The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador

by Swanson, Jay

  “I'm glad I could bring you some profit today, then, my good lord.” Bramblethorn laughed. “Now if only you could profit our good king in your service instead of creating delays and losing his precious supplies.”

  “As you have seen, Sir Bramblethorn, things have not exactly been occurring in logical or sensible fashions.”

  “I've seen some broken carts and massive delays through pointless investigations.” Bramblethorn had apparently produced an apple from somewhere on his rotund person, as he now seemed to be talking between crisp crunching noises and through a muffling mess. “I haven't seen anything particularly out of the ordinary where you're concerned.”

  The rearguard was just ahead, their march stalled by yet another stop in the baggage train. They kept a distance of a few hundred yards, prepared to form up and protect the army from any attacks from behind. If the Relequim were to attack them here, at the distance that had been growing between themselves and the main army, they would be hard pressed to hold their own until relief arrived.

  Bramblethorn was rambling off another nonsensical rhyme when they finally rode among the soldiers at the rear. Over half of his remaining men were here, the rest spread out along the line itself to guard it from thieves among the camp followers as much as anything. The closer they had drawn to the Desert Mountains, the more incidents of theft were being reported along the train. Even open brawls had broken out at night, all of it leaving Hembrody to wonder if the Demon wasn't somehow influencing the weaker minds among them from afar. Things were certainly deteriorating quickly regardless of the cause.

  “My lord.” One of the light cavalrymen rode up to meet him as he walked his horse along the outside of the infantry.

  “Anything to report?”

  “Our scouts return to us in good form, no contact or sightings of any kind.”

  Hembrody frowned at the news.

  “Displeased, Hembrody?” Bramblethorn was an ever-present annoyance. “Had you been hoping your master would make his appearance so soon?”

  Hembrody finally turned on Bramblethorn at that. “I have a mind to punctuate each and every insult you sputter with an arrow.”

  “If you want to shoot yourself, feel free.” Bramblethorn grinned his stupid grin. “I won't stop you, Hembrody. You'd be doing us all a favor and saving me some time.”

  Hembrody ignored the threat, letting the conflict drop before it escalated out of hand. He turned back to the cavalry scout. “Something's not right; I want you to redouble your search. There is something out there waiting for our guard to drop, I can feel it. I want you to find it.”

  “Of course you can feel it,” Bramblethorn said as Hembrody continued to walk his horse down the line. “You're one of them, aren't you?”

  Hembrody could see it in the faces of his men; they were growing tired of the insults too, angry even. Ever since the fat tribune had arrived the day before, he had caused nothing but strife with his accusations and insults. Bramblethorn's cruelty and temper had grown progressively worse in that time, even beyond his usual levels of annoyance. Hembrody had to figure out a way to rid himself of Bramblethorn's persistent presence before he drew a fight from among his own men.

  “Your son was, in the end, wasn't he?”

  Hembrody turned his horse at that in a quick rage. “What did you say?”

  Bramblethorn had stopped his horse a few lengths behind, tossing a finished apple core to the side and licking his fingers as he smiled knowingly. “Your boy; bastard tried to kill our young Renault. They said he was under the Demon's influence, and I doubt the sprout took root far from the bush.”

  Hembrody drew his sword, his veins flaring along his neck at the desecration of his son's memory. “I should cut you down as an act of mercy to that poor horse you're crushing.”

  “Horsey's fine, Hembrody. It's a traitorous boy and his surreptitious father that I'm concerned with.”

  Hembrody grit his teeth, clenching the hilt of his sword so tightly he could hear the leather stretch under his grip. Damn it all... “No, Bramblethorn.” He left his sword in its sheath. “I won't give you what you want.”

  “What is it you think I want, then?” All humor was gone from Bramblethorn's voice now, though Hembrody tried to ignore him altogether as he walked his horse a little ways farther on and dismounted. “You think I want a fight, is that it Hembrody?”

  “The baggage train should be back up and moving within the hour,” Hembrody addressed the captain of the infantry who had walked out to meet him. “I want your men close behind them and ready to fight. We won't be left alone for much longer.”

  “I just want you to show your true colors, Hembrody!” Bramblethorn was a difficult man to ignore, especially as hysteria began to creep into his tone. “I just want your treason unmasked before it's unfettered, and why shouldn't I?”

  Hembrody's captain was having an even more difficult time ignoring Bramblethorn than he was. “How is morale?” He almost had to slap the man to get his attention. “How is morale among the men?”

  “Not good, my lord.” The man had to blink to regain his focus, Bramblethorn now openly inviting his master to a fight in the background. “We've had more fights breaking out, especially when we're encamped like this, waiting for orders to move. Discipline is breaking down.”

  “The same has been happening along the line.” Hembrody looked back up the way where the camp followers and stragglers made for a mess of a crowd in the distance. He had to work to ignore Bramblethorn's nearly constant flow of threats. He's gone mad, he thought as the fat man gestured towards his sword and bellowed another challenge. This is the enemy's work... this madness will consume us all. “I need you to maintain discipline at any cost. Execute men for fighting if you must; I won't tolerate it.”

  “My lord.” The man bowed, disturbed by the order but unwilling to displease his commander. “What they need is an enemy to fight.”

  “I'm afraid they'll have it all too soon.” Hembrody said.

  “And why not give it to them sooner?” Bramblethorn shouted as his horse approached from behind. Hembrody turned in time to see the glint of steel catching the sun above him. There was a crack as Bramblethorn's blade struck him in the side of the head, the sky turning into exploding stars and bloody ruin as he collapsed to the ground.

  The world slowly faded with the receding noise of hoofs as his men gathered around him, unable to keep him from dying.

  “SIR BELDIN.” RENDIN RENAULT SAT AT THE OAK TABLE OF HIS FATHERS, studying maps he knew to be more misleading than trustworthy. “Please, come in.”

  Sir Beldin had been standing at the entrance to his tent for only a few moments, but Rendin was finding it difficult to pull himself away from the questions that plagued him. It was impossible to know where to go from here, not with any certainty at least. Rain had seemed so certain of where Krakador would be, but in the end they didn't even know what it would look like.

  Was it a castle? A fortress built into a mountain? It could very well have even been built on top of one of these flat-topped monoliths, inaccessible save for some treacherous staircase. There was no way of knowing until they stumbled upon it, but he was afraid there wasn't enough time for a proper search. Rain had already been gone a full day, since the morning before, and already he wished he could consult her on a dozen things.

  “If there's no way of being certain of our destination, yet we have not the time to waste in making known its location, what are we to do?” He asked the question without bothering to look up.

  “We wait, your Majesty.”

  “But time is of the essence, is it not?” Rendin did look up now. “If the enemy is constructing his great weapon and is so close to finishing it as to withhold his strength from attacking us thus far, is it wise to give him any more space than absolutely necessary?”

  “This time and space is necessary, Majesty.” Beldin walked forward and put his finger on the map. “This could be the location.” He moved it again to another spot hundr
eds of miles away. “Or this could be it. If we are wrong, we can be wrong by hundreds of miles. Hundreds of miles of enemy-controlled territory that we know nothing about. Territory that is of his own making, in lands of his own choosing. Sire, there is a reason he has brought us here to fight, that he has yet to offer battle. We cannot plunge ahead without knowing where we are making for.”

  “I agree...” Rendin rolled the map up and tossed it onto a pile of similarly discarded parchments. “But I'm afraid we may not have the luxury of making that decision. Morale has plummeted, and difficulty with the supply line is only going to make that worse. We are exposed, and we dare not lose what initiative we currently hold.”

  “Sire.” Beldin moved in front of his king. “If we move into those mountains blind, we will be ripped apart before we even know we are dying.”

  Rendin let a long silence pass after that. It was true, but if they didn't strike soon they might have no chance of success at all. “What do you have to report?”

  Beldin hesitated now, uncertain or unwilling to say what he knew. “There is movement in the mountains,” he said finally. “I had some men scale the nearest plateaus and scout from the heights yesterday afternoon. They just got word to me this morning.”

  “What did they see?”

  “Something moving across the mountains directly north of us, something quick and dark. They think they may have been Parnithons.”

  “What were they doing?” Rendin was loathe to hear of Parnithons; he had hoped them extinct.

  “We don't know, sire. They dropped from view quickly after they were spotted. Nothing else was seen of them.”

  “Don't we have scouts up that way?” Rendin suddenly thought of Rain, of the danger he had sent her into.

  “Yes,” Beldin was yet hesitant.

  “What is it?”

  “Sire...” Beldin looked at the pile of maps for a moment. He cleared his throat before looking back to Rendin. “The others will think this a sure sign of the Relequim's fortress.”

  “It isn't?”

  “No, Sire. It's just... it's just Parnithons roving the territory.”

  “It's the first sign of life we've seen for leagues.” Rendin leaned back in his chair, causing Beldin to straighten his own stance before him. “It seems odd that it would mean so little.”

  “It doesn't mean all that little, I'm afraid. What it does mean is that our enemy lives, he's here somewhere, but where we cannot say with certainty.”

  Rendin thought on it for a minute. He agreed with the young tribune, but perhaps he wanted to more than he truly did. “I will say this much, Sir Beldin. We are at a crossroads, one that I wish to escape as quickly as possible. As we must wait, I must hope that we can afford to do so and pray that my sister's scouts bring back a report of the location of our enemy. However, we cannot afford to wait long, and should they not return within another day, we will be forced to take your sighting as the only suggestion we have.”

  “But Sire.”

  “Fighting is breaking out among the troops regularly, Beldin. Tensions are high and I cannot assume that this is entirely of natural causes. Our enemy's influence is strong here, his divisiveness present and powerful. If we do not act soon, we may very well see the collapse of all order and discipline among our own men, at which point there will be no hope for us whether or not we are set upon by his forces.”

  Beldin swallowed what he had to say. As much as they agreed on what they wished they could do, at least the tribune had the luxury of disagreeing with the decision that had to be made.

  “Would you do any differently in my place, Sir Beldin?”

  Sir Beldin thought on it for a moment, weighing his response as he regarded his king. In the end he shook his head and looked to the ground. “No, your Majesty. I'm afraid I wouldn't.”

  “We will do our best to complete this task, Sir Beldin.” Rendin stood and promised, his heart breaking as he finished his thought. “We will do our very best to bring our men home... but should we need to sacrifice everything for this one cause, this one attempt at the lifeblood of our enemy, then so be it.”

  “Then so be it.” Beldin's face was sad as he lifted his eyes to agree with Rendin. “My life and sword are yours as always, Sire, to do with as you see fit.”

  Suddenly Blassen appeared in the entrance of the tent, his stern, bland face showing the signs of concern. “Sire.” He stepped to the side. “A man bears a message I fear demands your attention.”

  “Let him enter.” Rendin leaned on the table, his strength already waning for the day, and it had only just begun.

  “Sire.” A young man wearing Bramblethorn's rose on his brooch entered and knelt. “The train is lost.”

  Rendin stood straight at the announcement. “What?”

  Beldin grabbed the young man and hauled him to his feet. “What do you mean the train is lost? Where is it?”

  “It's not lost like that, sir.” The young man had gone pale. “It tears itself apart as we speak.”

  “Why?” Beldin looked like he might bolt for the door to set things to rights in that moment. “What's happened?”

  “Sir Hembrody...” The boy looked like he might cry. “I was attached to him to watch Sir Hembrody. He set upon Sir Bramblethorn while they inspected the rear... he killed Sir Bramblethorn and set his men upon the train.”

  “That bastard.” Beldin's disbelief was only balanced by his anger. “I didn't think he'd really go so far!”

  “Did you see it?” Rendin pointed at the boy. “Did you see Hembrody kill Sir Bramblethorn?”

  “With my own eyes, sir, though I think Sir Bramblethorn may have dealt a deadly blow to Hembrody in turn.”

  “Woads!” A new voice came from outside, and after a hasty discussion another boy was permitted to enter. “Woads, Sire! The baggage train is under attack and faltering!”

  THIRTY-ONE

  RENDIN RENAULT RODE AT THE HEAD OF HIS BODYGUARD, FORTY-NINE SOLDIERS IN SHIMMERING PLATE MAIL WITH GREEN CAPES AND TRIM. They looked every bit like the fighting unit formed in ages past, and the young king hoped they could rise to their reputation today, for he was afraid they would be hard pressed to keep him alive.

  Sir Beldin of the Shale rode close at hand, leading his outriders and some heavy cavalry. In total, eight hundred men made their way to the baggage train, and the call had gone out for more to follow. But there was no time to wait for them to form up, no time for more to mobilize. The threat of Woads in a baggage train would have been cause enough for action on its own, but was especially so when the men guarding that train were at each others' throats.

  Smoke could be seen from here, though the train lay yet another three miles behind the bulk of the army. Rendin cursed as another plume began to rise, black billowing smoke rolling straight up into the windless sky. How could this happen? Hembrody, how could you betray me like this?

  The road his men were to leave unobstructed through the camp was far more cluttered than it should have been. Men rushed out to move carts and equipment from their path, but he made a mental note of the tribunes and commanders whose camps were not how he would have them. His jaw set as his anger rose. Am I truly beset on all sides? Is there no one I can trust with even the simplest of tasks?

  He had sent men off to watch the troops Hembrody had left with the bulk of the army in case they decided to join their comrades in the mutiny and wreak havoc in the main camp. He would have them all executed before he allowed his army to dissolve. He had no illusions about their chance of surviving this war with the Relequim, but he also knew they stood a chance to at least give their lives for something. If they faltered now and dissolved into the chaos their enemy sought to infect them with, then there would be nothing but meaningless death for them all.

  The baggage train came into view as they continued toward it, Woads darting in and out of view as men screamed and died. Groups of soldiers had banded together, fighting the monsters with their backs against each other. Those groups seemed to fend
well enough, especially the few with spears, but those caught on their own were not faring as well.

  Rendin put his spurs to his horse, feeling his own fatigue chasing just at her heels. He needed to get there now, to restore order before everything was lost. His bodyguard formed up around him as they approached, unwilling to let him enter the field without a layer of protection in front. They dropped their wolf-mask visors into place as they lowered their lances. Those closest to Rendin at the center of the newly-formed square drew their swords, not bothering with the long wooden weapons of their outward-facing brothers.

  The Woads sensed their approach, launching an all-out attack against the newcomers as Rendin's bodyguard entered the scene. Lances shattered as Woads gurgled and died. One of the men on the corner disappeared in a blur, his horse stumbling and nearly toppling to a halt. The guard pressed on, though two peeled back around and attacked the Woad before it could finish its task.

  Sir Beldin's cavalry had spread out behind them, creating a long line three rows deep that would sweep the entire baggage train the entire way down. Rendin wouldn't fight if he could help it, though he had drawn his sword with his bodyguard. He was here to lead the charge, to infuse conviction in his men and give the cavalry something to chase. His winged helm stood out above the rest, and no soldier in view of him would dare let it fall into the hands of the enemy.

  So let them fear its risk. He plunged heedlessly forward. They needed to save their supplies or they could lose everything.

  As the bodyguard wove along the train, keeping their momentum up as best as they could in the wrecked aftermath of the ambush, Rendin took a depressing account of the damage. There wasn't a single cart untouched, and the bodies of men and women lay strewn everywhere among the baggage. What was most disturbing to him was the fact that only half of them showed the wounds characteristic of a Woad's attack; the rest had been cut down very clearly by blades. There is a madness unfolding.