Remnant Pages Spearhead

by J.B. Kleynhans

  The Priests were evidently now in range at least and Cid could do nothing but will Alex and his men to shoot. The soldiers scurried to remain in formation and were struggling to do so between the smoke and burned men, some dead, others sprawling and crying in agony.

  ‘Magi! Clear the smoke and the flames, and focus some of those lights on the Priests!’

  Alex had done this before and knew what to look for. They gathered in a Biridian to the east of the companies and held a clear view of the Fallen force in the glade. They still outnumbered Lanston terribly and Alex wasn’t sure that Cid could win this one for them. Yet he focused now at the task at hand.

  Alex’s eyes locked on the magi’s lights as they sped through the Fallen ranks, finally swerving in circles to reveal the Priests in full.

  ‘Okay, there it is!’ whispered Alex, ‘the three in the centre are casting again!’

  Alex understood that Priests enhanced themselves with faint spherical barriers of magic that acted strong enough to protect themselves from arrows. When assembling the power needed to cast their flames however, there was a peak moment when the barrier’s power was cut dry and created a window for a skilled archer. Alex set two men on the nearest Priests and he himself took the farthest. Alex pulled on the bowstring as far as was practical, knowing he was pushing the limits of his range.

  ‘They are synchronizing their attack, too bad for them… release on my mark,’ said Alex, his eyes training.

  A loud acknowledgement came again from the infantry as three of the five Priests toppled out of their saddles almost simultaneously, shot dead from afar.

  He did it!

  Even preoccupied with the bloodshed Cid knew the retreat had to happen soon or else they would be overwhelmed.

  Cid swept his horn from his girdle. He gave it a loud blow and announced the plan to retreat. Satisfied that the men understood they could do nothing else but fight until…

  …it didn’t take long; a visible change in posture hit every Lanston soldier when another Priest took an arrow to the head. Only one Priest remained, yet it did not matter, Cid understood enough of magic to know that one was not going to dismantle Lanston’s magic on his own. Cid bellowed and his men slowly formed a tighter formation.

  ‘Magi, get those lights ready, I want the Fallen to be blind for at least a week!’

  The plan was simple; cover the entire company in blinding light and run right past the Fallen force’s left flank. The numbers they had taken out of the Fallen was enough to have left their position too weak to stop Lanston. They did not know what laid ahead of them, yet returning south was no option. The idea was escaping any further possibility of being herded by the enemy.

  Cid orchestrated and his shouts were joined by others, the gist of the command repeating itself: ‘stay together, follow one another, magi keep the lights moving and don’t leave the gate!’

  Moments later a semi-sphere of light scurried over the battlefield, big enough to cover over 300 jogging men. The duality of the sphere was simple; every fool with an eye or two knew exactly where Lanston was heading, come too close though and the light would renders sight useless. Hesitantly the Fallen followed, their attempt destined to be futile. Even in the inside Cid and the others were exposed to an overwhelming white light due to the magi’s zealousness, which Cid knew was a necessity at the moment.

  The pace picked up as to put some distance between them and Cid could spot the strain on the magi’s faces as they struggled to keep the sphere intact. They breached the northern border of the glade, visiting deep among the grid of trees again as the Fallen were left behind.

  ‘Magi retire!’ shouted Cid.

  The sphere vanished in an instant and they became invisible in the gloom.

  ‘Keep close and follow!’ he shouted to his men.

  It wasn’t too difficult to manoeuvre among the trees and Cid knew that if they kept pace the Fallen would suffer to ever catch up.

  ‘Say, why aren’t the Fallen brightening the lights again?’ asked one of the soldiers.

  It was a good question, the eclipse wasn’t helping the Fallen much, yet right now Cid did not stop to query good fortune.

  Along the way Alex and his two archers caught up.

  ‘Good job,’ said Cid.

  ‘No sweat,’ said Alex, even though fatigue was clear on his face. It was a thing clear on everyone’s faces, and Cid assumed that everyone here shared his bone-weariness.

  ‘There’s a grey stone cave and outcropping near here, remember? Pale point. We should be able to entrench ourselves there for the night,’ said Alex.

  ‘That’s perfect,’ said Cid and changed the course of his men to deeper west.

  ‘Brunick, you’ve been quiet so far, tired?’ asked Cid.

  Brunick shook his head as he ran, his arms pumping at his sides. ‘I was jus’ thinking… the wounded.’

  Brunick’s soft spoken words tore at him. Cid was well aware of the wounded, but helping them was downright suicide.

  ‘I know it’s easier at the border, we save a lot of wounded men at the border,’ said Brunick softly, then his voice turned angry. ‘Stelinger should never have sent us on this pathetic trip, and I’m even angrier at Bennam for consolidating the idea!’

  ‘Brunick, I too did not find flaw with this plan,’ said Cid, barely believing that he was defending Stelinger.

  ‘But you would never have done this! You would never have sent us into a godforsaken forest without knowing what the hell was waiting for us inside!’ said Brunick, his voice hearable by all.

  ‘And that’s why I’m not the Commander, Brunick,’ said Cid, aware of the bitterness in his own voice.

  ‘Well, you should be, every one of these men would have been gutted if we did not have you at the lead,’ grumbled Brunick.

  ‘How about you Brunick, would you have gotten away?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Of course! I have a little girl waiting for me to teach her how to ride the ponies, no Fallen scum is taking me down,’ said Brunick, his demeanour defiant.

  Alex laughed. ‘Maybe you should have someone else teach her Brunick, you’re not the exactly the best rider I’ve seen.’

  ‘Better than you,’ mumbled Brunick.

  Cid knew Brunick was a fine rider, yet the word “finesse” was not forthcoming when watching Brunick in a saddle.

  The Colonel was losing himself in idle thought, and then nightmare struck once more.

  From the trees an onslaught of crossbow bolts came from all sides, death speeding from darkness. Cid instantly felt one crack into his breastplate, the arrow point nudging into his back. At the same time he saw dozens of his men going down jerkingly, including Alex. This could not be happening. How could they have so many Fallen in the forest?

  A terrible song of wolf like howls pierced their ears. Cid tried to rally and within seconds he knew it was pointless. The crossbow volley had been devastating, but what followed crushed Cid’s hope, his mind flailing to create a way to survive. Hideous figures leapt inhumanly from the trees and landed among the soldiers. The darkness betrayed only some features, but was enough to reveal the beasts for what they were.

  Hunchbacked, canine snouts, long arms, pointy ears, black fur as thick as quills, and deadly steel scimitars in each clawed hand.

  Cid knew exactly what they were facing.

  They were the hounds of Lymphra, two-legged humanoids called Reavers. Cid had fought against these enslaved creatures before and they were the most dangerous of the Fallen fighting force. 30 or so of them moved like dust devils into the Lanston ranks, their merciless strength of arm and metal cutting away at the bone tired soldiers.

  The moment Brunick saw the Reavers he knew he had seconds to work with. There was little doubt in anyone’s mind on how the enemy tracked them down in total darkness; these beasts were feared for a reason.

  Alex had already gone down and Brunick could only hope that he was still alive. Standing behind Cid, he saw the fool brandishing his spear. Deliber
ately, Brunick lashed out with his forearm, slamming Cid on the back of his neck and the Colonel crashed into unconsciousness. Brunick himself then laid face down and was thankful to know that his breathing would be concealed by his breastplate.

  His mind raced and echoed with the sound of men dying, and he prayed for it all to end.

  Chapter 17

  The Master

 

  This room was dark…

  A strange display of violet flames crackled in the hearth, its eerie light doing little to brighten the chamber. The mansion was deathly silent, as though holding its breath in the presence of its Master, letting up no indication of rooms beyond this one. The Master had a curtain of thick shoulder length hair, jet black with a goatee to match, framing a gaunt pale face, all of it consolidating an air of a man who inspired absolute terror.

  He paced, his robe billowing around him as a confounded wind slithered through the vaulting room’s window. The man lifted his hand in a sweeping motion and the windows slammed shut, the flames in the hearth cowering for a moment in response. Every inch of this olden house was covered by his magic and allowed the Master to manipulate its very fabric.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Enter Menasha,’ said Arumcas knowingly.

  Menasha came in, shivering at the darkness and feeling the apprehension of his companion as well, who seemed to grow shorter the closer they came to the Master, the acolyte’s hand strangling his staff in angst.

  They found their Master pacing a bear fur carpet in front of the fireplace, a book in his hands. He seemed to be lost in its pages, reading it even though there was no light to speak of.

  Menasha could make out his companion jump a little when Arumcas snapped shut the book and gazed upon them. Menasha had seen this before and was unperturbed; in the dark Arumcas’ eyes turned a shade of glazed black, like blood at midnight. This is how he sees in darkness…

  ‘Stand closer, so that I may see your faces by firelight,’ commanded the Master.

  Arumcas blinked once and his eyes returned to normal. Not that it was much better looking at him now.

  ‘Menasha, your hair have been greying these last few weeks, I hope you bear good tidings,’ said Arumcas.

  Menasha chuckled, ‘my hair aside master, I’m here to inform you that Commander Bennam of Lanston has been killed. He discovered too much and had to be put to rest.’

  Like Menasha anticipated his Master was not entirely pleased by the news; he looked to be nurturing suspicions.

  ‘Did he get word out?’ asked Arumcas.

  ‘No, Piatil had him watched and ensured that he died isolated. They killed him the moment he showed suspicion. But there was a problem. The assassin was supposed to slip in and inject him with Wylt, so that the investigative authorities might think his heart simply gave out. Piatil however informed me that Bennam’s death has become widely public as murder. The assassin used the wrong poison.’

  ‘Who was this assassin?’ asked Arumcas.

  ‘I have no name, but she’s from the Guild of Hands obviously. I would think they are hunting her down even as we speak. The Guild does not tolerate failure and we’ll meet her out with her demise personally.’

  ‘How long do you think Bennam has known of Stelinger?’ asked Arumcas.

  ‘Not long, for otherwise he would not have made Stelinger the new Commander,’ said Menasha as though it was obvious.

  The Master nodded contently, yet remained thoughtful. ‘So Bennam is finally dead. What a pity, I have found him a worthy opponent for many decades.’

  ‘I always thought you’d want to kill him yourself,’ said Menasha.

  ‘Yes, that was the ideal,’ said Arumcas with an appetite for death, ‘who is this by the way?’

  ‘This Lord, is Jalson, a young acolyte in our ranks, I escorted him here as he insisted that he was burdened with an urgent message.’

  ‘Go on, speak then,’ said Arumcas.

  Jalson could hardly seem to find his words and then uttered: ‘I wish to be released from your service my Lord…’

  Menasha winced in the darkness, immediately regretting being the one who brought Jaslon before the Lord . This is going to be ugly.

  Arumcas took a step forward, looming over the lowly acolyte.

  ‘To what ends?’ continued Arumcas, his patience a boiling pretence.

  ‘I wish to return to my family in Harowan,’ stuttered Jalson, ‘but I have not come without cause my lord, I have something of value, something which I would gladly exchange for my freedom,’ he said, quickly holding out a shapeless piece of metal ore, seemingly worthless, but not so by any measure. Both Arumcas and Menasha instantly recognized its nature.

  All over the mansion’s wood panelling creaked and moaned ominously and Menasha knew this was no coincidence; the Masters’ moods often manifested themselves in the building, tensing and pulling at its very fibres.

  ‘You wish to bargain with me then?’ said Arumcas, his voice gaining a menacing edge.

  ‘I do not have the will to serve you any longer! I will only become an obstacle if I continue to do so. I beg of you Master, take what I have and make me forget so that I do not compromise your plans… I just want to be with my family again…’

  ‘I released you. I gave you power. I am your Master,’ muttered Arumcas, ‘servitude to me is eternal!’

  Menasha looked on in uneasiness, wondering whether the ore the boy was holding was going to be a problem and whether he should get his sword out.

  Then it happened, the fool Jalson let his intent become known, his staff of power radiating a green light, his emotions revealing his magic. Menasha knew better than to doubt his Master and took a step back.

  Arumcas lunged in a flurry of motion before Jalson could attack, fists unveiled from his robe and came lashing. One slamming the face, another in his gut, and the last hooking at Jalson’s jaw. Arumcas’ reputation told of a man who did everything with magic, making it simple for anyone to assume that he was physically inept. Those who realized the error of their presumption never lived to tell the tale.

  The ore thumped on the floor, left forgotten as Jalson spun away in pain, clenching his face as he sought to escape. Menasha knew it was all over now.

  Arumcas himself never stopped for a second, whipping out a short oak staff of his own from his robes. He rushed forward, hair flying, and his incantation inhumanely filled the entire hall. The oak staff went alight with violet flames and Arumcas struck its head right into Jalson’s back. The acolyte’s body became suspended and arched, enveloped in the nightmarish purple blaze before disintegrating into a great tide of ash, his screams piercing every hall in the mansion.

  Fool, you never stood a chance…

  Menasha uncovered his eyes, watching as Arumcas emerged from a cloud of smoke and ashy remains. Casually the Master bowed to pick up the ore, pocketing it with satisfaction, afterwards playing his fingers in the air as though he had something sticky on them, that which had been Jalson dancing to his gesture and simply seething away up the chimney and out of existence.

  ‘Forgive me my Master, had I known the fool was going to waste your time I would have killed him myself,’ said Menasha.

  Arumcas sighed and walked over to his high-end chair. ‘No matter, but it pains me that loyalty is such a hard quality to come by.’

  ‘Even more so dedication, had this man not been preoccupied with his family, he would have served you for years to come,’ said Menasha as the Master took his seat.

  ‘Yes, it’s a shame that making people forget damages their minds, think of the servants we would have had if it were otherwise Menasha, think on it!’

  ‘My master, on a different note, I have always been there to lightly criticize your actions should I feel the need arise,’ said Menasha.

  ‘What is it then?’ asked Arumcas.

  ‘This Stelinger, a useful pawn indeed, though I feel you have given him too much power. With that Ruin sword he carries the Priests, includ
ing myself, fear him now. What if he turns on you Master?’

  ‘He is no match for me Menasha,’ said Arumcas annoyed.

  ‘I am well aware of that Master, I’m trying to point out that he could cause irreparable damage on your campaign should he turn hostile,’ said Menasha.

  ‘I find that the promise of power instils loyalty even into the most fickle; that is why I trust Stelinger, his hunger and ambition is clear to see. He will eat at my table like a hound who knows no other. Tell me Menasha, for I have been wondering, what is your future, your ambition? You are a very powerful man on your own, why serve when you cannot grow?’

  Menasha lowered his eyes, turning uncomfortable. ‘I have been faithful to you Master, always. You ask what my ambition is? The truth is, like so many men, I might’ve lost my ambition in the throes of it all. I am an old dog Master, one that has lived in your shadow all his life. I go day by day living your way and accomplishing your will. My servitude to you is my contentment, and your rise in stature is a rise in my own.’

  ‘You then value your place here at my side?’ asked Arumcas.

  ‘There is no other for me, Master.’

  Arumcas was thoughtful ‘What do you make of Bennam’s incidence; is it a mere mistake on the assassin’s part?’ asked Arumcas.

  ‘Do you think otherwise Master? I would not know, surely Bennam has shown himself to be ignorant!’ said Menasha.

  Arumcas shook his head, ‘even in death I would not dare underestimate Bennam. Our game has turned dangerous and I wonder at the lengths that my old foe might’ve gone to before he died.’

  ‘But to no avail, right Master? Even when he did realize his folly in entrusting Stelinger, there was no way he could get word out to halt the march. It was too late…’ said Menasha.

  ‘Yes, the march is safe, and Stelinger would have dealt with those who could intercede. Yet until our task reaches fruition I would tread carefully and expect the worst at the best of times.’

  ‘Your command Master?’ asked Menasha, picking up on cues that the conversation was drawing to a close.

  ‘Assemble all the High Priests; we’ll have a meet by morning. For now, leave me to meditate.’

  ‘Your will, Master.’