Kaleidoscope

The clamor of the early morning skirmishes kept Prefect Jordenne Zeal from his rest. Harsh clanging of steel swords and spears on armor and weapons could be where he was attempting to resume his rest in his officer’s tent on the other side of a large hill from the fighting. Deciding that his rest would have to be put off until tonight after the fighting died down, he sat up in his cot and began getting ready to continue his mission. After donning his uniform: burgundy breeches and a white tunic under a pressed, double-breasted crimson coat with silver buttons on the chest and cuffs, as well as his white and red sash, looped underneath his right epaulet which denoted his rank; he eyes the cuirass on the stand near the luggage for the rest of his clothes. Deciding that a small band of weak, foolhardy country folk weren’t worth the effort to get his second to help strap him into his armor, he pushed aside the flap of the tent and moved into the command area of camp.

He had been in these large military camps before and saw little difference between the officers’ living conditions and the general men-at-arms in the lower camps. Perhaps, he thought, the bigger tents made them feel better about being so far away from civilization. He couldn’t blame them too much for that. After all, it was these savages who decided that this backwater, a week’s hard ride from any real civilization, was worth denying the Western Sovereignty. He could still hear the fighting between the Sovereignty’s trained military and the local “militia” and was becoming annoyed with how long this offensive was taking to complete. Suddenly, he could feel a presence just over his left shoulder and hoped for good news.

A young woman’s voice spoke as he began to turn. “Prefect Zeal, sir! I have returned and completed my task successfully. I took the liberty of commandeering a squad and they await your command.”

Zeal’s momentary excitement at finally being able to finish his task was put on hold for a moment in order to teach a lesson to his second. He looked at her with a wolfish grin and spoke with an unnervingly level tone, “Delator a’Harbridge”, do you mean to tell me that you believe we require assistance from the regulars to kill one man? These worthless soldiers,” he spat the word with disgust loud enough for the group of men standing behind his second to overhear, “barely know which end of their weapons to point toward the enemy, and those cowards know even less than that!” He delighted in the way fear quickly flashed across her normally emotionless face. She was still maintaining eye contact so perhaps it wasn’t the worst decision to take her on as his new protégé.

“No, sir, of course not, sir. While scouting, I noted that our target was close to the front lines and would be hard to reach without a shield or distraction,” she said, still maintaining eye contact.

So, she was willing to send these men to their deaths in order to create an opening. In the dusty, forgotten depths of Prefect Zeal’s heart, he felt a small flicker of pride in Delator Carmelle a’Harbridge. It’s about time she took to my teachings. She’s not the slowest I’ve had, to be sure, but she is more hesitant than I’d like to use these peons. This flicker was quickly dismissed and forgotten. He would have to continue her lesson later. For now, all he needed her for was pointing out the bastard leading these glorified farmers.

Zeal turned and began walking to the high hill that separated the camp from the battle currently being fought. As he walked through the outskirts of the camp, he felt disgusted by the filth all around him. The ground was muddy from the rain in the night and had been trod on by a thousand boots, creating a trench of footsteps that snaked between all the tents, widened out in the area the soldiers were marshalled, and split into 3 lines, one over the tall, grassy hill where a few of the commanding officers could be seen directing their troops; and two more that hugged the base of the hill. The smell as he walked by never changed as he passed the last few of the tents, the sickly-sweet smell of human waste and body odor making him grimace.

Reaching the top of the hill, he thought that if one couldn’t hear the death below and only looked off into the wooded lands in the distance, a simple person might find this land charming. Low, grassy hills barely broke up the landscape with the occasional grouping of trees with thick foliage growing between the hills where water would pool. The sky was a clear blue with a few starched-white puffs lazily floating in the breeze. The morning chill, cooling his breath in thin clouds, brought him back to the task at hand.

He turned to his second and saw she was right next to him, standing at attention and focused as if she hadn’t just climbed a steep slope as quickly as himself. It wasn’t that he was particularly athletic, on the contrary, he had a protruding belly and a paunch to his face; it was that when he got this close to his goal, he was relentless and never let his body get in the way of finishing off his prey. He was hungry for the kill and already looking forward to a new assignment.

Contrary to the Delator, the men she had commanded to follow them in case the Prefect had a use for them had only just finished standing in formation, trying to hide their heavy breathing and willing sweat to hold off on cooling their faces until he turned back around. He knew they were aware of his reputation and was glad to see it still had an effect.

“Show me,” was all he said and a’Harbridge stepped forward, scanning the battlefield, looking for the man she and the Prefect had been hunting for two weeks, culminating in this battle. She looked past all the dead and dying, past those locked in combat for third time in two days, and found her their target.

Even though he looked like the village elder, someone’s kindly grandfather, he shouted orders to his men as though he was a seasoned general. Despite his unlikely appearance for a militia general, it was difficult to pick him out immediately due to him being in the middle of the fighting. She watched as he stabbed and slashed with a short sword at his enemy, precise and with as little wasted effort as possible. After finishing his controlled attack, he changed stances and stepped back, allowing some of his men to fill the gap and continue the fight. As soon as he was clear of the melee, he started to feel the air with his off hand. His eyes moved over the battle, trying to get a more complete sense of his surroundings, taking in the battlefield. Suddenly, he clenched the fist in the air, twisted his hand, and released his grip on unseen forces. As though an unheard order was given, all his soldiers disengaged their foes and quickly moved back a dozen paces, the old man with them.

The Western Sovereignty’s soldiers, a vast sea of maroon compared to the relatively small militia force, surged forward and Carmelle heard one of the officers near her curse under his breath and quickly sent a messenger down the hill with an urgent order. Before the young boy could make it down the hill to issue the commands, a create fissure opened up between the maroon-coated soldiers and the militia, swallowing dozens immediately, a few more being pushed over the edge by the ranks in the back who didn’t see the ground open to devour their countrymen.

“Fools,” Zeal said dismissively after witnessing the massacre. “If you pointed him out to me sooner, those men would still be alive to die on another battlefield.” From where he stood, he just barely see the color rising on his subordinate’s cheeks and ears. She’s too caught up in the moment, hasn’t seen enough bloodshed yet. Before I’m through with her, she will get her fill and more, and by then will learn to focus on her task.

Carmelle reset herself and pointed toward the old man, still in the mess of his forces rallying to re-engage the enemy. “He’s the one with the sword and no shield, looks like he should be taking care of grandkids.”

They both knew that after the old man’s display of magic, Prefect zeal would be able to find him on his own. Carmelle was too embarrassed by her lack of urgency and Zeal was busy enjoying seeing that for him to gloat. She knew that she made herself obsolete just then.

Zeal turned back to the squad of soldiers awaiting his command. They all resumed their attention, silent and fearful of Prefect Jordenne Zeal’s infamous wrath. “I’m sending you all to support the fight. Move down the right side of this hill and engage the enemy on the other side of the chasm. I will have the rest of our force move in behind you to support.” He turned his back to them and continued to study the battlefield. The soldiers’ faces were painted with relief at the mercy shown to them by the Prefect. As they marched down the hill, an officer near Zeal, the same one that sent the messenger to warn of the feint, called for another runner. Zeal overheard the command and let the runner go, bringing orders to support the soldiers he just sent off.

“Send another runner down and tell them to move to the left side of the chasm,” Zeal told the officer.

“I’m sorry, sir?” The officer, a captain judging by the epaulets and collection of medals on his chest, asked, confused. “I overheard that you wanted that squad of soldiers supported on our right flank. Should I send a runner to inform them of the change of plan?” Another runner was standing at his side, ready to carry orders.

“Do as I said, and do not alter the orders of the soldiers I sent,” Zeal said in a hard tone, staring down the captain with harsh indignation at having been questioned by someone below him. “ Do you think I am incapable of thought? Send your new orders before our force moves too far. Now!” he bellowed. The captain hurriedly sent off the second runner.

Just as the small squad Zeal sent closed in on the militia, the rest of the Sovereignty’s soldiers turned and moved back to flank to the other side. The squad engaged the militia on one side while the rest of the army closed in on the other. In order to see both fronts, the old man began to move away from the fighting and Carmelle could see him reaching for something in the air again.

At that moment, the man’s body stopped. His eyes began to bulge and blood streamed out of his ears and over his lips, staining his short beard. Carmelle glanced at her superior, his hands raised as well, his eyes focused on his prey, his mouth displaying a vicious smile. His middle finger was touching the tip of his thumb with his hand turned palm-up, his smile widened as he made a flicking motion.

All at once a loud SNAP knocked almost everyone off their feet, hands moved to cover their ears, some becoming sick on the ground. Everyone was reeling from the sudden noise, now echoing off the hills in the distance. Everyone apart from the old man, still standing frozen. His head had vanished with the sound, replaced by a spray of red that steamed on the cold ground.