Remnant Pages Spearhead

by J.B. Kleynhans

  ‘And who might you be?’ asked the man.

  ‘I’m afraid circumstances have not allowed us to be introduced, I’m Elmira of House Merrigil, daughter of Vaunce,’ she said stiffly.

  The man could not hide his surprise.

  ‘Of course my lady, might I enquire pre-emptively the purpose of your visit?’ asked the man.

  ‘Tell Fredrere I have a proposal for him,’ said Elmira, making it clear that it was all she was going to say to the housemaster.

  ‘I’ll inform him of your presence, please make yourself comfortable in the lounge while you wait,’ said the housemaster, bowing and then disappearing up the staircase.

  Elmira sat apprehensively in the silence of the giant lounge, its solitude exclaimed by the many empty armchairs and a grandfather clock tick-tocking endlessly.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m doing it for Cid though. Knowing he’s okay comes first.

  Elmira was still planning her words when the Housemaster returned.

  ‘Fredrere is up in his office and he will be glad to see you now,’ he said.

  Elmira followed the housemaster up the stairs, into the second story corridor and entered one of the many doors. In relation to the rest of the estate Fredrere office was smaller than Elmira expected. Then again, he probably doesn’t spend much time here. Elmira understood that Fredrere would love the idea of having her as the trophy wife, but that the coin that would come from adjoining with House Merrigil’s business was an essential motivation for both him and his father. As a minor nobility, Sagril was the greediest kind of nobility, and by what Elmira had seen to thus, the laziest.

  ‘Ah Elmira!’ said Fredrere happily, rising from his seat, circumventing the desk and planting a kiss on Elmira’s cheek.

  Elmira humoured him, but only just.

  ‘Please take a seat, oh and Oustin, be sure to send up a pot of tea, will you?’

  ‘Yes Lord Fredrere,’ said Oustin, leaving the room.

  Elmira took her seat opposite of Fredrere.

  ‘It’s so good to see you again, your beauty rarely escapes my thoughts, but entertaining your actual presence puts rest to many a daydream.’

  Elmira smiled, not because she was flattered, but because she would need Fredrere to be amicable.

  ‘So, I must admit I do hope your visit means that you have finally come to terms with my offer of marriage?’ asked Fredrere, his eagerness not well hidden.

  ‘It’s about Cid,’ said Elmira flatly. She had intended to go through the pleasantries, or at least wait for the tea to arrive, but a part within her could wait no longer. She needed to do something.

  Fredrere sighed. ‘Marriage isn’t always about love Elmira, and you’ll find the most enduring of unions are often based on agreements of convenience and financial co-existence. Your father knows this and wants the best for you. I want the best for you.’

  You want the best for yourself! thought Elmira. She kept herself in check however.

  ‘This soldier, Cid, is a man who cannot provide the luxuries that you grew up with, and what’s more he will be missing half of the year just to put food on the table, honestly is that the life-’

  ‘Cid is dead,’ snapped Elmira, interrupting Fredrere. Elmira herself did not believe this, only rapping Fredrere to get him to stop lecturing her.

  Elmira was keen to realize true shock registering on Fredrere's face.

  ‘Elmira… I’m so sorry. I did not know. How did this happen?’

  ‘I received a letter merely stating that he was killed in action,’ said Elmira, ‘I have reason to believe that the letter might be mistaken.’

  ‘How so?’

  Elmira explained.

  ‘Why are you here then, telling me this?’

  Elmira stated her proposal, eager to not to sound as if she were pleading. ‘You have the resources and the men to send out to go and look for Cid. I need to know that he is alive and well, and that he is going to return to Lanston safely.’

  ‘Why would I do this?’ asked Fredrere softly.

  Elmira had been dreading this moment.

  ‘If you send out a search party, returning Cid home, I’ll agree to marry you,’ said Elmira.

  Fredrere was stunned and Elmira could see his clockwork toiling.

  ‘But then again, you are to be married to me anyway,’ answered Fredrere.

  ‘Not If I refuse, if I kick hard enough on this then my father might not be so willing to sign me over. Think on it, if you agree now then you’ll have no further worries about the arrangement. As long as my signature is not on a document I can make it very difficult for you,’ said Elmira.

  Again Fredrere went silent with thought.

  ‘We have a deal then’ said Fredrere, a smile of satisfaction appearing on his face. ‘I’ll set up the documents as soon as I can, so that the dispatch of men will not be delayed unnecessarily.’

  Oustin returned with a pot of tea.

  ‘Ah, there he is, good man,’ said Fredrere, barely able to hide his euphoria.

  Elmira however, was struggling to keep face.

  I am about to sign over my life.

  Chapter 22

  Treetops

 

  They were on the move.

  ‘So one day, we will be able to cure the Fallen by the numbers?’ prodded Cid mildly, not wanting to het his hopes up.

  ‘That’s a possibility,’ answered the Summoner between breaths.

  Lidayel wasn’t nearly as fit the soldiers, but Cid appreciated that he was pushing himself to keep up. They all knew that their survival depended on getting into the canyon.

  In earnest they were all exhausted, especially Alex and the two other soldiers, Welce and Girdo, whose wounds had just healed. It left them a bit brittle and only their strength as soldiers helped them to cloak their discomforts. Even so there was little choice otherwise for them but to keep on running.

  From pale point that morning they set out, careful and vigilant, each man holding down a cold breakfast. They mostly emptied their personal packs then, as the weight would slow them down, in the end just taking enough food to get them to the canyon. There was no sign of the eclipse today, its magicks diminished just like Lidayel predicted, sunlight another enemy for the moment.

  ‘I have always wondered about the magic, how it works, and how the Priests gets so many men twisted. Can you explain this to me?’ asked Cid.

  ‘I assume you know the basic workings of Calophrites?’ queried Lidayel.

  ‘Yes, they are what the soul looks like broken into fragments right?’

  ‘That is a way to put it, yes. The Fallen spell works much like that which a skilled healer would use. You see, an efficient mage engineers his spell to operate in tandem with a victim’s soul. Not all men can use magic, but every single soul has the capacity to interact with mystics.

  ‘A healer would draw upon the strength of a wounded man’s soul and practice the process in such a way that the mage can have enough energy to continue his work on many more that may need his attention. The Fallen spell is the same, it is bound to the soul of the victim, feeding and sustaining itself from the soul like a parasite.

  ‘There is more to it though; the soul is expressed through emotions, feelings and memories. Magic consequently is the same; spells are strengthened or dampened on the account of emotions touching the soul. A healer working on a man willing to fight for his life will strengthen his own soul and can end up saving himself. And as such a man with hatred and anger is much more easily corrupted by the Fallen spell.’

  ‘Wait, are you telling me that it is wrong for us to psych the men up, that by making them hate the Fallen we are exposing them more readily to corruption?’ asked Cid.

  ‘No, you do what you must. Callousness is necessary. Besides, the Fallen have never failed to corrupt someone, do you think any one man is completely devoid of darkness or hatred?’

  ‘Would it help then, the other way around? You know, clinging onto that which you love
rather than focusing on the hate?’ asked Cid.

  ‘I’d imagine that it would be easier to heal the corruption of a man whose love for the good is stronger than the bitterness, as long as the spell is practiced correctly that is,’ said Lidayel in another few huffs, ‘up to our last attempt, our spell, even read from a scroll could not cure the man as well as it should.’

  ‘It’s a strange thing,’ started Cid, ‘seeing words and incantations bring forth reality, a single spoken verse powerful enough to save a life.’

  ‘Is it any stranger than your own voice Colonel? Your ability to control men? To command them with distinction and organize their capabilities?’ said Lidayel, letting the statement hang. ‘There is much power to be found in words, remember that. Even the Fallen only respond to commands in Twilight tongue, as you may well know, and those who speak it are few and evil.’

  Cid was thoughtful.

  ‘All these years we were taught that the Fallen will only ever be our enemy, that they are our brothers no longer. The idea of curing them, of recovering them…’

  ‘I assure you the Fallen Priests fear our discovery above all else. Although I would advise you to cling fast to your hatred for the Fallen, it might be a decade still before we are able to reverse the full effect of their magic.’

  ‘I do not hate the Fallen, how can I? They are not aware of what they are doing. No, my hate is reserved for the Priests.’

  Lidayel nodded. ‘Never have there been a people collectively more hated than the magi.’

  Cid wanted to reply, but knew Lidayel was right; magi had power, ordinary folk did not, that discrepancy would haunt a peaceful co-existence for all time. The Kingdom of Asheva at least, was a bastion for rights for all people, its laws accommodating a great variety of people. Even so the relationship between the magical and non-magical was strenuous, the magicians often barred from certain positions to regulate the balance of power.

  Alex was on point, his eye catching something and his fist shooting up to signal everyone to a halt. Like one the men huddled, the numbers split around the trunks of two trees, their eyes peeking to where Alex was pointing. Ahead of them, far ahead them, a group of Fallen soldiers moved across the trails, disappearing again one by one as they followed each other.

  Twenty-six, Cid counted. They were definitely still being searched for. How could they know? Were the Reavers on their scent?

  He whispered at Alex. ‘Should we try the trees?’

  ‘It’ll slow us down considerably, but I don’t think we have much of a choice captain.’

  ‘Right then.’

  Cid motioned for everyone to start climbing.

  ‘Great…’ Cid heard Brunick mumble.

  Cid knew Brunick well enough to know that the big man could count all of his fears on two fingers; the first was magic, and the second one was heights.

  The birds weren’t helping, scattering and crying in absolute terror as six desperate men flung themselves through their homes. Cid reckoned they were still safer up here, well hid and having the high ground should they be discovered.

  The Biridian walkway was truly something remarkable. It wasn’t convenient or easy-going, but the very structure of these trees allowed the party to move about the forest using only the giant branches and bowls.

  At some point they found a family of tree dwelling lemurs, the animals jumping playfully and effortlessly from tree-to-tree to mimic the men. The biggest enemy at this time was the noise they were inevitably creating. Even without all the animals they were stirring up, their boots on wood pounded like dull drums and the weaker branches could not help but sway and crack as their weight caused the fine Biridian leaves to go off in a chain of rustling.

  The party kept a commendable pace even though it remained a perilous footing. The leaps were the worst, some trees requiring the party to take a proper run up to be able to jump to the next tree. Welce was the first whose jump caused him to skid as he landed, and lose his feet. As he fell he grabbed hold of the branch, hanging. Alex was there quickly there to help him back up and they resumed the pace without pause. Several times more someone nearly fell, Brunick cursing furiously when it was his turn.

  They were making good way when Alex called for a halt again. Like before they huddled quietly, this time in the bowl of a single Biridian. Cid and Alex, at the edge, looked down at the forest trail.

  Once again, this time in broad daylight, they spotted the Reavers. The party’s scent was clearly obvious to them and Cid reckoned that they were only still unfound because of the tree top path. It would only be a matter of time though.

  The Reavers sniffed hungrily around the clearing below, their monstrous canine figures seeming perplexed by where Cid and his men could be.

  ‘There are only three of them, we can take ‘em if we surprise ‘em,’ whispered Brunick.

  ‘And announce ourselves to the entire forest? I don’t think so,’ rebuked Alex.

  Brunick grunted.

  It was painful, tired muscles cramping in the awkward positions forced on by the Biridian. The Reavers continued to snoop the area, abandoning their two legged endeavours and suddenly favouring all fours like the dogs they were. Clearly they were frustrated, their sense of smell telling them there was something close, but unable to pinpoint where to look.

  Cid was sure that they would need to fight in the next few moments, when suddenly one of the Reavers shot out of the clearing below, growling with feral intent.

  The soldiers went rigid as they heard an unknown human voice scream with horror. In astonishment Cid glanced at his men as though to make sure everyone was here with him. The two other Reavers followed their brother.

  Cid dared to move, walking across the width of the bowl and laying down on his stomach on one of the boughs. He felt the other men creeping closer as well, settling behind him.

  They saw it. Four men as far as they could determine, dressed in rough leather armours, their hair filthy and their weapons crude. They stood in a small circle.

  Cid and the soldiers witnessed their last moments. The four unknown men had stumbled into the wrong part of the forest and paid with their lives for their mistake. The Reavers pounced on them, their trademark scimitars brandished with a kind of skill that did not suite these animals.

  The untidily clad of men tried feebly to fight back, but the Reavers tore them to shreds within seconds. Terrible howls of victory filled the forest, the Reavers mangling the dead corpses with unnecessary cruelty, their jaws and ferocious teeth crushing hungrily into the flesh.

  The party remained silent until the Reavers finally grew bored and cantered off, laughing like hyenas.

  ‘That was close,’ said Alex nervously.

  ‘Yes and it will be the death of us soon enough, we don’t stand a chance trying to fight them in the trees,’ said Cid.

  ‘Who were those men?’ asked Lidayel, a fear in his voice shared by them all.

  ‘I believe they were mere bandits, Alparack attracts all the wrong kinds,’ said Welce.

  ‘Man, did they choose to scour on a bad day. What would they be doing here though?’ said Brunick.

  ‘There are some rivers in these woods. They are mountainous, so I might say that they are sifting for gold in them,’ said Alex

  ‘Do we continue for the canyon sir?’ asked Girdo.

  Cid thought for a moment, running maps through his mind and judging distances.

  Round 9

  -Stelinger had won the previous round, outclassing Cid just, tripping him and holding the staff to his throat. That was worth a win. Right now Cid was still channelling the rhythm he gained from round 8 and he could feel Stelinger giving way to a well-rounded attack pattern. Stelinger stumbled somewhat before Cid’s fury and then leapt backwards with the grace of a dancer.

  Predictably Cid charged in to finish it. It should’ve have been over. Stelinger, as quick as a wink, slammed the staff into the courtyard sand and then kicked the loosened grains with the side of his foot with for
ce. A hefty puff of sand shot up, catching Cid in the face and distorting his attack. Stelinger struck maliciously, finding mark on Cid’s suddenly exposed body every time until he could do nothing else than take a knee to signal defeat.

  The men cheered at Stelinger’s display and Cid rose cursing himself.

  Stelinger had remained mindful of his surroundings and I was overzealous, too hasty, to end the round-

 

  ‘No, there should be a river directly north of us right? It cuts right through Alparack and into the canyon,’ said Cid.

  ‘Yes sir, where the river hits the centre of the forest is supposed be Rattle point, but sir, that river is no more than a stream. It won’t help us in fighting the Reavers and we’ll be out in the open,’ said Alex.

  ‘I have no interest in fighting the Reavers Alex, all I want to do is travel upstream so that the Reavers lose our scent. We’ll turn around again when we’re in far enough and mount the Biridians once more.’

  ‘Geez captain, wouldn’t it be quicker just to dart for the canyon?’

  ‘We wouldn’t make it Alex, the Reavers are on to us,’ said Cid

  ‘But we’ll still be exposed if we travel in the stream,’ said Alex.

  ‘And right now it’s our best chance to get to the canyon without a following. Or get to the canyon at all for that matter,’ said Cid.

  ‘Right then, we’ll dismount here?’ said Alex.

  Cid looked down the Biridian, frowning at the straight shot down its base with no real climbable surface to speak off.

  ‘Let’s find a different tree; this one makes me feel a little bit like Brunick.’

  On solid ground again they followed a reasonable trail, using the sun to keep them heading north. It was an easier run than the tree tops, yet every step forward was met with a pounding trepidation in each man. The reason was that it would take but an instant for them to be discovered now and at the moment they did not stand a chance fighting while in the thick of the woods.

  Another howl wailed through the woods, at least telling them the Reavers were not close, nor at where they were going.

  ‘How much farther?’ asked Brunick from the rear.

  ‘Nearly there, count to sixty,’ said Alex at the lead.

  Even with Brunick running behind him Cid was aware of Brunick’s annoyance at the remark.