by Sean Clark
Chapter Thirty Two: The Cold Road Home
The rain fell heavily over the gray-brown matted grass of the Tuleforian highlands. Mud flew up behind Shiloh’s horse as he skidded the animal through the growing puddles. Zethurus blinked as the drops of water flew in his face, his grip on the reins struggling as his hands grew numb in the cold.
Underneath him, Shiloh could hear the horse breathing raggedly, its horseshoes finding it hard to garner traction in the mud. He was soaked to the bone, the cold clothes clinging to his body. The droplets were blinding, and the road ahead seemed to blur into the distance.
The horse suddenly tumbled, sending Shiloh tumbling over onto the road ahead of him. As he reoriented himself, covered in the slick, frigid muck, he looked back at the animal struggling on the ground, its front leg bent at an unnatural angle. Zethurus crept slowly back down the road, his brow covered with his hand.
“It’s lost, I’m afraid.” The mage called out; his eyes barely able to look upon the injured animal.
Shiloh slid forward, his knees dragging through the mud. In his cold hands he fumbled with the handle of the knife sheathed behind his back. The horse shuddered as he approached, its breath coming in heavy waves as it tried fruitlessly to roll itself back over. He held the knife deliberately to the animal’s taut throat and slowly slid the blade into its windpipe and jugular.
The warm blood stung his icy hands as the animal finally took its last breath. The crimson liquid soaked into Shiloh’s pants as he rubbed the blade against the side of his leg to clean it. “Damn it.” He said, whispering under his breath.
“Get on, we’ve got to get out of this weather.” Zethurus said, offering his hand down from the horse.
Shiloh wiped the wash of rain from his face and peered up at the mage before taking his hand without a word. As Zethurus continued back down at road at a more manageable pace, Shiloh peered back at the darkness of night slowly encroaching. The orange sun rays glared through the streams of rain falling perpendicular to the ground.
“Why did you run, that time?” Shiloh sighed, placing his forehead against Zethurus’ back. He could feel the man’s slight warmth, even through the wet clothes.
“Instinct… no.” Zethurus wavered. “I just ran for my life.”
“Survival… is an instinct, is it not?”
“I felt something… unimaginable.” The mage muttered, his voice battling the sound of the rainfall. “A feeling of dread… of death.”
“Lady Kiaren was ready to kill you herself.” Shiloh joked, the humor falling flat.
“I engaged that man foolishly. Out of self-defense, yes, but… also because I felt like I could prove something with my powers. Like the treaty had sealed their usefulness. But then he managed to wound me, and I blacked out. When I came to, he was on the ground, and I could feel nothing but the throbbing of the wound on my arm, and the disgusting feeling of strange energy running through my veins.”
“What… was it like?”
“Like things crawling inside me.” Zethurus said, sputtering through the water soaking him.
“You don’t know how you felled that… Mandabus, then? Penetrated that impenetrable armor?”
“I have a notion, but there’s no way I could replicate it.”
“The power he held must have… I don’t know how to say it… resonated, like opposing waves of the ocean?” Shiloh asked.
“It seems so. Though, at the time, I had to wonder if it had come solely from myself.”
“That’s why you ran, then?”
“Yes.” Zethurus answered as he leaned into the gust of wind and sideways rain. “Acting as I did, even to protect myself, my people… likely I thought the Order would have judged me harshly nonetheless. It is… difficult pretending that they are entirely for the magi’s sake.”
In the distance, the pointed buildings of Tulefore city began to peek up from the horizon, their dark shadows hiding beneath the cover of clouds. The horse began to find better traction upon the roughly paved road and the tufts of dead grass between the stones.
Shiloh could feel his strength failing as the cold and hunger began to gnaw away at him. He shivered as Zethurus urged the tired horse on. In the dull refection of the wet stones, he could see the faint lights of the buildings in the distance forming star bursts in his blurry vision. The metal horseshoes underfoot of the animal began to clack loudly as they passed under the city gate. The sound was broken up by the splashing of the rhythmic loud footfalls into the puddles around the city streets.
As the road began to climb upwards, Shiloh could feel himself being pulled back. He could barely hear his own teeth chattering loudly, despite the vibration rattling his skull. The horse was yanked to a stop suddenly, and he could hear Zethurus talking to someone. A glance at the person’s feet revealed a guards’ thin-armored boots. Zethurus yanked at Shiloh’s shoulder to sit him up straight before the horse began to continue up the path, more slowly this time. “Hold on, we’ll get warm soon.”
“They come bearing news from the front.” The guard beside them called out. Zethurus slid off from the back of the horse, nearly taking Shiloh with him. The prodding joints of the guards’ gloves broke his fall. “Get this man by the fire.”
Shiloh felt himself being dragged, his heavy water-logged boots following after him on the ground. The bright light of the great hall was revealed to him as the doors opened. He caught a glance of the rough, colorful carpet on the ground as the men guided him to the hearth and began to pull at his clothes.
The heat washed over Shiloh’s body as the maid slipped the drenched linens from off his shoulders. Zethurus collapsed beside him. A warm wooden mug was shoved into his hands. With blurry eyes, he looked into the glow of the fire as it cracked loudly. He brought the drink to his lips. The ale was bitter and warm, but settled reassuringly inside his empty stomach.
A continuous melody of creaking treads led downward from the corner of the keep. Shiloh shifted to the side to see the engorged body of Emperor Manek being led down the stairs, his thick wrists in one pair of servant hands each. He yawned loudly and grunted as he climbed up the platform to his throne.
“What is so important that one would one interrupt my midnight snack?” Manek growled, his glazed eyes skipping about the room.
Zethurus stood, his still wet cloak flapping limply at his legs. “There is news from the Sing front, sir.” The mage walked up the fine dingy carpet before the throne.
“You’re of magical blood, are you not?” Manek said, focusing his eyes and licking his lips. “I’ve been waiting on news of the remnant for far too long.”
“We are not so fortunate, your Highness.”
Manek clicked his tongue and hacked loudly. “My brother’s son… Terren it was, came to tell me the same words several weeks ago.”
Zethurus took a step forward. A sole sound had exited his mouth when the Emperor held his hand up to stop him. “I’ve done some thinking. Is it so important, the Sing mountains? With whatever magic you could find? Why should the great Tuleforian Empire care about your magical forces, especially with the Order and that woman trying to oversee every little action you people do? And more so, I’ve been told a third squadron of men was turned over to Kiaren’s command to hold down that pissant settlement there.”
Shiloh stood weakly, his feet dragging across the hard stone floor. “The settlement has fallen. Sub-commander Terren was killed.” He called out, attempting to reach Zethurus.
“A shame. As for the settlement, Xiandol may have it.” Manek shrugged. “It seems the remnant of such great power is now long gone as well. We have no longer need to be there.”
Shiloh grabbed to steady himself upon Zethurus’ sleeve. “Xiandol is likely on the verge of marching upon the capital, with a newfound resource they’ve obtained.”
“It is the power of the remnant, it seems.” Zethurus added assuredly.
Shiloh looked up at him with a puzzled expression. Manek shifted in his creaky seat, placing his
heavy head upon his fist. “This is fascinating, if what you believe is true. It sounds as if it could be a power we could take back from them as well.”
“It’s not that simple!” Shiloh pleaded. “We must make a move now, or we will stand no chance.” His body was already dropping in temperature again from being away from the fire. “We have to call up whoever we can to fortify the city.”
Manek yawned loudly as he slouched down into the seat. “I will send word to some of our forces across the sea to return as soon as possible. I can have some home in two weeks at best. More could be here within the month.”
“You don’t understand, my lord.” Zethurus said, taking a step forward and pulling Shiloh with him.
“What’s not to understand?” Manek laughed tauntingly. “I’ve fought many wars. Xiandol will take weeks to set up supply lines across the mountains, then weeks longer to prepare a siege. I doubt they could even muster a navy to attack us from the sea.”
“Respectfully, Your Highness,” Shiloh grunted. “Sitting upon a throne and studying your map of things you wish to obtain doesn’t add up to fighting a war. Furthermore, this army isn’t one that requires any sort of supply line, rations or trebuchets for that matter. These are soulless men who fight brutally without fatigue, or fear of falling in battle.”
Manek’s eyes grew big in rage, and the vein at the side of his neck began to noticeably throb. “I shall send messengers to those I can reach. I don’t doubt we will see what exaggerated force Xiandol brings to us sooner or later.”
Zethurus bowed before the throne, holding on to Shiloh to gently force him to do the same. The mage then dragged him away and back in front of the fire. Several of the castle’s servants passed by them as the Emperor gave out orders.
Shiloh crumpled again before the fire place. “Do you really think that Xiandol’s army is a result of the power of the remnant?”
Zethurus sat down um comfortably, extending his robe out past his knees to help it dry in the heat of the fire. “It seems most things point to that being so, yes.”
Chapter Thirty Three: The Meeting of the Magi
The Arcanus paced pensively behind her chair. “I’ve assembled you all here today to address a great violation of our treaty.” Charlstine addressed the chamber. The great hall had been filled with various people who inhabited the city, those magi who had journeyed to live in the city of Arkyan during the creation of the Order. “This circumstance, I’m afraid, has been created through a loophole… something existing errant of the terms we put in place for both the Kingdom of Xiandol and the Empire of Tulefore. Mr. Chin of Xiandol, would you care to explain?”
Chin stood up from his seat beside the Arcanus. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat as silently as possible as the many sets of eyes around the room turned to him. He straightened his back and began to dictate. “I arrived here three days ago from my nation’s front at the base of the mount to mediate, as you know, an affair regarding the possible use of dark magic. However, it seems our current situation is now caused plainly not by dark magic, but by the use of the same magic we hold ourselves. That magic that is now in the hands of normal men.”
A few murmurs traveled around the room, heads turning and whispering amongst each other. Charlstine waived her hand side to side, quieting the audience once again. “Understand that those without mage blood could never measure up to the powers that we hold,” She began, pontificating, “but alas, with our limited numbers, we were the ones who became subservient. Though under the guise of a symbiotic relationship, those resources that we have long offered normal men could never be equally repaid. Still, they ask for more, forcing us to offer our powers for their use. Now, those powers… our powers… have been used in the making of weapons of war!”
Several low calls of distress echoed through the chamber. Chin glanced back at the Tuleforian Commander leaning apathetically back against the wall beside the door. He looked again to the Arcanus, who blinked at him as if expecting him to continue.
Chin licked his lips and offered his explanation. “Indeed, it is true. Xiandolan magi have succeeded in forging… tools… pieces of armor, and weapons… using the life force of our brethren.”
Charlstine slapped the palms of her hands down on the stone tabletop, interrupting. “We were forced to weed out many of those we called family in order to bring strength and stability to this assembly we call the Order of Magi. And now, they continue to defy our tenets by living in these armaments now marching upon this land.”
The others remained solemnly quiet, hands folded and eyes darting about. Charlstine waived back at Silvus to bring him forward to the table. Chin cleared his throat a second time, this time more loudly. “Yesterday, no doubt, some witnessed the unprovoked attack by a… man in such a suit of armor, invading this fair town. Unfortunately, that is only a taste of what currently exists.”
“Sir Silvus of Tulefore,” Charlstine said, offering him a place beside her, “please tell us what you encountered at your settlement.”
Silvus placed himself at the edge of the table and scanned the room for a brief moment. “Yesterday, the Tuleforian settlement fell to Xiandol by a small concentrated group of soldiers… ones wielding these powers your Arcanus speaks of. Following a previous attack by an even smaller group, we had done as much we could have to prepare and fortify, yet no amount of foresight would have been able to repel such a ruthless assault. A select few of our men and I escaped with our lives, but many more fell. The army fights without fatigue, without hunger, or empathy for those they fall in battle. I know that many of you here have abandoned your ties to the Empire and men like myself, but if and when they march on Tulefore city, I can do nothing but fear for the lives of my countrymen!”
“That will do, Sir Silvus.” Charlstine spoke up. Her glare traveled from the commander to Chin, who obediently took a seat. “In a situation like this, the Order would cast a vote, but I am sure that all of you would not wish to see this injustice be carried out those wielding powers that should have never left our hands in the first place. Four years ago, we marched to either side of the continent with just our words to convey. I met with King Manek of Xiandol face to face, where he agreed to and signed upon our terms. Seeing as how that agreement has been tossed aside, we now only have the option of revoking Xiandol’s power by force.”
At the back of the room, a tall, young wizard stood, his staff meeting the floor with a loud clack. The flames sitting atop the pale, slowly melting candles flickered. “We shall stand with you, Lady Arcanus!” He cried out. More of the members of the order from around the table stood in agreement. A few remained seated, looking at their allies.
Silvus shuffled back to the doorway. He leaned against the wall beside it, looking out at the city. Chin stood up from his seat and stealthily approached the man.
“You should return to Tulefore as soon as possible, same as Shiloh and your mage. They should want to know the Order’s intentions.”
Silvus jerked his head back. “Shut your mouth, Xiandolan.” He growled. “I’ve said too much. Tulefore will not want to simply stand here while the Order fights our battles for us.”
Chin bit at his lip as the Tuleforian Commander stomped out the door. He followed, calling out after him as the sound of the main hall died out behind him. “The war ended when Xiandol obtained the remnant, you should realize.”
Silvus stopped, planting his foot loudly. He slid his body around and pushed towards Chin, grabbing at the loose fabric of the cloak over his shoulders. “Xiandol doesn’t seem to think so.” He said, breathing hot air into Chin’s face.
“It is hardly Xiandol itself.” Chin rebutted, shunting himself away from Silvus’ grasp. “I witnessed our general develop a fetish with this newfound power he had gained command over. Now I would say he is acting upon a grudge… for all those we lost in the battles of years past.”
“Then what shall he do when Tulefore City has fallen?” Silvus waived his arms. “Who would be there celebra
ting at your homes far at the desolate end of this continent?”
“The war is one thing, but the state of Tulefore matters none to the average Xiandolan, whether they’re from the countryside or Xiandolia itself.”
“For Tuleforians, the news of conquest is always taken as excellent news.” Silvus stated, waiving his arm out towards the east, the direction of the sea. “However, our intentions are far from destruction, be it people or cultures. Those peoples under our control now share in our bounty and add to our diversity.”
“Then perhaps somewhere among your vast empire you should be able to find a way to stop that army.”
Silvus wiped his face down and rolled his eyes. “Every second I waste talking to you leaves Tulefore City that much more unprepared.”
Chin sighed and shoved his hands into his long sleeves, pulling out his pipe. Silvus marched towards one of the guards who pointed the man in the direction of the stable.
Chapter Thirty Four: The Forward Front
Kensley frantically grabbed at the pieces of armor beside his bed, fearing an attack. He looked out into the darkness through the window for the source of the loud sound. The low pounding of wagon wheels rumbled down beside the main wall of the settlement after coming through the gate. Kensley turned away from the bed and shoved his feet into the cramped, crumpled leather shoes. Before heading out the door, he pulled the furs off the wall and draped them over his shoulders.
The cold air stung Kensley’s cheeks as clouds of breath poured from his mouth. Down the dirt road, the carter extinguished the meager burning torch in his hand, the oil-soaked fabric smoldering down to almost nothing. As Kensley arrived at the level of the road, a sudden pounding in the ground and the flash of fur and metal boots beside him nearly toppled him over. The horse stopped and turned back towards him.
General Edrian spoke down at him from atop the animal. “You’re awfully at ease, walking about in a daze here in enemy territory.”
