Cid took the casing precariously and laid it down on the floor. The wood was polished and at its centre was a large dark metal emblem of house Rogana; a Spearhead wrapped in a wreath of leaves. Cid opened the casing.
Inside was Mindevhier, Cid’s heirloom. As it were the spear was separated into different pieces, held in place by tiny leather straps. Cid kneeled, loosened the straps and picked out the pieces. The lower shaft was the longest and served as the three foot base of the spear. It was made from a light steel and was decorated with engraved runes; memoirs of each of the warriors in Rogana’s line.
To this shaft were two available extensions; a two feet length of either wood or another steel. Cid almost never used both extensions at once, which would cause the spear to reach over seven feet in length. His more practical version was simply to attach the wooden extension and then the spearhead.
The wooden extension was somewhat lighter than the steel base and it was an important balancing factor as it carried the heavy spearhead, all the while framed by thin bronze linings to protect the wood from enemy weapons.
To be fitted over the over the upper part of the shaft were ornamental wings, a foot long each, attachable by a single strong clasp and the wings themselves working on its hinges to fold in and out. It would give the spear a remarkable appearance, and also its second name: "the Winged Serpent." Yet Cid had never used these in battle, the wings being more decorative in his eyes than anything else.
Lastly was the spearhead itself was an elongated blade, three quarters of a foot, shaped flat and leaf-like with a definite edge and tip. Finished putting it together Cid stared proudly at the weapon in his hands.
A calm settle over him and he felt his skin crawl. Kings felt most powerful on their thrones, poets did so with pen in hand, and magicians kept their tomes and scrolls nearby. For Cid there was Mindevhier, its history alone enough to inspire. Yet holding it, wielding it, gave Cid the power and confidence of seemingly every warrior who had brandished it before him. Through every other battle Cid had wielded Mindevhier, never losing, never failing, and never suffering a single moment of disgrace.
It was a devastating weapon and despite its size it was crafted with a certain lightness so that in practiced hands it could be used with uncanny speed.
Cid twirled the spear between his fingers overhead, almost cutting the dresser, but knowing that he wouldn’t, being so very familiar with its dimensions. Even without its last extension the spear was a precarious weapon in close spaces, which was why Cid always carried the sabre as well.
Cid held the spear upright, its blade level with his eyes. He caught but a distorted reflection of himself on its flat, yet could see a will to fight burning in his face and eyes, accentuated by the lamplight. He had been looking for this, looking for his determination to do whatever it takes to be with Elmira. And truly, it was as though every ounce of will he could summon was tempered into the spear itself, lingering there for Cid to use.
He smiled by himself, thinking of how he would move; lunge, strike, cut, shatter and impale. Once, Brunick had boasted that the only person he could ever lose to in single combat was Cid whilst armed with Mindevhier.
In a sense he was right.
Brunick, wielding his choice weapon of a double-bladed axe, was almost impossible for single a swordsman to cut down without getting cleaved himself. Cid however, with Mindevhier, had the advantage of range and even though wary of Brunick’s unstoppable rampages during battle Cid could not see him getting past the spear.
This fictional encounter however would never be the case; rather Cid and Brunick were often to be found fighting side by side against whoever was unlucky enough to be the enemy. Even Stelinger, an expert swordsman, would see himself facing the odds when confronted by Cid’s skill with a spear.
For what felt like an hour Cid merely stood, visualizing battlefields, imagining new tactics and preparing his resolve for when the worst struck.
A trickle of daylight entered his room and it was the rising sun that brought him back from his revolving mind. Cid shook his last amount of doubt, blew out the bed lamp and then left the room.
He had one more thing to take care of; a letter to Elmira.
Chapter 5
The Face of the Enemy
In the foyer of Taverka's main building stood a collection of war curios; weapons on racks, statues on pedestals, and higher up old tabards, flags and tapestries pinned to the hall wall. They all belonged to Lanston's war with the Fallen, either salvaged from battle itself, or otherwise consisting of busts and other tokens of remembrance of past generals. Cid walked by briskly here, using the cross shaped hall as a shortcut to the other side of the barracks’ grounds.
As usual, only one of these displays caught his eye and demanded his attention. True to human nature it was the face of danger that was noticeable above all else. He halted at this new addition.
The skull helm, pedestalled like the busts, wasn’t a sight that inspired pride or fealty. Rather, it was a grim reminder of what the Kingdom and especially the forces of Lanston were up against in times of war.
“The face of the enemy is a destiny feared,” as a poet had once framed it.
Hundreds of men, and sometimes thousands of men; garbed in black battle armour, their once loved and familiar faces enclosed in helms like the one before Cid, a dark-grey enamelled steel imitation of a bare human skull. Even as Cid looked at the helm he could imagine a set of dull white eyes staring from the skull’s sockets.
The Fallen; the enemy.
Or at least the enemy we fight, the enemies we see, the enemy we know.
Ask any soldier and he would tell you that these wars were won by sword and discipline, by the physical might of the military arm. The driving force behind the entire war however? The answer has always been Magic.
Cid was well familiar with the history of the Kingdom’s wars, as well he should be as a Colonel. What Cid knew to be true about their current conflicts told itself like a campfire story:
More than a century ago a Summoner rose to power; a magician of frightening abilities and undetermined longevity. The Kingdom did not tolerate men like him and he was cited for death after his first vile crimes against the innocence. In every city and in every home his name was feared most, not even brought up on nights when fathers sought to scare their sons into good behaviour. His name was not used lightly.
Arumcas.
This dark-minded man lived in exile to the north of the Kingdom’s borders in what was mostly thought of as the Fallen’s lands, where he kept company with his kind in forlorn keeps and hideaways. To fuel his ambition to war with the Kingdom, Arumcas developed a magic so powerful that it could enslave the will of thousands of men at a time, stripping away their consciousness and replacing it with mindlessness, responsive only to the commands of their masters spoken in Twilight tongue.
The Fallen was a loosely used concept for all that had to do with Arumcas, but it was used most often for these men enslaved by the magic; the foot soldiers, the drones, the men that wore these skull helms - they were the Fallen.
There were of course those who followed Arumcas willingly, also schooled in dark magicks, forming a cult called the Dey’illumra and were widely known as Shadow Priests; the men and women who commanded the Fallen soldiers and acted as Arumcas’ generals.
The Fallen thus would forever more be innocent men twisted beyond recognition. The irony of it all was that most of the Fallen were the very soldiers that had once fought for the Kingdom. They were men captured in battle, kidnapped as scouts, or lured by false promises of wealth and power.
It was well known that once a man succumbed to the Fallen spell there was no reversal, no cure. Of course, the Kingdom military had magi of their own and their powers have brought whole new dimensions of warfare to the front. Sadly, even their abilities could not save the Fallen once converted.
There was a psychological victory in it for the soldiers of Lanston though. Warring against men who one c
onsidered a brother or a friend was a quick way to die. Rather Cid, like every soldier, was drilled with a simple yet crucial mental framework; “they are beyond redemption, death is a mercy, when you fight the Fallen, you fight to kill.”
Chapter 6
The Message
The barracks library was small, but sufficient for any soldier to see to reports or personal documents. Cid quickly chose one of the four miniature tables, gathering himself parchment, quill, ink and envelope. Cid remembered himself coming here often when first accepted into the Lanston ranks. He was sure he had read most of the books here, all of them documentations of the past century’s struggle with the Fallen. Now that he looked back on it he realized the knowledge had served him well, as the strategies, insights and anecdotes of Lanston men long dead stuck with him.
Cid did not take long on what to write; he had been subconsciously wrestling with the issue all night anyway and it left him well prepared for the occasion.
Satisfied with the letter, Cid sealed it in the envelope with a hot wax military seal, grateful that the barracks overseer was such a painfully organized man to have everything up and running at all times. Leaving the library exactly as he found it Cid made for the aviary.
The barracks was still deathly quiet, but Cid appreciated the solitude as his mind was still forging determination for the day. He would later on have to confront Stelinger again in a war meet and Cid had already decided to be the leash that Stelinger needed.
The greatest worry for any commanding officer in the field was coming face to face with the Shadow Priests. It happened only but seldom in the skirmishes at the border, as the Priests, contrast to the Fallen, held fast to the desire to stay alive. Down in Alparack valley though the army would be much more vulnerable and the premise likely to lure out the Dey’illumra. It is this fact that Cid was mindful of and would be certain to remind Stelinger of it as well. This sure wasn’t going to be like any border war and Cid imagined even the veterans would be tested before it was all over. But then Cid quickly reminded himself that a handful of Lanston men, Stelinger being the foremost, had plenty of experience fighting up north. Reluctantly he admitted that Bennam would have made the right choice in designating Stelinger as Commander should his knowledge of Alparack be accounted for. It was still a tender spot for Cid and he’d rather not linger on Bennam’s rationales.
Another issue that was of special interest to Cid was that of the tactical reinforcements needed for the duration of the war, and as far as he knew Stelinger had not yet made a decisive request to a particular force or city. It was an opportunity for Cid to advise Stelinger in the matter, as he already thought about what help they would need in the canyon and the woods. The fact of the matter was that if the idealized operation Brunick envisioned were to take place, Cid would need to a take a lot of initiative in the decisions to ensure a successful march. He had no idea as to yet what Stelinger’s design for the operation would be, but Cid was eager to improve on it and ultimately, see it through.
The aviary was built right on top of the stables (which better explained why the entire building stood on the only knoll for many miles) and was solely accessible from a stairway on the outside.
On his way up Cid already heard the waking screeches and cries of the falcons inside. The aviary obviously consisted of an apartment hosting the falcons, but it had a larger, more prominent room as well. This unoccupied room sported a great non-sensible entryway at its side, like a misplaced oculus, a gaping hole in the wall as it were. Currently empty, four giant stalls stood next to each other, each big enough to house three war chargers comfortably. Just from the fact that these stalls were on the second story, one could guess they were indeed not built for horses.
Rather, it was the Volje that made home here from time to time, meant for the mystical flying beasts of great renown around the world and a prominent symbol within the Kingdom. Cid had once before seen the giant flyers; they reminded Cid more of a giant bat than a bird, but he would never say that out loud, as those who had a Volje on their tabard were many, and they disliked that comparison.
They were rare creatures, and certainly mythical to most. Traditionally the Volje were utilized as mounted war beasts, their sheer size allowing the Rangers of the Kingdom to man them. Almost every other barracks or outpost within the Kingdom recently outfitted themselves to house a few Rangers and their Volje on occasion.
The addition went far beyond from just being encouraging, for a visit from these men were as likely to be on investigatory purposes as a call to arms. Like the name implied they were keepers of the peace and the realm itself, but that often meant stepping on a lot of toes along the way.
Guards that watch the Guardians. We’ll probably need to call upon the Rangers before this is all over.
Cid brought his attention back to the task at hand. Choosing his falcon was easy, as he picked the one that appeared most perky, its cry a convincing plea for freedom. The Iramir falcons normally ranged from dull brown to black in colour, sporting a few white tail feathers. Despite being predators they were natural long distance flyers and sporting intelligence greater than the pigeons used historically. There was also the little fact that they usurped the pigeon by preying on them, the problem in full bloom when one lone farmer had bred the predators in mass. It had made transition to using the falcons themselves a necessity.
Unlocking his bird of choice from its cage, he could only appreciate how well trained these falcons were. Cid, pulling on thick leather gloves, allowed the bird to climb onto his forearm. Moving slowly Cid placed the bird on a network of perches in the centre of the room. Precariously now with the otherwise impractical gloves he tied the letter to the falcon’s left leg.
While doing so the falcon changed the tilt of its head every two seconds as though trying to gauge Cid’s intent from every angle. He looked into the bird’s glassy dark eyes, sensing its intelligence, a reassuring trait to see.
Done, Cid lifted the bird onto his forearm again and walked for the window.
‘Don’t worry birdie, I am going to try and win a war, all you have to do is deliver this letter,’ said Cid.
Positioned at the window, Cid released the falcon through the opening, the wings taking immediate flight with a rapid beat. For moments more Cid watched it disappear into the endless hue of the sky. Cid strolled for the door to exit, passing the basket of delivered letters.
Something in the basket caught his eye and he stopped to look. Only a dozen or so letters were piled at the bottom and one of them was addressed to him. He lifted the letter from the basket and realized he only spotted it because of how large his name was written on the front. Instantly curious he tore it open, Elmira in his forethoughts.
Surely this couldn’t be from her?
He was right, the parchment inside was dull, although neatly penned, and did not have Elmira’s usual spray of perfume. It read:
To Anthony, Lanston Provision Officer
Payment received with thanks. Weapons are at various stages of development. Progress is flawless to thus far, binding process better than expected. Should be ready before the end of the month. Expect delivery in time for the Lanston march. Pleasure to have done business with you.
Paul’op. Destinian Blacksmithies.
Cid frowned. The envelope was addressed to Cid, yet the letter was clearly not meant for him. But why would he get it then? The provision officer wasn’t even at the barracks, so how did the letter end up here of all places? Someone of course had quite deliberately written Cid’s name on the envelope, but it did not carry a seal of any kind; the original envelope must’ve been discarded, implying that Cid wasn’t the first to read it.
Someone wanted me to have this? I would’ve taken the letter to Bennam, but…
Cid read the letter again…
The Destinian Blacksmithies was a large chain of Blacksmiths in the city of Morshiph and did some of the finest metal work the Kingdom had to offer. It was not unusual for them to supply city armie
s other than their own, their products much sought after.
Binding process though? Cid had no idea what this would refer to.
Either way it wasn’t an interest of Cid’s or his business for that matter. The intent of the messenger however was the real issue he realized. Someone had something to say to Cid, but rather than coming to him in person, he sends the letter anonymously. Cid thought about showing it to Stelinger.
No, he would know all about new weapons for Lanston. Besides, whoever sent this must be adamant on secrecy. Cid knew as much that he would not be able to figure this out for now and put his thoughts aside, rather embracing a ravenous hunger. To the dining hall he went.
‘So what’s with the armour?’ asked Alex.
They were in a stacked dining hall, the mood rowdy as the tensions of drills and promotions were forgotten. It would however not be long before everyone had to deal with the reality of war again, but that seemed only to increase the men’s motive for carelessness.
‘For the war meet later, from now on we play dress up regularly,’ answered Cid, his helm put on the table.
‘Hmm, I heard the first bunch of troops are arriving this morning, they‘ve been dispatched a week ago, which means-’
‘That they’ve known something was up even before us,’ finished Alex.
‘Do you have to interrupt me every time I talk!?’ asked Brunick irritably.
‘Hey, I only finished what you were going to say big guy,’ said Alex.
‘Yeah well, I want to finish what I was going to say!’ retorted Brunick.
‘Well go ahead then…’
Cid blocked them out. They often bickered like this, innocent in essence, yet tiresome nonetheless. Both Alex and Brunick were Cid’s most trusted friends and even though the two of them would never admit it, they had a lot of time for each other. In physical presence they were opposites. Alex was a bit shorter and a much lighter build than even Cid. His stature suited his acumen as an expert trailblazer and one of the best archers in Lanston. He had a lean face, a prominent pointy noise and lively eyes that seemed to look at everything. His hair was straw coloured and kept in untidy strands.
Remnant Pages Spearhead Page 6
