Remnant Pages Spearhead

by J.B. Kleynhans

  ‘We have been ravaged by death and betrayal,’ he confessed, hearing his own words bouncing along Fafriv, finding no refuge on the cliff walls and fleeing into the deep.

  He wrestled with where to start.

  ‘At Commander Bennam’s death, we have lost the most stalwart of those who have fought the Fallen; lost the very icon that defined defiance against the madness of our enemies.’

  There was a slight pause.

  ‘At the hands of Stelinger’s betrayal, our leader for this operation, we have lost much of who we are as a military force; our faith in one another, our identity based on the trust of our superiors, and ultimately our strength as well. How can we stand and fight when we do not even understand what we are as an entity anymore? When we cannot look up to those with experience and know; “these are the men who will see me through the day…” They are men we vowed to follow blindly, and blindly we stand here today.’

  ‘It’s been a long road for Lanston; we have always prided ourselves on being the guardians keeping the Fallen at bay, and what has been predicted to be our finest victory…’ Cid grimaced, ‘…now appears as our demise.’

  ‘I very nearly succumbed to what we all fear, the Fallen spell. And I very nearly come to destroy that which I love most. The betrayal parted onto me made me fearful and that fear tore me further from Lanston than any exile could. It puts you out of your mind this evil, and sets it on a place where that voice of reason does not reach.

  ‘By now you know that agents of the Fallen had been right here among us, and that we are truly here by their design.

  ‘It’s strange this evil, as it washes away at the memory of what we are, bereft of our truest self as the seeds of doubt are so carefully sown - even when grew up, raised on the stories of Lanston’s glory. That Lanston would never fail against the Fallen! We should not be here, this is not our land, not our way! Our fight is elsewhere, in places protected and sensible, where the soil is familiar and where promises of return are promises kept!

  ‘But I have been thinking, sooner or later, that it would always have come to this! Always we were destined, always we knew, pulled to this heartland of enemies by our very charge, that at some point or another we would come face to face with the greatest of Fallen in a deciding battle!

  ‘Its true, we are fewer in number and our position in this war is weak. We do not have those heroes in our army which have shattered the Fallen and protected our Kingdom today here with us - our brothers and our fathers. We do not have Bennam here to lead us like he has done for so many years… Those men who so warily returned home so that citizens may fearlessly utter, “they are invincible, our heroes will never fall!”

  ‘Yet we are men from Lanston! We are still the men who have taken up the gold armour and donned the tabard of green. We are still the men laid down with a charge a century old! To protect the Kingdom! To see our enemies lay to rest so that the darkest of days cannot descend upon our lands! Upon our people!

  ‘When we march, breaking into that Basin, we stand up to protect strength itself! That very strength of mind passing from generation to generation to stand in a world of tyrants that would enslave the wills of our sons and daughters! It has not changed! The Kingdom was breathed to life as the people struck out at the darkness, and it will survive fighting in the very same way it began! We Lanston, are strength for strength's sake, we are the rock where odds break!’

  ‘And that strength will live on if we return home, so that they can all say again, “they are invincible, our heroes will never fall, the golden wall cannot be broken!”

  ‘Remember now who you are Lanston! Recall your strength! You are the single entity that has stood against the Fallen for one-hundred years! When we reach the Basin an enemy will await us there like you have never seen before! Our trust, our discipline and our fortitude will be tested…’

  ‘Look now to each other, look to your Captains. Find the courage to watch over the man next to you, find the courage to fight for each other.’

  Cid could see the determination of his own voice tweaking the faces of the men, witnessing gloved fists strangling their grip on the weapons.

  ‘Take it upon yourself to find strength, and when you have none, look up to Brunick! Look up to the skies to see our Rangers! Lanston is not alone nor forgotten! Look up and you’ll see me leading the charge. Mindevhier will be at the heart of the battle!’

  Cid breathed, eyes scanning the faces before him.

  ‘Your trust is hard earned! As well it should be! So I will say this to you:

  My body will hit the ground! Sprawling and broken! Crushed under the Fallen! But I will not abandon you! I will lead you free of this terror, or I will find my final resting place here in Fafriv!’

  With that Brunick leapt on a butt of rock, brandishing and shaking his axe in the air. He stood as a Stoneskin unashamed, bare-chested and dressed only in cloth trousers; any armour he could don only there to hinder his movements.

  ‘Death is calling our names lads! Let us respond in kind!’ roared Brunick.

  A mad frenzy of cheers surged through the Lanston army. Chestplates were pounded and weapons raised, horses rearing. Cid held up Mindevhier as he and Drissil turned into the Basin. Drissil blew his horn loudly, the army pending north.

  They marched.

  Not long after Cid and Drissil were leading the cavalry up the western plateau to flank the Basin. He felt eerily reassured saying all that he had said to the army, his thoughts put to a calm as his words made the men brothers again. There was an edge to it though, as though his promise would linger in the canyon and he would have to answer all that was expected of him.

  Cid looked to his right to watch the marching infantry in the Basin below. Golden armour underneath the sun, green tabards over each heart, white Kingdom standards bearing the Red-Rocket Aloe flowing in a scant wind, the heavy wheels of ballistae toiling over the rocky surface.

  Fear was a cumbersome companion, making one slow in one’s movements, but the brave face brought forth by the unison of marching circumvented and contained that fear, keeping it at bay. In the end the show of it all was as much about inspiring your own as intimidating the enemy.

  Apart from the core infantry Cid’s plan saw to it that three segments boasting a mix of shield-bearers, melee specialists, archers and magi would stay mobile. They were to be the strike groups, dedicated to specific targets and otherwise to inflict as much damage as possible. Timing was crucial for these groups as they were small and vulnerable, and could be easily overpowered if utilized erroneously.

  Olexion’s men circled overhead continuously, the Volje’ eagle cries majestic, half reminding one of a life beyond this shell of warfare.

  Cid was pleased to see all the regiments of the army taking their place. He felt Mindevhier tingling in his hands, prodding him like some long forgotten part of his mind, as though the spear recognized those very feelings before a coming battle.

  Chapter 49

  Battle

 

  It was Elmira who boasted the best view; from the perch of Oldeloft she could see almost every detail of the Basin below, standing some 600 feet above it. The streams and rivulets of days past were of a fleeting kind as Alparack evidently swallowed the disturbance to enshrine itself with a desert-like appearance once more. The soil however was still fresh with moist and brought forth the rich red colour in the land, highlighting the contrast as every ridge and cropping of rock remained dull in oranges and browns.

  From the back of Oel Dannel Elmira marvelled at the giant Biridians when they made their way here, but such great statures were reduced to shy and sparse foliage here in the Basin, brittle and staying flat to the rocks as though seeking strength from it, hardly visible as specks of green or grey.

  When all was quiet she had heard Cid’s voice down in the narrows. She strained to discern his words and found she could not, and the few words that did reach her were not enough to follow. But it was not lost on her. She knew exact
ly what Cid was doing and felt the hair on her arms rise when Lanston cheered at the end of it.

  She first heard the rhythm of the steel march and then witnessed as the Lanston men came in rank and file, leaving the canyon narrows and entering the Basin. It was a unique sight, topping any military parade she had seen before in Lanston.

  She then saw the cavalry at the far west, detaching from the infantry and riding a separate trail onto the plateau. Elmira guessed that Cid would want the cavalry as close to the action as possible, but also at a position where they would be unlikely targets. Elmira recognized the roar of the Volje and smiled as she looked up to see Olexion and the Rangers coming into sight, circling the Basin premises.

  It was somewhat like watching a play, keeping an admiring gaze as familiar players entered, all the while searching for a her favourite character, wondering where he hides.

  Her slight anxiousness became fear when she noticed something at the north.

  The Basin at its northern point finished with a giant natural ramp leading over the otherwise abrupt cliff wall and into the lands ahead. On the northern plateau the landscape was dominated by cone shaped hillocks, jutting up next to each other like teeth.

  They blocked out the view of beyond and left only sparse pockets of flat terrain along the ridge facing the Basin. There was however a neck cutting through the hills like a path, intersecting with the ramp, and it was there, at the land’s maw, that the Fallen army amassed.

  Elmira had never before seen the fabled black armours, and now that she did she wished she could erase her memories like the Summoners. It was much like watching a nightmare unfold and even though Elmira was perfectly safe where she stood, the sheer sympathy she had for the Lanston soldiers twisted her stomach.

  Thousands of Fallen appeared at the top of the ramp; marching infantry in black enamelled steel-plated armour, emerging from the shelter of the hills. At first the approach seemed slow, but as they grew in number their advance hastened, bulging collectively to fill the high ground.

  Elmira was too far away to truly make out the skull helms, yet was glad for it. The mindless men chanted together in unison with a strange tongue of harsh sounds. In addition they slammed their weapons to their shields or breastplates, the cacophony of it all reverberating across the valley.

  In all Lanston suddenly seemed small and quiet.

  On the nature of the chant Elmira too was enlightened; the Dey’illumra spoke their command in Twilight tongue and like a ripple effect the drones would start repeating the words until the chorus became an order to even the farthest fallen.

  The Fallen however did not march far, choosing not to leave the safety of their position and Elmira could only speculate how many of them still waited beyond those hillocks.

  The bulk of the Lanston infantry in contrast marched determinedly and continued to do so right up to the centrefold of the Basin, lodging themselves snugly between the base of a plateau ridge, the one that seemed like a stage of rock, and an obstinate pool of water, the last and lonely remains of the great rains.

  They kept their backs to the stage as they took positions. Elmira then understood that any charging enemy would falter through the knee deep water in trying to get to Lanston and the ridge itself would prevent the Fallen from trying to circle them.

  Even without Cid telling her much about the army’s workings Elmira knew that Lanston specialized in infantry turtles, and was able to entrench and protect themselves until such a time that the advantage was theirs.

  Today they lined up with shields and spears all along the width of the pool, allowing the stage and waters to become a boundary. Spread like they were, the men fashioned ranks eight or nine shields deep, laced with lines of archers that could fire from protection. So that the formations could close the impressive ballistae were helped on as an increasing number of men pushed them into their final positions, arming the ranks with firepower.

  It was a good place to stand she reckoned, yet there was a danger that the Fallen numbers would crush the Lanston men against the stage, allowing no retreat or reformation of tactics.

  Elmira then followed the smaller strike forces going even further, each of which quickly proceeded to the top of three mesas in the Basin between the ramp and the pool, claiming those high grounds. The Basin was by no measure a uniform landscape, nature having carved the very elevations Lanston sought to capture and hold and use.

  Meanwhile the cavalry had come to a halt also on the western plateau, where they stood parallel with the core infantry, yet far detached from the Fallen’s warpath. Elmira was almost sure Cid would be with them and it was searching through the cavalry ranks that Elmira spotted Vanapha, the Valkyrie.

  It was quite a distance off, yet where she stood it would have been hard to miss her. At the east flank of the Lanston core infantry was a lone pinnacle of rock, a rare natural pedestal, reaching defiantly into the air from its flat surroundings like a tower, a 120 feet tall.

  Perched at its top stood the Valkyrie in her maroon armour, upright and assured as she viewed the battlefield. Elmira could not even imagine how the Valkyrie had scaled the pinnacle of rock so fast, or how she had done it at all.

  A trickle of movement caught Elmira’s eye to the north. The Fallen were mobilizing, their position enforced as a giant crescent around the northern rim of the ramp. Among the hillocks Elmira saw devices of wood being rolled in to the fore, positioned in those pockets of flat terrain at the cliff edge.

  Catapults.

  She had seen some of these siege engines on Lanston’s city wall before, but even at this distance she knew the Fallen’s were bigger. There were six of them, spread from one another in perfect intervals every 20 yards, or so it seemed by Elmira's best guess. At the side of each were two or three mounted men on horses, standing among the device's engineers. Studying them Elmira saw they donned robes of black, purple or red.

  She then knew that for the first time in her life she was looking at Shadow Priests, the architects of untold tragedy and the reason they were all here. Elmira wondered what kind of man it took to willingly participate in the destruction of innocence and so delightfully twist the brave beyond recognition. She had a special hate for them for how close they had come to taken Cid away from her.

  All came to rest then, a calm that could only predict the doom of men. A slow wind came down the peak of Hashur, picking up the fine red dust of the mountain as it surfed down. Elmira felt the grains on her ankles before they were swept clean from Oldeloft, spraying endlessly onto the battlefield.

  Unaware of it Elmira hugged herself, her gaze flickering between Lanston and the Fallen, trying her best to see an outcome where Lanston would be victorious.

  From the north a lone horn sounded, Elmira listening to the call the Fallen favoured. They might’ve been mindless, but the theatrics of war were clearly not lost upon them. It sounded once more in lonesome fashion, and then on its third ring, a dozen or more horns joined in.

  Elmira shuddered as this black beast of men found its roar, laying down its challenge for Lanston. From Lanston’s part the Captains of the core infantry, the strike groups, and the cavalry all sounded their battle horns as well. The Lanston call was prideful, but halfway through it was drowned in the noise of the Fallen.

  Elmira could not gauge where the Fallen’s chain of command came from, but she realized there was no doubt or ambiguity among them as the first regiment of Fallen infantry set forth, marching in box formation down the ramp, each of them visibly carrying a wide shield on the left arm. As they descended a new regiment of Fallen appeared at the top of the ramp, waiting.

  Tight, clustered and shielded, the approaching regiment was the arrow fodder, an effort to waste Lanston’s supplies Elmira knew, as those nights she spent humouring Cid’s long talks of war usually stuck with her. The Fallen would not care losing men; they merely did what they deemed necessary to crush Lanston.

  It struck her then that the men coming down that ramp were once pa
rt of normal families, some of them from Lanston. The Fallen was sending once innocent men to fight those they’d call brothers. The notion appalled her, trying to heed the famous military mantra:

  “they are beyond redemption… death is a mercy…”

  For the first time she truly understood why Lanston needed that mind-set, why it was crucial, but she herself could never believe in it. She had seen Cid fall to their magic, driven to the edge of darkness. But then she saved him, Cid was redeemed, given a second chance away from just a mercy death.

  Elmira ended the train of thought as the Fallen cleared the ramp and she tried to estimate. The approaching regiment appeared as much as a 1000 men when she compared them to the core of the Lanston infantry, which she knew was just more than 2000 men from last night’s talks.

  For one last time Elmira considered going back in and wait the thing out anxiously in the house. She did not want to see death, except that she strangely felt that Lanston needed a witness, someone to note their bravery.

  It was the strike groups that first found their reach. From three different mesas they commenced fire, stinging the Fallen with arrows and picking off the numbers as the marching men left behind a trail of bodies.

  Undistracted the Fallen thousand rambled towards the infantry core. It disturbed Elmira how the enemy soldiers would downright sacrifice men to test their footing and waste Lanston supplies. The infantry core remained remarkably patient, allowing the Fallen to come within range of 80 yards.

  Then, primed, the archers from the core infantry unleashed waves of arrows, separate lines of men firing a volley every six or seven seconds. The intervals of arrows ate away at the Fallen ranks, hitting them hard despite their shields and armour. The Fallen march kept its shape even though losing many dozens, closing in on the core with more speed with each man they lost.

  Lanston was determined to avoid contact for as long as possible and the core infantry rolled forward and angled one of their ballistae. The engineer took aim, urging his men into motion as they toiled to get the perfect shot, rotating the headpiece on its foundation.

  Just like a giant crossbow the ballista released a bolt, with a snap of coil and lurch of mechanics. The bolt, longer than a man, lunged from the device. Elmira saw the wooden shaft flying at the Fallen with demonic speed.