The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador (8 page)

He drew his bow off his back in a smooth motion, notching an arrow and aiming for the nearest hopping enemy. He listened for the impact of its boots as much as he could see the blur of its motion. He released the black shaft, pulling another from his quiver before the first had found its target. The hopper was caught mid-air like it had hit a wall. It went down as his second arrow ripped through his second target.

Four Granhal were down before he threw his bow aside and drew his sword. His men were right behind him. They had to be. He bellowed anew as he swung the long blade down along his horse and up into the oncoming enemy.

The stench of the thing alone made his horse shy to the left. The Greatbow's blade swung wide. He tried to regain control of his mount as the second rank bounded towards him, but it was too late. One of the grotesque monsters lunged at his horse, notched ax whistling down on its head. The Greatbow jumped from the saddle as his horse's neck was severed. He rolled towards his enemy, thrusting his sword into its side. The monster howled as it swung to strike him with its free hand.

The Greatbow ducked, pulling back on the sword and stabbing up at its throat. It jerked stiff as it died. He yanked on the blade, pulling it free with a spurt of dark blood. His men were riding around him now. Some stayed close to protect him while others kept moving to the attack.

“
Don't stop!” He yelled to those that had. “Their power is in their momentum! Move! Keep moving!”

As he was yelling, a horseman in front of him was shouldered off his mount by a lunging Granhal. The horse collapsed. The Greatbow leaped forward to the man's rescue, horses and Granhal running and jumping in the whirlwind of combat. He was lost to the battle, focused on the kill.

The Granhal stood over the downed soldier, ax in hand. Its bowed legs bent to accommodate the swing, its skull-face glistening in the early-morning sun. The ax came up over its victim. The Granhal howled in victory as it brought the ax down. The Greatbow closed the gap, swinging up and catching the monster's arms at the elbow.

The howl of victory erupted into one of pain as ax and arms flew from their place, the blade burying itself inches from the head of its intended victim. The Greatbow spun, bringing his sword around at its neck. The steel connected, the skin-covered armor split, and the head was severed.

“
Get up boy!” He yelled at the scout on the ground. “Die on your feet like a man!”

He twisted to avoid a mace the size of his head as it flew down and lodged itself at his feet. He swung his sword up, catching the hopper in its exposed throat. It jerked back, but too late. He wrenched on the blade, grating out between plates of enfleshed armor and drawing a long spurt of blood with it. He grinned as he turned.

“
That's how you do it bo-” but the words caught in his throat. A Granhal had the scout impaled on the curved peaks of its ax. It lifted him up, then changed its grip. In one brutal motion it brought the soldier down to drive him into the ground with a sickening thud. The ax followed through, splitting him in half like a ripe melon.

The Greatbow launched himself forward in that moment. He jumped as he thrust the blade out, ramming it into the thick chest six feet off the ground. The blade punctured the armor. It slid into the chest, but stopped before coming out the other side. The Granhal howled, a deep guttural noise that ended at an eerily high pitch. Its face came down in a snarl.

It roared as it swung its arm down across the Greatbow's blade, splintering it in his hands. The Greatbow fell backwards. He dropped the hilt of his sword, his arms numb from the shock of the strike, but he had no time to gather his senses. The Granhal moved forward, grabbing his throat with its bulky, dark hand. It clenched, crushing his windpipe and cutting off blood to his mind. His eyes bulged as it lifted him off the ground. The shard of his sword still jutted from its chest and glistened against the rising sun.

It squeezed harder, then jerked his head to the side. He heard a loud crack as the world exploded in an array of colors. Suddenly, he couldn't feel much of anything, but he could sense it pull him up closer. It drew him in as if to whisper in his ear. To tell him its secrets. The hot breath spilled over his cheek. Instead it bellowed a deafening howl, his ears ringing until they split. Then it buried its teeth in his neck.

S
IX

A
NDERS
K
EATON
GROANED
. His burns were tightly wrapped, but rolling over on his low cot left his muscles screaming every time. Lucius hadn't wanted to let him go, but he didn't want to take him back to Elandir. Not yet at least. As little love as he had for Keaton, he suddenly seemed unwilling to part with him. Keaton knew why. The young general no longer knew who he could trust; he was second-guessing everything. The ends justified the means to Lucius, but the ends were no longer clear. Like any good mercenary, he smelled a change in the weather that boded ill for him. This was the only chance Keaton would have to win him over.

But first he had to get a message to the ships off the coast. Of what little his mind could hold onto with clarity, the command from Oscilian remained at the forefront. He would manage that much at least. They wouldn't be able to say he had failed at everything. This would be his chance to show Lucius how things were actually being shaped. He would win him over, or he would kill him. And then he would take Merodach down and his whole government with him.

Keaton's thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a struggle outside of the field tent they had quarantined him to. He sat up, stifling his own groan as he focused on the flap that served as an entrance. Punches landed, bodies dropped, and silence ensued. Keaton looked around for a weapon, anything to defend himself with. There was nothing at hand. Unfortunately his captors had been thorough in their selection of what to leave behind. Outside of a fresh roll of bandages on the table and his canteen, there wasn't much he could use.

The flap opened, his heart fluttering as he scooted back on the cot subconsciously. A man in the dark black leather of a Hunter's armor stepped into the room, followed closely by two others. They gave the room a cursory glance, slinging their rifles over their shoulders before saluting Keaton where he sat.

“
Sir.” The mask muffled the voice in such a familiar way. “We're here to spring you. I'd ask you to gather your gear, but it looks like Lucius has saved us the time.”

“
What's going on?” Keaton groaned as he was lifted by the other two Hunters.

“
Khrone's got word of what they had planned for you, sir.” The Hunter in the lead turned to open the flap for them. “Sorry we weren't here in time to offer you support.”

They half-carried Keaton out into the dark of the night. The sliver of the moon above glinted dully off the armor and visors of two dozen Hunters gathered around the tent. Keaton had never seen so many in one place since selection.

The Hunters saluted silently before dispersing. Keaton caught glimpses of more in the distance. The guards to his tent lay in bloody heaps on the ground.

“
Where are we going?” It was nearing three in the morning by his count.

“
Northeast, into the mountains. There's a stronghold there where we've been caching food and weapons ever since you took an open stance against the war.”

“
Ever since... you listened?”

“
Aye, sir.” The Hunter in the lead took Keaton's left arm from his comrade and placed it over his own shoulder. “You're an inspiration to us all, sir. The only Hunter in service to have actually fought Magi. You have a reputation, sir, going back to your successful Kettle Run, and when you spoke, you spoke for all of us. Khrone's has only one man left to follow.”

The camp was deathly silent. Keaton didn't see any sentries at their posts, and the ones he did see wouldn't be returning to posts of any kind. They were out of the camp's perimeter and working their way east before he even had much of a chance to realize it.
They killed their own countrymen to free me...

“
Who are you?” Keaton's questions sounded more like groans, even in his own ears.

“
We're all that's left of Khrone's, sir.”

“
I mean what's your name, Lieutenant.”

“
Saltman, sir.”

“
I've heard of you. Who's your captain?” The pace they kept made it hard for Keaton to talk. He hoped they had a transport somewhere nearby.

“
We don't have one, sir.” Saltman shook his hidden head. “There were only three units left, sir, after Sykes' disappeared with you. The captains were all sent to the battle down here to fight with you. It was assumed their loyalty to the State would supersede any loyalty they might have to you.”

“
I guess that didn't work out so well for the State.”

“
Sir.” Saltman had no humor in his voice. “They've managed to kill half of Khrone's strength in a matter of months on fool's errands. Chasing the Magess for Silvers, running reconnaissance on our allies, and ludicrous suicide missions besides. There's a reason we're being killed off, sir. They don't trust us to fall in line.”

“
After tonight's events, you'll hardly be able to blame them, Lieutenant.” The low burn of Liscentia's lights hung just over the horizon to the south. He wondered if they even knew what had happened to their soldiers. What horrors had taken them. What was coming for them next.
What's coming for them next...

“
Hold up, Lieutenant,” he coughed. “Wait, damn you.”

“
Sir?” Saltman stopped, beckoning his brothers to do the same. Aside from those scouting, the Hunters held their position.

“
MARD
.”

“
Excuse me sir?”

“
What makes us different from the other units in the military? What distinguishes us on any spreadsheet or summary you've ever seen?”

“
MARD
...”

“
We're trained to fight magic-wielders, Saltman.” The realizations burned Keaton's mind almost as much as the wounds on his skin. “And if Merodach has teamed up with magic-wielders, then we're as big of a threat as the Shadow King is to him.”

“
Magic-wielders, sir?”

“
Do you have a long-wave on you?” Merodach's allies were already in place. Keaton had to get his own on the move. He only hoped he wasn't too late.

“
Of course sir, but we're running silent. We didn't want to risk discovery.”

Keaton held out his hand. “This is worth the risk.”

P
OMPIDUS
M
ERODACH STARED OUT THROUGH THE WINDOWS WITHOUT SEEING ANYTHING
. The snow drifted across the plains, making the brooding mountains of the Northern Range feel even more imposing than they had before. They reflected his mood, as did the churning gray clouds overhead.

He had gambled it all and lost. The fight to neutralize Liscentia had done little more than cripple them both. The people of Elandir wouldn't take news of the defeat well. Things would turn out especially poorly if they were to find out about his treacherous plot to convince them war was necessary. He had been mere inches from obtaining invulnerable power, and now he was as close to unavoidable defeat.

Bill and Clive... Clive and Bill...
The names rolled back and forth in his mind like a tumor broken loose from its stem.
Betrayed by a couple of brutish smugglers.

It wasn't the betrayal itself that hurt nearly as much as the pride at who it was that had bested him. And now his mind was drawing blanks. He had risked it all. He had lost. If he couldn't make a spectacular recovery, and make it quickly, he would soon find a knife plunging in his back or a bullet ricocheting out of his skull.

“
Sir?” His attendant was still waiting for him, he realized.

“
Any news?” Merodach didn't even want to turn to face the man. His anger was concentrated by the walls closing in on his broiling emotions.

“
Nothing new sir. Lucius says he's cleaning up.”

“
When is he returning, damn it?” Maybe his anger wasn't so far off after all.

“
He wouldn't say, sir.”

“
That was all I asked you to find out.” Merodach clenched his eyes for a moment, then fluttered them as if clearing the haze over his pupils would do the same for his mind. “How is the cleanup in the streets progressing?”

“
Slowly, sir. There's barely enough of a garrison to hold the walls, and the people aren't exactly cooperating well.”

“
Is that your own assessment? I didn't know you'd started your military career.” He rubbed his temples, swallowing hard at the thought of the citizens growing restless. He had to get the streets cleared, but he couldn't display to them just how safe he felt by releasing the garrison to help. They had to be kept in fear, for just a while yet, or they might revolt.