The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim

by Jay Swanson

  “How is that possible?” Shill looked sideways at the unconscious boy on the ground. “That column of fire alone had to be visible for leagues!”

  “I'm not sayin' it's certain, but I am sayin' I felt the veil when we entered this draw.” Cid looked at each of them in turn. “It's something the Magi used to do when we were strivin' for stealth. I still remember how it felt. Walkin' into this clearin' was like stickin' a hand in puddin'. Now it's a matter of decidin' if we're to trust that or not.”

  “What's the point?” Branston sat down to sulk. “I don't even have a horse any longer. We can't possibly hope to carry out our mission short horses and dragging his useless corpse around behind us.”

  “Gella is just over there,” the Fisherman pointed out as the courser appeared over one of the hills. “You can stand to ride a girl's horse, can't ye?”

  Branston snorted in response.

  “What if there are more Woads roaming about?” Amalgus didn't seem so resigned to quit as his friend. “We can't hold off so many, especially in this kind of territory and as lightly armored as we are. With these tall grasses and shrubby trees we'll never see them coming.”

  “We'll be havin' the same problem whether'n we advance or retreat,” Cid said as if the discussion were already decided. “You can turn back, if'n you like. But once the lad wakes, I mean to make fer that slave camp.”

  “Assuming he ever wakes up,” Shill pointed out.

  “He'll come around. Lad always does.”

  But he didn't come around. They made camp that night under the stars a hundred yards away from where Ardin had scorched the draw. But he didn't wake up. And though he seemed stable enough, he was weak. Even the cuts on his face made no visible improvement after Rain bandaged them up.

  The next day they decided to move on. Staying near where Ardin had revealed himself remained too great a risk. To Cid's surprise, no one left their party. Ardin was slung as gently as possible over the back of one of the larger destriers on a litter made from tree branches and long grasses, but it was far from ideal. The day dragged on as their pace lagged. Thankfully no threats presented themselves. It was near dusk that they crested a hill to discover what it was they were wandering into.

  The entire landscape before them shifted from a vibrant collection of greens and yellows to a desolate brown. As if a blight had struck the world, so did the plants appear on the horizon. The party stopped at the crest of the hill. Observing. Wondering.

  “I thought you said no scouts ever returned,” the Fisherman ventured as he reigned up next to Shill. “Seems like we could use more caution.”

  “They always come back from this point,” Shill said curtly. “But never from beyond.”

  On the horizon stood the blackened remains of what looked to be a town. Shill told Cid the name, but it didn't stick. He didn't really care, he just wanted to get Ardin back on the ground. It took them a painfully long time to reach the ruins. Shill sent scouts to scour the area long before they did.

  They walked between the broken walls and amongst piles of rubble as the last of the daylight faded from the sky. The moon was nearly full, casting long jagged shadows from the stone remains.

  Only a few low stone buildings remained standing. They looked old to Cid, and unremarkable. Some of their roofs had partially collapsed, others completely. Loopholes had been broken in their walls, but they would provide some shelter.

  Shill chose the remnants of a strange-looking temple to stay in. Faces like animals were carved into shallow square recesses that ran around the base of the walls. Crude at best, Cid thought. What strange deities or powers they represented was beyond him. The cold shadows cast over their eyes by the moonlight drew a shiver across his shoulders. The temple itself was more than large enough for all of them and still had most of its roof. He quietly commanded the men to keep their horses with them for the night. No one was to go outside save the watch.

  Cid was off his horse and lifting Ardin from his makeshift saddle before anyone else had dismounted. The litter they had created was already starting to fall apart, and Ardin looked worse for the travel.

  Shill walked over to look down on the boy he was convinced was a Mage. “Get some sleep. We'll need to head out before dawn. We're about to go farther into enemy territory than any of us has in years.”

  “We need to figure something else out for the lad,” Cid started to say. He stopped when he turned to see that Shill was no longer standing there but had walked away. He turned back to his charge. “Why did you have to go and do that, then, lad? It was brave, 'n you saved the lot of us. But they don't get that, or at least they're tryin' not to.”

  Ardin's swollen face didn't move beyond the subtle parting of his lips for breath.

  “Aye, you sleep then. I'll do my best to get you out o' this mess. But you'd best take a turn for the better or I'm gonna find myself up a right nasty tree with no low branches to drop from.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “I SEND YOU TO SEAL THE CITY AND KEEP WATCH FOR THE DAMNED SHADOW KING, AND YOU FORGET TO KEEP AN EYE ON THE REST OF THE OUTSIDE WORLD IN THE PROCESS?” Merodach's eyes looked like they might burst from his skull. If the veins in his neck could only get a bit more pronounced, the necessary pressure might have actually been attained.

  “Sir, how was I supposed to know that Liscentia would attack? We had no warning...” Colonel Gredge stood alone in the Mayor's office. Not truly alone, as his superiors and the strange man they called Bill stood to the outskirts of the room. But their presence only made him feel that much more isolated.

  “It's your job, Colonel! You're the Captain of the City Guard and you can't even keep the city guarded!”

  “Sir, it was unavoidable. It was practically the perfect time for them to strik–”

  “Are you making excuses for your inability to do your job, Colonel? I thought you were a man to take responsibility for his mistakes. Your predecessor, Ryan was his name? He may have been old and feeble, but at least he could do that much.”

  Gredge swallowed hard against the fit of rage that threatened to erupt from his gut. He was a man to own up to the things he was responsible for, which was exactly why he wasn't owning up to this. He had been set up, he was sure of it now. But he had no hope of proving it, and less of finding an audience that could actually help him.

  “Damn it all Gredge,” Lucius couldn't help himself. It made Gredge hate him all the more. “Can't you just take responsibility for this already?”

  “Why don't you go find a teat to suck on, you whelp? The men are talking.” Gredge would keep his head, even if he couldn't mind his tongue.

  “That's no way to speak to a superior officer, is it, sir?” Lucius appealed calmly to Rast.

  Rast was straight as a rod and revealed nothing in his expression. He simply shook his head and then looked out the giant wall of windows behind Merodach's desk.

  “You see? You should learn to mind your manners in the presence of your superiors, Gredge.”

  “You should learn to respect your betters, Lucius. Though considering that would include all of mankind I find it hard to belie–”

  “Enough!” Merodach slammed his fists on his desk. He hated how petty officers could get. “This isn't the time for mindless bickering. Gredge, I have a mind to relieve you of your duty.”

  “Sir?” Gredge was caught more off guard than he should have been by that.

  “But I need you where you're at.”

  It was Lucius's turn to balk.

  “We have an assault to mount. Quickly. Our losses were thankfully quite light considering they achieved total surprise. But I'm going to need someone to reorganize the garrison. You'll report directly to me from now on, Gredge. And you'll do a good job of it or I'll have you shot.”

  “Yes sir,” Gredge wasn't certain how thankful he should be. It read as such on his face. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don't thank me too quickly. I won't be leaving you much to work with. Keep what remains of the City Guard,
and you can have half of one of Rast's battalions to make up the difference. Everything else I'll be sending with the assault.”

  “Sir.” Gredge began to protest but remembered where he was. “That sounds excellent, sir.”

  “Then go pick some men and guard the city. And this time, don't let your pants down.” And like that, Gredge was dismissed.

  Merodach sat down with a plop into his oversized chair, which squeaked as it rolled back a few inches in response. Most of the army had been set to cleaning up the mess in the streets, rebuilding what they could and tearing down the rest. He would need to pull them off of that duty soon, however. Thankfully the damage in the city wasn't catastrophic. Smoke was still rising from the fields and the port to the north. A constant reminder from where he sat of the violence of the night before.

  “Sir,” Lucius stepped forward finally. “We'll be ready to move within two days. As much as I hate to admit it, the mobilizing that Gredge set in motion a month ago has really paid off. We hardly have any work to do.”

  “He doesn't like leaving a bastardized battalion behind to guard the city,” Rast chimed in. “I could see as much, and I'm inclined to agree.”

  “We're about to assail another sovereign City State, General. We'll need every man we have available.”

  “One battalion is scarcely enough to garrison Elandir.”

  “What's the worry?” Lucius interjected hastily. “Who's gonna attack us while we're gone? Brenton? They're staying as far from the conflict as possible. There's no one else that could attack the city if we move due south. They would have to completely circumvent the desert, possibly get to the other side of the mountains and try to find a pass on our eastern flank. We're protected on every front so long as our army stays to the south.”

  “The logistics for moving that many soldiers at once...” Rast ignored Lucius. He was finding the upstart's presence reminiscent of a bad rash. “Nothing like this has ever been done. And we're walking into the largest known desert on the planet, sir. There will be no living off the land, no foraging of any kind.”

  “Stop being such an old lady, Rast.”

  “When your balls drop, Lucius, you'll start to understand the concerns of men.”

  “Enough! Damn it all, enough!” Merodach's hands hit the desk in front of him, making every man in the room jump a little. “Rast, your concerns are noted. Lucius, shut your damned mouth. Bill, where the hell is Clive?”

  “Out cleanin' up the mess, I'd wager. He ain't a big fan uh these meetin's.”

  “I find it hard to believe Clive Fiske is out philanthropizing at the moment.” If sarcasm had a standard tone, Merodach was hitting it with poise.

  “Not that mess, beggin' yer pardon sirs. There be much more to what we's accomplishin' here than simple tricks o' magic. He's off makin' friends.”

  Rast's skin crawled to hear the man speak, not least of all for his accent, but especially when it concerned their magic. “It must take a considerable amount of power for the likes of you to make friends.”

  “Funny guy,” Bill said with a smirk as he walked towards Merodach's desk. “Thing is, we's openin' a door for you that ain't gonna stay open long. You walk through it, kick some arses around, er it's gonna slam shut.”

  “We're not waiting for your counterpart to get Liscentia mobilized, Bill.” Merodach leaned back in his chair as the blood drained from Bill's face.

  “Wha... whadaya mean, sir?”

  “We're going to move tonight.”

  Lucius had a gun to Bill's head before the smuggler could think to draw his own. Rast moved forward and quietly drew Bill's sidearm out from under his jacket. It was huge, heavy, brutal. It matched its owner well. He felt around until he found the amulets he knew the man to have hidden in his pockets. Rast took a step back and leveled Bill's own weapon at his thick head.

  “I know you're playing both sides of the field, Bill. Thankfully you've been to slow to recognize the fact. I don't know whose side you're really on, but I know it's not mine.”

  “But... but sir!”

  “The thing is, some news of who you are has finally reached me. It took a lot of work, but Brenton's coast guard finally came through for us. Turns out you've risen pretty far from smuggling and piracy.”

  Bill was visibly shocked. “He promised...” The brute's muttering was barely audible. “Promised you'd never find out.”

  “Who promised, Bill?” The silence that followed was churning with anxiety. “I'll admit, your level of influence is impressive, beyond impressive, really. Which lends me to wonder whose pockets are deep enough to push Elandrian officials around like you have. So tell me, who's sponsoring you?”

  The captive pirate didn't budge or say a word. It almost looked like he'd lost the ability to do so if he wanted.

  “We've got a lovely cell set up for you down in the Southern Tower. It's been redesigned to a special level of discomfort. I believe the ceiling was lowered and the walls slanted so you wouldn't be able to sit, let alone stand.” Merodach waited a few moments longer before dismissing Bill with a wave of the hand. “A few days in there should loosen the tongue, though it's bound to leave the rest of you pretty tight.”

  Four guards appeared in the doorway to Merodach's office to take Bill. As soon as they had him in their hands, their leader drove his fist into Bill's gut. The big man doubled over from the blow. He coughed as a second followed down between his shoulder blades, driving him to his knees.

  “Not in here,” Lucius reprimanded the guards.

  “Sir.” The guards dragged Bill out into the lobby beyond Merodach's office, closing the door as they went.

  They could still hear the sounds through the thick metal, but it seemed to bother Merodach less. Something was still eating at Lucius, however.

  “Why didn't we let Keaton into the action last night?”

  Merodach drained one of the glasses on his desk. It looked like he had been trying to catch leaks, there were so many of them spread across the broad surface. “Plans change in the heat of war, Lucius. Improvisation is one of those difficult necessities we all hate.”

  Lucius bridled at being lectured on the arts of war by someone like Merodach, but he hid it as best he could. “I still think it would be safer if we just buried him and were done with it.”

  “But he's our hero, Lucius. And you don't just bury your hero.” Merodach smiled as he drained another half-empty glass. “Heroes are incendiary. Heroes are made to be burned.”

  THE SHADOW KING DIDN'T HAVE A DIFFICULT TIME FINDING PASSAGE TO GRANDIA, THOUGH IT DID TAKE HIM A WHILE. It seemed that most of the usual smugglers and slavers were taking longer to return than usual. It didn't really bother the Shade, especially as he meant to return at the helm of his own ship. A small fleet for the Shadow, the thought brought a smile to his face.

  The withered old man that took him on charged him double but he didn't bother to barter, he would have little use for money soon. He was tempted to give the man everything he had. It wouldn't do any of them any good in a matter of weeks. The world as they knew it was on the verge of ending, and no one seemed the wiser.

  There was a deep sense of foreboding that settled on him as the gray winter seas kicked up froth about the bow of the ship. His resignation to his fate grew as well, there was no other way. He worked it through in his mind to every possible outcome. The only option left to him, should he not want to betray this one last oath, was to leave the Shadow as they were. Leave them in limbo in the Atmosphere. But that was unacceptable. That was to betray more than an oath, that was to betray his people. His brothers.

  But the idea of helping the Demon, of freeing him... he shuddered every time he thought about it. The shudders were getting less violent, however. The idea less revolting. He hardened his heart like plaster in a mold, baking it until it cracked. He had done worse, he reasoned. Surviving this long had already cost him what little soul he may have been allotted.

  He truly had everything to gain by moving forward.
It was enough to make the decision for him; he had almost nothing to lose if he pressed on. And almost all would be lost if he stood to the side. This was the only opportunity to get the Shadow back. If it required aiding the Demon in accomplishing something he was already going to manage on his own... well... then why not profit from it?

  There would always be opportunities to betray the old snake. And even if he was betrayed first, he hadn't lost anything save the time it would have taken the Demon to hunt him down. The Shadow King was marked for death on all sides, he had been for a long time. If he could evade his fate one last time, it would be worth it.

  Under his guidance the smugglers worked their way south, switchbacking to the north more than once to avoid the blue dragons guarding the coast. Long, vicious, wretched creatures they were. He had no desire to lose the ship this far out. Let them find their own way back, he didn't want to swim to shore. The smugglers were amazed at how easy their passage to Grandia proved. The old man captaining the vessel made offers to employ the Shade more than once. He could tell the offers were supposed to be generous, but he was in the service of someone else. He had to remind himself of that frequently enough as it was. It all seemed so surreal.

  He wondered what their reaction would be if they knew who he was. What he was. It wasn't the first time he'd thought about it. Living a double life for so long eventually led one to play out the scenarios, even be tempted to lay it all on the line for a little fun. Just to see what they would do. But again, he didn't feel like swimming to shore from here.

  When the ship finally put in to land, they immediately began unloading their cargo on the beach. The Shadow King paid the second half of his passage, his nerves fraying with Grandian sand under his feet again. He felt a headache brewing at the base of his skull in response, but all he could do was turn and walk inland. He had a long passage to make if he was to do it by foot. The road to the Gates didn't even start until you were nearly half-way across the Islendan portion of Grandia. And unless the Truans had decided to start building highways since he had been gone, he was certain he wouldn't even find proper roads until he reached the Western Kingdom.