by Sean Clark
“Kiaren… sister.” H4e wavered and approached her. Kiaren locked eyes with him as he cupped her hands. “What has happened here?”
“We were attacked.” Kiaren declared coldly. She stealthily pulled her hands away as the remaining men came to a stop behind Terren’s horse. “It was a surprise to everyone, very early this morning. We had our pants down and backs turned.”
“Just as his Highness guessed.” Terren spat. “When I met with the Emperor early this morning, he warned us of the possibility. It just happened… so quickly.” The sub-commander said as he looked around the destruction and the survivors scattered around. “How is this possible?”
“It is something I would wish to speak with you in private about.” Kiaren uttered quietly.
“Is there really time for that, Kiaren?” Terren rebutted indignantly. “If Xiandol was able to organize such an attack without us being able to see it coming, it speaks to how soft we’ve become.”
Kiaren grabbed Terren by the front of his cloak and pulled him in close. “This was no ordinary attack,” She whispered menacingly. “The men say it was demons. Have those who came with you stand guard. We have to discuss the possibility of certain situations.”
The commander released him and Terren stood back up tall. “Very well then.” He hummed, defeated. “If anything, I should make you aware that more men should be coming to bolster our forces in the coming days.” His eyes scanned the camp and the groups of people strewn about outside. “Zethurus, I would have expected to see him with you. I must hope he did not perish in the attack.”
Kiaren looked around the area, realizing she had not seen the man either. “Mr. Shiloh.” She called out loudly to her bodyguard. “Where is the mage?”
Chapter Eight: Separate Ways
The mountainside ached with a piercing cold. The moon had just begun to peek over the horizon behind, and the final moments of dusk were beginning to fall. The three soldiers marched in single file, their feet crunching the ice coating the hard stone and frozen dirt of the pass.
“Ugh, what I wouldn’t give for a nice hunk of meat beside a warm hearth right now.” Scarborough remarked. “Though… after today, I’m surprised I can still move at such an hour.” He shook his head and stretched his hands out in front of him. “I can’t say that it’s just my imagination… but I haven’t felt a single ounce of fatigue.”
“Now that you bring it up…” Kensley said with a nod as he led the group. “You’re right. We haven’t eaten all day, carrying around these sets of armor, these weapons.”
“You think it’s an effect of the enchantment?” Scarborough asked. “Or possibly it could be the adrenaline… the rush from spilling blood?” His proud grin was hidden by the helmet.
“We’ll have to see when it all catches up to us when we return home and are able to disrobe.” Kensley hummed. He glanced back at Bently, who remained in between the two of them. “You’ve been quiet, Ben. Is all the action finally hitting you?”
Bently marched in stride quietly with his right hand resting atop the pommel of the sword that hung at his side. “Are you content with your decision?” He answered gruffly. “Returning home, one man down?”
Kensley slowed to a stop mid-step. Scarborough looked up just in time to follow suit. The sound of crunching ice ceased, and the whistle of the wind took over. “The captain gave us an order. That was to head home and make the report like he told us.” Kensley explained slowly.
“You are willing to be so obedient now?” Bently challenged. “Do you really think Mandabus was in his right mind?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Scarborough spoke up. “Apart from being riled up by the mage.”
“Nothing stood out as strange to you?” Bently continued. “When he was lying there, and you looked into those cold eyes, and felt for his breath, and knocked at the armor, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?”
Kensley sighed a long sigh and peered up at the stars that had just begun to show themselves in the sky. “Is it really the right time for this?” He urged. “If the cloud cover rolls in again, we won’t have any light to navigate by.”
“Did you not smell the odor of death on him?” Bently butted in again, louder. “Like on the battlefield after a week-long siege? When the bodies start to become more maggot then flesh? When the rats finally depart the grains and head towards the more enticing sources of nourishment?”
Scarborough shifted uneasily in the hard dirt.
Kensley shoved his face Bently’s way. “What about it?!” He sneered.
“Scar, what you described today… with that mage.” Bently asked slowly. “You said you saw… felt… some sort of dark magic.”
“I don’t know what I saw.” Scarborough admitted with a shrug. “I am not versed in magic. Besides, that mage fled just as you showed up, didn’t have time to think about it.”
Kensley flexed and stretched and his armor creaked around his limbs. “You think that mage was wielding some sort of unholy magic? If such a thing existed, it would have reared its head long ago. The Order would have stomped it out- that is the sort of task I would imagine them adoring.”
“It would explain why the spell was able to penetrate his armor…” Scarborough noted.
“What you’re describing is…” Kensley pondered aloud. “Let’s say it was dark magic. What could it do to a person inside of a suit of armor like this? Mandabus was walking and talking just as usual.”
Bently tapped his foot loudly while he continued to scan the darkening pass. “You saw for yourself something was off. He attacked you.”
“He… was disoriented.” Kensley grunted loudly and looked up at the moon that had begun to creep slowly into the sky. Overhead, the wind had begun to pull clouds from the east over Tulefore towards them. “You know there’s no turning back.” The lieutenant muttered through clenched teeth. “There would be no way to track him, especially with how much leeway we’ve offered. Besides, the original orders trump the captain’s.”
Bently begun to clang the hard leather scabbard against his thigh restlessly.
Scarborough cleared his throat. “Ben, you know that we went to find the remnant. There were no signs of it.”
“No.” Bently said in agreement. Impatiently, he pushed ahead past Kensley. “You’re right. The general will want this information. Who knows when Tulefore will make their own move- especially after today.”
Far far away, Mandabus marched quietly through the underbrush. The dark road continued eastward, headed in the direction of the rising half moon. It hugged the rough and rugged countryside. Just before the sun had set, Mandabus had found fresh prints of horse shoes made in the soft earth. The wind whistled around him, but he could no longer feel the cold.
Chapter Nine: Zethurus
The cold gray morning had settled over the forest. Zethurus’ meditation had taken him through the frigid, pitch black night inside the timbers. A tingling up his shoulders and neck alerted him to some life force in range of his shelter incantation that cloaked him from outside contact. His eyes shot open in time to hear the rusting of dead leaves on the ground a few feet behind him.
A lone skunk slinked by through the muddled vegetation, bringing with it a faint trail of pungent odor. The black-and-white striped animal quickly disappeared out of sight on way to return to its burrow for the daylight hours. Zethurus exhaled a long breath of relief. He slid down off the stump he had been resting on for the night. His legs had become stiff and the part of his cloak he had been resting upon carried a spot dirtied by the dead wood and moss.
The horse nearby nibbled on yellowed vegetation quietly. With one of its hind legs lifted off the ground, it gently poked its head around to scan for any premature green shoots budding up from under the dead leaves. The mage scanned the area, looking for any other signs of life. With a wave of his hand, he dispelled the incantation. The cold air caught in his lungs and sucked the warmth from inside his body.
With a few steps forward, he
placed his hands on the horse’s neck and bunched up parts of its mane between his fingers. “Alright, you damn animal. Just a bit farther, and we should be free from this mess.” He said, tugging roughly at the thick hairs. The horse flinched slightly and shifted away.
The wound on his arm still wept blood into the tightly-wound strip of cloth he had ripped from his cloak. None of the magic he had attempted to use on it had been able to heal the damage. With dirty fingernails, Zethurus scratched at the purple bruised skin around the gash. The horse fussed as he mounted its back, but tolerated his movements as he picked up the reins.
The dirt road was muddy but bare of any recent imprints of horseshoes or men’s boots. Zethurus urged the horse onward out of the wooded area and out the several meters towards the road. Each pace was uneven and rough as the animal struggled to maintain its stride on one limping foot. The mage continued to dig his heels into its sides. The cold breeze caught his face as they entered the clearing of the path, and he pulled up the fur lining of the cloak.
The road headed off hopefully to the coast. The mage had lost his way, dazed from the wound that had befallen him the day before, and the concurrent blood loss. After the horse then had stumbled over a dip in the road and injured its leg, he had been forced to stop and pause to wait out the night.
Zethurus urged the horse on with withering patience for some time. The early morning fog drifted around lazily, and the sun gave no signs of wanting to appear. Far in the distance, a rumbling could be heard, only faintly at first. The mage slowed the horse to a stand-still, carefully listening.
The sound of pounding horseshoes grew closer. He attempted to guide the horse off the road, but the animal had long decided to disregard any of his rough directions. Zethurus grit his teeth and concentrated to send magical energy outward towards his uninjured arm, readying himself for an attack. As the sound grew and the people came closer, he could feel the power prickling in his fingertips. Finally, the first of the group came into view.
Hesitantly, upon catching a glimpse of the tan and green cloaks of the Tuleforian soldiers, he let down his guard. The men on horses approached him and skid to a halt. He found himself surrounded. His horse snorted and pawed the ground nervously.
“Identify yourself!” One of the soldiers called out.
“I recognize him, sir.” Another announced. “A mage I’ve seen about the city before.”
One of the soldiers- a man more heavily dressed with shining armor pieces, paced around Zethurus on his horse. “Why are you out here on your own? There was word from the capital by messenger that there is possibly a fresh conflict brewing against Xiandol.”
Zethurus glanced back nervously at the road heading back to the mountain. “I had no choice but to leave.” He hesitated, avoiding eye contact with any of the men. “We were attacked.”
“Then…” The officer accused, “You should be there supporting the troops, offering your healing, and whatever else you do.”
“It was impossible.” Zethurus rebutted. “They attacked in the dead of night, a small group of men- strong, unstoppable. There was little I could have done.”
The officer trotted his horse around, examining the mage from every angle. “Is that so?” He said, incredulously. “Just a few men, defeating the forces we had stationed there?”
“They wielded strange equipment, enchanted with magic. I faltered in an attempt to fight back,” Zethurus trembled, “in fear that I may break the treaty.”
“To hell with the treaty!” Another of the soldiers shouted. “You deserted the settlement! Are you satisfied at watching our brothers die!?”
“Silence! The officer interjected loudly, causing the horses to jostle. “Hardly do we arrive back home from overseas when we are pulled back into service of the Empire. And yet you allow yourself to flee like a… coward.”
Zethurus pursed his lips. He looked around at the men scowling at him. “Would you rather have me throw my life away?”
“Your commander…” The officer asked. “…I must hope that she did not fall in the attack?”
“She was not present at the time.” The mage answered quickly.
“Why not?”
“I am not one to question her actions or whereabouts.” Zethurus explained curtly.
“I swear, all of you magi have become useless.” The officer spat. “If nothing else, we shall bring you along so that you may have the chance to atone.”
Zethurus grabbed the reins of the horse and lifted them in the air, to no reaction of the animal. “I am going nowhere with this lame horse of mine.”
The officer scanned the crowd of other soldiers and finally pointed to one that caught his eye. “Leave it.” He gestured back to the horse. “We can afford one more traveler. Hop on over there.”
Zethurus grumbled and slid down off his animal, pulling off the saddle and reins. He quickly tossed them to the side and slapped the horse’s haunch to cause it to stumble off. One of the other soldiers nodded to him to jump on his own mount.
“We must waste no more time.” The officer ordered as he trotted to the front of the pack. “If what this mage has said is true, we will have a fight on our hands.” With a loud cry, his horse reared up for a moment before taking off in a gallop. Zethurus had just enough time to grasp onto the man riding with him before it started moving.
Out of the corner of his eye, Zethurus spotted what looked like a dark figure deep in the trees, but before he could get a second glance, the horse had taken him out of view.
Chapter Ten: The Welcome Home
The barely warm rays of sunlight had soaked up the morning fog and pushed the day towards noon. The rocky expanse and yellow grass of the Xiandolan plains greeted the group long in the distance. The sparse trees had long since thinned out, and the rocky outcroppings of the mountain had shifted around to the other side of them.
Kensley led the group with a silent stride. His face mask poured out bursts of white fog with each steady breath. Around his eye slits, he could see the ice crystals form as condensation collected and froze on the cold metal exterior of the armor. Inside the suit, he could feel no more than the slight warmth from the sun on his back.
The watchtowers of the settlement stared down at them from atop the rocky hillside. “Up this way.” Bently alerted them with a hoarse voice, the first words exchanged in some hours. “Some old goat path.” He gestured up the hillside, where the thin grass and moss had been worn down in a thin wavering strip of dark dirt.
Kensley nodded in agreement and changed course. The armor plates clinked as he leaned into the slope to steady himself. As they moved single-file up the rocky ground, Kensley scanned the defensive structures that began to come into view. Up above in one of the towers, an exhausted looking guard, huddled in a thick layer of yak fur and leather, lazily peered out towards the horizon.
“You, look alive!” Kensley’s voice boomed, shaking the watchman alert. “Call for the general, immediately!”
The man stood up tall and nodded with exaggerated movements. With a quick turn, he spun around and grabbed at a cord dangling from a dull brass bell hanging inside of the watchtower. He pulled at the string with three slow, deliberate tugs that rung out in a low metallic tone that echoed over the camp.
Bently grabbed at Scarborough’s hand to pull him up the final step up to the road near the side gate. The dark mud leading up to it had been purged of most tracks and footprints by the rain that had come two nights prior. The wooden gate opened to welcome them. On the opposite side, two of the general’s personal guards stood. They shivered slightly in the light decorative armor as they offered salutes to the group of three. “General Edrian has been awaiting you, he would wish to see you immediately.” One guard rattled off.
“No doubt.” Kensley sneered just out of earshot of the guards. “Let us go and see him, then.” He relented.
Kensley and the others followed closely behind the guards up to the General’s quarters; a heavy hexagonal tent built atop a tall o
utcropping of granite. Scarborough peered down at his feet as he climbed the creaking wooden treads up to the structure. The clunky metal boots had become caked with mud and bits of dried, stringy vegetation.
The opening in the top of the structure extruded a dainty plume of white smoke. The guards parted ways at the entrance and took places on either side. Kensley pushed aside the heavy fur blocking the doorway and stepped inside with the others in tow.
“Mandabus, what news do you bring?” The general announced as they entered. He stood facing away astutely. Kensley could see the man’s thick black sideburns from behind. Bently cleared his throat loudly.
The general started to turn around, and Kensley gingerly removed his helmet. His hair drooped out from the metal enclosure, and he could feel the slightly warm, humid air inside of the tent.
“Where is your captain, Kensley?” Edrian asked as he finally made eye contact. His dark eyes glistened in the light of the fire pit crackling away in the middle of the room. Kensley took a knee and placed the helmet on his thigh.
“He perished in the attack.” Kensley admitted unabashedly.
Edrian grimaced and grit his teeth. “You are a man of honor, Kensley.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant nodded in response.
“Then…” The general growled. “…how can you tell me these lies?”
“He is telling the truth, Sir.” Bently interjected. Kensley glared back at him and returned to his feet.
“Chin!” The general yelled. From one of the dark corners, a man in a dark robe stood up from a pile of furs. Tiny puffs of purple smoke winded out of his nostrils, and more wafted from the bowl of his pipe. “You understand the situation Kensley is suggesting, no?”
The man ran his bony fingers and long fingernails through his thin, dark hair. “Yes, yes, interesting.” The mage hummed.
“Tell me, mage.” The general continued. “Armed with the tools- the enchanted armor, the weapons- is there a chance that one of them could have fallen in battle?”