The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim

by Jay Swanson

  “Gentlemen,” he opened the meeting in the Mayor's office in the North Tower. There were about twenty officers in the room. All were standing around having hushed conversations amongst themselves while they waited. “We are facing two very real threats.”

  They quieted down and turned their attention to the colonel.

  “The first is that we are leaderless, and unless we find a civilian to make Mayor temporarily in lieu of an election or, God forbid, Pompidus' return, we will lose the trust of the people.”

  The South Tower, home to Elandir's military command, was now housing the city's Mayor, Pompidus Merodach, as he recuperated under their protection. He was weak, frail, and had hardly spoken in the past few months. It didn't seem to matter how well he healed physically, his mind refused to follow suit. His leg had been left nearly useless. His spirits were equally shattered by his nearly lethal encounter with the Shadow King. He didn't seem to be certain that surviving had been the best turn of events. And in all honesty, many of the military brass were facing the same uncertainty.

  “Isn't it up to the Council to appoint an interim Mayor, sir?”

  “It is, but their infighting has all but paralyzed them.” Gredge sighed inwardly. “We need to appoint one ourselves if we're to maintain any semblance of proper governance.”

  “We tried that,” a dark and brooding voice spoke confidently into the room. “Why hasn't Merodach been reinstated?”

  “Merodach will be restored to his position when he is fit to take it. If he is ever fit to take it.” Gredge wasn't certain how the fat Mayor had been faring recently. “As for our... 'first attempt' at picking a Mayor, it was a mistake, yes. Premature if nothing else.”

  “We gave him one intelligence briefing and he practically laid down arms on the spot.”

  To be fair to the failed Mayor, the military was on edge as well. No one had staked an authoritarian claim in the vacuum left by the two former generals. With the City's Council vying internally for power, and the lack of executive presence, little had been done to rectify the situation. It was turning into a royal mess, and the military was proving as fragmented and disorganized as the rest. Gredge would step into that gap if he could, but he didn't have enough support. Thankfully his rivals were on equally uncertain ground.

  As much as Gredge hated to admit it, Merodach had been the one holding everything together with his tight, pudgy fists.

  “We can't trust civilians to handle this situation well.” The deep, brooding voice came from Colonel Rast, one of Gredge's would-be rivals. He administered the Southern Tower now, and maintained the Eastern Battalion. He would have made his move to take power sooner, but Gredge still controlled Elandir. The City Guard was loyal to him, and he had the greater depth of experience. “We must show those who would attempt to take advantage of us what the cost of such treachery is; not sit around balking at our vacuum in pointless leadership positions.”

  Gredge had only been in control of the City Guard for a matter of weeks, but his position was secure enough. He had earned his stripes in the Purge and had risen steadily through the City Guard's ranks over the decades. Now, with both of the army's generals dead and the Mayor deposed, anything was possible. What didn't help were the rumors circulating within the city of various conspiracies to control the government. Their less-friendly neighboring city states were eying them in their weakness as well. At least according to many of their intelligence sources.

  Colonel Gredge would need to rally the city behind a new leader, preferably one that was not in the military. Despite their strong love of the army, the citizens of Elandir were of no mind to put up with any form of military rule. Martial law had been enacted during the Purge and almost cost control of the city. And he would carve pies out of granite with his bare hands before he fed power to the City Council. No matter what happened, no man would hold the position long without the support of the people.

  The problem was making his peers and subordinates see that before someone made a desperate grab for power. “Whatever happens, whether we find someone or not, we need to push the Council to enact legislation that sets up a clear line of succession, and soon.”

  Rast wasn't having it. “Pointless leadership positions are still pointless, legitimate or not.”

  “Which brings me to our second problem.” Gredge ignored Rast, as he usually did. “We've received intelligence reports that Silverdale and Liscentia plan to make an assault on Elandir by spring.”

  This caused a stir that took him a moment to quell.

  “Silence!” the old Colonel finally yelled, the soldiers falling immediately quiet. None of them had heard him raise his voice in the confines of an officer's meeting before. “Our allies betray us. There is a chance that we may not even be able to turn to Brenton for aid.”

  “Are we certain of this? That they're moving against us?”

  “Major Keaton was sent with a detachment of Khrone's to ascertain the seriousness of the claims, but our sources are reliable. He was supported by a unit led by Major Vasquez. That was almost two weeks ago. We have yet to hear from either.” Gredge didn't bother to wait for their reactions to die down. “We have two serious issues that must be addressed if we are to maintain our freedom.”

  “They can't hope to stand against us,” a young major said from the side of the room.

  “They can, Major.” His tone silenced the young man's arrogance like a blade to the throat. “They can indeed. Especially if they get the Meddlands or Belhurst involved. We control the majority of agricultural produce, yes. But we need cities to trade with. You can't forge swords out of wheat, and the mines to the east won't be difficult for them to contest.

  “As for leadership, I know what some of you are thinking. You may be too young to realize this, but the people of Elandir won't stand for direct military rule. It happened during the Purge and almost cost us a civil war. We cannot afford the risk. Consequently we also cannot accept the risk of any unknown political appointments, as Colonel Rast has pointed out.”

  He sighed. “The fact of the matter is that if we are to save Elandir, we must put someone in power who we can control. At least until Merodach comes back or a viable option arises. Marcus was not that person. Perhaps he would have been a good Mayor in better circumstances, but he was brash.”

  “And a coward,” muttered someone to his left.

  Gredge ignored the comment and continued. “I don't think there is any hope of staving off the assault from the south by diplomacy. We've lost all meaningful contact with their heads of state, and our latest intelligence indicates the mobilization of troops. The intercepted cables we have gathered all but spell out their plans.”

  “So what do we do, sir?”

  “We mount a counter assault and strike first. Our army is still stronger, despite the damage done by Silvers and Brutus' infighting.”

  “Sir.” A tall major stepped forward. “No city state has ever declared war against another. We can't do this in good conscience. Major Keaton might not be here to say it, but many of us are of the same mind nonetheless.”

  Sporadic agreements rose and died around the room. Major Dennan did speak for a strong segment of the people, but a minority. Somehow it made him popular in most circles. People these days liked to hear stern talk of peace. It made him as likely a candidate for power as any. But he had little ambition for himself and no awareness of his position. Gredge wanted to make sure he never cultivated either.

  “I don't think our consideration of conscience can be weighed as heavily as we would like any longer, Dennan.”

  “But sir–”

  “They have mobilized troops! They've wiped out two of our best units! It is a declaration of war.” The Colonel turned to address the group at large again. “If we can strike Liscentia before Silverdale provides support, we may be able to nip this in the bud. I want to be on the move within a month.”

  “We don't have anything in place for this.” Rast was defiant, attempting vainly to wrest contro
l from his rival.

  Thank God the man was no politician, Gredge thought. Regardless of how dangerous he might be as a solider, he proved little threat when bandying words.

  “It's winter, Gredge. We don't have enough supplies to feed an army right now, let alone fuel the necessary transports. We could never mobilize an army in that short of a time span.”

  “Perhaps you couldn't,” Gredge smiled. “But the real Elandrians among us can.”

  Laughter and bursts of agreement broke out among the group. Rast fell silent and stepped back fuming, the battle lost for today. Gredge saw the malice simmering under his glare. The war between them was far from over.

  “Men, we have no time to lose. Major Horton.”

  “Sir!”

  “You've served as an attaché to the North Tower for some time, have you not?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  This elicited a number of mocking jests. Working in the North Tower was as demanding as napping on command.

  “Is there anyone among the staff here who could be persuaded to help us in exchange for a title?”

  “Aye sir,” Major Horton smiled. “I know just the person.”

  Major Dennan left the meeting with a deep sense of foreboding. No city state had ever declared war on another. Even the State's Wars had been a series of minor skirmishes that never escalated into full-scale engagement. Something was horribly wrong. He needed to think fast if he was to try and keep things from going to hell.

  But somehow he knew they already had.

  WHAT HAD BEEN INTENDED AS A WEEK-LONG MISSION HAD TURNED INTO TWO WEEKS OF HELL. If crossing a freezing desert on foot hadn't been enough, running from monsters through the frozen borderlands was. The men following Anders Keaton were growing tired, desperate. He shared their exhaustion, but not their sense of desperation. He knew what was going on here, and he was frustrated. Angered.

  How he could be singled out like this was incomprehensible. How both sides of a war between forces he didn't understand, one that he should never have been drawn into, could both seek him out in the midst of his regular dealings... it made him want to tear something's throat out. It was bad enough that his own City State was itching for a fight with the south. He didn't need this too.

  The Hunters were nearing the farmland south of Elandir. They could have arrived sooner, but had decided to make a serpentine approach. They hoped to leave their pursuers behind rather than bring them into contact with civilians. All it had served to do was burn more of their time and energy than they could spare.

  “Sit,” Keaton ordered the men as he worked to catch his breath. “Sleep.” He was exhausted. They had been running for days on end. The black creatures seemed as tenacious as the Hunters, and showed no signs of slowing.

  Ever since they had discovered the bloody remnants of Vasquez's unit, there had been little respite. Why Elandir had sent so many trucks for such a small reconnaissance mission was beyond him. In fact, it was probably the cause of their deaths. He had hoped to get a ride home, but that was out of the question with these things around. So now they ran. But for every minute of rest they took, they lost ten minutes of work building their lead. They had been running for the last two hours. Keaton figured they had ten minutes to sleep.

  This was turning into a waking nightmare.

  “Sir.” Sykes sat down next to his commanding officer. “You need to take this one.”

  “I'll stay on watch, Captain. Get some sleep.”

  “Sir, you've taken more than your fair share of watches. You need to rest as well.”

  “You know what it is to command, Sykes.”

  “Aye sir, which is why it irritates me that you won't sleep. I should be the one taking the extra watch. I'm not used to having old men around.”

  Keaton smirked at that. They weren't much different in age, even if it didn't always appear so. And they were turning out to be similar in almost every other way. It felt good to have someone he could rely on.

  “Well then share the watch. I could use your advice.”

  “Anders Keaton, asking for advice? I think I'll sacrifice my sleep. This I gotta see.”

  “Shut up and sit down. We've got two major problems facing us when we get back into inhabited territory. What I'm about to tell you is going to make it worse.”

  “Ye– what?” Sykes sat.

  “The first problem is these things that are following us. We can't lead them into the farmlands or anywhere near Elandir. Who knows what hell they'll unleash.”

  “But we can't very well run for much longer.”

  “Yeah.” Keaton grabbed his tight-fitting leather helmet by the decorative wings to remove it. He rubbed his temples, trying to reduce the pounding between them. “So I figure we've gotta find a radio, and quick. Get some support. Or at least someone to take the heat from us long enough to get some sleep and food.”

  “Mounted armor could take them out quick enough. But it means we're gonna have to head to civilization one way or another.”

  “Yeah. We're going to get someone killed no matter what we do at this point. So long as those things are on our trail, we bring nothing but trouble. However, they are going to help us in the long run.”

  “How's that?” Sykes fought back a yawn. They brought his throbbing headache to fresh life every time he let one slip.

  “They're gonna give us credibility when we tell them that Liscentia's not mobilizing.”

  “Unless they claim it's something the apprentice of that nutjob in their university cooked up.”

  “Yeah, which is very possible.” Keaton stretched as much to stay awake as to loosen muscles. “Which is what brings me to what could help us if it wasn't going to make things worse.” He sighed.

  “None of this is catching you off guard, is it?” Sykes was staring at him now. “I've been watching you. Officers should never appear surprised or flustered if they can help it. That's what we're taught. But you really aren't surprised by any of this.”

  “I'd disagree with what they teach us on a number of fronts, Brendyn. I think a good officer plays some cards close to his chest, and controlling one's emotions is a part of that. But in some things, command should always be honest. I haven't been totally honest with you.” He paused, but didn't let Sykes interrupt.

  “I was told these things existed. In fact I was warned that they would be sent for me. I didn't believe it though. More to the point: I didn't want to believe it. And now we're in this mess because of my disbelief.”

  Sykes didn't know what to say for a minute. He blustered a few attempts at starting a sentence, and then just sat watching his breath crystallize in the air. Finally he ventured the only question he could think of. “Who told you? I mean, who could have known?”

  “And why didn't I listen? Both questions have the same answer.” He sighed, his white breath wafting away. “I was visited by one of the Brethren a couple of months ago.”

  Sykes jaw dropped in disbelief. “THE Brethren?”

  “And now you know why this could help if only it wouldn't make things worse.”

  “People will never believe you...” Sykes thoughts appeared to be wandering “And even if they did, the Brethren aren't exactly a popular myth. Which one was it?”

  “Oscilian, I think. He didn't say.”

  “Swords or scythes?”

  It was Keaton's turn to get caught off guard. “What?”

  “What weapon was he carrying? It'll tell you who you were dealing with, sure as fire.”

  “Just a sword I think. A big one. Looked like an eagle's head on its pommel, much like the one engraved on his chest.”

  “Oscilian. It must have been. Tristram carries two blades and is crested with the lion. While Ishtel carries a massive scythe.” He spread his hands apart as if to demonstrate. “And a wolf's skull on his chest. At least, that's what they say.” He shrugged. “No one really knows, I guess, since no one has seen them in a generation. But that's how the legends go. Appearances of the Brethren on this s
ide of the ocean were rare, anyways. They weren't really the benevolent representation of the Greater Being. When he split his physical and metaphysical presence from his spiritual to create them, they didn't exactly maintain all of his best traits to the finest degree. I doubt he wanted them altering his reputation.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Of course I do, sir. If these black monsters weren't proof enough, my faith in you should have sufficed.”

  Keaton leaned back on his hands as his head spun for a moment. Had he known he could have trusted anyone... everything could have been different.

  “Sir, if one of the Brethren came to you... what did he say?”

  “A lot, actually, but not in so many words. He said that dark things were breeding in secret. Nearby. Not just across the sea. He said 'the waves of mankind will clash before the tides turn to alter the course of everything.' He warned that if we didn't stand united, if we couldn't salvage our generation, we would be undone by our own infighting.”

  They sat in silence, thinking as the crisp winter breeze drew involuntary shivers.

  “Sounds kind of cryptic. I mean, obviously he was telling the truth of these monsters breeding. But there's no infighting.”

  “There is if he's talking about the Twelve Cities as a whole.” Keaton blew a foggy mist and watched it drift away. “We're about to kill each other over a bunch of misinformation.”

  “What's driving it, then? If it's not us, I mean. There has to be something behind it...”

  “That part wasn't cryptic at all.” Keaton turned to look the young captain in the eye. He wanted to know if he really could trust this man before he said anything more. But in all honesty, he had little choice left. His exhaustion weighed in, and he gave up holding back the words that would make him sound insane. “He told me, in no uncertain terms, that the Demon is returning.”