8
Sunlight sparkled off the metal tips of a hundred spears, illuminating the clouds of dust that followed their footsteps. Black feathered carrion birds drifted through the air above them, pacing the formation of men that now flowed like water across a small outlying ridge.
"Sergeant, have the men take positions along this ridge," spoke an older man dressed in a silver ornate breast plate. A large sun glinted in metallic paint across the plate of metal.
"Yes, My Lord." The grizzled man responded with a nod. His leather armor, torn and stained from the countless battles it had seen, shifted as he turned and began barking orders at the assembled men.
"Lord Yarmound," An older man in blue robes spoke up. He was one of the three that rode mounts, and his flowing white hair hinted at a golden past.
"Yes, Bexdal?" Yarmound turned his horse in the old sage's direction. Sun reflected off of his breastplate, momentarily dazzling the older man and causing his horse to shy away.
The old man blinked, and recovered himself. "This...is unnecessary. As we said to you at your keep, Darrius and I," he nodded to the middle aged man on the final horse, "need to assess the situation and determine whether this is indeed a story construct."
"You can 'assess' the enemy behind a secure line of spear." Yarmound frowned, "I will not be set upon unprepared."
"That is fine, My Lord." The middle aged man moved up to sit next to the older one. His graying black hair swept across his shoulders as he rode.
Bexdal frowned his displeasure at being interrupted by the dark haired man, but said nothing as the commander nodded and turned back toward his men. The commander's white cloak caught an otherwise unnoticed breeze as he walked, and flared behind him as if by calculated move.
"Remember your place, Darrius." Bexdal's whisper was disapproving as he waved his hand for the younger man to follow him.
"I was only trying to keep peace."
"You were trying to usurp my authority, but that is expected of one so young."
"Yes, Bexdal."
"Now, we need to be prepared, before this oaf does something foolish."
Both horses came to a stop. Bexdal spoke a word, and slapped his hands together. A large, brutish man flashed into existence at the sound. Though he nearly slouched, he towered over Bexdal and his mount. The reek from his matted furs caused the old man's nose to wrinkle.
"Dismount me, you simpleton, and be quick about it." He reached up toward the large brute even as he spoke.
Darrius climbed off his horse, and watched as the old sage smacked and berated his construct. Twice his blue robes got stuck in the horse's harness, requiring extra time to disentangle Bexdal. So much time passed while the construct struggled and failed to dismount Bexdal in rather colorful and inventive ways, that Darrius wondered what the point of summoning the story was at all.
"Is there a problem here?" Yarmound strode briskly up and stood nearby, watching as Bexdal kicked the gigantic man in his forehead, still trying to free himself from the mount.
"No." Darrius failed to completely suppress the sheepishness he felt at the situation.
"The scouts have returned, you may want to hear their report." Yarmound still did not take his eyes off of the spectacle.
"Thank you, Commander, I'll let Bexdal know, once he's finished here."
Yarmound nodded, turning to leave. He paused only when a considerably loud shriek erupted from the older sage. Somehow the man had become tangled and knotted in the folds of his robes, which were now pulled over his head. The brute held the old man suspended over the mount by his ankle-despite Bexdal's screeched protests. Chuckling, Yarmound continued toward the tent, where his scouts now waited.
Darrius listened to both men as they gave their reports in Yarmound's tent. A guard stood outside the entrance, guarding against exactly what, Darrius was uncertain. A bluish fly landed on some of the tough bread left out on the table that stood near the two scouts, as they made their report again.
"It's like I said earlier, Sir, Jarel and myself counted more than a thousand spear headed in this direction."
Yarmound lifted his hand, pausing his scout. "Tell us again, what was carrying these spears?"
The man who had been speaking before, flinched at the request. He turned and prodded Jarel forward to answer.
"Well...My Lord..." he stuttered, "them there were not alive."
"In what way, again...for the sages now."
Jarel faced Darrius and Bexdal, relief to be speaking to them instead clearly apparent in his face and voice. "They was bone. Skeletons they were." His thick accent slurred his words.
Bexdal waved a hand. "Good enough. I think we are done with your men, Yarmound. Tell them to go." His blue robes flowed around him as he retrieved the bread from the small table, the two scouts already gone from his mind.
"Darrius," Bexdal spoke through a mouthful of bread, "and I shall go out in the morn and meet this army. Take your men and go back to your keep, Yarmound."
"You forget yourself, Bexdal. You command neither me nor my men."
"I am merely trying to save you from boredom." He turned to look at Yarmound, crumbs falling to his beard as he attempted to chew and speak at the same time.
"My men are my concern, Sage, as well as my keep. Whatever you do, we will hold here."
Stuffing more bread into his mouth, he turned to Darrius and motioned for him to bring some wine from a nearby table. "Your men will just be in the way. They can't kill a story construct." The old sage pulled a particularly large crumb from his beard, and quickly popped it into his mouth.
"We stay here." His white cloak rippled behind him as he turned and left the tent.
"You shouldn't antagonize him, Bexdal." Darrius frowned softly, handing the aging sage some wine.
"He's a fool." Bexdal drank the proffered goblet until it was gone. "They're all fools." Wine stained his once white beard.
Yarmound's men could be seen in the distance behind them, their polished spears glinted in the sunlight as they stood sentry. Darrius could imagine the flashes being used as a communication system, or a form of decoration. Their comforting beacon could have been used to send flashes of welcome to friendly forces across the field.
Both sages set out on foot from the camp. It was decided that this was for the best when Bexdal's mounting story tripped while attempting to put him on his horse. The old man was flung headfirst into a thorn-berry bush, while the story itself crushed the mount as it fell.
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"There, you see that Darrius?" Bexdal pointed at the wall of black figures they approached, still at least a mile away.
"What do you make of it?" He glanced toward the older sage.
"It's an army, of course." Bexdal blinked in surprise at his younger companion.
"I meant...is it a construct?" Darrius pointed at the wall of figures.
"Well, of course they are. What else would walking dead be?"
"They?" It was Darrius' turn to look back in surprise at his companion. "Surely you don't think that is made by multiple sages?"
Bexdal chuckled, his beard shaking free loose bits of bread that had escaped consumption. "What else? It's far too huge to be anything but."
"Bexdal, so many constructs would take hundreds of our kind. To make each unit...even if each sage could make several, the numbers would be staggering."
Bexdal gave a dismissive wave. "We still need to dispel it. I suggest we summon our two best constructs, and begin destroying each skeleton."
"You intend to fight a thousand enemies one at a time?"
Bexdal clapped his hands and his mounting construct appeared in another flash. The lumbering man stared down at the sage without even a glimmer of intelligence.
"That is your best construct?"
"After seeing what he did to my mount...yes, my inexperienced young one, it is."
Darrius shook his head in a slow wonder at Bexdal's choice and reasoning. "We need to attack it as a whole, Bexdal, or we won't be effective. Destroying one of a thousand will not work."
The older sage smacked his thigh and let out a hearty laugh. "What do you suggest, Darrius? Perhaps raining fire down from the sky to consume them all?"
"If you know such a story."
Bexdal wiped tears from his eyes, as his laughter subsided. "Might as well wish for an earthquake to open the ground and swallow them all."
"I am serious, Bexdal."
"As am I." The old man gave a serious frown. "Unless you have some story that could affect a group this large, we are simply wasting time with our wishing."
"I do...but I need walls. Can you make any?"
"My boy..stop this and let's begin." Slapping his hands again. A large boulder appeared in a similar flash as the brute had. Darrius watched as it rolled back and forth, directed by Bexdal's pointing finger. "I daresay this should work nicely."
He glanced toward Darrius. "Well?"
Darrius stared at the trio. A giant, a boulder, and a cantankerous old man. Darrius turned his gaze from the man to the closing army, and considered simply leaving.
This is a fool's errand carried out by two fools.
Darrius whistled in resignation. A large tiger the size of a horse appeared. Its green tint and black leathered saddle were the only things that distinguished it from an ordinary tiger. Nimbly, he climbed onto the beast's back and secured himself onto it.
"Where's your other story? We haven't all day, boy."
Another whistle, and a golden eagle appeared on Darrius' shoulder. "I'm ready."
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Sweat ran down Darrius' forehead as he strained to stay mounted while his cat ripped apart another undead warrior with his mount. Blood gushed from numerous gashes along his great cat. Its emerald sheen already turning reddish brown.
A warrior's stripped skull burst as his hawk crashed into it. Darrius paused and peered around, bringing up a hand to clear his vision of the gray-black locks that fell across his face and eyes. Everywhere, as far as the eye could see, the writhing flood of living death swarmed around them. The concept of so many creatures created by one story was unthinkable. But the alternative was just impossible.
A giant boulder rolled past him, leaving a path of destruction behind it. Bexdal's giant was almost as effective. It would build up a running start, sending skeletons flying in every direction, and then leap into the air, and belly flop into the midst of them, crushing a dozen skeletons at a time.
He watched as it rose from its latest dive, unimaginably huge muscles flexing under its greyish skin as it stood once more. Even in righting itself, it knocked attacking constructs away like rag dolls. A few would recover themselves, but most would explode into an inky black mist that glittered in the sunlight
Darrius was surprised at how effective their constructs were against the hoard. Looks as if Bexdal was right...yet, it's still going to take forever.
No sooner had he finished the thought, than the undead constructs froze. It was almost as if the sages controlling the constructs had reached a similar conclusion simultaneously. Here and there his eagle still swooped in to devour frozen constructs, and it seemed the giant construct could do nothing without crushing skeletons in its effort, even wandering aimlessly.
"Hah! We've done it, Darrius! We've done enough damage to make them stop."
Darrius surveyed the unmoving army. Despite the destruction, every skeleton stood where they were, motionless. Even their tattered clothing and armor hung still, untouched by even the breeze.
"Now all we need to do is move up and locate the mob of unsanctioned sages that did this." Bexdal gave a grin of triumph.
Movement in the ranks of the army drew Darrius' attention. A gap of space moved toward the two sages, as constructs moved aside for someone passing through their ranks. Darrius pointed at the approaching wave.
"Eh? A sage, perhaps?" Bexdal spoke the question more to himself than to his companion. "Now we get to the bottom of this."
Bexdal stepped forward to where the arriving offender should make his appearance. His giant construct stepped in front of him and thus blocked his path. Four of the constructed warriors parted just then. A larger skeleton wearing black robes which cascaded down his emaciated form stepped through the gap made by the warriors.
Darkness pulsed around its hands and streaked out at both sages. Darrius pulled back hard on his mount's reigns. It was purely an instinctual reaction, little more than a flinch, really. The great cat rose up on its hind legs, blocking the incoming ripple of darkness. A flicker of doubt shot through Darrius' mind.
This is ridiculous...stories can't-
Green exploded into his vision before his thought completed, blinding him, as his mount vanished and enveloped him in green mist. Pain ripped into his unprotected side, as he hit the ground. Confusion filled Darrius' mind, as he witnessed blood seeping from his now injured and visible side.
A shriek brought him to his senses. Bexdal was buried beneath his giant construct. It lay stock still, a large black burn across its stomach. Bexdal's legs kicked and thrashed as he attempted to free himself. Shrieks of profanity and insults directed at the fallen story filled the air.
The robed undead stepped forward and took in the scene before it, lidless eyes coming to rest on Darrius.
"Take them." Its hiss was nothing more than an empty, toneless sound.
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