The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador (51 page)

“
Send half of our reserve cavalry then. I don't want to risk losing them all, but we don't need them here, not the way things are going.”

“
Sire.” Blassen peeled off to give the king's orders as the Renault bodyguard continued on to the right branch where the fighting seemed more intense.

The southern path had been left open to this point, their escape route allowed to remain clear as he had guessed so that they could retreat and die in the desert south. He kept an advance unit of light cavalry mobile down that path to warn of any enemy sightings, but so far the battle had remained fully engaged on the two fronts of the branching, narrow canyons. He even allowed himself to believe the enemy had made a fatal error in leaving the way clear, freeing up more men to support the other fronts. Why he persisted in leaving that way clear now was slightly concerning, but Rendin hoped it meant the Relequim was running as low on troops as he was himself.

His exhaustion was becoming difficult to hide as well. Blessedly, his mind was as sharp as ever, but his body was weakening under the constant pull of his feather-weight armor. He could make decisions, but if his bodyguard was needed to fight, he was afraid he would not be able to lead from the front; in fact he knew it would be impossible.

The wings on his temples flew out and away, catching the wind and forcing him to actively keep his head forward as he rode for fear of having it twisted completely off should he turn. The wings were the remainder of some ancient marriage between the Renaults and another great family. The Kings of Islenda had always worn wings from their helmets to battle, but the Renaults had added the snarling teeth of the wolf.

Arrows flew back and forth in exchanged volleys as the men of the west pressed their enemy backwards. They were actually gaining ground on this side, he realized with a smile. The darts returned for his archers' arrows were greatly reduced in number.

“
My compliments on your successes today, Sir Berrywine,” he hailed as he pulled up to the tribune's retinue. “It seems I am surrounded by the most supreme competence today, something for which I am exceedingly grateful.”

“
You are too kind, your Majesty.” The large man lowered his head in a dramatic bow from the saddle.

He sat up grinning, his long beard trailing slightly to the side in the breeze. He had refused to cut it in over a decade, unwilling to part with the last of the red in it as gray came tumbling from his face. Now it looked like he had stained the lower half of the long, wiry hair with the wine of his namesake.

“
Welcome to my command hill! We'll route them shortly, I promise, and then we can make for greener pastures with some sense of security and something to drink!”

“
I certainly hope so.” Rendin paused to inspect the line from afar.

They were, in fact, breaking the Knobacks on this side. Even the Dunmar were unable to press into the hail of arrows and javelins that Berrywine's light infantry hurled over the front rows of spearmen. Rendin was impressed, and he said as much.

“
Your Majesty,” Berrywine laughed. “You act as though you were actually uncertain as to how this day would fare.”

Rendin permitted himself to smile in turn. “My good tribune, there was ne'er a doubt so long as you took the field.”

“
Well.” Berrywine patted the deep maroon of his surcoat with a grin. “There's a reason that, when Berrywines pick a fight, there are rarely any takers.”

“
Sire!” Blassen came into their midst with a flurry of red dust. “Your Majesty, please.”

“
Excuse me.” Rendin turned and walked his horse to the fringe of his bodyguard, who had created a half-circle around the small lump that Berrywine called a hill. “What is it?”

“
The horse returned, but never the messenger.”

“
What do you mean?” Rendin pressed closer as he lowered his voice.

“
He never came back, your Majesty. No one knows what transpires in the north.”

Rendin knew exactly what was transpiring in that instant. His heart went cold at the very certainty. “Move that cavalry unit north in its entirety,” he said as he turned his horse again. “We'll be soon to follow!” He walked back to Berrywine and spoke with a low urgency. “How much horse can you spare without risking your line?”

“
My line?” Berrywine blinked. “Rather, my horse? For what does my King need horse?”

“
How many?” Rendin pressed.

“
Of course. Forgive me, your Majesty.” He looked out at the line before turning with a shrug. “I can give you my Second Cavalry. They're fresh and won't need to enter the battle.”

Before Berrywine could finish his thought, a shout went up from the archers just beyond his hill. Suddenly men everywhere were pointing up and shouting, fear spreading through the troops like a plague. Rendin looked up in time to see the silhouette descend, smoke trailing from its long snout as its wings pumped to keep it aloft over the canyon.

No... it's not possible. Not now... not now!
His eyes grew wide as his hands tightened on the reins and he fought to swallow back the fear. “Dragon!”

T
HIRTY-
F
IVE

A
RDIN
V
ITALIS HAD BEEN TRAVELING FOR DAYS, AND NOW HE WAS DOWN TO ONE HORSE THAT HAD THE STRENGTH LEFT TO CARRY HIM
. He had been forced to leave the others behind, worried for their well-being but not enough to outweigh his need for haste. He had to reach the Desert Mountains in the north; he had to get to the Renaults and put an end to the Relequim's plot before all of mankind was undone.

He didn't know if he could swing the tide of a battle, not without his power, but he had no choice. He had never realized just how heavily he had come to rely on the warmth to augment his own endurance and strength until he had lost it. Now even with the added strength of the Shadow, he found himself far too human, far too frail.

The ashen wastes of the Truan empire only served as a reminder of his earlier attempt to slow the Relequim's release and of the long trip he had taken to get there with Rain. He had never felt so lonely in his life as he did crossing the center of the Grandian continent to reach what remained of his few friendships on earth. He would get there and would put an end to all that beset them, that was what he told himself to press on every day. But he knew that without his power he was of no use to the Brethren, and thus of no real use to anyone.

But perhaps he could find the Relequim's weapon, that much he could do. If only he could find a way into Krakador undetected, and could sneak into the depths where the weapon was sure to be, then he could do his part. But no, he needed to find the Renaults and fight alongside their army. He only hoped he managed to get there before the Islendans and their allies were routed and killed by the Relequim and his army.

Every day Ardin looked to the sky, hoping to catch sight of the winged Brethren, that they would know how to fix him and carry him to his final destination. But if they had intended to take him with them, they would have done so when he last saw them. Whatever their mind was set to, whatever task they now worked at completing, they didn't need or wouldn't risk having him along.

Ardin knew he had been on the verge of matching their strength, which drove the fear deeper into his bones that he might have lost his power forever. He needed it. Not even just to right the skewed path of the world, but because it had become such an inseparable part of himself. Not, unfortunately, so inseparable as he had assumed, but it was now tied to his identity.

The fear of its loss ate at him at night, competing with his desire for Alisia and the grief for his family in force. Vengeance on the Shadow King had only left him with a deeper sense of sadness, a loneliness in a world in which so few strange travelers remained. Soon he would be completely alone, an odd mixture among the sane, straight population of this world, and in that state of singularity he feared he would be driven to madness.

He propelled himself ever onward with little more than his strength of will, for without Charsi's power at his beck and call, he was lucky to stumble on water and ran low on the rations Paul Donovan had given him. Thankfully he had what remained of Shill's to supplement his own stock, but without knowing how much farther he had to go, there was no certainty that what remained was nearly enough.

His white armor was the only thing about him that kept from looking frayed or tired. Every night he practiced the art of the Shadow that he knew so well without truly knowing. The sense of having an innate, inherited knowledge was not so strange to him now. The skills and abilities of the Shadow King came to him so quickly that he felt they had always been his own. In the process, every time he made the jump, his armor and skin came back clean, having dropped the dust and grime that had gathered on him to the ground. He was grateful for the enhanced endurance and his lessening need for sleep as well, but it still wasn't proving enough to keep his sense of exhaustion at bay as he continued on.

The ash finally thinned until he rode through the most barren desert he had ever seen. There was no sand, nor were there shrubs or even wispy grasses fighting to take root among the low, scattered rocks that spread as far as he could see. There was no life here, and it didn't require the power of the Magi to imagine why. As much as his heart lifted to know he was on track to arrive at his destination, knowledge of what waited for him there soured the mood and left anxiety in its wake.

Two days into the desert and he began to wonder if he would ever find the mountains of which he had been told, until the next morning he saw them rising in the distance. As he kept forward, he could make out smoke rising as well. The hope of finding friends mixed with the dread of the state he might find them in. He pushed his spent palfrey on with suppressed expectations for fear of a devastating discovery.

An hour later he came upon the carnage of what looked to be a long caravan of carts. The bodies of humans, horses, oxen, and Woads burned and rotted in the open sun. There weren't even flies upon them yet, so far were they from any life in this forsaken desert. Ardin checked his surroundings, then began sifting through the wreckage in hopes of finding food or water.

Most everything had been rummaged through, he could tell, but in haste. Soon he found a barrel of water that was cracked but still held enough to fill his canteen and water his horse. He grabbed some dried meat and bread from another cart, having to roll the corpse of a Woad off of it before he could get to it. The stink of the monster almost tempered his hunger, but he had run out of his own food that morning and knew that he was lucky to find anything.

A column of dust rose in the north, the remnants of an army on the march. He could only assume it was friendly, for though soldiers lay dead about the baggage, there weren't enough here to constitute a force that needed this amount of supplies following them. He needed to catch up to them, but in spite of how close he had come, the mission seemed impossible.

There were no fresh horses, and Ardin felt a pity for his own when he pulled himself into the saddle again. “Just a few more miles, girl.” He patted her neck as they made north, following the column of red dust rising ahead of them. “Just a few more miles.”

There was nothing to see save flat, broken earth and the tall, flat-topped mountains that grew densely ahead. He had heard of mountains like this before, though never had he been told of this many so close together. They weren't as big as the mountains of the Northern Range back home, nor the Dragon's Teeth, but they didn't come to much of a slope at their base either. Some did, like their missing tops had simply crumbled and fallen to rest at their feet, but most looked like they had simply punched their way towards the sky straight from the ground.

His haggard horse walked steadily onward, and he refused to risk asking more of her for fear of her dropping dead on the spot. Finally he entered between the first of the mountains. The canyon directly ahead rose at a slight but steady incline and was far more broad and flat than those that branched off to the sides. He kept his wits about him now, the tall walls of the mountains awe-inspiring but also fear-inducing. Something was here, his connection to the Shadow told him, something lurked nearby.

I have to get to the armies before it's too late...

He passed the first of the mountains, the shadows hiding from the noonday sun, when he spotted something on the ground to the west. He stopped the horse, uncertain of what he was seeing but unwilling to risk ignoring it. The army had very clearly passed north, the path of thousands of armored soldiers and horses unmistakable in the clay they had broken and loosened up. But horses had broken to the west along this path as well.

How long ago he couldn't tell, but something was very clearly moving slowly along the ground this way. He walked his horse another hundred yards before dismounting and approaching on foot. Then he realized what he was looking at with a start and began to run.

“
Rain!” he yelled as he came closer. “Rain, I'm here!”

He slid to a stop and dropped to his knees, turning her over onto her back as she tried to crawl another few inches forward.