by T. A. Uner
Stone Ram
A Young Adult Adventure
T.A. Uner
For Sabri, Deniz and Selin
One
On the eve of Rek’s most sacred holiday, ninety-seven guards stood watch over the Golden Mane.
The Kingdom’s holiest artifact, its presence was the heart of every Rek historical lesson taught in schools. Every citizen of Rek felt a certain pride for its existence; its legacy had delivered the kingdom from evil centuries ago. Now it was enshrined in the Golden Reliquary located inside the Holy Chamber, within floating Cloud Cathedral.
Marten Belfry, Captain of the Gold Guard, was the first officer notified that something was amiss. The Gold chimes began ringing from the sentry’s nest like angry buzz fleas.
“Captain! Captain!” said Rollo Mist, a young, recently promoted lieutenant. He ran towards Marten as if a firebat was on his heels.
“What is this?” Marten said. He was flustered to see one of his Mane Guards so jittery; what could be the culprit to instill this much anxiety? Especially on the eve of Mane Day?
After saluting Marten, Rollo pointed toward the dome, which had murals of Earl Rek’s legendary victory against the Chimerat. “Captain, the Night Watch reports a large dark cloud approaching from the east from the fifth moon.”
“Distance?”
“Over two thousand Meks and closing.”
Belfry knew their scopes could track air traffic from thousands of Meks, a testament to the Kingdom’s advancements aided by Lager McVick, the drunken Earthman, who served as Lord Engineer, and advisor to the Gold King. But Belfry did not like the sound of Rollo’s fearful voice, after this incident was resolved he would make it a point to retrain his Mane Guard, in order to flush any traces of fear that remained in their hearts. “Let us go to the roof of the Cathedral, I shall take a look at this ‘cloud’ you speak of.
When Marten and Rollo reached the roof the Night Watch Guards were stationed along the parapet, meticulously scanning the heavens for activity. It was a clear night; the first moon was at its zenith with its four cousins slowly taking places in their respective orbits. It never ceased to amaze Marten how beautiful the night sky was. He pitied McVick, who had once explained how Earth only possesed one moon, for Marten that was four moons too few.
The scope was a state-of-the-art Golden Spec model. Marten looked through the eyepiece and adjusted the focus with the gold-plated knob. He scanned the heavens looking for any threat to his command. He focused the lens even further and scanned the fifth moon.
Nothing.
He turned back to Rollo who looked at him expectantly. “Did you see them Captain?”
“Not even a smidgen of pigeon,” Marten replied. “Is this some sort of hoax the men have put you up to? Because if it is you can count on double latrine duty for the next week.”
Rollo looked like a man wrongfully accused of stealing. “No, sir, I swear on the Gold King’s name, I saw a large wave of unidentified shapes flying across the moon.”
Marten gazed reflectively at his lieutenant. Rollo was a greenhorn officer, but he had graduated second in his class, an honor that had earned him the privilege of Mane duty up in the clouds. Surely he had not gone mad overnight?
Marten yawned and looked over the parapet, beneath them the lights of the capitol, Rek City, glimmered like golden candles.
“Well, Rollo, I’m leaving you in charge of the sky watch, try not to wake me unless the Hellion Doors appear and summon me by name.”
Rollo saluted Marten and nodded respectfully. Just as Marten was about to descend the spiral steps down toward his quarters two sentries on the West Rostrum were speaking excitedly amongst themselves. Intrigued by the sudden tocsin behavior he marched over toward the two guards. “Becks…Rodus…what in Rek’s name are you two squabbling about?”
The two sentries saluted Marten, who motioned for them to resume their previous stances. “Sir I think you should gaze upon this!” Becks said. Marten stepped up to the scope; he snorted his disgust at still being up on the roof and not asleep in his quarters. Rodus leaned over his shoulder and Marten could smell the sentry’s cologne. “Sir,” he said in Marten’s ear, “I suggest you look at the 3rd Quadrant of our Third Moon.”
“I’m getting tired of these foolish games,” Marten said. He repeated his actions of a few ticks ago, but this time his eye met with something unexpected. Marten swallowed hard, retracted his eye and carefully re-inserted it into the eyepiece to make sure fatigue wasn’t playing tricks on his vision.
It wasn’t. He focused the scope and beheld a sight that was the farthest from his mind. After figuring out the coordinates he realized it was headed for Cloud Cathedral.
Marten exhaled slowly. Not wishing to convey even a mite of fear to his men he began recalling defense tactics he never thought he would need. “Did you see it sir?” Becks said.
Marten nodded. “Xot Marauders, alert the rest of the garrison and prepare aerial defenses.”
***
Marten waited for the flying fiends to come.
Xot had not been seen in Rekian airspace for over two centuries. If it had been only a few dozen, Marten would’ve assumed they were a rogue union of bandits, raiding outlying villages for pleasure and profit. But this was more than a raiding party; it was an invasion force with
enough firepower to decimate his garrison.
Marten had already sent down two messenger birds to Rek City, requesting reinforcements, but the Xot invasion force would reach Cloud Cathedral long before a single Rek soldier could be sent up to strengthen Marten’s forces. So for now they were on their own.
Of course there could be only one reason for such a large task force sent here, so far from Xot territory—the Golden Mane. It could only mean that war had been declared against Rek by the newest warlord of Darklands. Marten knew the chaotic nature of Darkland politics meant constant change in the hierarchy. Warlords rose and fell within a matter of months. Whoever had now managed to ascend to the infamous position was anyone’s guess, Marten had bigger problems to deal with.
Around him his men were busy preparing for the inevitable siege that would leave most, if not all, of them dead or dismembered. It pained Marten to know he would be parted with many good men today, and if he was not fortunate, his life would be forfeit as well.
Giant gold scorpions were moved into place as were the siege nets. Much to the credit of his Gold Guard the Xot would pay dearly for laying siege to Rek’s holiest structure, the Golden Mane would be their target, either its theft, or worse, its desecration. Xot were not known for respecting religious artifacts. The fact that this invasion was so close to a holy day made Marten’s blood sizzle.
Marten peered through the scope once more to track Xot progress: they were now flying across the first moon. Its light revealing their hideous shapes: giant leathery wings carrying their muscular bodies that resembled gargoyles. They were all armed with scythes and dirks, their weapons of choice, and some carried incendiary devices. They would soon be upon Marten and his men.
Marten stepped back from the scope and began calling out defensive maneuvers for his men to follow. He would relish giving the order to fire on the Xot, he hoped to send many of the foul beasts to the underworld by the end of night.
“First wave beginning descent,” called out Rollo. Marten ordered the spotlights to full luminescence and saw the first group of Xot making their signature kill dive. A tactic he had read about at the academy but never thought he would have to defend against in real life.
Marten drew his golden hilted battle sword. “Commence firing!” The night sky lit up with charged scorpion bolts that jetted towards the invaders. The first batch of bolts ripped through the attacki
ng Xot, slicing them up like dinner hams. Marten watched through the scope as the first Xot air phalanx broke apart like a buzz flea nest, raining down flaming body parts. A few survived, but they were quickly mopped up by Marten’s Archers, the finest bowmen in all of Rek. That’s one Phalanx down, Marten thought.
The next Phalanx began its descent immediately after its predecessor’s demise. This wave consisted of armoured Xot armed with assault bows, fortunately the siege nets were able to soak up their ordnance, but one of Marten’s men caught one arrow in his stomach and doubled over. “Medics!” Marten said. Instantly a unit of healers appeared with a shielded stretcher and carried the wounded man away. Marten did not have time to feel sorry for his charge, there would be more causalities as the battle progressed. A few Xot made it past their aerial defense perimeter and landed just beneath the parapets. Two Gold Bowmen leaned over the parapet to rain down arrows, two were fortunate, one wasn’t: a wounded Xot which had caught three arrows, two in the metacarpal of its wing and one in the neck, decapitated the guard with its scythe before getting blasted in the chest with another barrage of arrows.
Marten’s men were holding firm but the third phalanx had already begun its descent. This one armed with self-igniting incendiary pots which they rained down on the defenders. A few bounced harmlessly off the siege nets but a few made it through the Cathedral’s defenses setting the net on fire in one section. Three sentries got hit with incendiary pots and burst into flames. The Watermen were there to douse them, but the damage was done: two more Gold Guards dead, one more wounded.
Marten found himself trapped between two Xot which had broken through the first line of his men. The foul beasts jabbed and slashed at him with their scythes, trying to add Marten to the growing list of casualties.
He raised his shield just as the Xot’s scythe blade ricocheted off of it, then swiveled around to parry another scythe attack from the second Xot. He found an opening and sunk his blade into the second Xot’s neck. Blood splattered over Marten’s visor and he had to blink wildly to flush the foul fluid from his eyes.
Another thrust from the first Xot grazed the surface of his gardbrace and nearly took off his shoulder. He felt his skin break under his armor and the warm rush of blood that belonged to a deep cut. Marten kept fighting, what other choice did he have? He and the others were outnumbered; the floor soaked with both Rekian and Xot blood. He heard the cries of a sentry, stating that another phalanx had landed and another was on the way. Marten ducked and swerved, before sending his Xot opponent crashing to the ground. A sword cut to its groin had ended its challenge.
Through his visor Marten saw more Xot appear. His surviving bowmen dropped a gaggle of invaders but still more poured through. Four heavily armored Xot broke through Marten’s reserve guards and disappeared down the stair turret. Marten’s worst fears were realized when he realized the Mane was in jeopardy. He called out to Mist—whom had lost his helm; half his face smeared with slick blood—to take command of the defenses. Marten picked up a second greatsword of a fallen comrade that lay at his feet and ran toward the stair turret.
***
As he made his way toward the Holy Chamber Marten prayed he wasn’t too late to prevent the unthinkable from happening on his watch.
The signs of sacrilege were evident. The Xot, atheistic in nature, and, anarchists at best had left a trail of destruction in their wake. Priceless artifacts, recovered centuries ago by Rek’s greatest adventurers, lay broken, tables containing Holy Scriptures of Rek’s most sacred hymns were overturned and lay in disarray. One Gold Guard lay torn in two like a split pallet, entrails leaking from his torso. Marten muttered a silent prayer for the man—that was no way to end a career in the Guard. He cursed himself for being in this position, his Guardsmen killed or maimed, his command under attack. He ran faster down the hall and passed under the portico and into the narthex. In front of him lay two more dead guards, amongst them was the corpse of an armored Xot Marauder. Its right wing still moved and Marten brought all his fury down on its helmed head with his two swords. It emitted a grunt and lay still.
Marten knew three more Xot lay unchecked. With only four Gold Pikemen between them and the Mane, Marten raced into the nave. Benches for worship lay overturned in some aisles, up ahead Marten saw the three remaining Xot being held in check by the last of his defenders. Hope remained; maybe there was still time for redemption.
Marten howled a battle cry and charged toward the altar. One of the Xot saw him and broke off from the main battle to engage him. The two foes met head-on, the clash of weapons, sword upon scythe rattled the stained glass windows featuring various Rek luminaries from the past. Sweat stung Marten’s eyes as he grappled with the beast before him. Despite its superior Xot strength his armor kept him on even ground. The beast’s foul breath filtered through Marten’s visor, and he almost vomited inside his helm. It thrust a spiked couter at him and sliced a vicious cut across Marten’s breastplate; he feigned injury and dropped to his knees, hoping the fiend would fall for it. Luckily Xot weren’t the most intelligent of beasts and when it raised its scythe in the air for a kill blow, Marten cut its legs out from under it.
Kicking its half-dead body aside Marten gazed at the altar, where two Pikemen remained. The remaining Xot were also a pair, one of their brethren lay dead upon the altar steps not far from their Rek counterparts. Marten ran towards his men but one of the Xot drew a red crystal from its waist pouch and fired a volley of energy bursts at the Pikemen, knocking both off the altar pedestal. He handed the crystal to his companion—who covered him and aimed the crystal at Marten—before making his way to the Golden Reliquary. Marten parried a blow from the red crystal, wondering what type of foul sorcery fed its power. He cursed as he helplessly watched the other Xot pry the reliquary open with its gauntleted claws before yanking the Golden Mane from its sacred resting place.
“You commit sacrilege against the Kingdom of Rek, cur!” Marten said, hoping the holy spirits would forgive him for uttering ‘cur’ inside the cathedral. The two Xot, with their insidious plan complete spread their wings and took flight while Marten watched helplessly.
The red crystal fired another burst of red energy right through a stained glass window and the two Xot flew through it—as pieces of glass rained down on Marten and his comrade—carrying Rek’s livelihood with them, toward the Darklands.
***
A few ticks later Marten heard a horn sound. It was the signal indicating reinforcements had arrived. He raced back toward the main battlement where the last of the Xot were being mopped up by incoming Rek Montgolfiers. A few surviving Xot, their mission complete, spread their wings and retreated to the skies, leaving behind a tragic list of casualties Marten knew he would be held accountable for.
When the First Lord Brickman Peregrine, disembarked from his Montgolfier flanked by his armed entourage, Marten felt his tongue twisting inside his mouth. How do I tell one the Gold King’s council members that our Kingdom’s holiest artifact has been stolen, he wondered.
“Captain Belfry,” Lord Peregrine said dryly eying the carnage around him, while a medic team hurried past him, carrying two corpses on a stretcher. “What happened here?”
Marten tried to swallow but couldn’t, instead he lowered his head to avoid Peregrine’s discerning glare: “Forgive me, my lord…but the Golden Mane…it’s gone.”
Two
Fabian SilverSword was born without sight, but still he could see.
Around him his flock stretched across the meadow, like a swath of cotton. They bleated one after another. For some that would spell a bothersome cacophony, but to the ears of a trained Shepherd boy like Fabian, it was a beautiful melody.
He could hear the barking of his dog Matilda, carefully herding the flock, keeping them in perfect formation. Despite her advanced age, Matilda still performed her duty faithfully and without error, but time would eventually catch up with the faithful dog, and Fabian regretted the day she would have to be retired from servic
e. But for now she performed her duties as well as any dog within its prime years. He reached into his leather pouch and pulled out a bean and cheese wrap his mother had made for him. In the sky, a red sun peeked behind a soft layer of clouds.
“Eating on the job again?” Fabian smiled. His father’s voice greeted him from his left.
“Just taking a quick bite, father,” he replied.
“Well I suppose I can overlook the infraction,” his father said jokingly. He scanned the flock and nodded. “Matilda’s at it again; she continues to defy her age.”
“I doubt we’ll find a herder like her again,” Fabian added. He mopped up the rest of his wrap and took a gulp of water from his canteen. “Is there a problem father?”
“No son, why should there be?”
“You usually don’t come checking up on me so early in the day.”
His father exhaled. “I’ve come with news.”
“News? It sounds important.”
“It is, my dear son…the Golden Mane, it’s been stolen.”
Fabian’s heart dropped into his stomach and he put his weight on his crook. It would take a large army to lay siege to Cloud Cathedral’s defenses. But why? Who would want the Golden Mane? Rek was not at war with any of the other kingdoms it bordered. “Who would do such a thing, father?”
“The Xot; they attacked late last night and overtook the Cathedral’s Garrison. From what I hear even the Captain of the Guard was nearly killed. I thought you should know that the Gold King is to issue a Holy edict later today.”
Fabian nodded. “I would like to go and listen to the edict father.”
“Then go, my son, and bring back more news of this heinous crime.”
II
With weighted heart, Fabian journeyed to Rek City.
He rode his father’s horse, Starspeed, while Matilda padded faithfully next to him. Within a few clocks he had reached Rek City’s main gate. He could hear people ahead of him, in line, waiting their turn to enter the city. The news of the theft had spread fast, indeed, it was a crime that all of Rek had felt. Fabian wondered what the Xot wanted with the Mane. They did not possess enough intelligence to comprehend the significance of the Mane, and that was assuming they even knew what its origins were. No. Fabian figured someone else was behind this crime, the Xot were only henchbeasts serving a facilitator.