The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores (12 page)

The Shadow King felt a moment of pity for the boy, fleeting as it was. He found it strange that Charsi would effectively sacrifice herself to protect the boy from the blast. It would have taken most of her considerable strength to do so. He turned to leave the crumbled compound, kneeling at the ruptured base of one of the capsules to retrieve the ceremonial knife he had entered with. It was completely unscathed.

He stood and stepped over piles of rubble as he made his way down into the valley. The clearing was untouched up to the fence line. From there, broken and burned bodies littered the ground. The silence was broken by a choking sound coming from a recess in the ground to his left. The Shadow King walked towards the sound, the long hilt of his famed sword peeking out from the top of his cape and swaying with his movement.

Under the large burned body of a man with a cigar still propped in his mouth, lay the colonel. The gaunt man coughed as he tried to shove the corpse off his chest but was found his strength lacking. Burned patches of skin stretched across his grimace as he made another effort to free himself. A shadow crossed the colonel's face as the toe of a black boot appeared on top of the corpse. He could feel the pressure increase as a silhouetted face came into view.

“Damnit,” he coughed again. “Would you get this oaf off of me?”

He peered up at the face, unable to make it out. Wispy silver hair formed a halo around its head in the early morning light.

“It's rather unlike you to curse in front of your superiors, Colonel.” A familiar voice floated down to him.

“Sir?” The colonel tried weakly to block more light out with his hand. “Is that you, Silvers?”

“What happened, Colonel?”

The voice was Silvers', deeper and more detached if that were possible, but Silvers nonetheless.

“Brutus' apes took over, sir.” He wheezed, trying to breathe under the weight of the corpse. The rasping in his throat worried the colonel a bit. “They said they had orders from the top to take care of things if you lost control.” He coughed. “They claimed you'd been killed inside by the Witch.”

“She did her damage, certainly.” The silhouette appeared to look back up towards the compound for a moment. “But killed? A slight exaggeration.”

Its dark gaze returned to the colonel. “And what, my good friend, did you do to stop this insubordination?”

“Sir,” the colonel coughed again. “This ugly brute shoved a gun in my face with one hand and an executive order with the other. Wasn't much I could do, sir.”

He put his hands back on the corpse as if to roll it off. “Could you help me up, sir?”

The silhouette didn't respond; it seemed lost in thought. The colonel's eyes began to adjust; he was barely able to make out the lines of the face above him. It looked similar to the general, but was harder somehow. Like Silvers, only carved from stone and given life.

“Where'd you get the cape, sir?”

“I'm sorry, Colonel.” The stony Silvers ignored his question. “But as you well know, I can't abide sedition.”

“What? Sir! I–”

“Did nothing to stop the attempted murder of your commander. Far from becoming of an officer.”

He drew a long, gently curving blade off his back, its scabbard scraping against it dully as its full length came into view.

“Besides, Colonel.” He paused momentarily as his left hand joined the right on the hilt of his sword. “My true allegiances are returning.”

The colonel's protests were cut short by curved steel as it swept down and split his face open diagonally. A whimper gurgled past dry lips as the soldier's last breath deserted him. His head turned to the side and he lay silent.

The Shadow King turned and walked down the valley. His plan lay in ruins, not unlike those he left behind, and now his hand had been forced as far as his identity was concerned. Things weren't beyond repair, however. He could still find the girl and the First Mage across the sea. He could still regain control.

Farther on he could see scouts along the walls of the valley, observing his movements. Signals went out to warn the companies beyond of his approach.

The Shade continued down the path as it widened and neared the bend that would bring him to the main road. Two sergeants and their squads cautiously followed a lieutenant as they approached what appeared to be their general.

“Sir?” the lieutenant called out, stopping twenty yards or so short of his superior and signaling his men to do likewise.

“What's going on up there sir? We thought everyone was dead,” he might as well have telegraphed uncertainty and fear from his eyes.

“You wouldn't have been incorrect in your assumption, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, you look different sir. Where did you get those clothes?”

“Why are you still here, Lieutenant?”

“I... we didn't know what to do sir,” he began to turn sideways, hiding his holstered pistol from the general's view. “What the hell is going on sir?”

“Did you radio in?”

“What would we tell them, sir? This is supposed to be a classified mission and the whole thing is shot to shit.”

“Well, Lieutenant.” The figure of the general before them drew a hyperbolically long sword off his back. “I'm pleased to tell you that your services are no longer needed. Nor are those of your men.”

The lieutenant placed his hand on the grip of his pistol, silently unclasping the strap that kept it in place. “You mean we can go home now sir?”

The men around him began flicking off the safeties on their weapons.

“In a manner of speaking, Lieutenant” the Shadow King spat the last word as he sprinted forward, clearing the twenty yards and slicing the officer up the middle before his pistol ever left its holster. Gunshots mixed with screams as they echoed and drifted through the valley.

G
OLDEN RAYS OF
sunlight illuminated Ardin's face as he lay in the midst of what had been Charsi's prison. The trees did their best to keep his body shaded, but they eventually lost to the persistence of the waxing sun. He woke slowly, like a drunk in the gutter awakened to a hangover by morning traffic.

Protecting his eyes from bright intrusion with his arm, Ardin straightened himself out and sat up slowly, propping up on his other elbow. It felt like it had been weeks since he had last been awake, and he honestly couldn't tell if that was the truth of the matter.

The boy clenched his eyelids shut and shook his head. The buzz in his ears came and went but he couldn't seem to rid himself of it. He was covered in dust. The whole compound had turned a dull gray as it sat under the stuff. Ardin coughed lightly as he moved to stand. He caught himself as his legs buckled under his weight. Pausing for a moment, he moved to stand again. The blood was flowing a bit more freely now; his limbs were loosening up.

He looked around the rest of the compound over the low rubble that had obstructed much of his view from the ground. The whole place was eerily silent, not a sound could be heard save the scraping of his shoes on gravel underneath. Even the wind remained still, as if the whole world was holding its breath in awe of something fantastic.

He shook his clothes out, creating a small cloud of dust. Unable to escape it himself, Ardin coughed as he covered his mouth and moved onwards. Crossing one of the larger piles of debris, his left foot slid as it strode out in front, causing him to do the splits awkwardly as he came to a halt half-way down the small slope. He grimaced as he tried to leverage his weight to his side, to no real avail at first. He'd caught himself pretty good.

Ardin's right foot, tucked up under and behind him, had snagged on something and wasn't letting go. He grunted as he placed his palms on the rubble and pushed up, twisting his weight to the left enough to drag his left leg over and back up towards the other as he rolled to his side.

Ardin lay there for a while until his breathing slowed and his palms no longer burned from impressions left by the rubble. Still caught, he pushed up the slope backwards until he could put his left foot down and balance on his right knee. He reached down and felt something smooth caught up in his laces, and for all the trouble it was giving him it came free easily enough when pulled straight up.

He pulled it free and discovered it was the broken hilt of his father's saber. Part of the blade was still intact and had somehow lodged itself firmly between two large chunks of concrete.

He sat down, hands cradling the ruined metal as tears broke loose and streamed silently down his cheeks.

“What's wrong boy?”

Ardin looked up quickly, it sounded like a woman was standing directly in front of him. No one was there.

“I said what's wrong boy?” the voice turned distinctly masculine and filled his head. “Or are you deaf?”

“Who are you?”

“It's rude to answer a question with a question,” the voice began to solidify again, drawing together until it came from in front of him. “You haven't answered mine, nor will I answer yours.”

“I'm...” Ardin stuttered, then collected himself. “I don't know where to go... what to do.”

“That's no reason to cry, is it boy?”

“I don't have a home!” Ardin yelled, “I've lost everything! I don't even know why I'm alive...”

“My my,” the voice began to materialize as an imposingly dark figure took form in the grass twenty feet beyond Ardin. “What a host of problems you seem to have.”

“Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am?” The figure crossed its arms, it appeared solid now, dressed in military garb, but remained somewhat indistinct. “This shouldn't be so hard to figure out.”

“I thought you said it was rude to answer questions with questions,” Ardin replied as he ran his sleeve across his wet cheeks.

“Touché.” The figure unfolded its arms and took a bow. “I am the man you came here to kill, in order to avenge your family.”

Ardin sat up straight, eyes clearing as his neck tightened.

“General Troy Silvers, at your service.”

“You... you killed my family?”

“Well, not directly no. But I was the one giving the orders, and responsibility falls on me where the actions of my men are concerned so... yes. I suppose I did kill your family.”

Ardin's shoulders grew tense as he felt his body start to shake. His hand formed a tight fist around the hilt of his father's broken saber as he subconsciously gritted his teeth.

“Why?”

“Out of all the questions you could ask–”

“WHY?!”

“I'm looking for someone, a girl who's been evading justice for quite some time. She's been kept safe in your village for a while now, and unfortunately for your little town and family the consequence for not giving her up to me was... well, obvious by now I should imagine.”

Ardin lunged forward, bringing the broken blade around and thrusting it towards the figure. “You filthy son of a whore!”

He yelled as the figure wavered and disappeared, his full weight carrying him face first into the gray coated grass beyond. His head hit something hard, leaving his ears ringing. The figure was gone, the doubt as to whether or not it had ever been there briefly crossed Ardin's mind as he tried to get up.

His body felt too heavy and he collapsed back to the ground sending up a small cloud of light gray dust that settled around him as he drifted off into sleep.

“
W
ELL
.”
POMPIDUS MERODACH
stared out over the plains north of Elandir from his office. “What of it?”

A green lieutenant stood in the doorway at attention, his tepid nature threatening to spill onto the floor. He cleared his throat, uncertain of how to proceed with the bad news he had been given to bear. To the Mayor himself no less.

“Sir.” He straightened his collar nervously and pulled his spine even straighter than it had been, which, considering how fresh he was from the academy, was considerably straight. “It appears the entire battalion is dead, sir.”

Merodach didn't respond. He simply stood in cold silence as the sun began to set to his left. He took a long draw on his cigar, not wanting it to go out but having lost his taste for it almost entirely.

“All of them?”

“Well, sir, some of the rearguard made it out alive. It seems they retreated when the sh- I mean when things started to go poorly, sir.”

“Well the shit did hit the fan, Lieutenant. No point sugar coating it. Any news of Silvers?”

“The general was last seen headed east, sir.”

Merodach dropped his cigar, reacting too late to grab it and save his carpet the stain it received. He picked it up and calmly stood, composing himself before turning.

“You're certain of that, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, he was the one who killed the rearguard.”

The lieutenant's eyes were wide as ashtrays. If he wasn't so self conscious of being alone in the presence of the Mayor, Merodach was certain the kid would be scanning the room for Silvers as they stood there. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't blame the boy.

“And the Witch? We're certain she's dead.”

“Sir.”

“Fine.”

He turned back to the wall of windows behind his desk and stared out over the fields. The sun glistened off the river through the ships docked on the Elandris. The sparkling light seemed to dance between the large air circulation units below him. They sat on the peninsular ledge that jutted out from the wall twenty forty beyond. The sides of it ran straight down until it was enveloped in the gently sloping wall beneath.

He felt secure up here, and he didn't plan on leaving his secluded tower until Silvers had been contained. How he had managed to kill an entire battalion on his own, with or without the help of the Witch, was beyond Merodach.

The lieutenant shifted uneasily in the doorway, not certain if he was permitted to leave. After a few minutes he cleared his throat softly.

“You're still here?”

“Sir.”

“Go find Brutus and send him up,” Merodach didn't break his stare away from the Northern Range.

“Sir.”

“That is all, Lieutenant.”

The young man wheeled about and marched out of the room. Merodach didn't give him another thought as he rolled the possible scenarios around in his mind. Containing this would be impossible. It should be easier if he told the people the general had gone mad and killed his own men with the aid of the Witch. Especially if it was half true. Taking control of the army with Silvers still alive, however, would be another matter.