The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador (20 page)

Keaton swung around the bend in the pipe, the light on his brow barely warning him in time, and then he was in the river. The lights below dazzled him for a moment before he realized he had turned upside down in his escape. He twisted, fighting disorientation as he angled for the right that should have been his left. A quick glance at his feet revealed Woads hot behind him. They weren't faster than him in the water, but they weren't much slower either.

It was all he could do to keep his head; the stench of the things flared in his nostrils as memories threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't truly smell them, he knew, and yet he could feel their stink all over him.

He kicked frantically, wishing he could drop his gear without breaking stride. The grate was just ahead. He could only hope that Grimes had it open and was ready to seal it behind him. There was a short tug on his foot, throwing his rhythm for a moment as he fought to continue forward. He could see the grate, but the hole was closed. His heart began beating so fast it felt still. He would have to push through on his own, but the frigid water sapped his strength; his wounds had taken on a new life and fought his every move.

The grate was only yards away when he felt another tug on his foot. This time it caught and pulled him to a quick stop. The Woad clawed its way up him, still moving at a demonic pace in spite of the water's resistance. He twisted against it, pulling out the knife on his hip and shoving it into the monster's throat before its gaping jaws could reach his. The Woad's teeth clamped down in pain, missing his arm but slicing through his air hose. His mind immediately began to panic as bubbles shot out from the twisting hose in an unstoppable flow.

The Woad pulled hard against him, trying again for his throat as he shoved down on the knife. Lights were exploding in his vision now, brighter than those rippling along the surface. He felt the monster try to spin him, pulling at his arms with its claws as it pulled forward once more. He hoped that its strength was giving out, but his was nearly spent. And then the concussion ripped through them.

Keaton's ears rang as the water compressed and released him in a moment. Blood erupted from the Woad's throat in response; he could feel it convulse as it lost the last of its strength. He kicked away from it, his body screaming for air as he twisted and fought to gain the surface. He couldn't make it through the grate, not now, but he was more than willing to risk discovery as his desperation grew; he just wanted to breathe.

Keaton ripped the dead mouthpiece from his lips as his head shot above the surface of the water. He gasped for air, bobbing back down before he could stay afloat. The shock of the water against his bare skin sent what air he had managed to suck down back out. Kicking hard, he came back up only to find himself pressed against the grate. The corpse of the Woad was just below him, and another, very alive Woad was climbing along the grate towards him from his left.

Suddenly its head jerked back with a puff of blood. When it swung back around to look at him, its lower jaw was gone. Another impact hit it in the throat, killing it. The force of the bullet passing through knocked it back for a moment, only to be pressed against the freezing steel once again by the current of the loop.
My men.
The thought came as welcome as the air pouring into his lungs.
They're alive.

He took another breath of air, then dove as fast as he could. He used the grate to pull himself downward, kicking as fast as he could make the descent. He found the hole in the grate as his head began to protest. It was stuck, but he managed to kick it open and pushed it out long enough to squirm through. He kicked hard, his lungs rejecting the old air in them and burning for the new. He kicked against the burns and aches, the pervasive feeling that he might drown, and before he knew it his head was out of the water again.

Keaton worked for the shore, coughing and sputtering as the frigid water snapped and slapped his raw lips. His feet gained purchase and soon he fought against gravity as its felt presence grew stronger with every step. Hands grabbed him and dragged him into the snow as he coughed even more. The cold air burned almost as badly as the lack of oxygen.

The mask and hood clung to his forehead, the pressure of the straps a growing irritation. He pulled off the hood before he looked up at his men. “We need to move, quic–”

But his men weren't going anywhere. Each and every one of them was on his knees, hands held behind their heads. He looked up at the ones who had helped him out of the river. They weren't his own, he realized, and they were pointing rifles at him from a few steps back.

“
I'd wondered where you would show up, Anders.” Lucius stepped forward from Keaton's right. He couldn't see his back-lit face, the lights on the wall haloing him in brilliant white, but he knew that voice. “These bastards killed a handful of my men to get you out. Impressive, really. No one knew you were gone until the relief for the guards found them dead.”

“
What do you want, Lucius?”

“
You must have thought I was an idiot of some sort if you didn't think I'd come back here and wait for you and your little band of Khrone's.”

“
What do you want?!” Keaton's throat burned. “Elandir is about to be overrun and you're sitting out here pointing guns at your own soldiers!”

“
I wouldn't say you're on the verge of overrunning anything, Anders.” Lucius laughed as he crossed his arms. “And I wouldn't call these 'my' soldiers. Liscentia sued for peace, and now your men are being rounded up like the bandits they are. A short-lived rebellion, to say the least. The damage you've done tonight will be rectified in a week.”

“
I'm not talking about us, Lucius! Those black monsters that attacked us near Liscentia, they're in the tunnels! They're under the city right now!”

“
I'm sure.” Lucius waved his hand dismissively as he turned to look at Keaton's men. “But the more pressing question is what to do with you. No one knows we're out here; I wanted to talk with you alone before Merodach caught wind that you were behind these attacks.”

Keaton's feral eyes scanned everything around him now, clarity returning as the adrenaline began to pump anew. He had to kill Lucius.

“
And now everyone's worried about your mess inside. You're making it difficult, Anders.” Lucius was still talking. “I was going to bring you back and use you to unseat Merodach. The bastard's obviously running us into the ground. He's been compromised.”

Unseat Merodach?
Keaton looked at the faces of his men now. Stern, each and every expression carved from stone, but their eyes said what his heart told him. Lucius couldn't be trusted.

“
I've seen where those smugglers got their power, Anders. I've seen their charms and amulets; we have some locked up in the Southern Tower. They're tools of the Demon, I'm sure of it, just like you said.”

Could he really be an ally?
Keaton couldn't believe he was letting himself think it, but it could be true.
If he's seen what's really happening... maybe he will help.

“
The problem is figuring out how to get rid of Merodach.”

“
We'd already figured that part out, you idiot.” One of the Hunters shouted from behind Lucius. “And we'll take you down along with him.”

Keaton wasn't so sure any more, however. They would need all the help they could get.

“
Take me down with him?” Lucius turned to the Hunter. “But you'll need me to take his place.”

“
You can take his place on the chopping block.”

Before Lucius could retort, screams began to sound in Elandir. Gunshots rang out in the streets, echoing along the water of the loop and wafting over the high walls. Lucius and his men turned in surprise, half-expecting more Hunters to appear from the shadows.

“
What the–” but the guard's confusion turned to a wail as his foot was kicked out from underneath him.

The Hunters exploded in a flurry of dark leather. They saw their opportunity, and they took it. Gunfire rang out as the captives sent their captors to the ground, hammering into the close ones with heads and fists, launching themselves at those farther away.

The gunfire outside the wall overshadowed that on the inside briefly as the guards were disarmed. Keaton had been caught in his own thoughts, his uncertainty about Lucius, but he knew he had to move. The guard to his right aimed at a Hunter who was pounding a soldier on the ground with his fists. Keaton's cold injured legs were slow to start, but his momentum was only compounded by the tank on his back as he took the soldier down with his shoulder.

The two hit the frozen ground with a clatter of gear. Keaton was scrambling before the man could recover, pulling out his knife before hitting the soldier over the head with the hilt. “Don't kill them!” He came up screaming, but the words were going unheeded. He could see it already. “Don't kill any of them!”

He spun as the soldier on his left opened fire on him. The bullets struck his pack, knocking him down and sending out a last spurt of air from his tanks. He hit the ground, rolling and unbuckling his gear as he got up, but the guard had already been distracted by more active targets. The diving gear came loose easily, designed to be abandoned in a pinch, and Keaton swung it by the straps at his enemy. His resolve to let the man live wavered when weighed against the lives of his own men.

The heavy metal casing struck the soldier in the shoulder, causing him to shoot wide as he lost his balance and stumbled. Keaton darted forward to disarm him. A light impact resonated with the cracking of bone, and suddenly there was a hole in the side of the soldier's head. He dropped to the ground as the snow drank up hot blood all around him.

Keaton spun to find the assailant. His men were winning, but they were killing their opponents.
Is this what it all comes to?
He could no longer blame them. The people of Elandir were dying, and Lucius' men were standing in the way of their protectors. Their liberators.

Each and every one of Lucius' soldiers died in the chaos. Keaton spun in place, at a loss for words as the Hunters overcame their captors.

“
Anders...” Lucius was on his knees mere feet away. Blood streamed down his face from a gash on the side of his head. “Anders, we can help each other...”

Keaton stood over his former subordinate with a new resolve. His hands clenched to fists as his muscles turned to stone. This wasn't the first time Lucius had proven himself worthy of dying, nor would it be the first should he betray them.

“
Sir?” A Hunter approached from the side.

Keaton looked up. They were free, but they would have to move soon.

“
What should we do with the general, sir?”

“
No telling what he'll do if we let him go, sir.” Another voice came from behind him.

No telling indeed...
Keaton was nearly certain that Lucius was being genuine. It unsettled him even more to know Lucius would betray Merodach in the end.

The slide of a rifle was cocked back and released in the harsh shadows under the walls, the clamor from within growing to a din of terror in the winter night. Lucius babbled nonsense as he reached for Keaton's ankles. The nonsense of a traitor, first willing to betray his people, and in his last moments willing to betray his master.

“
Put him down,” Keaton said as he turned towards the walls. “We have a long night ahead of us.”

A solitary shot rang out against the black walls of Elandir in the din of the chaos within. The long line of treachery, Keaton assured himself, would soon be brought to an end.

Merodach... you're next.

F
IFTEEN

T
HE COAST WAS DRAWING NEAR
. The wind was picking up, and though the smell of the sea was faint, it grew stronger with every passing mile. Hevetican made his appearances less frequently, his attentions needed elsewhere among the refugees. Teaching Ardin to recognize the marks of the Demon had proven more difficult than the old magician had anticipated. Finally he admitted that it would have been easier had Ardin actually known some of the Demon's methods himself, but Ardin refused to dabble and Hevetican refused to teach, so the harder road was taken by default.

Ardin's sense of the innate decay in those who had used or been directly affected by the Demon's magic was growing, however. Most of the refugees had at one point or another been subjected to it in some form. Soon he could see its effects in them like worn patches on clothing. Sometimes the signs were so subtle Hevetican had to work to get him to see them, but in others they were as plain as day. The real trick was determining who had been affected, and who had done the affecting.

Ardin's eyes opened to a whole new world with each lesson. There wasn't much to learn from Hevetican in the way that Ardin had learned from Caspian, but the man had a perspective on life so unlike his own that it unnerved him.

The more he could sense the state of the people around him, the more unsettled he felt. The extent to which they had been touched by the manipulations of the Relequim became increasingly apparent. The more he saw, the more he couldn't help but feel exposed. It was disconcerting to begin seeing down to the core of individuals, but the idea that the same could be done to him was frightening. The luxury of the illusion of privacy, once lost, made him feel small and paranoid.