Remnant Pages Spearhead Page 25

  Brunick knew what he had to do; spacing his hands wide over the shaft of the axe, for the moment only allowing himself short cutting strikes in order to better defend himself until he was reinforced by the others.

  Vanapha came within a comfortable firing distance, jumping on a small solid rock for a good vantage and let loose. A shadowling screamed in agony as the arrow hit it in the spine, going down, and the shadowy magic left him as he died, the Fallen scout’s body very human in death. The sudden uproar however triggered the other shadowlings, making them sense that time wasn’t on their side any more, and like one now they charged, encircling Brunick’s figure like a pack of dogs. At this sight Cid sprinted as fast as he could, overtaking Alex. Still a distance away though he could do nothing but will Brunick on to survive somehow.

  Brunick cleaved horizontally, forcing space as he ripped through a multitude, their projectile-like movements coming to a sudden halt as the host body suffered mortal wounds.

  More came on a delayed rush, haunting Brunick with attacks too fast, the Mason seemingly taking fatal cuts. He landed his axe into the belly of one, but the weight of the dying shadowling carried the axe out of his grip.

  Pressing on Brunick rolled out of the ambush, regaining his feet and his axe in unison, spun, and then met a shadowling vaulting from an outcropping in the air with the double blades coming in overhead. The creature came through cleanly decapitated, its headless body slamming the earth in a lifeless heap.

  Vanapha crucially shot down one more without error, the arrow speeding faster than anything else to pierce neck and throat.

  Brunick continued to retreat inch by inch without turning, waiting for back-up.

  Vanapha fired another arrow, soon followed by one of Alex’s who had caught up. Two shadowlings went down, one dead and the other wounded in the back. Cid was far out ahead of them.

  Ten paces…

  Desperately Cid wrenched himself forward, aiming his spear and plunging it into a shadowlings side, the pain overpowering the creature and lifting it from its feet before being driven into the ground. Cid had his own taste of the shadowling’s stealth then, one emerging unnoticed, ignoring Brunick and leapt at Cid in turn.

  Cid did enough to avoid its blades, and then tried to grasp the creature, to pin its arms. Even with his arms wrapped around it he wasn’t ever sure whether these men were corporal while the magics lingered on them.

  It felt real enough, for a second at least, before it somehow twisted out of Cid’s hold, aiming its blades to Cid’s belly.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  An explosion ensued, first the blinding light and then an instant later the combination of heat and concussive force. Cid tilted and was swept from his feet, assuming the shadowling was experiencing much of the same. Ears ringing and mind flailing Cid sure hoped that whatever magic Lidayel was using that it was under control.

  Momentum flung his body to tumble down the slope towards the pool, the tiny sharp rocks inherit to the water bank a cruel buffer. A tormented howl pierced Cid’s deafness and told him that Lidayel’s spell had found its mark. He halted his roll forcibly with elbows and knees, and blinked profusely to clear up his vision, witnessing the instant before the shadowling hit the water, tumbling much like he had, yet engulfed in flames. It crashed into the pool, its figure disappearing in a sudden upsurge of steam.

  Its burned carcass surfaced subtlety moments later, motionless.

  Cid breathed deeply, his mind not understanding how they had survived - how Brunick had survived! He looked back at Lidayel, raising his hand in acknowledgement to the mage, who seemed ever more pleased with himself.

  ‘So much for bathing,’ said Brunick jokingly, wallowing back into the water to wash the blood from his chest. None of it seemed to be of his own however.

  Cid was astounded. He had seen it with his own eyes; how the shadowlings had cleaved and slashed at Brunick. He imagined that Lidayel had somehow shielded Brunick, yet sure enough there were many angry red lines across his arms and chest as though he had been whipped, but there was no blood and no wounds.

  He should be dead!

  Cid rose on unsure legs, closing in on Brunick, the ringing in his ears stubborn.

  ‘Brunick, what… how in the world-?’

  Brunick looked down at his own body, examining the scars, unimpressed.

  There was a silence of expectation, everyone now staring.

  ‘Alright, I might as well tell you,’ said Brunick reluctantly.

  ‘Tell them or I will,’ said Vanapha, ‘no point hiding it.’

  Brunick looked at Vanapha, flicking his eyes to Lidayel, Alex, and then locked onto Cid, knowing he owed the truth to him more than anyone.

  ‘I am a Stoneskin,’ said Brunick, as though it was something to be ashamed of.

  Even Alex had not managed to comment and Brunick knew this was one of the rare occasions he would stun the trailblazer into silence.

  He was however surprised to see Cid smiling, shaking his head, and on the verge of laughing.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked defensively.

  ‘All these magicks and fables are catching up to me!’ he laughed in relief. ‘But really, I’m just glad you survived, and now I finally understand why you’re in the army, and not playing ball…’

  A soldier would go through his career tethered to the fears of knowing how fragile his own body is to the merciless weapons crafted by other men. Brunick was different and had a gift, a gift any soldier venerated, a gift that made Brunick resistant to even the most devastating of physical onslaughts.

  The condition was magical in nature, this much the fable explained, and thus disqualified him from playing Bajural since mystics were strictly prohibited in any form in the league. It did however make Brunick an almost perfect warrior, one who could go into battle without fear.

  Stoneskin; a legacy, a myth even. One Cid had not believed in till now. Here he was, his friend Brunick, carrying that legacy on his own body. They were moving slowly forward, still in the grips of what had happened, talking it out.

  ‘How long have you known?’ asked Cid.

  ‘It started when I returned to the army four years ago, just before our expedition to Teritua, remember?'

  ‘Yes, you were away with your fellow Masons for awhile, did something happen that made you change?’

  ‘No, turns out it’s a natural process among my folk. Not everyone is endowed of course, still kinda of a big deal among us if you are. We keep it secret for the most part, it’s simpler that way, you know? The whole thing’s got something to do with the Greathir moon as well, it’s some kind of “reciprocation” they called it between Mason and our patron moon.’

  ‘You felt it?’ queried Cid.

  ‘Hell yes! When it first started it was itchy and tight and uncomfortable. Ever since though I’ve felt my strength increase and my skin and muscles have grown harder and harder by the year. You have no idea how much stretching exercises I have to do just to keep myself limber,’ confessed Brunick.

  ‘You won’t turn into a statue will you?’ asked Alex, finally finding his quip.

  Brunick laughed loudly, shedding some of the tenseness he had carried the last few minutes.

  Cid had never seen the big man so careful on a subject, or so embarrassed by anything.

  ‘So how many people know about this?’ asked Cid.

  ‘Only my brethren. How did you know, Vanapha?’ asked Brunick.

  ‘I know more of your kind than most, but I realized in full when I shot at you the other day and my arrow didn’t wound you,’ said Vanapha.

  Cid nodded, now understanding.

  ‘Gee, so you're invulnerable,’ stated Alex.

  Brunick shook his head. ‘Magic can beat me,’ casting a glance at Lidayel, ‘and there is something else too… Cid give me your spearhead.’

  Cid complied, detaching the headpiece blade and handing it to Brunick. The big man took it and made a delicate show of slicing his own han
d, just nicking it enough for some blood to show.

  Absurd as it was Cid expected nothing to happen, yet Mindevhier effortlessly gashed Brunick’s palm, bloodying his hand and wrist.

  ‘Is this what you meant when you said that only I can beat you in a fight?’ asked Cid.

  Brunick nodded, as Lidayel took his hand to heal the shallow wound in stride.

  ‘And here I was thinking you valued my skill,’ said Cid.

  Brunick laughed.

  ‘That is no ordinary spear,’ said Vanapha, impressed, ‘according to Stelinger it’s made from the same metal as his sword.’

  ‘My brethren told me of Hethellean, it’s possibly the rarest of metals and as a honed weapon can harm even us Stoneskins. I deducted that Mindevhier’s blade must be crafted from Hethellean when Cid accidentally cut me last year when we were ambushed on the border,’ said Brunick.

  ‘Yes, I remember the day,’ said Cid thoughtfully.

  ‘I'm familiar with Hethellean as well,’ said Lidayel looking up from Brunick’s hand, ‘if my academic memory serves the metal is magic-resistant and can cut right through Calophrites just like it does with Brunick’s skin. It also requires the best of forges to craft them effectively,’ he finished.

  ‘And you’re saying Stelinger is wielding a Hethellean sword?’ asked Cid at the Valkyrie.

  Vanapha nodded, ‘worse than that, my sister Claire came in contact with the sword in order to track you down, and she suspected it to be a weapon of Ruin.’

  ‘A possessed blade?’ asked Alex in alarm.

  ‘A common misconception that is, possessed is not the most apt term. Ruin weapons bond with their owners, man and weapon mutually growing stronger through interaction of thoughts and sensations,’ said Vanapha.

  ‘Are Hethellean weapons and those of Ruin different from each other?’ asked Cid.

  ‘Ruin weapons are Hethellean weapons released by a Summoner, just like a Summoner releases the potential of a human mage,’ said Lidayel.

  ‘Weapons are but one possibility of Hethellean. Devices and machines that can pierce or resist magic would revolutionize warfare once more,’ said Vanapha.

  ‘I would like that though, going into battle without fearing the Priests’ magic,’ said Alex.

  They continued their talk as they wandered forward.

  Cid’s mind however began reaching for that very letter he had received;

  Destinian smithies… new weapons… binding process…

  Had someone redirected that letter purposefully to warn him?

  Cid decided not to doubt the matter. Given what was happening he had to assume something was afoot and that it was larger than what he could grasp at the moment. He had to be decisive and he needed facts. Even more now became his drive to reach Jacanta.

  A conspiracy formed in his mind; one that would explain what Stelinger had been up to all along.

  Chapter 34

  Flight

 

  Early in the morning Elmira was ready. Again, like the time she had travelled with Alex to Taverka, she felt the thrill of breaking loose from the life her family and status designed for her. She manoeuvred quietly around the house, gathering some last supplies for her trip, always finding some more room in her pack. The Alder stone as the Ranger had named it, was wrapped up and tucked away safely as well.

  She dared not wake her parents. Essentially she was ready to confront her father, but preferred all the same to avoid it. She was dressed uncharacteristically plainly, keeping to a dull blouse, a brown cloth pants and rough leathery sandals she had bought for her trips with Cid to the farmlands near Orlo forest.

  In the kitchen she left a letter painstakingly written to her parents. Even after she had reread the thing half a dozen times the letter was still more secretive than she intended, for despite her quarrels with her parents she did not want them worried while she was away. In short it told only as much that she was off with the Rangers by their request, that she would be safe, and that she would return soon enough. Sheathing the letter in among the fruits of the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter, Elmira hastened her escape. Lastly she slipped her engagement ring on her finger, knowing that from here on she could wear it shamelessly.

  Everything was well until she attempted to leave the estate, the two guards refusing to let her pass alone into the streets. She started panicking, quietly pleading with them to let her out. They would not budge, refusing to let her go before the town guard commenced their morning shift. Elmira started eyeing some crates against the manor walls, wondering if her little adventure would start off with her scaling a twelve foot wall.

  I’d do it, but I’d probably break something trying.

  She was then saved by a Ranger, before she could ponder more desperate escape routes. One of Olexion’s men, named Troas, came into view on the street just outside the gate. He beckoned the two guards to speak with him.

  They complied, wide eyed and unsure. Elmira stood closer, intent on listening and ready to jump into her own explanation should it be necessary.

  Troas spoke quietly with the men, assuring them that Elmira had business at the Castle and that he was to escort her there. The guards dared not impede on the wishes of the Ranger. Whether official and dictated by law, or unofficial and dictated by reputation, the Rangers wielded massive influence anywhere in the Kingdom, and everyone knew it.

  Elmira was released, thanking the guards as they let her through and greeting the man Troas. The Ranger was mindful enough to have brought a spare horse from the castle stables for Elmira’s use. He helped her atop the mount, rather unnecessarily now given her clothing, yet still appreciated.

  Troas mounted his own steed and they set off. Excited now Elmira slowly rode alongside Troas through the streets, growing bored quickly with their leisurely pace. She had expected something more of a hush-hush, glances-over-the-shoulder, keep-to-the-shadows escape to the castle.

  Pointless now that I think about it, but still more exciting than this.

  For now the sun was just starting to settle on Lanston and the only other men in the streets were craftsmen or bakers readying for the day’s work, so rather the ride to the castle was peaceful and Elmira decided to enjoy the rare sight of an awakening Lanston.

  Her companion was quiet and did not show any overt interests in his surroundings. Just like yesterday, Elmira thought the Rangers as almost being surly in nature, not with the intention to be rude, but rather as though their occupation discouraged idle conversation. They were either trained not to indulge in small talk or they were all introverted like Cid had been when she first met him, quite possibly both, thought Elmira.

  Elmira understood Cid well enough to know that he did his best to be sociable around her, but being true to himself he was a man who only spoke when he felt something needed to be said. Nevertheless Elmira respected him for it; not only could she bear his silences, but she knew that when he said something it would be because he meant it.

  The Castle was not far from the district in which Elmira lived and even though they kept the horses to a slow trot they were at the Castle gates before dawn was spoiled.

  Troas, garbed in his official dress, effortlessly gained entrance past the giant gatehouse of the castle. Suddenly, the one gate Elmira had been curious to get past all her life was the gate that would lead her to Cid.

  Past the gate a decorate road led straight through the grounds to the Castle doors. Elmira basked in all the splendour that was the castle’s garden, finding much beauty reminiscent like that of the city’s central park. Troas led them to the stables at the Castle’s west flank, were they handed the horses over to some sleepy-eyed stable boys. On foot, Troas and Elmira retraced back to the double doors where they once again gained instant admittance.

  Elmira knew that the Castle of Lanston was considered somewhat small in comparison with those of Asheva.

  To her though the castle was grandiose in every aspect, its mix of ancient architecture and contemporary rem
odelling prickling her fairly suppressed appreciation for opulence. Inside they found but only a few servants, preparing much for the day like the craftsmen in the streets below.

  The Dauflon and his kin are probably all still asleep, thought Elmira in amusement.

  Dressed as plainly as she was Elmira felt a rare sense of inferiority as a parade of painted portraits on the walls in the peripheral corridors stared down on her as though noticing her common attire. Troas walked them through the older parts of the Castle, quite detached from the royal family’s living quarters.

  They halted at a massive bronze plate on the wall that held engraved on it a coat of arms. It was a shield crowned with the Kingdom’s patron symbol; the Red-Rocket Aloe, the plant's seven tower-like red flowers each representing a city of the Sovereignty. In fascination Elmira looked on as Troas unlocked the man-sized bronze plate like a door. He did it so swiftly that Elmira only realized what he was doing when he swung the whole thing open on hidden hinges, revealing a small passageway. He beckoned Elmira to enter first.

  ‘Please my lady, watch your step, there is no light inside save for that which comes from the aviary.’

  As Elmira treaded inside the passage it immediately became an incredibly tight and dark stairwell, the walls so narrow that two persons could not ascend or descend with or past one another. Troas closed the plating solidly behind him, shutting out even more light. Like Troas warned, Elmira almost had to guess where the next step would be and she knew this would be but the first time to be grateful to herself for dressing as comfortable as possible. There was some light though, and it did indeed come from above.

  Elmira wondered at the secrecy of the passage and concluded it was to keep the Volje safe in any case, or at least out of reach and sight from daring servants and pages looking to pass the time. As she carefully climbed with Troas just on her heels, she came to the realization that she wasn’t just going to see a Volje up close, but also ride on one. Her excitement to thus far had nullified that awareness and she couldn’t help but feel nervous now, wondering whether she could stomach flying at all.