The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador

by Swanson, Jay

  “I'm not going anywhere!” Phelts waved for the man to move as he scooted himself to sit over the back. His leg suddenly felt heavy as the pressure on the wound grew with the motion. “Prop it up,” he said before having to shout. “Prop it up so I can sit here, damnit!”

  The captain looked at the medic and nodded. “He's in charge.”

  The four ships were unloading more of the same, though with one came more of the Parnithons. They scurried off of the center ship and ran around the columns of monsters that marched steadily into the gunfire with blinding speed.

  “Oh shit...” Phelts' throat constricted to cut off further expletives.

  The Parnithons careened to the south, making for the edge of the fighting at an angle.

  “Watch the walls!” Phelts shouted as if the soldiers could hear him. “Watch the damned walls!”

  But the soldiers below could barely see the low-running wolves from behind the remaining Granhal, and suddenly the Parnithons were on the face of the cliff, running up and over and leaping back down among the soldiers on the left flank.

  “They're going to turn our flank,” the captain said to no one in particular as he grabbed his wireless and ran off in that direction.

  “Doc, we've gotta do something.” Phelts was turning desperate. “There's gotta be something we can do!”

  “Just sit tight!” The medic gave him a little shove back into his seat. “I'm gonna go get more of our guys out of this mess, that's what I'm gonna do.”

  “And what am I supposed to do?” Phelts said as his voice broke. The medic shrugged as he ran off. “What am I supposed to do?!”

  The two initial ships were backing up, though Phelts could hardly see how as there was next to no wind for them to catch. As they pulled slowly out, two new ships entered the harbor to take their place.

  This will never end... He became suddenly aware of the wounded and dying lain about in the grasses around his truck. There are thousands of them, tens of thousands, and they will flood this harbor until they've bled us dry and stepped right over our corpses.

  RAIN RENAULT SWUNG HER SWORD SO HARD FROM HER SIDE IN AN UPWARD ARC THAT SHE ALMOST LOST HER BALANCE. Her timing was perfect, the blow landing under the Parnithon's chin as she twisted to guide her blade and the beast up and over her head. The next was right behind it, its growl more a gurgle, as if it were choking on the blood in its slashed throat. It lunged, but she planted her feet and guided the sword in a backhanded stroke from the side. She caught this one in the side of the face, carving out its cheek and right eye and giving it enough of a blow to guide it off to the side.

  She brought her free left hand around and gave it a strike to the chest as it passed, giving her just enough room to escape being clawed by its flailing rear legs. She twirled, her blond hair coming loose from its braid as she dropped low, letting one Parnithon pass overhead as she brought her blade around and shoved it down the open mouth of the next. She pushed forward, willing her legs to nullify the monster's momentum and carry her over it as she hauled on the blade to bring it free.

  The dust was swirling around her now, clouding her vision and scratching at her eyes, but she had no time for respite, no room for error. Her men had killed a handful before they died, but there were too many left for her. Desperation and adrenaline drove her in equal parts, slowing time as it had in so many fights before. She had to keep moving, had to keep dodging. She jumped as she heard a Parnithon dive at her from behind, stabbing down as its head came into view beneath her feet and landing on its haunches as it slid forward. She let her feet go, carried by the dark wolf underneath and fell backwards in time for another attack from the side to go flying overhead.

  She pulled hard on the blade, shouting with the effort as she brought it up towards her head and caught the hind legs of the passing Parnithon just as she hit the ground herself. The monster spun and slid away into the dusty haze with a yelp and a growl. Hardly any of these strikes were killing them. Maiming them was about all she accomplished.

  She was near a boulder; she could just make it out on her left, and then she saw the black haze of an incoming pounce pierce the dust above her. She kicked out with her left leg, pushing and sliding away from the boulder just as the Parnithon struck and ground its teeth into the rock. The long, wrinkled snout looked almost hairless, as did much of its black face, but the shaggy coat that covered the rest of it was long and wiry. And it stank like a Woad.

  Rain kicked to her feet, twisting in place and wishing she had some of her father's magic to help her now. Wishing she had the gift. She kicked up hard with her right leg as another black blur materialized into a diving Parnithon. She caught it under the chin, but its momentum carried it into her, and the two went scrambling. Immediately there were more of them on her, leaping in for the kill the instant she was knocked off her balance. She felt their bites, their claws; they were too quick and too strong for her to fend off.

  Then something struck the ground nearby. Half of the Parnithons were sent sprawling by the impact. The rest gathered themselves and looked over her into the haze, growling and gurgling and baring their teeth. She rolled forward, not hesitating to make for her sword, and found it by the largest boot she had ever seen in her life.

  “I think you should take cover, little one.” The giant figure of Oscilian stood in a small crater of his own making. “This will be unpleasant.”

  He floated up off the ground quickly, then propelled himself with an extra boost from his wings over her head and towards the Parnithons with a swirl of dust. Rain grabbed her sword and turned in place as the Parnithons roared and sprang to life in the haze. She could hear them attacking, hear them leaping and climbing the walls with a renewed fury in their attempt to gain the upper hand.

  So violent was their newfound rage that the very dust in the air seemed to vibrate in time with their growls. But the massive sword of Oscilian silenced each contender in turn. She could make him out now as the dust began to thin, his giant wings twisting and flapping as if to clear the air. He was magnificent, powerful, and fast. He spun and hammered at each Parnithon that approached, catching others with his free hand and crushing them as she might crush an egg before throwing their corpse at the pack.

  One leaped off the wall above him and landed on his back, clawing and attempting to get past the tall plate that guarded his neck. His wings folded in a fluid motion, catching the monster between them and rolling it up and away as if it were less trouble than a tick. He hauled on his eight-foot broadsword, slicing some Parnithons in half and twisting to kick the rest.

  Rain heard scratching on the stone behind her and turned in time to see a Parnithon leap at her. She shouted in defiance and brought her own blade down on its head. Her aim went wide, but caught it in the shoulder, sending it to the ground. It caught her with one claw as it passed, tearing at her arm as it barreled into the ground and attempted to regain its footing.

  She got up from her knee as it flopped up on its bad leg and hacked down at its neck before it could find its footing again. The blade came free easily enough, though her arm protested at the motion. Well that's two I've killed at least. She looked up, breathing hard, expecting another fight to be on its way. But instead all she found was Oscilian standing in the clearing dust, holding his massive sword tip to the ground. Dead and dying Parnithons lay strewn about him like splatter from a blood droplet.

  “These are attacking all of your scouting parties as we speak.”

  “What?” Rain took a step forward, her arm beginning to ache where the Parnithon had clawed her. “We need to save them!”

  “We are too late,” Oscilian barely moved as he talked. “My brothers are doing what they can, but all we truly sought was you.”

  “We can't save them?” She almost screamed at the massive warrior. “Any of them? Why don't you do something?!”

  “We all have duties to fulfill, Rain Renault. Many of us will die this day should we be successful, and all of us will perish should we fail. Yo
u must focus on what part it is you must play for this war to come to its rightful conclusion.”

  “Wha...” She looked at the carnage around them, the stink of the Parnithons only worsening in death. Her arm was bleeding steadily too, she realized, the flow reaching her hand as she stood there dumbfounded by Oscilian's news. “What would you have me do?”

  “Your army must pull all of the Relequim's forces from his stronghold. He must commit to its defense to the point that he joins his own forces.”

  “You want us... you want decoys?” She didn't know how deeply offended she should feel, but she did not like where this was going.

  “Not decoys, no. The Relequim's force must be destroyed today; one way or another it must not be permitted to leave these mountains. But we must have an opportunity to fight the Relequim in the open. We need the threat to manifest in full. Only when he is dead may we safely discover the weapon he has forged in Krakador. Our only hope is that he has not brought it to completion.”

  “So you need a diversion.”

  “This is the single most important moment in the history of the world, young Renault. If the Relequim's weapon is not destroyed now, even should we destroy him but permit it to exist, there is no telling what harm it will do mankind over the coming generations and centuries. Even if all of us are to forfeit our lives in this battle, it is not a price we should be unwilling to pay to end this evil once and for all.”

  “You can defeat him?”

  “We will try. He is much stronger than we had hoped, but we have no alternative left to us. Your brother and his army are on their own, however. We will not interfere in their struggle.”

  “So Krakador is along this path?” She glanced back the way she had been headed. “I thought no one knew where it was.”

  “We discovered it this morning, for he is already amassing his army above ground to fight your brother. Pass three more of these mountains, and then turn north. You will find it easily from there, if you are not accosted before you reach it.”

  And like an arrow from the string, Oscilian launched himself into the air and curved off to the east. Rain watched him go for a minute before realizing she hadn't asked after Ardin, and she didn't have a horse.

  THIRTY

  COLUMN AFTER COLUMN OF KNOBBY, SCALY MONSTERS SHUFFLED ONTO SHORE AND TOOK FORMATION TO MARCH UP THE HILL TOWARDS THE ELANDRIAN FORCES. The Granhal were nearly dead, which would have made Phelts proud except that for every one of the monsters they had killed he figured they had lost at least three of their own. These monsters didn't know how to deal with high-powered gunfire, their only experience with guns limited to the ancient originals that had been as inaccurate as they were slow to fire.

  The only thing keeping the end of civilization at bay was fresh technology and a desperate defending force. The last group of reserve troops behind the truck in which he sat were already being sent in, and all they had dealt with so far had been the enemy's advance party. Now the real threat was steadily disembarking on the shore, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. The guns along the cliffs had been torn apart by the Parnithons, leaving them helpless to destroy the inbound ships even should they risk reclaiming them.

  And there would be no quarter shown or surrender accepted; he could see it in the way they came and the lack of visible leadership that joined them. A distinctive ship that he assumed carried the command had appeared on the horizon, a black ship with a red rune on its massive center sail, but it had only come so close as to watch the carnage unfold. It wouldn't approach land until the harbor was secure and every man defending it was dead.

  Strange machines were being offloaded now, massive platforms with spiked wheels that were dragged by thick gray monsters that crawled on all fours. Their snubbed noses and dead eyes made them look like fat, wingless bats, though he feared more what they pulled.

  He hopped off of the back of the truck, limping over to the bunker where Merodach had died, and sat down on the edge between two machine gunners so as to get a better look at what was happening. Their small wireless units were chattering, but it was nearly impossible for him to make it out in the chaos. He wondered how they managed.

  Smaller creatures, lean and lanky, covered in patches of red hair, came scurrying off of the ships around the machinery. What the hell are those things? The creatures formed up into small squads, then took off running up and in between the advancing columns. The front rows of each column were doing their best to advance against the hail of gunfire, losing their entire first row for every ten yards they took, but even if the soldiers churned through all of the first few columns, there would still be thousands of the monsters right on their heels. And the columns were constantly gaining ground.

  And then the little red-haired things spread out. He could see their gray skin from under their loose black plates of armor now, their long hooked noses protruding down to their chins and making their solid black eyes appear even more beady than they were. They slung sticks off their backs and then reached for arrows. Arrows?

  They weren't carrying sticks at all, but bows. Oh God... But before Phelts could even think to grab a wireless or yell and warn whoever could hear him over the cacophony below, a storm of the short arrows were unleashed from among the columns of advancing troops.

  Hundreds of missiles swarmed into the sky. They crossed paths and swirled in the wind so much that they looked like a rising plume of smoke before they reached their apex and dove for the ground. They almost came on in slow motion, short gray shafts accentuated by red plumes on their tails, and plunged into the front rows of Elandir's soldiers. The men below Phelts died in droves, their armor not designed to protect from above. Most survived by the grace of their helmets or the lottery of war, but many died with arrows deep in their necks and shoulders, slitting arteries and organs alike.

  Phelts wanted to scream, wanted to draw them back or throw them forward but not watch as the soldiers of his great city were slaughtered like helpless children. More arrows flew, the momentary lightening of the gunfire giving the columns of advancing monsters a chance to gain speed. Suddenly the clashing of tide and shore, that had moments before seemed preventable, again became inevitable.

  These are only the first few ships of hundreds... The weight of that thought rested on him unbidden. This isn't even a full first wave.

  Long jagged, daggers were drawn from undersized waists as the second wave of arrows descended on the soldiers below. The massive monsters bellowed their own strange cry and barreled forward at the sight, covering the last twenty yards at a run. Their tiny legs pushed them onward, their shoulders swaying dramatically as they lowered their heads and rammed their way into the men in their path. For every blade or bullet that found its mark, another was turned aside by the rock-hard skin of the monsters.

  The monsters began their bloody work, hacking and stabbing and advancing as a unit. The men below Phelts faltered, wavering in their confidence as they were hammered by such a vicious assault. Phelts could see them beginning to break, and though he could hardly blame them, he knew that the end of their world was nearing as a result.

  “CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT, HEMBRODY?” Sir Bramblethorn sat on his massive destrier, peeling a banana he had plucked from the supply cart nearest him. He laughed as he threw the peel on the ground, sounding even happier than usual to heckle Hembrody. “These are cows and carts on a single road. It's not like you've got cross traffic knocking them about.”

  Hembrody ignored the fat tribune and continued to study the wreckage of the cart that had overturned in the middle of the road. Its wheels on one side had simply come off, he noted, but somehow the entire cart had overturned. The cart immediately behind it had also come apart in the chaos, its heavy cargo of chain and plate now blocking the road as his men scrambled to clear the wreckage.

  “I warned the young king about putting you back here,” Bramblethorn was still talking as if Hembrody cared. “So I suppose I should thank you for proving me right yet again!”<
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  Hembrody had been forced to put up with Bramblethorn before, but this was aggravating, having to ignore his endless ravings and insults while he tried to figure out why everything that could go wrong was. More importantly, why everything that seemed impossible to go wrong was.

  “The axles are actually intact, my lord.” One of his quartermasters came back around from the other side of the cart. “The side is cracked, but the entire thing seems either in fine condition or easily repairable.”

  “How did it flip?” Hembrody's characteristically short tone was only sharpened by his frustration. “It's not possible.”

  “I don't know, but it's the third in the last few days to do so.”

  “Get it off the road.” Hembrody turned to mount his horse. “If you can repair it before the rest of the train moves past, fine; if not, leave it behind.”

  “Leaving the king's goods behind, then?” Bramblethorn reined in next to his hated rival. “That's not so befitting the office of the mightiest quartermaster in all the realm!”

  Bramblethorn's laugh gave all the thorn to his name. His father, Brambleweed, had been far less irritating. Hembrody ignored the nuisance and spurred toward the rear, wanting to check on his rearguard before the day's march began.

  Bramblethorn began to sing from behind as he kept pace. “Hembrody, Hembrody, was a good king! Ladies did love him, and minstrels did sing! But then he awoke, as Lord Renault spoke, and found it had all been a dream!”

  “I've heard better songs from wailing infants,” Hembrody growled through grinding teeth.

  “Perhaps,” Bramblethorn's impetuous smile came through in his voice. “But you have to admit, Hembrody, it is rather droll for my first stab.”

  “Fools may enjoy the droll nature of life, while drunk under tables inflated by song. The wise recognize the true strength in strife, and profit from idiots all the day long.”