Remnant Pages Spearhead

by J. B. Kleynhans

  Alone and without the Commander though Cid was left to answer the question of what Lanston would need to do to secure survival when the worst of the Fallen were to be unleashed. The answer came hesitantly, the idea of it bold and glorious, though so trodden with risks that utter defeat was the only other possible outcome. He would not have promoted the idea, save that for today, their lives might depend on it.

  The men and the one woman looked on as Cid used the figurines as to how he was envisioning the battlefield. Cid nurtured satisfaction in his chest as he found understanding among the Captains, having been fearful that the plan would be too abstract or too bold on the account of their lack of preparation, that many arguments would spark. Today that did not happen.

  Without reluctance Cid assigned Brunick as the leader of the melee specialists and Alex Captain over a regiment of archers. He would mostly leave Vanapha to her own devices, but he plotted her into a sequence he was developing, suggesting to her how best to contribute.

  Cid kept routing his stratagem back to the Rangers, as he knew their presence alone was a great reinforcement for everyone’s doubt. In reality they did provide the edge that Lanston needed and Cid planned most of the battle around their speed and aerial abilities.

  When Cid finished he sent out the Captains to get word out to prepare the army for the march, to make for the Basin.

  As the Captains left the tent a mage came before Cid who had stood out of sight near the entrance. He recognized the man as master Jartiveld, the leader and coordinator among the Lanston Sekhaimogists, an ageing yet sturdy magician. He was a man Cid rarely spoke to save for instances where Jartiveld came to point out flaws of Cid’s allocation of their arts. He did not disappoint.

  Gravely he said, ‘Colonel, your plan to shield the men from the Fallen catapults will not work. Their projectiles are too much for us to stop on such a scale.’

  ‘Maybe a little faith will make a difference,’ said Cid at the man.

  ‘Our arts do not work that way!’ said Jartiveld.

  ‘No? I spoke at length with a Summoner these last few weeks, who confessed to me that the emotion - let's call spiritual volition - of a man could strengthen the arts.’

  ‘An impractical suggestion that is! We will die under the flames of the Dey’illumra if what little courage we have fails us!’

  ‘How about this then: when you tend to a man to heal him, you hook his soul into the process, allowing his will to survive to help the magic, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Jartiveld tentatively, his face unsure as though he didn’t actually like agreeing with Cid on anything.

  ‘Then allow the soldiers to help, weave the power of their courage into your spell,’ said Cid.

  ‘What courage?’ ridiculed Jartiveld.

  Cid was growing agitated. ‘The spell can work and you know it. Master Jartiveld, if you do not feel confident to lead the magi then I must appoint another in your place.’

  Jartiveld stood closer, his theatrical voice becoming low and serious, ‘I am one who has fought most of my years next to Bennam Colonel, I may be cautious, but I am no coward. If you ask me to go out there then I will, words of mine indicating otherwise are merely on the account of sparing men’s lives from needless deaths.’

  ‘Master Jartiveld, I hold you in the same esteem as Bennam did, for I would not have tolerated a mouth as wise as yours if I did not need you. There will be courage magician, just make sure you weave your spell like you’re supposed to,’ said Cid.

  ‘Ha, a fine model of the old Commander you are Colonel. I will weave the spell then, but you must do something about the men, they are not ready,’ said Jartiveld already leaving the tent.

  That last statement worried Cid, knowing the mage was right.

  Drissil came to Cid’s side, shaking his head. ‘They never really are military men like they should be.’

  ‘Yes, but men like Jartiveld are fighting men, and they do belong with us,.’

  ‘This Summoner you mentioned, was it he that caused the tremors yesterday?’ asked Drissil.

  ‘Yes, he lost his mind to the severe nature of his magic and we had to stop him.’

  ‘What was he like? As a Summoner I mean?’

  ‘Powerful and ageless and strange, yet helpful, even with the circumstances of his death he convinced me in some way that the Kingdom will one day have to renounce its harshness toward the magical kind. If we survive this, I want the kingdom to re-think its stance toward magi,’ said Cid thoughtfully, his words left to hang in the air.

  Outside they heard the growing reverberation of men mobilizing to set course north.

  ‘Come with me Cid,’ said Drissil, ‘let’s get you in some armour.’

  The narrows seemed empty leaving the pavilion then, as the many surrounding tents were already loaded on the wagons and filed in behind a slow march kicking up a healthy swirl of dust despite the rains.

  As Cid followed Drissil to a lone standing provisional tent he asked, ‘my horse, Cilverhoof, I don’t suppose he’s still around?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask. He is a grand stallion that one. Don’t worry Commander, I saw to him myself and he’s never been in better shape.’

  Ever since the ambush in the forest Welce had walked with a dread in his mind. Now that dread was alleviating. Even as he moved along his fellow soldiers he considered their fortune; Cid had returned, and that with the Rangers on his side.

  How did he do it?

  What’s more, there was a Valkyrie involved and a rumour was spreading fast that Brunick, Cid’s Mason friend, was a genuine Stoneskin. Best of all the Captains let them know just now that they will all be joining the fight. It was unusual for a man to shrug his fears just before a war, but Welce couldn’t help feeling better off knowing Lanston had powerful allies and that Cid was at the command. He knew the other soldiers were still doubtful and unsure, but then Welce had been there when Cid made them survive that ambush in the forest. He was counting on the Colonel to do so again.

  Cid smiled as he stroked Cilverhoof. Three quarters of the camp was already mobile, leaving only a small cluster of utilities yet to depart. Much like Mindevhier, Cilverhoof was another extension of Cid’s personality of war and it was only now, with both his steed and his spear, that he felt re-emerged as a soldier.

  Drissil provided him with a spare set of armour which he dressed in without delay. He also outfitted Cilverhoof with a customary light chestplate and faceguard, the horse patient as he tugged the belts to even lengths.

  Prepared, the last few tents were folded and stored on the wagons, the non-combat personnel destined to watch over the supplies and keeping out of the sight in the narrows. Cid and Drissil galloped side by side to join with the slowly advancing march. Cid had left it to each of the Captains to inform their men on the plan essentials. For the Lanston army to win their discipline would have to be immaculate, their foothold unwavering. A single fracture could cause the army to be overpowered by the Fallen, that much was a given.

  Moreover it gave the Colonel the incentive to address his men personally. Cid and Drissil caught up with the back of the march, leaving the slow moving supply trains far behind. Drissil had an inkling of Cid’s intentions as they began riding an aisle through the rough count of 3000 marching men.

  Cid nodded at Drissil and the man swept a Lanston horn from his saddle bag, blowing it loudly for all to hear.

  In the narrows the Lanston army became deathly quiet, stopping and directing their stares to the two Colonels, who were still dividing the men as they rode to the fore.

  ‘Listen well men,’ said Cid, rearing his voice as loud as he could, his words carrying undiminished through the canyon. The sudden clout of thousands of eyes made Cid break out in a sweat and his stomach twisted so that he felt unsteady on his horse. Even a man like Bennam rarely had the need to attend to this many soldiers at a time. Cid swallowed hard as he and Drissil turned at the front of the march, facing Lanston.

  He settled his
gaze over the soldiers, seeing his own stony uncertainty on their faces. At first Cid’s intention was only to remind the men to keep cool and keep disciplined, to listen to their Captains. That he realized, was going to be a far cry from being enough.

  Tutored under Bennam Cid knew full well when a host of men were ready for fighting or not; when they would match up with a fire on the inside or when they would merely raise their arms so that death be not imminent.

  These men were lost, betrayed. They did not march out hundreds of miles to be lied to, abandoned, and then set up for death. Cid appreciated that this wasn’t their fight, even though their survival depended on it. Men did not enlist, say long goodbyes to families, and make sacrifices to be driven to this point.

  His voice echoed: ‘It is good to be among you again, brothers.’ He swallowed hard again, finding no truth to tell that would encourage them, lifting the helm from his head, holding it on his lap.

  ‘Some of you might still be a little surprised to see me, I know my friend Drissil here was. A good man he is… he saved many of us today. Even as you look upon me now you’re wondering whether you should trust me, and if there is anyone left to trust at all,’ said Cid.

  Cid’s silence became long, even awkward. He spotted Vanapha in the crowd, her gaze fixed on Cid as well. She gave a slight nod, urging him on. He took a breath, pushing past the pit in his stomach and the dryness in his throat.

  ‘We have been ravaged by death and betrayal,’ he confessed, hearing his own words bouncing along Fafriv, finding no refuge on the cliff walls and fleeing into the deep.

  He wrestled with where to start.

  ‘At Commander Bennam’s death, we have lost the most stalwart of those who have fought the Fallen; lost the very icon that defined defiance against the madness of our enemies.’

  There was a slight pause.

  ‘At the hands of Stelinger’s betrayal, our leader for this operation, we have lost much of who we are as a military force; our faith in one another, our identity based on the trust of our superiors, and ultimately our strength as well. How can we stand and fight when we do not even understand what we are as an entity anymore? When we cannot look up to those with experience and know; “these are the men who will see me through the day…” They are men we vowed to follow blindly, and blindly we stand here today.’

  ‘It’s been a long road for Lanston; we have always prided ourselves on being the guardians keeping the Fallen at bay, and what has been predicted to be our finest victory…’ Cid grimaced, ‘…now appears as our demise.’

  ‘I very nearly succumbed to what we all fear, the Fallen spell. And I very nearly come to destroy that which I love most. The betrayal parted onto me made me fearful and that fear tore me further from Lanston than any exile could. It puts you out of your mind this evil, and sets it on a place where that voice of reason does not reach.

  ‘By now you know that agents of the Fallen had been right here among us, and that we are truly here by their design.

  ‘It’s strange this evil, as it washes away at the memory of what we are, bereft of our truest self as the seeds of doubt are so carefully sown - even when grew up, raised on the stories of Lanston’s glory. That Lanston would never fail against the Fallen! We should not be here, this is not our land, not our way! Our fight is elsewhere, in places protected and sensible, where the soil is familiar and where promises of return are promises kept!

  ‘But I have been thinking, sooner or later, that it would always have come to this! Always we were destined, always we knew, pulled to this heartland of enemies by our very charge, that at some point or another we would come face to face with the greatest of Fallen in a deciding battle!

  ‘Its true, we are fewer in number and our position in this war is weak. We do not have those heroes in our army which have shattered the Fallen and protected our Kingdom today here with us - our brothers and our fathers. We do not have Bennam here to lead us like he has done for so many years… Those men who so warily returned home so that citizens may fearlessly utter, “they are invincible, our heroes will never fall!”

  ‘Yet we are men from Lanston! We are still the men who have taken up the gold armour and donned the tabard of green. We are still the men laid down with a charge a century old! To protect the Kingdom! To see our enemies lay to rest so that the darkest of days cannot descend upon our lands! Upon our people!

  ‘When we march, breaking into that Basin, we stand up to protect strength itself! That very strength of mind passing from generation to generation to stand in a world of tyrants that would enslave the wills of our sons and daughters! It has not changed! The Kingdom was breathed to life as the people struck out at the darkness, and it will survive fighting in the very same way it began! We Lanston, are strength for strength's sake, we are the rock where odds break!’

  ‘And that strength will live on if we return home, so that they can all say again, “they are invincible, our heroes will never fall, the golden wall cannot be broken!”

  ‘Remember now who you are Lanston! Recall your strength! You are the single entity that has stood against the Fallen for one-hundred years! When we reach the Basin an enemy will await us there like you have never seen before! Our trust, our discipline and our fortitude will be tested…’

  ‘Look now to each other, look to your Captains. Find the courage to watch over the man next to you, find the courage to fight for each other.’

  Cid could see the determination of his own voice tweaking the faces of the men, witnessing gloved fists strangling their grip on the weapons.

  ‘Take it upon yourself to find strength, and when you have none, look up to Brunick! Look up to the skies to see our Rangers! Lanston is not alone nor forgotten! Look up and you’ll see me leading the charge. Mindevhier will be at the heart of the battle!’

  Cid breathed, eyes scanning the faces before him.

  ‘Your trust is hard earned! As well it should be! So I will say this to you:

  My body will hit the ground! Sprawling and broken! Crushed under the Fallen! But I will not abandon you! I will lead you free of this terror, or I will find my final resting place here in Fafriv!’

  With that Brunick leapt on a butt of rock, brandishing and shaking his axe in the air. He stood as a Stoneskin unashamed, bare-chested and dressed only in cloth trousers; any armour he could don only there to hinder his movements.

  ‘Death is calling our names lads! Let us respond in kind!’ roared Brunick.

  A mad frenzy of cheers surged through the Lanston army. Chestplates were pounded and weapons raised, horses rearing. Cid held up Mindevhier as he and Drissil turned into the Basin. Drissil blew his horn loudly, the army pending north.

  They marched.

  Not long after Cid and Drissil were leading the cavalry up the western plateau to flank the Basin. He felt eerily reassured saying all that he had said to the army, his thoughts put to a calm as his words made the men brothers again. There was an edge to it though, as though his promise would linger in the canyon and he would have to answer all that was expected of him.

  Cid looked to his right to watch the marching infantry in the Basin below. Golden armour underneath the sun, green tabards over each heart, white Kingdom standards bearing the Red-Rocket Aloe flowing in a scant wind, the heavy wheels of ballistae toiling over the rocky surface.

  Fear was a cumbersome companion, making one slow in one’s movements, but the brave face brought forth by the unison of marching circumvented and contained that fear, keeping it at bay. In the end the show of it all was as much about inspiring your own as intimidating the enemy.

  Apart from the core infantry Cid’s plan saw to it that three segments boasting a mix of shield-bearers, melee specialists, archers and magi would stay mobile. They were to be the strike groups, dedicated to specific targets and otherwise to inflict as much damage as possible. Timing was crucial for these groups as they were small and vulnerable, and could be easily overpowered if utilized erroneously.

  Olexion’
s men circled overhead continuously, the Volje’ eagle cries majestic, half reminding one of a life beyond this shell of warfare.

  Cid was pleased to see all the regiments of the army taking their place. He felt Mindevhier tingling in his hands, prodding him like some long forgotten part of his mind, as though the spear recognized those very feelings before a coming battle.

  Chapter 49

  Battle

  It was Elmira who boasted the best view; from the perch of Oldeloft she could see almost every detail of the Basin below, standing some 600 feet above it. The streams and rivulets of days past were of a fleeting kind as Alparack evidently swallowed the disturbance to enshrine itself with a desert-like appearance once more. The soil however was still fresh with moist and brought forth the rich red colour in the land, highlighting the contrast as every ridge and cropping of rock remained dull in oranges and browns.

  From the back of Oel Dannel Elmira marvelled at the giant Biridians when they made their way here, but such great statures were reduced to shy and sparse foliage here in the Basin, brittle and staying flat to the rocks as though seeking strength from it, hardly visible as specks of green or grey.

  When all was quiet she had heard Cid’s voice down in the narrows. She strained to discern his words and found she could not, and the few words that did reach her were not enough to follow. But it was not lost on her. She knew exactly what Cid was doing and felt the hair on her arms rise when Lanston cheered at the end of it.

  She first heard the rhythm of the steel march and then witnessed as the Lanston men came in rank and file, leaving the canyon narrows and entering the Basin. It was a unique sight, topping any military parade she had seen before in Lanston.