The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador

by Swanson, Jay

  “At ease,” Cram grumbled. “The Mayor simply wants to inspect the bunkers. We won't be a bother.”

  The two men looked relieved until Merodach took a step forward and began studying their work on the ground, poking curiously with his cane. He looked at the gun for a while, then back at the parts, and eventually up at one of the engineers. “Will it work?”

  “Yes sir,” the man almost stuttered, he was so nervous. “It's almost ready, probably in another ten... maybe twenty minutes.”

  “I want to see it fire.” Merodach said nonchalantly.

  The engineer's face went so pale Phelts was worried his brain might show through. “Of... of course, sir.”

  “Sir.” Cram reached for Merodach's shoulder. “Perhaps we should walk the line and come back when it's ready.”

  “Nonsense, Cram,” Merodach scoffed. “We have plenty of time. I'm not wandering back to that filthy camp any time soon. Once I've seen it fire, I'll feel much better, and we can take your walk to inspect the line.”

  He turned and walked to the broad window through which the guns would spray their death upon their foes. “We can talk plenty well from here, in any case. The strategy seems simple enough. They send an advance boat to make sure it's safe, the rest follow when nothing happens, and we unload on them once the majority are well within range of our guns.” He turned back to Cram. “What's even left to discuss?”

  “Just that, sir.” Cram walked over to the window. “I can't believe they would be so stupid as to try and make land here.”

  “There's nowhere else to make land!”

  “They won't come by sea.” Cram shook his head.

  “I told you, I don't care what you think, Cram!” Merodach almost shouted, before he stared at Phelts. “Phelts! What's wrong with you? You're sweating like a fool.”

  “It's hot in here,” Phelts said as he wiped his brow. He hadn't even realized he had been sweating, and the added attention to it now made him swallow hard against his anxiety.

  “Take off your damned coat then,” Merodach shook his head. “Minister of Finance... stop sweating and start calculating how much money we need to suck out of Liscentia to pay for all of this.”

  Phelts removed his jacket and wiped his brow again before moving to join them at the window. The harbor was massive to see from here. The cliffs angled out and away from them as they curved down the slope and straightened to shoot out from the coast for another mile and a half before curving north and south. Bunkers lined the entire crest at even distances.

  “So what if they don't just wander in?” Merodach said. “Where will they go? We aren't going to show our faces until it's too late for them, and the only other way to reach us will be by land as you've so repeatedly put it. Meddlands won't let them cross the river, so they've got a guaranteed fight facing them against the gamble that this will be open.”

  “This is suicide.” Cram shook his head again. “The only way to take this position would be with a complete disregard for the lives of your men and enough of them to flood it to overflowing. Unless they've got some massive artillery with them, or have grown completely callous for their soldiers, they won't risk it.”

  “Your predecessors thought differently, Cram.” Merodach's flat tone was set to end the discussion. “I think differently.”

  Phelts hung his jacket over the edge of the window so that the majority wafted gently in the breeze outside. He grabbed a loose stone from the floor next to him and placed it on the jacket to hold it in place. I've gotta get the hell out of here.

  “How many men would it take to overwhelm us here, Phelts?”

  “What?” Phelts looked up as the knot in his stomach twisted around his shortened breath.

  “How many men?” Merodach looked exasperated. “If these guns were fully operational, and we could chew through them at speed, how many would it take to overwhelm us?”

  “I–” Phelts swallowed hard. I can't stay here.

  “He's not a soldier.” Cram shook his head. “And no general would send his men into this place willingly.”

  “It's a math question, Cram. Not an ethics quandary!”

  Another engineer walked in with a bucket of grease and an old brush. “Thought you might need this for the hing-” He stopped short to salute. “Sorry sir– sirs! I didn't realize you were in here.”

  “At least some people know how to show respect around here,” Merodach grumbled. “Get on with it.”

  The man put the bucket down and began to leave before Merodach raised his cane to stop him.

  “Do you have any different guns? Working guns?”

  “Sure, sir. I'm about to take my team to put some together just over on the north ridge there.”

  “Take Phelts with you. The coin monkey's starting to irritate me with all of his sweating and jittering.” He pointed his cane at Phelts. “Go count how many guns we have and how much this whole refit is costing me, Phelts. I want to know how many ships we can sink and how quickly. And don't come back until you've stopped acting like a moron.”

  “Guns?” But Phelts almost felt too relieved to move. “I... sure, show me what you've got.”

  “No problem, sir. Just follow me.” The young man tried in vain to mask his excitement at the upcoming projects. Big guns meant big fun, Phelts wagered. “The trenches and tunnels run between each bunker, makes it easy to get around.”

  “Great, I'll follow you.”

  “The morons I surround myself with...” Merodach glanced between Phelts and Cram before walking over to inspect the gun again.

  Phelts didn't bother formulating a response, he wasn't even sure what Merodach would expect to hear. His mood was already back to its sour, brooding self. A terrible mood to be your last.

  The engineer Phelts followed almost ran through the tunnel that connected the bunkers, so great was his excitement to put the guns back together, and for the added speed Phelts was grateful. The boy started rambling over his shoulder about how they had devised a pattern to bring the defenses back online in a balanced fashion. If trouble showed up at any point in the project they would still have firepower located at all of the crucial points of the defense.

  “Did you want to stop and check out these unfinished ones?”

  “Just take me to the ones you're working on,” Phelts said against the lump in his throat.

  “No problem, sir. These things are magnificent weapons, even if they are outdated. They're way nicer than the originals they installed here.”

  He rambled off the guns' rate of fire, angles of trajectory, range, and all kinds of numbers that Phelts would normally find intriguing. But Phelts was just glad to get as far away from Merodach's bunker as possible. With every step he took he expected the resounding concussion of an explosion to knock him on his face. As soon as they reached the bunkers on the slowly rising cliffs, the tunnels turned to trenches open to the sky. The engineer explained that the construction of the defenses had been kept to as minimalistic of an appearance as possible to lull the Demon into the trap.

  There were no alternatives, so the Demon must have known trouble was waiting, but it was better to keep the nature of the trouble hidden until the last possible moment. Phelts had a hard time listening, his mind swirling with fears and questions. Why hadn't the charge gone off yet? Was Keaton even here? Had he managed to get here on time or was he delayed on the way down?

  They arrived at their destination minutes after they had set out, but to Phelts it felt like it could have been an hour. Three young men in black coveralls were working on putting a spring into one of the long slender cannons as they walked in.

  “Hey guys,” his guide waved, eliciting little more than an acknowledging grunt from his companions.

  From here Phelts could see Merodach's bunker on his left, and the rest of the southern side of the defenses clearly. His coat still sat on the ledge, lifting gently against the breeze intermittently. Why haven't they struck? His stomach was churning in electric knots. Can't they see it?
>
  “So here's the gun we put together yester–“ the engineer stopped ten feet farther on. “What the... Tom! What the hell did you do to my gun?”

  “What are you talking about?” The engineer called Tom didn't even look up from the task at hand as they slid the spring into place with a click.

  “My gun! It's missing its parts!”

  “You sure you did that one?” Tom obviously didn't care.

  “You helped me do it, you asshole!”

  “Swab your eyes and check again, I'm busy.”

  “Boys,” Phelts interrupted as he rubbed his own eyes.

  “Damnit, Tom. If you need parts, carry them in yourself!”

  “Boys!” Phelts yelled. They all turned to him at the urgency in his voice. “Who's out on the central guns?”

  “Central guns?”

  “That thing!” Phelts pointed out to the center of the harbor.

  “Oh,” his guide said dumbly. “The pillar? No one's on the pillar right now; no one's even touched it yet.”

  “Well it's moving!” Phelts turned back to the pillar as his heart suddenly grew blessedly light. “It's moving.”

  The guns were difficult to see in the round bunker on top of the pillar, recessed into the darkness as they were, but the end of the innermost was certainly moving. It was subtle, but it was there, and it was taking aim. Good God, Phelts urged. Do it already!

  A light clanking noise could be heard as the angle of the barrel was altered slightly. The silence that followed lasted only a split second before a concussion split the air and bounced off the cliffs around them.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ARDIN AND SHILL RODE AT A GOOD PACE FOR TWO MORE DAYS BEFORE HIS FRUSTRATIONS FINALLY GOT THE BETTER OF HIM. The words of the Brethren rang in his mind with every passing clop of the hoof, and his need to see Alisia again grew in kind.

  They said I was safe, he continued to tell himself. They said that he wouldn't touch me... not if I didn't let him. But he remained uncertain, his confidence still shaken.

  Shill was getting weaker, too. They were having to stop more frequently to let him stretch his legs than Ardin was truly happy with, and he hung lower in the saddle by the end of each day.

  “I'd tell you to go on without me,” Shill said once as he cracked his neck during a rest. “I just don't know that I'd make it without you.”

  Ardin had a mind to leave him behind, but in the end he too was afraid that Shill really wouldn't make it without him. However, every day they traveled together they got a little slower and stopped a few more times. Ardin grew worried about the consequences of their decreasing speed.

  Shill passed the time telling nonsensical stories, and soon Ardin was almost as concerned for his mental health as he was for the time they were making. Shill seemed to be losing his mind the farther into enemy territory they went. Soon he'll be a rambling lunatic, and I'll be stuck with him somewhere in this wasteland.

  The terrain had long turned a brownish-gray from the blight of the Relequim, and their need for water began to dictate their path as Ardin tried to sense it out as best as he could. Eventually he grew so tired of trying to feel his way through the Atmosphere alone that his fears were overcome, long enough to have a look around in his mind. It only took him a few minutes to find the water, and no sign of intrusion made itself apparent.

  The success only emboldened him, Hevetican's words about his power and the Brethren's reassurance of his strength resounding with a newfound confidence in his mind. Alisia. The desire to see her was so strong he convinced himself he could overcome anything to be with her, so one night he decided to give it a try.

  He allowed himself back onto the Plain, his half-finished fortress rotating slowly around him as he stood in place apart from it. Once he solidified, committed to this state, he closed his eyes and called out to her. Nothing came back in response. He called out again, willing himself to be heard, but she didn't come. Nothing happened at all.

  He wandered to the door he had created to his mind, hesitating for a moment, uncertain if he should open it. He brushed the fear aside aside and slid the false wall down, opening a pathway to the Plain. I have to see her.

  He called for her as he closed the door and made his way out of his maze and onto the Plain at large. He had never explored it before, not really. He didn't know where it went, if it bridged directly into the minds of others or required that they call to him first. He swept through the jungle, his sense of caution being overwhelmed by an urgency to find Alisia, to discover the reason for the silence.

  Was she ok? Could she not hear him? Was he being silenced? Silenced... the thought came to him as he entered the mountains of his making and moved the entrance to the jungle to a new location with a thought. What if I'm being silenced?

  “I wondered when you would come.”

  Ardin whipped around with a start, his heart instantly racing. “Relequim.”

  “More, I'd been wondering where that entrance was. You move it subconsciously, I've noticed. It makes it very tricky to find.”

  Ardin set his stance. Before him stood a tall dark figure, hooded in the most ratty, soiled cloak he had ever seen. Aside from the tattered nature of the cloak, there was little else of note about the Relequim's appearance, but his very presence pressed upon Ardin from where he stood among the trees. Still, his voice remained soothing.

  “Don't be foolish, boy. You can't hurt me here, this is the Plain, not my mind.”

  But Ardin didn't believe him. He called up the warmth, his control in this place unprecedented. He brought up his hands in a flash, sending a blistering shock of white fire at the figure in the trees. When the blaze cleared, Ardin could see a hole in the forest where his power had gone, but the Relequim stood untouched. Oh God...

  “As I said, we're not in my mind. Nor are we truly in yours, though this forest is an extension of it. Feel free to burn it down for me, though; it will certainly ease my search for the entrance.”

  Ardin set his jaw as he clenched his fists. “I'll burn everything if I have to.”

  “A lovely sentiment,” the Relequim laughed. “I wish you would; it would save me some time.”

  “What do you want?” Ardin's defenses never wavered; he knew this was some sort of trick, and he wouldn't be caught off guard.

  “To silence you, of course. I can't have you communicating with the outside world. I'm sure the bird-men would love to more easily find you, and of course your precious darling.” The hiss to the Relequim's voice as he finished his sentence sent Ardin into a rage.

  “You're the root of all of this! You! And you're responsible for so much death and destruction! My family... Alisia!”

  “I've had a hand in many, many things my boy.” The cloaked figure adjusted its stance, the tattered folds of its cloak wafting gently in an otherwise imperceptible breeze. “It's amazing how much can fall apart with just the most gentle of nudges.”

  Ardin's anger turned in on himself, ripping at the scars and opening the oldest wounds he carried. Before him stood the mastermind of his pain, of the world's destruction, and all he could do was fight back the tears and ask, “Why?”

  “Why what, Ardin?”

  He hated hearing his name come from the monster in front of him. “WHY EVERYTHING?! Why Tertian? The Purge? Why the Truans and my family and Veria and the rest? Why?!”

  Silence floated through the metaphysical trees with a stillness that revealed just how unworldly their surroundings really were. Ardin didn't know what else to ask, he didn't know how to talk to Alisia, and now he was trapped by this monster.

  “Curiosity, I suppose.” The figure shrugged lackadaisically. “As I said, it's amazing what small nudges can do, Ardin. Put the right knife into the hands of a power hungry Mage or the right hope before the King of the Shades, and they will move mountains to get what they want from you. It's rather amazing to see.”

  “You gave Tertian the knife?” The memory of the black knife covered in runes came to him in a flash. />
  “And he the Shadow King. They were both after the same thing, really. One using the other without realizing that he was in turn being used. All because it had been suggested that what they wanted was just within their reach, if only they would be willing to stretch for it.” Ardin could sense the figure smile as if it caused ripples in the air. “Your entire continent has been brought low simply by the power of suggestion before, and it is happening again.”

  Ardin bit his lip, willing himself to say nothing, pressing his thoughts and words down deep so as to maintain his own silence. He needed to leave, he realized. He didn't want to hear this.

  “I never offered anything they couldn't have, Ardin. I never withheld anything I promised. And now I'm offering you something. I will leave you alone, I won't hunt you or interfere with your mind, so long as you leave Veria alone.”

  That caught Ardin off guard. He wasn't heading to Veria. “What?”

  “You can't make it to them in time, but I want to be sure. Leave Veria alone, and of course stop traveling north. Head to Islenda, or the Southron Isles, or Trauncia for all I care, and I promise to let you live.”

  “You have to be joking.” Ardin couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice. “Never.”

  “I'll let you be with your precious girl,” the figure said as if he hadn't finished his thought, catching Ardin off guard again. “You know I have the power to separate you, just like I'm doing now, but forever. If you go to Veria, if you continue north, I swear I will rend you from her like meat from the bone.” Malice returned to the voice now. “I will find you and crush you, Ardin Vitalis. I swear to you that the hell I send you to will be more real than anything you have ever experienced, and when death finally finds you, your separation from Alisia will be complete!”