The bodies already piled and the position of the Lanston soldiers was only strengthened as the scores of Fallen killed by arrows became further obstacles at the corridor entrance. Cid could feel how the specialists around him rotated; only he and Brunick remained at the front, serving as a foundation. He could even tell how some of the specialists were dragging the Fallen bodies out from under their feet. Stumbling over a corpse will ever be a sad mistake in battle.
It was peculiar then, fighting perpetually, driven by death and beheld by the motionless infantry who could do nothing but remain firm and watch the specialists do battle while bathed in artificial light. It was indeed like fighting in an arena, and fittingly Cid drew strength from their watching eyes, as though he could react on their wishes for him to strike harder and faster.
A turning point came when Cid spotted a fallen encroaching an occupied Brunick from behind.
‘Brunick, behind you!’ yelled Cid in panic, entangled with his own set of enemies.
Brunick decapitated the fallen at his front and then, in an instant, turned on the spot and swung his axe in an overhead arc with lightning quickness. What followed elicited a raucous cheer from the infantry.
Brunick’s blood dripping axe blades struck right onto shoulder and neck, the strength of the blow collapsing the fallen soldier in upon himself, going down in a spray of blood and shattered armour. Cid was crudely reminded of once seeing a construction worker downright crushed by a falling segment of wall. Brunick’s axe had done much of the same effect. A surge of energy resonated among the men, the shields pressing a step closer without command, tightening the corridor eagerly, and Cid could feel the charge of the Fallen losing its persistence.
The eclipse had proven to favour the men from Lanston much more than the Fallen, but with the wide-spread darkness Cid knew it was only a matter of time before the Fallen made full use of it, sending in their assassins.
The shadowlings were some of the most despised magic that came from the arsenal of the Shadow Priests, lasting but a few hours, but intended to cause great damage in that short time. They were a conjuring, dark magic that replicated living things, attaching themselves to a Fallen soldier, and the soldier itself would burn out and disappear into the void at the end of its life, doomed to an shorter lifespan than the already cursed Fallen. The shadowling came to human eyes as dark cloaked beings, bent and hunched, but as fast and whimsical as the root of its name. They disappeared from sight quite easily and preferred to use long knives to deadly effect. They could not enter light or be exposed to the sun directly, being solely effective during night-time or in shadowy areas. But with the eclipse above them this was their day and with their speed they wreaked havoc in Lanston ranks desperately trying to keep the integrity of their formation.
They were kept at bay with light, and only the steel of a soldier with great nerve could find its mark and kill it. Cid organized his men to cut down the movement of the shadowlings with the light of the Sekhaimogists, and eliminate them the moment they were trapped, not taking a risk until they were.
Even with that behind them the odds worsened again within moments, the few shadowlings only a distraction it seemed to pre-occupy Cid’s magicians . Dark violet flames crashed into the Lanston men, seemingly as though the eclipse above had started spitting fire. The enhanced shield-bearers did their best to position themselves with their golden shields overhead, yet all that followed were a multitude of dying screams shrouded in thick black swirls of smoke as the flames rolled over men and foliage.
The Priests were evidently now in range at least and Cid could do nothing but will Alex and his men to shoot. The soldiers scurried to remain in formation and were struggling to do so between the smoke and burned men, some dead, others sprawling and crying in agony.
‘Magi! Clear the smoke and the flames, and focus some of those lights on the Priests!’
Alex had done this before and knew what to look for. They gathered in a Biridian to the east of the companies and held a clear view of the Fallen force in the glade. They still outnumbered Lanston terribly and Alex wasn’t sure that Cid could win this one for them. Yet he focused now at the task at hand.
Alex’s eyes locked on the magi’s lights as they sped through the Fallen ranks, finally swerving in circles to reveal the Priests in full.
‘Okay, there it is!’ whispered Alex, ‘the three in the centre are casting again!’
Alex understood that Priests enhanced themselves with faint spherical barriers of magic that acted strong enough to protect themselves from arrows. When assembling the power needed to cast their flames however, there was a peak moment when the barrier’s power was cut dry and created a window for a skilled archer. Alex set two men on the nearest Priests and he himself took the farthest. Alex pulled on the bowstring as far as was practical, knowing he was pushing the limits of his range.
‘They are synchronizing their attack, too bad for them… release on my mark,’ said Alex, his eyes training.
A loud acknowledgement came again from the infantry as three of the five Priests toppled out of their saddles almost simultaneously, shot dead from afar.
He did it!
Even preoccupied with the bloodshed Cid knew the retreat had to happen soon or else they would be overwhelmed.
Cid swept his horn from his girdle. He gave it a loud blow and announced the plan to retreat. Satisfied that the men understood they could do nothing else but fight until…
…it didn’t take long; a visible change in posture hit every Lanston soldier when another Priest took an arrow to the head. Only one Priest remained, yet it did not matter, Cid understood enough of magic to know that one was not going to dismantle Lanston’s magic on his own. Cid bellowed and his men slowly formed a tighter formation.
‘Magi, get those lights ready, I want the Fallen to be blind for at least a week!’
The plan was simple; cover the entire company in blinding light and run right past the Fallen force’s left flank. The numbers they had taken out of the Fallen was enough to have left their position too weak to stop Lanston. They did not know what laid ahead of them, yet returning south was no option. The idea was escaping any further possibility of being herded by the enemy.
Cid orchestrated and his shouts were joined by others, the gist of the command repeating itself: ‘stay together, follow one another, magi keep the lights moving and don’t leave the gate!’
Moments later a semi-sphere of light scurried over the battlefield, big enough to cover over 300 jogging men. The duality of the sphere was simple; every fool with an eye or two knew exactly where Lanston was heading, come too close though and the light would renders sight useless. Hesitantly the Fallen followed, their attempt destined to be futile. Even in the inside Cid and the others were exposed to an overwhelming white light due to the magi’s zealousness, which Cid knew was a necessity at the moment.
The pace picked up as to put some distance between them and Cid could spot the strain on the magi’s faces as they struggled to keep the sphere intact. They breached the northern border of the glade, visiting deep among the grid of trees again as the Fallen were left behind.
‘Magi retire!’ shouted Cid.
The sphere vanished in an instant and they became invisible in the gloom.
‘Keep close and follow!’ he shouted to his men.
It wasn’t too difficult to manoeuvre among the trees and Cid knew that if they kept pace the Fallen would suffer to ever catch up.
‘Say, why aren’t the Fallen brightening the lights again?’ asked one of the soldiers.
It was a good question, the eclipse wasn’t helping the Fallen much, yet right now Cid did not stop to query good fortune.
Along the way Alex and his two archers caught up.
‘Good job,’ said Cid.
‘No sweat,’ said Alex, even though fatigue was clear on his face. It was a thing clear on everyone’s faces, and Cid assumed that everyone here shared his bone-weariness.
‘There’s
a grey stone cave and outcropping near here, remember? Pale point. We should be able to entrench ourselves there for the night,’ said Alex.
‘That’s perfect,’ said Cid and changed the course of his men to deeper west.
‘Brunick, you’ve been quiet so far, tired?’ asked Cid.
Brunick shook his head as he ran, his arms pumping at his sides. ‘I was jus’ thinking… the wounded.’
Brunick’s soft spoken words tore at him. Cid was well aware of the wounded, but helping them was downright suicide.
‘I know it’s easier at the border, we save a lot of wounded men at the border,’ said Brunick softly, then his voice turned angry. ‘Stelinger should never have sent us on this pathetic trip, and I’m even angrier at Bennam for consolidating the idea!’
‘Brunick, I too did not find flaw with this plan,’ said Cid, barely believing that he was defending Stelinger.
‘But you would never have done this! You would never have sent us into a godforsaken forest without knowing what the hell was waiting for us inside!’ said Brunick, his voice hearable by all.
‘And that’s why I’m not the Commander, Brunick,’ said Cid, aware of the bitterness in his own voice.
‘Well, you should be, every one of these men would have been gutted if we did not have you at the lead,’ grumbled Brunick.
‘How about you Brunick, would you have gotten away?’ asked Alex.
‘Of course! I have a little girl waiting for me to teach her how to ride the ponies, no Fallen scum is taking me down,’ said Brunick, his demeanour defiant.
Alex laughed. ‘Maybe you should have someone else teach her Brunick, you’re not the exactly the best rider I’ve seen.’
‘Better than you,’ mumbled Brunick.
Cid knew Brunick was a fine rider, yet the word “finesse” was not forthcoming when watching Brunick in a saddle.
The Colonel was losing himself in idle thought, and then nightmare struck once more.
From the trees an onslaught of crossbow bolts came from all sides, death speeding from darkness. Cid instantly felt one crack into his breastplate, the arrow point nudging into his back. At the same time he saw dozens of his men going down jerkingly, including Alex. This could not be happening. How could they have so many Fallen in the forest?
A terrible song of wolf like howls pierced their ears. Cid tried to rally and within seconds he knew it was pointless. The crossbow volley had been devastating, but what followed crushed Cid’s hope, his mind flailing to create a way to survive. Hideous figures leapt inhumanly from the trees and landed among the soldiers. The darkness betrayed only some features, but was enough to reveal the beasts for what they were.
Hunchbacked, canine snouts, long arms, pointy ears, black fur as thick as quills, and deadly steel scimitars in each clawed hand.
Cid knew exactly what they were facing.
They were the hounds of Lymphra, two-legged humanoids called Reavers. Cid had fought against these enslaved creatures before and they were the most dangerous of the Fallen fighting force. 30 or so of them moved like dust devils into the Lanston ranks, their merciless strength of arm and metal cutting away at the bone tired soldiers.
The moment Brunick saw the Reavers he knew he had seconds to work with. There was little doubt in anyone’s mind on how the enemy tracked them down in total darkness; these beasts were feared for a reason.
Alex had already gone down and Brunick could only hope that he was still alive. Standing behind Cid, he saw the fool brandishing his spear. Deliberately, Brunick lashed out with his forearm, slamming Cid on the back of his neck and the Colonel crashed into unconsciousness. Brunick himself then laid face down and was thankful to know that his breathing would be concealed by his breastplate.
His mind raced and echoed with the sound of men dying, and he prayed for it all to end.
Chapter 17
The Master
This room was dark…
A strange display of violet flames crackled in the hearth, its eerie light doing little to brighten the chamber. The mansion was deathly silent, as though holding its breath in the presence of its Master, letting up no indication of rooms beyond this one. The Master had a curtain of thick shoulder length hair, jet black with a goatee to match, framing a gaunt pale face, all of it consolidating an air of a man who inspired absolute terror.
He paced, his robe billowing around him as a confounded wind slithered through the vaulting room’s window. The man lifted his hand in a sweeping motion and the windows slammed shut, the flames in the hearth cowering for a moment in response. Every inch of this olden house was covered by his magic and allowed the Master to manipulate its very fabric.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Enter Menasha,’ said Arumcas knowingly.
Menasha came in, shivering at the darkness and feeling the apprehension of his companion as well, who seemed to grow shorter the closer they came to the Master, the acolyte’s hand strangling his staff in angst.
They found their Master pacing a bear fur carpet in front of the fireplace, a book in his hands. He seemed to be lost in its pages, reading it even though there was no light to speak of.
Menasha could make out his companion jump a little when Arumcas snapped shut the book and gazed upon them. Menasha had seen this before and was unperturbed; in the dark Arumcas’ eyes turned a shade of glazed black, like blood at midnight. This is how he sees in darkness…
‘Stand closer, so that I may see your faces by firelight,’ commanded the Master.
Arumcas blinked once and his eyes returned to normal. Not that it was much better looking at him now.
‘Menasha, your hair have been greying these last few weeks, I hope you bear good tidings,’ said Arumcas.
Menasha chuckled, ‘my hair aside master, I’m here to inform you that Commander Bennam of Lanston has been killed. He discovered too much and had to be put to rest.’
Like Menasha anticipated his Master was not entirely pleased by the news; he looked to be nurturing suspicions.
‘Did he get word out?’ asked Arumcas.
‘No, Piatil had him watched and ensured that he died isolated. They killed him the moment he showed suspicion. But there was a problem. The assassin was supposed to slip in and inject him with Wylt, so that the investigative authorities might think his heart simply gave out. Piatil however informed me that Bennam’s death has become widely public as murder. The assassin used the wrong poison.’
‘Who was this assassin?’ asked Arumcas.
‘I have no name, but she’s from the Guild of Hands obviously. I would think they are hunting her down even as we speak. The Guild does not tolerate failure and we’ll meet her out with her demise personally.’
‘How long do you think Bennam has known of Stelinger?’ asked Arumcas.
‘Not long, for otherwise he would not have made Stelinger the new Commander,’ said Menasha as though it was obvious.
The Master nodded contently, yet remained thoughtful. ‘So Bennam is finally dead. What a pity, I have found him a worthy opponent for many decades.’
‘I always thought you’d want to kill him yourself,’ said Menasha.
‘Yes, that was the ideal,’ said Arumcas with an appetite for death, ‘who is this by the way?’
‘This Lord, is Jalson, a young acolyte in our ranks, I escorted him here as he insisted that he was burdened with an urgent message.’
‘Go on, speak then,’ said Arumcas.
Jalson could hardly seem to find his words and then uttered: ‘I wish to be released from your service my Lord…’
Menasha winced in the darkness, immediately regretting being the one who brought Jaslon before the Lord . This is going to be ugly.
Arumcas took a step forward, looming over the lowly acolyte.
‘To what ends?’ continued Arumcas, his patience a boiling pretence.
‘I wish to return to my family in Harowan,’ stuttered Jalson, ‘but I have not come without cause my lord, I have something of va
lue, something which I would gladly exchange for my freedom,’ he said, quickly holding out a shapeless piece of metal ore, seemingly worthless, but not so by any measure. Both Arumcas and Menasha instantly recognized its nature.
All over the mansion’s wood panelling creaked and moaned ominously and Menasha knew this was no coincidence; the Masters’ moods often manifested themselves in the building, tensing and pulling at its very fibres.
‘You wish to bargain with me then?’ said Arumcas, his voice gaining a menacing edge.
‘I do not have the will to serve you any longer! I will only become an obstacle if I continue to do so. I beg of you Master, take what I have and make me forget so that I do not compromise your plans… I just want to be with my family again…’
‘I released you. I gave you power. I am your Master,’ muttered Arumcas, ‘servitude to me is eternal!’
Menasha looked on in uneasiness, wondering whether the ore the boy was holding was going to be a problem and whether he should get his sword out.
Then it happened, the fool Jalson let his intent become known, his staff of power radiating a green light, his emotions revealing his magic. Menasha knew better than to doubt his Master and took a step back.
Arumcas lunged in a flurry of motion before Jalson could attack, fists unveiled from his robe and came lashing. One slamming the face, another in his gut, and the last hooking at Jalson’s jaw. Arumcas’ reputation told of a man who did everything with magic, making it simple for anyone to assume that he was physically inept. Those who realized the error of their presumption never lived to tell the tale.
The ore thumped on the floor, left forgotten as Jalson spun away in pain, clenching his face as he sought to escape. Menasha knew it was all over now.
Arumcas himself never stopped for a second, whipping out a short oak staff of his own from his robes. He rushed forward, hair flying, and his incantation inhumanely filled the entire hall. The oak staff went alight with violet flames and Arumcas struck its head right into Jalson’s back. The acolyte’s body became suspended and arched, enveloped in the nightmarish purple blaze before disintegrating into a great tide of ash, his screams piercing every hall in the mansion.
Remnant Pages Spearhead Page 13
