The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores

by Jay Swanson

  “I will rend you from your flesh!” She screamed at him now. “You will lose yourself and all your kind with you!”

  The boy next to him screamed again. He heard a distinctly high pitched whine in the hall somewhere, and then his chance came.

  Charsi had been so focused on her two prisoners she had somehow failed to notice the soldiers coming and going, but they'd left a nasty set of presents behind to remember them by.

  In the hallway just outside the chamber were three crates loaded with enough explosives to level the entire valley twice over. More than half of it was expected to be absorbed by her defenses.

  Covered in MARD plating, which was designed to fragment in an explosion, they were designed for one purpose: annihilate the Witch in one blow. The timer on the main charge was basically a hand-wound spring that slowly pushed back against the gears, clicking away until it was fully extended again.

  The last little bit of the spring's extension, if not hampered by a safety mechanism, would puncture a very small, very volatile bag of nitrous oxide powerful enough to trigger the mound of explosive putty beneath it. This in turn triggered the two crates next to it. A crudely made, nasty little setup, but it was essentially foolproof. Magi had a special way with all things electrical. It was best to use mechanical devices.

  The timer was an exceptional risk to carry around and a bit overkill, but it was effective. Hell, the whole setup was overkill but there was no desire on the demolition squad's part to give her a chance to defend herself.

  As the whine of the spring reaching its apex sounded in Charsi's ears the sharp end of the spring began forcing its way into the bag. All too late, she came to and realized what was going on. The break in her concentration was significant enough for Silvers to exploit as he focused hard. His body was broken, badly, but not enough to prevent him from making the jump. As soon as her ethereal spikes withdrew in her confusion he vanished into thin air before he hit the ground.

  The Magess looked down again; her prey was lost. She screamed and focused all of her energy on the boy as the silver bag in the timer lost its battle with the spring.

  Outside, the gaunt colonel lay on the ground; face down with his fingers interlaced behind his head. Next to him were the rest of his attendants and officers and behind them were three men pointing fully automatic rifles at their backs.

  A stocky man in dark safety glasses and a maroon cloth hat paced in front of the unruly battalion. The patch on his hat denoted the rank of Specialist; the scars on his face combined with his glasses were enough tell the rest.

  “By order of Premiere General Flavian Brutus in conjunction with the Mayor of Elandir I order you to stand down.” The Demolitions Specialist, essentially a glorified sergeant, waved a piece of paper over his head in his mangled right hand.

  Like most demo men he was missing a few fingers from various accidents over the years. As for the piece of paper, it didn't have anything written on it regarding the situation, but that didn't affect the validity of his orders. It simply helped make it more real in the minds of the soldiers to pretend it did.

  “The general is in there!” yelled one of the soldiers in the crowd before him.

  “I know that,” he chewed the half-smoked cigar stuffed in his mouth.

  They wouldn't make a move while their officers faced execution, at least that's what he was banking on. Things could go south quick if he was wrong.

  “Already dead, seen it with my own eyes!”

  Grumbling disbelief broke out among the ranks.

  “The Witch got him!”

  It didn't matter really. The general's decision to enter the compound alone had already sparked rumors that he would end up filleted. The Specialist wanted to fuel those fears. There were just under a thousand men present, thankfully the companies that had been sent to form a rearguard were still absent. Members of the two Divisions weren't known to get along well to begin with. It didn't require the question of their general's life to raise blood pressure. The simple presence of any of the Brute's men could be enough to start a fight.

  The rest of the demolition squad exited the cave in a sprint down the path towards the battalion-turned-unruly mob. They were yelling and motioning to get down which quickly ended any debate. Every soldier among them dropped to the ground, arms over his head.

  The Cave almost appeared to implode before the walls shattered and blew out into oblivion. The last member of the demo squad slid down the slope just as the concussion struck the front lines. Dirt and gravel hit them before bits of brick and smoldering wood started falling from the sky.

  Braving a glance the Specialist saw mostly what he expected through his dark glasses. Broken chunks of the former building fell slowly through dark gray smoke and dust as the power plant and maintenance shed began to cave. What he didn't expect was the welling of what looked like white smoke in the ruins of the east wing.

  He heard gasps around him as other men looked on at the growing column of smoke. It almost sounded like it was wailing as it swirled upwards, but then again his ears were ringing from the concussion. A few soldiers picked up their guns and started to run as the smoke condensed and rose. The rest froze awestruck, watching as it grew and masked the sky. Just as it seemed like it couldn't grow any taller it twisted once, violently.

  More smoke pumped up through the base as it shot out in all directions from the top like a nefarious water fountain. Cascading down with a fury all its own, the wailing smoke hit the ground just before the front line, flowing on quickly and blasting through their ranks.

  The Specialist closed his eyes against the heat, grabbing for his hat too late to prevent it ripping off his head. The wailing in the smoke grew louder, to the point that he couldn't hear the screams of the men around him. He set his square jaw and bit hard into his cigar, waiting for it to subside.

  But it didn't stop. It grew hotter and hotter until suddenly it was burning. The Specialist's face began to blister as he dropped to his knees. His skin, his clothing, everything started smoking as he screamed and burst into flames.

  SEVEN

  CAPTAIN TROY SILVERS crouched behind a large outcropping of boulders on an otherwise grassy slope. Smaller sun-bleached stones dotted the landscape as the foothills northeast of Elandir rolled along in every direction. The sun was shining brightly but it was proving to be a cool day. A light breeze carried sparrows along in search of unwary insects unfortunate enough to get caught out on the ends of the tall grasses.

  Below the boulders, opposite Silvers, a well worn dirt path made its way through the draw between the hills. Someone had carefully placed stones in the stream to the north, creating a small footpath through its shallow waters. Sunlight danced along its surface as it made the slow journey to the plains below.

  Silvers pressed into the rock as closely as he could, sword drawn and held tightly against his chest. He couldn't afford to be seen, but he couldn't lose his target either. Nearby, on both sides of the draw, eight of Khrone's Hunters lay low in the grass. Their training combined with their camouflage rendered the Hunters invisible even to Silvers. He brushed his long black hair out of his face. The annoyance again made him think he should start wearing it in a pony tail to keep it in line.

  Khrone's Hunters got their name from the village in the mountains where the original squad had been recruited from. They were an incredibly elite, light infantry unit whose singular purpose was to hunt down and exterminate the Magi. It was important that they could move quickly through mountainous terrain, as most of the Magi had carved elaborate mansions and palaces out of the peaks in the Northern Range. Most of the entrances had been hidden by various enchantments so one had to be resourceful to find a Mage's lair and even quicker to hunt them down.

  There wouldn't be any need for the Hunters soon enough though. The brass figured there were only a handful of Magi remaining. Of those that were left some might never be found. Silvers preferred not to think about the future. He wasn't sure what kind of boring desk job awai
ted him at the successful completion of his mission. It had been a long time since he had done anything else.

  His ambition had driven him to join the Hunters as a lieutenant, and he'd quickly earned his captaincy as he consistently buried Magic Wielders everywhere he went. Without fail they wore a glowing gemstone around their neck that had some property tying them to those who had passed. Silvers didn't understand it, but he collected them by the handful. Someday, should he want to be a general, that collection of necklaces would serve to aid his advancement.

  The Hunters were a fun group to work with as well. Usually intelligent, if not well educated, they weren't difficult for Silvers to spend time with. Hunters were fast moving, active, exciting. They were good at what they did. Other sections of the military that tried to deal with Magi usually wound up with staggering casualties. The Hunters rarely lost a man. They were often given the newest field equipment available and their expenses went unquestioned. The job certainly had its perks in spite of the incredible danger. And what better way to build an illustrious career than with the most feared and dedicated group of soldiers on the planet?

  Today was different. This wasn't their usual mission or even a sanctioned one. It had been reported that there was a tall man in black who wandered through these hills. Some of the villagers traded with him from time to time. They said he had long silver hair that reached down his back, though it was usually hidden under a long, black, hooded cloak.

  One farmer told Silvers that the man often carried a slender, curved sword as long as the average man's wingspan slung between his shoulders. Rumors circulated in a number of the pubs that he was wandering the hills, looking for someone, or something.

  The villagers didn't know what they were dealing with; they called the man “the Wanderer,” and left him alone. Upon hearing the stories Silvers dropped everything and began investigating. He'd learned early on to listen to rumors. If he kept his ear close enough to the ground he could often discern the truth and gain an edge.

  If the accounts were true, he had stumbled upon the location of the greatest Shadow Warrior to come back from the Continental War. Possibly the last one. Unmatched in battle, he had fought to protect the Magi with a cold fury as the Twelve Cities had sought their containment and extermination. The loyalty of the Shadow Warriors to their creators only earned them a personal war with the Twelve Cities.

  Even as his brethren were slaughtered to the point of extinction, this Shade sought to fulfill his duty and guard the Magi. For all Silvers knew, the Shadow King, as he was called by most, was the only remaining Shade left on the planet. If he could kill him here in the highlands he would be doing his fellow man a great service to say the least.

  Everything Silvers learned led him to this path in the hills. It was a shot in the dark but the Shade had been spotted passing this way more frequently than anywhere else. Silvers had been told by one trader in particular that he often met the Shade up here, and would be doing so this very day. Why it was up here and revealed itself at all was beyond Silvers, but now was the best shot he had at catching and killing it. He hadn't crossed blades with one in a long time, and without the proper equipment they were taking an exaggerated risk. But Silvers didn't have time to equip his men and didn't know if he would ever get another shot.

  Thankfully the Shadow were unchanging, which made identifying them relatively easy. Created in haste, they were timeless, but left unable to alter their appearance. Even injuring a Shade wouldn't leave a mark if they jumped back to their metaphysical state. They would simply return healed and restored to their original form. Cutting their hair only lasted as long as they retained their physical form. But injure them enough, mangle their body to the point of utter uselessness and they were left powerless to jump and vulnerable to destruction. From there you could destroy their bodies, permanently disconnecting them from their physical state. This left them stranded, caught in limbo between the physical and the spiritual known as the Atmosphere. And since it took multiple Magi a considerable amount of time and energy to reconnect that state with the physical they were near extinction now.

  They were damned hard to stop however, Silvers reflected as he lay in wait. Nothing definitive had been created to stop the Shadow. Unlike the Magi, Shadow didn't rely on the Atmosphere for any form of strength. Their metaphysical form resided within the Atmosphere, but seemed relatively independent of it. Mobile devices simply called ‘shelters’ had been created to prevent them from making the jump. But they were rare and had fallen into disuse with the passing of time, and the captain didn't have any at his disposal.

  Silvers' formidable patience would not waiver. He would stay here all day for a shot at the Shadow King if necessary. This Shade was responsible for single-handedly slaughtering thousands of human soldiers. If Silvers could walk into Elandir with that sword on his back he would win fame beyond anything he could hope to accomplish hunting Magi. If not, he would die trying.

  He tensed. One of the motion sensors they planted down the path had detected something. A small light on his dark leather wristband signaled him silently. Something was coming. He motioned the alert and then pressed his back into the rock again.

  Silence.

  Clouds passed overhead slowly, blissfully enjoying a lazy spring afternoon without so much as a thought to the scene unfolding below. Perhaps the sensor had been tripped by something else, Silvers wondered. They weren't that reliable; wireless technology wasn't exactly foolproof yet, especially in small forms. It was just as likely that some large bug had landed on the sensor and taken a vigorous liking to it.

  Silvers was about to signal his men to stand down when he heard something rattling up the path. It sounded like a small cart. His gloved fingers clenched the tightly woven hilt of his sword as he slowed his breathing.

  When the Shade entered the ambush he would rush down to meet it, sword drawn, yelling with demonic fury. The hope was that the distraction would provide an opportunity for the Hunters to put a bullet or two in the creature, ideally crippling it and keeping it from easily jumping to its other state. If successful he would reach it in time to disarm and destroy its body before it could escape or kill any of his men.

  Silvers could hear the cart rolling behind him, light, intent footsteps following it twenty or so feet below. He took one last breath as it entered the kill zone, then pushed up out of the grass and whipped around the boulders, screaming murder and violence as he rushed to greet his enemy. The captain stopped short, however, as the cart was not being pushed by the Shade but by the trader who had tipped him off.

  “Mage alive!” The old man gripped his chest as he breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought ya'd forgotten whose side yous on there, son.”

  “I thought you said he would pass this way today, old man!” Silvers came to a stuttered halt near the man as he tried to collect himself.

  “Now now,” the trader reached into his wooden cart to right a jar that had fallen over. “No need to be angry, young Captain.”

  “Stand down!” Silvers could sense his Hunters taking aim through the grass at the old man. “Stand down damn it!”

  “Now who are you talking to, son?”

  “Where is he?”

  “You aren't going crazy are you, boy?”

  “Damn it, old man, where is the Wanderer?”

  “Son, I told you.” The old man put a hand on his hip as he leaned on his cart. “I meet him at the crossing ahead; my cart can't make it over those stones so he meets me just south of the creek. I imagine that your Wanderer is up in those hills watching you right now.”

  Silvers cursed under his breath as he ran back up the hill to his gear. Grabbing a set of binoculars he knelt as he scanned the hills to the north. Nothing. If he was lucky, he could move his men into position at the creek before it was too late. Then he saw it.

  The Shade was standing on a ridge just beyond the creek, black cloak whipping in the stiffening breeze. It turned slowly and walked away as Silvers watched through his bin
oculars. He cursed again, then quickly signaled to his men that the hunt was on. Instantly eight tall, masked figures leaped out of the grass and began running with him. The nine soldiers sprinted north, bounding over the creek and heading up the hill towards the Shade.

  The squad fanned out naturally, wordlessly, broadening their sweep and increasing their line of sight in case the Shade had taken a course perpendicular to their own. It hadn't. The squad had only run a few hundred yards before they spotted the Shade. It was kneeling at another crossing with the creek as it wound its way up through the hills. They slowed, spreading out farther in an attempt to surround it. It seemed as though it hadn't even seen them. If it had there was certainly no sign to show it.

  The Hunters crouched low, those to the south slowing significantly so the rest could close the trap. Captain Silvers stuck to the path with the southern troops. It didn't take long for his men to make it silently to their posts; they weren't called Khrone's Ghosts for nothing.

  He waited a moment longer, unable to see around the bend in the path ahead. He figured there was no better approach than this. At least it would better keep him out of the line of fire. The silent signal came from above that everyone was in position. He responded with a quick, one-handed motion and then started walking up the path.

  Silvers started to jog as he rounded the corner, then took off in a dead sprint as soon as the cloaked figure came into view. The Shade was just under one hundred yards away. It had started walking north again and was crossing a small, ancient looking stone bridge when Silvers' footsteps clamored into hearing.

  The captain had absolutely no idea what to expect from this Shade, but he was committed now. The figure turned and waited. Hands hidden within the cloak and face obscured by the hood, the dark shadow it cast as the sun waned made it appear much taller than it was. Silvers raised his sword above his head and screamed.

  Three shots rang out simultaneously, not nearly as many as Silvers had hoped for. Puffs of dust spat out in the stream bed and grasses around the Shade. It didn't flinch. Silvers was closing fast, only yards away. Another shot rang out. He could see a ripple in the creature's cloak near the crown of its head, a small explosion burst from the thick stone railing on the bridge. A hole was left smoking in the cloak where the bullet had passed, but the Shade appeared unharmed.