The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores (6 page)

It backed to the side, twisting in time to save itself all but a gash across the midsection. Roaring in pain, it grabbed the still extended arms of the blade-wielding nuisance and flung him into a large fern ten feet away.

John found it hard to see out of said fern, eyes tearing up and sword nowhere to be found. The ogre stepped into view, blocking the sky and casting a long shadow on its fresh victim.

John shook his head, trying to dull the confounded ringing in his ears and come up with something quick. He reached for a rock nearby but his conqueror was quicker, placing a large, gnarled boot on the stone before his fingers ever reached it.

He shuffled backwards on his elbows but found that he was cornered against a large boulder. Trapped. It was hard to see the face of the back-lit ogre but John could have sworn it smiled as it raised the notched blade over its head; a silhouette of strength savoring every second. Then a shot rang out, solitary in its violence amidst the silence of the battlefield. The ogre's shoddy skull cap jumped off its head and landed in John's lap, startling him as much as the shot. The ogre slumped to its knees, then fell forward, just missing John as he rolled to get out from under it.

“You always take forever.” Ardin said as he holstered his smoking pistol.

“Did you see the size of that monster?” John said as he caught his breath. “Thanks.”

“You can thank me for speeding things along.” Ardin nodded back towards the fort. “You always get caught up in some epic fight that you almost lose before you come up with some clever way of saving yourself.”

“It's more exciting that way.”

“Well while you were busy fighting ‘Monstra Magnifica’ over there, I managed to wipe out the whole compound and save the damsel in distress.” Ardin turned, a mixture of impatience and pride competing for prominence in his facial features.

“Excellent work, Lieutenant!” John slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Now where is this lovely damsel? I should very much like to meet her!”

“Oh, yeah.” Ardin looked back over his shoulder. “About that. She says she doesn't like you.”

“What?”

“Yeah, so I convinced her to run away with me.” He pointed towards one of the higher peaks beyond them. “I sent her to my castle on Ardin's Peak.”

“Treason!” John drew his sword. “You'll rue the day you stole my love from me!”

Ardin drew his sword in kind and took a step back, bowing gracefully to his brother. “You can't steal that which you can't own, dear brother.”

John gave his battle cry and charged. The two boys fought their way up the far ridge, laughing and cursing whenever a stray finger was reminded of its place by a wooden blade.

Ardin fought well as he backed up the hill. He had yet to surpass his older brother in skills of the sword but he could finally match him, which was a high compliment considering John had official training and Ardin didn't.

It took the persistence of a child with an unquenchable dream, but he had finally convinced his father to give him some lessons with a blade. Granted, he'd never used a real one before, save to break wayward vases, but he figured sticks and boards were as good as anything. John's lessons had always been good too, but nothing beat their actual fights for growing in skill.

They came to the large stream that ran down the ridge to the northwest. John pressed into his brother, forcing him along the bed and onto unstable ground. He'd get him here. It wasn't long before they cleared the trees that stood twenty feet back from the edge of a small cliff. The stream disappeared a little farther on, though Ardin could hear its welcome to the pond taking place below. He slowed, not certain of how close to being welcomed to the pond he was himself.

John took his brother's uncertainty as his chance and parried one of Ardin's counter-blows in an arc. This forced Ardin's sword back behind him, leaving John free to bring his own blade to bear on his exposed shoulder. But Ardin ducked, the blade whizzing past his ear. He knew it was a risky maneuver but he pulled it off with surprising grace as he dropped to his knees and laid his sword in the mud. Coiled like a fat lady's bed spring, Ardin lowered his head and lunged forward, butting his now off-balance brother in the chest and sending him sprawling.

He scrambled back towards the stream for his sword, catching it just as it tipped over the edge of the waterfall. Springing to his feet he heard his brother's voice behind him,

“Time to die little one.”

He wheeled around to defend himself, but only served to present his chest for a kick that sent him flying over the cliff. Ardin had jumped off of this cliff a number of times and into the pool below, but he'd never been kicked off it. He didn't much like it.

He hit the water with the full impact of a train hitting a melon cart, flat on his back. The wind in his lungs made its exit. This proved unfortunate as he soon found himself six feet under water without a good source of oxygen to draw on. Desperation kicked in as he attempted to rise to the surface.

He wasn't sure if it was the lack of air or the boot print, but his chest felt like it wanted to explode, which was odd considering it was empty. The words of his mother echoed in his head as it tried to pound his brain into oblivion; he hoped she wouldn't have to kill him.

Ardin didn't notice the resonance of the impact as another body introduced itself to the water. He did notice the arms that grabbed him roughly and thrust him towards the surface. He gasped for air; sucking it in so violently he coughed it back out before it did him any good. He started paddling for the shore. His brother finally grabbed his collar and pulled him roughly through the water until he dragged him on dry land.

They both lay there in the sun for a while, coughing and wheezing and sounding generally miserable. Clouds passed overhead as their floating swords bumped gently into the rocks on the shore just past them.

“I suppose we should collect our gear.” John said finally.

“I suppose you shouldn't be such a dick.”

They lay there for a while longer in silence. Finally John started to chuckle to himself, then to laugh outright.

“What's so damn funny?”

“It's just that–” John covered his mouth for a second before bursting again. “Your face. I keep seeing the look on your face when I kicked you.” He cracked up again, meeting the smoldering eyes of his little brother. “You looked so stupid!”

Ardin rolled to his knees and started pounding on his brother, who covered himself as best he could while he kept laughing. Finally John stopped laughing and tried to push his brother off.

“Wait wait wait.” He sat up in all seriousness, shoving Ardin off of him. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear wha-”

“Shhh! Shut up.”

John got to one knee and peered out across the pond, straining to hear. A light concussion came rolling across the hills, followed by the sound of a dull, crackly thud.

“What the he-”

“Shut up!” John motioned his brother to silence. Another concussion rolled through the hills. “What does that second one sound like to you?”

“Kind of like static.”

“Yeah.” John looked at the ground and furrowed his brow. “You remember how that article described the new weapon the army developed to take out a town's electricity before it bombarded it? Ruin their communications?”

“The
EMP
artillery rounds.” Ardin always remembered those things. “A shell with a charge set off by kinetic energy, like the final impact, that would send out a small electromagnetic pulse and disable any operating electrical systems within something like twenty yards.”

“I didn't need the encyclopedia definition, thanks.”

Another concussion came to them across the pond. Sometimes the army would run exercises in the mountains but they never used live artillery rounds.

“You think they're experimenting with it somewhere nearby?” John asked, but Ardin didn't have time to answer before a loud explosion rumbled through the trees.

They jumped to their feet and ran to the top of the ridge as more explosions boomed from the valley beyond. They raced through the trees, jumping the stream and coming out the other side to where they could see the watchtower on the ridge farther on to their left. Smoke was rising from just beyond it in big billowing black plumes. The boys simply stood wide eyed, uncertain of what they were seeing. Another boom cracked and echoed through the valley, much louder now than when they'd been below.

“Oh God,” John said under his breath. “They're shelling our home.”

L
EVANTON WAS BURNING
. General Troy Silvers stood surveying the carnage. He remained back on the main road running laterally along the foothills and away from the village. A tall, dark, menacing figure standing on the low wall built to keep stray wagons from going over the steep slope behind him.

He didn't need to get any closer; he'd seen enough death in his days. His men were filing out of the village. Half of the battalion had been sent silently behind it to encircle it and catch anyone trying to escape the massacre. His men didn't know why they were doing what they were doing. All they needed to know was that it amounted to the security of the City States and they did their jobs.

A gaunt, wraithlike colonel approached the general. He had to look up at the general as he stood motionless on the short wall.

“Sir, she's not here.” He handed the general a large picture of a woman. Silvers tucked it into his short, trim jacket without looking at it. “None of the men found any women of her description, sir.”

“You're certain?”

“Certain as one can be, sir.” The colonel was Silvers' right hand man, loyal and sharp. “Unless one of the shells took her out, no one saw any sign.”

“Your men executed everyone in the village.”

“Every last traitor sir.”

The colonel took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. His tall, thick collar was rubbing into his neck and itching in the heat.

“I never would have taken Levanton to harbor such scum, let alone refuse to give it up at the cost of their own lives.”

“Few would have, Colonel.” Silvers dropped lightly to the ground next to the colonel as the battalion lined up in formation to move out. “Send a few teams to sweep the area one last time.”

“Aye sir, no sense letting any of the filth escape.”

“No.” The general glanced at his most loyal officer, “Your battalion performed impeccably today, Colonel.”

“Thank you sir.” The colonel straightened in recognition of the compliment. “But as always, true credit is due to your superior tacti-”

“That will do, Colonel.” Silvers dismissed the compliments, waving his hand lightly. There was little glory in laying waste to a mountain village.

“Aye sir.”

The colonel turned and walked back towards the troops, grabbing a captain and curtly passing down orders. Silvers turned and faced up the slope along the wide road, it's stone surface smooth. Few ruts had worked their way into the roads this high up, he noticed. People hadn't used trucks much up here, it seemed like they were only really used in the cities and on farms in the plains.

He frowned as the picture in his shirt rustled against his chest, reminding him of its presence. Where was that girl?

The battalion began to march past the general and up the hill, roughly a thousand soldiers strong. They had another few miles to go this day. The artillery down on the hills below was being dismantled. They didn't have time to wait for it to catch up so it would be sent home. He paused and watched as his troops marched by, a sad pride welling up inside of him. Turning, Silvers walked with the troops and listened to the sergeants bellow their orders. The Cave lay only a couple of hours march to the northeast. The boots of his soldiers synced in rhythm. He smiled.

Behind them a village burned; before them a witch lay in wait.

The whole area filled with smoke and falling embers. The stench of burning flesh and hair was staining the crisp summer air irreparably. John pulled ahead of Ardin, jumping over fallen logs and the dry creek bed below the watchtower. He climbed, sometimes on all fours, desperate to get to the top of the ridge.

Ardin had a little more trouble. He hadn't really recovered from his fall into the pond and was breathing hard. He climbed after his brother, but John had crested the top before Ardin was even half-way up. Wheezing, he caught up to John and doubled over to grasp his knees. He coughed and stood as he raised the inside of his elbow to his mouth. What lay in the valley below was beyond his ability to fully comprehend. Something inside him pulsed hard and he vomited as he dropped to the ground next to his brother.

John stood motionless for a minute, until he stumbled as if he too would drop to the ground. He grabbed onto a tree to stabilize himself. The village was burning. It looked as though hell had come to earth and had entered through Levanton. The cottages and houses were collapsing as fire consumed them completely. Loud cracking noises could be heard for miles as pockets of sap in rafters were discovered by prodding flames and exploded. Not a single building in sight was left untouched.

Finally John's eyes came to rest on their little home, roof still standing, smoke pouring out of the upper windows. He pulled himself together and started down the hill as fast as he could, bracing himself on solid ground where he found it and running the rest as gravity pulled him towards the valley. Ardin called after him but he didn't hear it. The slope began to level and John took off in a dead sprint, vaulting logs and boulders. He slid to a halt at the edge of the final slope that led to their small plot of land.

He looked around for a sign of whoever did this. There wasn't a sound outside of the pops and cracks of burning homes. He saw no movement. It was as if the whole world had been scorched and he was all that was left to witness it. Certain he was alone he left the trees to slide down the embankment and make for the house. Running low but quickly, he darted between broken down farm implements to cover his passage. Soon he stood in the flickering shadow of his home, its outline obscured by the flickering light of the raging fires.