Stone Ram (Leopard King Saga)

by T. A. Uner

  “It’ll be alright Matty, wait here and we’ll be back shortly.”

  Remembering what Aders had said about Gold Marshall Picotte, Fabian removed his helm. The magnified sounds of battle faded from his ears, as did his improved vision. Aders, now able to see Fabian’s face for the first time, gasped. “Why, you’re no more than a young boy.”

  “The King’s Law states that any citizen over the age of sixteen cycles can enlist in a Gold Quest,” Fabian replied sternly.

  “You’re quite well-educated for someone from the outer provinces,” Aders said, recognizing Fabian’s rural accent.

  “He’s not someone you’d want to underestimate,” Marella added.

  Aders smiled. “Indeed?” Fabian didn’t know if the pompous officer was being apologetic or cynical. Fabian guessed the later.

  The guards nodded to Aders as he led Fabian’s band inside the command pavilion. Inside, rows of tables containing Telesignal devices clicked while uniformed operators were busy sending and receiving messages, no doubt to and from the front lines. Others were busy trying to decode intercepted enemy messages. To Fabian it did not appear as if they were succeeding, judging by the strained looks on their faces. They approached another series of tables where battle maps lay sprawled over them. Behind those stood a massive where men in generals’ uniforms were arguing over strategy and using pointers to indicate proposed strategies. At the head of the table stood an imposing looking man with a white beard. He wore the gold uniform of a Field Marshall, an infinite count of medals pinned across his chest and thick, large epaulettes indicating his supreme rank glimmered under the dangling lights.

  Aders stood at attention and a few of the Generals looked up from the table. He saluted them and they nodded before the Gold Marshall addressed him. “Major what is it? And who are these people you have brought? Have you forgotten this is a secured facility?”

  “Please excuse my rashness, Marshall Picotte, but these three insisted on speaking with you.” Aders backed away from the table, exposing Fabian, Lager and Marella to the entire staff.

  “Who are you?” Picotte asked.

  Fabian bowed his head politely toward the Marshall and his generals. “Forgive our interruption, Excellency, but I am Fabian SilverSword, a Gold Crusader, and these are my friends: Commander McVick, special military advisor to his Eminence, King Goodwill, and Marella Larue, First Level Stealer, from the Republic of Pazland.”

  Marshall Picotte’s eyes blazed like angry embers. “Stealer? Pazland? No doubt sent here to ascertain our weaknesses. It is so like your people to begin sniffing around your borders, especially when one of your neighbors is under attack, what are you here for, girl? To report our condition to your master?”

  Marella stepped forward confidently. “My Lord, if we wanted to learn more of the condition of Rek my Chancellor wouldn’t bother sending someone of my expertise to probe your borders, a first year cadet could do the job just as well.”

  Two of the staff Generals gasped. Aders grunted. “Manners, girl! You are speaking to the Gold Marshall.”

  Picotte waved Aders away. “That’s quite alright Major, leave her alone, she’s right. A vulture could smell Rek’s carcass from the other side of the world.” He looked at Lager. “I know you Commander, the King speaks quite highly of you, I am actually glad to see you here.”

  Lager nodded politely to the Gold Marshall. Fabian found this strange. Perhaps once, Lager was a much different man than the one he had become. “That is kind of you to say, Excellency, but the King does not think so highly of me these days, otherwise I would still be at his side now.”

  “I find that strange, considering how wise his Eminence is, but a man of your stature, from an advanced civilization such as Earth, you could help us.”

  “I don’t see how, Excellency.”

  “Don’t be so modest.” Picotte’s demeanor softened. “Come, Commander, perhaps your advanced tactical skills could be of use to us.” Picotte ordered his steward fetch refreshments for Fabian and his friends. Tall dark glasses of Apple Lime and Jambom sandwiches were brought into the pavilion and Fabian swore he never tasted anything so good.

  “Now, Commander McVick,” Picotte said, “We are facing a two-pronged assault from both the northeast,” he used his pointer to indicate their location, “and from the southeast.” Lager studied the battle map and scratched his cheek. Fabian was glad that the Earthman had shaven this morning, otherwise it would’ve been embarrassing for his band.

  Lager took the pointer from a general while Picotte and his generals leaned in to get a closer look at the formation he was drawing up. “Well you’re in a pickle, Excellency,” Lager said. Picotte, not accustomed to Earth vernacular, shot Lager a befuddled expression. Fabian stifled a chuckle. He took another Jambom sandwich and offered it to Marella before taking one for himself. “You’re outnumbered 3 to 1,” Lager continued, “so my advice would be to fall back, cover your rear flank, and wait for reinforcements.” Lager moved a few heavy artillery pieces toward the rearguard of the withdrawal formation.

  The generals startled grumbling amongst themselves before Lager handed the pointer back to Picotte, who cleared his throat and scratched his scalp.

  “Fall back?” Picotte said. “Fall back? Holy Suns, Commander we’ve already yielded a vast chunk of the Eastern frontier to our dishonorable enemy. There will be no more falling back. In the name of Rek’s Golden Sun, we make our stand here.” He slammed his fist on the table.

  Fabian did not like what he was hearing; he recalled what Jax the innkeeper had said back in Diamond Town, about the Blood Reeper’s troops penetrating into eastern Rek. “Do you mean the Blood Reeper’s troops occupy our lands, Excellency?”

  “Yes, young man, they have, those filthy fiends, they’ll kill every last one of us if we let them, but we won’t, we shall hold our lines here.”

  “We were recently in Diamond Town, Gold Marshall,” Fabian continued, “and were told of an imminent counterattack that was to be launched from Fork Ridge.”

  Picotte nodded and his generals grumbled again. “Yes, two days ago we met the Blood Reeper’s 3rd Wasp Column in combat, northwest from this camp. They drove us back but we managed to inflict enough damage to halt their advance. We’re barely holding our lines in order to prevent them from marching all the way to Rek City and taking our nation from us.”

  “So Jax was right,” Lager said.

  “Why don’t you ask for more reinforcements Gold Marshall Picotte?” Marella added.

  Picotte and his Generals looked at her as if she had gone mad. “Reinforcements? My dear in case you haven’t noticed, Rek is surrounded by enemies; our remaining armies are already stretched thin as is. We don’t have the luxury of your nation, we border aggressive empires to the north and south.”

  “Still, my word carries much weight back home in Paz. If I could speak with my Chancellor, I might be able to sway him to send Rek military aid. You may not trust us, but rest assured, The Republic of Pazland is dedicated in preserving the geographical integrity of all nations within its sphere of influence.”

  “Try telling that to the Blood Reeper, my dear, that cursed undead monster is determined to conquer everything in sight. But go, try and contact your council, and see if they are willing to help us in our most desperate hour. You have my blessing.” One of the junior staff members waiting in the background escorted Marella back to the Telesignal tables so she could send a coded message.

  Picotte turned toward Fabian. “You said your name was SilverSword?”

  Fabian nodded. “Yes, Excellency.”

  “Any relation to Yule SilverSword? The maker of the Silver Hellion Door?”

  “Yes, Excellency,” Fabian said, “he was one of my ancestors.”

  “Good, then you’ll make an excellent addition to our ground troops. Our 2nd Army took quite a beating on the battlefield the other day, and that armor of yours looks like it could be useful. That wouldn’t happen to be Spirit Stone…would it?”<
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  Fabian met Lager’s eyes. He could tell that his friend wasn’t too pleased with the Gold Marshall’s decision. “Yes,” Fabian said, reluctantly, “it is Spirit Stone…but…”

  “Yes?” Picotte interrupted. “Did you wish to add something to the discussion young man?”

  Fabian swallowed hard. Didn’t the Gold Marshall hear him when he had explained himself earlier? He was leading a Gold Quest against the Blood Reeper and was in charge of an adventurer band. But why did he feel more apprehensive than the time he and his friends had encountered the mercenaries on the outskirts of Diamond Town? Perhaps he could tell the Gold Marshall that he was blind. No. That wouldn’t work. Even though it was the truth, Picotte would not fall for it, besides he had his helm and armor, so that disability had been negated.

  “Young man if you have something to say, please say it,” Picotte added. “I’m a very busy man.”

  “Excellency,” Fabian began, “I do not think it is possible for me to remain here, let alone serve in your Infantry.”

  The Generals who were talking amongst themselves stopped instantly and looked at Fabian as if he had dropped a glass decanter of expensive blue wine all over the lavish carpets.

  “Excuse me?” Picotte said. He slipped on his monocle and to Fabian the Marshall looked even more intimidating.

  “What he means, Gold Marshall Picotte,” Lager interjected, “is that we have a Gold Quest to resume once the lovely Marella Laure is done transmitting her message to Paz.”

  “I’m afraid that will not be possible,” Picotte replied with an air of finality embedded in his commanding voice.

  “But, Excellency,” Fabian said, “the Gold Quest takes precedence.”

  “Young man, even if you were to make it past the battle grounds, the entire Eastern corridor of Rek is swarming with the Reeper’s Wasp troops and Cavalry, and that’s just the beginning, Xot Marauders are patrolling the airspace and are under orders to kill first and ask

  questions second. But let us entertain the fact that you made it past them. The Golden Mane is deep inside Bone Keep. You’re much more useful to us here, and your Kingdom, serving in my Gold Infantry during this desperate hour. So, I am afraid that your Gold Quest is over. Let one of the other thrill seekers worry about it. Perhaps, if we are fortunate in repulsing the Wasps then one of them can slip through the Dark Gate and infiltrate Bone Keep.”

  Fabian had been outmaneuvered in this conversation. As much as he had grown since he had began this Quest, his inexperience had betrayed him in the end.

  “Aders!” Picotte called out.

  The Major appeared next to his superior. “Yes Excellency!”

  “Take young SilverSword here to the barracks, have him issued a uniform and quarters. Then make sure he receives basic field training before we incorporate him into the ranks.”

  Aders nodded. “Follow me, SilverSword.”

  Fabian sighed. His heart felt like a lump of rocks in his chest. Lager headed toward him and patted him on the back before following him.

  “Wait a moment, Commander,” Picotte said.

  Lager turned toward the Gold Marshall. “Sir?”

  “I have our plans for you; you’re to remain here, as a part of my staff, you will advise me when I call on you.”

  “With all due respect sir, if the quest has been disbanded then really I should return to his eminence in Rek City. They need me there as well.”

  Picotte shook his head. “Nonsense, when the King learns of our situation here, he’ll have no choice but to confirm your assignment here. I am a member of the King’s council, so, for now, as an official advisor to our Kingdom, you are required to follow my orders.”

  “Go ahead, Lager,” Fabian said, “I’ll be alright.”

  Lager shot him a determined look and lowered his voice. “This isn’t over yet Ram, not by a long shot.

  III

  Outside the pavilion, the rumble of artillery bombarded Fabian’s ears.

  He donned his Ram helm and looked about with concern, a large formation of troops were marching eastwards, alongside them draft animals were hauling cannons and supplies. Picotte was right, these were desperate times. Still he had no place here, every moment spent in the camp was a moment that could be spent trekking toward the Darklands; war or not, he had to try. Matilda trailed him, he looked at his dog, a loyal friend who had also risked her life to be with him. He hoped his decision would not cost him her life.

  Aders stopped in front of a large grey tent where soldiers were entering and leaving. “This is our cleaning facility, you will remove your armor and bathe yourself before reporting to duty.” Aders then looked at Matilda, a look of disgust on his face. “Animals are not permitted inside the facility, it will have to be quarantined.”

  “Quarantined? She’s a Herder Dog, they’re not meant to be locked up in closed spaces.”

  Aders scowled. “Then it will be assigned to the seeker corps.”

  “Seeker Corps?” Fabian didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Yes, we will train her to seek out field mines with the other dogs, that way our soldier casualty rates can be curbed.”

  “That sounds dangerous; she could be maimed, or worse, killed.”

  “War is dangerous, young man, now clean yourself up and then we’ll take it to the training facility so it will stand a chance when it begins its new duties.”

  If you call Matty an ‘it’ one more time I’ll be sure to smash my gauntlet into your smug face, Fabian thought.

  “I shall return in 15 tocks, make sure you are cleaned and ready to begin your basic training. Then go have the Quartermaster find you something to wear, since you won’t be permitted to train in that ungodly Tork armor.” Aders swiveled around like a wind-up toy soldier and marched off. Matilda growled.

  Fabian scratched her behind her ears. “I don’t like him much either, Matty.”

  ***

  Inside the tent Fabian removed his Spirit Stone armor and stripped off his undergarments. An attendant handed him a small bar of soap and a towel. He stood in line with the other conscripts, waiting for his turn.

  When his turn came he stepped up to a strange-looking device that resembled an oblong four-poster bed with a curtain around it. Fabian had never seen such a device and it showed, another attendant noticing his confusion came up to him. “Is there a problem recruit?”

  Fabian felt embarrassed for having to ask, since other conscripts were disrobing and entering similar devices. “How do I work…this?”

  “It’s easy.” The attendant guided Fabian towards it and pulled back the curtain before pointing at an item mounted at the bottom of the washtub. “You see that? It’s a pump. You push it up and down to fill the basin with water, then you pull the chain and the water sprinkles you from above.” Fabian couldn’t see the pump, nor the chain, but he did his best to act like he could and nodded, using his other senses to locate the chain dangling from the basin above. The attendant appeared satisfied. “Happy bathing,” he said.

  Fabian thanked the attendant. He felt around before his hand located the pump handle before he started pumping water. He worked it for a few ticks before he guessed enough water had filled the basin. Then he pulled the chain.

  The water was cold. Damn cold. It hit his scalp like a bag full of ice cubes, while his entire body felt like tiny knives were prickling his skin. He nearly yelped like a startled child, but managed to stifle it. How he did it amazed even him. Soon his body grew accustomed to the chilly water and he scrubbed himself with the soap until he had had enough of this experience.

  He pushed back the curtain and dried himself with the towel. His undergarments were gone, probably to be laundered. But the attendant returned with a smile on his face. “So? Enjoy your bath?”

  “Yes, by the way? What is that thing called?” Fabian said as he tied the towel around his waist. The attendant shot him a baffled look.

  “It’s called a shower. Now you best move along we like to keep the line
moving.” The attendant told Fabian to get fitted for a uniform and gave him directions to the Quartermaster’s tent. After he had collected his armor at the door he found Matilda and went to get his new clothes.

  ***

  En route to the Quartermaster’s tent Fabian’s mind started drifting. He remembered his strange dream with Tildon Crossmark and how the old Mage had told him about the Hellion Doors. Tildon had mentioned to him how he had promised Yule to help Fabian when the time came. The old Mage had been kind enough to remember his promise, so, it must’ve been important enough for him to have infiltrated Fabian’s dream to warn him about his future.

  Now, here he was, about to abandon his quest, and all because he had encountered a challenging situation. So what if Gold Marshall Picotte had ordered him to report for duty. He had a responsibility not only to Rek and Tildon, but to himself. After all, wasn’t this quest his idea? Didn’t he want to prove to himself that despite being short of natural eyesight he was just as good as anyone else? Of course he did.

  He found a secluded spot behind a tent and donned his armor. When he put his helm back on his eyesight reemerged and he felt whole again. Matilda barked at him and started leaping up and down. He was glad she had picked up on his actions. And the pompous Major Aders had the nerve to think of her as a common animal.

  By avoiding the main path that cut through the camp, he kept out of sight as much as possible in order not to attract unwarranted attention. He felt a tug on his arm and spun around both staff and sword drawn.

  “Hero Fabian, it’s only me.” Marella had her hands up in front of her face as if to shield herself from an attack. “I was following you.”

  Fabian sheathed his sword and exhaled. “Marella don’t ever do that again.” He wondered how the Stealer had been able to mask her scent and avoid detection from Matilda’s sharp nose. The Stealers in Paz were obviously quite adept in subterfuge tactics.