Of Armor And Bone

by Sean Clark

  “Tulefore is supposedly known for doing the same thing across the eastern sea. They shall get to experience the same treatment at our hands.”

  “I can’t-”

  “You are not in a position to question the general’s decisions.” Boughlin raised his voice. “That suit of armor you wear signifies your service to the kingdom… as a tool to be used. Don’t forget that. Now, ready yourself and your men.”

  Kensley turned his head to the ground before glancing one last time as the horizon. “And Bently? The suit he wore is now useless.”

  Boughlin paused midway through descending the ladder. “He may wield the banner.”

  Kensley watched as Boughlin landed on the ground below and began to march towards the soldiers before making his way down himself. Scarborough approached him from the road, his armor still on.

  “We moving?” The thin man asked.

  “As expected.” Kensley replied without making eye contact. He continued up the hillside, Scarborough following after him. At the rear of the settlement, they entered the dilapidated building, where Bently awaited them.

  The tired looking man sat up as the two entered. “What are our orders?”

  Kensley glared at him. “Boughlin wants you to hoist our banner, if I can trust you with that.”

  Bently stood up, his hands bunched into fists. “Trusting Mandabus was a mistake, I know that. I will do what I can.”

  “Let’s hope.” Kensley sighed. “We’re taking the same formation as before, got that, Scar?”

  “Mhm.” The thin man nodded. “I’ll be taking up the rear with that man, then?”

  “One last object we mustn’t forget, though…” Kensley hummed, scanning around them.

  “What could that be?” Bently stood.

  Kensley waived after them to follow. Outside of the building, he moved the short distance to the rear wall of the settlement just beyond the mountain. Just beside the exit, he kicked aside the pile of rubble covering the cached weapon.

  “I’d forgotten about it.” Scarborough exclaimed.

  “A sword?” Bently attempted to pick it up, discovering the heavy weight.

  Kensley pulled at the cloth in the opposite direction, allowing Bently to manage to take the arm into his hands. “It belonged to that woman.” The lieutenant remarked. “I won’t leave it here, in the event it ends up being useful.”

  Bently balanced the flat of the blade across both of his hands. “Allow me to bear the weight, to make up for what I’ve done…”

  Kensley draped the cloth back over the bare metal. “Keep it safe, and don’t allow Boughlin to become suspicious. Hurry, now.” He offered them back down the hill. “Have the men open the east gate so that we may be ready to depart.” Farther down the hill, Kensley could barely hear Boughlin’s voice, ordering the soldiers into formation.

  “Sir.” Scarborough nodded and jogged off in the mud, Bently struggling to keep up.

  Kensley waited for the two men to travel down the road a bit before returning to his temporary quarters. The pieces of armor were arranged neatly side-by-side at the wall by the door. He meticulously put each piece on, patting down the bindings and plates of metal to make sure they fit correctly.

  A loud roar from the men crying out in unison signaled that they had taken to formation. Kensley skidded down the hill in a rush to the tying station, where the remainder of the horses had been placed to rest. The tall, dusty gray steed glanced at him lazily as he approached. As he shoved his foot into the first stirrup, the animal complained but allowed him to slid his opposite leg over. The plates on his leggings rested unevenly across the hard saddle. Kensley straightened his back and urged the horse up onto the road, guiding it towards the front gate.

  Bently carefully tied the heavy blade at the side of the horse’s saddle, held and wrapped tightly enough to fit under his thigh as he rode above it. He mounted the animal and looked around to the army of men beginning to round the curve in the road, the formation four men wide and five long. He grabbed at Scarborough beside him who had been distracted by the horizon to move out of the way. The formation moved to the exit, stopping precisely at the point where the gate used to rest. Kensley marched down the middle of the group and out to the front of them. He gave a quick nod at the others before raising his fist to the air. “Attention!” He yelled, his voice projected by the power of the helm upon his head. “Move out!” The order was given, and the group began to follow in the tracks of the lieutenant’s horse.

  As the remainder of the men exited the walls of the settlement, Boughlin and Edrian followed after, a horse to each of them. They glanced at each other before making ways to either side of the formation. Bently looked back to see the porters slowly begin to urge their donkeys out to trail after the men.

  Bently examined the furled banner in his grasp before kicking at the horse to get it moving. Scarborough followed suit quickly after.

  “Is your wound fine, Ben?” Scarborough asked, scooting his horse in close.

  “It will do.” Bently grumbled, draping the banner’s pole across his thigh at an angle.

  “What was Mandabus thinking?” Scarborough pondered.

  Bently cleared his throat loudly. “He’s not thinking. I feel the power of that set of armor plating effecting his mind.”

  “You know the feeling, too?” Scarborough asked.

  Bently huffed loudly and shook his head. “The numbness?”

  “Yes…”

  Bently held his fist out in front of him, the reins of the horse trapped in his grip. “The first strike I drove into the side of that Tuleforian soldier… that night we came through the tunnels in the mountain… It felt strange and unnatural, like striking at a practice dummy. Like nothing at all, rather.”

  A loud breath echoed inside of Scarborough’s helmet. “Like it’s not real, huh?”

  “Did you ever have to kill a man, back as a guard in Xiandolia?” Bently asked.

  “Struck, but never killed.” He sighed.

  “Then that night was your first, then?”

  Scarborough uneasily lifted the helmet off his head and rested it on his knees, his heavy breaths coming quickly. “Don’t remind me.”

  “It feels worse… the first blood spilled to your own hands… when you can feel the blade cutting into a man’s flesh.” Bently pursed his lips. “The fact that it was so easy for you… then to strike out against that mage… makes me worried for all of these men who are prepared to trounce all over Tulefore city.”

  Scarborough spit loudly and placed the helmet back on his head, gently nudging at the horse for it to catch up beside Bently. “Don’t forget the captain.”

  “Mandabus, you mean?” Bently turned his head.

  “Yup.”

  “I encountered him at Arkyan. He was after that same mage, in a blind rage it seemed. It is as if he is sick with a need for revenge.”

  “He has the woman now, too.” Scarborough clicked his tongue. “His behavior is… erratic, at best.”

  “To think he could have been leading these men, rather than Boughlin.”

  “Who, at this point, would you rather have, though, Ben?”

  Bently shrugged and pulled the banner back up upon his lap. “Kensley has been here longer than I, but even then, I don’t believe he knew much about Mandabus. The man is an… enigma. Doubt anyone could tell you how he even got promoted to captain.”

  “Edrian didn’t even give his appearance today up a second thought.” Scarborough remarked.

  “You’re right.” Bently sighed. “I’m wary of this whole situation.”

  Kensley continued to walk the horse at a moderate pace, the rhythmic marching of the soldiers behind him continuing ceaselessly. The wide dirt road was well worn and slightly muddy, and around it, the clearing showed signs of being lumbered and worked for what seemed to be fields for farming. Ahead, the land was thick with low weeds and grasses that had been turned brown and matted to the earth during the snowfall. The road before the group
wavered slightly as it continued into the tall, bare trees of the forest.

  Kensley tiredly scanned ahead of the group for any signs of movement. The pressure in his ears signaled the land slowly creeping upward from the valley that had been marked upon the map of the Tuleforian province. To the north, another section of road began to merge inward. His eyes suddenly fluttered and he yanked on the reins of the horse as he caught sight of another mounted individual at the fork between the two paths.

  Edrian rode up the left side of the formation with a hurried pace, taking a position besides Kensley. The person approached, their horse in a slow trot. Kensley held his fist up to the air to halt the men behind him.

  Chin approached the group, lowering the hood of his cloak and pulling the pipe from his mouth to greet the general and lieutenant. “I knew I would catch you this way eventually.” The mage spoke up.

  Edrian eyed him suspiciously. “You’re bold, Mr. Chin, biding your time here in enemy territory.”

  “I can suppress my presence magically, if need be.” He assured the general.

  “The Order held you up long enough.” Edrian groaned. “As good as Boughlin is a strategist, I prefer your insight.”

  Chin ignored the general’s words, his gaze scanning the rows of men. “Is Bently here with you? I must talk with him if so.” He asked quickly.

  “At the rear.” Edrian rolled his eyes. “Save it for when we pause for the night. I must discuss with you our plan of action. You may lead on, Kensley.”

  The lieutenant nodded and waived his hand forward as the mage and the general turned to take their place at the side of the formation.

  Bently made brief eye contact with Chin, who shunned him with a singular glare before turning his attention back to Edrian. The army took up its pace once again, while Bently grimaced with doubt.

  Chapter Thirty Eight: To Halt an Army

  The once peaceful meals at the tables of the Royal Hall of Tulefore had been abandoned after the news of the incoming army was announced. The collection of nobles and landowners had pushed their way into a rabble upon the stairs leading up to the throne.

  “I have eight well-trained men who can fight.” One minister offered, his hand flailing in the air to bid for attention.

  “Send them to the southern barracks.” Danus nodded and waived at the older man. The scribe beside him frantically marked down tallies. Manek sat slumped in his throne, investigating the stains of grease from his fingertips.

  Shiloh stood confidently, his arms folded behind his back, a part of the line of guards assembled to prevent the court from further encroaching upon the throne. The gathering of blue-bloods, familiar with the idea of sending others off to fight for the empire, had gone pale at the mention of a conflict on their doorsteps.

  “The Harbor Guard are prepared to offer up their service for the Empire, my lord!” The officer spoke up, dressed down in his flashy uniform. “Fifteen men in total!”

  Danus nodded at the scribe. “Have them at the barracks as soon as possible.”

  Zethurus looked across the crowd stoically. Shiloh turned his head slightly towards him, his ear turned away from the barking of the rabble. “Do you think any of these men will offer any resistance against the Xiandolans?”

  The mage breathed loudly out his nose. “What do you think? They will be living shields, just enough for the battlemages to pierce the ranks with their power.”

  Outside, the loud pounding of hooves on pavement cut through the cacophony of the hall. The tall doors creaked open, allowing the cold morning air to shoved its way across the ground. Shiloh broke his posture to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun outside. The lowly group of men entered, led by an individual in armor that had been, at one point, neatly fashioned.

  Danus stepped down the long treads and pushed through the loose line of guards and the group of befuddled patrons. “Silvus, tell me that is you.”

  The commander marched up the middle of the hall, his shoulders downtrodden and face turned down. “My lord, you must forgive me.” He said, taking a knee as Danus reached him.

  “I order you to stand.” The bearded man grabbed at his shoulder.

  Silvus rose back to his feet, but his gaze remained locked to the set of shoes before him. “I have failed the Empire.”

  “Whatever you may have come up against, we of the Empire of Tulefore are preparing to overcome.” Danus declared.

  Shiloh exited the formation, pushing alongside the long table to the far end of the hall. “Silvus, you must tell us of the front. Has the settlement already fallen? How did you manage to escape the clutches of the Xiandolans?”

  Danus stretched his arm out to block Shiloh from proceeding. “We will not belittle the good fortune of seeing those who we thought lost return home.”

  “Your daughter, my lord!” Shiloh stressed. “Where is Kiaren?”

  Silvus tilted his head up just enough to look into the bearded man’s eyes. Behind him, the silent group of others who had come with waited solemnly. “We do not know how any of the others fared, but under the orders of Lady Kiaren, those who could… they fled with me out through the tunnels inside of the mountain. There was no stopping the Xiandolans.”

  Manek grunted loudly, his seat upon the throne barely able to look over the crowd. “People of Tulefore, you hear it now that it is the fault of the Order for crippling us, leaving our people to take on these freakish powers without the aid of magic to fight back. Let it be known that our use of force this day will be justified!”

  Silvus glanced at the Emperor and back to Danus, swallowing hard. “Is what he says true?” He whispered. “You plan to fight? With what forces?”

  “The magi with whom you served overseas are being recruited to join us.” Danus nodded.

  “You speak words of folly!” Silvus called out, pushing past Danus. “It was the Order to whom we fled! They are versed in these freakish powers of which speak, and furthermore, they are poised at this moment to defend us from it! I understand the Empire’s lust to fight, but how many more of our people should die before you understand that these are not powers that can be taken lightly!”

  Danus tugged away at Silvus, reeling him in by the shoulder to hold him back. The men and women who had gathered in the hall slowly retreated to the sides of the carpet to avoid the vocal rampage. Danus attempted to talk sense into him. “Sir Silvus, we may take care of ourselves.”

  “You have been addled by the Order and that woman.” Manek grunted, slamming his fist upon the arm of the throne. His breath became strained as he shifted uncomfortably back and forth.

  “I cannot support these actions any more than you, sir.” Shiloh reported to Silvus.

  “Danus, my brother, leave this fool so that you may concentrate on having our men prepared to set out.” Manek ordered. “Zethurus shall lead our regiment of battlemages behind them.”

  Silvus glared up at the throne before turning his back on the court. “You’ll find The Order at Lyeys Ridge.” He murmured back to Danus. “They will not receive you pleasantly.”

  “No doubt.” The bearded man nodded hopelessly as the commander slowly exited, the distraught group of others looking on.

  Manek’s wheezing slowed, allowing him to continue preaching. “It is now obvious to see! The Order has forced us to back down from what would be our victory once before, and the cowardice of one rattled man will not dissuade us. Unless there are others who have men to offer up to our forces, then we shall adjourn this meeting and allow things to proceed.”

  Danus made eye contact with the Emperor from across the room, nodding slowly as the lack of replies from the patrons signaled the end of the meeting.

  “Mr. Shiloh, Zethurus, join me please.” Danus ordered.

  Chapter Thirty Nine: Awaiting

  The horse dashed off into the thicket of bare trees, dancing and hopping between the fallen underbrush. Mandabus snapped the ends of the detached strap from the animal’s reins, pulling the long cord taut. He nudged at
Kiaren against a tree, causing her to collapse under her own weight. Her shaky breaths brought throbbing pain to her side with each inhale.

  The leather strap yanked against her midsection as Mandabus wrapped it around the other side of the tree. “I am unable to tie a proper knot, but you should know to stay put, and I correct?”

  “Where are we?” Kiaren wheezed, attempting to her breath.

  “Does it matter?” Mandabus shrugged. “You’re in no shape to go find help anywhere. You’re injured, I can smell it on you. Your breath.”

  Kiaren spat a spray of pale crimson liquid across the ground before wiping the corner of her mouth on her shoulder. “You’re sick.”

  “That’s not very lady-like, now is it?”

  “Of all things, you’re scrutinizing my upbringing?” Kiaren growled.

  Mandabus paced slowly, his boots sticking in the damp soil. “Being on the front has left you very high strung, milady.”

  “Those are words unfit for a monster like you.”

  Mandabus stopped in his tracks and turned to Kiaren, crouching down before her. Her nostrils flared as she took in the lingering odor of death permeating the dingy armor plates. He continued to look into her eyes, jumping around his person before trailing to the ground between them.

  Mandabus relaxed, sitting upon the ground to pull the sheathed sword off his back, placing it upon his lap. “We must appear like that, I assume- concealed by veils of armor, wielding heavy, gleaming weapons like these? Monsters.”

  Kiaren glanced at the edge of the sword that protruded slightly from the beaten-up leather sheath as the armored man teased its grip. “You believe after all you’ve done, you can still consider yourself human?” She mumbled, avoiding looking up to him.

  Mandabus slammed the sword securely back into the sheath with a dull thump. “Since putting on this suit of armor, I have forgotten the feeling of warmth, or cold, being tired, hungry, thirsty. Even before I was maimed by your mage. The only thing I found I could truly feel was the impact of my sword upon its target. The smell of blood cast to the air. The cracking of your brother’s neck. The feeling of crushing something between my fingers.” He said, smothering bits of hardened dirt between the fingertips of the gauntlet.