Remnant Pages Spearhead

by J. B. Kleynhans

‘Kallas, ride with Alex make sure he gets there without harm.

  The soldier nodded and the group of cavalry set off after Alex.

  ‘Why send Alex?’ asked Brunick.

  ‘I need Olum to understand how imperative it is that he responds to my command, sending anyone less than Alex might not instil the concern needed.’

  ‘So we’re meeting the Fallen head on?’ said Brunick.

  ‘If we shoot east now we can risk slipping to the ramp and be well away, the other company however will be killed.’

  ‘Not that I’m greatest mathematician Colonel, but I would’ve said it better to lose two-hundred men utterly than to risk all four-hundred men.’

  ‘I know Brunick, but if they have a concentrated legion here alone we might be in for an ugly surprise down in the canyon.’

  ‘And if we retreat into the canyon the whole army will crushed from all sides?’ suggested Brunick.

  ‘Exactly that Brunick, I can’t pretend to know how many Fallen are spread across the valley, but our best option is to strike while we still have the chance to control the forest, even if it means we take some losses.’

  Chapter 14

  Part of the March

  The way ahead was clear. The Lanston army settled its march in the canyon, steel sabatons and horseshoes clattered on the hard rock surfaces, the labouring wagons and ballistae doomed to weave drunkenly as to avoid the hazards of the road. The great walls of the canyon on either side grew higher with every hundred yards, swallowing the army whole, caging them in a linear path for the moment.

  Colonel Drissil and his cavalry segment brought the rear and a familiar ease took him as he rode among his men, their pace a lazy saunter behind the columns of hundreds. Underneath a fermenting sun he had his helm on his back, kept afloat by tiny leather strings tied to his pauldrons so that he could conveniently reach over his shoulders to dress his helm should the need arise.

  Drissil had a tall face with curly dark hair and long narrow sideburns. The charger he sat astride likewise had a magnificent black coat and a single white blotch down the length of his forehead. The man had made his name with this horse:

  By many Drissil was known as the Captain of the Charge, a grand yet deserved title. Never before has he failed at leading a cavalry segment to triumph, the mounted warriors who served under him often being the catalyst required to secure victory. In the circles of cavalry, Drissil was considered one of the elite.

  To be sure, it was the city of Adissa, his hometown, that boasted the greatest regiments of mounted warriors. Drissil though gave up the crimson armour and black tabard, and found his calling here among the Lanston men, actively fighting the Fallen from his charger Tyldoa, namesake of one of the legendary 1000 stallions.

  Right now Drissil’s greatest concern was for the well-being of the horses. All Kingdom chargers were certain to be of a tough breed and conditioned for war and travel. Still, there has never been a horse who managed to escape the devils of rough terrain. Damage to the hooves, sores, infections and muscle strains were common even with horse shoes and proper stretching exercises for the steeds.

  At the very least feeding and watering was no problem. Even though growth was sparse the mere size of the canyon was enough for the horses to graze sufficiently, while the lowland springs and streams ensured that they were watered as well. In one sense it was Drissil who commanded the pace of the march, as he regularly approached Stelinger so that they might halt the stride to see to the horses.

  As it were Stelinger and Cid were great minds in every aspect of battle, yet neither had the mastery that Drissil boasted when commanding the fine and timely goings of charging cavalry.

  Stelinger and Cid…

  They were such a duality, such opposing forces that even Drissil’s capturing personality was dismissed when these two men faced off. Drissil still felt himself standing in the crowd as Cid and Stelinger duelled in the courtyard sands. It was this feud above all that Drissil felt was responsible for him not being considered for Commander.

  Yeah that’s right, thought Drissil as he introduced himself to an imaginary damsel, I’m the guy who came all the way from Adissa for better prospects and didn’t get considered for promotion anyway.

  In earnest Drissil found Cid and Stelinger to live up to their reputations. He wasn’t friendly with either them, yet Drissil, even suspecting Stelinger to ascend as Commander, had always hoped on Cid to make it. For Drissil it was just a matter of Cid being more cautious in real combat situations. Then again, audacity might be why Stelinger got the rank in the first place, especially since they were parading around in Fafriv now.

  Drissil chuckled now by himself. At the moment he wasn’t jealous of Cid at all; he was still just a Colonel and it was he, not Drissil, who had to scout in Alparack’s veil.

  That’s what you get. One night out with your woman and you’ll be rewarded with weeks’ worth of snooping around the forest.

  I wonder how Cid’s doing?

  Chapter 15

  On the Move

  During the night Cid could pick up on cues telling him the men were sleeping poorly. News of the Fallen numbers had unsettled them greatly. On every hour Brunick himself woke and he would listen intently at the sounds at the camp edge, not closing his eyes until he was sure it was only their very own night patrols.

  The men were up earlier than usual, an unofficial consensus driving them to move forward rather than wait for an ill-begotten fate. Circumstances wasn’t helped on by the forest itself, acting as a great network of walls; a fog of war as it was. Aware of this unknown quantity made everyone on edge, even with their scouts on the lookout.

  Cid called for a rest every hour, assembling the company so that the magi could work. Healing grave wounds was a skill of merit, but of more practical nature was that of healing tired and strained muscles. It would seem mundane, yet Cid knew the difference it made when soldiers were fighting fit even after travelling for long hours. The magi and their magic were used sparingly for the most part, today though Cid wanted the soldiers ready for anything.

  Healing was one of the primary disciplines the magi practiced. The other practices were sustaining artificial light, strengthening weaponry or armour by a variety of enchantments, and creating barriers, that is, using magic to manifest in such a way that it acted as a malleable coat. These barriers were a precarious magic, especially managed at a distance, but could be quickly used to create defensible positions. Although they would not bar a strong sword arm, they were sufficient to stop arrows or bolts as Cid had witnessed many times before.

  As Sekhaimogists however, the art of Sekhai remained the foremost of the magi’s skills. Practicing this discipline made these men the counter measure to the Dey’illumra that they were. Sekhai existed as a brand of magic that could bind or interfere with the Priests’ spell casting and ultimately repel the deadly flames that they so often summoned.

  Having fought among mystics and their arts, Cid was taught and had taught others on the fundamentals of magic. Understanding the crafts of war was crucial, even if one was not destined to wield the craft oneself.

  Magic in all its forms seemed untamed and whimsical to the ignorant, by necessity the military men knew of better. At its basis, it always came down to Calophrites.

  Spirits, mana, energy… it was all called by some other name in different circles. Calophrites however was the term used by the high-ups in the Kingdom schools, having studied magic at its finest level, while the military borrowed from them knowledge to train the men in adapting to and fighting magic.

  A Calophrite it was taught, was a tiny strand of energy that, woven together, composed the very soul of man or beast. Or at least that was the theory. The theory extended to say that undesignated Calophrites roamed omnipresent all across Angaria, only interacting when called upon its more definitive counterpart; the soul of a human mage, practiced and honed.

  A trained magician or Summoner soul could command these Calophrites like they could their
bodies. Like a soul manifested itself in the flesh of a body, so could Calophrites interact with any known force in the world, thus allowing the magi to manipulate the elements and engineer natural impossibilities.

  Otherwise invisible and neutral, the Calophrites seldom took the appearance of “steel fireflies” as it was often called, for the particles seemed lifelike and shining like silver in their darting movements. They were only to be seen like this when a spell was cast and some phrites went unspent, escaping the grasp of a mage before they could be properly assembled.

  It was a lot to be mindful of for military men, but all that really mattered was that it gave normal soldiers insight in how to fight along and against mystics.

  The undeniable was that this invisible ever present source of power allowed magi of all types to substantiate unusual feats. It required training and discipline though, as well as physical strength and fitness, just like running or fighting would.

  Even though magi manipulated powers outside of their bodies it still took from their natural reserves to initiate and sustain a spell. In some crude way it fit well into Cid’s world, a world where if you want something out you’ve got to give something. Nothing comes from nothing, another military mantra if you will.

  The soldiers stood patiently as the magi attended to them. At will, the magi’s hands would glow as soft-red oddities. They then hovered their hands a spot above the arms and legs of the men as the magic relaxed and strengthened the muscles.

  When they were done Cid called over the leader of his magi, Ariman.

  ‘Somewhere along the way we may need you to protect us from arrow fire. Keep your men close and stay in the heart of the formation. If I call upon you to create barriers you must be ready within an instant.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Chapter 16

  Ambush

  They moved at a good rate until just before noon.

  It was then that the enemy appeared, almost as though they came to prey on the fear that nestled in the Lanston’s men stomachs. A flurry of crossbow bolts struck the soldiers without warning, downing the unsuspecting. It was chaos for an instant as the men quickly scrambled into defensive positions. Cid himself ducked in behind a tree and could almost feel Brunick’s presence behind him. He barked orders and his relieve at seeing most of the troops in the shelter behind trees or in turtles was immense.

  Evident in the way men were pending, they could tell that the crossbow fire was focused from their immediate east, and Cid deducted that they were facing a small Fallen strike force bunched up in a tree, destined to herd them more than anything. The danger they posed however, was very real.

  Cid peered past the tree, also keeping an eye on the bulk of his force just left of him, who on their own recognizance created a giant turtle as dozens of men huddled behind the grid of shield bearers. Satisfied with the soldiers, Cid tried to spot the Fallen in the trees.

  It was a vain pursuit through the thick of the leaves, and Cid saw the dismay on his own archers faces as they struggled to spot and mark the hidden foes. The only way to know their location was to see the bolts being shot and was unlikely to be accomplished without exposing oneself in the first place.

  ‘Damn it! We need-’

  ‘-A decoy,’ finished Brunick, and Cid could only look on as Brunick launched past him, bearing a round shield covering thigh to neck and running straight toward the tree hosting the Fallen. Out in the open a barrage of bolts rocketed at Brunick and the Lanston archers released their own arrows in a tenacious response.

  Brunick remained unscathed as two bolts cracked into his shield, all the while Lanston arrows struck five fallen, clipping them right out of the tree. Brunick slid the last few yards on his knees, coming to halt at the base of the tree, safe from imminent fire.

  Desperate to do something Cid scrambled to the panicky pack horses and untied two javelins from a weapon pack. He chose the javelins deliberately as he had trained with them as a child in preparation for the day he would receive Mindevhier. In any case his skill with them far surpassed his skill with a bow. In short range Cid could throw a fatal javelin most of the time and he trusted himself to do that right now. He returned to his spot behind the tree and watched.

  The company was almost calm again when ten or more bolts sliced through the camp. Four Lanston soldiers went down and then Cid saw a growing problem. From his position he could see the Fallen using adjacent Biridian trees as a pathway, all of them gathering in one massive Biridian to get a clear shot from different angles and heights, eliminating some of their defensive measures. It was however, the very Biridian Brunick was hiding underneath.

  Cid could only think one thing to do.

  ‘Brunick! They’re manning the tree, take them down!’

  Brunick, who had taken cover directly below the tree jumped into action, discarding the shield and slinging his double bladed axe from his back. He began chopping furiously at the far side of the trunk, the axe taking merciless chunks out of the dry wood. Another barrage of bolts hit the Lanston camp and Cid could not see, but heard the casualties. He watched Brunick intently, the man working rhythmically like a steam engine.

  ‘Archers! Pair up and prepare to fire ropes! Infantry Flux! Form the turtle and advance! Magi! Protect the infantry!’

  Cid’s words were met with a scurry of movement and he returned his gaze on Brunick

  13… 14… 15 chops. A fallen soldier noticed Brunick and crawled along a branch to get an easy shot at the axe man. He sat on his haunches, taking aim directly to below. The fallen exposed himself in the last moments, and Cid scrambled from his cover and flung the javelin as best he could, the projectile’s fleeting velocity enough to take the fallen soldier bloodily in the stomach. The man grunted as he was struck breathless and came plummeting down, Brunick not even wincing as the corpse crashed right behind him.

  23… 24… 25 chops. Focused, Brunick drove home three more times to hear the weight of the tree protesting. With a massive last swing he pierced deeply into the tree.

  That’ll have to do! Brunick waved at Cid.

  ‘Fire!’ cried Cid.

  Ten pairs of arrows sped through the air, each arrow attached to another with a lengthy Fainkin coil; a thin specialized rope of remarkable strength. Accuracy and timing was crucial, should one arrow be delayed or skew it would wrench the partner arrow beyond use as well. Elated, Cid saw seven pairs of arrows thudding into the ground beyond the Biridian, their coils hooked around the branches of the tree.

  ‘Infantry break and take that tree down!’ yelled Cid.

  The advancing turtle broke tight ranks and sprinted, their only protection now a barrier held fast by the magi, invisible save for the distortions it made in the air, carried forward like a curtain bulging in a strong wind. Though nerve-wracking, no complaint could be voiced as the Fallen bolts struck harmlessly against the film of magic.

  Brunick was there first, picking up a pair of coils and wrenching with all his might. A moment later he was joined by the others and they heaved and laboured on the coils. On the second joint tug the tree cracked and Brunick bellowed for the men to stand clear.

  The Biridian jerked, tilted, and then crashed dramatically, its bulk smashing through any adjacent tree’s branches effortlessly and the Fallen themselves powerless as they toppled dozens of feet to the ground.

  The Lanston men moved in to quickly dispatch any of those who survived the tumble. Cid himself sliced a man’s throat with his saber, who had broken his back but did not die. The demise of the giant Biridian opened up the obscured area; the Lanston archers cleared to fire at the meagre Fallen who were still trapped in the other trees, their deaths only a matter of time now.

  This is going to get ugly.

  Automatically the magi, herbalist and two surgeons took to the wounded and Cid watched gravely, aware that the soldiers around him were awaiting command.

  Within moments they knew; eleven dead and four incapacitated.

  Cid commanded the men to remo
ve everything from the pack horses and take only what they really needed. They tied the four wounded each back-to-back with a horse and Cid lost another two men as he sent them to lead the horses back to the canyon to join the main force.

  ‘We have to keep moving!’ announced Cid.

  The men quickly formed an efficient file, jogging at a steady pace. They were seventeen men down; the real damage however, was psychological. The Fallen had struck them with such deadliness that Cid could almost smell the doubt on the soldiers now. They had come here to get the jump on the enemy, not the other way around. He reasoned in turn that Brunick’s feat had done well to stay that helpless feeling they all had harboured just minutes ago.

  It wasn’t long before a hum of slight panting was among the soldiers, especially those who were heavily clad in packs and armour. The sun as well was not merciful, yet it was this very heat that made a cooler breeze from ahead all the more noticeable.

  Brunick kept next to Cid and ran comfortably with his large axe bobbing on his back in its holster. Cid himself kept Mindevhier broken down in two halves, holstering them at his waist, ready to be assembled in an instant if needed.

  ‘What about our scouts, why didn’t they warn us?’ asked Brunick angrily.

  ‘I assume they are dead. We made one hell of a racket, there is no way they’d not return to us if they were alive,’ said Cid, recounting their growing death tally.

  Brunick cursed. ‘Good thing ol’ Alex is with the other company then.’

  ‘If we don’t meet up with them soon enough then they will all be killed anyway,’ said Cid.

  ‘I hear ya, but aren’t we taking a risk not having some men running the perimeter?’ asked Brunick.

  Cid shook his head. ‘Better we keep moving as fast as possible, random strike parties will only seek to herd us to the main force. They will have no reason to attack us if they see us heading toward their numbers anyway.’