The General's Legacy

Chapter Eight: Guardians of the Streets (part 1)

The Battle of Norvale 1849
Kingdom Army of Valendo led by King-Consort General Garon Allus Artifex-Dendra. Deaths: approximately 420 before an orderly retreat from an indefensible position.
Kingdom Army of Nearhon led by General Magnar. Deaths: approximately 240 before occupying Norvale.
Excerpt from the War Histories of Valendo.

*

Calm as owl flight, a voice came out of the darkness.
"Are we at war?"
Startled, Guardsman Hayden turned to the voice and his eyes widened.
"No don't turn around," the voice suddenly snapped.
There was a sigh followed by silvery sounding magic words that Hayden could not understand.

Hayden thought it would be a good idea to look out over the battlements and keep watch over the perimeter of Dendra Castle. He didn't know why, but he thought it would be a good idea to forget what he had seen and answer questions.
"Are we at war?" the voice asked again.
"It's hard to tell," Hayden replied.
"What do you mean, hard to tell?" the voice began to sound impatient, "What is going on?"
"They say the dead walk the streets in Tranmure. The dead stand and follow a dead mage that wears the crown of Valendo. The palace is burning. The king and the commanders are dead."
Hayden stared down into the forest outside the castle as if there was something out there in the storm-ridden world he should be searching for. The trees jostled with each other in the fitful wind, their leaves whispering secrets back and forth.
"Who is in command?" the voice asked.
"Prince Cory," said Hayden.
There was no reply. Hayden began to wish the trees would speak and share their secrets. Then the voice spoke calmly once more.
"Have a horse standing at the castle gate in one hour. You will not remember any of this."

Hayden had the oddest feeling. His mind was suddenly clear and thoughts sharp. Why was the stable hand tethering a horse by the gate? When he thought about that, his head started to ache.

*

Cory stood on a bridge looking down at his unsteady reflection in the water. He had rarely seen himself wearing plate armour. It was normally used for ceremonies and military exercises. The visor was up and his humourless face mixed and shifted on the rivers surface.
Nearby, the tall white obelisk topped by the rock sun stood watch over twenty guards in the plaza. Tranmure was a difficult city for thieves. The violent, the drunk, the trouble maker and the murderer all received justice from the city guard. They were an authority on which the burgled, abused and bereaved could rely. The guards stood wearing ringmail over leather armour carrying a glaive, a cosh and one in every five had a light crossbow. The men were trained and equipped to handle anything Tranmure had to throw at them.

"What do you think the plan is?" the youngest guard asked the man next to him.
"Do you think there is a plan?" a second guard replied.
"Hit them over the head and throw them in jail until morning," a third joked.
None of them laughed.
"If they come back I'm wondering how good a glaive will be at... dealing with them," a fourth said, eyeing the blade mounted on the end of a pole almost as long as he was tall.
"Send them over to Blake's wife, she's lethal with a rolling pin," a fifth said.
"Her pastry's not that bad," another said, presumably Blake.
"So we can see, you need a bigger belt," the third guard spoke again.
A few chuckles followed.

Cory shifted his gaze from the river to the sky as it darkened again and tried to see a future beyond the grey mist his mind imagined. He could only see a present, one which the men behind him didn't seem to be taking seriously. The storm had passed, but the clouds were still heavy, releasing rain at unexpected times.
Cory saw movement on the plaza's eastern approach road. The road was usually busy with working people, farm animals, miners and cart loads of misshapen rocks heading for the smelting plant. Street traders with small stalls normally offered food, trinkets and tools along this road. It was deserted now. All of Tranmure seemed deserted, but people hid behind doors and shutters in their homes waiting for the storm to pass. Children were told kind lies "It's too wet to play out."
Cory studied the figures coming down the road with an emotional detachment. He had slept remarkably well between the small hours of this morning and the afternoon.
He barked orders and pairs of crossbowmen took up positions either side of the road behind buildings.
The church hospital beds were not bad for comfort and there was good food available. He did not want to think about why he couldn't sleep in his own bed. The events of the previous night had become a place his mind refused to venture. Stay in the present, it's safer here.
He drew his sword and the yellow jewel in the hilt lit up like the opening of a lizard's eye. This was something else he added to the fast growing list of strange new experiences.
All black and bones, spindly figures came carrying hammers, pickaxes and shovels. Charred bits of leather hung from their frames all that remained of clothing. The miners were returning home from their last day at work. None of them remembering where they lived, who their families were or who they were. They had instructions to follow and that was all.