The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim (49 page)

Oh God...
his mind was spinning.
This sucker is fast.

The understatement resonated in his head with the echo of the statue landing behind him. The bridge shook, then it turned to face him. It rushed him before he could gain his feet, hands flying to strike him from what felt like a dozen directions at once. He ducked under one swipe only to get caught by the next. It connected a second time, sending him skirting farther down the bridge.

He got up, body aching in a dozen ways he had never known possible. The warmth moved in response, seeking out the injuries and massaging them to health.
The warmth.
He put up his hands. The thing was racing towards him again. He was almost out of time. He pulled what power he could muster, then dropped to his back.

The statue was on top of him in an instant, but this time he was ready. He let a burst of pressure out of his hands, launching it above and beyond him on its own momentum. He rolled to his stomach so he could see it fly past, then let another burst out from the left. The thing was thrown off its trajectory just enough to skid over the edge when it landed.

Finally,
the Shadow King thought as he picked himself up.

But then there was another snap. He looked down the bridge. The statue had caught itself on the edge. The Shade cursed, but there was no time to stand around. He launched himself forward, racing to where the Guardian was now pulling itself back onto the bridge. He arrived just as its head appeared
from over the edge.

“
Miss me already?”

Caspian's curved steel slammed home between the glowing green eyes. The statue cracked, then crumbled and fell into the abyss.

The Shadow King turned back down the bridge.
Some Guardians.
He smiled to himself.
I'm going to walk straight through and save my brothers and nothing on this bridge can stop me.

Another crack sounded out down the way as a Guardian broke its bond with the bridge, this one was just in front of the Gates. It stepped down, another Mage, but this one had a circlet on its head and, in place of a staff, it had a sword. The Shadow King ran straight for it. It was another hundred yards on. But then it swept its sword in the air between them. Almost instantly he dropped to his knees. Blood gushed out from his stomach where he had been almost cut clean in half.

He stared at his hands, wide eyed for a moment. They were already covered in the red sticky liquid. He looked up as the Guardian swept its sword in the air again, and without thinking he made the jump. He could feel the energy slice through him, resounding like an earthquake even in his other-worldly form. The wave itself cut through the Atmosphere like a flying sheet of metal. He had to think fast. Then he remembered the staff of the first stone Mage.

He floated back as quickly as he could, until he was directly on top of the head of the staff. He jumped back in, grabbing it and hurling it as hard as he could in spite of his wounds towards the living statue with the sword. It swept the air with its blade, and he made the jump as the broad arc of energy grew and swept through him again. He flew with all his might through the Atmosphere as the head of the staff tumbled and twirled in the air.

It was coming back down when he made the jump, leaping in the air to catch it just twenty yards in front of the statue. He landed, twisting it in his hands and pointing it in the Guardian's direction. It swept the air with its blade. Thankfully, nothing happened.

The statue tried its trick again, but was confounded in the effort. The Shade walked forward, head of the staff out in his left hand, sword ready in his right. The gaping wound in his midsection was closing, but not enough to give him much confidence. The statue gave up its efforts and raised its own blade, making straight for the Shade. It lunged forward, far faster than the Shadow King expected, and brought the sword down hard on his head. But the Shade had learned from the statue of the Mage, and responded with a bright blast of flame.

The Guardian's momentum was nullified by the blast, and a second one put it on its heels. The Shade closed the gap then, spinning as he jumped, aiming to cut the statue's head clean off with one quick twist. But its sword was up in a flash, parrying his strike. Before he could recover, it swung its sword back around, the flat of the blade catching him in the side of the head and knocking him breathless to the ground.

His eyes fought to find focus as the statue picked him up. But it didn't pick him up; at least, it wasn't touching him. Then the realization struck him.
The head of the staff!
It was lying off to the side, out of his reach. His wits returned but only too late as he was flung out and away from the bridge towards the misty abyss.

Thankfully the Guardian wasn't prepared to deal with a Shade of any form, and so he simply made the jump. He worked his way back towards the bridge, the head of the staff as clear as the presence of the statue. He only hoped that he would heal considerably before he made his move. He had to repel the Atmosphere from it, if only for a minute.

The Shadow King jumped back in beside the statue, which was scanning the sky for his return. He propped the head of the staff up towards it before rolling past its robes. The statue was twisting, looking down towards the disruption of its power before it realized he had returned. He jumped, spinning and twisting the blade hard into its head, this time taking no gambles that it would connect. He landed on the other side of the Guardian as it collapsed in a pile of broken pieces.

Above the broad Gates stood the final three Guardians. Each was made to look like the Brethren they represented. Tall warriors, heavily clad in armor, with long graceful wings that extended to touch their neighbor's at the ends. He wondered which would come to life first.

Three booming cracks resounded overhead as each folded its stone wings and jumped to the bridge thirty feet below. The impact they made left cracks in the surface.

Oh God...

The one made to look like Ishtel twirled its scythe as it moved forward first. Death made manifest. That's what they said about him. His armor was covered in spikes and barbs, much like the real Ishtel. Though the wolf's skull on his chest was a bit smaller than the real one. And there were no rags impaled on the barbs.
Funny the details you notice when death is walking towards you,
he thought as he raised his blade.
At least it's still just one at a time.

And then the other two moved forward to join their brother.

The Mouth of Ilthuln stood gaping. For all he had been told of these gates and how they were barred to all who approached, Ardin certainly found this to be disappointing. And a relief in spite of the obvious concerns it raised. The two thick gates were broken. Hanging on their hinges, they threatened to fall off at the slightest mention of a breeze. He urged his horse across the broad bridge over what looked like an incredibly deep rift in the stone.

She shied at the other end, refusing to go farther. Even Ardin could smell the blood from here; death hovered close to these stones. The chill mountain air closed its fingers around him as if to confirm the sensation. He shivered.

Ardin dismounted, looking for something nearby to which he could tie his horse and finding nothing. He grabbed the sword Caspian had given him from the saddle, and pulled his pack off before letting go of the reins. The palfrey took off as soon as he did, running back over the bridge and around the bend a few hundred yards on. Whether he would ever see the horse again or not, Ardin couldn't say. And whether that was the fault of the horse or whatever fate he would find here, he was equally uncertain.

He hefted his pack and drew the sword. He would have killed for a rifle right now. But then he realized his hands were far more powerful than any firearm.
But if that's
true,
he swallowed hard,
then
why am I so scared.

The gates led to a long tunnel that worked its way up into the mountain. It was dark, but Ardin could see the wet glisten of blood on the steps inside. He swallowed hard, hoping morbidly that no one living was around, and moved forward.

He made a light in his hand without a thought and set it to float above and slightly behind him, so as to illuminate his path without blinding him. There were bodies everywhere. Men with bows, others with spears, all of them with swords. Their thick, fur-lined armor was drenched in their life's blood as they lay broken on the broad granite steps. The still air stank with the reek of their passing. It was enough to make Ardin choke.

He worked his way cautiously to the top of the long stairway, it felt like a mile but could only have been half of that. It curved gently to the right until stopping abruptly at another set of gates. Here fires still burned over oil-filled brass cauldrons. The light was a welcome sight. The gates here too were broken. These were lying flat on the floor beyond, blown completely off their hinges.

Ardin stepped forward, finding even more bodies strewn about the broad expanse beyond. There were fires burning all around the great hall under the mountain. It looked like a marketplace of sorts, and the dead were not limited to soldiers here. Women, children, and unarmed men lay broken near carts and fountains and fires alike. He could hear someone wailing off in the distance.

Levanton.
The thought struck him like a flash and sent him reeling for a moment. The bodies of the dead lay strewn about, as many killed in flight as in fight.
This is how my family died... how my village ended. Slaughtered in their homes. Caught between forces that had nothing to do with them. Not truly...

Ardin stopped next to the body of a boy no older than himself. Desperate terror was written all over his still face. Slit up the middle, his entrails spilled into a pool of blood that wasn't entirely his own. This truly was Levanton in new form. Again he was too late to do anything to stop it. Again he had failed. It made Ardin want to scream and throw up and cry all at once. He knelt, covering the boy's eyes as he had seen soldiers do. Closing them against the horrors that surrounded him. Images of his brother John forced their way into his mind and refused to leave. Images he had tried to forget, of deeds he had sworn to avenge.

He stood, fear melting away, anger burning at the scars of his memory. He had to hurry.

There was an entire city carved out of the mountain here. It wasn't large in comparison to the cities of the world. For Ardin, seeing it carved out of granite like the homes of the Magi made it magnificent. But the blood stained it; death tainted the wonder. It became dark and evil to him as he started to run.

He found the stairs that led to the outside. One side of the cavern had large windows through which to let in the morning sunlight, and that was where he knew he must go. He worked his way up to them and walked outside, a large set of doors set between two of them. Brilliant light reflected off a dozen snowy peaks, blinding Ardin for a minute. He shielded his eyes under the high arches of yet more pillars.

A low wall was built at the edge of the broad platform. Whether to keep the village's citizens from falling or to keep other things from entering, he couldn't say. But in the middle stood another broken gate. This one short, but broad. He ran out through it, and stopped at the foot of the longest bridge he had ever seen.

It must have been a mile long, and as far as he could tell there was nothing supporting it. Its open approach to the distant mountain made it feel like a road that shot into the sky. It came to an end at a distant, tall, ornate building that could be none other than the Cathedral. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, they were drawn to a flurry of motion near what must have been the Gates Tristram had spoken of.

He walked forward, squinting as he did so. He called up the warmth, using it to augment his vision. There were what looked like three winged statues fighting a smaller figure in black. The figure was a blur to him, moving quickly and disappearing before reappearing elsewhere to strike at the statues. Ardin dropped his pack and started running. The statue with a massive scythe spun too quickly, impaling his neighbor and shattering it instantly.

The dark figure appeared in the air above another, its long broad sword swinging too late to protect itself. The figure landed on its shoulders, blade held firmly between its legs. The crack of the impact and the crumble of the statue's fall reached Ardin long after it had disintegrated. There was only one statue left.

Whatever was happening, he knew he had to stop it. The figure in black spun, dust flying from the statue as a glimmering blade struck it hard. The figure disappeared as the scythe swept through empty space. The figure reappeared on the other side, bringing its steel up hard through the statue's back.

The black figure jerked back on the blade, then leaped higher in the air than any man should have been able. It brought the long, slender steel down in a graceful, brutal motion that shattered its opponent in an instant.

The caped figure landed as Ardin came within half a mile of it, and then he recognized it. It was the general. The one that had destroyed Levanton. The man who had killed his family. Killed Alisia.

The King of the Shades stood amidst the rubble of his treason, directly in front of Ardin Vitalis. Destiny had seen fit to bring his mission and vengeance together in one brilliant swoop.