The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores (10 page)

“I want you to feel this!” she screamed. “Every goddamned bit! You don't think I saw the knife you brought in here? I recognize those runes, Silvers! I know where it came from. I know what you came for.”

The knife! Silvers had completely forgotten about it, no point in trying to get to it now. His opportunity to put it to its baleful purpose was past. He heard shouting faintly down the hall behind him, something about a detonator.

Oh shit,
realization struck him like a snake, the ramifications of it shooting through his veins like venom.
Brutus' men.

They were setting charges. This was an unpleasant turn of events on every front. He was trapped; no one was coming to save him. Blinding explosions of pain electrified his spine. He how Brutus had planned to get him in here in the first place. The Brute certainly couldn't have seen this coming. If he had, Silvers hadn't been giving him enough credit all these years.

The boy next to him yelled, loud and deep, an otherworldly noise from such an unassuming frame. He was in excruciating pain; just the sound of it compounded Silvers' own suffering. He gritted his teeth, waiting for her to loosen her grip, just for a moment. All he needed was a moment. She'd spiked him good, he had to admit that, but all he needed was for her to flinch. It was getting harder to breathe.

“I hope you enjoy dying,” he could hear her say dryly. He couldn't see through the pain as it erupted behind his eyes. “Something you've avoided for far too long. Now I wish we'd never made it so difficult to finish off the last of you.”

The mist that had filled the room grew thick, like white smoke, swirling and churning and blocking everything from sight. Silvers could feel it boiling around him. He gasped for air but took none in. His spine began to snap; beginning at the bottom as the disks steadily cracked and ruptured up his back as she poured her malice into him. His mind screamed. He only needed to remain conscious for a few more seconds.

“I will rend you from your flesh!” She screamed at him now. “You will lose yourself and all your kind with you!”

The boy next to him screamed again. He heard a distinctly high pitched whine in the hall somewhere, and then his chance came.

Charsi had been so focused on her two prisoners she had somehow failed to notice the soldiers coming and going, but they'd left a nasty set of presents behind to remember them by.

In the hallway just outside the chamber were three crates loaded with enough explosives to level the entire valley twice over. More than half of it was expected to be absorbed by her defenses.

Covered in
MARD
plating, which was designed to fragment in an explosion, they were designed for one purpose: annihilate the Witch in one blow. The timer on the main charge was basically a hand-wound spring that slowly pushed back against the gears, clicking away until it was fully extended again.

The last little bit of the spring's extension, if not hampered by a safety mechanism, would puncture a very small, very volatile bag of nitrous oxide powerful enough to trigger the mound of explosive putty beneath it. This in turn triggered the two crates next to it. A crudely made, nasty little setup, but it was essentially foolproof. Magi had a special way with all things electrical. It was best to use mechanical devices.

The timer was an exceptional risk to carry around and a bit overkill, but it was effective. Hell, the whole setup was overkill but there was no desire on the demolition squad's part to give her a chance to defend herself.

As the whine of the spring reaching its apex sounded in Charsi's ears the sharp end of the spring began forcing its way into the bag. All too late, she came to and realized what was going on. The break in her concentration was significant enough for Silvers to exploit as he focused hard. His body was broken, badly, but not enough to prevent him from making the jump. As soon as her ethereal spikes withdrew in her confusion he vanished into thin air before he hit the ground.

The Magess looked down again; her prey was lost. She screamed and focused all of her energy on the boy as the silver bag in the timer lost its battle with the spring.

Outside, the gaunt colonel lay on the ground; face down with his fingers interlaced behind his head. Next to him were the rest of his attendants and officers and behind them were three men pointing fully automatic rifles at their backs.

A stocky man in dark safety glasses and a maroon cloth hat paced in front of the unruly battalion. The patch on his hat denoted the rank of Specialist; the scars on his face combined with his glasses were enough tell the rest.

“By order of Premiere General Flavian Brutus in conjunction with the Mayor of Elandir I order you to stand down.” The Demolitions Specialist, essentially a glorified sergeant, waved a piece of paper over his head in his mangled right hand.

Like most demo men he was missing a few fingers from various accidents over the years. As for the piece of paper, it didn't have anything written on it regarding the situation, but that didn't affect the validity of his orders. It simply helped make it more real in the minds of the soldiers to pretend it did.

“The general is in there!” yelled one of the soldiers in the crowd before him.

“I know that,” he chewed the half-smoked cigar stuffed in his mouth.

They wouldn't make a move while their officers faced execution, at least that's what he was banking on. Things could go south quick if he was wrong.

“Already dead, seen it with my own eyes!”

Grumbling disbelief broke out among the ranks.

“The Witch got him!”

It didn't matter really. The general's decision to enter the compound alone had already sparked rumors that he would end up filleted. The Specialist wanted to fuel those fears. There were just under a thousand men present, thankfully the companies that had been sent to form a rearguard were still absent. Members of the two Divisions weren't known to get along well to begin with. It didn't require the question of their general's life to raise blood pressure. The simple presence of any of the Brute's men could be enough to start a fight.

The rest of the demolition squad exited the cave in a sprint down the path towards the battalion-turned-unruly mob. They were yelling and motioning to get down which quickly ended any debate. Every soldier among them dropped to the ground, arms over his head.

The Cave almost appeared to implode before the walls shattered and blew out into oblivion. The last member of the demo squad slid down the slope just as the concussion struck the front lines. Dirt and gravel hit them before bits of brick and smoldering wood started falling from the sky.

Braving a glance the Specialist saw mostly what he expected through his dark glasses. Broken chunks of the former building fell slowly through dark gray smoke and dust as the power plant and maintenance shed began to cave. What he didn't expect was the welling of what looked like white smoke in the ruins of the east wing.

He heard gasps around him as other men looked on at the growing column of smoke. It almost sounded like it was wailing as it swirled upwards, but then again his ears were ringing from the concussion. A few soldiers picked up their guns and started to run as the smoke condensed and rose. The rest froze awestruck, watching as it grew and masked the sky. Just as it seemed like it couldn't grow any taller it twisted once, violently.

More smoke pumped up through the base as it shot out in all directions from the top like a nefarious water fountain. Cascading down with a fury all its own, the wailing smoke hit the ground just before the front line, flowing on quickly and blasting through their ranks.

The Specialist closed his eyes against the heat, grabbing for his hat too late to prevent it ripping off his head. The wailing in the smoke grew louder, to the point that he couldn't hear the screams of the men around him. He set his square jaw and bit hard into his cigar, waiting for it to subside.

But it didn't stop. It grew hotter and hotter until suddenly it was burning. The Specialist's face began to blister as he dropped to his knees. His skin, his clothing, everything started smoking as he screamed and burst into flames.

C
APTAIN TROY SILVERS
crouched behind a large outcropping of boulders on an otherwise grassy slope. Smaller sun-bleached stones dotted the landscape as the foothills northeast of Elandir rolled along in every direction. The sun was shining brightly but it was proving to be a cool day. A light breeze carried sparrows along in search of unwary insects unfortunate enough to get caught out on the ends of the tall grasses.

Below the boulders, opposite Silvers, a well worn dirt path made its way through the draw between the hills. Someone had carefully placed stones in the stream to the north, creating a small footpath through its shallow waters. Sunlight danced along its surface as it made the slow journey to the plains below.

Silvers pressed into the rock as closely as he could, sword drawn and held tightly against his chest. He couldn't afford to be seen, but he couldn't lose his target either. Nearby, on both sides of the draw, eight of Khrone's Hunters lay low in the grass. Their training combined with their camouflage rendered the Hunters invisible even to Silvers. He brushed his long black hair out of his face. The annoyance again made him think he should start wearing it in a pony tail to keep it in line.

Khrone's Hunters got their name from the village in the mountains where the original squad had been recruited from. They were an incredibly elite, light infantry unit whose singular purpose was to hunt down and exterminate the Magi. It was important that they could move quickly through mountainous terrain, as most of the Magi had carved elaborate mansions and palaces out of the peaks in the Northern Range. Most of the entrances had been hidden by various enchantments so one had to be resourceful to find a Mage's lair and even quicker to hunt them down.

There wouldn't be any need for the Hunters soon enough though. The brass figured there were only a handful of Magi remaining. Of those that were left some might never be found. Silvers preferred not to think about the future. He wasn't sure what kind of boring desk job awaited him at the successful completion of his mission. It had been a long time since he had done anything else.

His ambition had driven him to join the Hunters as a lieutenant, and he'd quickly earned his captaincy as he consistently buried Magic Wielders everywhere he went. Without fail they wore a glowing gemstone around their neck that had some property tying them to those who had passed. Silvers didn't understand it, but he collected them by the handful. Someday, should he want to be a general, that collection of necklaces would serve to aid his advancement.

The Hunters were a fun group to work with as well. Usually intelligent, if not well educated, they weren't difficult for Silvers to spend time with. Hunters were fast moving, active, exciting. They were good at what they did. Other sections of the military that tried to deal with Magi usually wound up with staggering casualties. The Hunters rarely lost a man. They were often given the newest field equipment available and their expenses went unquestioned. The job certainly had its perks in spite of the incredible danger. And what better way to build an illustrious career than with the most feared and dedicated group of soldiers on the planet?

Today was different. This wasn't their usual mission or even a sanctioned one. It had been reported that there was a tall man in black who wandered through these hills. Some of the villagers traded with him from time to time. They said he had long silver hair that reached down his back, though it was usually hidden under a long, black, hooded cloak.

One farmer told Silvers that the man often carried a slender, curved sword as long as the average man's wingspan slung between his shoulders. Rumors circulated in a number of the pubs that he was wandering the hills, looking for someone, or something.

The villagers didn't know what they were dealing with; they called the man “the Wanderer,” and left him alone. Upon hearing the stories Silvers dropped everything and began investigating. He'd learned early on to listen to rumors. If he kept his ear close enough to the ground he could often discern the truth and gain an edge.

If the accounts were true, he had stumbled upon the location of the greatest Shadow Warrior to come back from the Continental War. Possibly the last one. Unmatched in battle, he had fought to protect the Magi with a cold fury as the Twelve Cities had sought their containment and extermination. The loyalty of the Shadow Warriors to their creators only earned them a personal war with the Twelve Cities.

Even as his brethren were slaughtered to the point of extinction, this Shade sought to fulfill his duty and guard the Magi. For all Silvers knew, the Shadow King, as he was called by most, was the only remaining Shade left on the planet. If he could kill him here in the highlands he would be doing his fellow man a great service to say the least.

Everything Silvers learned led him to this path in the hills. It was a shot in the dark but the Shade had been spotted passing this way more frequently than anywhere else. Silvers had been told by one trader in particular that he often met the Shade up here, and would be doing so this very day. Why it was up here and revealed itself at all was beyond Silvers, but now was the best shot he had at catching and killing it. He hadn't crossed blades with one in a long time, and without the proper equipment they were taking an exaggerated risk. But Silvers didn't have time to equip his men and didn't know if he would ever get another shot.

Thankfully the Shadow were unchanging, which made identifying them relatively easy. Created in haste, they were timeless, but left unable to alter their appearance. Even injuring a Shade wouldn't leave a mark if they jumped back to their metaphysical state. They would simply return healed and restored to their original form. Cutting their hair only lasted as long as they retained their physical form. But injure them enough, mangle their body to the point of utter uselessness and they were left powerless to jump and vulnerable to destruction. From there you could destroy their bodies, permanently disconnecting them from their physical state. This left them stranded, caught in limbo between the physical and the spiritual known as the Atmosphere. And since it took multiple Magi a considerable amount of time and energy to reconnect that state with the physical they were near extinction now.