Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  Now he stood before them, only a few yards away from the three soldiers Atheme had invited. Cildar had thought his nerve might give out when confronted with the reality of the man, but now that he stood here he could not repress his excitement. He had seen the Daemon in battle before, almost two years ago now. He reveled in the chance to see it again.

  The way he saw it, the prize was already his. Cildar had asked Atheme for a chance to train with Daemon as a personal favor, and he saw little doubt this was the Lord Councilor’s unique way of meeting that request. He waited no longer for the official signal, but instead drew his magnificent Trine Lance and began layering grey magic. He saw Myris follow his lead and draw his broken Soul Scythe, but Shasta did not move. For a second Cildar wondered what his subordinate was thinking, but he stayed focused on Abaddon. Atheme gave a short speech welcoming the audience, then gave the signal to start.

  Cildar prepared to coordinate a move with the other two, when he realized Shasta was already attacking. As soon as the signal had been given the man had whipped out his new weapon—one of Abaddon’s own design, a cross between Atheme’s sare and a standard whip. Abaddon had called it the Death Penalty. The Dragoon dashed forward across the battlefield at a full run, then lashed out with the weapon from a distance of fifteen feet.

  The Daemon was not caught off guard. He took a step back and hooked his left arm into the chain, causing it to wrap tightly around his forearm. The fan of blades embedded themselves deeply, cutting his arm to the bone and getting lodged there. Shasta drew a spear and continued to run, hoping to score another quick blow. Cildar and Myris moved in to come to their ally’s aid from two different angles, but they did not close quickly enough to stop their foe’s counterattack.

  Abaddon suddenly ripped the Death Penalty out of Shasta’s hand. As the chain flew by him, he reached up and grabbed it with his right hand, spun it in a fierce circle, then crashed it hard into Shasta between his nose and forehead. At this point the man was almost on top of Abaddon and had no time to react. Cildar and Myris broke off their charges and retreated a few steps as Shasta’s limp body fell to the ground, carried several feet back by the sheer force of the blow.

  “Damn,” Cildar whispered beneath his breath. “He allowed himself a painful injury just to remove Shasta from the playing field.”

  Abaddon unwrapped the Death Penalty from his arm, then pulled the blades out. There was a loud pop when he did this, and blood burst forth in a rush from his arm. He threw the weapon to the ground, then took his right hand and pressed down firmly on the wound. He made a slow twist, then started flexing his left hand. With the bleeding mostly stopped, he checked his two remaining opponents’ positions.

  He turned himself so that Cildar was on his left and Myris his right. “You should have attacked while I was injured,” he remarked. “Your advantage has faded.” He reached to his back and drew forth his Dual Blade, then split it into two broadswords.

  Cildar was breathing heavily even though he had not yet done anything. He realized that now, he was indeed scared. This man had taken down Shasta—one of the few soldiers that Cildar considered a peer—in the first five seconds of battle without even drawing his weapon. Then, if that had not been enough, he recovered from an injury that would have crippled most men in mere seconds. How could he and Myris overcome such odds?

  He shook his head and banished the thought. “It doesn’t matter,” he told himself. “Emles do not surrender.” Then shouting aloud, “Myris!” he charged.

  The Cainite responded quickly, dashing in on Abaddon at blinding speed. Just before they reached him, the warrior raised his twin Blades above his head and slammed them down at his sides. This was what Cildar had hoped for, and he leaped nimbly around his opponent, landing in front of the man. Myris mimicked this move, landing behind. Abaddon stood exposed with his weapons stuck in the ground, rendering him defenseless.

  Cildar saw the Daemon’s eyes light up as he realized he had underestimated his opponents’ speeds. The Dragoon lunged out at Abaddon’s chest with the Trine Lance, and Myris swept the Soul Scythe at his lower back. The man was left with half a second of reaction time before he would be twice skewered.

  It was enough. Abaddon fiercely swept his swords into a spinning attack. His blades tore free chunks of dirt as he followed through with the sweeps. He deflected Cildar’s Lance and caught Myris’ blade near the base. One of the clumps of dirt crashed into the Dragoon’s face mask, showering sand into his eyes. Cildar retreated several steps back, hoping not to suffer a sudden attack. He cleared his vision and when he looked up, Abaddon had Myris pinned, poised to knock him out with his sword’s hilt.

  But he did not make the strike. Instead he released and backed away, moving himself so that once again both opponents were in his field of vision.

  Myris rose to his feet and glared softly at Abaddon. “Why didn’t you finish me, Onion Knight?”

  Abaddon kept his gaze pointed at a random spot on the ground in front of him, tracking his opponents with his peripheral vision. “It was only an accident that I blinded Cildar. I do not need luck to win my battles.”

  The audience, which had been tame for the entire battle, suddenly roared out, thrilled by this display of sportsmanship. Abaddon put his Dual Blade back together, then split it into sword and kama. He pointed the sword at Cildar and the kama at Myris, and waited for them to attack.

  Cildar used a white magic spell to clean his eyes and unsheathed his Morabet. He fingered the rubber handle gently and stared at Myris. They needed a plan. The Cainite met his gaze, and he knew they were of the same mind. Myris reached up and sketched a lightning rune in the air. The spell did not catch, but Cildar realized he was trying to send a message. He wanted to catch Abaddon with a lightning attack. He channeled his elemental magic through the blade of the broken Soul Scythe, but Abaddon’s uniform would be equipped with rubber soles, like most in the Military, and would prevent electrical discharges from gaining solid grounding. The Dragoon nodded to Myris, then together they charged.

  Cildar attacked with his Morabet and Trine Lance both, trying to slip past Abaddon’s defenses. The man’s reflexes were flawless, deflecting both weapons with the single broadsword. Myris faced similar trouble, trying to find an opening with his sickle but constantly being deflected by the cleverly played kama. Occasionally one of them would manage to score a small cut, but the favor was always returned. Cildar found himself wishing he had put more pressure on Myris to get the Scythe repaired into a less awkward weapon before this fight.

  Pushing the thought aside, he put his plan into action. He deliberately made a fault that Abaddon could not resist. The big man disarmed him of his Trine Lance, sending it into the ground. Cildar had let go of the Lance practically before Abaddon made his move, then with both hands used his Morabet to drive the Dual Blade into the arena’s dirt floor.

  “Myris!” he shouted frantically. The Cainite hopped back and swung his blade at Abaddon’s shoulder. The Daemon caught the attack with the kama, a glint of yellow crept along the Soul Scythe, and then he lit up.

  He roared aloud as vicious energy flowed from the Cainite artifact through his kama, coursing fiercely through his body and then down the length of his sword to the ground. Shreds of his clothes started ripping away, burned and tattered, thrown off of his body by bolts of lightning. Cildar was saved by the rubber hilt of the Morabet, but it was a horrific sight at such close range.

  “Myris,” he finally shouted, “that’s enough! Let him go!”

  The Cainite broke the circuit between the sickle and Abaddon’s kama. The man stopped screaming and fell to his knees, his arms hanging limply at his sides. The kama lay on the ground at Myris’ feet, and the sword remained implanted in the ground.

  Myris stared at him for a second, then said softly, “A taste of Cainite magic for you, Son of Pecoros.”

  Cildar stepped forward to see if the man was dead, but picked out his breathing. He swept the Morabet and placed it gently agai
nst Abaddon’s neck. “You must surrender. We have won this battle.”

  Then Abaddon disappeared. Cildar later recognized that he had leaped into the air so suddenly that the Dragoon had missed the jump, but in the moment he only knew that his target was gone. He heard the soft tick of someone landing behind him, then felt a fist planted firmly into the back of his skull.

  Myris had followed this sudden move more readily than Cildar, and tried to dash forward and compensate for the sudden change of momentum. He was forced to step around the Dragoon’s falling body, and that gave Abaddon enough time to remove one of Cildar’s knives from its sheath and bury it into Myris’ shoulder. The brave Cainite still tried to swing his blade for a lethal blow, but Abaddon reached up and grabbed the edge with his right hand, catching it between his thumb and fingers before it could touch his chest.

  He stared momentarily at his remaining foe, then backhanded him with his left fist. Myris flew away, leaving his weapon behind, and was unconscious before he hit the ground.

  Abaddon stood in the center of the ring breathing heavily, and dropped the Soul Scythe to the ground. Atheme tried to announce the winner, but the roar of the crowd drowned him out and showed no signs of dying down. Instead the Lord Councilor hopped from his balcony seat and walked over to make a show of giving Abaddon personal congratulations.

  “Not surprisingly, you won.” He chuckled softly and looked at the three unconscious soldiers on the coliseum floor. “I think you’ve done all you can here. I’ll work a quick healing on you and use a cold spell to siphon the heat off, and we’ll go meet some of your fans. What do you say?” He motioned for the medics to take care of the others.

  “No need for a healing.” Abaddon straightened his back and flexed. His back popped audibly and he gave a sharp roar of pain. He moved several of his joints for a few seconds, then seemed fine. “I don’t see the point in showing off for the crowd any further. We’ve already collected admission.”

  As Atheme started walking toward the front gate, Abaddon followed loyally. “We have to build a reputation for being good hosts. Some of our visitors and traveling dignitaries want to meet our Destroyer before they go home.” He offered no further resistance, so Atheme did not force the point. Instead he paused briefly and let the man catch up to him. “Oh,” he added quietly, a wry smile playing on his face, “and thanks for going easy on them.”

  Abaddon nodded, and the two walked over to meet spectators. As the crowd began to dissipate a few hours later, Leprue came to Atheme with a grave expression.

  “What’s wrong, old man?” The Lord Councilor asked with a wink. “Somebody skip out without paying? Or did you not get a ticket?”

  “Atheme, you need to come quickly. Gaspar has been killed.”

  The blood rushed from his face, taking his smile with it. “How? Domestically?”

  “No, on the Revian front. He insisted on going out and inspecting the battlefield himself. You know how Gaspar was. He took the title of ‘Champion’ too seriously, especially at his age. At any rate, despite still reeling from their last encounter with the Dragoons, Revian made another surge from the Gorge. Our forces won but Gaspar lost his life. Vesovius is calling for blood.”

  “Abaddon, if you could, please find Relm and tell her I might not make it to the show tonight,” Atheme said swiftly, then he and Leprue headed for the Chamber Vesovia.

  Soon the other Grand Councilors were there as well, including Cildar, who was nursing a mild concussion. Aveni tended to him as the meeting progressed.

  The arguments lasted hours. Atheme insisted that the war in Revian had already been won and renewed hostilities helped no one, but the Council was against him. They reminded him that Revian and Vantrisk had damaged Felthespar’s reputation. The fear now inspired by Abaddon had mended that loss, but they held that the death of a high-ranking official could not be ignored. Eventually Atheme conceded. He and Abaddon would personally lead their own squad and strike into the heart of Revian itself, dealing as much damage on their home turf as they could and sending a signal that they were not to meddle with the eastern lands again. He asked for ten weeks to make preparations.

  Even with this request being accepted, the meeting was not concluded. Kinguin had completed his Heraldric Automatons and claimed that Gaspar’s death was evidence that it was time for a new age of the Military. Atheme had been the only one with prior knowledge of the creations, so the announcement caused a fresh uproar. Another hour’s worth of debates were exchanged back and forth, during all of which Atheme kept his gaze focused carefully on Kinguin.

  Finally the Archmagus called for a vote. Everyone in the room turned to Atheme, who made no motion for several minutes. Kinguin began to squirm uncomfortably, but made no comment.

  “Don’t be so naive as to think I don’t recognize what you’re doing,” Atheme finally said.

  Leprue looked back and forth between the two currently staring each other down, and interjected, “What do you mean, Lord Councilor? What’s happening?”

  Atheme considered his next words carefully, stopping short of betraying his previous arrangement with the mage. “Kinguin is wagering that Gaspar, the consummate soldier that he was, would have voted against his measure. He’s also wagering that in Gaspar’s absence, and with one less vote ensured against him, his motion will have a better chance of success.”

  Leprue turned on Kinguin in an instant, “You would dare try to leverage the death of a Grand Councilor for your own political agendas!” Everyone in the room also turned to Kinguin with suspicious glances and shaking heads of disapproval.

  He swiftly moved to stymie these allegations. “While I confess to a certain amount of unfortunate and inconsiderate timing on my behalf—for which I apologize to all involved—I assure you all that the completion of my Heraldric Automatons is what prompted me to raise this issue, and nothing more. If you still question my motivations, Lord Councilor, please check with your own Herald. She can personally vouch for the fact that I declared my development of the experiment closed merely a week ago. As we have not had a meeting since then, this was my first opportunity to raise the matter to the Council.”

  Aveni slid forward and spoke out softly. “I wish to remind everyone that Kinguin has served on the Grand Council for nearly two decades now, and without substantial evidence to the contrary, his word and loyalty are beyond reproach. If he claims there was no malice in his intentions, I accept that entirely at face value.”

  “He’s also not wrong,” Terledor added. “Gaspar’s death does highlight a need for change. I personally might have proposed that we ban officials of sufficient rank from serving in the field, but if Kinguin’s automatons can accomplish that same end in the long term, the idea must be given sufficient consideration.”

  “Yes, consideration,” Cildar contended. “Which does not mean to rush a decision when the Council is broken. I see no reason why we cannot wait until we have elected a new Champion.”

  “The Grand Council is a structure that exists to prevent our city from becoming crippled by bureaucratic roadblocks,” Kinguin argued timidly, well aware that his position was gravely weakened. “The system is designed so that, even with a broken Council, matters can still proceed according to plan.”

  “Robbing the Lord Councilor of his authority,” Leprue argued. “Without the possibility of a tie, the Lord Councilor cannot propose a compromise on a sufficiently controversial issue. Personally, I feel that this issue is certainly one of those.”

  Terledor shook his head. “But that is not a reason that Kinguin is technically wrong. You assume there might be a tie in this matter, but without knowing who our new Champion might be, that argument might be moot. If we vote now, there will almost certainly be a three-to-two split. But with our new Champion, we may still fall four-to-two. It is not within our duties to rig the system by attempting to control the conditions of a vote. Kinguin is correct in his assessment that the Grand Council is designed to function with a missing member. We should f
ollow that protocol. I would think of all people, you would agree with that, Leprue.”

  The former Lord Councilor grew silent. Although he had no further argument to offer, he also would not admit defeat. They had been arguing over the matter long enough now that it was clear where everyone stood. Aveni, Terledor, and Kinguin favored the Automatons and hoped to see immediate incorporation into the Military ranks, using Atheme’s upcoming assault on Revian as a proving ground.

  Atheme, who for some minutes had been scribbling furiously on a document in front of him, suddenly broke the stalemate. “I call for a vote,” he said. Leprue swiftly straightened his back, wishing to object, but could not find appropriate words. “The Grand Council will hereby vote on whether or not to hold expedited voting pertaining to the matter of the Heraldric Automatons.”

  To this, Kinguin offered an immediate objection. “A vote for a vote? That’s highly irregular, Lord Councilor. What kind of precedent does this set? Are you sure we shouldn’t vote to see if we should vote to vote?” he finished sardonically.

  Atheme held up one of the forms for an official Council vote, which he had filled out moments before. “We’re in a highly irregular set of circumstances,” he insisted. “Would anyone like to read the documented terms before we proceed?”

  “That hardly seems necessary,” Cildar offered, clear irritation showing in his voice. “We’ve certainly been discussing it long enough now.”