Remnant Pages Spearhead

by J. B. Kleynhans

  Alex said nothing, but Cid could see him dismayed for some reason.

  They grew silent.

  Cid kept Mindevhier on his lap, marvelling at the weapon. Knowing it was a Hethellean weapon he realized that it wasn’t just valuable sentimentally, but had true value in the cause of battle.

  Lidayel noticed Cid’s clockwork was fixed on the weapon.

  ‘You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The thoughts stirring within the spear?’

  Cid looked unsure at Lidayel and then back at Mindevhier.

  ‘It is nothing to be afraid of,’ answered Lidayel.

  ‘How is it then, how can a weapon gain consciousness?’ asked Cid, the look on his face telling Lidayel that Cid was deeming this particular phenomenon as absurd.

  ‘Be careful how you frame the issue. Let me explain. Hethellean is truly a unique element as it interacts with both Calophrites and Adalophrites, magic in other words, where normal matter would not. Hethellean weapons can cut and dissemble magic as a result of it repulsing these phrites. Vanapha and Brunick’s abilities for example are internalized magic, which are made possible by Adalophrites.’

  ‘How is Adalophrites different, I mean from Calophrites?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Think of Adalophrites as Calophrites’ distinct relative, same in a sense, but with its own behaviour and preferences. I assume you’ve heard of the “steel fireflies?”

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen it as well, several times,’ answered Cid.

  ‘Adalophrites are much the same, when they are amassed yet undedicated they form a spectacle of “golden fireflies.” Adalophrites do not like to bond as much as Calophrites so they can’t be used as diversely in what you would think of as magic. Yet they form profound abilities in certain individuals, as is the case with Masons, Valkyries and us Summoners as well.

  ‘Now, Vanapha’s ability may be too whimsical to be effected by a Hethellean weapon, but like you know Brunick’s Stoneskin falters against it. This being as it is Hethellean has another very curious quality. Sometimes, when it comes into contact with a strong soul, it takes an imprint of that person’s personality and memories.’

  ‘Wait, the soul is made of Calophrites as well right? If Hethellean repulses it, why would the weapon take it upon itself to make imprints?’ asked Alex.

  ‘That’s what makes it so curious. Fanciful theories have suggested that the soul as a whole is much different than the sum of its parts and that might explain why Hethellean craves the touch of a soul yet repulses the phrites. It only interacts with something of a much higher quality. ’

  ‘Am I to understand that, every ancestor of mine who ever wielded this weapon, has left some his consciousness and memories in the spearhead?’ asked Cid morbidly.

  ‘Feelings, memories, experiences… as long as they were powerful they would have embedded on the Hethellean,’ said Lidayel.

  Cid took another hard look at Mindevhier.

  ‘Don’t look so worried Colonel,’ said Lidayel in amusement, ‘your will is your own, unlike Stelinger’s weapon your spear has not been released and cannot exercise influence over you,’ said Lidayel.

  ‘But what then of those thoughts I’ve encountered holding the spear!?’ asked Cid.

  Lidayel smiled widely, clearly enjoying being able to explain things that have only recently returned to memory, as though he was learning all knowledge anew.

  ‘It was simply recognition Colonel; when your thoughts surfaced by themselves, let’s say for example your pride for the army, or your love for Elmira, similar feelings left by your forefathers merely acknowledges your own.’

  ‘So a released weapon of Ruin like Stelinger’s will end up influencing his behaviour?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Most likely, you see that same recognition I mentioned comes into play with Ruin weapons as well. Hethellean can take imprints of any living thing it touches, including its victims. Stelinger’s corrupt and vile mind would draw on memories and feelings of those he has butchered as well.’

  ‘Whoa, I’d go insane,’ said Alex.

  Lidayel nodded. ‘In some way it would be safe to say that Stelinger is already not in his right mind. You see, I suspect that after luring him out with promises of power, Arumcas released Stelinger’s weapon, knowing it would compromise his loyalty to the Kingdom and make him an all the more useful puppet,’ said Lidayel.

  ‘What use is such a weapon then?’ asked Cid.

  ‘Apparently, man and weapon becomes a stronger entity as one, man’s familiarity with the weapon becoming absolute. With it, a man like you Cid can draw upon the experience of his ancestors as if it were his own. I have also knowledge that weapons of Ruin are even better at striking down magic, which is why the early Kingdom made these weapons to fight Summoners and Arrhua.

  ‘The King himself carries a very old Hethellean sword if memory serves. Yet another interesting aspect is that the weapon will kick back at any who tries to wield it except for its rightful owner. If you’d like I might able to release -’

  ‘No!’ said Cid, his statement hanging in the air.

  ‘Cid, a Ruin weapon will be of immense value for whatever lays ahead. Even the Priests would be wary of you and it would help if you encounter Stelinger. It might determine whether you lose or win in this cause.’

  ‘I understand the merits Lidayel, but I would not compromise who I am. If I were to lose track of myself and my reasons for being in this war, it is then that I will surely lose Elmira.’

  ‘But you can control it Cid. You are not Stelinger. If anything, a weapon of Ruin can strengthen your resolve.’

  ‘My resolve is at least my own. Should I start feeding on the feelings of others my own may become distorted. Surely you can understand this? If your determination to save your wife was influenced by someone else’s memories, would you even be here with us in this ridiculous situation?’ said Cid.

  Lidayel nodded. ‘I understand your concern, and I’ll admit I admire your resoluteness; a lesser man would not have hesitated to claim a weapon of power.’

  Alex nodded in agreement and asked, ‘so these Ruin weapons are the most efficient way for non-magical folk to kill off magi and Summoners?’

  ‘A fair assumption, yes,’ said Lidayel.

  ‘That thing you mentioned, about weapons of Ruin fighting against those who’d try to wield it without being its rightful owner, how does that work?’ queried Cid.

  ‘Well obviously weapons can’t move by themselves so they cannot resist the efforts of man physically. It can however flood the person’s mind with random sensations, confusing the would-be warrior so much that he loses his coordination and mindfulness in battle. It’s like fighting with an unwilling weapon I’d imagine,’ said Lidayel.

  Cid took note but said nothing. He wondered whether he should have taken up Lidayel’s offer, the temptation of a weapon of Ruin catching up with him now, moments later. He pushed down the notion, repeating what he said to Lidayel in his thoughts.

  He had always known Mindevhier was special, but now that he knew its true nature he was almost afraid of it, or wary at least, as though the spear belonged to someone stronger.

  Brunick returned right before sunset, with his arms wrapped around and clutching a bulging bundle of wood to his chest. This at least distracted Cid, as they quickly set out to create a proper fire, increasing their light and heat as that of the day faded away.

  They did not wait long for Vanapha, returning with a lean buck across her shoulders. The buck was skinned and proper fillets cut, a makeshift grill prepared. Lidayel fidgeted in his satchel to find some spices which he spread sparingly over the meat. A very pleasant aroma of food found Cid’s nostrils then. His stomach responded hungrily and for now at least, he could focus on simpler things.

  The wait for the meal was almost painful, and Cid stared far out to their path ahead. Today’s detour underground had slowed their progress, but they would undoubtedly reach the Basin by tomorrow.

  Chapter 38

  Concerns

&nb
sp; The march was slow in the narrows, Fafriv winding down to a long slender ravine before it would open into the Basin. They had yet to depart this morning, the dreary pace of the days behind them making the Lanston men reluctant to get moving. Their camp for now was an endless stretch of tents rather than their usual cluster, adjusting to the space offered by the ravine.

  To present supplies had held well and the men were healthy if nothing else, even in complaining that their clothing supplies had not considered Alparack’s obstinate ability to wear and soil on everything. Drissil knew that, since they past the borders of the forests the potential for an ambush was unlikely, their current locale a milestone point in terms of security.

  Furthermore the eastern two satellite companies had emerged from their respective woodland just yesterday to join with the main force, boosting the march with another 400 men. Captains Maverin and Phillip reported minimum Fallen encounters and no casualties on their part, unlike those of Cid’s and Olum’s companies. In all, it was going well for Lanston, yet Drissil was worried.

  The Colonel was standing among the engineers as they practiced their maintenance on the ballistae. Somehow, Drissil’s experience with the devices at Ravanack had seen him become the unofficial overseer. He would not complain however, for no else seemed as primed for action like he was, the attending artillery Captain rather lackadaisical.

  Drissil forced himself to pay attention as the engineers tested the machines, eager to find mechanical flaw if there were any. On the Isle of Adissa the ballistae were mounted on towers or galleon ships, those fierce and pending artillery greeting a traveller no matter how he approached the city. These field ballistae were attached to a wheeled-base unit and were built somewhat smaller so that they could move effectively. The principle design however could not be improved much and was thus the same across the Sovereignty.

  The wooden base elevated the great crossbow to the height of a man’s chest while housing the gears and winches. The wheels on the bottom axis were small and steel-plated around the rim to handle the terrain with a soft suspension on each. The base had a hollow spot right beneath were the bow was mounted, wherein lied the rotary gear, allowing the bow and the upper part of its platform to be rotated while the base remained motionless. Likewise, the bow's aim could lowered or heightened on a similar gear mechanism. A few degrees either way made a world's difference in where and how the bolt would travel. The higher based models like these were despised by the men who had to labour manoeuvring them, but well-loved by battlefield commanders: The inherit height that they fired from meant that the engineers had little need to incline the bow upwards, and the less arc there was to the projectile the more speed it had when hitting the enemy.

  The base had a winch on the side to lock the gear during fire, so that the recoil action would not wrench the bow out of its position. The bow-arms spanned massively to accommodate the force needed to launch a projectile of nine feet. A specialized Fainkin coil was tensed on the bow during battle, unmanageable without the cranks used to wind and pull the coil back.

  Along the spine of the crossbow the missile was inserted into a groove from which it could jump smoothly and without resistance. These wooden missiles were crafted with care, each thicker than Drissil’s arm, with a heavy iron tip and blades making it resemble a very devious arrow. In further resemblance the missile sported leather tail fins, which gave it aerodynamic balance and set it spinning through the air to cause all the more damage. A final heavy lever at the back released the pin of the catch, launching the missile as the tension was unleashed.

  Aiming and maneuvering these devices was an art of its own and Drissil would leave that for the engineers. Rather he instructed them to go through the paces, loading false projectiles and shooting them against the canyon wall so that they could correct any apparent decline in the devices’ capabilities since setting out from Lanston.

  The ballistae lurched satisfactorily as the headless shafts rocketed into the canyon wall, the coordination pleasing as well. There was a mathematical constant in the difference of setting and aiming the ballistae for a headless shaft and that of the bladed shaft. All Drissil knew about this was that, should the practice projectiles fire perfectly, the engineers would only have to account for the constant difference in order to get the same result with the bladed design.

  With a few practice rounds for each of the machines Drissil called the engineers to rest. Lazily he sauntered through the camp. By then he was considering taking the entire cavalry regiment and backtracking a bit so that they could do some manoeuvres; the horses needed to keep lithe and fit and he was sure the men would welcome it as well.

  The thought was interrupted, the soldier named Welce addressing the Colonel.

  ‘No word yet on Cid, and there is no consensus whether he is dead or not.’

  ‘And the Valkyrie?’

  ‘The outriders were being secretive, but it sounded as though the Valkyrie abandoned their mission. They did not report back as far as anyone is concerned.’

  ‘I wonder why?’ asked Drissil.

  Welce shrugged. ‘Everything here in the camp seems fine, but the word from the outside tells a different story.’

  ‘Have you had contact with Harlem?’

  Welce frowned and seemed to bite his tongue before saying, ‘sir, I regretfully heard that Harlem was killed in action. It was reported that some Reavers caught them unawares near the Basin. His companion Julian seemed to have escape without hurt, rather miraculously.’

  They did not talk about it, but both men would wonder for long hours on the nature of Harlem’s’ death.

  Drissil cursed. ‘It’s getting harder to know where to turn to. How about the Fallen?’

  ‘No definite reports sir, everyone seems to assume that they retreated from our trek and will hold at Jacanta point. We have nothing to indicate their numbers as of yet since old Commander’s Bennam’s intelligence. I’m worried that what we saw in the forest might mean they are a lot stronger than we initially guessed,’ said Welce.

  ‘You are right. It does not bode well this silence. If the Fallen had a legion in the western veil alone, how come this entire valley has been devoid of activity? We’re getting through too easy and we have no idea where the Fallen might be massing, or how many they may be…’

  ‘Have you spoken with the Commander, sir?’

  ‘I don’t think talking with him is an option anymore.’

  Welce seemed uncomfortable.

  ‘Not to worry soldier, I’m just being careful. I want to be ready when matters get real. If Stelinger is not at fault then no harm will be done. It’s best for at least one of us to be worried at all times,’ said Drissil with a reassuring smile.

  Still Welce seemed concerned. ‘You’re wrong at that Colonel. Girdo noticed it as well; the men’s front is as always, hale and hearty. But we see and hear things that the command does not, as is the reason you’ve assigned us.’

  Drissil frowned.

  ‘When the men’s guards are down at night and they talk - they talk about Bennam and they talk about Cid. They are not at all sure of this operation anymore and the fact that we haven’t seen any action till now only frustrates them. They long for border wars, and they too think we are marching blindly.

  ‘They are… afraid sir.’

  Drissil stomach churned uncomfortably. Hearing that thousands of men acknowledged his concerns somehow made it worse. It was a consensus that Lanston did not belong here, that it had no business prowling through these lands in search of trouble. They were here now however, and could only hope they would make it out alive.

  Chapter 39

  The Basin

  ‘This is it,’ said Cid in realization. They were in the Basin of the canyon and Jacanta point laid ahead to the north, past increasingly rugged terrain and a ramp leading right out of the Basin, thereafter one left Alparack and Fafriv for good in exchange for the lands of the Fallen.

  Cid knew now that the Lanston army would never even
see Jacanta point.

  The landscape was encompassing, like a pit of a great arena, its sloping mountainous wall running all around, creating several layers of grand terraces as though the idea of spectators were real enough. There was a flatness to the rest of the Basin even counting the few dots of mesas, making it a place to accommodate marching numbers, all except for a single pinnacle of rock projection, its tall figure able to cast a mile long shadow during the first and last hours of the day.

  It’s all going to become an abyss.

  ‘The Fallen will not wait for Lanston to get to Jacanta. This Basin is the best place for them to assemble and push their numbers. We overlooked it, the whole plan did. If I had to wager a guess the Fallen will seek to overwhelm us here,’ Cid confessed to the others.

  ‘Gods, are we going to risk scouting ahead? See if we can spot whether they have some kind of force lurking behind those mountains?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Those can hardly be called mountains,’ commented Vanapha, ‘that is a mountain,’ she said, pointing to the east of the Basin where the highest peak stood in what Cid remembered to be a 500 mile radius according to the charts.

  Mount Hashur.

  It wasn’t a gargantuan mountain, but its size was accentuated by the hollow of the Basin and seemed to be the culmination of Fafriv as the eastern ridge that had been the canyon wall led all the way into its side.

  ‘Whatever - well, should we have a look?’ pressed Alex

  ‘They must be swarming the area already. Their scouts are probably tracking Lanston’s progress. I’d rather not,’ said Cid.

  ‘I can look,’ motioned Vanapha.

  Cid turned at the woman, his appreciation for her growing by the day. ‘Can you show me as I well? If there is something past those hills it would do me good to try and gauge their strength,’ said Cid.

  Vanapha nodded, standing close to Cid. She reached out, clamping both her hands on Cid’s temples. Her touch was both comforting and eerie.