The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim
Page 18
“You won't find much need for them, I fear. Most of the Thranish people were wiped out during the 'peace' that followed the victory at Krakador. Sadly, between dragons and Theo, they were hunted down and exterminated.”
The Fisherman paled at the news. “He didn't... I mean I always knew he was a bigot but...”
“He finally managed to raise enough support. They've been all but exterminated. The Southrons remain uninvolved save in commerce as usual. What Truans remain in the east are as like speak the common tongue as not.”
“And Theo?”
“Well... he paved the way for darker things.”
Ardin caught the weight of things, even if he didn't fully understand. He wondered if those big monsters had been the darker things she was referring to, or if there was worse. The Fisherman stroked his beard as he stared blankly at the ground. Ardin finally thought to take advantage of the silence when a soldier ran up and saluted.
“Highness, we're ready to move.”
“Finally, that took too long.”
“Sorry, your Highness. We had a stubborn few that refused to stop bleeding. Right now everyone should be stable enough to move.”
“How many did we lose?”
“Miraculously, only four died,” Shill answered from behind. “But we have ten injured, two of which probably won't make it back to camp.”
“Who?”
“Crin and Thros. Both took nasty blows to the head.”
“God...”
“There are always risks.”
“We could have done better, Shill. This is possibly the worst result of any skirmish we've had... we are tiring of this I know, but we could have done much better.”
“Yes, Highness.”
She rubbed her forehead for a moment before sighing and looking back at her captain.
“Get us out of here Shill. You were right. We don't want to be anywhere near this place come evenfall.”
“Agreed, Highness.” And with that he wheeled away and started barking orders. They were moving west within minutes.
Ardin and the Fisherman took up a position off to the left and towards the rear of the group. For that, Ardin was glad. He didn't feel comfortable with these people and all of their ritual, the kneeling and saluting and titles. It seemed odd to him. They looked like beggars in their rags, yet they acted like members of some royal court from one of his brother's stories. He and the Fisherman walked in silence for some time. Eventually his questions clamored too loudly in his head to be kept to himself any longer.
“Who are these people? And what are all those things you were talking about? You seem to know a lot about what's going on.”
“You need to keep yer power hidd'n fer now, lad.”
“What?”
“Yer power, you need to keep it hidd'n.” His tone was deep, conspiratorial. “I saw you use yer fire on that creature, and while I think some of them did too, I doubt they reckon it to you. At least the talk I heard seems to point to the monster having some dark magic. People tend to see what they expect. Let them continue to think it.”
“Why? I thought they were friends.”
“They may be, lad. But some ain't. I can guarantee you that. The enemy is bound to have agents amongst 'em. Maybe even so high up as the captain.”
“Shill?”
“Aye, lad. He's a good old dog, but you'd best not trust anyone in this lot. Not even the young Renault girl herself. I saw how she was lookin' at ye, and I don't like it. You'd do well not to tip yer hand too early. Even havin' her see what she saw may have been too much. Even if we can trust 'em, there's no knowing who they'd wind up talkin' to.”
As if on cue, Shill wandered over to join them.
“Cid,” he said. “It's been a long time. I doubt you remember me.”
“Nonsense,” Cid said. “You were in the King's bodyguard back when we was first here. I remember you well enough, though the years ain't been so kind to you as they has to me.” The old men chuckled. Ardin squirmed a little on the inside. “What are you doing so far east, Shill? You're nearly to the coast.”
“We've been freeing slaves and burning what camps we can find. The enemy's reach doesn't extend much farther south than this.” He spat at the mention of the Demon. “We've been trying to stay far enough out of his territory to keep most real threats at a distance. We've been operating more as a raiding party than anything.”
“Not drivin' deep, then?”
“We aren't sure what we would find. Few scouts we send ever return, so we stick to the borders for fear of our blindness.”
“And the Queen? I'm assumin' that's what Rain is as you're here with her.”
“Not truly, though she takes the role on well enough. Rendin lives and holds the title of King in his father's stead. But he's been sick this past year. Seeing as she's the one in real danger I stick with her. It's what he wants in any case. She's the only heir left to claim the throne if he dies.”
“Then why is she out raidin' with you?”
“You may not have had a chance to get to know the King very well, but he liked his children ready for battle. And since she was never in line for the throne to begin with, she got to fight more than would have otherwise been allowed.” He laughed to think about it. “Now that she has a taste of it she won't give it up.”
“She's young.”
“True enough, but wise. The Renault blood is strong. I figure their clan will rule this whole continent someday. And what about your boy here, what's your name again son?”
“Vitalis, sir. Ardin Vitalis.”
“That's right. A bit strange that you'd be bringing a boy along to such a strenuous fight, Cid.”
“He's my 'pprentice. I figured I should pass on what little I know before I can't pass piss on my own.”
Shill laughed. Ardin caught a wary glance from the Fisherman. The message was clear. Shut up.
“If anyone should be as lucky as you, young Ardin.” Shill slapped him on the back. “There are many good men who would have gladly died to learn from the Cleaver. You know he earned that title on the day that I met him?”
“Oh God.” The Fisherman rolled his eyes. “Don't go gettin' into old stories.”
“I thought 'Cleaver' was the name of your sword.” Ardin said.
“You see, Ardin.” Shill ignored the Fisherman's protests. “I was serving in the King's personal bodyguard, and the Renaults are known for fighting their own battles. So we, being their protection, are as much a fighting unit as we are bodyguards. Not a bunch of fat, pampered security folk are we. We're the real stuff, boy. In order to serve in my unit, a fresh recruit has to have served in the army for five years and have tallied upwards of thirty kills.”
“Oh good, for a second there I thought you might boast on about me.”
“I'm getting to you, just you wait. Now we're not to be trifled with, you see? We kill monsters like you've seen here and eat 'em for supper. Well, only when we're hungry somethin' fierce.” He grinned, revealing a few gaps where teeth used to live.
“But the point is we've never been beat. Never in the last three hundred years has a King of Islenda fallen under our watch. Even when the Demon turned on us and started enslaving the people, we never lost one.
“Now, on that day, when I first met your Cid here, we were fighting the greatest battle of our lives. The war with the Demon was being waged on two fronts: our own, which was a long-standing war we were very much losing, and the east. That was being fought by the invading Magi.
“The old snake may have been sandwiched, but had us cornered good. There was but one free city left, that being our capital, Islenda.”
“I thought it was Illenda,” the Fisherman interjected.
“Some pronounce the 's,' some don't. Stop interrupting, you codger. Islenda, you see, is the most beautiful city in the world. The White Citadel of the Western Kingdom... glaciers above feed us water year round, and the waterfalls... boy, you'll see it one day. And you'll never want to leave.
“Most besieging armies grow weak over time. Winter will set in and the soldiers will get sick. Food supplies will run short. Morale will drop. Something will always keep them from winning out if they can't break through the walls. That is, of course, assuming they're besieging a well supplied, well fortified city. Which Islenda is.
“But the Demon's forces have no morale. Not the truly twisted and soulless ones. And the rest are so scared of the particularly evil breeds that they stay well enough in line. They have no worry about supply lines. Theirs were well protected and many of the creatures were bred to feed off the land as much as burn it. No lad, we would never have lasted a siege with those bastards outside our doors.
“And Islenda... boy, you should see it. Most beautiful city on earth. Caught up in the far corner of a valley called the Spring Vale, rung with the most treacherous white mountains you've ever seen. The Dragon's Teeth! What a name for a bunch of mountains, hey? Her walls and towers shoot to the sky. The stone matches that of her surroundings in such a way that she looks like a mountain herself. I still get the same burn in my heart as the first time I rode into the Vale. God, I love her... but I digress.
“The Eastern Kingdom had fallen, God rest their black souls, and most of our own cities had been razed to the ground. And the south... they pulled up their skirts and hid among the islands as they're oft to do.
“We only had one real fighting force left. Something like three battalions of archers, eight of foot soldiers, and another two of cavalry. Small, to say the least.”
Ardin nodded. It sounded pretty big to him.
“The old dragon had an army easily ten times that.” He drew his hands across the horizon as he told the story, stepping over logs and ducking under branches without thinking. Lost in his own history.
“Now here comes us, marching up the long valley of Albentine. We were damn sure that if there was any place we could make a fight it was there.”
“It's a canyon,” the Fisherman elaborated.
“True enough. You see, boy, the valley of Albentine is up in the mountains, pointing directly east from Islenda. It's this long narrow stretch caught between two peaks that the road runs along straight to the capital. Those two mountains come so close together it's almost as if they're trying to merge into one. The valley itself looks like the Creator dragged a sword between them to keep 'em from doing just that. It's impossible to get up on the ridges, so there's no advantage to be found in higher ground.
“We shoved ourselves in there nice and tight. Figured if they had more soldiers than us, we could at least even the odds and match our front lines. Sadly we had yet to build the expanse of towers that guard it now. There was but one gate at the entrance, and they smashed it as soon as they saw it. We fought them for days. Poured out our blood in that pass to bar their path. But time took a terrible toll and we were pushed back.
“There comes a point at the tail end of Albentine where the pass splits into three paths. One makes its way up the northern mountain, one up the southern. The third continues down until it empties into the broad flat valley beyond, the Spring Vale. Those two diverging paths don't go far up the slopes before they turn into cliffs and crags themselves. The King fought at the front of the line that third day, when all others failed. His green banners flew bright around him. Even his silver and gold armor shone through the tar-black blood that smeared him head to toe.
“I remember watching him for a moment that day. The wings that flew back from the sides of his wolf-helm glittered. His sword flew. It chopped and hewed those monsters until he could scarcely lift his arm.
“But slowly we were pushed back, hemmed in on our left flank as the last line of our defenses fell away. We were forced up onto the southern slope. We backed our way up the mountain as we fought to keep the beasts from our King.
“It was his armor. The grand wings that flew back from his helm drew them to him. And his magic. The Renaults are known for keeping the true arts. They were one of the few clans that never bought the Demon's lie and his breed of witchcraft. Those monsters hungered for it. It was the old snake's way of ensuring his enemies' demise, breeding his creatures to devour truth and magic.
“On they came, pressing up the slope until we had nowhere left to turn. The cliffs closed around us. A wall on our right and a sheer drop to our left. Behind us the path devolved into a crumbling slope. We were weary. Though few of us had perished in the fight, we were dangerously close to losing everything.
“And then there was a flash down the way. The pass had filled with writhing black and red bodies. Skinless nightmares that soaked up our blood as fast as we could spill it. Many made for nothing more than their demoralizing presence. But now we heard them scream.
“The Magi had shown up, beautiful creatures that they are. They had taken up the fight on the rear flank of the enemy and were working their way into the pass. Another flash struck out and we finally saw the source: the Guard.
“Back then they were just called the Guard, freshly formed from the remnants of the human battalions of your own homelands. Those that had proven themselves were given special weapons and trained in basic enchantments. They, along with the remaining Shadow, had been launched by some magic over the enemy and into their midst at the mouth of the pass. The monsters were hemmed in on both sides.
“Your Cid here realized we were in trouble. He gathered a group of men and Shadow and together they hacked and hewed their way up the pass. It was then that one of the old Titans showed up.
“Scary things, Titans. Big, strong, and as old as the world. This one was a mountain dweller, looked like a man crossed with a giant bat. Bare-chested with rags that might pass for tattered trousers at a pauper's party. They're more than twice the size of any human, but man-like in their bearing. They've got dark leathery skin and long black hair running between their demon-like ears. Their arms are like ships' masts, legs like tree trunks with long wings sprouting out their backs. This one came as we cheered the arrival of our allies. We never saw its approach.
“The thing swooped low, coming in from out of nowhere and knocking most of us off our feet. The King, he stood tall, facing the beast. He held his sword out to his side with one hand as he took off his helm. There wasn't a fearful bone in his body. He dropped the helmet to look the thing in the eyes, and I heard him say with my own ears, 'Are you sure you want to come to your end like this, Ancient?'”
“He didn't say that,” the Fisherman laughed.
“He did! I swear he did!”
“God, that's terrible.”
“He dropped his helmet and took up a ready stance like the statues of old. And he taunted the monster.”
The Fisherman conceded that point. “Foolish.”
“Brave. The beast roared at him with some hellish screech and flapped its monstrous wings. None of the monsters left behind it dared approach, nor did we. Ancient are they indeed, and forceful in presence. It slammed its fists together and grabbed a boulder as the King rushed at it. He dove to the left and rolled as the monster tried to crush him, coming up and stabbing at its leg.
“The things are old as the hills, boy, quite literally. One of the few species to survive the remaking of the world. This wasn't its first scrap. The bastard spun to his right, kicking his leg out away from the blade and using his wings to knock the King on his face. We tried to get to him then, our senses regained; we tried to rush the beast while its back was turned. But two more showed up. They landed between us and the King and held their ground.
“They didn't attack... they just stood there and watched us. The way towards them was sloped, slippery. If any of us tried to make his move they simply screeched and beat us with their wings, holding us back by sheer threat. Those of us that got close were thumped and swatted ov
er the cliff. We tried to press in, but the ground was so narrow and unstable that every attempt was quickly cut short.
“We were forced to watch as our King was hammered by the monster. As his shield was bashed in by its massive fists and flung from the heights. He fought valiantly, our King, but after three days of battle he was no match for the creature twice his size and three times his strength.
“It was then your Cid arrived. He single-handedly slit his way through the monsters in the pass, leaving his squad well behind as he cut the beasts down like shrubs. The King had fallen. He was on his back, sword broken, bleeding like a stuck horse. The Titan stood over him, placing one of its talon-like claws on his chest, pressing into him for the kill.
“Cid threw himself at the monster. He jumped like no man I've ever seen before, even ones wearing no armor. His sword flashed blue as he struck the monster in the chest. I swear I saw a sword made of blue mist strike it a second time, and the monster fell back. He knelt over the King, sword at the ready, teeth barred.
“We cheered, causing the other two Titans to turn. But they were too late. Cid flew at their companion. He took another leap and spun, twisting that massive sword in the air and bringing it down hard on the monster's skull so that it erupted in a spray of blood. It stumbled, its face nearly severed from its head, and swung wildly at him.
“He rolled, armor and all. Dodging its kicks he came up with the blade, driving it into the thing's groin. It screamed. He twisted the blade, and as he rolled back, it fell to the ground. I'd never seen anything like it, boy, and I never have since.
“He wiped the blade on the monster's ragged excuse for pants and then set his foot on it. The other two got the message loud and clear. I don't think they hesitated more than a second before they leaped over the side of the cliff and flew off.
“We took up the cheer then, and fought our way down the cliff towards our friends until there was naught between us but steel plate and gratitude.”
“Seems a bit of a tall tale to me,” the Fisherman said, skeptical of his own story.