The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores (5 page)

“It's what's scribbled here on the paper.” Silvers responded.

“Well I wouldn't say 'scribbled.'” The doctor frowned.

“Mist... white... everywhere. Mist... mist... light, death.”

“Well that's a load of nonsense” Brutus said, shrugging his shoulders. It meant nothing to him. But it meant something to Merodach; his face was drawn and pale.

“That's... that's not possible Silvers” Merodach said quietly. “Are you sure you're reading that right?”

Silvers extended his arm as the Mayor snatched the piece of paper and read it for himself.

“What's a little mist?” Brutus laughed. “It's not like there's any Magi around to make trouble for us any longer.”

“The Witch.” Silvers said quietly, arms crossed and rubbing his chin.

“Excuse me?” Brutus laughed again. “That old hag has been locked up for as long as we've been in the military, Silvers! Hell, we even set her up with some decent accommodations, didn't we sir?”

He looked towards Merodach, but the Mayor didn't move. Nor did he look up from the doctor’s notes. He just stood there, rubbing the piece of paper between his fingers.

Merodach had feared this day might come for a while now, but hadn't bothered to take any precautions. Now he was going to have to face that. Unless he could pass the blame, this would weaken his standing with the populace. It would bring panic. The people would fear he could no longer protect them. He reached for the lighter resting in the ash tray on his desk.

“Silvers,” he said quietly, collecting himself as he held the lighter under the paper and lit the corners. “Get your best battalion to the compound and take care of this, quickly.”

“Sir.” Silvers snapped to attention.

“And take Brutus' demolition squad.” He looked up as he let the burning paper float to his desk where it danced briefly before sputtering out.

“Sir?” Brutus began to protest.

“Shut up, Flavian.” Merodach said. “And Silvers.”

“Yes sir?”

“Finish that hag before anyone can find out about this.”

“Sir.” Silvers wheeled about and walked out of the room, collecting his hat from the rack on his way out.

“Sir!” Brutus resumed his protest.

“Doctor.” Merodach continued to ignore his increasingly confused and angered general. “Get this man back to the infirmary. I want updates but for God's sake keep him under lock and key. If word of this gets out I'll hold you personally responsible.”

“Well Mayor.” The doctor motioned for the orderlies to collect their patient. “You certainly have a way with words. Among your flawless character traits, I admire you for none more than that.”

“Enough.” The Mayor's brow furrowed. “Get your patient underground and neither of you come out until I tell you to.”

The white coats and their patient had been gone a good couple of minutes before Merodach turned back to his general. Brutus' expression was similar to that of a child whose cherished toy gun had been run over by a truck.

“What the hell sir?” The ogre of a man couldn't contain himself any more as he slammed his palms onto the large mahogany desk. “You send that whelp to do my job and send some of my crack troops with him?”

“Calm down, Flavian. I have a plan,” he said as he lowered himself in his tall chair and unbuttoned his jacket to let the pressure off his belly. He picked up his glass and took a long sip as his eyes glinted over the rim, ice clinking gently against the sides. “There's always a move to be made.”

“Well, sir, if you don't mind my asking, what on earth is this precious plan of yours?”

“How loyal to you would you say your demolition men are, Flavian?”

“Sir?” Brutus stood erect again. “I... they'd die for me sir.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Well, yes sir. They're the scourge of the Twelve Cities. But what does that have to do with your damned plan?”

“My good friend.” Merodach drained his glass. “I think we've found our opportunity to secure control of the army and win the heart of Elandir for good.” He smiled. “All in one fell swoop.”

“
C
OME HERE.
”
EMILY
grabbed her son by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back towards herself. “What is this in your hair?” she exclaimed in disbelief. Ardin always managed to find the most ridiculous things to fall into.

“Aw- maaa!” He may have been sixteen but he still managed to capture the delightful, musical tone of an unashamed five year old.

His attempts at defense proved futile, like an over-loved cat trying to escape its elderly keeper. Emily smiled as he finally gave up. She let go of the back of his shirt and used both hands to dig a bur covered in fruit jelly out of his shaggy mane.

“What on-”

“I tried to get my toast up in the big sycamore tree this morning.” he answered before she could finish.

“Why were you eating in the sycamore tree?”

“You can see down into the valley from there, the river glistens in the morning.” he sighed. “I just like to feel like I could be anywhere.”

She still wasn't sure where the bur came from, but she supposed these things weren't often all that directly related to begin with.

“Alright mister.” She turned him around and wiped a spot of dried jelly off his forehead with a wet thumb. His whole face contorted in disapproval.

“Aren't you and your brother a bit old for playing soldier in the forest anyways?”

“Ma,” he said conjuring up his best serious face. “We have to practice our maneuvers and tactics, like Dad taught us.”

“Your father isn't a solider any more, Ardin.”

“But he used to be the best! Besides, if we don't practice we'll forget everything we learned.”

She considered him for a moment, looking her son over before a wry smile broke through. She wasn't sure how useful the practice really was, but she figured it was better than having them sit around the house all day.

“Alright. You're free to go.”

“Thanks Ma!” he darted back out of the yard and past the barn after his older brother. John was waiting at the edge of the forest, arms crossed in impatience.

“You know,” he said. “If you kept a half-decent appearance she wouldn't be able to find the excuse every time.”

“At least she doesn't pop my zits!” Ardin said as he reached his brother.

“You boys be careful!” Their mother watched as they bounded into the forest. “Remember!” She yelled after them, “If you die, I'll kill you!”

They could hear her laugh to herself as she walked back into the house. Ardin stopped as he realized he hadn't given her his obligatory hug. Neither had she stopped and demanded one of him, as she so often did.

“C'mon soldier!” John was half-way towards the first ridge a good ways on.

He shrugged off the thought, putting on his imaginary armor, and scrambling over a log to catch up with his brother. They cleared the crest of the ridge and had a good thirty more yards to their weapons stash.

Ardin was breathing pretty hard by the time he caught up to his brother-turned-captain and looked down into their cache. They had long since discovered a shallow gap between some large rocks that were mostly submerged in the earth. One day they decided to rig a little trap door to go over the top, covered it with dirt and grasses, and created a perfect hidden stash.

Ardin loved these rare weekends when his brother wasn't working at the mill or in town for whoever had chores to be done. They had played soldiers all their lives and he knew it wouldn't last forever.

“Weapon of choice?” Captain John turned to his lieutenant.

“Rocket launcher, of course.” Lieutenant Ardin looked at his brother sideways. “Dumb question.”

“Hey!” the captain whipped around on his insubordinate officer. “Watch it Vitalis!”

“Aye sir!” Lieutenant Ardin snapped to attention. He tried not to laugh as his brother stared into his eyes for a good thirty seconds with the meanest look he could muster.

“Fine.” The captain turned and bent down for the rocket launcher. He pulled out a long, straight piece of driftwood they had brought back from the lake the summer before. Painted with charcoal and some of their sisters' art supplies, it had been made out to look like the latest in military technology, basically a tube that could be used to send self-propelled explosives at the enemy.

At least they thought it looked like one, considering they'd only heard of them through hearsay; in reality it looked more like a blind drunk had decided to paint a log in the dark. Despite being well versed students of the military and war in general, they rarely got to see anything that wasn't in their books.

“Sword?”

“Sword.”

“Pistol?”

“Pistol.” Ardin was as armed as he could get at this point. In his belt he now had a pistol carved out of pine and his favorite sword. They'd nailed two long planks of wood together to form the blade and its cross guard and shaved them down to look as little like planks as possible. In all honesty they still looked like two pieces of wood nailed together.

“I'm taking the Orin fifty cal.” John grabbed a large stick with a block tied to the end for a stock and hoisted the connected shoulder strap over his head.

“Holy crap.” Ardin looked shocked. “We hunting Cliff Titans up here or something? Uh, sir?”

“No need to pack light today, Lieutenant.” John dropped the trap door back over the cache, hiding it perfectly from scrupulous eyes. “We've got a damsel to save!”

“Oh brother.” Ardin slung his rocket launcher over his back and followed after the captain, who was making his way higher up the mountain. John had seen some girl in the village the past few weeks that had caught his fancy. Ardin had barely even caught a glimpse of her but she was borderline obsession for John now.

The two of them made it to the base of the old watchtower. Originally built to look over the valley in the Great Defense, only the foundation remained with a few feet of wall jutting out over the tall foliage. It was a crumbling reminder of hard times passed. At least for those old enough to remember them.

To the boys it was the front lines of an endless battle with the Ogre Army of Krakador. John slowed his pace and leaned against the tower. It was on the top of the ridge that bordered their valley and the old, dilapidated highway running in ruin to the west. On the other side was a shallow valley, much narrower than the one behind. After that, a higher ridge before the foothills ended and the peaks of the Northern Range dominated the scene.

“The Valley of Krakador,” Ardin whispered, fearful one of the Wraiths of Albentine might overhear him and alert the horde. “Where do you think she's being held?”

“Probably in that large tower down there.” John pointed as he lay slowly over his rifle.

Ardin cupped his hands around his eyes and twisted them slightly, focusing invisible binoculars.

“Can you see her?” John asked.

“You sure know how to pick 'em.”

“Shut up.” He smacked his younger brother, who smirked and kept surveying the scene. “What are we looking at as far as guards?”

“Lots.”

“That's what I figured. Ogres?”

“And Marmalanes.”

“Marmalanes?”

“Yeah, you know.” Ardin lowered the glasses. “Big ugly dogs with spikes on their backs that feed on the souls of the damned.”

“Now you're just making crap up.”

“Am not!” Ardin returned to his survey. “Read a book sometime.”

“I read plenty, you're full of crap.”

“Cool though, eh?”

John paused, “Yeah. I guess. They're dead either way.”

The two of them formulated their plan. John perched himself in the watchtower and waited for Ardin to get into position down the slope. Ardin got as closely positioned to the camp as he dared. Once in position, he launched his rocket. Blowing a hole in the perimeter fence made an entrance and he rushed in to find the damsel.

John began picking off ogres as soon as the dirt hit the air. Any that might impede his brother's progress were quickly taken out. He made sure to kill the guards near the hole in the fence first.

Ardin moved quickly. Within seconds he was inside the fort below. John dropped the rifle and pulled out his pistol. He raced to the foot of the ridge to help his brother and win his lady's esteem.

He hadn't made it more than ten feet into the valley before a large ogre jumped out from behind a boulder, wielding a rusty double-headed ax. He dove to the left as the ax cleaved the ground behind him. Rolling to his feet he fired into the side of the ogre's head. The monster's skull ruptured in a puff of black blood. With graceful agility John ran swiftly backwards as it crumbled onto its ax.

Pleased with himself, the backpedaling captain failed to see another ogre behind him. He turned just in time to catch a massive shoulder under his chin. His feet kicked out from under him as he slammed to the ground, pistol tumbling off into the bushes. He rolled as a dull blade slammed into the earth where his head had been.

He rolled back just as quickly in time to avoid the following blow. The rusty sword must have been six feet long and at least a hand-breadth wide. The world was still spinning from getting his brains knocked about, but instinct came to the rescue. He kicked back over and did a kind of reverse somersault into a standing position.

Sword in hand, in one smooth motion he spun to dodge the hacking blade. Bringing his own to bear as he spun, it was stopped short of its goal by a jagged dagger in the ogre's other hand. They held that position for a moment, muscles tense and pulsing as they tested each others' strength. It seemed like ages to John.

The ogre finally threw John's sword back with a quick motion of its trunk-like arm. In the same motion it brought its sword around to sweep off his head. John ducked. Using the momentum of his arching sword to pull himself towards the earth, and twisted to use that force against his foe. Their blades clanged again, ringing loudly through the valley. John pulled back quickly and then lunged forward, aiming for the creature's belly.

Ogres, it seems, are faster on their feet than would be made apparent by their stubby legs and high density levels. This one was exceptional.