Remnant Pages Spearhead

by J. B. Kleynhans

  She then saw the cavalry at the far west, detaching from the infantry and riding a separate trail onto the plateau. Elmira guessed that Cid would want the cavalry as close to the action as possible, but also at a position where they would be unlikely targets. Elmira recognized the roar of the Volje and smiled as she looked up to see Olexion and the Rangers coming into sight, circling the Basin premises.

  It was somewhat like watching a play, keeping an admiring gaze as familiar players entered, all the while searching for a her favourite character, wondering where he hides.

  Her slight anxiousness became fear when she noticed something at the north.

  The Basin at its northern point finished with a giant natural ramp leading over the otherwise abrupt cliff wall and into the lands ahead. On the northern plateau the landscape was dominated by cone shaped hillocks, jutting up next to each other like teeth.

  They blocked out the view of beyond and left only sparse pockets of flat terrain along the ridge facing the Basin. There was however a neck cutting through the hills like a path, intersecting with the ramp, and it was there, at the land’s maw, that the Fallen army amassed.

  Elmira had never before seen the fabled black armours, and now that she did she wished she could erase her memories like the Summoners. It was much like watching a nightmare unfold and even though Elmira was perfectly safe where she stood, the sheer sympathy she had for the Lanston soldiers twisted her stomach.

  Thousands of Fallen appeared at the top of the ramp; marching infantry in black enamelled steel-plated armour, emerging from the shelter of the hills. At first the approach seemed slow, but as they grew in number their advance hastened, bulging collectively to fill the high ground.

  Elmira was too far away to truly make out the skull helms, yet was glad for it. The mindless men chanted together in unison with a strange tongue of harsh sounds. In addition they slammed their weapons to their shields or breastplates, the cacophony of it all reverberating across the valley.

  In all Lanston suddenly seemed small and quiet.

  On the nature of the chant Elmira too was enlightened; the Dey’illumra spoke their command in Twilight tongue and like a ripple effect the drones would start repeating the words until the chorus became an order to even the farthest fallen.

  The Fallen however did not march far, choosing not to leave the safety of their position and Elmira could only speculate how many of them still waited beyond those hillocks.

  The bulk of the Lanston infantry in contrast marched determinedly and continued to do so right up to the centrefold of the Basin, lodging themselves snugly between the base of a plateau ridge, the one that seemed like a stage of rock, and an obstinate pool of water, the last and lonely remains of the great rains.

  They kept their backs to the stage as they took positions. Elmira then understood that any charging enemy would falter through the knee deep water in trying to get to Lanston and the ridge itself would prevent the Fallen from trying to circle them.

  Even without Cid telling her much about the army’s workings Elmira knew that Lanston specialized in infantry turtles, and was able to entrench and protect themselves until such a time that the advantage was theirs.

  Today they lined up with shields and spears all along the width of the pool, allowing the stage and waters to become a boundary. Spread like they were, the men fashioned ranks eight or nine shields deep, laced with lines of archers that could fire from protection. So that the formations could close the impressive ballistae were helped on as an increasing number of men pushed them into their final positions, arming the ranks with firepower.

  It was a good place to stand she reckoned, yet there was a danger that the Fallen numbers would crush the Lanston men against the stage, allowing no retreat or reformation of tactics.

  Elmira then followed the smaller strike forces going even further, each of which quickly proceeded to the top of three mesas in the Basin between the ramp and the pool, claiming those high grounds. The Basin was by no measure a uniform landscape, nature having carved the very elevations Lanston sought to capture and hold and use.

  Meanwhile the cavalry had come to a halt also on the western plateau, where they stood parallel with the core infantry, yet far detached from the Fallen’s warpath. Elmira was almost sure Cid would be with them and it was searching through the cavalry ranks that Elmira spotted Vanapha, the Valkyrie.

  It was quite a distance off, yet where she stood it would have been hard to miss her. At the east flank of the Lanston core infantry was a lone pinnacle of rock, a rare natural pedestal, reaching defiantly into the air from its flat surroundings like a tower, a 120 feet tall.

  Perched at its top stood the Valkyrie in her maroon armour, upright and assured as she viewed the battlefield. Elmira could not even imagine how the Valkyrie had scaled the pinnacle of rock so fast, or how she had done it at all.

  A trickle of movement caught Elmira’s eye to the north. The Fallen were mobilizing, their position enforced as a giant crescent around the northern rim of the ramp. Among the hillocks Elmira saw devices of wood being rolled in to the fore, positioned in those pockets of flat terrain at the cliff edge.

  Catapults.

  She had seen some of these siege engines on Lanston’s city wall before, but even at this distance she knew the Fallen’s were bigger. There were six of them, spread from one another in perfect intervals every 20 yards, or so it seemed by Elmira's best guess. At the side of each were two or three mounted men on horses, standing among the device's engineers. Studying them Elmira saw they donned robes of black, purple or red.

  She then knew that for the first time in her life she was looking at Shadow Priests, the architects of untold tragedy and the reason they were all here. Elmira wondered what kind of man it took to willingly participate in the destruction of innocence and so delightfully twist the brave beyond recognition. She had a special hate for them for how close they had come to taken Cid away from her.

  All came to rest then, a calm that could only predict the doom of men. A slow wind came down the peak of Hashur, picking up the fine red dust of the mountain as it surfed down. Elmira felt the grains on her ankles before they were swept clean from Oldeloft, spraying endlessly onto the battlefield.

  Unaware of it Elmira hugged herself, her gaze flickering between Lanston and the Fallen, trying her best to see an outcome where Lanston would be victorious.

  From the north a lone horn sounded, Elmira listening to the call the Fallen favoured. They might’ve been mindless, but the theatrics of war were clearly not lost upon them. It sounded once more in lonesome fashion, and then on its third ring, a dozen or more horns joined in.

  Elmira shuddered as this black beast of men found its roar, laying down its challenge for Lanston. From Lanston’s part the Captains of the core infantry, the strike groups, and the cavalry all sounded their battle horns as well. The Lanston call was prideful, but halfway through it was drowned in the noise of the Fallen.

  Elmira could not gauge where the Fallen’s chain of command came from, but she realized there was no doubt or ambiguity among them as the first regiment of Fallen infantry set forth, marching in box formation down the ramp, each of them visibly carrying a wide shield on the left arm. As they descended a new regiment of Fallen appeared at the top of the ramp, waiting.

  Tight, clustered and shielded, the approaching regiment was the arrow fodder, an effort to waste Lanston’s supplies Elmira knew, as those nights she spent humouring Cid’s long talks of war usually stuck with her. The Fallen would not care losing men; they merely did what they deemed necessary to crush Lanston.

  It struck her then that the men coming down that ramp were once part of normal families, some of them from Lanston. The Fallen was sending once innocent men to fight those they’d call brothers. The notion appalled her, trying to heed the famous military mantra:

  “they are beyond redemption… death is a mercy…”

  For the first time she truly understood why Lanston needed that mind-set
, why it was crucial, but she herself could never believe in it. She had seen Cid fall to their magic, driven to the edge of darkness. But then she saved him, Cid was redeemed, given a second chance away from just a mercy death.

  Elmira ended the train of thought as the Fallen cleared the ramp and she tried to estimate. The approaching regiment appeared as much as a 1000 men when she compared them to the core of the Lanston infantry, which she knew was just more than 2000 men from last night’s talks.

  For one last time Elmira considered going back in and wait the thing out anxiously in the house. She did not want to see death, except that she strangely felt that Lanston needed a witness, someone to note their bravery.

  It was the strike groups that first found their reach. From three different mesas they commenced fire, stinging the Fallen with arrows and picking off the numbers as the marching men left behind a trail of bodies.

  Undistracted the Fallen thousand rambled towards the infantry core. It disturbed Elmira how the enemy soldiers would downright sacrifice men to test their footing and waste Lanston supplies. The infantry core remained remarkably patient, allowing the Fallen to come within range of 80 yards.

  Then, primed, the archers from the core infantry unleashed waves of arrows, separate lines of men firing a volley every six or seven seconds. The intervals of arrows ate away at the Fallen ranks, hitting them hard despite their shields and armour. The Fallen march kept its shape even though losing many dozens, closing in on the core with more speed with each man they lost.

  Lanston was determined to avoid contact for as long as possible and the core infantry rolled forward and angled one of their ballistae. The engineer took aim, urging his men into motion as they toiled to get the perfect shot, rotating the headpiece on its foundation.

  Just like a giant crossbow the ballista released a bolt, with a snap of coil and lurch of mechanics. The bolt, longer than a man, lunged from the device. Elmira saw the wooden shaft flying at the Fallen with demonic speed.

  It hit the black armours on the front, its blades and weight easily tearing through a 50 count of men before losing momentum and disintegrating as it hit the soil. It was a gruesome sight. More than just the apparent casualties the ballista bolt had shattered the Fallen’s tight posture and they became all the more vulnerable to the next volley of arrows.

  Lanston sought to dismantle their enemies, firing ceaselessly at the Fallen. The enemies advanced vainly, their numbers decimated by the time they reached the strip of water. The arrows were finally halted and from the Lanston core rushed but 40 men, meeting the last of the Fallen regiment in the waters and quickly finishing them off in a one-sided melee.

  In good spirit the Lanston men cheered. The first test was done, but if the Priests had indeed only been looking to disarm Lanston by some measure then they had been successful.

  Elmira noticed now that while Lanston was fighting the relatively meagre regiment, the enemy catapults were being loaded. Elmira was sure they were still yet out of range, but she shuddered at the damage those machines would have on Lanston.

  There was quiet stalemate for awhile and then everyone heard a duo of horns sounding from the Lanston Cavalry. An order had come and this time the gold armours took initiative. Two of the three Lanston strike groups started moving, dismounting their respective mesas, forming a tight rank and marching right at the Fallen’s high and mighty position. They were less than 500 men combined and Elmira sincerely thought Lanston was making a mistake. She saw the Rangers circling far above the men below, their rotations moving subtly closer and closer to the Fallen.

  The Fallen responded to the marching strike groups, rolling their catapults forward to the very edge of the cliff. Then Elmira saw magic the likes she had never seen before. The Priests who waited mounted at the sides of the catapults raised their hands, touching upon and wielding their mystical force.

  All the while the Fallen engineers prepped the catapults, loading, winding and aiming them. Elmira had no idea with what the Fallen initially loaded the device, whether it was simply rock or a more sophisticated projectile, but what followed drew every single stare in the Basin. The command was sounded.

  The catapults snapped and launched, the wooden arms coming upright to hurl six giant balls of violet fire through the air with great tails of black smoke. They came plummeting hundreds of feet far from their elevated launch point, and Elmira could hear them burning terribly through the air, sure that they were magically guided as well as they descended flawlessly on the Lanston men.

  Without panic the two Lanston companies formed complete turtles, holding their shields tight at the flanks or overhead, each shield becoming a protective scale. Just before the men enclosed themselves entirely in semi spheres of shields she saw the Lanston Sekhaimogists raise their hands. The shields folded close and an instant before impact Elmira saw the golden shields illuminate like a lantern.

  The projectiles crashed in concert, striking on top and around the companies, the purple fire swallowing the turtles whole, dark plumes of smoke rocketing into the air and a dust storm kicked up, barely masking the fragments and shrapnel propelled through it all.

  The devastation was obscuring everything and there was a solitary moment of uncertainty. Elmira’s eyes widened as the flames dulled and the smoke dissipated, and still the golden shields remained in place, impervious and unscathed, still glowing.

  Sensing it was safe to move the Lanston men broke up, the spell ended. They moved with unexpected speed toward the ramp, the heavy shield bearers working hard to keep up. Again Lanston seemed to be reckless.

  The Fallen showed the immediate intention of labouring to reload the catapults, but even Elmira sensed it was pointless to shoot now as the Lanston men drew too close. The soldiers ran right up the slope, finding rest half way up where the ramp had a smooth terrace of ground. Joined together they once more formed a turtle, this time merely making a straight wall of locked shields to face the Fallen. Elmira could not fathom what they were trying to accomplish, the meagre amount of men surely to be crushed and far removed from their brothers who could help them.

  Predictably enough the foremost of the Fallen issued a slow march down the ramp to remove the Lanston stain before them. The Lanston magi started weaving their magic again, their waving gestures almost comical behind the turtle. Elmira expected something extraordinary to happen, something to justify Lanston’s suicidal position.

  Her train of thoughts was interrupted as she spotted Brunick for the first time. He was at the lead of the 400 men on the ramp, at this distance only recognizable by his bare chest and his axe as he swung it over one of his hunched comrade’s shield to crush an enemy on the other side of the wall. The Lanston soldiers fought tightly, never risking their formation for a second, relying on conservative stabs and arrows to keep the Fallen from stampeding through and over them.

  Even after a minute nothing resulted from the Sekhaimogists’ effort and Elmira grew frustrated. By now she had heard of Brunick’s Stoneskin, but has never seen its workings before and so she feared for his life all the same.

  A Captain of the turtle blew his horn and then the Rangers suddenly made their first decisive move. Elmira had missed something, this she knew - something has changed.

  Olexion and his men came diving swiftly into the fray, descending toward the catapults.

  The Shadow Priests tried to overpower the Rangers’ barriers with their magic, but nothing happened, and it was only then that Elmira understood that Cid planned to get his Sekhaimogists in range to bind the powers of the Priests so that they could not harm the Volje.

  Desperately some Fallen soldiers aimed their crossbows at the air and even before their bolts were released Elmira knew that the Rangers’ bubbles of magic would keep them at bay. There was an eruption of chaos as the Shadow Priests were wrenched into the air, the mighty Volje grabbing their prey with all the efficiency of a hunting fish eagle.

  She saw the dangling beings crushed in the clawed grip and then dr
opped a hundred feet in the air, their already limp bodies flailing into the Fallen masses. Seemingly feasting the Volje dived, ceremonious in their slaughter.

  Only a handful of them escaped with their lives, fleeing like rats into the safety of the Fallen numbers, hiding with their peers in the deeper mass of the Fallen army. Quickly adapting the Rangers aimed their Volje at the catapults. As one, three Rangers at a time dived and in a fluid motion the Volje grabbed at the frames of the machines, tearing it apart as they turned upwards again, rendering the catapults worthless.

  Elmira cheered, bouncing on her feet, hands clasping, realizing they had just disabled some of the Fallen’s most powerful weapons. The men in the Basin also cheered as the companies on the ramp started their retreat, determined to get out of the way before the Fallen could truly weigh on them.

  The head of the black-armoured march tried to chase down the strike forces, but the Rangers simply changed form once more, sweeping dangerously low across the ramps as they lashed out at Lanston’s pursuers. Claws came to rend, and the barriers of the Volje extended as rams as they crashed through the Fallen.

  The Lanston men made a sound retreat into the Basin, quickly retaking their former places on the mesas. The Fallen who had taken it upon themselves to chase mindlessly and managed to escape the Rangers’ onslaught were quickly shot down by the strike force that had remained entrenched on their mesa through all of it.

  It was all rather familiar as the two forces returned to what they were before blood was spilt, yet now the Fallen were without the catapults and many of their Priests, all the while more than a 1000 of their men’s bodies made a trail along the Basin floor.

  Elmira could identify turmoil in Fallen ranks there at the maw, their faceless command having just been thrown around like dolls, and the Priests who remained alive would not expose themselves unknowingly again.

  Elmira read into the vigilant posture of Lanston and came to expect the worst again. There was no let up by the soldiers, their eyes fixed, their armaments poised. In her mind the Fallen were crippled now, but the tensed and braced golden armours told Elmira different, explaining to her that Lanston’s entire effort was simply to force the enemy into one inevitable designated direction; to wound the beast in such a way that it had no other choice than to emerge from its cave, raging and roaring, to bring on the very worst so that it could be dealt with out in the open.