Cid lowered his head; the idea of a Lanston army without Commander Bennam was unfamiliar to say the least. Everything was changing for the worst.
‘I will now retire to my chamber and finish some of my records; I will leave it to you to notify the rest of the barracks.’
The men filed out of the room, Cid standing aside. He needed to talk with the Commander, urgently, even though unsure what he was going to say.
Already locked in quiet conversation with Stelinger, Cid waited impatiently for Bennam. They finished and before Stelinger left he gave Cid a blank stare, a familiar antagonism hidden inside it.
Face to face Cid was struggling for words when Bennam interjected, ‘ah, Cid, I assume you have some things on your mind, let’s take a walk.’
Beyond the barracks perimeters was something that could only be called a plain of wilderness, the prairie unchanging, and it made Cid feel all the more detached from Lanston. In every direction the horizon showed no civilization, the hub of settlements thinned out this close to the border, Ralna being the closest small town as a matter of interest, leaving one wondering how long before it too would become a military outpost.
They were walking on a small dirt trail, curving through tufts of grasses and bushes, their talk serious.
‘So you are thinking on returning to Lanston?’ asked Bennam to clarify.
‘Yes, as soon as possible,’ said Cid.
‘The army needs you Cid,’ retorted Bennam.
They stopped, Cid taking a deep stare into Bennam’s eyes. ‘It doesn’t need me to survive; it’ll be fine without me. I on the other hand can’t bear the idea of losing my wife to someone’s greed or politics.’
‘Cid, this plan, operation Biridian, is not something I conjured up to amuse myself. I only came up with it because I knew we’ve been dealt a great hand in the form of you and Stelinger. Talking in the war meet of how we will trample our enemies is easy and yes, to defend borders we can go on without you. But to go out into the Fallen’s backyard to outmanoeuvre and outclass them is something only you can bring to the table.’
‘I am sorry Commander, Stelinger will have to do, I am returning home,’ said Cid, turning and watching the horizon beyond which Lanston rested.
‘Cid, I am well informed in the city’s politics. I have ears in every corner of Lanston so to speak; it helps to know the political and business tidings when making my decisions. And well… Elmira, she is, without a doubt, going to be married off to Fredrere of House Sagril. There is nothing you can do about it, even if you do return.’
‘I will take Elmira to the Masons, they will offer us sanctuary,’ said Cid, flustered at Bennam’s remarks.
‘Listen to yourself Cid, now you plan on dragging Brunick’s brethren into this. How long can you hide? How long until the Kingdom sanctions action against the Masons for sheltering you?’ asked Bennam.
Cid closed his eyes; it felt as though the Commander had just stabbed him right in his back.
Preying on Cid’s silence Bennam said, ‘if you go as an ex-Colonel you will at best be barred by authorities from approaching Elmira, and of course if you stir trouble, you will be jailed.’
‘Damn you, Bennam,’ whispered Cid.
Bennam had to catch himself from retorting sharply in anger; he had never before suffered disrespect. Instead he placed his hand on Cid’s shoulder.
‘I do not know if you and Elmira have a future Cid. But the best thing you can do right now, for everybody, is to stay with the army. The soldiers respect you and just by being here they will have so much more faith in our plan, and… if you do stay and fight, I’ll promise I’ll use whatever influence I have back home to stall or dismantle the marriage.’
‘You will?’ said Cid hoarsely.
‘It would be a smart military choice on my part to ensure my greatest tactician is at his best,’ said Bennam. Cid’s mind worked with this new possibility and turned to face Bennam again.
‘Then you have my thanks Commander, I will try to swallow this thing and see it through,’ said Cid.
Bennam nodded solemnly. ‘You know, I still have a last bottle of red to finish, an unhealthy feat for a man alone, will you join me before I depart?’
Cid smiled a bit, ‘a tempting offer, but I’d prefer to rest up and be alone for now.’
‘As you wish,’ said Bennam regrettably.
They made their way back into the barracks, the silence growing between them. It heartened Cid that Commander Bennam had offered to intervene, yet he knew realistically that even a General of Asheva did not have much influence in these matters.
Right now it was strange; he had promised his horse Cilverhoof a ride by noon and despite what he had just told the Commander, Cid could feel himself walking up to the stables and leaving everything behind, racing back to Lanston for the woman he loved.
It was late in the afternoon.
Brunick made his way through the dormitory corridor; a set of slim paper slips in his left hand. Moments ago the barracks had gone to see off Bennam as he departed for Lanston. Brunick had been present and so was Alex. The only one Brunick did not see at the farewell was Cid. Down in the quad the soldiers had gathered to mail their families, and while waiting for the falconers they had burst into song. Even in the dormitories Brunick could hear the resonance of fifty men’s voices, the words telling of a sad but hopeful farewell.
He came to a halt at Cid’s door and knocked politely, a formality he usually and utterly neglected.
‘Enter,’ came Cid’s voice hesitantly.
Brunick did so, immediately launching into speech.
‘Hey, where were you? We just said good-bye to Bennam… anyway we’re all down at the quad again, they are launching the falcons in an hour and - what are you doing?’
‘I am packing Brunick. I don’t need to send any messages, and I might run into Bennam later on. I’m going to Lanston in person.’
‘And what exactly do you think you are going to accomplish?’ asked Brunick exasperatedly.
‘Get Elmira out of Lanston if I need to, and disappear.’
‘So that’s it huh? You’re going to hole yourself and Elmira up in some remote corner of nowhere! Fine dignity that is! Tell me, do you think that’s fair towards Elm? Towards yourself?’
Cid turned to Brunick, ‘fair is not in play here Brunick! I am not going to lose Elmira!’
‘And you don’t have to,’ said Brunick, his voice low and gruff.
Cid turned away again, tucking his garments determinedly into his case. Cid felt Brunick move in right behind him.
What came next Cid did not expect. Hardly able to contain his surprise Cid almost yelped as Brunick wrenched him around, picked him up by the hem and pressed him against the wall, both of his fists pressing crushingly into Cid’s chest. The man’s strength was bestial.
‘Brunick what… do you think …!’
‘Listen!’
Cid stopped fidgeting, his eyes settling on Brunick’s. There was a fierce look about Brunick right now.
‘I have known you for a long time Cid, and if I had to call one person a friend it would be you. Knowing you I wish the world had a hundred more Cids of Rogana; loyal honest men who do not go through life taking the soft options! Above all you’re smarter than this; there is no point returning to Lanston only to fail!’
Cid managed a cynical chuckle, ‘what would you have me do Brunick?’
‘Go to war… steel the men… win it… with you we can win it… Stelinger WILL screw up! The men will look to you - they always do when we’re in the roughs…’
Cid angered, his eyes boring through Brunick’s.
‘Think on it Cid, a month or two from now, returning to Lanston a war hero and the Kingdom blessing its finest tactician with one request of his choice in gratitude,’ said Brunick, his voice quieting near the end.
Cid lowered his gaze, his head beginning to swim, ‘could you put me down now Brunick?’
‘Sure,’ said Brunick, slight e
mbarrassment registering on his face.
Cid regained his breath, his chest prickling with pain.
‘Return home a war hero? Receive Kingdom blessing? And that within a month or two? Aren’t you being a bit too romantic Brunick?’ asked Cid.
‘Ha! Last time I checked that was a quality we shared. It’s a long shot I know, but remember, you’re going out to do what you do best. Besides, I know how you think; despite being worried sick about Elm you’re also conflicted with the idea of leaving the army. This is your home, your family. So, if I can’t tell you anything else I’ll say this: saving Elmira, leading your men and winning this war is all one and the same thing!’
Brunick’s words sunk in and surprisingly Cid could no longer protest rationally.
‘You know, they should have put you up for Captain a long time ago,’ said Cid, rubbing at his chest.
Brunick offered a broad smile. ‘And if you abandon ship I might get that promotion, so don’t go saying I’m trying to keep you here for selfish reasons.’
‘Seriously Brunick, I would not imply you as selfish, you are a friend like few can be.’
‘Does that mean that you’ve come to your senses?’ asked Brunick.
‘Somewhat, though the impulse to take Cilverhoof and flee for Lanston is not something I am going to shake off any time soon.’
‘Don’t worry about that, if you get cold feet I’ll just pin you to the wall again,’ said Brunick laughingly.
‘As long as you don’t sit on me,’ retorted Cid.
They shared a laugh.
Brunick turned serious again, ‘I still have to mail my folks back home, you’d do well to write Elmira a letter, and Cid, don’t hold back; tell her to wait for you and tell her you will come back for her.’
Cid nodded.
‘Well then, I’ll see you at dinner,’ said Brunick, turning on his heel and disappearing into the corridor.
Chapter 4
Mindevhier
Cid caught himself twitching as he woke, remnants of his dreaming commanding his body in those very first moments after coming to life. Dazed, he swung his legs from the bed and rubbed at his eyes with his palms. The sun had not even begun to peek at the land, although Cid instantly knew it was very early in the morning thanks to a less than enthusiastic rooster than scavenged the grounds of Taverka.
Cid had been dreaming feverishly and it was only now, moments after he woke, that he was able to piece the dreams together. They had all been memories, all of them about Elmira. Though fuzzy and disorderly, each of these precious recollections became painful as he thought about giving up Elmira to another man. For moments more he merely sat with his head on his hands and his elbows on his knees.
Despite what had been a good wakeup call from Brunick, Cid’s hunch had proven itself right; he did not feel like a soldier anymore and still the idea of leaving the army and making way for Lanston was strong.
One by one he paged through his dreams and poked each of them until they came to rest in his head. Standing up, Cid lit the oil lamp at his bed side, the room suddenly filled with an amber glow.
Restlessly Cid paced the room and only came to a stop when he saw his dresser door standing half open again, an inevitable nuisance because of a faulty catch mechanism on the inside. Cid’s eyes adjusted to the faint lighting and from where he stood he spotted his Lanston armour and battle gear inside the cabinet. They were supported on iron pegs in wall, perfectly proportioned so that the armour resembled a standing man.
Cid stared, the long shadows of the room and his waking mind conspiring together so that he imagined the armour had opened the door by itself, as though it was going to remind the Colonel where he belonged.
Even now, it was heartening to realize how much pride the armour instilled in him. He stood closer, fingering the dresser door completely open, and for the next few moments he simply gazed at it, marvelling at it in the glow of lamplight.
The layout of armour for Lanston soldiers was a varied spread of thick and thin steel, encompassing the helm, breastplate and thigh guards in the standard issue. The traditional colours of Lanston haled gold and green. The armour, gracefully curved and styled, was enamelled in a coat coloured like pale gold. The world over, they were often called the Golden Army, a name that brought both fear and pride, depending on which side of the line you fell. Many and most of the boys growing up in Lanston would believe that the armour was indeed crafted entirely of gold, an idea that had not died across generations . Cid smiled at the thought, thinking of how glorious the army had appeared to he himself as a boy.
Furthermore, every soldier wore the forest green tabards, and on the chest was a white linen woven crest; a coat of arms featuring most prominently the head of a lynx cat hovering above a Biridian tree. Cid, like the other Colonels, had the license of tailoring his armour to suit individual needs and fighting habits. For each Colonel though the barbute style helm remained the same; a slender full face oval of steel with a thick added layer at both temples which were superbly crafted in the form of lynx paws with exaggerated fierce claws.
At the top of the helm flowed a plume of green, compliments from the Wylka parrot tail feathers. The helm’s face opening was considered to be large with its rounded Y-shape and revealed the eyes, nose and mouth. This was a crucial attribute as it served to give officers a greater vision on the battlefield and the ability to shout commands without having their words muffled. The infantry core in contrast would wear closed helms for they were the men who made the most contact and had only to focus on the enemy in front of them.
Cid reached out for the helm, turned it and placed it on his head. He felt the familiar cold steel against his cheeks and the warmth of the interior leather padding on his hair. It wasn’t a pleasant accessory, but its discomfort a small price to pay anyone who had seen action would tell you.
Despite the discomfort Cid felt a small thrill, as though the helm was sending pictures directly into his head. In his mind’s eye he saw himself in battle; shouting, fighting, riding… It was not the slaughter or the bloodlust that appealed to Cid, but rather the tactics and the men that are revealed when faced with the worst of circumstances. Cid admired the specialties in war like a choreographer adores the passion and routines of her students of dance.
Deciding to feed from his new found flicker of hope, Cid did something that he wouldn’t have done any other time of the day; he donned his entire armour. True, he would have to dress formally for the war meet anyway, but that was still hours from now. Right now he needed to feel it - he needed to feel like a soldier, if for no other reason than this being the state he felt most powerful, and most decisive. Brunick was right about one thing; war was what Cid of Rogana was best at. Maybe even better than anyone else in the world.
Removing his helm for the moment, he slipped into a light leather vest to buffet his heavy breastplate, attaching his shoulder pauldrons with one-handed unease and tightening the straps where necessary. Next he slowly pulled the green tabard over his head, careful not to tear it as it became bloated and proud over his chestplate. Moving on he donned the fauld, covering his waist and upper legs. He fastened his belt and tucked the tabard neatly, which left him with tying his bracers and leg guards, then pulling on his high boots, swallowing the remainder of his trousers.
Traditionally Cid neglected greaves like those the frontliners wore, choosing tough leather boots instead which gave him increased mobility. (Steel greaves and sabatons were essential for frontliners for many reasons, one of them being able to march through the battlefield without being incapacitated by terrain anomalies or dropped weapons of the dead). Cid completed his attire with his gloves and the helm. To his belt he attached his sabre-sword, his lightweight second choice weapon.
It was empowering standing in full armour, yet Cid knew it all wouldn’t mean much without the spear. Next to his room’s door was a giant wooden casing, looking like something a wealthy musician would lug around with him. Yet no musi
cal instrument would be flat and tall enough to fit into this shape.
Cid took the casing precariously and laid it down on the floor. The wood was polished and at its centre was a large dark metal emblem of house Rogana; a Spearhead wrapped in a wreath of leaves. Cid opened the casing.
Inside was Mindevhier, Cid’s heirloom. As it were the spear was separated into different pieces, held in place by tiny leather straps. Cid kneeled, loosened the straps and picked out the pieces. The lower shaft was the longest and served as the three foot base of the spear. It was made from a light steel and was decorated with engraved runes; memoirs of each of the warriors in Rogana’s line.
To this shaft were two available extensions; a two feet length of either wood or another steel. Cid almost never used both extensions at once, which would cause the spear to reach over seven feet in length. His more practical version was simply to attach the wooden extension and then the spearhead.
The wooden extension was somewhat lighter than the steel base and it was an important balancing factor as it carried the heavy spearhead, all the while framed by thin bronze linings to protect the wood from enemy weapons.
To be fitted over the over the upper part of the shaft were ornamental wings, a foot long each, attachable by a single strong clasp and the wings themselves working on its hinges to fold in and out. It would give the spear a remarkable appearance, and also its second name: "the Winged Serpent." Yet Cid had never used these in battle, the wings being more decorative in his eyes than anything else.
Lastly was the spearhead itself was an elongated blade, three quarters of a foot, shaped flat and leaf-like with a definite edge and tip. Finished putting it together Cid stared proudly at the weapon in his hands.
A calm settle over him and he felt his skin crawl. Kings felt most powerful on their thrones, poets did so with pen in hand, and magicians kept their tomes and scrolls nearby. For Cid there was Mindevhier, its history alone enough to inspire. Yet holding it, wielding it, gave Cid the power and confidence of seemingly every warrior who had brandished it before him. Through every other battle Cid had wielded Mindevhier, never losing, never failing, and never suffering a single moment of disgrace.