‘Really? Gee, thanks Captain. You really do think of everything. I should be fine though, although I'd really like one of those Valkyrie to come and look for me. I have heard they are beautiful without compare!’
With a wry smile Cid said, ‘there is only woman for me.’
‘More for me then,’ chuckled Alex.
Right then the sun started looming, the light slowly crawling its way through the sleeping woodland.
‘Aha, dawn, I better wake the scouts. Should we run perimeter today captain?’ asked Alex, fastening the wings to his back, hanging just below his quiver of arrows.
Cid glanced at Alex and said, ‘no, we’re pretty deep in so I want two lookouts to trail us at all times, the rest of you scout ahead and cover as much ground as possible. Keep hunting and try to get something other than starved-out hares today, the men are starting to complain. Also, mark the most suitable terrain for us to pass through; we need to be efficient and comfortable when fighting ourselves out of an ambush - and Alex, we’re two days from being parallel with the first ramp of the canyon, so you can put nostalgia aside cause we’re bound to see some heavy fighting soon enough.’
‘All right captain, we’ll see you at noon,’ said Alex, parting with a wink.
Cid shook his head as he heard Alex obnoxiously shout everyone awake behind him, most of the men voicing grunts and curses of anger. Cid remained in thought, only dimly aware of the scout force prepping to depart, the other, more fortunate men, rising for a slow breakfast.
It has already been three years, thought Cid. Back then Alex was only nineteen years old and even with his set of skills he was still new to the army experience. Cid, Brunick, and Alex along with an entire company of soldiers were dispatched to the highlands to secure military help in tightening the borders against the Fallen. The Teritua highland people were an independent civilization and were a barbaric fighting lot down to the last old lady. The best of all was their absolute hatred for the Fallen, as many of their men were often captured and converted by the Priests as well.
Negotiations were going fine until one of the Terituan villages was burned down and the population massacred. Somehow, the natural distrust the Terituans had for foreigners conspired into a misunderstanding and before they could clear it up, Cid and company became the focus of the Terituan wrath rather than the Fallen.
All in all they were a small Lanston regiment isolated within an unforgiving society. In light of the circumstances their acting Colonel at the time and the leading diplomat were captured and murdered. The rest of the regiment escaped and Cid assumed command as the Captain by then. They had to fight their way out of the highlands and Cid had to use every bit of guile he had to even the odds along the way. They fought, hid and survived off the land for three months before escaping to the safety of the Kingdom.
They returned home with a mere forty of the soldiers dead and eight men incapacitated beyond ever fighting again. Cid was immediately heralded for his success and was promoted to Colonel a fortnight later. Cid had to agree with Alex; they were all scared senseless back then, but the intensity of it all made for a memorable war tale.
He progressed the memory a bit further and then found a forgotten gesture; before setting out on the mission Cid and Elmira had started seeing each other. Back then Cid was already very much in love with Elmira, convinced that she was the woman of his dreams.
During his three months away on duty Cid was sure she had moved on and found another. However, when he returned to his small house in Lanston she had come to visit him. The feeling still lingered in his memory; the moment she had told him that she had missed him and waited for him. Never had he anticipated such a loyal gesture and he cherished it.
‘Just hold on for me one more time Elm, I won’t let you down,’ whispered Cid by himself. He turned to find the camp teeming with life, the soldiers ready for the day.
Chapter 13
Fallen
Only five among them were mounted. These small groups of cavalry for each satellite were well trained riders and even though the woods didn’t allow much manoeuvring for horses their speed could still make a great difference in combat.
The other two riders were lone scouts, outriders, travelling far ahead. They were part of Alex’s scouting regiment, but instead of surveying the immediate environment in detail they were tasked with riding out to ensure nothing far off could compromise the company’s safety.
In fact, Cid expected at least one of his outriders to report to either himself or Alex during the day. The lack of contact to thus had become worrying to Cid, as the Fallen’s absence could only mean that they are already aware of Lanston and had retreated further into the woods.
Cid observed his men all around him. They were geared lightly for the most part, only a few of them bearing the heavy oval shields. Each did have a pack with personal goods though, since escorting provisions via war wagons or carts were out of the question. A few extra pack horses brought the rear, carrying the camp supplies.
The soldiers were walking helter-skelter through the woods, marching orderly had no place here. Cid however made sure that they didn’t grow too scattered; isolation could mean a quick defeat in combat situations.
In his mind now he run through the numbers again:
The company had 210 men in total, not counting Cid. There were 15 men in Alex’s scouting regiment, armed primarily with swords and bows. 110 of the men were infantry, carrying the short swords and shields. The melee specialist numbered 30, wielding a variety of axes, two handed bastard swords, maces or poleaxes. Brunick was the foremost of these men.
There were 40 official archers, but were not alone as some of the infantry carried bows as well. The riders here and elsewhere were a mere seven put together. The utilities numbered two surgeons with the company and one herbalist. The last five men were military magi.
The magi served a wide variety of functions and had it not been for their absolute necessity the army would never have made them an arm of the military. Nowhere else in the world of Angaria were magi more restrained or restrained than in the Kingdom. One could however reason that within the Kingdom magi enjoyed unique citizen privileges as well.
It was a historical fact that the Kingdom had originated after the common people triumphed in a war against power hungry magicians. Historians were often of opinion that, if the first King Locratiphis had not been a mage himself and the hero of the common people, then every last mage would have been hunted down and killed.
Rather, magi became one of the cogs in the machine that was the Kingdom. They were a minority people and given their capabilities over normal folk their rights were seriously limited, barring them from most positions of power. Magical abilities were not teachable to all though, as only some humans had the gift, or curse, of magic.
The schools of magic were all governed by the Kingdom itself and the types of magic studied was sternly regulated by the ruling council in Asheva. Incidents however always happened. During the many centuries of the Kingdom’s sovereignty rogue magi have inevitably come to power and as it were the rulers of the Fallen were some of the most terrifying magi on the face of Angaria.
This all inspired a constantly fed mistrust and even hatred for any magic wielder by the common man. Cid himself and the army in general have always had a functional rapport with the military magi and there was no point for anyone in denying their effectiveness in fighting the Fallen.
The magi serving with Lanston were called Sekhaimogists, a name for magi skilled in counteracting the Dey’illumra with various schools of magic. Naturally, they were all trained in both traditional medicine and mystical healing; crucial skills for keeping casualties to a minimum.
As usual, even with Sekhaimogists around Cid was hoping that the Shadow Priests kept themselves holed up wherever they rested. Fighting senseless men was bad enough, fighting heartless men with supernatural powers was far worse. Cid’s tally of the men ran its course in the
quietness of the others.
For the most part silence was encouraged among the men, their voices normally faint murmurs. It was thus when a loud ripple of voices hit the company that everyone came to alert. Instinctually the men tensed, grouping together, drawing weapons.
‘Listen to that!’ said Brunick, walking at Cid’s side.
There were definitely sounds of fighting, grunting and metal clashing, the image hidden just on the outskirts of their location. It didn’t last long.
‘Colonel!’ called a soldier at the fore.
Cid abandoned the rear, walking into a crowd of men gathering around something. Cid realized now firsthand how dangerously the forest could become at isolating one from proper coordination. At least that’s a fact that counts for friend and foe alike. A level playing field so to speak.
The soldiers stood aside deliberately for Cid. The focus of everyone’s attention was a Lanston scout, his helm removed to reveal an exerted yet alive face. He was hunched to one side, pulling hard on the bulk of a man like he was dragging a child. The soldier came to a stop, putting his boot on the man’s chest.
It was a fallen. A scout no doubt, dressed in light grey garments, bearing a black traveller's poncho across his shoulders and arms. A dark heavy helm covered the entirety of his head; a malicious looking replication a human skull. Wounded and beaten the enemy breathed heavily, blood staining his garments.
‘We made contact sir, five of them. This one still lives!’ said Matthew loudly, clearly still revved up from the battle.
Cid waved Matthew to stand aside. He walked over to the fallen, standing across the slowly dying man and pressing the butt of his spear on his collar bone.
There it was; the white eyes, pupils invisible in snowy circles. It was a blight of the corruption; a magical telltale for all to recognize the living who are dead. He watched as the man’s chest heaved and fell as he breathed, evidently struggling as the wounds took their toll. But Cid looked deeper still into the eyes, seeing no fear or any other kind of rational response. Just a bundle of instincts and no will of his own.
Yet there was difference: The scouts and especially Fallen crossbowmen were fresh victims, as the magic corrupting their minds have not yet crippled their visual-spatial capacities needed to fire crossbows and move efficiently. They were also still the most susceptible to pain, had greater reflexes, and could even show a modicum of fear in some instance or another. The Fallen frontliners though were the older ones and were always seen dressed in the heavy black plated armour. They were not as sharp, but made it up by being fearless and relentless.
Cid continued staring. A son of someone… A brother, husband or father even?
“They are beyond redemption…” came the old mantra.
With that thought Cid twirled the spear around and deftly plunged it into the man’s throat, ultimately bestowing mercy.
‘Most of you have seen many battles, some maybe even more so the than myself. Heed then my seriousness when I’m pounding in the same message you’ve been hearing for years; our battle is as much mental as physical. One aspect of that is fighting men that could have once been friends or even members of your family. Our plight however is a cruel one, for we have to cut away the dead to save our living. Remember though, that we are out to stop all of this, dedicate yourselves to this cause and we’ll see an end to this atrocity.’
Cid was pleased to see the men absorbing what he had said. It was an old message really, one they had heard hundreds of times in many different forms, yet the need to be reminded remained. Hell, I have to remind myself from time to time.
They studied the Fallen's weaponry. ‘Normal scout set, Colonel,’ said Matthew, ‘a gladius, a knife and a crossbow.’
‘Take a good look at that crossbow though, it’s heavy enough to split our breastplates,’ said another.
Cid frowned, some thought striking him. ‘Matthew, where is Alex?’
‘Sir, I’m almost sure he went ahead to make contact with our outrider,’ said Matthew.
Cid nodded. ‘Resume positions, we march!’
The sun was almost directly overhead when Alex came into sight, running. Most of the soldiers snapped their attention on him and the company came to a virtual halt.
‘Alex you look… what is it?’
‘Just got word from our outriders, they sighted a Fallen force a day ahead of us.’
‘How many?’ asked Cid.
Alex caught his breath. ‘Walter reports seeing as much as a thousand, a complete legion! They are ready for us captain, they know we are here.’
Cid was speechless. A thousand Fallen in the woods? Assembling composure Cid asked, ‘how fast were they moving?’
‘Walter said they were essentially motionless, but they are designating strike groups. It seems they will be waiting for us.’
‘Damn it, we are not past the ramp yet,’ said Cid, his mind scrambling, ‘when last did you hear from the other Satellite?’
‘This morning, apparently they are parallel to our position and I suspect they are as ill prepared as us, or worse…’
Cid’s mind was scrambling:
Round 3
-The first two rounds was a show of breakneck fighting instinct. Pain was ignored and every other hit was loud rap of wood on flesh. Stelinger had triumphed in the first and Cid had rallied to take the second. The third was slower and Cid could feel Stelinger having the edge as Cid developed an early strain in his hamstring. At some point he felt the loss inevitable. Might as well be useful loss.
He made space for himself, sailing backwards. Bringing up his knee he crashed it through the centre of his own staff, splitting it into two with a crack.
A broken staff in any instance was an immediate submission just like going down on the knee or holding up one’s fist. Stelinger was too vested into the round to stop attacking even though it was already over, this much Cid had come to expect.
The moment was too fast for the Commander to call it to an end. With two half lengths of wood it was Cid who held advantage. He blocked Stelinger’s furious strike with one end, and struck low with the other, punishing Stelinger’s abdomen.
The commander voiced the halt sternly and the crowd was alive with noise at this frantic display. Cid had lost the round for sure, but it was he that had dealt the damaging blow-
Cid made up his mind.
‘Okay Alex, take a horse, ride hard west and tell Captain Olum to change his course to directly north-east, inform him of the Fallen if he does not yet know. Make sure he understands that this is not a request. Tell him we are going to scissor into each other and meet the Fallen together,’ said Cid.
‘Yes captain,’ said Alex, taking off to saddle up one of the pack horses.
Cid turned to Kallas, the ringleader among the small group of cavalry.
‘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.
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