Battle Lights
Night had fallen, and snow peppered the sky. Only fox tracks spoilt the white shroud covering the land. A frozen stream, cut deep into the soil, stood to one side of an old track. Parallel to this wound a fence, its wooden planks balancing a head of snow for miles. Stumbling along the path appeared a man dressed in grey layers. Stencilled in black paint across a broken signpost was the name ‘Cerria’.
Stopping, breath escaped Lancar’s open mouth like venting smoke from a cook's pot. Scared that something followed him he turned back on his trail. Nothing, only his tracks spoilt the virgin snow. A distant rumble had him clutch at his belt. The feel of the metal dagger at his hip only escalated his fear. What use was steel against those abominations? Beyond the fence, blue, green, and an arterial red light split the horizon. Further sounds from the distant battle made his stomach roil. Bending over he vomited. Wiping at his lips he muttered a curse. Again, he looked behind, afraid of seeing a following shape. They said if you deserted, the Karrion would find you. He stumbled on, crunching the snow with each heavy step.
Coming to a sudden halt he spied below him a figure perched on the fence. Throwing his cloak around his face he hunkered down in the dark. His eyes darted to the fields on either side. The bushes lining the lane afforded concealment; he would be conspicuous on the fields for miles around, a moving black dot on white paper. He could not go back, he needed to put more distance between him and the battlefield. A flare of yellow highlighted the countryside, and in its glow, he discovered the figure below him was only a boy. Grinning at his own foolishness he relaxed his grip on his knife. Although some may call him a coward for fleeing the battle he would never hide from a child. Easing himself back to his full height he felt the cold ache in his knees.
The boy held a sandwich in one hand and a pack of cards in the other. He noted the arrival of Lancar with a brief glance and then took a bite of his lunch.
"Hi," said Lancar, raising his hand.
"Hello," the boy answered, turning his attention back to the distant lights. A golden haze still muddied the skyline after the earlier brilliant flash.
A far away scream punctured the silence between Lancar and the boy like a tap of a cane. "Do you mind if I rest here with you for a bit?"
The boy gave a shrug. "Watch the lights with me; if you want."
Lancar did not want to watch the lights. Each flash spelled another horrible death. "I just want company for a moment before I carry on," he said, feeling tired and worn. Easing back against the fence he dislodged a hump of snow. "Do you live around here? I saw a name on a sign."
"Cerria is a province," said the boy.
"Is there a town close by?"
The boy looked down to his left; a solitary card lay on the snow. Picking up the card he studied it and then turned it toward Lancar with a wry smile. The picture on the card revealed a golem. Lancar felt a shudder travel up his spine and felt his legs go weak. Turning from the metal monstrosity with its painted staring goggles he heard the boy place the card down with a slap.
"You shouldn't be this close to the battlefield," said Lancar. He looked up, expecting to find a dark figure watching him from the adjacent field; nothing, only snow and shapes buried in white. "Aren't you afraid?"
"Nope," answered the boy around a mouthful of cheese.
Curious, Lancar studied the boy again. Despite the cold night, the boy only wore a thin jacket and trousers ripped at the knees. A blue flash lightened the night enough for Lancar to see that the boy was no older than ten years old. The boy's eyes brimmed with wonder at the spectacle of war. Foolish kid, he thought, war is not something to gawp at open mouthed.
"This close to the battle you should be shaking from more than the cold."
"I'm not cold," said the boy.
Lancar freed his hands from his cloak and felt the icy wind snap at his fingers with relish. He stuffed them back with a shake of his head.
Cold wind carried the sound of tortured metal, squealing on round joints. Lancar started, this time taking his dagger from its scabbard. He knew the sound from countless nightmares.
"Relax," the boy said, offering a smile. "The golems are on the battlefield. Look," he pointed, "you can see their shadows against the red flashes."
Lancar, with horror, did see the lumbering giants. He should be farther away from the battle than this. These damn lanes twist and turn, and go nowhere. A deep felt rumble cracked a portion of snow on the fence; it fell with a soft thump.
"Runes on their chest make them invulnerable to metal," said the boy. "Your dagger would not have a chance to penetrate the plating. The runes deflect any weapon. This is the only way to stop a golem." He held up a card showing two hands with a green liquid shooting from the spread fingertips.
"What's that?"
"Acid Spray." The boy spoke with glee.
"Dangerous stuff," said Lancar. "I've seen men turned into liquid by the smallest drop." He decided not to mention the tormented screams of the men as the acid ate away skin, then flesh, before finally dissolving their bones into a foul smelling soup.
The boy snapped the card on top of the golem card. "The acid will eat away the runes, giving the soldiers an opportunity to kill the golem's controller. The creature within the armour is quite weak."
"Weak," said Lancar with a grimace that scathed his teeth. "They aren't weak. Each is larger than a man, and armed with a mouthful of dagger-sized teeth."
A horrible scream rose as a green light erupting from the battlefield.
Lancar looked and saw the silhouetted golem fall to its knees.
"True," said the boy. "It would take five men to surround and dispatch an exposed Grink."
The boy shuffled the deck and withdrew a card from the middle. He thumped the chosen card atop the splayed hands shooting the green spray. The upturned picture showed an armoured man holding a sword. For the first time, Lancar spotted small script beneath the picture. Leaning closer he saw a series of numbers aligned against words such as strength, fortitude and endurance, with courage having the highest stat on the card.
"To face an enraged Grink, you have to be brave," said the boy. "Without that you are nothing, useless, weak." The boy's hard stare took in Lancar only briefly. "I am curious, why did you run from the battle?"
Lancar pushed away from the fence. "I'm not a deserter," he said, with a mouth suddenly as dry as a mummified corpse.
The boy gave a shrug and finished off his sandwich. "Pointless having scouts out here, when the fighting has already started."
Another card had appeared beside the boy, Lancar had failed to see the boy take it from the pack. He retreated from the card, too terrified to find out what picture adorned it. "I don't want any part of this war. I don't even know why we are fighting. I have seen too much horror. What use is a man against spells and monstrous machines? My father made bread, his father mined coal."
"Were they good at what they did?" Picking a card the boy laid it atop the growing pile beside him; as he did the earth shook from a distant explosion.
Lancar ignored the earth shuddering beneath his feet. "Each worked from dawn till dusk."
"They took pride in their work. The baker kneading the dough, and your grandfather missed whole days while he toiled beneath ground." The boy waited for a series of loud bangs to die down before asking, "Aren't you a soldier? Isn't that what you always wanted?"
Lancar shook his head. "Give me a man to fight, and yes I would stand my ground." He jabbed a finger at the battle. "What good am I in the face of golems and women who conjure forth fire imps? When you grow up, you won't want to stare at those lights." Anger seared his throat. "Damn, you have no idea what it's like in the field, smelling the charred body of your friends. This is no game." He stopped, the boy was laughing. Stunned, he watched the boy throw back his head and laugh some more. "Stop that." The boy ignored him. Rushing forward he snatched the boy's shoulder in a fierce grip.
The boy's lips, moulded in a frightening grin, peeled back from his teeth. "Careful," said the boy, "you don't want to upset the cards."
"What do I care about your game?" Lancar released the shoulder, disturbed by its coldness. He flexed his fingers in an attempt to bring feeling back to his numb extremities.
"You already said you don't care for my game; though you should." The boy flipped over the topmost card of the deck. He turned the card without looking at its picture, his now gruesome smile widening as Lancar saw a picture of a shadowed figure on its face. The red eyes that peered from the image bored into Lancar's own, stealing away his frosted breath.
"I have a card for every occasion," said the boy. A distant red light framed him.
Under the card's picture lay a name in silver script, it read, Karrion.
Terror seized Lancar. Turning from the upraised card he saw a dark figure standing beside the sign atop the incline. The figure held a gleaming blue sword and watched him with ferocious red eyes. Snow melted to slush around the Karrion's feet as it began to march down the path.
"I can’t allow deserters to live," said the boy. "If I allowed soldiers to run away, I would soon be playing with half a deck."
A new card materialised on the snow. While he pondered which card to use against a ground wyvern he heard the deserter scream.