Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  Chapter 37.

  Memories of the Dawn

  Atheme pushed aside a slim rock slab and stepped into daylight for the first time in months. Sunbeams warmed his face and he beamed back a smile. Serene pushed him from behind, still in the cave and anxious to get out into fresh air. He stepped aside and helped her out, then suddenly grabbed her and spun about in a light-footed dance. She was surprised for a second, then laughed and joined him in his celebration. The ten Monks of Tria filed out cheerfully, followed finally by Abaddon, who did not seem to care much one way or another about the new scenery.

  For four months they had worked their way across the Jagguron mountain range of Arkalen. The first month had been spent trail hiking and rock climbing, hours of hard work every day that no person of average stamina could have endured. Fortunately none among their group could be accused of having anything less than a superb physique. After this brutal month they had reached a high enough altitude that they would have frozen to death, had not the monks taken them into a complex series of cavernous mazes. At first it had been refreshing, escaping the unforgiving snows of the peaks. But there was no quick route through, no openings back to the real world, and three long months in those caverns had nearly been more than sanity could take.

  The company helped, Atheme had thought on several occasions. Tenkahn and his monks were kind and jovial, and much of their time was spent exchanging stories. Abaddon put in training time with the monks, quickly mastering all of their techniques and then training to build his body up to their level. He fought always without his mystical enhancements, usually battling the monks two or three at a time, or sparring with Atheme one-on-one. It had kept everyone entertained—with the exception of Serene—until one session where Abaddon had nearly killed five of the monks simultaneously. From then on he sat the rest out, letting Atheme and the monks spar with one another.

  Finally that stretch of their journey was ended. Once Atheme and Serene finished dancing around the mountaintop, Tenkahn motioned him over.

  “I’m afraid we can go with you no farther, Master Tethen. Now that we have crossed the Jagguron Peaks, we are beginning to enter the regions affected by the Lifeless Vortex. At this altitude we are relatively safe from its effects, but if my brothers and I followed you down to the land below then our enchantments would begin to fail. We would lose our strength and become vulnerable.”

  “I understand. Can you give us any helpful information on this new terrain?”

  “I fear not. We have never been any closer than this to the Lifeless Vortex, so we know almost nothing of the land beyond here. I will tell you the little I do know, though.” He stepped to the edge of the small outcropping they stood upon, and pointed down to the landscape laid out before them. “Immediately below is the Fenrir Jungle. It extends nearly as far south as the eye can see, then you’ll reach Ashelon River. Beyond that I can tell you nothing.”

  Atheme gave a deep bow. “That will do, Tenkahn. We thank you and your men. I truly do not know how we would have crossed the mountains without you.”

  “We will remain here for you, Sir Atheme Tethen of the continent Itrius. If you have not come back to us in half a year, then we will consider you deceased, mourn your loss, and return across the mountains to our home.” They shook hands, exchanged bows and further gratuity, and the foreign trio set out on their way with rations and supplies supplemented by the resourceful monks.

  Once they were about halfway down the mountain trail, Atheme queried Serene. “We’re back in your hands now. How well do you know the land ahead?”

  “Poorly, I’m afraid. There isn’t a terrible amount of interesting stuff over here, and absolutely no sizable human cities. It never seemed like an area I should need to know.”

  “The beauty of assumptions. Even Saints are not invulnerable to their folly.”

  “I do know a little more than Tenkahn, however. The Fenrir Jungle is thusly named because of the powerful species of canines that inhabit it. They’re relatively weak, even by Itriun standards, but they’re probably the fastest demonspawn alive. They hunt in packs of hundreds and blanket the entire jungle. Crossing it isn’t even going to be close to pleasant.

  “Then there’s Ashelon, River of the Damned. Whenever a mystic is born close to an ether pole, they are almost immediately corrupted and turned to nightspawn. Most of those nightspawn are swept to the vortex itself and extinguished, but a few are born far enough away to escape its grasp. Over the past few thousands of years, quite a number of these found their way to the river and learned that if they hide deep, most of the heavy ether streams pass over them. Since they have very few victims, none of them are as powerful as the liches you’ve heard of, but they’re more powerful than any other variety of nightspawn.”

  Atheme clapped his hands together. “Good. A jungle that we can’t cross without being devoured, and a river that hides a wall of the undead.”

  “Nightspawn aren’t technically undead...” Serene began, then caught wind of Atheme’s sardonic tone. She started to say something else, but stopped when she heard a scrambling noise behind her.

  She and Atheme turned around to find Abaddon on his hands and knees, his eyes wide and his breath shallow, his expression of pain apparent.

  Atheme immediately dashed to his side. “Abaddon! What’s wrong?”

  He tried to steady himself before answering, but his breathing remained uneven. “I can see it, Atheme. I can’t see anything else. When Tenkahn was explaining the layout of the land to you, I looked out and all I could see was a giant black hole in the distance, pulling everything to it. Even now, the ground beneath me is racing away,” he held up one hand and stared at it as if he had never seen it before, continuing, “and it looks like my own body is being torn from me. My whole world has turned into nothing but bleeding ether streams. I can’t look away, I can’t escape them. I-I’m blind.”

  Serene turned and looked off into the distance. “The ether pole. There’s a reason the locals call it the Lifeless Vortex. As a Saint, I’m blessed with a sort of optional mysticism. While I was Relm Sarin it was turned off, but when I was placed in danger it came back on, like a flipped switch, and brought my memories back with it. Now I have turned it off again, because while I am capable of withstanding even the purest and fiercest of Asterian currents, it would exhaust me to constantly struggle against them.”

  She turned around and walked over to Abaddon, laying a hand gently on his chest. “Poor man, I do not envy you the task that lies ahead. You cannot turn off your highly sensitive mysticism, and you have no experience against ether currents this powerful. You must travel across this land with us while withstanding the constant assault of these currents, keeping your spirit from being drawn to the ether pole, and continuing to resist the powers of Kargaroth. Do you think you have the strength?”

  He dropped his head, staring hard at the ground below him. “Do I have any other choice?”

  “Not if the world is to have hope for survival.”

  Abaddon rose to his feet, straightened his back, and once more began walking down the trail, showing no further signs of instability. “Then I have the strength.”

  The Saint sighed with a soft smile and turned to say something to Atheme. His glare was an angry one, and she expected to get an earful, though for what she was uncertain. He said nothing, however, and instead turned and rapidly followed Abaddon down the mountain. Serene stood feeling more than a little alone for several seconds, then redoubled her resolve and followed.

  * * * * *

  During the four months that Atheme’s small party wandered through mountains and caves, Kulara was fighting a losing war. He had long ago grown accustomed to losing battles, but he had never lost a war. He could not even stomach the thought of losing a war, especially where his own country was at stake. He had played Stratas’ game according to the rules that had been laid out, sending a different force out every other day, sometimes every day, always trying to launch a clever and unpredictable of
fensive that might do some damage to the vast Cainite horde.

  But there were no signs of hope in the matter. His forces had to leave by the front gates, and there was really only one direction they could go: straight into the Cainite’s waiting arms. Night ambushes had repeatedly proven to be worthless, and even the most complex tactics fell apart as Stratas poured sweep after sweep of his troops, completely forsaking human life and limb. All of the Cainite commanders had made their return to the battlefield, and it was everything the Knighthood’s councilors could do to keep them in check, even with their new arsenal.

  The knights were always allowed to retreat, as the Cainites never followed them into the northern regions of Ducall. Stratas was winning his battle on his terms. He had humiliated the Knighthood nearly a hundred times, and the country was becoming demoralized and starting to give in to chaos.

  The Grand and Military Councils sat in Kulara’s tent, holding the evening meeting that had become a part of their daily routine. The usual ideas were being passed around, but new no insights were turning up. The General himself offered nothing, hoping to catch some small detail he could use.

  “We do have a few tactics that we’ve held back on,” Cyprus was suggesting. “Some of our best tricks. Why don’t we just bust those out to regain a foothold in this war?”

  “We can’t do that,” Cildar offered in retort. “As things stand right now, the knowledge that we haven’t used all of our tricks is what’s keeping our forces going, giving them hope to fight on. If we use our last resorts and they fail—which they will—then the troops are going to lose all hope and revolt will break out.”

  “Why would our troops revolt? They surely know the Cainites want to kill us all, and if we lose this war then they’re dead.”

  “Desperation quickly drives people to do things they know are foolish, in hopes that they can achieve a slightly higher chance for survival.”

  Kulara waved a swift hand. “I agree with Cildar, though for different reasons. I’m holding back on our best tactics because I still hope to be able to pull them out when the tides of the war are more in our favor, when they’ll be most advantageous.”

  The Lord of Saelen clung stubbornly to his point. “But if we hold out on them too long, we’re not going to have the manpower to execute those tactics!”

  “I’ve decided, Galahe. That’s enough.” Cyprus sat back moping. “Fujia, you’ve kept a running count on troops, right?”

  “Yes sir, Leprue and I have been very carefully documenting all casualties.”

  “Alright. Starting from the beginning, I want you to give me a full tally of our numbers throughout the war.”

  “Sir, yes sir. We began the war with four hundred Children, five hundred Phoenix Dragoons, seven hundred archers, three thousand light infantry, eighteen hundred heavy infantry, and four hundred fifty war mages.”

  “Skip the details, Tuel. Just give me the full ranks.”

  “Sorry sir. Counting the factions above, we began with an active force of about sixty-nine hundred. This is close to record for the lowest troop count in the history of Felthespar, due to the drop in military interest over the last few decades and the casualties sustained in the Vantrisk and Revian wars. In the first pitched battle...” Fujia ran through the approximate casualties for each battle, taking up the better part of an hour. A few of the councilors became bored, but they understood the importance of the information and did their best to pay attention.

  Fujia finished up the death tolls, but continued with other matters. “On the other hand, once the populous realized the severity of the invasion then recruitment reached record highs. Over the last few months we’ve gained three thousand new recruits, and thanks to Cildar double shifting his Phoenix Dragoons and placing them on training detail, most of the recruits are already capable enough to be useful on the battlefield. Still, the recruitment numbers do not make up for the losses, and as things stand right now we’re down to five thousand active soldiers.”

  Kulara shook his head sadly as everyone digested this information. “We’ve gained three thousand and still only have five standing. Precious few of the soldiers from half a year ago are still alive and fit to fight. I’ve seen a lot of friends fall, and a lot of families suffer. We have to bring this war to a close soon.”

  Kinguin rubbed his forehead. “It’s not like we haven’t been endeavoring to do just that. I know that you’re renowned for being an exceptional strategic mind, with oft foolproof plans, but unless we get an idea that puts even yours to shame there’s no point in praying for the best. It simply isn’t going to happen.”

  “Praying?” Karice perked up her ears. “Wait, perhaps we could send out the Templars. Aren’t the Cainites supposed to be vulnerable to white magic? I know the Templars have always been kept on reserve to protect the civilians in the event of the city walls being breached, but this does technically count as home defense.”

  Everyone looked around at each other with pleased expressions, until Myris coughed quietly and waved a hand. “Won’t work.”

  Karice unleashed an annoyed glare. “You want to give us a reason as to why not?”

  “Remember how much difficulty the Church had in healing me? Only Lord Aveni’s magic was powerful enough to have any effect. This is because over the centuries since the Arocaen, we Cainites used our equivalent of grey magic to matrix a permanent white magic deflection barrier around our spirits. Your Templars would help out insomuch as any additional troops would, but they will offer no further advantage.”

  “Fine!” the Lord of Aithr nearly shouted, losing her calm demeanor for the first time in years. It was a testament to how high tempers were running. “You come up with an idea then!”

  Myris looked at the floor, tapped his feet a couple of times, then looked back up. “Kill the Circle of Command.”

  Zynex was leaning back in a chair, tossing an arrow high into the air and then letting it fall back into his face, snatching it just before it put out his eye. It was an admittedly stupid game that he had played most of his life, but he had never missed, and bragged that he never would. “How will that help anything? There’s, what, seven of them?”

  “Six,” Lathria corrected.

  “Right, six. So we kill six Cainites. That leaves... how many, Fujia? How many Cainites are there left right now?”

  “We’ve chipped their numbers down from seventeen thousand to thirteen.”

  “Okay, so that leaves thirteen thousand Cainites. Do we really benefit that much from killing the six? Even if they’re the most powerful six, they’re just fleas on the back of the hellhound that’s trying to kill us.”

  Once Zynex was done with his metaphor, Myris explained. “Here at Felthespar you are accustomed to a very simple yet organized authority structure, with tier upon tier of ranking officials. The Cainites never learned such order, they innately know no such hierarchy. Have none of you noticed how after Derris died, Stratas assumed the role of Lord Commander, yet no one filled the void in the leadership circle?”

  “I noticed,” Kinguin responded. “I assumed that they had some sort of adaptive officer system, perhaps a surplus of leaders in case of the murder of the one. Such a system could offer additional stability during wartime.”

  Myris shook his head. “You give them undo credit. The Cainites have a very flawed chain of command. Other than the Phares, a soldier must challenge and fight to prove themselves worthy of joining the Circle, which has no actual set number of members. So only the rebellious—or at least the extremely confident—can become leaders, and only when they choose to step up. These struggles often cause chaos and political upheavals that no one wants during a war.”

  Kulara’s eyes widened with realization. “Except for us.”

  “Precisely. If you kill the leaders, the soldiers will be forced to fight amongst themselves to determine who is worthy of assuming command. Thirteen thousand people in chaos, without direction, more concerned about being stabbed in the back by their closest al
lies than by the enemy they have come to conquer. Even better, knowing that my Children wander the ranks has caused Stratas to adopt a policy of secrecy. Only his five warlords know the strategies they are to use against us, including how they summon and control the Lich. If they die, this information dies with them.”

  “In theory, it’s a perfect tactic,” Kinguin said, running his fingertips through the feather adorning his fedora. “It would afford us adequate leeway to devise and execute new plans, without having to anticipate swift and organized reprisal.”

  Cildar drew forth one of his long knives and started tapping it against the back of his hand. “But how do we get someone that deep into enemy ranks? If we do, how do they kill all six commanders without being detected? Can they expect to be able to return to Felthespar safely as well, or is it to be a suicide mission? Once the Cainites are in disarray, how do we take maximum advantage of the time we’re given? What happens if they manage to find a new commander who’s even more dangerous than Stratas and Derris combined?”

  Kulara cut the man off with another sharp movement, but did not disagree with him. “He’s right. We have a good idea, an inspired starting point, but the plan won’t just write itself. Let’s hammer out some details.”

  Chapter 38.

  Assassination

  Cildar leaned on the battlements above Felthespar’s front gate, staring out across the plains before him. From the comfortable height of the city walls, using powerful doses of grey magic to enhance his vision, the paladin could see the bulk of the Cainite army even over the lightly rolling terrain of the Ducall region, barely a speck of black on the green earth. It was late afternoon now. The sun would be going down in a while and he would not be able to observe the Cainites anymore. He stared at them for a while longer, then turned his gaze down the length of Felthespar’s city wall.

  Five miles to his left and nine miles to his right the wall ran. To his far left, it merged into the Kotolis Mountain range, which guarded Felthespar’s north and east sides. To the far right, the wall turned back to the north, running along Felthespar’s west side and up into Kotolis. These walls had never been breached, which was something that inspired confidence in the soldiers. None of the officers ever made mention of the fact that the walls had only been completed after the Arocaen, and had never really fallen under a threat such as the city faced now.