by Swanson, Jay
THE VITALIS CHRONICLES
STEPS OF KRAKADOR
JAY SWANSON
Book III of the Vitalis Chronicles Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Jay Swanson All Rights Reserved
www.vitalischronicles.com
www.jayswanson.me
~Legal info in back~
In its entirety, this story is for my parents.
Without your belief, your support, and your love
Mom & Dad
This trilogy would not exist.
Thank you for everything.
ARDIN VITALIS LAUNCHED TO HIS FEET, THE WORLD COMING RAPIDLY INTO FOCUS AROUND HIM. And then there was nothing. He stood in the midst of swirling mists and hues of gray. The ground beneath his feet felt level, but he couldn't see past his knees. His heart raced, blood pumping so loudly in his ears he strained to hear if anything around him made any noise at all.
The silence was complete. He turned, searching for the mountains, looking desperately for the bridge on which he stood and the abyss over which it ran. The abyss. He stopped turning for fear of any misstep. Perhaps he had been blinded. The last thing he wanted was to careen over the edge to his death. To follow the Shadow King.
The Shadow King. The thought struck his mind like a drum, and suddenly the world began to take form. The mists cleared from around his feet, swirling and whisking away from him with increasing intensity. He could see the cracks in the stone, the edge of the curb. Hope sprung anew behind the adrenaline, and, as if in response, the mists vanished into the distance. It was as if a wind had flown out from him, pressing the fog farther and farther until he could see the Cathedral, the Tomb, the floating mountain, and finally the entire mountain range known as the Dragon's Teeth surrounding him.
How did I get here? He was at the center of the bridge. Only moments before, he had been at the very foot of the Cathedral, the tall structure built into the side of the floating mountain that encased the Tomb of the Relequim. And where is all the color?
That was a strange realization. There was no blue in the sky. No pink on his hands. Even the bloody patches in his leather armor looked black in this light. Was it the light? Or was it something else?
He turned in place again, suddenly uncertain of his whereabouts. Fear crept into the edges of his consciousness as his fingers tightened into fists. He reached for his sword, sliding the blade out by its hilt. When did I sheathe this?
And then he heard the voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come through.”
The hairs on the back of Ardin's neck rose, prickling against the tingles that coursed down his spine. He found himself unwilling to turn but forced to do so nonetheless. “No.” Disbelief cut any other words short as he caught sight of the billowing black cloak and streaming silver hair.
The Shadow King smiled. He adjusted his grip on the exaggeratedly long blade in his left hand. He held the hilt loosely against his leg so that the tip rested just above the ground.
The sword... how did he get it back?
“This is my world, boy.” He raised the blade slowly and pinched it with his free hand. The Shade ran his gloved fingers along the blindingly sharp edge as if to inspect it. “Here, the tricks of the Magi cannot save you.”
ONE
MAJOR ANDERS KEATON SPUN AS HARD AS HE COULD. He dragged the cold steel of his sword across the face of the closest Woad diving to tackle him. The edge bit, flaying the creature's stunted face open before continuing on into the second monster. But the momentum of the first had not been nullified. Keaton took the blow from the flying corpse in the shoulder. It knocked him down with a jolt, and he pulled the second Woad with him as the blade stuck in its throat. The third monster careened over all of them. It reached down for him and scrambled as it caught nothing but the scent of its prey in passing.
Greasy black fur and yellow teeth only compounded the effect of the creatures' stench as their bodies rested on and around Anders. His head swam, but his heart was pumping. He was on his feet in seconds, roaring his challenge as the deep rumble of the monsters' growls grew to a tremorous pitch. He could see them all clearly, circling him on the face of the hill like a writhing school of venomous fish. There were hundreds left, each and every one of them staring up at him with those beady black eyes.
They were waiting. He had never known these monsters to slow down, let alone hesitate before a kill. They were senseless, suicidal in their determination to slaughter anything and everything they could get their claws on. They had killed all of his men, but not before they destroyed the men fighting in the valley below. Keaton turned in place on the hilltop, watching them as closely as he could, yet knowing it was futile. He was surrounded.
“C'mon!” He yelled. “COME ON!” He tore the leather mask from his face and flung his winged Hunter's helmet at the nearest Woad. Don't leave me alive, he heard his plea behind the fear and the adrenaline. Don't kill my men and let me live... not again. “What are you waiting for, you bastards?!”
He lunged forward to stab at one of the beasts, but it feinted back and evaded his jab. He tried again but with the same result. It's like they want me to survive... like they're being held back. Concussions thudded dully somewhere near the battle lines. The noise barely registered in Keaton's mind. There was little left down there, he knew, so he dismissed it as some magazine detonating near the guns he had destroyed only hours before. They had sent him out here to die, yet that was exactly what he seemed incapable of doing.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!” He flung his sword in roaring frustration. As if on some preset cue, every creature on the hill stopped simultaneously. The dome of earth was covered in silent, black statues that did little more than stare at him. The fire in his heart went out at the sight. His shouts withered into whispers. “What are you waiting for?”
In response, the base of the hill before him was cleared by an explosion that knocked him on his back. Dirt and body parts flew in equal measure as the monsters died in droves. Before Keaton could get back to his feet, more concussions rocked the hill all around him, blasting the black monsters into the air in rapid succession until he could no longer see or hear a thing. Then he felt an impact in his chest so hard that he thought he had exploded himself. It took him a moment to realize he was flying through the acrid fog of blood and dust. Then the blackness through which he flew became his reality.
Anders Keaton opened his eyes to a blinding haze, the sky above riddled with streams of smoke and swirls of fire. But as his vision cleared, a face appeared. There was no face, really, just a hood with dark black emptiness inside of it behind the peak of some plate of armor.
The ringing in his ears made him believe what he was seeing was real. It looked like the hood was trying to tell him something, but the sharp tone was all he could hear. It was splitting his skull, resonating through his brain like a vibrating shard of glass. He would have thrown up if he had had the energy, but he couldn't move. Oh God, I can't move. A fresh flush of terror rushed up his neck.
Massive armored arms reached down for him, their gloved ends touching the sides of his head. He felt something warm spread along his temples and into his ears. The ringing subsided, the pain disappeared.
“I need you to hear me, Anders Keaton.”
That voice, he knew that voice.
“You don't have much time.”
“Di...” Speaking was difficult. His lips were chapped and he tasted blood in his mouth. “Did you do tha... that to me?”
“I was too late to rescue you, Anders.” The voice sounded apologetic. “Those were the shells of your own army. Their guns were finally deployed after you engaged the enemy's creatures.”
/>
“Rescue...” The headache may have been gone, but his mind was still a swirling drain of confusion. “Why didn't they attack... me? The monsters... what's happening?”
“I must heal you as best as I can for now. If they find you like this, they will murder you and claim it was the blast.”
“Murder?” But Keaton's questions hung unanswered in the air among the smells of carnage.
The warrior's broad ethereal wings almost looked solid, blocking the sun like some giant eagle. He was dressed in an archaic armor Keaton had seen somewhere before. The gloved hands moved down to his neck, where he felt the warmth intrude again. There was a quick, sharp pain before he felt a crack above his shoulders. The sudden fear it brought was quickly replaced by relief as he realized he could move his arms again. But the motion brought a fresh pain, the searing burns on his arms finding their voice as his nerves were restored.
He gasped at the shock and would have arched his back to scream had his back responded to the pain. Oscilian, he thought, the name coming to him in a sudden rush of memory. The Brethren. But those thoughts were wiped from his mind as Oscilian continued to prod and massage his body. Bones were set, his spine straightened, and the major cuts staunched before he bled to death.
“I do not have time to finish properly,” Oscilian said as he pulled Keaton up to sit. “Though I fear they would find it difficult to believe you escaped unscathed in any case. We can only handle so much suspicion and scrutiny, after all.”
Keaton's world had gone from a confused haze to a blinding pain. He was covered in burns and cuts. Though the majority of the breaks had been healed, he was convinced that his left forearm was still fractured under the scorched flesh. He cradled it as best as he could.
“I'm afraid I'm not the best of healers,” Oscilian said, as if reading Keaton's mind. “Brenton has closed their port; nearly one hundred ships lie off the coast just south of here near the Western Harbor.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Keaton said through gritted teeth. He rocked forward over his arm as a wave of pain racked him.
“You must contact a man by the name of Paul Donovan as soon as you can. He captains a ship that will be anchored with the fleet. Send him to Grandia as quickly as possible.”
“Grandia?” Keaton looked up at the massive warrior kneeling before him. Standing, the being must have been at least nine feet tall with wings twice as broad. “What's to be found in Grandia?”
“Your fellow man. Donovan can rescue them with the ships around him if only they think it to be at Elandir's command.” A gloved hand rested on his arm, healing the break through the shock of the contact with the burn. “You must live long enough to give that command.”
With a flash and a light thrum in his ears, Oscilian vanished. The white mist that swirled in the vacated space was the only sign that the warrior had been there a moment before.
“Live long enough? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Keaton grunted to himself as he got to his feet. “You already saved me...”
It took him a moment to stand, the trembling in his legs verging on uncontrollable. He tried to survey his surroundings. The low hill he had been standing on only minutes before had been all but leveled by Elandir's firepower. Why those monsters hadn't killed him and how he had survived the blast at all plagued his thoughts and left him standing in a haze.
“Anders Keaton.” His name was spoken with as much loathing as disbelief. Keaton shook his head to clear his mind. He looked to his right to see Lucius Vestus walking towards him with an armed guard. “And to think I believed you would be a good boy and die on your own.”
The walk back to the battle line was a long one. Ground that had taken Keaton seconds to cover earlier in the day took painstaking minutes, minutes that felt like hours. The guards weren't helping, gripping his arms to help him keep his balance and pressing the remnants of his uniform into his fresh and oozing burns. The pain was racking him continually, blinding him in stabs and making death sound more welcome with every passing step. It felt like every groan he uttered was rewarded with a firmer grip on his mangled body, so he did his best to keep his mouth shut.
To his surprise, Lucius hadn't blown his brains out yet. For all the intent to have Keaton die in the battle and serve as a rallying post for the nation, Lucius seemed reluctant to follow through on his own. If Keaton hadn't known just how cold and murderous Lucius could be, he would have attributed the reluctance to cowardice. Something else was at play if he was still alive. Whatever that might be, Keaton was grateful for it for as long as it lasted. He just needed one opportunity to escape, that was all.
As they crossed through the broken bodies that littered Liscentia's side of the battle lines, Lucius broke the silence. “I can't believe we fought them like this,” he said to no one in particular as he stepped over the green-clad body of a Liscentian soldier. “We just lined up and butted heads like two stupid goats on a mountain...”
Was that remorse in his voice? He turned and faced Keaton, the guards bringing him to an abrupt halt as the rest of the soldiers fanned out behind Lucius. Keaton's back arched against the pain that rolled through him as if he could fight it.
“Shit's not right, Anders.” Lucius ignored his plight. “Not by a long shot. This is all too perfect. Too perfectly bad, to be sure.” Lucius was staring at him, Keaton realized. He looked up to find the face he hated so much twisted by doubt. “I don't know who's pulling the strings any more, Anders. But those two rat-scum pirates Merodach was using came out on top here, whatever their goals were.”
“I would say their goals should be obvious enough by now,” Keaton's voice rasped out of his dry throat.
“And what's that, Keaton?” Lucius actually sounded genuine, Keaton realized.
“I thought you wanted me dead.”
“I've wanted you dead for a long time, Anders. Days like this won't change that any time soon. What were they up to?”
“You think I know?” Keaton coughed, and a canteen of warm stale water was pressed to his lips. He swallowed slowly, trying to think of what he stood to lose by coming clean. In the end, he figured things couldn't get much worse. “Those two you're talking about.” He couldn't keep his head up, so he stared at the ground as he worked out the words. “One of them disappeared before the attack on Elandir, didn't he?”
“Yeah.” By the sound of it, Lucius had shifted his stance. “We never found him. His partner claimed he was securing aid for... the city's defense.”
Keaton ignored the lie. What little Merodach hadn't told him to his face he had figured out on his own. “They knew you were planning to attack Liscentia, and they were a part of initiating the hostilities, weren't they? They helped organize the faked attack from Liscentia.”
Lucius didn't respond, though Keaton could sense the ice was growing treacherously thin. “The one that didn't return must have raised the alarm in Liscentia. That's why they had their army ready to fight. There was nothing prepared a few months ago, no army being raised until your pirates showed up. It's why we were met in force when you thought we were coming in surprise. Both sides were played.”
“We were prepared for that,” Lucius agreed reluctantly. “We moved our attack up a few days to... compensate for any unforeseen betrayals.”
Keaton clenched his jaw against the burns and decided to move forward; he had no energy for this. Lucius could play games all he wanted. “They wanted this conflict to happen, Lucius. Why would they help you gain a tactical advantage only to even the field?” The question hung in the air as expected. “They wanted there to be a total engagement, and they got it. They aren't fighting for you. Nor are they fighting for Liscentia. They're fighting against you both.”
Keaton stopped there. He knew this much should become painfully obvious if only Lucius would think about it. It was the next logical question that he didn't want to answer, because until now he hadn't truly believed it himself.
“Who are they fighting for, then?” The tension
in Lucius' voice was thick, the sense of betrayal behind it barely hidden. “Who could possibly want to fight us both? Who even stands to gain anything?”
Keaton coughed against the dryness in his throat again. This time he was not rewarded with a drink. The men holding him wanted to hear the answer as badly as Lucius, though Keaton felt it to be obvious by now.
“Look around you, Lucius. You've heard the stories of these monsters, how they harried the army that traveled with the Magi to Grandia.” He couldn't help but cough again and groaned against the pain it caused. “Like your pirates, they serve only one master, and he's coming back to finish where he failed.” Keaton's eyes raised to meet Lucius' unblinking stare. The conviction in his heart finally matched that in his voice. “The Relequim is moving against us, Lucius. And we're running out of time.”
TWO
THE TALL WHITE SPIRES SURROUNDING ISLENDA SOARED OVER RAIN AS SHE APPROACHED ALONG THE HIGH ROAD. Seeing them made her feel safe. The feeling was contested, however calm she might try to remain, as her mission pressed. Those walls had never fallen, and she let herself believe they never would. The city itself was a glistening reminder of better days. The walls and towers were made of a white granite that blended beautifully with the peaks into which Islenda was nestled. The face of the walls stood straight, implacable, and ran between four slender towers which looked like they might be elegant relations to ancient spears.
The Spring Vale was home, and it had been a long time since she had seen it. It felt like ages since she had ridden among the low grasses and smelled them on the breeze. Even her horse had perked up since leaving the mountain passes behind. Rain could sense her urge to break loose and run free along the plane that spread between the tall, craggy peaks.