Of Armor And Bone

by Sean Clark

  Sets of armor rattled loudly as a group of soldiers jogged in the opposite direction on a pathway parallel to his own. The captain continued looking on down the hillside to the bigger buildings at the edge of the settlement that stretched onward to the exterior defensive wall.

  The mountain began to glow with an orange haze in the light of the rising sun. The peak stood proudly with a minuscule snow cap that had just begun to form, far from the elevation where the two sides had been digging. The wooden scaffolding and carved-out paths looked like an intricate maze leading to the various holes bored into the mountainside. Mandabus’ hot breath hit the air with an expanding white cloud of condensation. His eyes danced around the face of the mountain looking for any signs of recent work.

  Bently grit his teeth as a blow from a sword along his side forced a reflexive spasm from his diaphragm. He had been able to block the attack from the first soldier able to reach him, but the second was able to land a separate attack. He sucked in a quick breath and pushed his weight back against the building behind him. With his body supported, he managed to pick his foot up off the ground and send a low kick into the first attacker’s shin which forced the man’s knee to bend in the opposite direction. Others attempted to trample over him and strike away at Bently.

  He shifted his weight again to the side and slammed the second swordsman into the wall to the side with a loud cry. With slightly more room to move, Bently was able to swing his sword in an arc in front of him, catching several of the attackers off guard. The energy of the swing caused several helmets to crack and fly off. The men in front began to panic from the sudden casualties. Bently began to breath heavily as he eyed the mass continuing to pile up.

  “Ain’t that a dainty sword you’ve got there, kid?” A pair of armored soldiers taunted Scarborough. He had taken a separate path and found himself back on one of the main roads.

  Scarborough seethed quietly as the two men stared him down. Their armor was intricate, made with care, but had clearly never seen any proper combat. Their lips were turned up in assured smirks, while their eyes danced around, reading each other’s body language. Pursing his lips to hide the sound of his heavy breathing, Scarborough slowly approached them. Without warning, one of the men swung his longsword at Scarborough’s shoulder. The blade shattered instantly upon contact with the plating. The thin man flinched out of reflex, but the armor blocked any sense of potential pain. Before the now unarmed soldier could back up, Scarborough dashed up to him and shoved his short blade between the gaps of his waist guard and cuirass. The blade found flesh and the soldier toppled over to the ground. Scarborough placed his heel on the man’s chin and stepped into it with all his weight. As the snap sounded out, the other soldier attempted to run the opposite direction, but a well-placed kick to the back of his leg sent him tumbling as well.

  Mandabus squeezed through a skinny gap between two wooden shacks. The suit of armor clung just close enough to his body to pass through without any noticeable scraping. He rotated his head back and forth between the two pathways on either side. The movement was strained and cautious so as to not allow his helmet to get caught. The eye holes provided only a limited field of view. Along the road, another person ran by the hole he was headed for.

  Just as the person passed, their footsteps stopped and returned Mandabus’ way. Their eyes met as they returned to look down the tight path where Mandabus stood. “You!” They shouted. The soldier looked to his sides in hopes to find backup. “Get out of there.” They said as they turned back. The man waved a dagger at him. Mandabus found he could not reach his sword in the tight space.

  The soldier slipped into the space and drew closer. His dagger was aimed to attempt to penetrate the armor just at Mandabus’ neck. The captain felt at the boards running across his palms. One flexed under the weight of a light push. As the soldier approached, Mandabus pushed at the loose plank and shoved his hand in, breaking it. With a huff, he grabbed at the weight of the wall and pushed outward and towards the enemy. The framing of the structure buckled and began to fall over towards the street. The soldier attempted to back up, but was caught in the falling structure. Bits of the wooden shingles crumbled on top of them. The front section of the building had toppled over into the neighboring street. The remaining corner of the structure stood shakily on its corner posts. The man, dumbfounded, attempted to stand back up, but was met with a swift kick to the chest.

  Kensley had scaled an unstable-feeling stack of wooden crates and up to the roof of one of the barracks. The commotion the street over had caught his attention, and now he was able to see it. A group of armored soldiers had pushed upon Bently below. The ones at the front had either fallen victim to Bently’s wild swings, or were in the process of trying to extract themselves from the strike zone. Kensley found a stable footing upon the rooftop before scouting out the crowd. None of them had noticed him yet. Kensley bent his knees slightly before launching himself off the roof and onto the unsuspecting masses. The clank of armor and the crushing of bones marked his landing.

  Wild strikes made contact with his armor. His sword found its mark in the flesh of those immediately in his vicinity. Some of the opposing forces backed off or scattered. He quickly made his way over the growing pile of bodies to Bently, who had been pushed backwards into the structure, almost breaking through the wall.

  Bently took the hand that Kensley offered up. “I thought there would be no end to them.” He scoffed. Looking down, he saw his greaves almost completely caked with mud and crimson blood.

  Mandabus marched slowly through the muddy side streets. The sticky earth was dotted with trash and refuse, including empty bottles that once held alcohol. The smell of booze was faint over the underlying odor of human waste and filth. The sun slowly continued to creep up on the horizon. Despite the attunement of the armor, he could barely feel for the possible source of the magical power that they were seeking out.

  A few stragglers, the soldiers and workers, had found his way across his path. Each seemed to stop, dumbfounded in his presence. Before any could react, they were eliminated with a swing of his sword.

  The smell of horse manure drifted into his nostrils. The final, narrow street led out to an open road. Logs had been embedded in the ground to combat the mud. A modest gate in the otherwise long stretch of barrier wall lead out to what looked like what once was a forest. In a small stable to the side of the gate, a couple of horses and dirty-looking mules stamped uncomfortably. Mandabus took a short breath to look back at the town.

  Plumes of smoke had begun to rise around the settlement, and the odor of the haze finally made its way to his nostrils. Behind his turned back, a mass of cold energy made contact with his armor with a sizzle and a tingling of magical energy up his body. Mandabus slowly turned around with a smirk on his face to gaze at the attacker.

  “That’s very bold, mage.” The captain threatened as he took his first glance of the man. He seemed barely the same height as Mandabus. Over the thin-looking black shawl, the magic user wore a thicker layer of animal hides and furs. A messy pony tail of black and gray hair hung over his shoulder. His bare hand sat at his side, partially clenched, with the other behind his back.

  “Magical armaments?” The mage huffed judgmentally with a deep voice. “Unheard of. Putting such powers in the hands of simple folk.”

  “Call us what you want.” Mandabus challenged him back. He shifted the handle of the sword back and forth in his hands, examining the blade. “We wield this power in battle because your kind cannot. You’ve been neutered.”

  The mage rolled his wrist and stretched his fingers towards the ground. “To hell with that.” He said with an unchanging gaze. “I doubt any should look down on me for acting in self-defense.”

  “Let’s not forget who attacked who.” Mandabus quickly answered. The second his words left his mouth, he found a solid footing upon the ground and used it to push off in a sprint towards the mage.

  The mage pulled his second hand from behind his
back and thrust it at Mandabus. A shard of ice flew from his palms and shot through the air to make contact with Mandabus’ legs. The captain stumbled for a moment, but was not halted. The mage sent out another shard, following it in rapid succession. Mandabus found his feet losing traction. His progress ceased as his legs slowly became encased in ice that crept up his shins.

  “Be reminded that it was you who arrived here today to lay slaughter to our people.” The mage replied bitterly. His hands shook out in front of him from the cold and surge of power.

  Mandabus peered down at his frozen feet. The frost and ice had crept over the ground in a spider-web formation and soaked into the damp mud. “You are really starting to piss me off.” He muttered as he began to chip away at the ice with the tip of his bastard sword. “This is not about glory, mage. These are orders from the throne.”

  “You’re little more than a murderer.” The mage shouted. The ice cracked around one of Mandabus’ feet, and he was able to break himself free from the bonds of the remaining magic. As he rushed closer to the mage, more magical bolts of ice were launched his way. The attacks grazed across the magical armor harmlessly. As Mandabus’ sword came in close for an attack, the wizard caught the blade in his hand, encasing the edge in a pocket of ice. As Mandabus pulled back, the tip of the sword caught the man’s sleeve, cutting his arm with little more than a scratch. Mandabus felt a sudden yet pleasant jolt through his body from making contact with the mage’s flesh.

  The mage jumped back as Mandabus prepared for a second attack. He writhed, holding the fresh wound. The warm blood dribbled down past his sleeve. He shakily wiped it up with his hand and smudged the crimson liquid between his palms.

  Mandabus shook off the chunk of ice and once again aimed the sword at the mage’s vitals. The rolled-back eyes of the old man instead caught attention. The mage had begun to shake and mumble incoherently. His body rocked back and forth. Mandabus shook the hesitation out of his mind and took the first step forward and got ready to once again dash at the man.

  The mage’s hands lashed outward towards Mandabus. He stopped in his tracks as a wave of frigid air washed over him. The fog from his breath instantly disappeared and the remaining air in his lungs became stuck in his throat. His eyes burned from the frigid cold. The mage begun convulsing as dark waves of energy flew out from his hands towards Mandabus. The coldness began to permeate his body, followed by piercing pain that attacked every nerve ending.

  His sword fell from his grasp and clattered onto the ground. Mandabus’ vision slowly went dark, and all the feeling left his body. His joints ached with a dull pain as the bones seemed to rub against each other, and he felt his body go light before he could no longer find the energy to stand.

  Scarborough ran at the mage. He reacted just quickly enough to block the short sword’s attack with a shield of dark magic produced from his palm. The two attacks fed back into each other and set off a blast that sent the two reeling backwards away from each other. Before Scarborough could find his footing again, the mage regained his sensibilities and ran to one of the tied-up horses. He desperately unhooked the animal’s reins and hopped atop to gallop off out the gate.

  Kensley and Bently attempted to block off the exit but could not stop the horse. Scarborough ran to the collapsed body of Mandabus and propped him up off the ground. The air had become thick with smoke and the fires drew closer.

  “What happened!?” Kensley cried out as he skidded on his knees up besides Mandabus. Scarborough shook the set of armor. The metal plates rattled. Inside the eye holes, nothing but darkness remained.

  “We shouldn’t stay here at least. Let’s head out, find a place to hide out.” Bently warned, pointing out the gate of the settlement. He clumsily held his arm up against his mask to block out some of the smoke.

  “Help me carry him, Scar.” Kensley ordered. “Ben, his sword.”

  Chapter Five: Spark and Smoke

  A low fog hung over the frostbitten roofs of the Xiandolan mining settlement. In the low visibility, nothing beyond the first tier of terraced buildings down the hillside could be seen. The settlement was completely still and barren. Not a light could be seen in any of the windows, and it seemed no person had yet awoken to greet the day.

  Kiaren sat crouched low to the ground atop the rocky outcropping higher up the mountainside. Her concentrated breath poured out between her clenched teeth in puffs of white fog. Shiloh chattered intermittently in the cold.

  “Commander.” The guard whispered in her ear worriedly. “How long must you sit here and ponder this frozen landscape to realize that we’ve come out here observe nothing?”

  Kiaren pulled the heavy furs up along her neck. Under the leather cap, her short hair bristled. Goosebumps ran up her arms to her shoulders from the chill creeping up the space between her skin and sleeve. “It would be irresponsible still to make any call when we lack the proper insight.” The commander sighed slowly. “If we discover nothing else, we would still be certain of the fact that the Xiandolans are late risers.” She joked.

  “Ma’am, respectfully…” Shiloh wavered. “We may freeze to death before we have anything of value to report back.”

  Kiaren slumped her shoulders and wrapped her gloved hands around her bent knees. “May we say that our hunch was poorly founded, Shiloh?” The commander admitted. “If Xiandol were really in possession of the remnant, it would be quite obvious, would it not?”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not.” Shiloh rolled his head back and forth quizzically. “This… quiet… could be a tactical ruse to diffuse suspicion.”

  “Or the disappearance is a fluke. But… if Xiandol knows what we know, what would they do?” Kiaren insisted.

  Shiloh blew on the tips of his fingers and sat back against the rock. “I suppose… they would want to confirm that we aren’t in possession of it, either.” He shrugged and shifted his layers of clothing back up against his neck.

  The wind poured down the mountain in a whispering song and encouraged the fog to begin drifting downward into the valley to the west. Kiaren huffed warm air into her gloves. “Now you understand why I engaged the first platoon to be alert this morning.” She pointed out as her gaze turned back towards the ever-quiet town. “Though, there are no signs of an army, let alone spies of their own.”

  Down in one of the streets, the glow of a sole lantern hovered through the dense fog. The light traveled up the streets towards the towering piles of rubble from the diggings in the mountain. Kiaren’s eyes followed its movement, but the source could not be determined.

  “Perhaps it’s someone going for a piss?” Shiloh quipped as he peered over the commander’s shoulder to notice the same light.

  “Humph, would men like you rather head out in the cold of the morning than use a chamber pot?” Kiaren disapproved. Shiloh snorted back at her before she continued. “We shall leave as dawn breaks upon this side of the mountain. Any longer, and we risk being seen. I suspect when my brother returns in the coming days, he shall wish to head out on reconnaissance as well.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Shiloh nodded.

  “Go back up to the ridge.” The commander ordered. “Notify me just when the sun is about to break.”

  With a nod, the guard crept up the mountain side. As his soft footsteps over the rocky surface disappeared, Kiaren’s gaze traced once again the faint glow of the torch. The light paced around the entrance to the Xiandolan mines.

  A tumble of rubble pulled her attention away. Shiloh had scrambled down behind her in a haste. “Commander, you must come and see with you own eyes.” He hurried her with a tone of distress.

  The faint smell of smoke caught Kiaren’s nostrils. She quickly ducked down against the cold stone of the mountainside and began to push herself up the rocky incline. Atop the mountain ridge, the light of the morning had begun to cast its glow over the east. The sun shone in Kiaren’s eyes as she reached the peak. Down the side of the mountain, tall gray pillars of smoke had begun to rise up from the settlement she h
ad left intact the night before.

  “What the hell is going on down there!?” Kiaren cried out as she pushed herself over to the other side of the outcropping.

  “Fire, all about. It must have been deliberate- everything has been too wet to simply catch from a simple spark. Let us hurry!” Shiloh urged.

  Small bits of rubble preceded their rocky descent down the shallow mountainside. The sun had begun to cast its warm glow on the bare stone of the crags. The dull gray smoke drifted up lazily from the town and casted blurry shadows down upon them. The fire had turned some of the buildings already to blackened piles, before lazily jumping to adjacent structures. Kiaren crouched and slid down the slope until she met roughly with the soft earth of the pathway below.

  “Damn it.” The commander cursed under her breath before barking her orders. “Half the settlement is already ablaze! See what survivors you can find, quickly. We must get this put out!”

  Shiloh shoved the sleeve of his cloak over his mouth to block out the fumes. “You mustn’t breathe in too much of the smoke, Ma’am,” He warned as Kiaren scanned the buildings farther down the hillside that had yet to catch fire. “There is little chance, I fear, to do anything for this part of town.”

  “Every second you waste on lecturing me may be one that could be used to be used to help.” The commander growled. She eyed one of the alleyways and quickly dashed down it. The guard was left behind to make his own path.

  The roar of the fire grew in Kiaren’s ears. The first two soldier’s barracks that she passed were little more than smoldering ashes with questionable remains inside. Only the small glint of a soot-covered sword caught her eye as she passed. Two blocks down towards the main road through the town, the fire raged.

  A set of deep-sunken footprints caught Shiloh’s eye. He had almost missed them in his haste, but the size of the print seemed almost five centimeters larger than his own. Over the musty odor of smoke, he could smell traces of the richness of blood and death.