Free The Record of the Saints Caliber by M. David White Page B

on her shoulder than rust overtook the armor, instantly climbing its way up his arm, over and around his shoulders, and spreading instantly across his chest, back and down his legs. He started to scream but it was choked off. He fell to his knees, his armor clanking on the hard earth, crumbling off in rusted clumps as he fell backward in a limp heap. His desiccated and frightful face stared up at the heavens through dead, white eyes.
    The other two lieutenants came to an abrupt halt and gasped.
    Celacia turned around and smiled at them, her emerald eyes gleaming in the sun. “Hi boys,” she said with a wink.
    They raised their bolt-throwers to her, taking aim. One of them began to shout “Halt!” but something unseen flared around Celacia. The earth beneath Celacia’s feet cracked and withered; the armor upon the fallen soldier at her heels tinkled as it crumbled to rusty powder, leaving nothing but a ghastly skeleton that was also quickly dissolving. The remaining lieutenants dropped their guns as Celacia’s aura washed over them. Their backs arched and they wailed horrific death screams. They fell to the earth as their hands and arms curled with a macabre rigor until they all lay in a cadaverous heap with pallid, withered faces and sunken eyes staring out at nothing.
    The horses of the three fallen lieutenants reared up and screamed, tearing off down the slope as Golden Cockerel, Ramiel and the Oracle struggled to keep their own horses under control.
    “This is an outrage!” wailed Golden Cockerel, backing his horse up behind his last lieutenant, Ramiel and the Oracle. He looked at his remaining lieutenant and said, “Dispose of her at once!” He clapped his hands twice and then put his nose to the sky. “Quickly. I demand she be dispatched.”
    The lieutenant fumbled to lift his bolt-thrower as he struggled with his horse, but Celacia stepped forward wagging a finger. “Ah-ah-ah,” she warned.
    Ramiel spit then grunted and whipped his anxious horse around. His topaz eyes burned angrily. He scowled as he drove his horse forward, overtaking the lieutenant who was becoming more worthless with every cowing Celacia dished out.
    Most Saints were young and fair of complexion, appearing to be in their early or late twenties. Ramiel looked rougher and older, partly due to his scruffy facial hair and partly due to the large, pink scar that ran diagonally from his left eye, across his nose, and off the bottom of his square jaw. His eyes and hair were like crystalline topaz, ruddy and brown, though his left eye was more white and looked damaged from whatever had left the nasty scar. He gazed upon Celacia with cold appraisal before his eyes chanced a glance at the strange stellaglyph emblazoned upon the buckles that held her cape to the top of her breastplate. For the briefest of moments Ramiel’s face betrayed a hint of puzzlement.
    “Name yourself, Saint.” ordered Ramiel, his star-metal gauntlets gripping the reins of his horse tightly as the beast nervously shuffled about. The Oracle’s pale horse was equally uncooperative and whinnied nervously as it bobbed its head up and down, looking at Celacia with wide eyes.
    Celacia turned her emerald eyes to the Oracle and chirped out, “You know, it’s quite insulting that none of your Saints know who I am. Or have I been sleeping so long you forgot about me too?”
    Ramiel cast Celacia a stone-cold glare. “Name yourself,” he ordered.
    “And that’s the other thing,” she chirped. “You Saints Caliber types are way too serious.” She looked at the shrouded figure upon the pale horse that gazed upon her with its ovular, silver mask. “So, you’re an Oracle, huh?”
    “Celacia, it’s been a very long time,” spoke the Oracle quite calmly, its voice strange and metallic from behind the mask. “Tell me, who are the Saints here with you today? I can sense their presence but cannot quite make out who they are.”
    “Did nobody hear me say I want her