by Mark B Frost
Shiresta raised her hand to interject. “A Lord Councilor who is conveniently absent to confirm the existence of any such orders.”
Kulara turned to the elder with a glare. “I’ll politely remind the Regent that this is neither a trial nor a hearing, and I answer to no one in this room. Politely, once.”
Leprue turned to Vesovius with a broad smile. “He was chosen as General for a reason.”
“Be that as it may,” the Lord of the Senate replied, “we’re asking you to trust us, so that we may trust you. Please, share what you know.”
The gruff man cracked the knuckles on each of his hands in turn. He looked to Leprue. “You know what they’re asking for. You really think it should be shared?”
The elder motioned at the other members of the meeting. “Look at who these people are, Kulara. If we cannot trust them, then our country simply cannot function.”
“Alright then,” he responded. “Let me make one thing clear, though. Everything that is about to be said is a matter of national security of the highest order. It’s not to be shared under any circumstances. If this information leaks, I will trace it back to one or all of you and you will be found guilty of Grand Treason. No one in this room is immune to that charge, and I will be absolutely tenacious in my enforcement of it on this matter. That includes you, Vesovius. There will be a Vesovius XV in place so fast even you won’t know where you went.”
He did not wait for them to respond to his threat, but instead moved swiftly into his tale. “As some of you are no doubt aware, Myris Phare was recently accused of High Treason. Shortly after, his accuser was found to have nearly killed Lord Kinguin Peet, in addition to beating myself to an ugly mess. For this and other reasons we were ultimately able to clear Myris of all charges, but our investigations brought other information to light—information that we might have known sooner had we been more diligent.
“It’s never been a secret that Myris’ people are an offshoot of the Cainites, a group of outcasts severed from the main branch. However, the full details here have not been completely transparent. The fact is, Cildar, Atheme, Abaddon, and myself acted together to cover up the real story. The Children of Cain are a splinter from the Cainites, alright. It’s just that the splintering happened not five centuries ago, but rather five years.”
Kulara took a brief pause for this information to be digested, then continued. “Right now each of you is wondering why we’d cover this up, maybe even questioning our loyalty. That’s not going to get you anywhere. This was a simple matter of practicality, making one hard choice over another. The facts are, the Children of Cain are an elite fighting squad on par with our own Phoenix Dragoons. With our depleted military, casualties from multiple wars, and a lack of cooperation from the Paladins, we were in as desperate of a position as we’ve ever been as a nation. Myris and his people could have become an ally, or we could have driven them into the arms of one of our enemies.
“The choice seemed obvious to us—survival over superstition and paranoia. But we knew that Felthespar could not and would not accept Cainites as allies. So rather than wrestle with the politics involved, Atheme exercised his liberties as Lord Councilor to hide the matter and published an official cover story. It’s all legal and carefully documented. Technically the members of the Grand Council have always had access to the information, but none of them went digging for it. So as it was, outside of the Children of Cain themselves, only a handful of us knew of Myris’ true origins.
“The reality of this made the accusation of him being a traitor more poignant and prompted us to perhaps take it more seriously than we would have under other circumstances. I don’t intend to get into full details of the investigation we undertook here, as some of it is a bit colorful, but rest assured that as a matter of national security we gave it its due diligence. In the aftermath, I will personally vouch for Myris and his people’s trustworthiness.
“Which isn’t to say that secrets weren’t uncovered. We learned that the Cainite culture is still very much alive, and if anything has thrived in the centuries since the Arocaen. They have an army, and it’s coming for us. We don’t know exactly when, as the Children of Cain have been independent of the Cainites for too long. We know that for five years now there hasn’t been an attack. It could be another five more before they make their move, or they could show up tomorrow. Either way, a second Arocaen is coming. This time, the Cainites are going to be fueled with a drive for revenge for the genocide we enacted against them. They’re after nothing less than the life of every walking citizen of Felthespar.”
There was a moment of silence, then Shiresta asked a question. “I don’t fully understand. You claim that you covered up the true nature of Myris’ people, but then suggest that the existence of the Cainites was a surprise to you, as well. How can both be true?”
Kulara ruffled his shoulders uncomfortably. “As I mentioned, we might have had this information sooner, with greater diligence. Somewhere along the way we became convinced that Myris and his people were the last of the Cainites, a few scant survivors of a nearly extinct population. We never bothered to confirm this, as we were too concerned with our own internal deceptions.”
Vesovius raised his hands. “For a moment, General, let us assume that we all believe what you have told us, as disconcerting of a tale as it is. What stands out to me is the fact that we do not know when the Cainites will attack. You have said yourself that the last word of them was five years ago. If indeed they are not to arrive for another five years, or even longer, we cannot leave our government crippled until that time. Tell me, why did you choose not to make a public announcement of this?”
“It would have been too much for the public to handle. Even assuming the officials in the government would have been cooperative—something I doubted, and still do—keeping the populous under the shadow of such a threat for a prolonged period of time would have unpredictable consequences. I couldn’t have that kind of chaos while focusing on preparing our city for war.”
Vesovius nodded. “A wise decision. You allowed our people to go on with their lives for as long as it was a possibility. I admire that, but by that same vein of reasoning it is not enough. If instead you had reached out to your fellow leaders in the government, we could have simultaneously worked to prepare the city for an upcoming war, and at the same time continue with our own daily lives. Felthespar’s economy must flourish, the same as its people, for as long as possible until the shadow of war consumes us.”
Kulara tapped his fingers on the table for a moment while he thought. “Like any politician, you argue your side effectively, Lord Vesovius. I’ll take the matter under advisement. If the rest of you might excuse us, I’d like a word with Leprue in private.”
The other three leaders offered Kulara a few more words of persuasion and encouragement, then gradually made their way out. When they were finally gone, the General turned to Leprue.
“If I do this, if I dissolve martial law and restore power to the Grand Council, you’ll have to fulfill Atheme’s role as Lord Councilor.”
The old statesman nodded. “There’s little issue there. It is a position I held for many years.”
“No offense, sir, but I’ve rather preferred Atheme’s tenure over yours. He knows when to bend the rules, or even when to break them. He knows when the law is his ally, and when it’s in his way. You’ve always shown a penchant for adhering much more rigorously to the law as it’s written.”
Leprue raised an eyebrow. “I’m not accustomed to having my flaws so brazenly pointed out to me.”
“We both know that ain’t true,” he replied with a smile. “You spend a lot of time around Lord Kinguin.”
“While I do not like to dwell on the matter, I am aware that I am not the leader that Atheme is. I am proud that he has excelled so marvelously in my stead.”
“But Atheme ain’t here now, so we’re back to you. If I’m going to give you the reins and drop martial law, I’m going to need a certain amount o
f moral flexibility from you that you haven’t demonstrated in the past. You’re going to have to ignore some laws. You might even have to skirt some process. I can’t give the country back if it means you’re going to tie me up in bureaucratic nonsense. I’m willing to make some concessions to what Vesovius said, that maybe we do still need a fully functioning government, but nonetheless I need at least some of the leeway I’ve got now.”
“I can endeavor to not tie your hands completely, but our government is designed with checks, Kulara. Even you need to have your ideas questioned, and sometimes even stopped.”
The General stood and gave a slight bow. “I guess I’ll just keep thinking it over, then.”
“I could not help but notice you omitted the truth of Kargaroth from your rendition of events,” Leprue added suddenly.
“Vesovius, Shiresta, and Michean think highly of themselves. Certainly higher than I do. I’d wager even now they are each wrestling with the information I’ve given them, trying to decide what they do and don’t believe, trying to determine if there’s any way they can declare Atheme, myself, and maybe others as unfit for further leadership so they can seize the reins. Imagine if I told them that we had a Saint of Pecoros—no less than Sinjuin Serene herself, the founder of our own Church—walking among us. Imagine how they’d struggle to believe that. Or worse yet, imagine they did. Suppose someone like them realized they had a direct line of communication to god himself. Of all the directions that could go, how many of them seem to you like they’d be for the best?”
Leprue smiled softly. “I was not complaining. Merely noting.”
Kulara returned the smile and gave a wink. “You’re going to have to excuse me for the time. There’s a chunk of the residential sector I’ve got to get evacuated.
* * * * *
Deep in the caverns of the renegade nation of Barkus, King Kalema Dijar sat atop his stone throne. His left hand gripped firmly onto a long pike standing upright, while the club in his right hand dangled limply near the ground. Occasionally he would give the club a light swing, smashing against the stone arm of his chair. The blows made more noise than damage, but nonetheless he had been sitting for long enough that his forearm was covered in a light layer of stony dust.
Jonath, his chief Clan Voice, stepped to the foot of the stairs leading to the throne and knelt down in silence. If the matter the man brought involved business, he would have spoken out. His silence indicated the issue was not important enough to interrupt the king’s thoughts. Kalema could dismiss him now, or he would wait in silence for as long as four hours before taking his own leave.
Kalema’s mood was foul, so he remained silent. He stared down at the man kneeling before him for the better part of an hour, still occasionally smacking his club against his throne, before finally roaring out.
“Voice, speak!”
“Mighty Kalema Dijar, Lord of the Barki, King of Shadows, you have asked this Voice for news of the Cainites to the south.”
“So I have. What have you for me?”
“They move, sir. A great army has been amassed and stepped from the mountains into the sun. They march to Felthespar.”
“The man known as Derris Phare—has he been sighted?”
“He leads the army, sir.”
“So he is their general, then. I suppose I should count his appearance at my court as a mark of honor.” He stroked his dark beard in thought for a moment. “Can Felthespar win this war?”
“We have run several calculations on the matter.”
Kalema waited for more. When it did not come he demanded gruffly, “That is not an answer.”
“Sir, Atheme Tethen has recovered from the poison we delivered into his system.”
The king leaned forward, his dull eyes bright now with a conflicting mix of pleasure and rage. “Impossible. That poison was carefully designed to guarantee incapacitation for at least two years, even against the prowess of Felthespar’s healers. Are you saying we have failed in our contract with the Cainites?”
“Not exactly, sir. I have reviewed the contract in question. It was written in such a manner as to indicate success so long as Atheme Tethen does not participate in the upcoming war. Fortune has smiled upon us, as the Onion Lord and his servant Abaddon Daemon have abandoned the city for reasons we do not know.”
“Abandoned? To where?”
“Again, we are uncertain. We know that they took their mighty ship and headed south.”
The King of Shadows leaned back in thought. “Perhaps they are still fighting their war with Revian, unaware that a fresh war is coming to them. Jonath, I need you to monitor this situation carefully. If Atheme is found on the continent, we will be forced to intervene and assure that he does not return to Felthespar. Our honor depends upon it.”
“Of course, your highness.”
“I have not forgotten that you did not answer my question. Can Felthespar win this war?”
“With either the strength of Daemon and the leadership of Tethen, we estimate that Felthespar might prevail. But lacking each as they are now, we foresee no victory over an army size of the one that moves against them.”
“There will be many ebbs and flows to the upcoming conflict. It will unquestionably be the fiercest war we have witnessed in our lifetime. I would prefer that we could remain neutral and uninvolved throughout, but I fear the one called Phare has already made us part of it. When mighty Felthespar falls, all of history will know that Barkus played a hand in its demise.” As Kalema announced this his voice was filled not with pride, but sorrow.
Jonath did not miss this melancholy note, and offered, “With respect, sir, Barkus guaranteed that Atheme Tethen would not aid Felthespar in the upcoming war. But we made no promises as to our own alignment.”
The king narrowed his eyes disapprovingly. “We will interfere no further in this than we must. Barkus will watch, as it has always watched. The King of Shadows has spoken. Voice, be silent.”
* * * * *
“High punch. Low punch. Uppercut. High kick. Unsheathe weapons.” Kulara shouted orders as he marched across his new training grounds within the city walls. Over a thousand of the nation’s best soldiers had been called together for a three-hour intensive training session under his supervision. The attendees included the Phoenix Dragoons, a majority of the Children of Cain, several hundred of the Church’s Templars, and a scattering of the best soldiers from other divisions of the Military, including the six members of the High Council.
Kulara had set a rigorous pace from the beginning and maintained it for over an hour now. Many of the soldiers were beginning to show signs of fatigue, though the session was not even halfway over. Every so often the General would stop to praise or critique a particular person. When he came to Cyprus Galahe, Lord of the House Saelen, he took an opportunity to do just that.
“Now, twenty high slice, low sweep, forward thrust combos. Galahe, you’re looking slow today. You slacking off on me?”
Cyprus struggled to keep pace with everyone else. His form was good, but the expression on his face was one of duress. “Sorry sir, just a little tired. I spent the day yesterday working on my own training exercises and haven’t fully recovered.”
Kulara knew the Lord of Saelen well enough to know that if the man willingly admitted he was tired, he had already pushed himself past the limits of exhaustion. “That’s enough then, soldier. You don’t have to finish this. Go home and get some rest.”
Cyprus took a second to gather his breath, but did not stop his training motions. “Thank you sir, but no thanks,” he shouted with as much voice as he could muster. “I’m going to finish. I want this.”
The General smiled at his councilor, waited for the troops to complete their twentieth sword combo, then turned and began barking out new orders.
* * * * *
A few hours later Cyprus stood in one of the training rooms on Emle property. He had finished out the entire three hours of Kulara’s training—something that not all of the fully res
ted soldiers had even been able to do—then gone back to his own personal regimen. He had been pushing himself hard and knew he needed rest soon, but he intended to keep going for as long as his body would hold out.
He also knew that he was obsessing, but he had always been a little obsessive. As the second child of Felthespar’s first family he had often felt like an afterthought. At birth he had not even been given a full name, but had been required to choose a surname for himself when he was old enough. The most difficult part of his disinheritance was knowing that he had done nothing to deserve it, that he had merely been born into it. It was his sole birthright.
It was an old tradition of the Emle family, a mechanism to keep the line pure by some standard now long forgotten. Dozens of families throughout Felthespar could trace their name back to an Emle somewhere, and given the choice they would all proudly bear the name and demand a cut of the vast fortune that came with it. Many of these people came from lines of younger siblings, such as Cyprus himself, that over the generations had splintered off to families across the city. Many were merely farmers now, or even peasants. It burned Cyprus to know that such a fate might someday await his own descendants, cast so far from the family line as to no longer be considered worthy of even the crumbs from his brother’s table.
He might have very well blamed the situation on said brother, and been driven to hate the man. Certainly he had issues with his elder sibling, but those feelings had never crossed into hatred. Cildar was one of the nation’s beacons of nobility, beloved by virtually every member of Felthespar’s ruling class, but to Cyprus he meant even more. Their father had passed when Cyprus himself was only a child, and Cildar—seven years his senior—had taken upon himself the burden of that mantle, and done his best to raise his brother on his own. He had been there whenever Cyprus needed someone, given everything that one brother might owe another, then a dozen times more. As the younger brother had grown into his independence the two were often found bickering, but when it counted the Sons of Emle would each give their life for the other without hesitation.
