The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim (22 page)

The ringing in Cid's ears subsided as he picked himself up. He watched as the men tore into their enemy. The dark strips of cloth wrapped around their limbs and torsos created a dark flurry of violence. They started with zeal. They finished with relish. He smiled, but then he remembered there was yet one more to fight.

It only took a moment to find the monster in the distance. It was pummeling the ground, striking and missing and striking again. And then Cid saw what it was aiming to kill. Fire jumped out at the thing from the ground, causing it to cover its face before lashing back. It struck out with its whip.

The thick leather gripped its victim's leg like a sinewy claw. The monster led with its shoulder, wrenching back and flinging its arm to the side. Cid gaped as it swept Ardin Vitalis from the ground and flung him into the trees.

F
OURTEEN

A
RDIN STOOD AND WATCHED AS THE AMBUSH UNFOLDED INTO A FULL-SCALE BATTLE
.
The men took no notice of him as they flew towards their enemies. They were focused on the fight. And rightfully so. The monsters in front of them were massive, terrifying. Ardin felt no compulsion to join in the skirmish. His legs wouldn't have obeyed any orders forward if he had. He was frozen in place. He wasn't afraid; he was overwhelmed.

The men spent the last of their darts on the beast with the circlet. More of them came from the trees to the left and from the other side. This was where the fight would truly happen. The day would be won or lost here.

Ardin supported the men in his heart. But his mind froze as it tried to process the amount of information that doled itself out in those few moments. He had never seen this much violence unleash itself so quickly. So close. Time seemed to slow down. Every step was a minute. Each breath an hour.

The men flocked to their enemies now. The dark gray and brown strips of cloth flowing behind them like streamers. They were wild, mad, free.

He watched in horror as one after the other attempted to bring down their foe only to be crushed or hacked into oblivion. Blood sprayed fresh in the air as screams intermingled with the gasps of the dying. For every blow the men landed on their enemy, three times the damage was returned upon them.

They were doomed.

Things only got worse as a second monster made its appearance. Where it came from, Ardin couldn't tell. It must have been fresh to the fight. There were no arrows in its hide.

It bellowed its own cry and let loose its whip. The leather was as thick as Ardin's arm and ten times as long. It cracked as it wrapped itself around a man's neck and pulled taut. The monster planted its front foot and heaved. With one arm it yanked the man off his feet, bringing him flying into the monster's clutches. It caught him with its free claw, and in one motion broke the man in the middle.

Ardin's vision went blurry as the cracking of the man's back reached him. He tried to shake his vision free, but all that came loose was his breakfast. He rolled forward and let it go. There was no point in holding it back. He stood again slowly, ears ringing in the din. The men were yelling now, whooping and hollering, but he couldn't understand.

He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to clear his vision. He opened them to look at the sky. A hawk circled slowly overhead; the only cloud in sight moved along a contrastingly linear path. He swallowed hard, wiping the corner of his mouth. Why was he here?

The yelling had intensified. They exulted in victory. Curiosity finally got the better of him as he lowered his head to see what was going on. Immediately in front of him was the second beast. It roared.

Ardin was knocked onto his back by the sheer violence of the creature's bellow. It was loud, deep, guttural. His heart raced instantly as stark terror pulsed in his veins. He didn't notice the dark flecks of spit on his face. He just crawled. Quickly. The thing came after him then, raising its square, notched blade over its head as it did. He rolled to the side as metal shattered stone.

He prayed silently as he rolled to his feet. Desperation drove his every move. His prayers were cut short as the creature's fist caught him firmly in the chest. The whip, curled in its claw, slapped him in the face as it made impact. The whole beast stank like death. His death.

He flew backwards into a tree. The impact was just as jarring as the punch. He dropped to his knees, searching for air, unable to breathe. Some of his ribs must have broken, he realized. His instincts kicked in to override the fear that was paralyzing him. He had to move. The thing was on him again. It swung its blade in a wide arc and he dropped to the ground completely. The rusted iron connected with the tree so hard that the blade was fully embedded in the trunk before it stopped.

The warmth rushed to him then. It came as a surprise to Ardin, who had completely forgotten in the moment that he had any power. He let it come. Fire was easy enough. He put his hands forward and caught the creature just as it wrenched the blade free.

The flames hit it squarely in the chest, causing it to spin as it sought to avoid them. He smiled, and sent another batch of fire on its way. He could do this. He could fight his own battles. The creature lifted an arm to protect its face as it took a step back. The fire left its skin smoking, but it seemed to have no effect. All of Ardin's newfound confidence drained onto the ground at the sight. His stomach knotted back up.
This is bad.

The creature brushed the fire away contemptuously and brought its whip around at speed. The long leather cord sailed through the trees, leaves fluttering to the ground in its wake. A different kind of fire lanced up Ardin's leg, driving every muscle in his body to tense as he grit his teeth. And then he was airborne.

The monster flung him so hard that he didn't know what was happening. His leg hurt intensely for a moment only to be met with the strange bliss of flight. Unfortunately the fact that he was flying through the air had no time to register in his mind before he struck the ground and slid through the grass. He came to a jolting halt against another of the small trees.

Now his vision was truly blurry. His leg was screaming, his ribs were pounding, his back and neck sorely out of joint. The warmth was spinning inside of him. Fighting to find an outlet, seething to protect him. But he couldn't see straight, let alone think. The world was a passing haze and it wouldn't pause for a moment.

He tried to get up but found a gnarled boot pressing into his chest. Blackness filled his vision; putrid stink assailed his nostrils. His enemy had won.

He felt like his brother, John. Only this time the Ogres were real, as were the consequences of failing in battle. He had thought he could fight, but if this was how quickly he could be ended then what good to the people of this continent could he be?

He could see the shadowy figure raise its arm, long square blade glinting dully at the other end. And then it screamed.

It wasn't the roaring bellow of victory; Ardin hadn't heard this sound before. It was more like pain. And shock. It turned about, swinging its blade in an arc to catch its assailant. But it missed, and a small figure rolled between its twisting legs as it swung.

Ardin squinted to see the figure spin and saw the sun glisten off the blade as it sliced deep into the monster's thighs. It screamed again and stomped the ground, but it was too late; the figure was already gone. Ardin's sight came back to him slowly, but he could see the Fisherman coming now. He was running straight for him, blade out, teeth barred.

Then who was saving him?

The figure dashed in from the side, a twirling mass of cloth and steel and golden hair. She spun low under the swinging blade and sprang up towards the monster. She grabbed its shoulder as it passed. Holding tight, she swung up and onto its back.

The thing was already unstable, and now it looked as though it might topple. With one quick thrust she brought the sword down on the back of its neck. The tip of the blade slid between the plate-like sections of skin, eliciting a long scream from the monster. But the steel didn't penetrate far enough.

The monster swung with its free hand, swatting her off and into the tree. Ardin heard her yell sharply at the impact, but then the beast was back on him. Why it was after him so intently was beyond Ardin. The desire in its eyes was plain. There was a hunger. It wanted him.

It reached out with a claw as it pulled back its blade. Ardin scrambled backwards but found the tree in his way. His eyes went wide. He prayed. Pleaded.

Then Ardin saw the Fisherman through the thing's oozing legs. The old man jumped, yelling with all of his might as he brought the Cleaver down over his head. A bright flash and a trace of blue followed the blade. It made contact and the monster shuddered; the sword embedded completely in its back. The Fisherman grinned as he heaved and pulled the blade free of the severed spine.

The monster quivered as it fell to its knees with a heavy thud in front of Ardin. For a moment he feared it would topple onto him, but then it flopped to its side and lay still. Ardin couldn't take his eyes off the thing as the dust began to settle. Couldn't believe he was still alive. A shadow crossed his face; someone stood over him.

He looked up, squinting against the grime in the air. It was the girl who had saved him, golden hair twisting lightly in the breeze. She was covered in the strange wrappings that matched her companions. He could see in her silhouette that she was smiling. She put her free hand on her hip as she stared down at him.
“And who, may I ask, are you?
”

T
HE
D
EMON'S FACE GREW INCREASINGLY CLEAR AS THE
S
HADOW
K
ING WATCHED, AGHAST
.
The angles of his face were grotesque, deformed, yet clean somehow. It was definitely him, this was no forgery. The Demon looked menacing, terrifying, and strangely attractive. The Shadow King had only stood in the presence of the Relequim twice. Once at his defeat, and once at his entombing. Those had been more than enough. The old snake seemed to be distant, his face small and blurry. It grew until it filled the bowl.

The Shadow King couldn't contain himself. He was shaking openly now. Whether it was from fear or rage he couldn't say. But there were certainly generous helpings of both coursing through him.

He immediately regretted coming here, allowing the old woman to bring him to this place. He glanced up at her as she continued to wave her hands over the bowl, calling to her master. It was as he had assumed; her face was a mere mask. With her energy focused on calling the Demon she let slip her true appearance. She was haggard.

Hatred brewed in the Shadow King at the very thought of the illusion. She had brought him here; he had let her. Now he was about to commune with the enemy of his people. Of the world. He should end it. Kill her now before the incantation was complete. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword. He clicked it out of the sheath.

“
So in the end you come.”

The Shadow King was shocked to hear the voice. So deep, so heavy. It was as if the room was physically filled by the very sound. And then he could feel the gaze, the piercing stare of the power behind the voice. It came together. It focused on him.

“
Relequim.”

“
I haven't heard that name in some time,”
the voice paused for a moment.
“Few who serve me know it.”

“
Few who serve you could bear it.”

“
That is true, Lithuin. Or should I call you Silvers now?”

The Shadow King went cold to hear his old name. Especially from the enemy. The fact that the Demon knew his name should have been little surprise. But the revelation that he did shook his very foundations. The gaps that separated them felt suddenly narrowed.

“
Few who knew me as you do could ever follow me. But here you are, calling for me through this wretched old hag. Here you are, seeking my help.”

“
I will never follow you.” The retort sounded weak even to the Shadow King.

The Demon took pause, sizing up the man in front of him.
“What do you want?”

“
I'm only here for one reason.”

The Demon's presence lightened momentarily. The Shadow King could almost swear he saw him smile.

“
The Shadow. You want them back.”

“
It is my sole purpose.”

“
Not to protect the Magi?”
the Demon spat the name.

“
There are none left to protect.”

The declaration did bring a smile to the Demon's gray face as his dark eyes narrowed. He was pleased at the news and he said as much.
“And why don't you seek the help of my rival? He withers away in his mountain to little and less. What would he give to see me defeated at the hands of his precious army? Why swim with sharks when you could sail with a king?”

The Shadow King had put this line of reasoning to rest long before. “He will never raise the Shadow. He counts it as the folly of the past.”

“
For different reasons than I, to be sure. But on that one thing we agree. So what would you have me do, restore your precious army to you? Only to have you use them against me in the end?”

The Shade sat silent.

“
To restore the crown jewel of my enemy's army, as well neglected as it may now be, would be something of a folly of the present. I should crush you right now to ensure that no Shade stands in my way.”

The Shadow King swallowed. This was merely a specter, why was he so afraid? “
I only want them back. It's my duty. I can't leave them as they are.” The Shade looked to his left for a moment, sighing before returning his gaze. “Once I have them I'll take them to Trauncia and never return.”