The Dark Lord Cecil

by Wade Adrian

  It had been meant as an insult, but this guy’s pride was iron clad. “Well heres hoping you didn’t forget how. I don’t think this Redding chap scares easy.”

  “No. He’s… a strange man. He wears a mask of civility any fool can see past, but he keeps it on just the same. He will no doubt be a terror when it’s removed.”

  “Sounds like a fun guy. Remind me to smash him to bits so he doesn’t hang around after this.”

  “A wise suggestion. Even in death he would most likely be a problem.”

  Movement caught Murray’s eyes as the doors behind him opened. He turned to find Cecil standing in the opening. He took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose this is it, then.”

  Egerton nodded. “Everything is prepared, my lord. Our day of glory begins.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Cecil wandered over to the railing. “I sent everyone else out the back a few minutes ago.”

  “They will be clear of the battle before long, then. A gathering this size?” Egerton waved at the skeletons. “There’s no way they haven’t readjusted their own forces to compensate. They won’t have anyone to spare to keep tabs.”

  “Good.” Cecil nodded. “Good. Are we ready?”

  “Indeed.” There was a gleam in Egerton’s eye, the warmongering weirdo. “They only await your order to begin.”

  Cecil paused, looking out at the sea of skulls and the two distant camps, lit up in the predawn light. “Well, I’m sure we already woke everyone up. Seems rude to keep them waiting.” He nodded to Egerton. “Lets begin.”

  29

  Tim’s eyes shot open at the sound of the horn. Not that it was unexpected, mind you, but he wasn’t supposed to have nodded off. Too many waking nights in a row will do that.

  The sound of rumbling thunder was kind of a surprise. “Did a storm move in? I don’t think I was out that long…”

  Ani shook her head. “That would be our horses.”

  “They called a cavalry charge?” He blinked a few times.

  “No. They’re loose and running away.”

  Tim rubbed at his eyes and looked out at the source of the rumbling. Nearly a hundred horses stampeding away. “Huh.”

  The pair of them were nestled on their scouting perch once more. Orders had come for all points to check in, but they had… missed them. Apparently.

  In truth, Ani was conflicted and Tim was content to not be much help. They were scouts. Fighting was for soldiers. If anything Ani’s little scuffle the night before had only served to remind them of that. She hadn’t had a deer’s chance in the ocean against that skeleton, and she knew it.

  She wouldn’t say it, of course. But she knew it.

  Tim lifted a spyglass to his eye as he looked down at Redding’s camp. It was a madhouse. People were running this way and that, throwing on armor and weapons. They had a front line already crossing swords with whatever the skeletons happened to be holding. The back line was pointing at the horses and yelling, but there was a river of bone out behind the camp. Grasping arms and biting skulls. Anyone that tried to cross was thrown back into his fellows.

  Well, at least they weren’t eating them. He hadn’t had breakfast yet, but the mere thought almost made him lose his supper.

  Ani scowled. “Why did we listen? Why did we trust them?” She hopped to her feet, drawing her sword in the same motion.

  Tim grabbed her arm. “Hold up there, killer. Look.” He pointed and held up his spyglass.

  She took it with a great deal more force than necessary before placing it against her eye. “What am I looking at?”

  “The line at the rear of the camp.

  “Bones. Great. So what? I admit we don’t exactly have a strategy for that, but we’ll work one out. Throw down some boards to walk on or something.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “What are they doing?”

  “Tossing our people about like sacks of grain.”

  “Okay. But what could they be doing instead?”

  She paused a moment, then frowned. “They’re not killing them.”

  “Or even wounding them. Nothing has changed, really. At least, not much. They may have struck first, but this doesn’t seem like any attack I have ever seen. They had the element of surprise and greater numbers, and yet Redding is holding his own? How?”

  “Fine.” She shoved her sword back into its scabbard hard enough it twisted the belt around her a few inches. “We wait. But I don’t like this.”

  Tim scoffed.

  Redding lowered the spyglass from his eye. He really didn’t need it. “Well, that’s what I get for underestimating him, I suppose. Lesson learned.” He tossed the spyglass aside. He had others. “Call up everyone. I want a solid front line, not that pathetic thing we’ve got going over there. Tell the former cavalry men that they get to fight on foot now. Put them out back against that line of… whatever that is. I doubt Cecil is bright enough to try for a pincer maneuver, but Egerton might have planned this.”

  The fat little scholar scowled. “He saw the camp. He knows the layout and the numbers.”

  “Of course he does.” Redding shrugged. “But that’s why we rode up lightly armed and armored, and we’re presently transitioning to our normal gear as swiftly as possible.”

  The scholar pointed at the front line, already engaged with skeletons. “But… what about them?”

  “They’re quite experienced at using shield wall tactics. It will buy them time to be reinforced. Then they will pull back and change out their own gear. Besides, it’s not like it’s a problem.”

  “Sir?” The scholar tilted his head like a confused dog.

  “You’re not terribly observant for someone who is supposed to have a keen eye for the most minor details. I hope you didn’t lie on your resume.” Redding crossed his arms. “Look at the line. Tell me what you see.”

  “Men fighting skeletons.”

  “Then you are blind. The men are standing and holding up their shields. The skeletons are tapping them like they’re trying to play the drums. There’s little threat there. I don’t know if they’re trying to distract us while the rest of their forces reposition, or if Cecil is really foolish enough to think we’ll break and run at the first sign of danger just because the numbers aren’t in our favor.” He shook his head. “Either way, there’s no reason to fear. At least not yet.”

  Three soldiers ran up to the command tent. One stopped and unfolded a little table, a second unfolded a chair, and the third held a covered silver platter he set upon it. Redding dismissed all three with a wave, and they departed. He sat at the little table and took the cover off his breakfast. It smelled glorious. Bacon, eggs, biscuits, and gravy.

  The scholar stood on shifting feet, his eyes straying to the line over and over. “Sir…”

  Redding set into his breakfast. “It’s rude to interrupt a man’s meal, scholar. I would think an educated man would know that.”

  “Yes… sir.”

  “My apologies for not getting you anything. There should be something ready in the mess tent.”

  The scholar sighed and shook his head as he wandered down the hill.

  No head for strategy. How in the world did he hope to properly record what he didn’t understand? The fat fool.

  The line buckled for a moment. Redding sat back in the chair and watched as the shield wall reformed. “Hmm.” It was fine again a few moments later. He could hear orders being yelled from here.

  He picked up the little jar of butter. It was entirely too light. He opened it with a sigh. “Blasted backwater. It’ll take a week to get more. How is a civilized man supposed to eat?”

  “Sir? What do we do?”

  General Gomer stared out at the sea of skeletons flooding Redding’s camp. They were defending admirably, but they simply couldn’t hold out. There were too many. Their shield wall buckled more than once as he watched, with the men reforming it only because the skeletons didn’t press hard enough. They didn’t want to divide their force, no doubt afr
aid the wall would reform behind them, and the cut off troops would be fodder for Redding’s men.

  Too damned smart for bones. This was the Dark Lord’s doing. He must have control of the lot, commanding every move, using them as a swarm.

  But… they hadn’t attacked Gomer’s line. His people had better gear, and undoubtedly more experience than Redding’s irregulars. The man wasn’t even an officer, he lead a group of sell-swords. Skeletons had run off Gomer’s horses, true, but they had run and faded away into the rocks and trees not long after. He hadn’t lost a man. Not so much as a stubbed toe.

  Yet they surrounded Redding.

  Well, that lent a bit of credence to the notion that they had met. Redding had a tendency to rub people the wrong way.

  “Sir?”

  Gomer sighed. “Hold fast… for now.” He glanced at his own lines, shining and pristine in the light of dawn. Not a skeleton amongst them, save those covered in flesh and armor. “Have we recovered our horses?”

  “Only a handful. Nowhere near enough to mount a charge.”

  Was that what he was doing? Keeping Gomer from helping? Divide and conquer? Redding had the weaker force, easier to destroy. Maybe they were just a warm up. The Dark Lord had to know that Greater Azul and Rojo were enemies. Aldora would have told him that much, at least. Did he think that would keep Gomer from assisting?

  He rubbed at his chin. Redding was no friend, true. But neither was the Dark Lord. And given the choice… men were in danger. And that danger would only grow as men fell. If they didn’t stop this thing here and now, there might be no stopping it at all.

  “Get the men into formation. We’re advancing.”

  “Advancing, sir? I think a tactical withdraw is more appropriate, given the circumstances and availability of a route of egress.”

  “I said line up the men.” General Gomer stood as tall as he could as he addressed his lieutenant.

  The man nodded with a bow. “Of course, my lord.” He raised a horn from his belt and blew three solid notes on it. Men about the camp ran to stand in place. They were already garbed for battle. They were professionals. No wonder the Dark Lord had attacked the less disciplined force first.

  Gomer was given a horse to ride. It was no Fastidian, but it would do. He stood tall in the stirrups as he raised his voice over the din. “Men fight monsters this day. Why should they have all the glory? When men fight monsters, it’s the duty of all men to do their part. Knock down those bags of bones, break them apart! Those men in red are your brothers this day. Show them!” He held his sword high and pointed at Redding’s camp. “Forward!”

  A horn echoing from the distance caught Redding’s ear. He glanced up from the table as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  Was that… Gomer? The Azul dog was advancing this way. Had he made some deal with Cecil? He hadn’t given the old man enough credit. And yet Redding had to wonder what exactly the king of Greater Azul could offer a man with a skeleton army to convince him to help repel an invader. Had to be something big.

  He stood up and ducked into his tent, emerging again a moment later with his helmet in hand. This… might be a problem. He plopped the helmet on his head and adjusted the strap under his chin. “Lieutenant?”

  A man ran up and knelt. “Sir?”

  “How close are we to being ready to repel these forces?”

  “The second line is moving in as we speak. The shield wall will then have a moment to rest and get properly supplied, as ordered.”

  Redding nodded. “Good. Get it done. And find maces or clubs. Blades won’t deal with skeletons. Take apart chairs and tables if you have to. Ditch them for real weapons when we’re down to fighting Gomer’s men.”

  “Sir.” The man bowed his head and ran off again.

  No wonder the skeletons hadn’t seemed all that threatening. They were a distraction, meant to buy Gomer time to mobilize. “You’re more devious than I thought, Cecil. I salute you.”

  Gomer’s force was on foot, traveling as fast as their boots would carry them. Odd. Weren’t they cavalry men? Maybe they didn’t want to harm the skeletons with their horses.

  It took a few moments for Redding’s front line to transition to better armored men. He kept a weather eye on the advancing soldiers all the while. He had archers standing at the ready to hit live targets. Unfortunately they were rather pointless against skeletons. A distinct tactical advantage.

  He stood by the line of archers when Gomer’s men finally got close. “Ready!” Redding’s hand hung high in the air.

  Gomer’s troops gave a cry Redding could hear all the way from where he stood as they charged into the back of the skeletal force.

  Redding stared, unsure what to make of it as men swung at skeletons on both sides now. The Dark Lord’s force divided, fighting on both fronts. Stuck right in ye olde pincer maneuver.

  “Umm…” He turned and waved at the archers. “Stand down… I think.”

  Gomer was… helping him? What? He hadn’t considered that a possibility for a moment. Was this some trick to get his men out of position, trying to have him work to reinforce would-be friendlies? Well… it wouldn’t work.

  “Maintain unit cohesion!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. “Don’t give them an inch! Any man that steps out of line gets demoted, and then killed!”

  He glared across at Gomer’s soldiers. He didn’t know what they were playing at with this… helpful angle, but he didn’t like it.

  30

  “Both forces have engaged, my lord.” Egerton stood at the edge of the hillside looking down at the fight below. “Shall I-”

  “Nope.” Cecil shook his head. He was only a pace or two behind. “For now, we’re good. I want retreating to be the furthest thought from their minds.”

  Egerton nodded. “Very good, my lord.”

  Murray tilted his skull a bit. “Redding’s side doesn’t seem… enthusiastic.”

  “He no doubt thinks this a rouse.”

  It was. It was a rouse in every way… just not the way Redding thought.

  Where Cecil now stood used to be the road that lead up to Dire Hill, but now it was just the highest bit of ground close to the tower. It didn’t touch the structure anymore, but only because they had excavated the ground away. Some other hilly bits with trees or rocks were present further away, but this gave him plenty of height to see without being in the tower itself. The one bit of Egerton’s strategy prattling he had really liked the sound of was not being where the enemy expected you to be. Sound advice.

  Better to not have enemies… but one step at a time.

  The force of skeletons with them was minimal and stationed a bit further down the hill, out of sight of the battle. Only twenty or so. Cecil hadn’t planned on keeping any in reserve, but Egerton had insisted he not be left unguarded.

  “Okay.” Cecil nodded as he watched the scene. “Looks like you guys are up.”

  “Excellent.” Egerton drew his sword.

  Murray rolled his eyes. “Yippee.”

  Cecil shrugged one shoulder. “They’re both aware of you. If you don’t put in an appearance they’ll think something is up.”

  Egerton took off at a run, stopping at a pair of skeletal horses tied up nearby. He climbed up on his and bolted towards the fight with a rather unsettling laugh.

  Murray shook his head. “That’s guy’s not right in the head.”

  “He’ll do his part. He doesn’t have much choice.”

  “Oh, he rankles at the leash on this one, boss.” Murray retrieved his own horse. Cecil wasn’t sure how much of a horses personality survived, but Murray’s seemed to be calmer.

  He nodded. “I know. But there’s not much else I could have done except lock him in the tower. You know the drill, let the two forces fight ours, with us sustaining heavy ‘losses’ until they meet up. If all goes well, they’ll decide to work together and press towards the tower.”

  “Where we die nobly for king and country, yada yada yada.” Murray shrugged. “Yea
h, I know. And I get it. Just… not my thing.”

  “Feel free to complain to them while you’re out there. That’s more your thing.”

  “Oh ha-ha.” The skeleton climbed onto his mount. “I can barely contain this swell of patriotism and loyalty I’m feeling right now. Truly, my heart might burst out of wherever it’s hiding.”

  “Just go hit somebody.”

  “It’s gunna be Redding. Hate that guy.”

  “As if he’ll ever be anywhere near the front.”

  “Good point. Guess I’ll settle for hitting anyone that looks like him and hope it’s a relative.”

  “Whatever makes you happy, man.”

  Murray’s horse plodded away at a much more methodical pace. Egerton’s was already nearly to the fighting.

  Cecil sat on the hill, a large rock at his back, the crown in his lap. He needed it to be close so he could send orders, but he had never really liked having it on.

  Egerton had taken command of the front line, ordering them to withdraw slowly, letting the two sides press them back. The skeletons weren’t dead, of course. They had orders to take a handful of hits and then collapse into a pile of bones. A neat trick, now that Cecil knew they could do it. They could get back up at any time, but the idea here was to convince two enemies they had more in common than they thought. To find something to lead them together, power of friendship, all that nonsense.

  In truth, it was a good idea, sure, but it was also the best way Cecil could think of to get away from all of this. His forces were “decimated,” his tower in disarray, he would flee, never to be seen again in this lifetime. The land would know peace, and maybe make an ally. According to Lady Aldora, they’d worked together in the past. A gentle reminder couldn’t hurt.

  Then he’d bury the crown somewhere, and try to forget any of this had ever happened… when he moved to a different part of the country under an assumed name.

  He sighed. Not the best plan, true. But it was all he had. This thing wasn’t going to go away any other way. It had to look like a defeat, even if defeat wasn’t really possible. Each of those skeletons could take down a few soldiers before it was beyond repair, and each of those in turn became a solider for the messed up cause. It was a cycle of horror that it would take years and an alliance of nations to even slow down a bit once it got rolling. He preferred it never really started. It was best for everyone.