The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim

by Jay Swanson

  “Our enemies to the south used one of our very own generals to overthrow our government. To seek our downfall!”

  Merodach paused to let it sink in. Silvers could feel the level of energy rising. Shifting to anger.

  “They know now that they have failed, that as a people we are too strong. And so they send their armies against us in force. But by now I'm certain the word has spread, and it is true. The south moves against us in our perceived weakness.

  “Stand with me Elandir. I was left scarred by their plot, nearly finished by treachery. But they failed, dearest Elandrians. They failed! We have always stood stronger than our brothers. Stronger than the world! It was the one great gift we received from the Magi. Now is the time to demonstrate that strength. Now is the time to demand their penance! To demand their fealty!”

  To the Shadow King's disbelief, cheers flew from the crowd. Were they insane? Demanding the fealty of fellow City States? Merodach had gone mad and the world was joining him. Even if the Shadow King were to betray them, he wanted to save this world from the Relequim. That was his goal, he knew it to be true even as the words rang hollow in his mind. But this was utter madness... would there be any world left to save if Merodach had his way?

  “Elandir!” Merodach shouted the name. “I promise you that by year's end we will be the dominant force of the continent. We will crush our enemies, we will turn them to the true ways of our fathers, and we will rule them with such strength as the world has never seen!”

  The crowd erupted into a roar of approval.

  Dear God, thought the Shade. It's all coming to an end.

  Merodach stood at the podium as the crowd applauded and cheered for what felt like a glorious eternity. He would have no problem passing the laws he needed to now. He would control this city better than he ever had, and soon he would control the entire coast.

  “I now resume the duties of the office of the Mayor of Elandir.”

  And with that he walked back to his seat to a renewed chorus of cheers and applause.

  “Fantastic speech sir.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “We'll get the bastards, sir.”

  The praise continued among the city's officials and military brass as they crowded around him. It was as if they had been caught in a spell of his making. The eerie nature of it wore off quickly as the realization of his renewed power caught up with him again. Only weeks before he had been confined to his own personal prison. And now he was back on top of the world. His heart soared as he sat and looked out at the thousands of people gathered to witness the event.

  And then he saw him. A man in a black cloak, and not just any black cloak. He knew the shape of that hood, the point of its brow. The man was staring at him from under the shadow it cast, not clapping, not even moving. The happiness of the moment throttled and died in the twisting of Merodach's stomach. He gripped the arms of his chair as he attempted to shrink into it and disappear. It was him; he was certain of it.

  “Sir?” One observant voice rose above the praise of the rest. “Are you alright?”

  The leaders of Elandir quieted down as they stared at their paralyzed commander. Merodach had gone pale. He was shaking.

  “Sir?”

  The people in the square continued to cheer and sing the songs of the Great City as their Mayor stared at them in horror. The noise churned and whined in his ears as he focused on the man in black. His waking nightmare made manifest.

  “Sir, what's wrong?”

  Finally, with a violent burst of terror and rage, the Mayor leaned forward and thrust a quivering finger towards the intruder.

  “It's him, the rat bastard. It's Silvers!”

  THIRTEEN

  TROY SILVERS, NO LONGER HIMSELF, STOOD IN THE MIDST OF A CROWD THAT WAS CHANGING. Rapidly. They had entered the square in conflict. Irresolute to the changing political tides of their nation. Upon seeing their leader reclaim his post they had grown ecstatic. He had never thought they would so warmly welcome the fat wretch back. But such was the populace. Fickle. And now they were breaking out into sheer hysteria.

  Soldiers from all corners had appeared from the shadows, pressing into the crowd as if to corner a dangerous animal. And for good reason. Among the people stood the most dangerous animal most would ever know.

  The Shadow King searched for his exit. Scanning the crowd, he saw none. They grew frantic as the loudspeakers were used to call out orders. To call out the location of the Shade in their midst. He tried to make the jump. Tried to disappear, as much as he hated doing so. But he found he couldn't. Another shelter... he was trapped.

  His heart was pressing up into his throat as if to make its own escape. He pushed it down. Swallowed hard. Clenching his teeth he looked around from under the point of his hood. He was doing his best to follow the crowd. The last thing he wanted was to find himself in the middle of open space. But it made no difference. The men on the stage could see him clearly. He was trapped.

  “You,” a soft voice came from behind him as a hand gently gripped his elbow. “Come with me.”

  He turned to see a woman holding his arm. She was old, yet handsome. Her dark hair touched with shocks of gray and her deep eyes mesmerizing. Her touch calmed him instantly. From the stage he could hear the man yelling over the loudspeaker. They had lost sight of him. Where was he?

  “Follow me,” she said, ignoring the crowds and loudspeakers. He obeyed.

  They walked through the mass of bodies. They pressed easily through the people, no one seemed to pay them any mind. They were all too focused on escaping the square. The Shadow King grew tense as they passed through the ring of soldiers. He watched them closely, keeping his hands at the ready. But they never saw him as he walked right by.

  The gentle tug on his arm guided him silently past and into the streets beyond.

  The lone room of the apartment was dank, dark. It didn't fit well with the beautiful old woman who sat in front of the Shadow King. It smelled like mold and rotting fruit, sick and sweet. She sat cross-legged on a mat, humming to herself, some forgotten tune. She wandered brokenly between keys as the melody rolled forth; it almost sounded purposeful.

  Her hands rested palms up on her knees. He sat across from her, not more than a yard away. Uncomfortable. He shifted in the low chair but stopped as it creaked beneath him. Her eyes never opened; her hands never flinched.

  The only source of light in the room was a low-hanging lantern. It flickered dimly above them, casting shadows that danced towards the outskirts of the small room. The Shade swallowed, the sound deafening in his ears. Finally his questions could wait no longer.

  “How did you find me?”

  She slowly stopped humming, but didn't say anything. He wondered if she wasn't in some sort of trance. Perhaps she had fallen asleep.

  “Merodach made it quite obvious where you were.”

  “How did we escape? It was like they couldn't even see us.”

  “Magic, of course.” The patronizing tone caused the Shade's temper to flare.

  “Magic,” he spat. “The walls of the city are enough to prevent the manipulation of the atmosphere.” He disdained the use of the word 'magic.' Ignorant talk.

  She reached into her cloak, producing some sort of powder. It sparkled faintly as it caught the light.

  “The ways of my master are higher than those of this city.”

  The words struck his stomach like a gong. He could feel their resonance in his bones.

  “Then you're...”

  “Yes.” Her eyes opened as she looked at him. “A servant of the true powers.”

  She brought her hands together then, sparkling dust flying as they collided in the darkness. Instantly a flash erupted from between her interlaced fingers. In its wake was left a burning, pulsing, purple light. At its core it looked to be entirely black.

  The Shadow King's face drained of all blood as the medium clenched her hands together, straining to contain the power therein. And then she thrust it towards the gro
und with both hands.

  Another flash revealed a shallow bowl of water between them. He hadn't noticed it in the darkness. It was pulsing with the energy now. He watched as the black and purple light intermingled with the water, swirling until the whole thing looked alight with ghostly flame. His stomach broiled as a third flash threw him off balance.

  The bowl was left dark, illuminated solely by a ring of purple flame that hung loosely around its edges. It flickered and faded in and out of existence, threatening to die out. The medium was muttering some incantation. Whether she had been doing so the whole time or had just started he couldn't remember. And then he saw him. For the first time in nearly fifty years he saw the Enemy, the Demon.

  The Relequim.

  THE FISHERMAN MOVED SO QUICKLY IT CAUGHT ARDIN OFF GUARD. He said, “Stay low,” and then took off. It took the young man the better part of a minute to catch up to his fully-armored counterpart as the Fisherman careened down the hill. How the old man moved so quickly and so smoothly was beyond Ardin.

  He couldn't hear a sound the Fisherman was making in spite of all of the gear he carried. And he could hardly see him. Ardin realized that when he had said to stay low, he meant it. The Fisherman was nearly invisible. It made him self-conscious to notice the fact. How well was he doing at it, he wondered. He dropped lower in his stance as they ran, but felt like he was falling behind as soon as he did.

  They entered the first of the trees half-way down the butte. He tried to readjust his technique, putting more weight on the balls of his feet. But before he had a chance to see any results a large hand jutted out of the grass in his face.

  “Hold on,” the Fisherman whispered.

  The old man brought Ardin to a surprised stop. He was focused out towards where the two groups were about to converge. Ardin knelt in the grass and followed the Fisherman's gaze. He could barely believe this man was the same one who had brought him here just a day before. His entire countenance was different.

  “They're human.”

  “Who?”

  “The scrappy ones we saw runnin' through the forest.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  The Fisherman didn't respond. He just sat staring out through the grass. Ardin, for his part, could barely make anything out between the trees.

  “There, lad. Look.”

  The Fisherman pointed over the foot of the butte to where Ardin could make out the appearance of the larger group. They were moving slowly. He could hear them marching now. There was a sort of chant pushing them onwards. It was indistinct, but it sounded totally foreign. Every once in a while a whip would sound out among the men, releasing a crack and eliciting a scream. It made Ardin's skin crawl.

  He could see the large creatures that drove them now. Their shoulders were broad and slightly slouched. He couldn't tell if the gnarled plating on their backs was armor or skin. Either way, they made his stomach twist and mouth go dry in revulsion. They were hideous.

  “What are they?”

  “The slaves? Men and women I would suppose.”

  “No, the big black things.”

  “Ah, those bastards. They were men once. Their fathers were at least. Twisted creatures. The Demon mingled their blood with all different breeds of animal. Now he has a variety of monsters, of which those are but one kind.”

  “They were men once?”

  “Not those ones, no. They were ne'er men; ne'er will be. They're bent to the will of their master, and with no will rests no humanity. If those black demons are around I'm afraid there is more yet in store for us to discover.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But the Fisherman's response was a simple finger over his lips. He gestured back towards the group with a nod as the first monster screamed.

  Suddenly there was a panic among the creatures, both great and small. Dark arrows passed through the trees with the whisper of the wind. Ardin could hear them thud into their victims from where he was. It took at least eight or nine of the darts to bring down a single beast. But they seemed completely unprepared and taken by surprise.

  As if in response to the desperation of their situation, the two things in the back of the column drew crude blades from their belts and started hacking their way through their hostages. Blood flew as men screamed and died under the crooked iron.

  The ambushers left their posts then, flung into the fray by the plight of their charge. They flew towards the enemy. Ardin watched as they dropped from trees and appeared from the grass. He could see their bows now, tall and black. Almost as long as the archers were tall. There were at least two dozen of them; three of the slavers remained.

  The slaves scattered as best they could, but risked their lives as the remaining monsters attempted to cut off escape. The rescuers pierced their midst with precision, gaining what advantage they could keep as they approached their enemies.

  The slavers roared their challenge, cracking whips and swinging blades as their fury erupted. Now they could see their foes. Now they could fight.

  The Fisherman started to move forward. Ardin followed. They stayed crouched at first, moving as quietly as before, but soon the old man broke out into a sprint. He saw something he did not like and wasn't waiting any longer.

  Even as they ran, it quickly became apparent to Ardin that the rescuers were losing the advantage. There was a reason it only took ten of those things to manage a few hundred men. They were massively strong. It looked like they could uproot any of the nearby trees without a second thought. And they were easily as tough as they were strong. It became painfully obvious as the ambushers engaged them.

  Ardin could feel the Fisherman's tension as he almost screamed at them to stop. But they pressed on. They were discouraged from firing for fear of hitting the slaves, if not for lack of ammunition. And encouraged by the relative success of their ambush, they moved in for the fight. It did not go well.

  The first of the men to the melee barely came up to the chest of the monster he assailed. The initial thrust of his blade was parried easily enough. Before he knew it, the monster had its mangled claw around his throat. It hauled him off the ground so hard that he lost his sword, and before he could so much as kick at the monster, it thrust its own square blade into his belly.

  Blood and entrails burst out of the man's back as the jagged iron forced its way through bone and flesh. The monster let go of his throat and swept its weapon to the side. The corpse followed the motion and slid off roughly as the monster's arm came to a stop. It kept its arms open wide and lowered its face to its enemies' level. It roared.

  Ardin was taken aback by the violence of the sound. The thing's mouth was so large that its head appeared to tilt back on a hinge. Its teeth were relatively small and spaced out, but jagged and sinister-looking nonetheless.

  The men attacking it hesitated. Their heedless charge was checked for a moment before a few brave souls dashed in. They came from three directions, attempting to surprise or at least overwhelm the creature. It swung its square cleaving blade to the left at the closest attacker. He rolled under the blow and jumped up, thrusting his sword into the monster's ribcage. It seemed to bite, but hardly pierced the thing's armor-like skin.

  The slaver yelled in anger and batted the man down before whipping around and catching the next assailant in the chest. The man was lucky, the blade was flat. It still broke his ribs as it made contact. He went flying into the bushes and didn't get back up. The third man, bearing an ax, spun as he came within range of the beast. It turned to face him as the ax came around full circle and down on its forehead.

  The monster wore some sort of circlet. It looked almost like it had melted part-way into the thing's skull. Emblazoned on the front was a rune that glowed a dim red. The ax ground to a halt in the middle of the rune, splitting some of the creature's skin but leaving it otherwise unhurt. Black blood oozed out in response to the strike. The rune flared to life. With the rune came another blood-curdling roar. The creature grabbed the ax handle with its left claw. Wit
h its right it hammered the man in the face with the pommel of its sword. The impact was so heavy that his head caved.

  Ardin stopped running at the sight. He wanted to vomit. His head started to spin as the Fisherman picked up the pace and left him behind. The other two creatures were closing in from the sides now, having abandoned all hope of containing their captives. They bellowed their own cries as they lumbered forward.

  The men closest to the fight began firing their darts at the injured creature. It was no longer surrounded by their kindred. They could shoot without fear of the repercussions. The darts, however, seemed to have no effect as the creature sauntered forward. It wrenched the ax free from its circlet, took one step, and spun. To Cid, it happened in slow motion. As it came around, it flung the ax as hard as it could into the nearest archer. The man was caught off his feet by the impact and carried into the trunk of a nearby tree.

  Cid ignored the beast in front of him and broke to the left. He dropped his gear and pulled his hefty sword from its sheath. It shone in the light of day, glittering in anticipation of battle after being so long neglected.

  Cid took no note of it. His heart was racing. He needed to move quickly before the three creatures got within reach of each other. If they could help one another, things would go from bad to worse.

  He shouted to the nearest archer to aim for the rune. To knock it off its head. Whether the man listened to him or not he couldn't know, he had no time to hesitate. That was the leader of this pack, the only one with its master's overt protection. It would be hard to kill, harder yet while wearing that circlet.

  The monster on the left was the closest to Cid. Thankfully they weren't built to move quickly. He circled to its left before it saw him. Moving low to the ground, he watched carefully as it continued towards its leader. The tall grass flowed past him; he put a hand out to feel the stalks as they went by. Seeking reassurance. Something calm. Something solid.