leave us sitting out here longer. No decision has been made. The capital must be in turmoil.”
“Could Revian have attacked?” the younger Dragoon asked.
“I can’t imagine. They never would’ve sent fresh troops in that case. This must be something political. Maybe someone big died—Leprue, Kulara, Vesovius—any one of them could throw the city into disorder.” He turned back to the runner. “When they get here, send their Major to my personal tent.”
“Should we start preparing the troops to go home?” the man asked.
“No. Protocol is to wait until we receive orders from the arriving Major. We’ll stand by it, for now. We’re going to have a hard enough time explaining the Cain
ites without causing more trouble.” The runner took his leave, and Cildar continued, “With due respect, Myris, it would be best if you laid low. I need to intercept this new Major before he finds out about you and see if I can make him understand things. I recommend you prepare your people to make a retreat, in case the situation goes beyond my control.”
“My people are always prepared for a retreat,” he answered.
Cildar threw a salute, then marched to his command tent. Shasta caught up with him. “I’m with you, sir.”
He thought of ordering the man elsewhere, but if the upcoming meeting came to blows having a second Dragoon on hand would be invaluable. “Alright, just in case things go south. But otherwise, stay quiet.”
It was nearly an hour before the new commander stepped into Cildar’s tent. The man was the biggest the paladin had ever seen. He was a couple of inches shorter than Cildar, but possessed a much larger frame. His clothes were black, save the thick grey leather gloves and a long purple cape. A single white headband above his brow served to keep his long hair out of his eyes, and a scabbard held a tremendous broadsword on his back.
Cildar stood and gave a bow. “Greetings, Major. I don’t believe we’ve met. You must have been recently promoted. From the heavy infantry, I would wager.”
“Apprise me of the situation,” the man demanded in a deep voice, clearly in no mood for formalities.
The paladin returned to his seat and cleared his throat. “The war is progressing as well as can be expected. Our numbers are holding, although our troops are fatigued. Vantrisk is suffering similar conditions, and their soldiers are less weathered than ours. At the moment, we hold the advantage.”
The big man started moving around the room, looking through Cildar’s documents and maps on the tent walls. “How many fighters do you still have?”
“You mean fit to serve? There’s maybe five hundred grizzled veterans still strong. Mostly heavy infantry, although I’ve got a mix of a hundred good archers and war mages left.”
“Forget fit to serve. How many fighters do you have? Who’s still on their feet?”
Cildar scratched the back of his head, concerned with the implications of the question. “There’s maybe sixteen hundred still standing. Major, isn’t this a troop refresh?”
The man closed the book he was looking at and turned back to the paladin. “What if I say yes?”
“Then I’ll remind you that under the terms of a troop refresh, we send a nearly equal number of troops home. The knights here should be dismissed. They’ve more than adequately served their tour.”
“Then this isn’t a troop refresh. You’ve done a good job here. Felthespar’s impression of the war is far bleaker than the reality.”
Cildar squinted. As the heir of the Emle line, he was accustomed to a certain amount of respect not just from his peers, but even from superior officers. Yet here stood a man he did not recognize, a good decade younger than him, clearly not impressed by the paladin’s presence. He wondered if the man was unaware of his stature, or merely so brazen that he did not care.
“We’ll come back to that. There’s another matter you should know about.”
“And that is?”
“As you must know, Felthespar recalled the Dragoons some time ago, leaving our forces here crippled. Since then, we have only been able to get by thanks to an unexpected ally. I’m not sure exactly how to say this, so I’ll cut right to it—they’re Cainites. They are still alive, and allied with us. I know it sounds strange, but I can explain.”
“Are their soldiers strong?”
“Extremely. They’re a match for the Dragoon forces we lost.”
“How many troops do they add?”
“Three hundred and fifty, maybe more. I don’t have an exact count.”
“So added to your other troops, you still have a force of nearly two thousand. With the knights I bring, we’ll be at four. We’ll give the soldiers one day of rest and then strike. That will give us time to integrate our forces and prepare a strategy.”
Cildar was in shock. He looked to Shasta for an explanation, but his lieutenant offered him a shrug. He turned back to his guest. “Sir, did you hear what I said? About the Cainites?”
“I heard you say they were good soldiers. Was there something more?”
Cildar stood slowly to his feet, his head reeling. He steadied himself and glared at the man before him. “Who are you, exactly?”
“I am the Daemon.”
“I’ve never heard that title. Are you a Major?”
“No.”
“What’s your rank? Platinum Knight? Gold? Templar? Are you even a citizen of Felthespar?”
“I am not.”
The Dragoon moved around his desk and stormed within a few inches of the man, close enough that he could angle his stare slightly downward. “Then what are you doing in my command tent giving me orders? Why are you leading two thousand Knighthood soldiers?”
The man reached into his shirt and drew out a piece of paper, then handed it to Cildar, who tore it open and began reading. He looked to the man, then back to Shasta, and then read the paper again.
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“The order is clear enough.”
“What does it say, sir?” Shasta asked from the back of the tent.
Cildar shook his head. “It reads, ‘Authority is hereby granted to Abaddon Daemon to oversee Military Operations involving the vassal state of Vantrisk. Until such time as hostilities between Felthespar and Vantrisk have dissolved, Abaddon Daemon is appointed the rank of Field Marshal, and his authority supersedes all others, answering only to the Grand Council of Felthespar itself.’ And it bears the official seal of the Grand Council, and is signed by Leprue, and Vesovius. If it’s a fake, it’s a damned good one.”
“It is no fake,” Abaddon assured him.
“Why you? Why would the Grand Council grant unchecked authority to an outsider?”
“You have a dragon problem, right?” Abaddon asked. Cildar nodded in response. “Think of me as a specialist.”
“You’ve killed dragons, then?”
“No. Why, have you?”
An awestruck Cildar handed the man’s letter back to him. “I-I don’t understand.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t matter tomorrow.”
“Why?” Shasta asked with his commander speechless. “What happens tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” the big man explained as he exited the tent, “we conquer Vantrisk.”
Chapter 8.
The Red Dragon of Vantrisk
The next day Abaddon sat in the area that had formerly been the commander’s campfire. Cildar had reluctantly assigned Shasta to assist him, and now the man was holding meetings with various lieutenants throughout the morning. As he did so he kept notes in a small notebook he had nearby, allocating troop placement for the upcoming battle.
As the man finished his meeting with Myris, Cildar moved quickly to intercept the Cainite lord. “How’d that go?”
“He holds an impressive tactical mind. He is using a mix of the Cainite forces and heavy infantry as an initial wedge, driving a thousand soldiers into the center of the city. Our outside troops will still hold a two-to-one advantage, while the one inside should be durable enough to hold the civilian onslaught at bay. The outside forces then collapse back and form a pincer, with two flanks of archers and war mages attacking their archer towers.”
“We’ve tried that before. They hold the high ground, and our weakened war mages struggle to make substantial gain.”
“They will not be attacking as offense, but rather as defense. Each archer is paired with a war mage, and the mage will be focusing on a heraldric barrier to deflect enemy arrows. They are working now to place enchantment scrolls on our arrows so that they can fire through these shields. The goal is merely to distract the archer towers, and keep them from injuring our troops from attacks they cannot defend against.”
Cildar nodded, scratching his c
hin. “That’s not bad. It’ll keep casualties to a minimum, and keep morale on our side. Even so, this isn’t something we haven’t accomplished before. We’ve breached the city. We’ve gained control over the outside forces. That’s not where the war is won and lost.”
“He says he can take down their rune structure.”
“How?”
“I am uncertain, he will not speak on the subject. But it is his reasoning behind driving the Cainites in early. Once he breaks down the rune structure my people will regain our strength. He mentioned someone named Kinguin.”
“Kinguin Peet,” Cildar responded optimistically. “The Lord Archmagus. He’s a brilliant man, if his reputation is to be believed.”
“According to him, it will take nearly an hour for the currents to normalize, but basic elemental spells should begin to pick up strength within minutes. With my people inside of the Vantrisk walls when this happens, it should turn the war swiftly. It is a deserving plan. I am perhaps most impressed by his willingness to make use of my people’s strength. If he bears any grudge or misgivings about working with Cainites, he does not show them.”
“Yeah, he’s a charmer,” Cildar muttered.
“You dislike him?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m just unconvinced. What about the dragon? Does he have a strategy there?”
“He says he will handle it. He holds great resolve in that.”
“He says he’ll handle the rune structure, he says he’ll handle the dragon, but he can’t offer an explanation to either. I still don’t know who he is, or why the city would trust him with such an important mission. Something suspicious is going on at the capital. It fills me with unease.”
“One thing at a time, my friend. We must win the war in front of us before worrying about the ones beyond. You may die today. If so, your worrying will have been for naught.”
“Of course. I’d hate to die with high blood pressure.”
Myris chuckled and then slid away. Cildar took a small amount of satisfaction in getting a laugh out of the man, then went to find himself a drink.
