Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  “It would be fairer to say that we killed each other. I was just fortunate to have healers with me.”

  Terledor raised his cane and shook it lightly at Abaddon. “Such modesty is not befitting a man who’s becoming a legend. Did you know there’s already talk of making you a Knight of the Moon? There is resistance, of course. I fear you will have to prove yourself further before such a vote would pass. But it’s only a matter of time.”

  Kulara chuckled. “I’d mentioned it to him already. Says he’s not interested.”

  “Not interested!” Terledor responded with a crack in his voice. “How can that be? Most among us have dedicated our entire lives in service to our country, and yet can only dare to dream of the prestige of the Celestial Ranks.”

  Abaddon narrowed his eyes, but kept his tone polite. “Is there any additional authority that comes with the title?”

  “No,” Terledor responded.

  “Any extra responsibilities, or privileges? Is there a special club that only Celestial Ranks can enter?”

  “Again, no.”

  “Then what good does the title serve me?”

  “It is a great honor,” Terledor insisted. “A mark that you stand above others in the way only a few people every generation might. Like Kulara.”

  Abaddon looked to Kulara and then back to Terledor. “I’d rather be General.”

  Terledor was taken aback by this comment, but Kulara began to laugh heartily. After regaining his composure, he said, “If you’ll excuse us, Lord Terledor, I’m sure that Daemon here doesn’t want to be kept all day chatting with our old bones.”

  “Of course. General,” Terledor said with bows. “Sir Daemon.”

  After the elder took his leave, Abaddon threw some documents in front of Kulara and took the chair Terledor had vacated. The General ignored the papers for a moment, staring at his visitor for a moment longer.

  If there was anyone in Felthespar that Abaddon considered a friend, it was Atheme Tethen. And after him, maybe, Kulara Karfa. Kulara was renowned as the country’s most formidable unarmed combatant. He had once won the championship of the traveling World’s Tournament, many years ago when it had last visited Itrius. His incredible combat abilities had earned him the coveted position of Knight of the Moon, while his advanced tactical mind had earned him the rank of General of the Military.

  Abaddon often kept company with Kulara when Atheme was either on official Council business or with Relm. While Abaddon had nothing against Relm personally, he did not enjoy her sparkling pleasantness. He preferred the camaraderie of someone like the General. Kulara was a gruff man, usually speaking only when it involved business or warfare, so the two soldiers got along well.

  Today, the man was not quite ready to launch into their usual debates. “You’d do well to ingratiate yourself to the Grand Councilors, Daemon. Your reputation is spreading. If you play your cards right, you’ve got potential here. Maybe you think that because you’re not a native you can’t rise up through the ranks, but I’m living proof that’s not true. I’m not sure if you’re aware, I’m also a foreigner.”

  “I was not.”

  “I’m not from Itrius. I’m from another continent, far to the west. The nations there aren’t as advanced as Felthespar in a lot of ways, but their naval strength is significant. They do trade across the ocean with our territories on the western shores. I came across on one of those boats and never looked back. Because I’m not from Itrius, I didn’t have any loyalties to speak of. Because I didn’t have any loyalties, Leprue was willing to adopt me as a son of Felthespar. I think Atheme has similar feelings toward you. Don’t cut your potential short. You’re one of us now.”

  “I never asked to be.”

  Kulara nodded. “Aye. Which concerns some of us.”

  Abaddon narrowed his eyes. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “I said some of us,” he answered with a raised hand. “I didn’t say me. I’d like to defend you, Daemon. I want to tell others, like Terledor, that you can be trusted. But you don’t like to talk about it. You don’t want to give us a reason to trust you. We have enemies, and some of them would be willing to play at the long con to get into our ranks.”

  “What are you asking, Karfa? Stop posturing and get it out.”

  He gave a sigh and started to thumb lightly through the papers. “I know your story. All the way back to Jegan Road. So why are you still here? You just came to Felthespar for a fight, right? You were looking for a worthy rival, and you found Atheme. So why haven’t you betrayed him yet? Is that still coming?” Abaddon remained motionless for several seconds. Kulara worried he had angered the man. “I apologize if the question offends you,” he added.

  “It’s a fair question,” Abaddon responded softly, then continued to think. The General waited patiently before getting an answer. “I consider you a peer, Kulara—an equal, a worthy rival. I’ve only met a few I can say the same about. But not Atheme. He’s better than I am. Not because he bested me in combat, but for many other reasons. He treats people with kindness when they don’t deserve it. He opens his arms and embraces humanity at risk to his own safety. He brought in me, and Myris, and others, even during times of war. He’s smarter, wiser than I, more clear of conviction. If I could rewrite my history, I would have been a man like Atheme Tethen. But I cannot. My rage guides me and I embraced that long ago. I will not turn my back on who I am. But if I follow Atheme’s path and do as he bids, perhaps I can be redeemed. If a sword can be used for good, then why not I? I will follow every word from Atheme Tethen. I will die at the moment he commands it, and I will consider that death the highest of honors. Make no mistake of this: I have no loyalties to Felthespar. Only to Atheme.”

  Kulara tapped his fingers on the desk, eventually deciding he had no response to offer. Instead he lifted the papers Abaddon had brought. “So what’s this, then?”

  “It’s a weapon design I’ve been working on. You could think of it as a simplified version of the sare. The fanned blades and knife attachments of the sare fold into a small cross section of the staff, but they’re an effective offense once drawn. This is a modified version of that principle—two simple handles with a chain running between them, with the blades of the sare built into the handles. A skilled fighter might use the fan as a slicing flail, and have the knife available for close quarters combat. Removing the size-shifting nature eliminates the weapon’s complexity and should make it more accessible for regular soldiers.”

  “Not bad,” Kulara remarked. “But is the concealment nature of the sare necessary to the weapon? With this chain, it’s never going to be as compact as the sare, so the collapsing blades could be superfluous.”

  “It depends on whether or not you want access to nonfatal blows. With the fan blades collapsed, that end of the weapon would be quite heavy and used for blunt force impacts.”

  “Aye, but adding machinery weakens the durability. I’m thinking we make it a permanently lethal weapon, and instead of the sare’s knife, go with a kama like from your Dual Blade.”

  “I can see the advantages.”

  At that moment, one of Kulara’s aides entered the tent. “Excuse me, General. Lord Councilor Atheme Tethen is here to see you.”

  Kulara grinned. “Aren’t I the popular one today? Must be my new aftershave. Go ahead, send him in.”

  Abaddon stood and gave a bow as the new arrival entered, and Atheme quickly motioned for him to resume his seat, pulling over a nearby stool for himself. “You can stick around, Ab. You might be able to give some input on this.”

  “And what does the Lord Councilor have for us lowly grunts?” Kulara asked, still grinning.

  Atheme gave a sigh. “A plea for help, really. We need to win the war with Revian. Not permanently, mind you, although obviously I’d prefer that. But we’ve at least got to win the next round. We’re on the brink of what I consider a total failure on that front. If we don’t drive them back into the west right now, we’re not going to be able to.”


  Kulara stood and rifled through some of his maps, then took one down from the tent wall and replaced it with a map of the Revian battlefront. “You’re referring to them spilling out into the northern and southern lands here, and here, right?”

  He nodded. “You’ve picked up on it too, then?”

  “Oh, aye. The politicians are worrying about an upcoming siege, but if I was in charge of Revian that would be the last thing on my mind.”

  “We can’t guarantee they’re as intelligent as us,” Abaddon argued.

  “Agreed,” Atheme responded, “but we can’t risk that they aren’t. We have to assume the worst. If they spread north and south, as Kulara has shown, we lose the advantage of having battle lines. We can’t make any future push against them.”

  “The only option,” the General said quietly, “would be a Cleanse.”

  Abaddon looked to Atheme, indicating he did not understand the significance of the term. “The Cleanse,” Atheme explained, “is a tactic developed by Vesovius VII. It requires a large number of troops, and extremely powerful magics, to spread out across the continent. It’s difficult to put into effect, and morally very questionable.”

  “It has this nasty side effect,” Kulara added, “of killing a lot of innocents. The Cleanse tries to distinguish friend from foe, but doesn’t do what you might call a phenomenal job at it. Last time around, a lot of our own people, livestock, and forestation was killed as well.”

  “You’re talking about genocide,” Abaddon concluded.

  Atheme leaned back in his chair. “It was how we ended the Arocaen. By the end of the war, the Cainites were scattered too deeply into our territories. With their stealth abilities and religious zealotry, Vesovius VII knew the war would never truly be over. They would keep killing our people for decades, if not centuries. Every assassination would mean fresh chaos. The Cleanse was created to bring about peace. Very forcefully.”

  “So to save lives he killed thousands, both enemy and ally,” Abaddon responded dispassionately.

  “I want to make myself completely clear on this—as Lord Councilor, I have no single duty more important than to make certain this country never again has to resort to the Cleanse. As much as I might defend it, or argue its necessity, it is the most dire sin in Felthespar’s past. That is why we must drive Revian back now.”

  “The fact is,” Kulara offered, “the Cleanse may not even be an option anymore. It’s been taboo for so long we’re not sure the records of it are still intact. Even if they are I don’t think we can put it into effect with our depleted Military.”

  “All the more reason not to let things get that far,” Atheme responded. “I have my own plans drawn up to push Revian back. They depend on some heavy firepower. I’ve held the Dragoons at bay for some time now. We’re going to have to lean on them for this. General, I expect you’ll want to go over everything and make adjustments, but I’m essentially asking you to allow me to usurp the war effort here. Any advice or adjustments the two of you have, I’m happy to hear them out.”

  “You bring me something to look over, at least?” Kulara grumbled.

  Atheme reached to his side and pulled out two sets of rolled up papers, handing one to each of the men. They spent several minutes reading over them while Atheme waited in silence.

  “Can’t be done,” Kulara concluded.

  “I assure you, I intend to take the battlefield personally to ensure victories at the most critical points.”

  “I never doubted it,” he argued, “but you’re letting your optimistic nature get the better of you. You’ve got too much of this plan riding on multiple concurrent victories against an army of soldiers we can barely go toe-to-toe with. Even if you plan on being at all of the most critical battle sites, you’re going to spend so much time traveling back and forth that you’re going to be too exhausted for the actual fights. Not to mention you’re looking at almost a year of not being able to return to Felthespar. I know you take a lot of liberties as a hybrid soldier and politician, but the Lord Councilor cannot abandon the country for this long.”

  “I can if it’s in order to preserve her very existence!”

  “There’s always going to be some threat to Felthespar’s existence!” Kulara said with increased volume. “As one of our Celestial soldiers, I appreciate the help you give us. But I’m the General of this country, and you’re her Lord Councilor. You can’t do it all. You’ve got to learn to let go!”

  “I can do it,” Abaddon said softly. The two men turned to him and the room grew quiet. “I can fight where Atheme can’t. I can live on the battlefield. I can travel and fight without rest between. I don’t grow tired. My mysticism restores my strength even as it is drained. And I don’t have other duties to attend.” He turned to Atheme. “You can’t do this. Not like I can.”

  The Lord Councilor spent a moment in thought before responding, “This isn’t your war, Abaddon. I asked too much of you once already, when I sent you to Vantrisk. I can’t again.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I joined the Military. Kulara can simply give the order. Right, General?”

  Kulara looked once more over the paperwork in his hands, then gave a smile. “I’ll need to rewrite this. Give me a day.”

  Chapter 12.

  The Daemon’s Exhibition

  Nine months later, Cildar sat in the dining hall of the Emle family’s castle. Once the Emles alone had ruled Felthespar, but that was before even the reformations of the Arocaen era. Over the centuries several members of the family had grown bitter of their diminishing influence, and spent their lives rallying for their former sovereign authority be restored. Cildar did not share their ambition.

  He liked the way the Knighthood was run now. He liked Atheme. So he did not try to interfere with the politics of the country. Instead he focused on what he knew, and what he knew was war. His Dragoons had successfully made a final push against the Revian armies, driving them back into the Revian Gorge and out of Felthespar’s territory for the first time in years. It had been a decisive victory, the culmination of a grueling initiative led by Atheme. Though the Lord Councilor had not been present for the final push, his hand had been felt in the battle. As had the Revians’ fear of a man they called only The Destroyer.

  He leaned against the giant oak table where his family ate and sighed. He slipped off his helmet, mask, and gloves and threw them onto the table. He sometimes grew tired of wearing so much clothing, but it was good protection from cold and sun alike, and he could never be sure when he was going to see battle. Kulara had a tendency to call upon his Lord of the Phoenix without much warning, so Cildar kept his gear ever close at hand. He leaned back in his chair and tried to loosen his neck. Suddenly he felt two delicate but strong hands start to rub his shoulders. He stopped moving his head and relaxed.

  “Honey,” cooed a soft female voice, “if you want me to do this, you’re going to have to get rid of this armor.”

  He reached up and opened the fastenings on his mail, letting the shoulder and chest plates slide off. He unhooked several weapon sheaths and belts and laid them out on the table with his helmet. Then finally, he removed his two outer shirts, one leather and one cotton, leaving only a thin blue silk shirt.

  The hands again began massaging his shoulders. “There now. That’s much better, isn’t it?”

  “Thanks, Jess. You’re too good for me.”

  Jessandra, Cildar’s beautiful wife, continued the massage for a minute, then moved around in front of him and sat down in his lap, laying her forehead against his cheek. She played for a moment with his thick blond hair, which was starting to reach his shoulders. “I really am. I think you need a haircut again already.”

  Cildar reached his hand up and tugged lightly on his wife’s dark brown curls. “Your hair’s longer than mine.”

  “I’m a girl, stupid! I’m supposed to have long hair. You, on the other hand, are not. All of those silly battles must have finally broken your brain.”

  He ch
uckled, then leaned his head on his wife’s shoulder. “Sometimes I wish I could just stop and stay here with you forever.”

  She smiled, then smacked the back of his head. “No you don’t. You wouldn’t last a week before you’d declare war with the oak in the front yard. But it’s okay. I don’t mind waiting as long as you always come home to me.”

  Cildar stood, lifting his wife up in his arms. “Well, I’ve been ordered to take the next two days off, so for that time I’m all yours.”

  “Good!” She hopped out of his arms onto the ground and headed to another room. “We’ll start by cutting that hair.”

  He watched his wife lovingly for a moment, then sat back down and began reorganizing the pile of armaments in front of him. At that moment there was a knock at the door, and with another sigh he went to answer it.

  Shasta and Myris stood at his doorstep. Cildar looked from one to the other and then drooped his shoulders. “I just promised Jessandra I was going to spend the next two days with her. She’s going to be mad, isn’t she?”

  * * * * *

  Cildar had insisted on his two days, but the offer Myris and Shasta had brought was too good to pass up. The three of them had been chosen to participate in a public training exercise. The event was a joint effort between the Dictus and the Military, simultaneously a celebration of the turning tide in the war on Revian and a fundraiser. The display was to be held in the ancient Emle Royal Coliseum situated in the center of the military district, which had once belonged to Cildar’s family. The coliseum’s stadium was nearly halfway filled, a turnout that far exceeded expectations. Atheme had agreed to play along for extra political capital with the Dictus, but he had offered a different prize to the soldiers that had been invited.

  One of them would be chosen, based on his performance today, to train with Abaddon Daemon, The Destroyer.

  The man had become a legend since Cildar had fought with him at Vantrisk. Both Atheme and Abaddon had led a number of counter-strike expeditions, but it was Daemon that the Revians cowered from. It was said that in three different battles he had turned the tide simply by arriving, with the Revian army retreating before he could join the fight. While Atheme had often been forced to return to Felthespar and tend to his duties as Lord Councilor, Abaddon had prowled the battlefield for six long months. Some claimed they had never seen him eat or sleep, that he did nothing but slaughter enemy soldiers through day and night. For his achievements in the war and the reputation he had gained throughout the continent, Abaddon had received the title of Knight of the Moon.