Of Armor And Bone

by Sean Clark

  The mage hobbled forward and cracked his back with a loud pop. He sucked on his pipe and approached Kensley. “Give me that.” He said ungraciously and grabbed for the helmet. The lieutenant recoiled from the smoke that was ejected from the man’s mouth, and the helmet was snatched out of his hands.

  Chin held the cold metal up to his forehead and closed his eyes. He sucked in a long breath and ejected more smoke out of his nostrils. “The enchantment is still active, at least here.” He said and slowly, opening his eyes. As he returned the piece of armor to Kensley, bits of ash dropped out of the pipe wedged between his fingers. “No normal attack could have done any one of these men any harm.”

  “I saw the man… the mage who attacked the captain.” Scarborough butted in. “It appeared as if it were some sort of… dark magic.”

  Scarborough was met with blank stares. Bently quickly turned to him and yanked the short sword from Scarborough’s sheath. “Scar had an altercation with the Tuleforian mage… the man who slain the captain.” He explained, offering up the weapon to Chin. “Tell me if you sense it here.”

  The mage took the weapon tentatively and examined it. Before he closed his eyes, he brought it up near his face and peered down the blade. The man scowled and marched towards the general. “There is something not right here.” He said, presenting the weapon for the general to take.

  Edrian pursed his lips and turned the shiny metal towards the light. “Rust?”

  “Unless the armaments supplied to these men have taken on quirks, I must conclude there was some strange force that came into contact with this weapon.” Chin surmounted. He snatched the blade back by the flat edge and shoved the handle towards Kensley.

  The pattern of the damascus steel had been traced with veins of red-orange oxidation having eaten away at the alloy. The general grumbled and tapped his foot. “How, then?”

  “It is not something I could have foreseen occurring.” Chin uttered mysteriously. “I must turn to my books to study what might have went wrong.”

  Edrian grunted and turned away to prod at the dying fire. “Do what you must. What of the body, Kensley?”

  Kensley shifted back and forth. He looked down at the dull shine of the helmet and searched for the best words he could come up with. “There would have been no way for us to retrieve it and return home in a timely manner. There is no risk of the enemy coming across it, though, I assure you.”

  “Very well.” The general grumbled in hesitant accord. “Considering the nature of this mission… it was wise of you to be quick and efficient… and somewhat discreet. At least… tell me of what you found among the Tuleforians. Were there any signs of the remnant?”

  “No, sir.” Kensley reported slowly, passing the short sword back to Scarborough. Bently clenched his teeth. Scarborough took the weapon and shoved it back in his sheath. “We concluded that any signs of them retrieving anything from the mountain were not present. We brought much of their settlement to the ground, regardless. As it stands, I do not believe we will see an immediate reprisal.”

  Edrian paced around the fire and carefully leaned down to retrieve a dry log from the pile of firewood. He tossed it upon the fire pit from a few paces away, sending a shower of sparks over the room. With a quick stomp of his foot, he extinguished a burning ember that had attempted to catch fire to the fur by his feet. “Very well, again.” He announced tamely. “Get some rest while you can. With this new information, we have the chance to now reorganize our strategy.”

  Kensley briefly bowed his head and turned to exit the structure. Bently and Scarborough followed obediently after. Down at the base of the mountain, the group entered the empty barracks. The captain’s empty bed sat coldly at the end of the room, partially obscured by a row of animal hides hanging from the ceiling. Scarborough stamped his feet on the hard stone floor at the entrance and finally removed his helmet.

  Bently pulled at the leather and brass buckles on his shoulders and pulled them loose. The armor tumbled to the ground with a dull crash onto the wooden floor. Bently followed it to the ground quickly after, exhausted. Kensley stared out the window, helmet still in hand, to the mountainside.

  Scarborough had hung up his scabbard and helmet on the rack and had begun to undo his chest plate. As it landed on the ground, the man crumpled over, holding his shoulder. Bently grunted and pushed himself off the ground. “It can’t be that bad.” Bently said with a roll of his eyes.

  Scarborough tugged at the collar of the long-sleeved linen shirt with one arm while the other one dangled. Bently pulled at the shirt to help undress the thin man. Underneath the cloth, a bright purple bruise ran up the entirety of Scarborough’s bicep to his shoulder. The skin along the edges had turned a bright yellow, and his fingertips were a pale white.

  “Hell, I never even felt it.” Scarborough managed to say between gritted teeth. “Don’t think… it’s broken though.”

  Kensley grumbled out a long sigh and looked down at the dirty leather of his palms. “Under all these layers of metal plate… obscure enchantments and incantations… we can’t forget that we are still simply… men.”

  Chapter Eleven: Dull Edge of Sealed Power

  The first stoking of the central pyre that morning had fallen to Shiloh. He had risen earlier than normal, even before the sun had begun to show itself. The ground around the communal fire had been padded with excess straw and blankets and firs to provide a place for those without a bed to sleep. The families that were still intact huddled around each other for warmth as the heat from the fire slowly dispersed.

  The guardsman followed the lit torches down to the front gate where the firewood had been collected and stacked to dry. The dark, rigid silhouette of the sub-commander stood silently atop the platform that overlooked the road coming from the capital. “Sir, please allow yourself to rest.” Shiloh announced.

  “You have no matter ordering me.” Terren reproached, unmoving.

  “’Tis not an order, Sir.” Shiloh sighed. “But only a persuasion.”

  Terren shifted back and forth with his eyes still turned outward towards the dark landscape, only lit by the pale moonlight. “I must await the other’s arrival. Until then, I should not rest.”

  “They would not make such haste unaware as they are of the current situation.” Shiloh presented, unperturbed. “No reasonable group of men would travel at such an hour otherwise. If you should want, I can wake you when they arrive.”

  Terren turned around to loom over the settlement. With a swift movement, he dropped down from the platform and onto the ground with a dull thud. Shiloh crouched down by the wood pile to hoist a pair of sectioned logs under his arms. As he turned back towards the fire pit, he could make out the sub-commander stiffly making his way up to the makeshift lean-to where the commander had taken shelter for the night.

  Late morning brought the exodus of some of the workers and their families on what mounts and carts were available. Those who stuck around, mostly those bound by duty, remained to begin the grueling cleanup work. By noon, the sullen work of piling of bodies had reached its end. Anyone able to stomach the act had stripped the deceased of usable armor and pulled them past the south gate of the settlement towards the edge of the woods. The wind blew bits of dead leaves around the unsightly mound. Shiloh and the others brought lit torches that quickly caught to the bloodied clothing of the fallen men and loosely packed kindling. The rancid smell caught the wind and the brown smoke plumed up into sky.

  Others poked around the cinders and ashes of the burned wreckage of buildings searching for anything of use. In total, one barracks, two worker’s longhouses, a store room, and close to two blocks of dwellings had been completely burned. One of the mess halls had managed to escape the fire, but was destroyed by an unknown force. The fire had managed to pass over the main street and scorch a collection of homes, longhouses, and even threaten the forgery and mill before the fire had been put out.

  Kiaren and Terren had taken up a command post inside one of the no
w abandoned longhouses. The interior was drab with compacted dirt for flooring, and was lined with rows of bunks for the workers to rest in. In the center of the long building, a communal dining table lay, able to sit each of the men who would live there, if not shoulder-to-shoulder. The room smelled of sweat and earth, and the smell of the smoke outside began to seep in as well.

  Kiaren ground her teeth and traced the rough map of the tunnels deep inside the mountain. “I suspect this is how they entered the camp.” She said, pointing to a narrow stretch of passageway that seemed to abruptly stop. “Do you remember the skirmish when our tunnels met up- many seasons ago? Workers lost it, but we avoided spilling blood. It was them who sealed it off after that. Though, not good enough it seems.”

  Terren looked down at the messily scrawled canvas. “And yet you saw no commotion at their camp?”

  “Not but a single torch in the dark.” Kiaren confirmed, rubbing her fingers together.

  “I’m not sure whether to be angered or relieved that they have no army at the ready to follow up on this attack.” Terren grumbled. “They are cowards, sending some sort of… juggernaut force to attack us in the middle of the night.”

  “They wanted to confirm the same thing that we did…” Kiaren stopped him. “The same thing the emperor warned you of… that neither of us holds the remnant.”

  “Could it be… that another faction has found it?” Terren suggested. With a shrug, he stood up and began pacing around the table.

  “The Order, you imagine? The mountain and its tunnels are vast… but I doubt something like that would go unnoticed- either under our watch, or that of Xiandol.” Kiaren snorted. “My instinct tells me that we can’t rule it out, though. It worries me that it could be out there, still.”

  Terren paced to the door of the building and peered out between the slats of wood at the rising pillar of brown smoke. “Those so-called… demons, as well. Nobody can seem to agree about how many they saw. I don’t think it matters, though… considering the havoc they wrought here.” Terren turned back to the table and pulled a chair around towards him, sitting in it backwards. “If only Zethurus had not gone missing… we may have gotten a chance to determine what sort of magical power they wielded.”

  Kiaren stood up from her seat and carefully pushed back the cloak resting on her shoulders. “I believe their source of power is not as unique as it seems.” She quickly replied. From beside her hip, she pulled at a sheath that hung low on her body, hiding the weapon inside from most glances.

  Terren caught a glimpse of the figure-eight-shaped guard of intricately twisted metal leading up to a wide blade with three clean divots running up the side. “The sword father gave you, no? Grandfather’s Katzbalger.” The sub-commander remarked.

  “You have never held it, have you?” Kiaren said, offering him the leather-bound pommel.

  “No, never.” Terren shook his head. He boldly grabbed the handle of the weapon. The weight instantly pulled against his arm towards the ground. The brilliant polished blade struck one of the chairs on the way down at met the ground with a muted thump. Terren’s fingers lost their grasp and the gripped end fell to the ground as well. “I apologize… the weight… it surprised me.”

  “No need.” Kiaren shook her head and crouched down to the ground to effortlessly retrieve the sword. “It feels much heavier than it looks no?”

  “Indecently so.”

  Kiaren grinned and shoved the sword back into its sheath. “It is enchanted to my grip, it seems. To me, it weighs as it should.”

  “You mean…?” Terren stood up and attempted to look back at the sword in its sheath.

  “It is somewhat of a relic… Grandfather found it, forged by one of the mages of his time it would seem, infused with magical power.” Kiaren sighed and grit her teeth. “I’ve been told it strikes with the force of an adult horse at full sprint. I would never use it in battle, though. The thought of striking something with it seems… sickening.”

  “Something like that now would be a violation of the Order’s Treaty, no doubt.” Terren rebutted. “It is no better than having the destructive power of a mage by your side on the battlefield.”

  “A gray area at best, brother.” Kiaren assured him. “I don’t believe the art is known any longer, the manner in which to infuse some energy into the inanimate steel of an arm or plate of armor. At least, it is not known back home in Tulefore City.” She added, sneering.

  “If our attackers wielded similar equipment… it would explain how their small group was able to simply walk into this place and… terrorize it!” Terren raved.

  “I don’t doubt it.” Kiaren commented calmly, licking her lips.

  Terren rocked back and forth in his chair uneasily and started to hyperventilate. “Sister!” He finally exclaimed. “We don’t know how many of these magically equipped forces exist. What if this attack was simply a test?”

  Kiaren held her hand up in the air to stop him talking. I the distance, a rumbling crept up on them. The commander and sub-commander stepped outside to see the squad of horses approaching the gate in quick succession. By the time they reached the bottom of the road, the gates had been opened, and Shiloh had greeted the first of the men.

  “The sub-commander and commander are holding a strategy meeting.” The bodyguard informed them while they stepped down off their horses. “You shall be brought up to speed in due time.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Shiloh.” Kiaren announced her arrival. “You shall return to your duties.”

  “Ma’am.” Shiloh acknowledged, bowing out of the way.

  The officer had already dismounted his horse and approached the group. “Terren.” He said with a nod. “Commander, I hoped to see you well, despite… the circumstances.” He said, scanning the area.

  Kiaren folded her arms and looked down at the man. “We have suffered losses, but we will make do. Unfortunately, it is too late for fighting, but you and your men may help us in constructing shelter and keeping lookout.”

  “We will do as you order, Lady Kiaren.” The officer nodded. “I believe we have something of yours.” He added, smirking.

  “Oh?” Kiaren raised her eyebrows.

  One of the men farther back in the group had hopped off his horse and begun dragging the ragged-looking mage forward. “Based on what he told us, we were afraid we would return to nothing.” The officer rebuked and shoved the man forward.

  Zethurus looked up at the commander with a gaze of frustration and anticipation. “Lady Kiaren.” He said shortly.

  “Zethurus.” Kiaren glared at him with daggers in her eyes. “I would rather you been dead than ran off like a coward. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  The mage struggled away from the grip of the soldier and stood up to face the commander eye to eye. “There was little I could do to stop the men who attacked. While I managed to eliminate one, I was helpless to face the others.”

  “We found him skulking around, ready to head off in who knows what direction.” One of the soldiers called out.

  Kiaren ignored the taunting of the men and looked the mage up and down. “How…” She nodded. “Even with your magic, how did you manage to eliminate one of the attackers, while whole barracks full could not make a scratch?”

  Zethurus looked down at his hands and the still fresh cut on his wrist that bled lightly into the cloth. “I have… no recollection.” He shook his head back and forth.

  Kiaren grabbed a fistful of his cloak and pulled him close. “Well, perhaps you’ll find it easier to remember once you’re on your way to trial for desertion.” Zethurus grit his teeth and avoided the commander’s gaze. With a push, she let him go and ordered him again. “There are those who need their wounds attended to. Make yourself useful, would you?”

  “Yes, commander.” Zethurus muttered and ducked off.

  The remainder of the men funneled into the settlement to rest their horses, and the gate closed behind them. Shiloh caught up to Zethurus and guided him to the building wher
e the few who had more severe wounds were being treated.

  A thunderous pounding echoed through the settlement, causing all inhabitants to stop in place and search for the source. Down one of the tall timber walls, the pounding continued, sending vibrations through the defenses. Terren hurriedly jogged to the wall and climbed the lookout platform to scout down the barricade.

  The wall shattered into a mass of splinters and chunks of wood. The armed soldiers that had freshly entered drew their weapons as the horses around them jostled and shoved against each other. Others scrambled away from the busted defenses. The guards approached.

  Kiaren stepped up behind the rear formation of guards to see the dust clear. Mandabus’ dark armor gave off a dull aura, barely glowing in the bright sun. The bastard sword sat limp back against the ground, but held in a tight fist. A few of the guards trembled and shifted their feet as the massive figure scanned the area quietly.

  Kiaren pushed past one of the men to call out to the invader. “Stop right where you stand or you will be attacked.”

  Zethurus spotted Mandabus from across the flattened grouping of buildings. Before any of the soldier’s swords could move an inch, Mandabus shot past them, clipping a few unlucky individuals with the edge of the wide blade.

  The mage reacted quickly with a burst of cold energy that crept across the ground, slowing Mandabus’ progress. Shiloh entered the wide range of the bastard sword and narrowly blocked the attack, sending his sword flying out of his hands.

  Just before Mandabus could reach Zethurus, Kiaren flew into him with her shoulder and sent him gliding against the icy ground. Mandabus stomped his feet against the slick surface and found traction in the mud beneath. Kiaren drew the Katzbalger from the sheath hanging at her hip.

  Mandabus pushed off against the ground and bolted towards the commander. Kiaren lifted the wide blade of the heirloom sword high above her head and pulled it downward as Mandabus released his own attack. The bastard sword took the brunt of the heavy blow and bowed back and forth with a metallic whine. Mandabus lost his grip and the sword flew past Kiaren, cutting a deep gash in her arm as it passed.