On the Fallen’s side the Priests were now in prime range. Still protected by hordes of men and their magic, the Priests casted their fire, the flares of purple less imposing than those of the catapults, but often slipping through the far-stretched defences of the Sekhaimogists. The Rangers did their best to protect the core, flying in with barriers of their own to intercept the comets of flame, scrumming through the heat and smoke before they could land among Lanston.
Elmira looked at the aimless cavalry and strike forces, powerless in any case. She’d never thought she would see it, see Cid stumped like this, without a plan and without choice. He sure looked it now, his cavalry regiment trotting in indecisive circles.
But then she knew he’d try something, even if it just was tackling the enemy from behind. Moments later he circled his spear in the air. His voice became loud and shouting, commanding both his cavalry and strike forces.
There was an exodus of movement, Elmira watching the final decisive moments of the battle. Everyone was taking their places for the showdown.
Minutes passed, the next more wretched than the last, and then finally the uproar came from Lanston.
She held a hopeful breath of air as she saw Lanston breaking the enemy, and then she downright smiled knowing Cid would come through alive.
Chapter 49
The Charge
Cid was still reeling from being pulled from his horse and his fight with iDartés. There would be much time afterwards to ponder the pain though, or maybe, no time at all. He felt the pressure of thousands of men’s lives weighing on him, tormenting his already muddled thoughts into doing something.
The Fallen he knew, would eventually use their numbers to press the Lanston force into a corner, and prevent any kind of intervention by using their vanguard to entrench with crossbows and spears, very much a porcupine formation that protects the back.
He had anticipated this very situation and explained his only possible counter measure to the Captains in the pavilion. Only this time they looked at Cid as if he was mad, and Drissil, if not wanting to save Cid’s face, would have called Cid a lunatic by then. He had assured the men that it would not likely come to this. That he was merely planning for the worst.
Now…
He gave the order, knowing that delaying the decision only made it less likely to succeed. The strike forces had the easy bit. They simply abandoned their mesas, lined up as a turtle as close as possible to the backside of the black circle and kept them preoccupied with some light volleys of arrows.
It would come down to the cavalry. Cid ushered his horse forward, Drissil all the while at his side. To those looking for salvation the cavalry finally set out, becoming a long line of horses again. They rode clear of the battlefield, circling to the south and wheeling to mount the plateau that led down to the stage that stood at the core infantry’s rear. From the infantry’s perspective it might’ve seemed that the cavalry was fleeing then.
The uphill ride took longer than Cid anticipated and with every passing hoof beat he could only hope that the infantry held fast, biting down on his own teeth as he pictured the foremost shields in a tight line. A mere fracture would mean defeat, now more than ever.
‘Stand fast! Hold!’ he heard the drowning shouts of his Captains in the core, knowing that the strength needed to keep the Fallen at bay was growing thin.
The cavalry reached their designated point and turned, Cid becoming motionless as he waited for his men to line up straight behind him. He glanced at Drissil, who gave him a nod. With a cry Cid lifted the spear overhead and started the charge, each pound of hoof beats setting in motion another. They came bearing down the slope in a slick line, their path straight towards the back of the core infantry. Cid’s men blew their horns, the tone and pattern alerting all of Lanston of what was happening. Cid took a quick glance to the Rangers above, hoping they were ready as well.
Up ahead the edge waited, a 12 foot drop right where the most central of the core infantry stood with their backs against the rock. Whatever happened now, Lanston would be together, just like he promised his men; he would die or triumph amongst them.
For experienced cattle ranchers bovine animals were easy enough to stir into a herd-frenzy great enough to launch them blindly off a cliff edge. Horses were different, being more sensible and more individuated animals. The war steeds were trained together though, conditioned to follow wherever the leading charger might dare. Cid and Drissil braced their horses, Cilverhoof and Tyldoa, for the leap. It was up to these two steeds.
‘Come on, come on,’ Cid whispered at Cilverhoof, riding low on the animal’s neck now, keeping it in check with his thighs tight around the back.
They were so close now. From their slightly elevated position they witnessed in mid-ride as the core held up bravely against an overpowering Fallen host, the encounter an increasingly desperate grind of flesh and steel.
The sun was setting now, its diminishing light bringing out the fiercest colours of the landscape. On the inside of Cid’s visor it created a golden sheen, so transfixing the Lanston men themselves seem to glow. Leading the way was the spear and there was not a second that past in which Cid could not feel the strength and the dream of Lanston resting in his arm.
Two dozen paces to go and Cid and Drissil urged their horses into a full sprint, detaching themselves somewhat from the rest. The last of the Lanston horns were sounded, the last signal given.
Primed, the ballistae were fired, their great bows aimed to launch bolts in a scissor pattern. Viciously the Fallen were torn apart again, a gaping hole created by the missiles. The Rangers came down together in one fell swoop, gliding dangerously low as they delivered the second punch to keep the enemy staggered. With some time to breathe the Sekhaimogists hiding all around focused every shred of their magic to dismantle the barriers protecting the Priests in the black heart. From Sedger’s Volj Vanapha fired her last Trisera arrow in accordance, a straight shot at the Dey’illumra. Despite their efforts the arrow struck among them, the swelling flames eliciting terrible dying screams from bodies who could still recognize pain.
There was an uproar in the Lanston ranks, the command sounded. They then did what they needed to do, risking it all as they broke their own ranks, surging to the sides, parting right down the middle to create yawing aisle. The last few paces loomed and Cid gripped Cilverhoof hard, aware of the horse’s ever so slightly twitches that indicated it wanted to veer off course. Cid kept him straight and true, Drissil doing much of the same.
The two Colonels became airborne, their horses clearing the edge with giant bounds. Cid could almost feel the Lanston men parting beneath them just in time, having been sure of it that he might strike some of his own men.
They fell, pitching forward, Cid raising himself from the saddle standing in the stirrups to spare both man and steed a dreaded impact - it would all feel like a mistake until the very last moment.
Cid’s heart resumed beating as his horse found its hooves, miraculously still charging, himself settling back into the saddle, and then felt the blood in his veins thundering as he heard all of his men right behind him, his spear steadying, Mindevhier leading the way.
The path was clear, the enemy staggering and leaderless, and the line of cavalry came like a raging river, cascading over the edge and struck the Fallen force in its face. The cavalry surged in deep, branching, the enemy circle collapsing, crippling them past recovery. Those very Fallen who had entrenched themselves at the rear, hunched down with their backs turned on the cavalry, were oblivious until trampled under the mighty charge.
With the enemy defence all but broken Lanston men paraded in from all sides. The core infantry took the front foot as they charged into the cavities, getting their chance finally, bludgeoning the Fallen while the strike forces did much of the same from the other side.
Cid rode and fought, Drissil at right, with his sword flashing from horseback, the wanton fury of it all drowning out rational thoughts now.
From all the contact Cilverhoof had a head wound, but Cid knew he had to stay mobile until the end. It was almost over now. The men were giving it their all, fighting as hard as they could to finish before more lives were lost. He broke clear, flying through the enemies, his spear striking here and there.
Cid felt a gush of wind as one of the Rangers ripped through the Fallen just left of him and then pulling gloriously out of the dive again. Cilverhoof cantered and cantered to the far side, the resistance of enemies suddenly scant, the battle simply thinning and fading, the shouts and clash of steel growing weaker, the chorus of it all becoming solitary outcries.
The clout and rage of battle lifted itself from Cid’s mind, his vision growing wider, removing his helm, and he saw it - he saw Lanston victorious, the black armours smote. They had won through. All was safe.
He dismounted wearily, patting his horse on the cheek, the animal’s breath rattling in exhaustion. The battlefield was theirs, but there were always those still crawling, and those who would die in the next few moments so helplessly.
May death be swift…
Parvel signalled at Olexion and the First-Ranger looked down to the trail where he was pointing. Their Volje glided, circling Hashur, and as Olexion caught up to where Parvel was a second ago, he saw; Stelinger and his men were fleeing the valley. He knew it was them, not because he could identify Stelinger at this distance, but the parade of horses and the robed figure of a shadow Priest riding with him left him with no other assumption.
It happened fast, the riders taking another trail, one that went north from the shoulder from the mountain. It was rarely ever used, for it went straight through Jacanta and Nimroth’s gate, a natural foothold of the Fallen that guarded the Ghost Pass or the abandoned roads stretching to the Fallen strongholds. Before Olexion could call Parvel back, the young Ranger sped off in pursuit. Olexion cursed. If they were going to strike at Stelinger it needed to be a co-ordinated effort.
The battle might still have had loose ends then, but Olexion could not let Parvel pursue them on his own. He urged Oel Dannel on, trying to catch up. Parvel's Volj came plummeting through the air with unparalleled speed, wings folded, gaining on the horses at an alarming rate.
The riders were already cantering across the Jacanta flats where the defeated Fallen army had camped so massively only hours before. Olexion and Parvel would take them here, out in the open, where the Volje could do their worst. It had to happen now, before the riders could take a trail where Volje would not be able to follow so closely.
Soon the Volje were coming in low, closing in.
After a few glances over his shoulder Stelinger shouted at his mage, who started preparing a spell of fire in mid-ride - no mean feat to be sure. Olexion knew it was pointless, for a lone Priest’s magic would merely fold on the Rangers’ barriers.
Against all expectations Stelinger turned and wheeled his horse with great skill, charging in right underneath Parvel and reared the animal high. Parvel was diving so low he passed just over Stelinger, the claws missing their target, the path of horse and Volj not yet colliding.
Stelinger’s sword came up flashing, not near enough to injure, just like the talons which missed him in turn, but slicing the air underneath the speeding Volj in a very deliberate act. It was never in vain, Parvel’s exposed barrier bursting into a thousand scattering Calophrites by Stelinger's sword, the fragments of silvery light dying away after an instant of escape.
Parvel sped on unprotected, pulling out of the dive.
Olexion knew in horror what was coming next; the dread confirmed as the waiting Priest aimed his staff.
A great surge of violet flames erupted, burning vividly through the air and meeting Parvel head on. Both Ranger and Volj were swallowed in flame and smoke, crashing in a torment of cries. Olexion felt himself shout something senseless in the noise as Stelinger circled back, he and his entourage speeding away desperately to get into the Ghost Pass.
Olexion turned back. He could no longer pursue, he could not risk it. He landed near Parvel’s wreck. Even from afar he knew the Ranger and the Volj were nothing more than incinerated remains.
Olexion looked painfully at Parvel’s blackened face sticking out from underneath the beast’s frame. He felt nothing but blind hatred for this man Stelinger. He knew though he could chase the man to the ends of the earth and still lose against him. Helplessness was not something Olexion suffered easily and it was definitely not something he was used to.
Warily Olexion mounted with his Volj again, Oel Dannel giving a sad low cry at seeing his kin’s demise. They took to the air again to return to the battlefield.
Stelinger’s arrogant grin as Parvel hit the ground kept coming up, and it set the Ranger's blood boiling.
Chapter 50
Durandal Waiting
The battle reached its inevitable climax; routing the remainder, laying to rest the wounded, and saving those Lanston men who could still be saved.
There was nothing pretty about it. The cavalry scattered all around the Basin to cut down fleeing Fallen. Those foot soldiers of Lanston who could bear on were wandering around, bestowing death and mercy on the wounded Fallen or helping a brother. Magi and surgeons were everywhere, tents quickly erected for emergency surgery, and yet still they could not attend all the wounded at once. It was a place of anguish, the cries of men dampening the euphoria Lanston had shown moments before. The soil and rock of the Basin were bloodied, arms and war craft scattered along their dead owners all made for a grim painting from Olexion's vantage.
Uncertainly he circled the Basin, not sure on how to approach Cid yet and wondering what he himself would do when all was said and done. This is a no man’s land, a place good for nothing but war and greed. Yet today it was not just survived by Cid, outlasting odds and enemies, but the man conquered it compellingly.
His reward; the loss of his beloved…
Whatever happened here was of little consequence for the nobility of Lanston. Cid could return a war hero, and yet if the right persons did not speak up, no court was going void the arrangement between Elmira and Fredrere. It left Olexion thinking; he still had the very real fear of the King's safety. Too many men have made noises regarding the matter in the last few months. What Olexion needed from all of this was Cid on his side. He was considering his options. If he could offer the soon to be Commander of Lanston the right incentive...
In his heart Olexion was most fond of Yarea, above all other Summoners. He could see himself going after, but he was ruled by higher duty. He had to return to the Sovereignty. And he would need help.
Satisfied that the battle had played out its last grim moments, Olexion quickly stopped by Oldeloft, letting Elmira get up behind him so that he could take her safely down to Cid and the others.
What he witnessed here today however made Cid more valuable than any mighty Summoner, regardless of how much resistance he would encounter if he said something like that out loud.
He dived with the Volj, finding Cid and Drissil walking slowly with their weary horses among a plethora of men both standing and laid down.
Olexion landed, catching the attention of all nearby.
Elmira smothered Cid in a hug the moment she dismounted, almost bringing down the man who was as bone weary as he had ever been.
‘You watched all of it didn't you?’ he said.
‘I'm just glad your okay. I never want to see anything like that again anyhow.’
Over her shoulder Cid directed a tired smile at Olexion.
‘I'm very sorry about Parvel, I've been told...’ said Cid
‘As am I. Many men paid a price today Colonel. I'm afraid our struggle is not over. Walk with me if you will. There is something you and I must discuss.’
Feeling some foreboding Cid left Elmira in the care of the others, and he and Olexion alone went on to discuss the future of the Kingdom.
***
Cid called them all to the tent where they had
done their war planning. The party shuffled in wearily, worried that there was some new crisis.
‘Enemies on the horizon?’ asked Alex.
Cid, sitting in the middle of room, smiled reassuringly. ‘Only very far away.’
‘Where did you get the chessboard? Don't tell me your thinking of playing now?’ asked Brunick
Cid shook his head. ‘Olexion retrieved it for me from Oldeloft.’
‘So what's this Cid?’ asked Elmira, as everyone gathered around.
‘That night that I proposed to you love, I met with Commander Bennam. He was trying to tell me... well many things, not all of which I understood or even took notice off. All this time I have been thinking, since we learned the level to which he gone to inform us; did he leave one last message in that room that only I would understand? We know he was being watched, so he couldn't say it directly.’
‘So what is it?’ asked Elmira.
Cid held up his hand, ‘you will have to give me some patience. I would need to replicate what we did that night - on the board I mean, I can't help but feel Bennam was trying to point out something on it.’
Drissil chuckled. ‘You cannot mean to tell you can remember a game you played two months ago.’
‘You clearly don't know Cid,’ said Brunick.
‘I'm going to try at any rate. If go through the motions, I should be able to remember how the board ended up, more or less at least.’
‘Good luck, we're rooting for you on this one,’ quipped Alex.
The corner of Cid's mouth curled up in a smile.
The others went quiet, and suddenly Cid was back there in the room with Bennam, playing for his part, playing against himself, making the moves as though he and Bennam were playing their game again. The exact same one. For awhile he was oblivious to those around him, hearing the fire of the hearth of that night, tasting the glass of wine, and Bennam staring intently at the board just across him. The others stood and watched in awe as Cid went about making move after move. They had no idea whether he was successful, but he looked very much like he knew what he was doing.
Remnant Pages Spearhead Page 42