Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  He rolled his eyes as he read the recommendations. A year had passed since the Vantrisk war. In that time Atheme had led dozens of campaigns against the Revian forces, so he knew them better than most. As soldiers they were daunting, vicious in their assaults, but as a nation they were woefully unorganized. Revian led with orders directly from the capital city. With the vast delay between order and action, often their soldiers wound up marching into battles they could not win. Kulara had become quite adept at creating conditions that would elicit certain orders from the Revian capital, and then changing the conditions to make those orders self-destructive.

  In addition to their command deficiencies, Revian had no answer for Felthespar’s elites. Taking Cildar’s advice to heart, in the past year Atheme had used the Dragoon Corps only twice. Each time resulted in resounding victories, and months of disarray for the Revian army. Much of the war was being fought by Atheme, Cildar, and Myris themselves. The three warlords were more than any number of Revian forces could deal with, and Myris’ Children of Cain, in particular, excelled at dismantling their enemies with subterfuge and deception. Each day Atheme counted his blessings that he lived in an era where he counted Cainites as allies, not enemies.

  For these reasons, he knew that Revian holding Felthespar at siege was impossible. Revian’s strength came from the abundance and superiority of their individual troops. It was by spreading these troops wide across the continent that it had gained control of the disputed territories. Any attempt at a more direct assault against Felthespar favored the veteran warriors of the Knighthood.

  Revian was not coming for Felthespar. Instead they would keep spreading, moving into the north and south, working their way around the city. In time they would hold enough property in the central and eastern lands that they could besiege Felthespar via trade embargoes. Revian did not intend to defeat Felthespar, because they had no need. They were going to outlast it.

  He knew his people had reached the pivotal point in the war. Revian had encroached as far east as they could without confronting the imperial city, now they would begin to spread in other directions. Once this happened, the battle lines would vanish. Instead of east versus west, the battle would become Felthespar versus Itrius. Atheme could not allow that to happen. He had to drive them back, to push them into the west again, even if it was only to buy time. He had his own plans for the next phase of the war. Even so, he would sign at least a few of the orders to prepare for a siege, in the name of precaution.

  A knock sounded at his door, so he sat the wearisome documents aside as his assistant entered. The assistant’s new office was nearly as large as Atheme’s old one had been, and the man had not adjusted to the new surroundings, even after a year. “Lord Councilor, Lord Archmagus Kinguin Peet is here to see you.”

  “I’m expecting him. Send him in.” Kinguin entered and gave a bow, as Atheme motioned him to a seat across the desk. “Thank you for coming, Kinguin, but I would have been happy to meet you in Halariu.”

  “Nonsense, old friend. If I can’t drag myself out of that accursed tower at the behest of my Lord Councilor, when am I ever going to find an excuse?”

  Atheme smiled earnestly. Since their pact Kinguin had been true to his word, backing his Lord Councilor on every issue of importance. With his help—along with Cildar stepping in to replace Jora as the Councilor to the Military—Atheme had changed the direction of his nation’s government.

  In addition to his achievements in the field, the Lord Councilor had restored the authority of the General, brought the Council of Paladins under strict oversight, relegated the Dictus to their proper duties, settled the dispute between the Church and Emle estate with a rigid but expensive timeshare bargain, and redistributed the nation’s budget, allocating higher spending to the Military and Arcanum while decreasing taxes across the middle and lower classes. He had supplemented this lost income by forcing the Dictus to convert several of their services to efficient, profit-turning ventures, while simultaneously forcing the Church to become a strict nonprofit organization or face terrible fines and taxes.

  He had made his share of enemies, as was inevitable under such sweeping reforms, but the overwhelming chorus of his supporters grew every day. His insistence to serve as a Major in the Military resulted in him being beloved by soldiers and Templars alike, while his association with Relm—already labeled a prodigy by the Arcanum—smoothed relationships with the normally intractable branch.

  The successful incorporation of the Children of Cain into the Knighthood had aided him even further. They had become an endeared sector of the residential district, bringing a spirit of community service and friendly attitude Atheme had not predicted. Myris had established himself as a brilliant politician and now worked as an adviser for members of the Dictus, under the Lord Councilor’s direct oversight. The success and popularity of the Cain only further enhanced Atheme’s reach, and gave him positive influence over the branch that might have otherwise been the most opposed to his tenure thus far. Gaspar had attempted to start a coalition to have Atheme declared a tyrant and ousted from the Council, but the public backlash had been so violent it had nearly cost the man his own seat. Since then, rarely was a complaint uttered of Atheme Tethen, and within the month he was to be anointed a Knight of the Sun, a title currently held by no one else in the Knighthood.

  “I need a favor,” he opened to Kinguin.

  “Such fate! I need one as well. Perhaps an exchange can be arranged.”

  Atheme leaned back in his chair. “As I recall, I am presently in your debt. You go first.”

  “The sword, you mean? You never speak of it.”

  “Nor do I wish to now. But still I am in your debt.”

  “Very well. As you know, I’ve been working for some time to counter the advantage that Revian has over our soldiers. In that pursuit, I’ve created my most ingenious spell. I have crafted a rune structure which, when properly engraved in an empty suit of armor, creates a fighting spirit within it. I call them my Heraldric Automatons. Given time, they could supplement or even replace our soldiers. Think of it! If I can perfect the spell, there would be no more casualties in these wars. From that day, with each soldier lost we’d simply build another to replace it.”

  Atheme’s face expressed his disapproval. “Kinguin, though I consider each death a tragedy, I am still aware that war is made noble through sacrifice, through the courage and honor of soldiers who fight and believe in their cause. When you take the sacrifice out of war, you transform it into a game. Today, for us to enter a war we must have a cause we truly believe in. In the world you’re describing, war becomes too easy. There would be no reason to fear it and thus, it will never end.”

  “I would call that belief a soldier’s bias. It is not an uncommon one, especially on the present Grand Council. But as Lord Councilor, you must see the issue from all sides. You’re a member of the old guard, so your instinct is to reject something that you perceive as a threat to your way of life. I need you to go beyond that way of thinking. I need you to help me clear the matter through the Grand Council. I’m already assured the votes of the Church—who value human life over all things—and the Dictus—who only care that we win our wars—and of course my own vote. This leaves Cildar, Gaspar, and Leprue. As soldiers, I can count on them voting against me. As the Grand Council is split, it comes down to you.”

  Atheme sat up straight. “I know we have a certain comfort level, Kinguin, but this isn’t talk I should be hearing. You’re attempting to manipulate the Council.”

  “Manipulate? Please, do not brandy such hurtful accusations. I have not directly influenced anyone’s vote, have I? I am only predicting them. If I predict wrong, this entire conversation will have been moot. It is in the event that I am right that I ask you to give my idea a chance. For the Grand Council to simply throw this opportunity away over a soldier’s pride could be a tremendous loss. I am counting on your ability, as Lord Councilor, to think of your people. Not just the soldiers, or politi
cians, or even myself, but the thousands of individual citizens who have no control over their own fate and depend upon you for their protection.”

  Atheme slipped into thought. Kinguin said nothing more, knowing that he could only push so far without triggering an enraged reprisal. He hoped that the man’s feelings of debt overrode his soldier’s conscience, but Atheme was a thoughtful individual, and Kinguin dared not try to predetermine his actions. The Lord Councilor thought for some time, never moving an inch. Finally he announced his decision.

  “I cannot directly approve this. It is contrary to my very being. However, it is also possible that you are right and the decision is too big for one man, even myself. In light of that, there are a few allowances I can make. First, you must agree to my favor.”

  Kinguin raised an eyebrow. “Certainly. My service to you was never in question. Speak your mind.”

  “I want you to take an apprentice of my choosing. I will not allow your knowledge to die with you. I want you to teach all that you know to someone younger, while you’re still young enough to remember it all. The minds of men decay; even yours, in time.”

  He deliberated a moment. “An apprentice of your choosing. I have a hard time working with imbeciles, and as you know, I consider most individuals to be imbeciles.”

  “No need to worry about that. I am choosing Relm as your apprentice.”

  “Miss Sarin? I’ve heard some promising things about her. Are any of them true?”

  “All, and perhaps more. As you may know, Relm has no memory of her life from beyond a year ago. Whoever she was, it has quickly become apparent that she was already a proficient herald. She continues to remember more about heraldry than her current teachers in the Arcanum know. If you’re not careful, she may surpass even you.”

  “And yet, she scored a point less than I on her Review for Herald.”

  Atheme grinned, barely repressing a roll of his eyes. “It sounds like you’ve already had your eye on her.”

  “A point less, Tethen,” he answered with a wave of his hand.

  “Don’t be petulant, Kinguin. You had a perfect score! And you had already studied with Calvin. Relm has had no teachers to challenge her. In truth, for all of her time that I have taken up it’s remarkable that she found time to study at all.”

  “I suppose I can give the lass a chance. But I reserve the right to end the arrangement at any time.”

  “Three months, minimum.”

  “You and your endless conditions. Now, what of my automatons?”

  “You have to prove them. Not to me, but before the city in a public exhibition. The automatons must win in a battle against a soldier of my choosing. I will, however, let you choose more than one automaton. Whatever number you think is fair. If you win, I will take a poll from the audience. If they feel the automatons have surpassed the skill of the average seasoned soldier, then I will announce plans to start incorporating them into the Military.”

  Kinguin rubbed his chin. “A fascinating proposition. I must choose a number of automatons that will allow me to win, but still leave the crowd sufficiently impressed by their performance. Creativity always was your strong suit, Tethen. I assume you’ll be choosing one of our Celestials?”

  “With the positions held by Leprue, Kulara, and myself, it would not be appropriate for one of us to participate in such an event.”

  “There is Cildar to consider, now.”

  “Ah yes, forgive my oversight. But I will similarly not be selecting our Lord of the Phoenix for this event.”

  “Three, then. If I can make three Automatons function at the level of a Platinum Knight, I believe that would be a fair threshold to justify mass production.” Atheme sat silently for a moment, a smile playing on his face. Kinguin narrowed his eyes suspicious. “What is it?”

  “Three? That would be impressive. It’s difficult for me to imagine three of any creature that might best Abaddon Daemon.”

  Kinguin’s widened his eyes. “You’re choosing him? I was under the impression that he was still years from recovery.”

  “He surprised us all. None less than Lord Aveni. Abaddon was on his feet again within two months. Within three, since he was confined to Church property, he had found the Templar training quarters and began sparring with them, utterly humiliating them. They quickly promoted him to Templar so word couldn’t get out that a civilian was now teaching them to fight. After a couple of months of that, he and I began to train together. It was only last week that I had Kulara officially enlist him in the Military. The Council had already recommended him as a Platinum Knight, but the Eldram insisted on conducting a Review. I’m told the Examiner will survive, although it will be some time before he forgets this Review.”

  “You deceived me, Tethen, and you know it! You said no Celestials, and you know Abaddon is an equivalent fighter to any of our Celestials.”

  “Don’t get so uptight. I’m not going to hold you to your rule of three. You can change the number of automatons at whatever time you wish.”

  Kinguin stood and straightened his robes. “I will take six, then. But I’ll need time to work on them. Clearly I need to take them to another level.”

  Atheme nodded and the herald took his exit. Before he made it to the door, Atheme shouted, “You should probably make it a dozen.” Kinguin swallowed, nodded, and headed on his way.

  * * * * *

  Zynex Traval stood in a glade near the Military’s external training grounds, working with a group of apprentice archers. He had set up a small target on a tree at the far end of the glade, and assigned each archer a quiver of arrows with differently colored feathers. The target was unrealistically far away, and apprentices could not be expected to make the center. Humility was an important part of a young soldier’s development, however, and Kulara encouraged all of his officers to incorporate it.

  Zynex ran his fingers through his thick, prematurely white hair, repressing an audible sigh. He hated this part of the training. He would have each archer fire three arrows in rapid succession at the target, and then later make evaluations of how they should improve their accuracy. It was far more taxing on the teacher than the students. Zynex hoped that he would be promoted to lordship soon, so he could opt out of this duty in the future.

  He marched down the row of archers, checking stances, grips, postures, and concentration. Once he was out of the path of fire, he raised his right arm up high. Catching the movement from the corners of their eyes, each archer instantly nocked an arrow to his or her bow. Zynex was pleased that everyone had responded. He hated working with those who had not yet developed keen peripheral vision. He dropped his arm, and the arrows were released. At that instant he noticed someone had stepped out of the bushes behind the tree at a rapid march, and stood directly in front of the target. Startled, Zynex screamed, “Get down!”

  Abaddon had stepped into the path of the arrows, and registered the situation quickly. He leaped fiercely backward and began snatching the murderous darts out of midair as they caught up with him. The archers watched astonished as the man’s hands moved in a blur, the arrows seeming to disappear to his swipes. A full second later Abaddon landed and his hands halted.

  His back was against the target on the tree, and in each hand he held a large group of arrows crushed by his grip. He turned his head to look slightly to his left and saw that one of the arrows, green-quilled, had successfully embedded itself in the target, about three inches away from his eye.

  Zynex dashed forward quickly to address Abaddon. His archers soon followed, crossing the glade in awe. “Sir, are you alright?” He felt as though he should recognize the man as someone of importance, but could not quite place him.

  Abaddon continued to grimace at the arrow in the target, ignoring the question. “Still slow.”

  Zynex blinked in confusion. “Slow, sir?”

  Abaddon finally turned to the man. He dropped the arrows he was holding and barked, “I’m looking for the General. Direct me to him.”

  Th
e archer commander went ridged and launched into a salute. “Sir! The General is in the command tent with Lord Terledor discussing military finances. I can lead you there if you need, sir!”

  “Don’t bother,” he replied. “I know the way.” With that, he marched past the dumbstruck archers and headed through the glade to Kulara’s tent.

  Zynex dropped his salute and looked at the pile of arrows lying at his feet. Looking up at the target, he reached forward and pulled out the one arrow Abaddon had missed.

  He stared at the arrow for a moment longer. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. “I thought I was fast.”

  * * * * *

  By the time Abaddon reached Kulara’s command tent, Terledor was preparing to leave. The big man would have preferred to wait until the Grand Councilor had made his exit, but Kulara caught sight of his shadow outside of the tent and had him shown in.

  The General launched introductions immediately, “Lord Terledor, I’m not sure if you’ve met our newest soldier. He passed his Platinum review within two days of being admitted into the Knighthood. I’m not certain, but it might be a record.”

  Terledor, Grand Councilor to the Dictus, was quite a contrast to Kulara. Having been a councilor most of his life, Terledor was deeply immersed in political standards and practices. He wore deep purple ceremonial garb, and propped his right hand atop an upright cane. His left hand rested upon a decorative sword attached to his waist, a symbol of his membership in the Brotherhood of Man. The weapon had a flimsy gilded blade that would have served no value in an actual combat situation, much like Terledor himself.

  He reached out and shook the big man’s hand. “I’m aware of the lad. You’re the hero of Vantrisk, right?”

  “With respects, sir,” Abaddon responded, “I am no hero. Only a soldier.”

  “But you killed a dragon, did you not? It is not every day that a man can make such a claim.”