Of Armor And Bone

by Sean Clark

  Boughlin cleared his throat loudly as he began to follow Edrian back down the incline. “Compose yourselves. We have much to discuss before we may make out next move.”

  Chapter Thirty Five: The Old Art

  Silvus could see the ridge in the distance past the Arcanus’ back. The rough cliff-side was just taller than the trees before it, while above on the highlands, most of the vegetation grew low to the ground. His view bobbed up and down as he attempted to guide the unfamiliar horse in the formation. He quickly looked back in the distance, where the worn-down figures of his men had been aggregated into the group of magi. Even farther behind, the tallest peak of the range glinted with the late sun melting into the frost.

  Silvus urged the animal to quicken its pace with a poke of his heels. The horse’s feet splashed and smacked loudly with each hard step into the muddy road. Charlstine glanced back at him as he approached.

  “Thoughts?”

  “That is the Lyeys ridge beyond us.” Silvus said, pointing up ahead.

  “I know it. Rocky, steep.” Charlstine nodded. “I’ve traveled this way many times. Won’t be terribly pleasant in the mud, either.” She mentioned, looking down at the hem of her light blue cloak which dangled dangerously close to the plodding hoofs of the horse.

  “As much as I hate to slow us down, I believe we should stop there for a rest. Several of my men are still in poor shape.”

  “We shall stop.” The Arcanus said. “In fact, that is where we will make camp.”

  “There is still ample daylight.” Silvus said, looking up towards the clear sky.

  “We will stay. It will be easy to look for an incoming army from there. Not to mention, defend from such a place.”

  “I see.”

  Charlstine took one last glance at Silvus. “You may stay shortly to address your men’s needs, but I shall have you continue onto your home as soon as possible.”

  “Continue?” Silvus puzzled. “For what reason?”

  “This is something you should not involve yourself in.”

  “This is our land.” Silvus rebutted.

  “The powers you would wish to combat are not belonging to a particular land.”

  Silvus caught his horse slowing slightly behind Charlstine’s. He nudged it once again, causing the animal to speed up. “You’re telling us to stay away from this conflict, then?” He said lowly.

  “Yes.”

  “You haven’t faced that army. You don’t know how they move… how they sound when they descend upon you.”

  “What difference does it make?” Charlstine shrugged proudly. “After… your men fell to them. They rely wholly on powers that we are well versed in. It matters not how they hold themselves in battle.”

  “You cannot purge the power from their armaments like you purged your fellow magi- those who did not wish to conform to the Order’s laws.” Silvus rebutted.

  “Are you so sure?”

  Silvus tilted his head to the side suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  “The power that they hold is an imitation of one my people pioneered long ago.” Charlstine began. “It originated with a Xiandolan in fact. Before King Halmalch’s bloodline rose to power, the land was divided, constantly fighting over their meager bounties. Such a vast area of land, with little to offer.”

  “Much unlike Tulefore.” Silvus added proudly. “Our people were blessed with ample natural resources so that we could act upon our god-given right to spread our Empire across the sea.”

  “Indeed, some would agree.” Charlstine remarked. “It is said that Xiandol could barely dig up enough iron to forge a proper sword. However, we know of one man- an individual of magical blood- who first attempted to infuse his own power into a weapon to make up for the poor quality.”

  “And did he?” Silvus asked.

  “He did, and not just one. Tools, pieces of armor, as well. Not at a pace to supply a proper army, mind you. Xiandol continued to squabble for decades, while our mage-turned-blacksmith continued to work away. It’s been said that during some of the fighting, the weapons were lost to the land, or found their way into various hands- even to Tulefore.”

  “So that’s it?” Silvus huffed. “Nobody knows who this person was?”

  Charlstine adjusted her posture atop the horse. “We believe he wore himself out, giving up the craft and passing away before he could tell anyone else the specifics of the art. What we do have, though, are those weapons and possibly armor still out there as evidence of his experiments…”

  “How many?”

  “We don’t have a count. A handful, at best.” Charlstine shrugged. “There is one hidden away in Arkyan. It seems to have lost much of its power. But clearly the others out there have been studied in hopes to recreate the process.”

  “I see. So Xiandol has…”

  Charlstine nodded slowly. “The power is potent, but not perfect. Mr. Chin revealed to me a method for… influencing the energies in the armor. Facing the Xiandolans will be a simple task for us.”

  Silvus let out a low, heavy breath through his pursed lips as he allowed the horse underneath him to slow slightly. He rolled his head back to look at the mixed group of travelers; the handful of the Tuleforians- mostly unarmored, and the seven magi who had stepped forward to aid Charlstine.

  The road through the thick trees swerved back and forth slightly. The ground began to slope upwards as the ridge grew before them. The roughly-carved switchback was stained dark with the rain from the night previous. The muddy earth of the road became narrow as it caught up to the vertical walls before them.

  Charlstine slowed her horse to a trot as she tapped at its sides to guide its ascent up the steep pathway. The group began to file up two at a time. Silvus allowed the others before him, eventually trailing behind the last of the men. He held his breath as the horse fidgeted, slowly keeping the pace behind the others.

  Silvus slid down off the horse and steadied his shaky legs before guiding the animal a safe distance away from the edge. In the distance, he could see bits of the city on the horizon. His soldiers had already gathered up, pulling provisions out of their sacks.

  “Men, lend me your ears for a moment.” Silvus announced, approaching the group slowly. They quickly straightened up and faced him stiffly. “At ease.” He returned, waving them down.

  “The magi are stopping, so we figured we would be able to rest as well.” One man spoke up.

  “For a bit. The Arcanus and her people will hold here.” Silvus sighed. “We must return to Tulefore City. The Emperor must be made aware of our situation.”

  “But sir-” Another spoke up.

  Silvus held up his palm to stop the man. “It has been decided.” He shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Charlstine looking him down before returning her eyes to her group.

  Chapter Thirty Six: The Fall of Men

  The dream called upon the imagery of the pile of bodies burning outside the walls of the settlement. They were the soldiers that had fallen during the attack, stripped of their gear and piled up to be turned to ashes that would later dissolve into the ground or fly off in the wind. Shiloh sat up and shoved the blankets off him as the odor of the smoke sneaked its way into his nostrils. He looked around at the neat four walls of the room inside the stone building. The smoke was laced with the odor of meat and spices.

  Outside the window, he could see a bit of the coastline as the sunlight crept along the cold waves that cuddled the shore. Shiloh swung his body around under the tangled covers and placed his feet on the cold, rough wooden floor. His toes brushed against the edges of the stiff hide shoes before he could shove his feet in.

  The smell of food cooking became stronger as Shiloh descended from the northern wing of the castle. The air in the lower tower was muggy, despite the licks of cold air tickling at his feet. The fire in the main hall crackled and flustered with the cold wind coming under the heavy main doors. From the sides of the long hall, the stretched-out tables had been brought o
ut and rested upon the dirty, worn carpet that could have, at one point, been called ornate.

  Zethurus glanced up from his book at Shiloh. The mage had positioned himself at one of the tables, under a candelabra to study one of his books.

  “You didn’t get much sleep.” Zethurus muttered as Shiloh reached for the chair beside him.

  “Neither did you.” Shiloh grumbled back, taking a seat.

  “I don’t require much.” He said, flipping a page.

  “We shouldn’t be wasting time when we could be readying men.” Shiloh added.

  “You can’t lead men on an empty stomach.” Manek said aloud, his voice traveling to the far end of the hall. Shiloh looked up to the throne, where he had missed the Emperor, sitting impatiently in his dull yet intricate morning wear.

  “My apologies your highness.” Shiloh began to stand. Manek’s eyes were immediately drawn away by the approach of a maid, carrying out a wide oval tray holding several piles of food. Another of the ladies approached Zethurus, offering up a similar, albeit smaller, portion of the same meal.

  The mage waived his hand and pointed in the direction of Shiloh. “I will wait. Allow him to eat first.”

  Shiloh returned to the seat as the smell of the food entered his nostrils, causing his stomach to churn eagerly. The first handful to his mouth was a slice of dense, doughy bread, flavored heavily with salt and a strange herb he had never tasted.

  Manek suspended his chewing just long enough to call out down the steps. “Enjoying it are you?” He gnawed, the lump of food still resting in one cheek. “The meat, I hear, is something from Slana, across the sea. Butchered from a bovine with horns as wide as the roadway between the buildings.”

  Shiloh yanked at the dried stringy meat between his teeth before ripping off a few strands. His chewing slowed as the jerky returned to a more palatable form. He looked down at the remaining food before pushing it away from himself across the table.

  “That’s all you’ll have?” Zethurus noticed between a flip of pages.

  Shiloh swallowed the minuscule bite he had taken. “Rich. Hopelessly rich.”

  “You mustn’t waste food, good man.” Manek argued, raking up bits of food off the tray with his grubby fingers.

  Shiloh stood and stomped to the middle of the carpet just below the long treads up to the throne. “How can you eat your breakfast so calmly while the enemy could be marching upon us at this moment?”

  “Tulefore isn’t a stranger to conflict.” Manek groaned with pleasure as he swallowed down the food. “Even now… my messengers are spreading the word to those who are present. And I’ll have you know- we shall have a grand event when they arrive so that we may have volunteers to join the fight, like always. This meal… hardly breakfast it is… is just to hold me over until that time.” He added, looking for more spots of food on the tray.

  “You fat fool!” Shiloh cried. “What you call conflict is purely superficial. You haven’t been on the front. You simply wait here for your fetishes and delicacies to show up on your lap. And here we are, waiting for Xiandol to deliver on us the destruction they so much desire!”

  Manek’s bulging neck vein hesitated as the doors at the far end of the hall opened.

  “Is the truth so foul to you that you can’t speak?” Shiloh redoubled.

  “Mr. Shiloh, you should calm yourself.” Zethurus spoke up, standing.

  The bearded man marched up the long carpet and stopped just behind Shiloh, placing his hand on the guard’s neck as he finished his rant.

  “What is-” Shiloh muttered, turning around to the man. The two men’s eyes met, driving Shiloh to take a knee. “Danus, my lord.” He uttered, his gaze fixed to the ground.

  “Stand.” Danus ordered, removing his grasp on Shiloh’s shoulder.

  “Brother.” Manek mumbled, passing off the tray to one of the servants.

  Danus looked Shiloh in the eyes, his face stern. “I had to come immediately upon hearing the message. It seems my fears of the conflict at the front worsening have come true. And with you being here as well, Mr. Shiloh…”

  “My lord…” Shiloh shuddered. “There is much to tell you, and yet we would never have the time.”

  Danus took Shiloh’s other shoulder, rocking him back and forth gently. “I was so happy to have at least my son able to return from the front, only to have those hopes crushed when he was forced to immediately turn back.”

  “Terren is dead, my lord.” Shiloh declared, his eyes unable meet with the bearded man’s.

  Danus turned his head down to the ground, a heavy breath exiting his mouth. “Then… my daughter. You must have brought her somewhere safe, then?”

  “I… do not know.” Shiloh admitted. “I was away when Xiandol attacked.”

  Danus lifted his head slowly and turned away from the guard. “When I retreated from the front, what was the sole order I gave you?”

  “To protect your blood, my lord.”

  Danus nodded his head painfully. “I always knew Terren was too headstrong that any words of caution would bounce right off him. I thought that the cold air of the mountains would cool his temper.”

  “He died protecting lady Kiaren and our mage.” Shiloh said.

  “I would have expected no less.” Danus murmured back. “I worry, though, if that was all in vain.”

  “Lady Kiaren had me on an assignment. As much as I disdained leaving her side, it was a necessity.”

  “If we are at war with another force, we cannot allow ourselves to simply fall victim to our own poor judgment.”

  Shiloh stomped his foot loudly. “It is not confirmed… that anything has happened to her.”

  Danus turned back to Shiloh and dug his hand into the guard’s shoulder. His face was turned to the ground, the tears pooling at the corners of his reddening eyes. “Of course.” He mumbled, shaking his head. “We cannot let ourselves be distracted while Xiandol continues to march upon us. Zethurus.”

  The mage closed his book and walked over to place himself beside the other two. “Yes, my lord?”

  “The news I’ve heard… of Xiandol having an invincible army. It can’t be true.” Danus said, leaning in.

  “Invincible, no, but hardly something we can take on as we stand.”

  “Some magical force? Where did it come from?”

  Zethurus cleared his throat. “I must believe it is the power of the remnant.”

  “And after all I… we did there.” Danus grumbled. He straightened his back and turned to the set of long treads up to the throne. Manek stared down at the group, his head resting tiredly on his fist. “Brother, how can you sit so comfortable while our countryside is being threatened?”

  “The Order will come.” Manek sighed tiredly.

  “What are you saying now? You can truly be so sure of that?” Danus raised his voice. “Do you intend to ally with them?”

  “They would never ally with us.” The Emperor sat up. “Their treaty is with us as well as Xiandol, as you are likely aware. Siding with us is tantamount to breaking the terms of the accord. As if our Empire were wielding their magic ourselves. It wouldn’t be long before Xiandol would use the excuse to nullify the treaty as well. Nevertheless, the Arcanus will attempt to enforce the treaty and put Xiandol in their place, without our aid as they likely intend.”

  “Unacceptable!” Danus shouted, his voice echoing throughout the drafty, desolate room. “We shall not allow the order to simply push as aside while they stand upon our land. This is our fight. Brother, we have battlemages at the ready who have just returned from Slana with Silvus.”

  “You cannot be serious, my lord.” Zethurus spoke up. “The Order is powerful, as well as the Xiandolan army.”

  “I have to agree, Lord Danus.” Shiloh grabbed at his back. “It is too dangerous a position we would be placing ourselves in- making enemies in people whom we should be able to trust.”

  “Silence!” Manek called out. Danus took a step back down, pushing Shiloh back farther. “It seems
that our rational is as lacking as our forces. There must be a middle ground we can hold while we wait for this situation to play out. Allow the others to arrive. Someone, start preparing my breakfast!”

  Chapter Thirty Seven: The March Eastward

  Boughlin held the long map up to the sky, the early afternoon light in front of him illuminating the taught parchment. Edrian studied the marks that the captain had scribbled sloppily upon it. From the watch tower, the noted landmarks could be seen.

  “If we set out as soon as possible, we would likely reach this ridge by the end of the day.” Boughlin commented. “It would be wisest to only be on the move during the light hours.”

  Kensley folded his arms across his chest, examining the map from the opposite side of the general. “We’ll be plainly visible. We should continue to move at night, and maintain the ability to take them by surprise.”

  “Surprise?” Edrian spoke up. “We no longer need such a luxury. If what my sources tell me is true, Tulefore City is weak. Their capital is just defended by a line of thin walls and rusted canons. We want to have them see us coming.”

  “I can’t agree more.” Boughlin nodded, drawing his finger across the map to the coastline. “If we pause for the night atop the ridge, we can recommence the first thing in the morning. Tulefore city will be within our grasps, and their fat emperor will be able to see us come upon him.”

  Edrian turned to look behind him before beginning to descend the ladder. “As always, I shall allow you to make the call to send out the guard.”

  “Sir.” Boughlin replied, roughly folding up the map in his hands. He turned to Kensley as the general disappeared below the ledge of the tower. “I’d like you to take the forward position as you did before.”

  Kensley continued to stare out at the horizon, nodding his head slowly. “How far does Edrian plan to push this assault?” Kensley mumbled quietly.

  “Don’t worry your little head with details like that.” Boughlin grumbled.

  “I will worry.” Kensley rebutted, his hands held tight to the railing of the tower. “Attacking a military settlement is different than ransacking a city.”