Of Armor And Bone

by Sean Clark

  From the interior of the black armor a deafening, guttural roar was produced. Kiaren’s arm begged to fall limp from the weight of the weapon. She quickly passed the sword to the opposite hand and adjusted to the untrained grip. She stepped back tentatively with her eyes fixed on the strange knight. Mandabus regained his footing once again and focused his eyes on the commander’s sword. Almost like an animal, he dashed forward with his hands held out at either side.

  Kiaren wound up another swing with her left arm and anticipated the attack. Mandabus’ gauntlet reached out for her forearm, but the weight of the weapon caught up and smacked into the thick plating on Mandabus’ back with an impact that echoed through the valley. The knight hit the ground with a thud that shook the cartilage of Kiaren’s knees.

  Soldiers rushed up to surround the fallen knight. “Bind him!” The commander ordered. “There’s no way that’s all we’ll get from him. Try to remove that armor.”

  Kiaren spit and grabbed at the bleeding gash on her arm. Zethurus’ worried gaze met with hers. Before he could pull away, Kiaren stomped towards him and grabbed his collar once again, this time lifting him off the ground.

  “You lying sack…” Kiaren snarled. “If you eliminate an enemy, they should not be back to try and murder you.”

  Chapter Twelve: Army Standing

  Down by the river on the Xiandolan front, the sound of swords clashing in a sparring match filled the air. Kensley swung and thrust with his longsword, the weapon grasped in one hand, while the other rested tucked behind his back.

  Scarborough followed the movement of the opposing attacks, while continuously stepping backwards to keep his distance. “You should strike while you have the chance.” Kensley taunted, continuing his assault. His long dark hair flowed back behind him, and the baggy linen shirt moved listlessly as he calmly proceeded the steady attacks. “Not all battlefields will have the luxury of the space to retreat.”

  The tip of Scarborough’s sword clacked against the broad dimpled edge of Kensley’s. “Maybe… I’m waiting for you to tire yourself out.” He returned, and continued back-stepping slowly.

  The clouds of breath exited Kensley’s mouth as rhythmically as the swings of his sword. “You may never know when that’s coming, for either combatant. I know you’re faster than me. Use that to your advantage.”

  “It’s hardly an advantage… if your opponent is already aware of you. Even… less so when having twice the range.” Scarborough said through short, shallow breaths.

  “And you have half the weight to swing around!” Kensley huffed and threw in an extra flourish in his attack. With each swing, his body gently ebbed and flowed with the movement of the heavy sword in his hand, using the inertia and extension of his weight to keep his footing.

  Scarborough took the moment for Kensley’s blade to be at the position farthest from his center of mass before striking. He daintily planted his foot to stop its retreat and allowed his left hand to strike out. The short sword parried Kensley’s blade, knocking the man off balance.

  Scarborough took the opportunity to strike, jutting out to attack with a second quick attack. Kensley withdrew his free hand from behind his back and smacked at the side of the short sword, knocking it out of Scarborough’s grasp and to the ground with a loud clattering.

  “Well.” The lieutenant smirked and regained his footing. “If these were actually sharp, we would be in trouble. Your arm, does it still affect you poorly?”

  The thin man bent down to retrieve the fallen sword. He had wrapped the free hand around his shoulder. “Yes, it still ails me. It was not such a delicate injury.”

  “No, of course not.” Kensley ground his teeth. “I would hope that the king may send reinforcements soon, perhaps a healer.”

  The river beside them roared, engorged with the water from the snow melt on the mountain. Over the din, the sound of a horn could be heard from the west in the direction of the late afternoon sun. The two began to march up the hillside to catch a glimpse of the road stretching deep into the dull countryside.

  The rocky and barren land stretched outward, eventually disappearing into churning hills. The once muddy road had baked in the low sun and turned to a crusty, cracked expanse of hard dirt. In the distance, a long convoy seemed to be leisurely making its way towards the settlement.

  “Speak of the devil.” Kensley grunted. The lieutenant waved to Scarborough for them to make their way back up the hillside to the exterior defenses.

  It had been a week since the expeditionary group had returned from the excursion far on the other side of the mountain. During that time, no further orders had come from General Edrian, nor had any word considering Tulefore had been uttered. A few select groups had come and gone back to the capital during the time, but any inclination that either side had intentions of escalating to any conflict was not present.

  The air was humid and the white blankets of snow atop the high rocky mountain peaks had begun to disappear into nothingness. Down upon the flat plains surrounding the mountains, the laborers had emerged from their winter hibernation to begin plowing the fields for the earliest of plantings. Long parallel stretches of the dirt had been already turned up by the plows being pulled by oxen, revealing the dark loam underneath.

  The main gate had already been opened as Kensley and Scarborough scaled the embankment up to the road. Up in one of the tall stone towers overlooking the outer walls, Kensley could spot the guards pointing a spyglass out at the incoming party, still several kilometers away.

  “A big shipment of supplies, eh?” Kensley shouted up at the two men.

  The guard secured his helmet on his head and leaned over the railing to respond down to them. “Lieutenant! I’ve not been prepared to accept any supplies. Could they be here on other business?”

  “I’d prefer to take a look at them, first.” He nodded and leaned back to peer out at the road. “Scar.” Kensley gestured up at the ladder. “Head on up, get a look. You have a good eye.”

  “Sir.” Scarborough nodded and scrambled up the ladder into the guard post. Holding out his hand, the guard passed the long scope to him.

  Through the smudged glass lens, the first thing he could spot was the silhouette of a three-clawed badger, atop the stark white banner- the Xiandolan King’s Emblem. Behind the barer was a long convoy, following at a slow march. The stout horses making up the front of the formation carried a selection of men in light wear, followed by neat lines of soldiers on foot, wearing matching sets of unfamiliar armor. At the farthest reaches of the line were flatbed wagons, pulled by hefty horses in yokes of two.

  “Sir!” Scarborough pulled the instrument down from his view and shouted down to the ground. “I wouldn’t call it a war party, but it is peculiar.”

  Kensley took a spot under the arch of the entryway. Scarborough snuck back down to the ground and took a place beside him.

  “If I’m not mistaken, they’re flying Halmalch’s banner.” Scarborough noted.

  “I noticed.” Kensley shrugged. “It’s pretty distinct. If there are orders coming from the throne, then it must be something worth our while.”

  “Not just orders. Soldiers. Looks like some special guard unit I’ve never seen, all my time in the capital.”

  Kensley sighed and rolled his head around his shoulders with a loud pop of his spine. “If they’re sending a group of trained soldiers our way, then what are they expecting of us?”

  Bently stood outside the general’s hut atop the outcropping. The layer of morning frost atop the building’s roof had begun to melt and drip engorged drops of water on the rock at his feet with incessant panging. Inside, he could hear Edrian’s voice discussing with the mage, Chin. The horn sounded again, this time louder and closer. Out on the horizon, he could spot the dark mob of people and horses closing in on the gate.

  The voices inside the hut stopped. The heavy boots pounded against the floor as they drew closer to the door. With a woosh of fur and hide, Edrian pushed aside the skin hanging i
n the doorway. “You hear that?” He grunted.

  Bently turned his eyes to the side to confirm that Edrian had addressed him. “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s a welcome sound.” The large man said pridefully. “My patience was beginning to grow thin.”

  The mage spoke up in a gravelly, wheezing tone. “Given the trip, I’m sure the king dispatched this party as fast as he could have.”

  Edrian ignored the man’s reassurance. He stepped close to the edge of the rocky surface and peered out at the horizon. “Mr. Bently, you are to report to the front gate to see to it that our arriving guests find appropriate accommodations.” He said gruffly without hardly turning his head.

  “Sir,” he stated clearly. “I would not wish for you to be without protection, given the circumstances.”

  Edrian turned his head slightly in Bently’s direction. “Circumstances? What gives you the thought that I- we are under some sort of danger?”

  “That fact that…” Bently stumbled. “It has simply been too quiet as of recent.”

  Chin wheezed and stepped forward out into the sunlight. “I believe with circumstances… things may indeed change soon.”

  The general let out a long sigh of frustration. He placed his hands on the wooden railing and stared out at the horizon. “There are more men on their way. I will not be without a suit of armor at my side for long. Go.” He finally ordered.

  Bently quickly snatched up his helmet that sat propped up on one of the railings and tucked it under his arm. “As you wish.”

  The flag-bearer made eye contact with Scarborough as his horse came to a stop at the gate. Bently held onto the helmet with one hand as he made an open-handed gesture of welcome to the slowly gathering group of men. The young man, hardly older than a teen, whipped the flagpole around in his hand and grabbed at the shaft where the black and white sewn sections of fabric had been fastened. With great precision, he flung the banners around the pole and held it parallel to the horse so he could pass under the low gate.

  The mounted man behind him was dressed in rich furs embellished with strands of colorful cloth. At his side was a sheath containing a single short sword. Kensley made eye contact with the man, who quickly pulled off to the side away from the formation.

  “Boughlin?” Kensley greeted the man as he slid off the side of the horse.

  “Kensley.” He returned, before offering out his hand. “It has been a while.”

  “Indeed.” Kensley nodded. The lieutenant took up the wide man’s hand, who shook it with a near crushing force.

  “Just enough to be able to reminisce.” Boughlin said while scanning the interior of the settlement. “I am fortunate, now, to have the opportunity to find a place beside you, once again.”

  Kensley turned his eyes to the ground and massaged his sore hand. “You are leading this group then, Boughlin? When were you promoted?”

  “Recently. I heard the news.” The wide man sighed and shook his head back and forth. “It is a shame about Mandabus.” He growled. “Though I hardly knew the man, any such loss is a terrible thing. Such things are to be expected in war, though. Edrian has given me the opportunity to make up for the loss.”

  “Yes…” Kensley replied hesitantly. “I must ask, though, under whom are these men ordained?”

  Behind them, the remainder of the group had seemed to finish trickling in. The line of open wagons trailed behind at the end, carrying wooden crates and boxes. The horses huffed wearily as the porters guided the supplies to a proper rest. Those on foot, a team of soldiers in full armor head to toe, stood patiently in a tight formation.

  “The king’s personal guardsmen. And I… captain of the guard.” Boughlin boasted. “The honor of leading these men was delivered to me not long ago.”

  “I must congratulate you, then, sir.” Kensley teased. “I can allow myself to be at ease here, then.” He admitted, allowing his eyes to turn back to Boughlin.

  “As you should.” The wide man grinned devilishly. “I’m leading some of the best trained men in Xiandol. Tulefore will stand no chance.”

  Kensley took a tentative step backwards before scanning the group of soldiers again. “It seems I have some catching up to do with the affairs back at home.”

  “If you’re ill informed, it must be for a reason.” Boughlin smirked. “Perhaps I can ask General Edrian about it.”

  “Do so if you would, please.” Kensley nodded.

  Chapter Thirteen: A Sign in the Dark

  The tiny hut at the edge of the Tuleforian settlement had begun to reek with the odor of death. The only people who came into a ten-foot reach of it were the guards ordered to do so, keeping watch on the unmoving figure inside.

  It had been a week since the capture of the strange attacker; one week of nothing but tepid silence from the unknown man inside of the impervious set of armor. Despite any attempts to remove it or get a word out of the man, none had been able to get through, both literally and figuratively.

  “There must be some point at which he breaks.” Terren insisted. He looked across the table at his sister, who tapped her fingers on the wooden surface impatiently.

  “Do not take the power of such enchantments lightly.” Zethurus butted in. “The armor could likely sustain him indefinitely.”

  Kiaren pounded on the table. “If you were worth your salt, mage, you should have been able to do something about that already! At this rate, it’s his mind that will break first, but even then, the man could go on for gods know how long.”

  “I can’t stand the smell any longer.” Terren complained. “We can either hope to get some information out of him, or dump him in the sea.”

  The commander sat back in the chair and examined her dirty fingernails. “Is there anything we could offer up to appease him, get him to cooperate if just a bit?”

  “Obviously, the only answer is to offer up the life of your mage, here.” Terren taunted and stared down Zethurus.

  “I hope you realize that he has bowed to some sort of animalistic tendencies.” The mage interjected. “There will be no reasoning with it.”

  “Tell us again of how you defeated him.” Terren argued.

  “Enough!” Kiaren raised her voice, stopping both the others. “It’s been four days now since anyone has stepped foot in that awful room. Just maybe it has been enough time for his rage to abide.”

  “Just don’t allow him to see the face of our mage.” The sub-commander concluded.

  Outside, Kiaren marched down the road, the sub-commander and mage in tow behind. The hut was an old storage shed for mining tools, built up against one of the tall perimeter walls. The guards at either side of the door stood with a slight waver in their locked knees as they did their best to withstand the smell. They each gave a quick nod as the commander approached.

  Light flooded the tiny room as Kiaren swung open the door. Terren held his breath and turned his nose away. The dark suit of armor sat motionless. Across the dirty metal plates, runes had been drawn using a crimson liquid to dull the power of the enchantments. The man had also been tied tightly with multiple layers of rope to a chair that sat at the middle of the empty structure.

  Kiaren bared her teeth and leaned down close to the dark, hollow looking eye-slits of the helmet. The rancid smell entered her nostrils. She exhaled a cloud of warm breath and attempted to look for a reaction.

  When the wearer refused to react, she grasped her hand out and placed her palm on top of the helmet. With a rough jerk, she yanked the man’s head back hard, knocking the armor plates into each other. “I know you’re in there.” She growled. “If rigor mortise had set in, you would be stiff as the limb of a tree. How much longer do you intend to sit here silently?”

  Terren scuffed his shoe into the dirt and stared down at the still silent suit of armor. “We’ve had our chance to reason with it. We should begin considering ways to dispose of it, less we risk attracting the wild animals.”

  Kiaren stood up and began pacing around the chair. “No…” She
trailed off. “Even if we get no more than a groan out of him, that armor he’s wearing is worth more to us than we could ever imagine. No price could ever be put on it. Imagine, having such a power in our hands, being able to retaliate against Xiandol in the same way they attacked us.”

  “Magic of such power is likely fickle…” Zethurus spoke up. His shadow was cast in front of the door as he hid behind the side wall. “It seems it latches to the life force of that who controls it. I doubt it would care to change hands.”

  The suit of armor moved ever so slightly. The wooden chair underneath let out a tiny creak.

  “Oh, so you are awake?” Kiaren said, looking back down at the man, the ridges of the helmet still under her hand. “Have you realized now that nobody is coming to save you? It’s been days, you know. Remove the helmet and we can perhaps help each other out for once. The longer you stay inside that suit of armor, who knows? Your frail, human insides are likely crying out for nourishment, not that you would be able to tell. I’ve been told the armor dulls any sensation you’re familiar with. Save for… rage, it seems.”

  The suit of armor let out a low growl that seemed to shake the rickety wooden building. Terren stepped back from the doorway. Kiaren lifted her hand off the armor piece, and leaned back against the wall to observe. “My life seems… to be… of great… interest… to you…” The dark voice echoed.

  “You, a soldier, must know that Tulefore does not take prisoners.” Kiaren sneered, lying. “Why would we? One could expect something in return for sending a prisoner of war home, but we could never want of something from any other country. Especially from Xiandol. Men alone are worthless! But you… you’re more than just a prisoner. You’re a walking relic of something Xiandol has that we don’t… that set of armor. It doesn’t take a strategist to determine why you came and burned half our settlement to the ground, but knowing the powers that encouraged the action is valuable information. You obviously didn’t just come alone, either. What I’d like to know is how many more there were from your… team.”