The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador (15 page)

The monsters rushed him then. Every one of them came bounding in with their axes and maces held high. He spun to block and parry, sending out more shockwaves and fire, but finding them coming back for more. Each time he killed a few, each time the wounded returned. He shouted in frustration. Cid was dying only feet away from him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Another impact rocked the ground, sending monsters flying in every direction.

“
Granhal of the enemy!”
Tristram stood and drew the swords off of his back.
“
Into oblivion I send you!”

He twirled so fast that Ardin could barely see him, cutting and hitting and ripping his way through the Granhal in a brilliant flurry of blades and wings. Ardin took heart and picked up his own pace. He swung his blade then spread his arms to his sides, calling up the warmth to augment his strength and stabilize his form.
Let's see how you like a real fire.

The ground beneath him spiked in temperature, and suddenly flames shot out all around him. He drew them up, twisting them into a whirlwind three times the size of the one he had made before, and ten times as hot. The sensation of the power flowing through him brought a grin to his face, but little more. He sought out the Fisherman and his brown-clad companion in his mind, covering them as he had once covered Rain.

The Granhal were closing on him again, unafraid of a little fire. Then he threw his arms up.

The entire area was swept up in flame, twisting and swirling around him as a column of blazing heat shot into the sky. The Granhal around him for fifty feet were sucked into the air by its violent hunger, incinerated as they were thrown hundreds of feet in the air.

The fire disappeared from the ground to the sky, and Ardin let his protection over Cid waver. Little fell back to earth save ashes and dust.

Tristram hammered the last few Granhal to death with his fists, barely bothering to use the swords that each clutched so tightly. Ardin didn't bother to watch. He rushed over to Cid and dropped by his side, his fears only growing as his friend's true state registered in his mind.

“
Cid!” He placed his hands near the wound, rolling the old man tenderly onto his back and willing the warmth into his fingertips. “Hold on, Cid! I can heal you!”

The warmth came at his bidding but entered Cid's body and returned to him unaltered. Unused.

“
Oh God...” Ardin looked at all of the wounds, all of the blood, and realized that Cid was truly dying. “Oh God, no! No Cid,
NO
!”

But the old man did not respond. In the gentle breeze that carried the ashes of his enemies from the earth, Cid the Cleaver's soul rose up for one final dance in death.

E
LEVEN

T
HE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED THE DESTRUCTION OF THE
N
AMELESS
M
OUNTAIN PASSED WITH AGONY FOR
R
AIN
R
ENAULT
. The event had galvanized her brother's constituents, bringing those who owed the realm fealty definitively under his control. Even Sir Hembrody, Branston's father, was sufficiently cowed by the impact of the Relequim's escape. The layer of dust and ash that covered their world now served as a somber reminder in and of itself. There was no time left for bickering; all rivalries and grudges had been put aside. At least for the moment.

Rendin Renault, King of Islenda and all the united West, sat on his throne in the Citadel for hours on end. The high, magic chandeliers and lanterns in the vaulted ceilings may not have died down, but the candles and torches around the base of the tall walls were changed with regularity.

There was much to be set to rest, he assured his sister, before he could lay down his scepter and pick up his sword. He needed a kingdom to return to, not just to protect.

Rain grew restless, however, and the longer her brother tarried the more intense her desire to go on without him became. They should send a party to recover her men, perhaps even move the army in that direction. It was pointless waiting here. There had been no sign of Ardin, no assurance that he hadn't been killed on the mountain. The idea haunted her dreams, that the young man who represented all of her hopes could have been annihilated by the enemy he was prophesied to save them from. Her soul was anxious, her heart grating against her rib cage and on the verge of exploding.

There would be no great peace after all, no ushering in of a new age, no return to the golden era. All of her childhood dreams of Islenda's prosperity, of the health of the land, all of it was beyond her grasp now. Somewhere within her, hope refused to die, but the sorrow of losing Ardin left her certain that her hopes belonged to a fool.

Nearly a week passed before her brother summoned her to court to stand beside him. He had let her avoid his councils until now, but once summoned, she knew she must join the throng in the main hall of the Citadel. She took a more direct route than usual, her hopes that they would ride out soon now higher than they had been in days. The hall was full of mostly men in armor, clad in the various colors of their houses and alliances. Most of it was for show. The Renaults had almost completely assimilated each house under their own flag over the generations. But her forefathers had been wise to let them keep hold of their own heritage. It gave them something more to fight for, her father had told her once, something of their own for which to die.

Rain made her way to her brother's raised throne by way of the outside walkway, a path obstructed by tapestries to allow messengers to come and go unobserved during council and court judgments. She had used them many times as a girl to sneak up on her father and watch him dispense justice without his knowledge. Or at least, she had been allowed to believe he was unaware of her presence. Now instead of her father, her brother waited for her. She decided to wear armor, light steel plate over thin green chain. This was no time to appear delicate and ladylike. Now was the time to present strength.

The din of the room was low, but infused with a tension she could not mistake. Everyone expected her brother to give the order; they were marching today.

So many strangers...
How unsettling to feel foreign in her own home. She looked for her own men out of habit, only for the gut-wrenching memories to set in. She saw Sir Beldin among the men below her brother's throne; it made her glad to see him at least. He had been kind when he had escorted her to the mouth of Albentine. Many of the men seemed familiar, but it had been a long time since she had been in the company of any of them.

Rendin smiled as she came through the layers of tapestry to stand beside his throne.
He needs a queen,
she realized as she looked up at him.
He needs someone strong to be his eyes and hands.

He stood slowly from his seat, hiding the trembling in his knees with grace. The armor he wore was as light as her own, she knew, but designed to look as thick as the metal plate of any man in the room. It gave him the appearance of maintaining a mystical strength; even the long green cape clasped around his epaulettes weighed little more than a child's blanket, but the illusion had its desired effect.

The men in the hall fell silent as their king stood to address them. “My brothers, there are few words that I find truly necessary today. Every man among us is aware that our ancient enemy is abroad – escaped not even a week past. We have little time and less choice in our course of action. We cannot expect aid, though that remains ever our hope.”

He raised the scepter of his fathers, the long, silver rod topped with the crowned head of a wolf. The silence in the long, vaulted hall was complete now.

“
We stand united, as the last bastion for the freedom of men! If we fail, mankind will fall under the sway of the Demon. Darkness will reign not only in the East, but shall consume the West and eventually the world.

“
My brothers! Stand with me as one!” He laid the scepter in Rain's hands and drew the sword of his office from his waist. The enchanted steel glimmered an array of colors as it caught the light. Hundreds of swords joined his in the air as the room filled with the clamor of steel on leather. “Pledge your very lives to this cause, that the Relequim be destroyed before 'ere we come home!”

In unison the men of the room uttered their own time-honored chant. “To the King in the Teeth we commend our own souls, swords we commit and from coffers our gold, to destroy his enemies wherever they lie, and to fight to the death for to death we have died.”

“
So you have sworn.” Rendin lowered his sword. “To the north and to the east, my brothers! One final battle awaits us, and may God lay waste to the darkness!”

Rain knew the majority of the soldiers raised would meet them outside of the valley of Albentine. No standing army was allowed within the Dragon's Teeth; only the high-ranking officials and family members from each house had been called to the king's council, but it still felt disheartening to ride out with so few. The sun began to wane in the sky before they set out, three hundred men on gilded horse.

She rode behind Rendin, who took the lead of the column with all forty-nine of his remaining bodyguard. Shill, she hoped, had made it through whatever ordeals had befallen him to the east. If he joined them, the guard would again number fifty. It took them nearly an hour to enter the Valley of Albentine, passing under the massive gates her father had constructed after nearly dying on the rocky slopes.

She took her horse up along the southern path, up to the point where Cid the Cleaver had famously saved her father. From there she could see the entire layout of the Spring Vale, with Islenda glittering in the sunlight in the southwestern corner. She smiled absentmindedly to herself, not knowing if this would be the last she would ever look upon her home. She drank in the green of the even plain among the jagged peaks. Dust covered much of it from the destruction of the nameless mountain, but still the colors shone through, defiant of the Relequim's influence even in this.

She sighed, and rode down to join the tail of the column as they continued into Albentine. The looks she received from the men that crossed her path and continued ahead of her varied greatly. Some, she could see, felt relieved to have her along. She had traveled farther east than any of the rest of them, after all. But many, if not most, resented her company. She knew that war was to be the business of men, but why it should affect them to have her along was beyond Rain. She had killed more of their enemies than most of them. She would gladly fight and die for her country, for her King, just like any of them. Why should they wish to deny her that?

In a way she felt more comfortable at the rear of the pack. It was lonelier here, but she needed time with her thoughts. The nobles that made up their party had plenty to grumble about on their own. She didn't want to get drawn into a discussion for courtesy's sake.

If Ardin was dead, they were lost. The Brethren would come to their aid, she hoped, but to her knowledge nothing had been seen of them since her encounter with Tristram in the burned-out temple where Branston had died. Branston's death presented another problem, for she was certain that his father would never let the issue drop with ease. Hembrody was ambitious, and a vengeful man. She would need to keep an eye on the man, if for no other reason than to protect her brother. Bramblethorn would keep an eye on him as well, simply because he disliked him. That gave her some level of comfort as they rode through the sheer walls of the valley.

Cid would be a welcome addition to their ranks if he and Shill had made it to the refugees alive. Assuming the refugees themselves hadn't been destroyed. The thought of so much work erased in one fell swoop of the Demon's forces resurrected her anger. She had sacrificed so much... too much. Her men had given more, many never to return to their homes. If the Truan refugees were lost, she wasn't certain she could live with herself.
If my men are lost...

She wound through the mid-way point of Albentine, the massive gates held open to them as they trotted through. The whole place looked bleak, and they only served to make her think of her parting with Ardin. It was possibly the last time she would ever see him, and the realization stung anew. Crag the Steward stood by the gate, saluting as the soldiers passed. His stiff frame was turned only more rigid as he silently maintained form, keeping his hand over his breast and his nose in the air. She wondered briefly what kind of story had led him here.

The path through Albentine was where the Relequim had lost the last of his strength, his own presence mysteriously absent in the battle. He had been tracked to his fortress in the north, located in a desolate canyon in the midst of tall square mountains that harbored little life. Krakador. The fortress itself was never found, the winding path through the crags and valleys blocked and sealed before the armies ever arrived.

The battle there had been fierce, and she only knew this because so few would ever speak of it. Even her father, who had been so open with his exploits and failures, had refused on multiple occasions to tell her what had transpired in the Desert Mountains. Desperation had driven the Demon, and like a cornered animal he whipped his minions into a frenzy that knew no restraint. The forces that assailed them showed them no quarter, and the Demon took as many with him as he could.