The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim (25 page)

“
But the Demon's forces have no morale. Not the truly twisted and soulless ones. And the rest are so scared of the particularly evil breeds that they stay well enough in line. They have no worry about supply lines. Theirs were well protected and many of the creatures were bred to feed off the land as much as burn it. No lad, we would never have lasted a siege with those bastards outside our doors.

“
And Islenda... boy, you should see it. Most beautiful city on earth. Caught up in the far corner of a valley called the Spring Vale, rung with the most treacherous white mountains you've ever seen. The Dragon's Teeth! What a name for a bunch of mountains, hey? Her walls and towers shoot to the sky. The stone matches that of her surroundings in such a way that she looks like a mountain herself. I still get the same burn in my heart as the first time I rode into the Vale. God, I love her... but I digress.

“
The Eastern Kingdom had fallen, God rest their black souls, and most of our own cities had been razed to the ground. And the south... they pulled up their skirts and hid among the islands as
they're oft to do.

“We only had one real fighting force left. Something like three battalions of archers, eight of foot soldiers, and another two of cavalry. Small, to say the least.”

Ardin nodded. It sounded pretty big to him.

“
The old dragon had an army easily ten times that.” He drew his hands across the horizon as he told the story, stepping over logs and ducking under branches without thinking. Lost in his own history.

“
Now here comes us, marching up the long valley of Albentine. We were damn sure that if there was any place we could make a fight it was there.”

“
It's a canyon,” the Fisherman elaborated.

“
True enough. You see, boy, the valley of Albentine is up in the mountains, pointing directly east from Islenda. It's this long narrow stretch caught between two peaks that the road runs along straight to the capital. Those two mountains come so close together it's almost as if they're trying to merge into one. The valley itself looks like the Creator dragged a sword between them to keep 'em from doing just that. It's impossible to get up on the ridges, so there's no advantage to be found in higher ground.

“
We shoved ourselves in there nice and tight. Figured if they had more soldiers than us, we could
at least even the odds and match our front lines. Sadly we had yet to build the expanse of towers that guard it now. There was but one gate at the entrance, and they smashed it as soon as they saw it. We
fought them for days. Poured out our blood in that pass to bar their path. But time took a terrible toll and we were pushed back.

“
There comes a point at the tail end of Albentine where the pass splits into three paths. One makes its way up the northern mountain, one up the southern. The third continues down until it empties into the broad flat valley beyond, the Spring Vale. Those two diverging paths don't go far up the slopes before they turn into cliffs and crags themselves. The King fought at the front of the line that third day, when all others failed. His green banners flew bright around him. Even his silver and gold armor shone through the tar-black blood that smeared him head to toe.

“
I remember watching him for a moment that day. The wings that flew back from the sides of his wolf-helm glittered. His sword flew. It chopped and hewed those monsters until he could scarcely lift his arm.

“
But slowly we were pushed back, hemmed in on our left flank as the last line of our defenses fell away. We were forced up onto the southern slope. We backed our way up the mountain as we fought to keep the beasts from our King.

“
It was his armor. The grand wings that flew back from his helm drew them to him. And his magic. The Renaults are known for keeping the true arts. They were one of the few clans that never bought the Demon's lie and his breed of witchcraft. Those monsters hungered for it. It was the old snake's way of ensuring his enemies' demise, breeding his creatures to devour truth and magic.

“
On they came, pressing up the slope until we had nowhere left to turn. The cliffs closed around
us. A wall on our right and a sheer drop to our left. Behind us the path devolved into a crumbling slope. We were weary. Though few of us had perished in the fight, we were dangerously close to losing everything.

“
And then there was a flash down the way. The pass had filled with writhing black and red bodies. Skinless nightmares that soaked up our blood as fast as we could spill it. Many made for nothing more than their demoralizing presence. But now we heard them scream.

“
The Magi had shown up, beautiful creatures that they are. They had taken up the fight on the rear flank of the enemy and were working their way into the pass. Another flash struck out and we finally saw the source: the Guard.

“
Back then they were just called the Guard, freshly formed from the remnants of the human battalions of your own homelands. Those that had proven themselves were given special weapons and trained in basic enchantments. They, along with the remaining Shadow, had been launched by some magic over the enemy and into their midst at the mouth of the pass. The monsters were hemmed in on both sides.

“
Your Cid here realized we were in trouble. He gathered a group of men and Shadow and together they hacked and hewed their way up the pass. It was then that one of the old Titans showed up.

“
Scary things, Titans. Big, strong, and as old as the world. This one was a mountain dweller, looked like a man crossed with a giant bat. Bare-chested with rags that might pass for tattered trousers at a pauper's party. They're more than twice the size of any human, but man-like in their bearing. They've got dark leathery skin and long black hair running between their demon-like ears. Their arms are like ships' masts, legs like tree trunks with long wings sprouting out their backs. This one came as we cheered the arrival of our allies. We never saw its approach.

“
The thing swooped low, coming in from out of nowhere and knocking most of us off our feet. The King, he stood tall, facing the beast. He held his sword out to his side with one hand as he took off his helm. There wasn't a fearful bone in his body. He dropped the helmet to look the thing in the eyes, and I heard him say with my own ears, 'Are you sure you want to come to your end like this, Ancient?'”

“
He didn't say that,” the Fisherman laughed.

“
He did! I swear he did!”

“
God, that's terrible.”

“
He dropped his helmet and took up a ready stance like the statues of old. And he taunted the monster.”

The Fisherman conceded that point. “Foolish.”

“
Brave. The beast roared at him with some hellish screech and flapped its monstrous wings. None of the monsters left behind it dared approach, nor did we. Ancient are they indeed, and forceful in presence. It slammed its fists together and grabbed a boulder as the King rushed at it. He dove to the left and rolled as the monster tried to crush him, coming up and stabbing at its leg.

“
The things are old as the hills, boy, quite literally. One of the few species to survive the remaking of the world. This wasn't its first scrap. The bastard spun to his right, kicking his leg out away from the blade and using his wings to knock the King on his face. We tried to get to him then, our senses regained; we tried to rush the beast while its back was turned. But two more showed up. They landed between us and the King and held their ground.

“
They didn't attack... they just stood there and watched us. The way towards them was sloped, slippery. If any of us tried to make his move they simply screeched and beat us with their wings, holding us back by sheer threat. Those of us that got close were thumped and swatted over the cliff. We tried to press in, but the ground was so narrow and unstable that every attempt was quickly cut short.

“
We were forced to watch as our King was hammered by the monster. As his shield was bashed in by its massive fists and flung from the heights. He fought valiantly, our King, but after three days of battle he was no match for the creature twice his size and three times his strength.

“
It was then your Cid arrived. He single-handedly slit his way through the monsters in the pass, leaving his squad well behind as he cut the beasts down like shrubs. The King had fallen. He was on his back, sword broken, bleeding like a stuck horse. The Titan stood over him, placing one of its talon-like claws on his chest, pressing into him for the kill.

“
Cid threw himself at the monster. He jumped like no man I've ever seen before, even ones wearing no armor. His sword flashed blue as he struck the monster in the chest. I swear I saw a sword made of blue mist strike it a second time, and the monster fell back. He knelt over the King, sword at the ready, teeth barred.

“
We cheered, causing the other two Titans to turn. But they were too late. Cid flew at their
companion. He took another leap and spun, twisting that massive sword in the air and bringing it down hard on the monster's skull so that it erupted in a spray of blood. It stumbled, its face nearly severed
from its head, and swung wildly at him.

“
He rolled, armor and all. Dodging its kicks he came up with the blade, driving it into the thing's groin. It screamed. He twisted the blade, and as he rolled back, it fell to the ground. I'd never seen anything like it, boy, and I never have since.

“
He wiped the blade on the monster's ragged excuse for pants and then set his foot on it. The other two got the message loud and clear. I don't think they hesitated more than a second before they leaped over the side of the cliff and flew off.

“
We took up the cheer then, and fought our way down the cliff towards our friends until there
was naught between us but steel plate and gratitude.”

“
Seems a bit of a tall tale to me,” the Fisherman said, skeptical of his own story.

“
Not at all, Cid. It's how we've told it ever since. Captain Cid, Slayer of Titans.”

“
I ain't saying it ain't true. I just remember gettin' a swift kick to the head somewhere in there.”

“
Ah, yeah. Well there's been a healthy debate about that for the last fifty years. I prefer to tell it was more of a glancing blow.”

“
Young men tell tales.” The Fisherman grinned. “Old men grow them.”

S
IXTEEN

T
HE
S
HADOW
K
ING WOKE UP SLOWLY
.
It was dark. The dingy apartment stank worse now than it had before, if that was possible. His head spun as he sat up, there was blood everywhere. As the room stopped spinning, his headache made itself vividly apparent. He sat himself up against the wall and stared into the dark.

There wasn't much light in the windowless box; outside of what seeped under the door, it was pitch black. But there was enough for his cold eyes to see the carnage. He had been so mesmerized when he entered the room that he had barely taken note of anything in it. The mangled corpse of the medium lay across the room from him. Torn and shredded, beyond unrecognizable, somehow the sight made him feel sick. The smell wasn't helping. He stood, pinching his head at the temples as if the gesture would stop the stomping sensation on his brain. It didn't.

His stomach churned. He felt like he might throw up. Carnage like this had never bothered him before. All he wanted was to be out of the room, so he made for the door and wandered into the hallway. It was almost as dank in the hall as it had been in the room. At least it wasn't as hot or as close. The winter chill was making its breaches into the building well enough here. He shivered and heard doors close as curious eyes hid themselves behind locks and bolts.

He didn't much care. He had to find a way out of this place... out of the city. Why did he feel so sick to his stomach? He'd been around plenty of blood in his life; something was wrong.

He staggered to the stairs and looked out of the smeared, grimy window. It was raining outside. Water cascaded down the pane but the glass was no cleaner for it. It looked like it had tried to snow. The world was gray.

The Shadow King made his way slowly down the broken stairs. They creaked. He groaned. His legs weren't as up to the task as he had imagined. He gripped the broken railing tightly, trying to keep from falling head first as the world lurched under him. What was wrong with him?

He got out into the dark lobby of the building, overrun with what he assumed were piles of rancid garbage. He felt filthy just walking through the room. A withered old man lay in one of the piles, moaning and mumbling. He pointed at his private demons as they tormented him from above.

Finally outside, the Shade took in a deep breath. The crisp cold air was refreshing.
Why do I still feel so sick?
He wrapped his cloak tightly about himself as he pulled his hood up. No sense taking any unnecessary risks. The roads were empty, almost like they'd been cleared. There was a good chance they had been. The hunt for him was probably still going on. He needed to make an exit.

He walked up the street a ways and took a turn down an alley. He didn't know exactly where he was, but the run-down buildings told him he was somewhere in the southwestern-central section of the city. There were no high-rises to be seen, so the odds were good that was where he was. He couldn't quite clear the cobwebs from his mind. A group of mounted police rode past the mouth of the alley shortly after he turned down it. They were followed soon after by a large truck with an enclosed bed made for transporting prisoners. He didn't want to see the inside of it.