Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  “I imagine it sounds quite insane,” he replied with a smile. “This sword did have a will of its own, though. For whatever reason, that will was an evil one. Calvin hypothesized that it was because of the nature of a sword. Used to kill, to destroy, to hurt, and to break. He proposed that maybe one, two thousand years ago someone made a sentient sword, hoping that the experience of the sword could become the experience of the fighter. Imagine the advantages of fighting with over two thousand years of experience. But over the centuries the sword only experienced hatred, and death. Those were the only things it knew, and thus the only things it desired.

  “There’s no way to know for sure, but it was a sound theory. So Kargaroth came to me. After a few years I abandoned it and instead perfected my technique with the sare. I kept Kargaroth in my personal possession for a long time, hoping that someday Calvin would return for it. He never did, and finally I decided it was time to put the sword to rest. If it really was becoming more powerful, eventually it would have overwhelmed me. If not me, then maybe the next wielder. Either way, it would have been a catastrophe. Its power was astonishing. It could slice through a tree three feet wide like it was a sheet of paper, and that’s not even the beginning of its abilities. About the time that you showed up in Felthespar, I hired Kinguin to construct a powerful seal and locked the sword away forever.”

  “But now you think it might be useful to have against Revian.”

  Atheme nodded. “I still feel myself tempted by the power of Kargaroth. Fortunately, that’s not an option. The seal that Kinguin made is foolproof. Not even he can release it. The sword will stay where it is until the end of the world.”

  “A shame. I would like to have seen this sword, even just once.”

  Atheme went back to staring at the posters on the wall, ending the conversation. He was not entirely comfortable talking about Kargaroth, even to Abaddon, and he felt he was sharing information that need not be shared. The bartender finally wandered over to where he had taken up station. He was a gruff, portly man, with unkempt whiskers covering his face and a large cigar protruding from his mouth. He wiped a glass out on his apron as he waddled across to Atheme.

  “‘Ello, gents. What can I get for you blokes?”

  Atheme looked up, pretending to be startled. “Ah! Double scotch for me, please.”

  The gruff man smirked. “That’s a fancy order for this place. But I happen to have a bottle or two put back. What about yer big friend there?” Atheme looked over his shoulder and motioned for Abaddon to order something.

  “Ale. Dark.”

  The bartender smirked again and fetched their drinks. Atheme took a quick sip of the scotch, and Abaddon downed the entire flagon of ale in one drink. “The big fella’s got quite a thirst, eh? Reckon maybe I can fetch you a bite o’ grub?”

  “No,” Atheme answered for both. “We don’t need any food, thanks.”

  The bartender stared for a moment. He took a long draw on his cigar, then put it out in an ashtray close at hand. “You two are certainly fancy, compared to most o’ the folks I get in here. Can’t imagine how you need to get yer liquor in a shanty like this. I reckon ye got some kinda, er... what’s it called... ogender.”

  Atheme stared back coolly. “Agenda. And you’re perceptive.”

  “Comes with the trade, laddie.” He shrugged and his face turned serious. “What’re ya doing in me bar?”

  The Lord Councilor pushed his scotch to the side and leaned forward. “We’re looking for a man.”

  The gruff proprietor snorted. “Plenty o’ places in this here town where you can track down men. Mayhap try City Hall.”

  He shook his head. “They can’t help us. We’re looking for a dead man. Been dead for several years now. We have business with him.”

  The bartender straightened his back and took a step away. “I don’t see why you’d think this’d be the place to find the dead. There’re morgues, cemet’ries. This here’s just an honest established-ment.”

  Atheme also straightened up. “So you’re saying you don’t know anything?”

  “Aye. ‘At’s what I’m sayin’.”

  He shrugged and looked back over his shoulder. “Well Abaddon, if the man doesn’t know anything, then he just doesn’t know anything. We’ll have to try somewhere else.” As he spoke he drew a large bag out of his tunic and opened it up. It was filled with gold coins. He took one and threw it on the bar. “I think that will cover our meal and leave a nice tip. I’m sorry that you couldn’t help us.”

  The bartender took the piece of gold and bit it, then looked back at Atheme. His face twisted with inner conflict. Atheme put the bag back in his tunic, then slowly stood and brushed off his uniform. He could almost feel Abaddon’s amusement at his charade, and had to bite down on his tongue to keep from smiling.

  He turned toward the door and started to walk. The bartender reached out and grabbed his arm. Abaddon whipped about with a dangerous look and the bartender quickly released. Instead, he motioned Atheme forward and whispered in his ear, “There’s an alley behind me bar. Be there,” then quickly walked to the other end of the bar.

  Atheme looked up to his large friend and smiled. “Looks like we’re on the right track. Come on.”

  Chapter 17.

  Deeds Done in Darkness

  A dark figure slipped quietly into the Chamber Vesovia. With the Grand Council disbanded and the Lord Councilor out on a mission, the Chamber was abandoned. None of the usual torch runes were lit, and a ghastly silence filled the amphitheater. It was a perfect environment for a spy.

  He slid easily through the Chamber, knowing its layout well. He was as quiet as the night outside. He knew the country had been placed under martial law, so the most recent records would not be in the Chamber, but he did not know where Kulara kept the Military Council’s records. He hoped he would be able to find some hints here.

  He crept through the central room, taking a second to spit at the Grand Council’s table. He moved deeper into the corridors, heading for the room where the archives were kept. He had perused these archives on many a night, and found that the records dated back to the very formation of the Knighthood. Most of the older files were skimpy on details, but they contained some insights on how and why Felthespar was run.

  He finally reached the room and slid quickly to a large group of file cabinets in the back. He started with the cabinet where the oldest documents were kept, opening the top drawer. He searched for a few moments, soon finding the document he needed. He smirked and began reading through the transcript.

  Suddenly he heard two quick taps behind him, then the room lit up with a bluish light. He turned quickly, but his eyes were adjusted for nocturnal vision and the light source blinded him. He managed to regain his sight just in time to see a blue-gloved fist crash hard into his face.

  He slid limply down the cabinet and looked up to see Cildar Emle towering above him, an anger burning in his eyes that few ever had the misfortune to behold.

  “Lord Atheme mentioned that I might find someone here. There’s nothing lower than a spy. If I had my way, you and I would spend the next few hours together somewhere private. But it is my duty to make certain justice is served.”

  Cildar’s hands wrapped around the small man’s neck like a steel vice, and he dropped off into unconsciousness.

  * * * * *

  “The Prime Tribunal of Felthespar is now called to order. Cildar Emle of the House Lurin, Holy Paladin of Felthespar, Major, Knight of the Moon, Lord of the Phoenix, Grand Councilor to the Military, Brother of Man, Honorary Eldram Rank I, Scion of Emle, with a service record of twenty-one years and holding thirty-one official military decorations in seventeen excursions and four wars, brings the case before the court,” the bailiff announced aloud.

  Cildar approached the stand. “Your Honor, I found this man sneaking into the Chamber Vesovia late last night and rifling through our legal archives. Only the Lord Councilor himself is permitted to use the Chamber Vesovia for any purp
ose, so the minimum offense that the defendant has committed is a violation of private property laws. More grievously, I believe that in light of recent events in our country, this man is a traitor to Felthespar and has been selling secrets to Revian. I charge that he is guilty of High Treason to His Grace Vesovius.”

  The Honorable Myris Phare, Justice of the Prime Tribunal of Felthespar, leaned forward. “These are grievous charges indeed, Lord Emle. What evidence have you to support your claim?”

  He stepped to Myris and handed him a slip of paper. “This is a document from the Lord Grand Councilor of Felthespar, stating that he believes there is a spy among us and leaving me with the duty to guard the Chamber Vesovia. As you are aware, the Lord Councilor’s word is considered to be absolute. If he claims that a spy is among us, then it is justifiable evidence.”

  Myris looked over the document for a moment, then said, “This is evidence enough to convince the court that there is a spy to be found in Felthespar. But you must have evidence to bring against this man personally, else I must find him innocent of High Treason.”

  Cildar nodded. “My next argument is a character evaluation. This man, Monduelle Taksari, arrived in Felthespar approximately five years ago. Since then he has lived as a citizen among us. He has never participated in any of our battles, nor agreed to undergo any training, though he is of appropriate age and, as you can tell, fine physique. He has no job, no family, and no known regular acquaintances. How he makes a living is a mystery, and there are often weeks at a time wherein he is not seen by anyone. All these facts are befitting to the profile of a spy. His integrity is questionable. He has a history of petty theft, inciting riots, and a few accounts of suspected murder, though he was never convicted of the latter.

  “My most compelling piece of evidence is this.” He again stepped up to Myris and handed him another document. “This is the document, or rather a copy of the document, that Mr. Taksari chose from the archives. It details the formation of the Military Council, the duties of the General, and the details of how martial law changes the way in which the Knighthood operates. I charge that he needed to know where to find information to report to Revian now that the Chamber Vesovia is out of use. This is the case that I present before the court, Your Honor.”

  Myris looked over the documents he had been handed for a few moments more, then nodded to Cildar. “The prosecution may rest. Defense?”

  A devil’s advocate stepped forward. “None among the Dictus were willing to step forward to defend this man, and no one in Felthespar stepped forward to stand as a character witness. Since his apprehension he has said nothing, so it is assumed that he has no defense to present.”

  Again the judge nodded. “Then I see no need for further deliberation. I find Monduelle Taksari guilty of High Treason. Take the prisoner back to his cell and schedule his execution for dawn. My court is adjourned.”

  As the prisoner was escorted away, the two Grand Councilors walked out of the Tribunal together. “I think you handled that well,” the paladin commented. “You make an efficient Justice.”

  Myris turned south toward The Camarilla. Cildar followed, looking forward to a drink and some lively company. “Actually,” the man responded, “I’m rather glad this is behind us. Since the question of a spy has come up, I have felt an overwhelming amount of suspicion directed at me. It does hurt knowing that as long as I’ve served here, my people are still the first targets for distrust.”

  “I never for a second questioned your integrity. You must remember that your people were our enemies for nearly eight hundred years, since even before the time of Vesovius I. That’s a lot of history to forget. It may take a generation, maybe even two, but in time your people will be trusted by all of Felthespar.”

  The shadowy man offered nothing more, but instead quickened his pace toward The Camarilla. Cildar stared after him for a few seconds, wondering how hurt his friend actually was, and then also quickened his step.

  * * * * *

  Atheme waited patiently in the small inn on the top floor of the Ren. A few days ago the bartender had promised that he could arrange an appointment with DeMorgan, for a hefty price. This was the time and place that had been agreed upon.

  He sat alone. Upon entering the Ren, Abaddon had been ambushed by a couple of fawning showgirls, and Atheme had bid him to go along with them and enjoy himself. It was unlikely that the man would lose enough of his composure to actually do so, but the Lord Councilor needed him out of his way for the time being. According to his information Corsair was a highly paranoid man, and Atheme could not appear to have brought along an enforcer.

  He sensed someone moving back and forth in the hallway. Atheme made no move, and eventually the knob turned slowly and the door opened. A tall and grizzled old man stepped in. He shut the door quickly behind him and stared at the awaiting man with hard, green eyes. The old man had a ragged beard, which showed signs of halfhearted attempts at shaving. A black bandanna adorned his scalp, and blue and red silks wrapped about the rest of his large frame. He was clearly a man of some years—Atheme knew for a fact that he was even older than Leprue—but his body still hinted that he had once been a powerful adversary.

  Eventually the elder said, “Bless this scurvy hide, if I didn’t know better I’d swear on me grave that I was looking at Calvin’s young squire.”

  Atheme smiled. Now that Corsair remembered him things would go more smoothly. “Indeed you are, Captain DeMorgan. I am Atheme Tethen, Lord Councilor of Felthespar, former squire to Calvin Darmani.”

  The man chuckled. “I’m Captain no more, laddie. I’m quite dead, if you hadn’t heard. Finally realized that I was never going to pay back me debts for all the ships I’ve scuttled. But enough of me. So, ye’ve risen to Lord Councilor, just like ol’ Calvin, eh? I expected no less. What’s yer business with the likes of me?”

  “I need a warship. As you know, those are hard to come by, even in Jegan. I’ve already seen the entire inventory, and the warships they provide won’t suit my needs. I need a powerful ship, large enough to carry a sizable army, capable of traveling upstream against the Keladeps River, and capable of traveling through storms on the ocean. In your day, you were the best shipwright on Itrius. You’re the only man that I have enough confidence in to trust with this commission.”

  Corsair scratched his chin in thought. “I may not be as good as I was, young Tethen, but I can certainly get together a team of buccaneers capable of making a worthy vessel. Problem is tender. And we’ll be needin’ someone to oversee the project. Someone who ain’t a criminal, like me and my pals, and can be seen out in public purchasing parts from shipyards.”

  The Lord Councilor pulled a single slip of paper out of his tunic and handed it to Corsair. “The arrangements have been made. Find the man listed on this paper. He is a personal acquaintance of mine. Although he’s a government official, I promise he will not expose you or any of your comrades.”

  He looked at the paper. “Traval, huh?”

  “His son is a soldier in our military. The family has deep bonds with Felthespar, dating back to the Arocaen. He will not betray my trust for any price. He has been given adequate funds from Felthespar’s coffers and agreed to oversee and conceal the construction of the ship.”

  Corsair eyed Atheme for another moment, then shook hands with him. “We have an accord. I can have yer ship ready in three weeks.”

  “Three weeks? I’m not sure you’ve understood my terms. I was expecting a much larger project than that.”

  The old man smiled a devilish grin, and for a moment younger days could be read in his green eyes. “Truth is, I’ve been working on a ship such as the one yer after for five some-odd years now. The culmination of me life’s work and knowledge, she is. Things been runnin’ slow since I ran out o’ bribe money, but with this, it’ll find its way finished.”

  Atheme returned the smile. “I knew I could count on a rogue like you, Corsair.”

  He turned his back and headed to the door. �
��I’m to be off. Don’t plan on lingering here, that’s for sure. When you come for yer ship, check with the Traval bucko. He’ll be well filled in. I imagine this’ll be the last we ever see each other. Good luck in yer future.”

  Atheme stood and bowed sadly. “And to you, old friend. You cannot understand how much this favor means to me.”

  Corsair opened the door but stopped halfway through. “After I finish this ship,” he said quietly, “I plan to die and rest in peace. When I get to the other side, I’ll tell Calvin what a fine son he raised.” With that, he left. Atheme stood in silence for a minute staring at the closed door, then also exited and headed downstairs to find Abaddon.

  A bar fight had broken out, so the Ren was even more noisy and chaotic than usual. Atheme could not locate his compatriot anywhere in the pandemonium, so he tapped a Seeker matrix. It indicated that the man was outside, so he slipped over to the bar, left a farewell tip for the bartender, then exited the Ren.

  Abaddon stood leaning on the outside of the building, slightly to the left of the door. Atheme snapped as he walked by and his friend fell into step behind him. As they headed west by northwest, the big man asked, “Where are we going?”

  “We ran into some good fortune with Corsair. He said that the ship will be finished in three weeks. If we’re going to recruit Barkus, we need to start negotiations with them now. We’ll need time to coordinate the attack from both sides.”

  “As an added bonus, only you and I will know what’s going on.”

  Atheme nodded and quickened his step. “Exactly. If there is a spy, let’s keep him on his toes.”

  * * * * *

  Kalema Dijar, King of Shadows, sat on his mighty stone throne and ran a scarred hand across his war club. His chest and arms were bound in tight brown leather armors, and his chest in shimmering platinum. Across his shoulders draped a royal purple silk robe, flowing across his throne and to his feet. His light brown hair was styled into an elegant coif, and a thick mustache had grown so long that his mouth could not be seen even when he spoke.