by Mark B Frost
Neither of them ever let it go to their heads. They could not, for they knew there were still two men they could not yet fight on equal footing. Every day the two Celestial Knights checked the horizon for signs of their peers, and each night they wondered if they would ever see their old friends again.
Cildar had not caught Jessandra atop the wall in many months. He came up behind her and wrapped his cape about her shoulders. It was the end of winter and temperatures as of late had been mild, but it was still no condition for her to sit on a stone wall with no comfort.
“You look pretty lonely up here, darling. Do you need some company?”
She looked down at the spear clutched in her hands. “Do you think they’re coming back?”
He turned and leaned against the balustrade behind him. “I’ve never heard you say anything about them, Jess. What brings this up so suddenly?”
“I’ve just been keeping myself busy for a long time now, you know. Trying not to let myself think about it. But I ran out of things to do and it hit me like a cart-wreck. I miss Relm. Life’s just a lot more boring without someone to run around and do silly things with. Relm was the only girl I’ve ever known who didn’t think I was immature. I couldn’t replace her, even if I did want to. Do you think they’re coming back?”
“Of course they are. There is no force on this planet that would keep them from Felthespar. They will come home.”
She turned and looked at her husband, who stared up at the sky with clear green eyes and a wrinkle-free brow. “How do you always stay so level, Cildar?”
“It’s something that Lord Abaddon taught me. ‘A soldier,’ he said, ‘cannot show his weakness. A man can show his weakness, a civilian can show his weakness, but never a soldier. When you don your armor, you become a symbol, an icon. People will look to you for their confidence, for something to believe in. You have to always be that something.’”
Jessandra almost laughed at this and began to make fun of her husband’s idealism. But as she sat there staring at him in his glorious white uniform, the sun glinting off of his plate mail as he stared back at it without a flinch, she realized that the spell worked. She turned her eyes back to the north and said quietly to herself, “They will come home.”
* * * * *
Atheme and Relm chatted jovially as they wandered the Sarin Plains. Relm was explaining to her love how she was named after these very plains, as if it were the first he had ever heard of it. As he always did, he gave her a soft smile and played along, adding just enough to the conversation to keep her excitedly rambling and bouncing about. Abaddon marched stolidly behind, Kargaroth hitched across his back in a huge half-sheath he had constructed for it, his left arm still fully bandaged. The limb had recovered from its initial deformity enough for Abaddon’s hand to clearly be made out now. While he found it usable, it was still too hideous of a sight to go uncovered.
They topped the oh-so-familiar final slope of the plains that would bring them into view of the sprawling Ducall Forest. It was here that Atheme began to worry something had gone terribly wrong. The forest was gone without a trace, replaced by a large expanse of grassland that looked as though it had been there for ages. The three travelers halted their journey and quietly observed the absence they were looking upon.
“Abaddon, what do you make of this?”
The mystic raised his good hand and focused energy to it. His mysticism was still redeveloping, and Relm had warned him that it might be many years before he could read the currents as he once did. “I don’t sense anything out of the ordinary,” he answered. “It’s just grass.”
Atheme nodded, but did not feel comforted. “Well, come on. It used to take about half a day to navigate the Ducall with a small party, and that was when there were trees. We should make it to Felthespar within a few hours now.”
“If any Felthespar stands,” Abaddon spoke their collective fear.
Relm, who had slipped into a concerned silence, wrapped herself about Atheme’s arm as they resumed their journey. A few hours brought them within sight of the city, as he had foreseen. A chill winter wind whipped across the grassy plains and over the city. There was no watch placed on the walls, and no sign of torches lit for the coming nightfall.
“What do you think?” the Lord Councilor asked of his companions.
“There’s definitely life around,” Abaddon responded. “The question is, is it a surprise party or a death trap?”
He smiled at the man’s typically simplistic summation. “So how do we handle it?”
“I say,” Felthespar’s Destroyer answered as he reached across his back and pulled forth Kargaroth, “we charge in and kill whoever gets in our way, be they friend or foe. It’s safest that way.”
Atheme nodded, unable to squelch his broadening smile at his friend’s dry humor. “We could probably try a more polite route first.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted at his loudest, “I am Atheme Tethen of the House Saelen, Knight of the Sun, Lord Grand Councilor of Felthespar. This is my city and I command these gates be opened unto me.”
A few sounds and shuffles were heard, and slowly the gates creaked open. On the other side waited Leprue, Kulara, Cildar and Jessandra, Myris, Kinguin, Aveni, Vesovius, and many more former friends from times past. Leprue took a few steps forward and shook his head. “Now Atheme, if you wanted in all you had to do was ask. No need for such brashness.”
With the first greeting said, the two sides rushed together with smiles and laughter. Pleasantries were exchanged all around. Relm and Jessandra embraced each other and danced about screaming and crying and laughing all at once, complimenting each other’s new clothes and shoes and hairstyles since they had last seen one another. Atheme was swarmed on all sides by old friends and tears rushed openly down his happy face as he hugged each person in turn and tried to listen to a dozen stories at once.
After Kulara had squeezed a few words in with Atheme, he headed over to where Abaddon had extricated himself from the reunion. The two old friends gave each other a rough punch on the arm. Kulara was wearing the same grey uniform that Abaddon remembered, but he had decked it out a bit more. In addition to the Dual Blade hanging at his side, an extra broadsword was strapped across his back, in addition to a pike. His forearms had been covered with simple gauntlets, and a small plate shield was tied to the top of his left.
“So Daemon, looks like you survived after all. No big water monsters attack you?”
“A couple. They’re not as tough as they look. It appears you finally started using some weaponry, unless I miss my guess.”
“Heh. Cildar and Myris were getting a bit too good for my liking, so I diversified my style to catch up with them. We’ve been having some interesting little training sessions, I must admit.” He chuckled, then reached down and drew the Dual Blade. “Speaking of, here you go, as promised. Just as good as she was when you left.”
Abaddon reached up with his good hand and patted the hilt of Kargaroth sticking out over his shoulder. “I don’t need it anymore. This blade serves me well, even though it’s only an empty shell. You keep it. You seem to have done well with it.”
Kulara stabbed the sword at Abaddon’s feet and shook his head. “It’s a generous offer, but to be honest I’ve grown rather found of this one instead.” He withdrew the sword from his back. It was a black, single-bladed broadsword resembling a giant katana. The mystic reached a hand forward to touch the obsidian surface, and the blade let out a low hum.
“It’s an enchanted sword,” he said with curiosity.
“It’s a Moradel, the newest invention of the Arcanum. They’ve been working on it for a few years now. This one’s the prototype. They said that it’s too powerful to mass produce, so they’re going to scale it down. Hearing this, I requested this one for myself. Lord Kinguin pulled some strings for me and I’ve been playing with it ever since. Not had a chance to use it in combat yet, but it has given me an extra edge in dealing with those two Celestials over there.”
“Oh aye, Knight of the Moon now. Cildar as well, given the title of Sun, same as you. You should have seen them in the Second Arocaen. They fought like the possessed.”
Just then Atheme shouted over, “Abaddon, come over here and say hello to everyone. You’re not going to believe some of the stunts Kinguin has pulled in our absence.”
As Abaddon began to join the throng, Cildar tapped his Trine Lance to the ground several times. Everyone except for Myris and he backed away, and the four Celestial warriors stood facing each other.
“Lord Atheme, Lord Abaddon,” the paladin spoke, “Myris and I would like to extend our deepest welcome to you. You have been sorely missed. However, the two long-standing mightiest Knights of Felthespar cannot simply return home without a test of their powers. And so, with that said...”
Cildar’s body exploded into a pillar of holy light and he dashed at Abaddon, while Myris threw his Soul Scythe spinning through the air at Atheme and slid to his left, executing a series of rapid Fire Draws. The Lord Councilor threw himself forward onto his hands and knees, then spun around and snatched the Scythe as it passed over him. He shot to his feet and slashed the head of the weapon into the blades of fire rushing for him, then flung the Scythe back at Myris and drew his sare. The Cain sheathed his katana and dashed forward, catching his Scythe and closing in swiftly.
Cildar planted his feet firmly in front of Abaddon and began delivering his most vicious flurry of punches. His torso twisted rapidly as his knuckles crashed dozens of times into the Champion’s abs, ribs, and chest, followed by a right hook that made the very ground shake. This final blow lifted the mystic into the air and set him back a few yards. Cildar dashed forward with a roar, clenching his fists together and preparing for a massive uppercut.
Abaddon shot forth his left hand and latched all five fingers cruelly into the paladin’s face. There was a crunch as Cildar was brought to a stop face first, but he did not halt his assault. He began throwing cutting punches into the bandaged arm, trying his best to break a bone, but the Daemon stood immovable.
“Emle, what did I tell you about guarding your head?” Abaddon taunted. He took his right hand and punched the paladin in the side, just behind where his plate mail’s protection ended. The Dragoon ceased his punches and gasped for air, letting his Hasted condition falter. Abaddon raised his right arm and aimed it level to his opponent’s face, then delivered a powerful blow to the back of his own hand. A twister of kinetic force shot from his hands, and Cildar was carried along by his head and sent crashing straight into the wall of Felthespar. “I told you to do it,” the big man finished emphatically.
Meanwhile, Myris was everywhere around Atheme, trying his best to find an angle that the man in red did not have defended. As fast as the Knight of the Moon was, he could not break his way through the sare. Using the constantly changing lengths of the pole to their fullest advantage, Atheme effortlessly covered his front, sides, and back, and seemed to have no trouble knowing where the Cain would strike next. Myris drew his katana as well and threw himself at the Lord Councilor once more, but now the Knight of the Sun launched his own offensive.
A single row of lightning bolts carved a destructive path from Atheme’s position. Even Myris was not able to dodge the attack, sudden as it was, so he crouched down and held his scythe overhead to absorb the impact of the spell, while sending another Fire Draw in his opponent’s direction. The Lord of Felthespar dashed forward and did a series of nimble flips and cartwheels through his lightning bolts and over the wave of fire, extending his sare out to its full nine feet. Even as he was still flipping through magics, the first blow from his sare struck and broke Myris’ wrist, causing him to drop his katana. The next hit struck him low on the shoulder, dislocating it and causing the Scythe to drop limply to the ground.
This had all occurred so quickly that the lightning spell had not yet fully dissipated, so Myris was struck unguarded by the energy remaining in the bolts. Using this moment of paralysis to his advantage, Atheme delivered a wide swing with the sare, and the dark man was batted across the courtyard and into Cildar’s chest.
The two defeated knights slowly disentangled themselves and rose to their feet. Neither had sustained dangerous injuries from the exchange. Myris had Cildar pop his dislocated arm back into socket, then set his broken wrist in place and used energy gathered from the Soul Scythe to mend the bones. Cildar checked his aching head and straightened a broken nose. His mask had been disintegrated, but he was proud to find his helmet had weathered Abaddon’s powerful new technique without harm.
Atheme popped his neck to the left, then to the right, and started advancing on the two. “Do we keep going until you’re dead, or just unconscious?” he asked with a playful smile.
Cildar held his hands up. “We surrender. You’re still the best. Hail to the kings.”
Relm dashed by and gave Atheme a fierce smack on the back of the head, then headed over to make sure Cildar and Myris were alright. Abaddon moved to the Lord Councilor’s side as the man rubbed the back of his head.
“What did I do to deserve that?”
Abaddon shook his head, fighting his hardest to repress an edging smile. “Hard to say. The way I see it, we were acting strictly out of self defense.”
Cildar and Myris headed over and offered handshakes and apologies, and Leprue announced that they should all head to the Chamber Vesovia, where a banquet awaited them.
They did just that, and stories were exchanged all around. Atheme and Relm spoke of the continent of Arkalen, the powerful and wise Monks of Tria, the wonders of the ether pole, the determination of Sinjuin Serene, and Abaddon’s triumph over the impossible. The rest of the party, led mostly by Kulara, walked them through the entire Cainite invasion. The General praised the cunning of Derris and the boldness of Stratas, always willing to show respect for fallen enemies. They told of all the battles, but gave particular attention to Myris’ final battle with Derris, Cildar’s slaying of the lich, and the courage of Kinguin. Homage was given to each of the fallen Cainites warlords, and then Leprue and Myris spoke of the honesty and kindness of Thian, Felthespar’s new ally.
The reunited countrymen feasted and partied long after the sun had risen the next morning, basking in the presence of good friends and good food, mourning fallen allies, and reveling in past adventures and victories. The smile never once left Atheme Tethen’s face, and with his arm wrapped tightly around Relm’s waist as she leaned on his shoulder, listening to Kinguin and Leprue argue viciously over a trivial point, he knew that he was home, and swore that he would never leave it again.
Epilogue
Distant Shores Do Beckon My Soul
Abaddon stood between Felthespar’s front gates, staring into the depths of the young Ducall Forest. The gates stood ever open now, and the road from Jegan had been extended, running right up to the city then veering off into the west. Traffic from the Cainites and Jeganites alike traversed that road, coming to Felthespar, leaving Felthespar, or just passing by, mounted on peists or landing their wyverns. Enemies did not rise up to challenge the nation’s authority anymore. Rumors had spread far and wide of the mighty Daemon that led their armies. He was said to be a beast, The Destroyer who obeyed only one man, and awaited that man’s orders to go forth and raze entire cities to the ground.
Abaddon was not nearly as merciless as the rumors made him out to be. At least, not anymore. But he was a man to be feared, and fear bred exaggeration. No city would admit that a single man had driven their entire army into hiding. It took a monster to justify that kind of terror.
He had changed from his old uniform. He had removed the sleeves from the black shirt, which he now wore tight about his torso. Elastic bands sewn into the neck and shoulders kept the shirt from being baggy. He wore loose-fitting breeches, which made movement easier, and a matching pair of clean white gloves and boots, both made
of the thickest leathers. His old purple cape had finally been destroyed beyond repair, so he had converted the remains of it into a wide belt and sash, which he let drift down along his left leg. Kargaroth still sat in its half-scabbard across his back, but now the magnificent sword had a peculiar decoration of bandages hiding the hilt.
The sun began to cross the horizon in the east, and Abaddon felt the air begin to warm. Soon sunlight would be trickling through the leafy boughs of the Ducall, lighting the path with beauty and giving it a docile look. Warm, but not too warm; bright, but not too bright. The courtyard behind him—once used as Military training grounds—had been converted to a series of market stands and fountains, convenient for any travelers fresh from a long journey. Every year Felthespar became more friendly, more inviting, more beautiful. There was even talk of tearing down and widening the front gates, much to Kulara’s distaste. The mighty fortress had become a paradise for wayfarers and locals alike, and though the recruitment numbers of the Military had swollen to nearly ten times what they had once been, the army did not march anymore.
Atheme came down the main street of Felthespar, nodding and waving to the already gathering shop owners. He politely avoided conversation and came up to his Champion’s side, stopping next to him and staring forward into the Ducall. Over the last few years the Lord Councilor had put some training time in with all of the various branches of the Knighthood. Now in addition to the titles of Warlock, Lord Templar, and Bishop, he held the ultimate honor of being called Knight of the Heavens. He was the only man to have ever achieved the title while still living.
