by Sean Clark
Contents
Of Armor and Bone
Chapter One: The Remnant and The Birth of Conflict
Chapter Two: In Depths of Stone
Chapter Three: The Emperor
Chapter Four: The Winds of Death
Chapter Five: Spark and Smoke
Chapter Six: Heart of Darkness
Chapter Seven: Those Who Remain
Chapter Eight: Separate Ways
Chapter Nine: Zethurus
Chapter Ten: The Welcome Home
Chapter Eleven: Dull Edge of Sealed Power
Chapter Twelve: Army Standing
Chapter Thirteen: A Sign in the Dark
Chapter Fourteen: Coldfront
Chapter Fifteen: A Summons
Chapter Sixteen: Tallest Trees of the Land
Chapter Seventeen: The Arcanus
Chapter Eighteen: Into the Forest
Chapter Nineteen: Reinforcements
Chapter Twenty: The Neutral Zone
Chapter Twenty One: The Raising
Chapter Twenty Two: Eye to Eye
Chapter Twenty Three: Tuleforian Walls
Chapter Twenty Four: The Dark Armor
Chapter Twenty Five: The Man That is No Longer
Chapter Twenty Six: Mage Blood
Chapter Twenty Seven: Dark Energy
Chapter Twenty Eight: How the Walls Fell
Chapter Twenty Nine: The Occupation
Chapter Thirty: The Sing Stone
Chapter Thirty One: Betrayal of Bonds
Chapter Thirty Two: The Cold Road Home
Chapter Thirty Three: The Meeting of the Magi
Chapter Thirty Four: The Forward Front
Chapter Thirty Five: The Old Art
Chapter Thirty Six: The Fall of Men
Chapter Thirty Seven: The March Eastward
Chapter Thirty Eight: To Halt an Army
Chapter Thirty Nine: Awaiting
Chapter Forty: The Battle of Lyeys Ridge
Chapter Forty One: The Man of Armor and Bone
Chapter Forty Two: Revocation
Of Armor and Bone
The Sing Wars: Book 1
Sean Clark
Chapter One: The Remnant and The Birth of Conflict
Once upon a time, atop the deserted snowy peaks of the Sing Mountain range that divided the land of Callia, a celestial object roughly the size of a bale of hay came down from the sky to make contact with the rock below. The object impacted upon the sharp bits of the range and its jagged spires, finally embedding itself deep inside the untrodden stone. Isolated, the event could have gone completely unnoticed, were it not for the infinitesimally brief moment of the remnant radiating an immeasurable burst of pure celestial energy. Around the continent, those even marginally attuned to the magical forces may have felt the slightest of tingles up their spine and through the fibers and veins running through the tips of their fingers.
The somewhat unreliable rumors passed around the land sent men off in search of the fantastical-sounding source of the power. First came the sole prospectors and other hopefuls, either seeking out the magic for themselves, or for the chance to turn a profit from it. The tiny traces left behind from the impact led them, expectedly, to the tall, inhospitable peaks somewhere in the middle of the continent. The Sing range had been a barrier between the Eastern and Western lands- Tulefore and Xiandol- for as long as anyone could remember, with only a couple desolate passes to allow the certain brave and hearty few to venture across.
As the frigid winter brought the ice and snow to the peaks, the adventurers were forced to head back down to the lower elevations to either head home empty handed, or to wait out the winter. With the following spring thaw, some returned to the peaks to continue their search, joined by more of those whom the hearsay had reached. Even without the snow and wind, the long expanse of the mountain range was too vast and too steep to easily survey. For one more winter, the adventurers were driven back home.
Those unwilling to back down so easily went to their homes and villages, hoping to muster a force that would allow them to tackle the mountain more easily. That next spring after found the mountain range penetrated by metal tools as the men attempted to find their way to the remnant horizontally. Those of magical blood who had joined the cause reported that the source of the power was still present, though with the dampening effect of the thick rock, pinpointing it would be near impossible.
Over the next two years, the rough mining camps turned into settlements, and the settlements into townships. More people from across the land joined the effort, bringing supplies, tools, food, and eventually their families, who made way for the region to accompany people throughout the year. Some planted farms, erected buildings, or simply continued to dig, hoping that one day it would be their people who ran across the magical object.
Conflict arose as the land claims and mine shafts continued deeper, blurring the lines between these peoples on either side of the range. Tensions grew among those who had previously called each other neighbors, each working through the backbreaking labor while continuously looking over their shoulders. The progress of digging away in the mines slowed, and the violence grew more intense. Word spread across the lands, eventually to those who governed the regions.
To the West was the lonely Kingdom of Xiandol, governed by a King far at the desolate tip of the continent, surrounded by harsh seas on three sides. To the East was the Proud Seat of the Empire of Tulefore, from where one could just make out the peaks of the Sing Range on the horizon. While vastly segregated from each other, it was at about the same time that the two governments put forward their influence to attempt to stamp out the conflict between their own countrymen. From that point on, at either side of the mountain, the peoples would be united under one flag each as they continued to toil away.
To that day, the solid rock of the mountain continued to perceptively resonate with the power of something unimaginable. Those with magical blood, called magi, joined their powers to dowse the mountain in attempts to more accurately seek out where the object may lay. It was determined that one of the peaks just south of the meridian of the continent was the most likely point where the source of the power was located. Both Xiandolans and Tuleforians pooled their efforts on the particular stretch of the rock, unknowingly digging in each other’s direction.
The first realized conflict between the two distant powers took place in the happenstance of two tunnels meeting from either side of the mountain. The miners, upon seeing those they did not recognize in their own tunnels, picked up their tools and struck out. The bloody fight lasted for hours in the cramped, dark tunnels before the passageway was intentionally collapsed by the Xiandolans, blocking the way.
Tulefore reacted by sending their small groups of available soldiers over the pass just to the south of the two settlements. Though taken by surprise, the Xiandolans had preemptively built basic fortifications, which aided them in defending their settlement until Tulefore’s eventual withdrawal days later. Word quickly traveled home to either side, requesting military aid. When Tulefore sprang for attack again, with more men than the previous time, they were stopped as soon as the pass would have begun to lead them back down to flat ground.
The stalemate at the mountain pass lasted a week. The autumn winds had already began to give way to cold winter flurries. Tulefore attempted to break the line by bringing in their battlemages; those magi, who, with elemental powers under their control, were trained to scatter devastating attacks across the battlefield without prejudice. The body counts instantly rose, and Xiandol was forced to retreat back past their defensive line just as the first snowfall hit.
Another winter came and went as predicted, but Xiandol returned with magi of their own ready to fight back alongs
ide the warriors in suits of armor, wielding swords and bows. The front line drifted back and forth along the pass as the fighting conditions changed each day with men falling and reinforcements trickling in. Even though wielding great power, many of the magi from either side would fall in battle as well. All about the continent, discontent with the conflict rose as the news of countless casualties arrived.
Some blamed the lands’ governments for the introduction of magical powers to the battlefield, while others blamed the magi themselves. The communities of magical folk began to raise their voices, presenting their distaste of their ruinous role in the war. It was near the end of that year that a group of powerful magi from the northern territory of Tulefore went to their Emperor at the coastal Tulefore City to present an ultimatum: that both nations withdraw those of magical blood from their armies, or the magi would cease to offer their aid completely. The Emperor, wanting to both save face and refocus his forces back to the Empire’s overseas affairs, tentatively agreed, awaiting the response of the Xiandolan King. The magi set out then to take the long trip across the land to Xiandolia, where the King would come to agree the same.
Just before the first winter snows that year, diplomats from each region came to meet in the northern Tuleforian town of Arkyan, where an accord was held. Both sides would agree to disallow their magi from participating in battle, labeling them as noncombatants, and making the consequence for defying the treaty a war crime. The group of magi who held the accord, led by a powerful figure, calling themselves ‘Arcanus,’ would thereby deem their organization the Mage’s Order, under such name they would hold the sanctity of the treaty.
While the Order would from then on venture to unite the magi from around the continent under a non-intervention philosophy, not all would agree. Despite measures the Order would take, some remained more or less loyal to their birth places.
The tension at the front lines still remained, but with the balance of power greatly shifted, both Tulefore and Xiandol would call an unofficial withdrawal from the fighting. The next year passed, miraculously, with no swords meeting in combat. That is until, one day, the magical power that had been so greatly sought after, suddenly seemed to disappear.
Chapter Two: In Depths of Stone
Far from the cold foothills and rivers and tunnels of the Sing Mountains, the once zealous Xiandolan magi had been at work. They had since sought a way to use their magic to turn the tides of battle without ever having to step foot outside the city or violate the treaty. Forged, sharpened, and assembled under the effects of their powers, swords and armor were created, bearing the near incomprehensible forces that the magi carried. Such equipment would give the wielder the strength to block attacks both physical and magical, able to deal them in return as well. Only a few of these unique sets of armor had been produced when word came that the mysterious power had disappeared and was likely in the hands of the enemy. Along with various other supplies, the arms and armors were sent quietly but swiftly to the front, where a certain few men had been selected to use them…
The sound of metal pounding against stone radiated through the dim tunnels. The heavy, oily smell of kerosene drifted low across the floor as the flickering flame of the lamp danced around the rough, pockmarked walls.
“Can’t you dig faster?” Kensley sighed heavily. He paced back and forth, dragging the light with him as the workers struggled to find crevices to accommodate the edges of their pickaxes. “It can’t be that heavy.”
“Sir,” One of the workers complained, smearing a streak of mud across his sweaty brow with his wrist, “we’re exhausted. Please let us take a break, manage a sip of water.”
Kensley stepped up to the wall of piled jagged rocks and mud, shining the reflected lamp light at the growing hump of rubble. “You may rest shortly.” He said, slumping back from the diggers. “Remember, when your job is finished, ours is just beginning.”
The second worker spat loudly at the ground before hefting the heavy pickax back up over his shoulder. As their tools began to strike out at the stone once more, Kensley quickly hung the lamp on its peg that had been driven into the rock of the tunnel.
Leaning back against the cold wall, Scarborough absentmindedly juggled the sword back and forth between his two gloves. The thick, hard leather of the grip landed in his palm for a moment before being sent back effortlessly to the other hand. The blade shone brightly despite in the dim light. Annoyed, Kensley quickly stepped up in front and snatched the blade out of the air, holding the metal tightly in his hands.
“Hey now, you’ll bend it out of shape like that.” Scarborough protested. He swung his hand at the grip, missing it as Kensley jerked it out of reach.
Standing beside him, Bently turned his head up to look at Kensley now examining his hands for any cuts that might have penetrated the light, flexible leather of his gloves. “Didn’t cut yourself, did you?”
“Hmm. I’d hope not.” The long-haired lieutenant remarked. Kensley shoved the short sword back at Scarborough, jamming the pommel into his chest plate with a dull clink. The pale, skinny man leaned the blade towards his face. As he examined the metal for any tarnish or dirt, the shine cast a fractured reflection of light across his face. The gray bags under his eyes flickered as he blinked away the bright sheen.
“Perfectly fine.” Bently nudged the thin man’s shoulder, causing his armor to grate slightly against the wall. “See?”
With a sigh, Scarborough sheathed the sword at his thigh with a deliberate movement, allowing it to dangle at his side. Kensley’s eyes remained fixed at the two workers, taking turns attempting to pry at one of the larger boulders at the bottom blocking off the path.
“Scar.” Kensley turned his head back quickly towards the other two. In the light from the lantern, his stubble casted tiny shadows across his strong chin. Bits of light traveled through his long, dark hair, resting just above his neck line. “Go wake up the captain, won’t you?”
“Mhm.” Scarborough lifted himself off the wall, mumbling in reluctant agreement. The minute clinking of the armor pieces continued as he walked out of the light, deeper into the cold, drafty tunnel.
Mandabus sat, legs crossed and back against the wall, with only the set of armor seeming to cast a glow on the space around him. The chin of the helmet was pointed downward towards the ground, and the sound of his soft breathing could be heard faintly over the din of the digging and pounding in the distance.
“Captain… seems we’re… almost through.” Scarborough announced, approaching cautiously. “You… awake?”
“Of course.” Mandabus quickly pulled up his knees in front of him, lifting himself up. “Just alone with my thoughts.”
Scarborough backed up a few steps as the captain planted his feet on the cold hard surface of the tunnel floor, covered in a thin layer of dirt and rubble. Deep down the passageway, a light trickled towards them from the lantern. The sound of rumbling and grinding stones followed. Mandabus adjusted the strap on his back, carrying the long leather scabbard of his wide bastard sword. The thin strap holding the light weapon found its way around and under the plating of his armor.
“Sounds as if they just got it.” Scarborough looked up at the captain, attempting to get a glimpse of his eyes through the darkened slits. “Shall we see?”
“There’s no need to rush, kid.” Mandabus grumbled, pushing past the other man roughly.
Kensley turned back down the tunnel as Mandabus approached, followed by Scarborough several paces behind. The brilliant armor of the captain gleamed at him as he approached the source of the light. Ahead, Bently shoved aside bits of rubble from the collapsed blockage.
A wind whistled faintly though the tunnel, headed back in the direction from where they had entered the labyrinth. The second worker approached Kensley. The dirty-looking man hoisted the lantern off the wall before speaking. “We’ve… erm, encountered no further barriers inside this area of the tunnels.”
“You’ve done satisfactory work.” Kensley nod
ded at the man before bending down to pick his helmet off the ground. “Hurry back now, tell the general that we’ve set out.”
“Yes, sir.” The digger waved at his partner, who followed quickly after him, tugging on the handle of the pickax that dragged behind. As they passed Mandabus, their eyes drifted away from his intimidating form, and quickening their pace ever so slightly.
Having examined his helmet for any signs of dirt remaining, Kensley placed it atop his head, carefully adjusting his long locks to fit neatly under the helm. Mandabus pushed besides the others, approaching the freed blockage, resting at the edge of the pathway. He turned back to see the other two trailing Kensley. The sets of armor glowed dimly in the newfound darkness. The helmets rested upon their heads, and weapons hanging by their sides or at their backs.
“You know the way?” The captain grunted back at the group.
“Yes, I studied the provided map plenty.” Bently spoke up. His gauntlet dragged against the wall as he pushed up behind Mandabus. “Allow me to guide.”
“Quietly.” Mandabus reminded him, his hand trailing to Bently’s shoulder.
The crunching of loose rock and dirt below their feet followed them through the tunnels. The cool air smelt of mildew, with a hint of burning wood fires in the distance. Scarborough breathed loudly behind the group. The fog produced on his breath was barely visible in the almost pitch black of the tunnel.
“Captain, what do you propose if we find it isn’t anywhere to be found? If we’re too late?” Kensley whispered, pushing his chest almost up against the captain in front of him.
“We find someone who can tell us where it’s headed off to.” Mandabus grunted backwards at him.
“Shh-” Bently shushed them, stopping abruptly. The plates of his armor clinked softly, and the leather scabbard bumped against his back. The whistling of wind weaved through the tunnels around them, sending wisps of air through the cracks of their heavy plating. “Close to the surface… but no sound of people.”
