The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim by Jay Swanson Page A

a dark slash on his shoulder where something had gotten through his defenses. It felt like something was still in there, burning on.
    He plodded away into the night, the miles passing in a blur as faces wandered in and out of his field of vision. The soldier back at the Cave... just a boy. The first victim of his new power. The first person he had ever burned. Ardin could still hear the fear in his voice; he had hardly been any older than Ardin himself. If only he had been able to control his power. If only he had been able to hold Charsi's influence back, perhaps that boy would be alive today.
    But he hadn't been the first victim of Ardin's failures. He hadn't been the first to burn. Ardin wrapped his arms around himself as he fought the chill of the past. His family had burned in their small house in Levanton. They haunted his dreams in the asylum. He had never seen them, but he could hear them dying. And his brother, killed by Elandrian soldiers in the midst of the inferno. Those men had died by Ardin's hands as well... but that had been different. That had been deserved. They had shot his father like some animal. Crushed his brother's skull. Burned his mother and sisters alive. They were monsters.
    Or was he the monster? Had he done that? After what had just happened hours before, he couldn't be sure any more. He looked at his shivering hands as he continued on in the moonlight. He wouldn't stop, couldn't. He didn't want whoever he had been back there to catch up to him. He didn't want to... didn't want... any of this.
    But the power had felt so good, so reassuring. More than that, it had been seductive. Invigorating. He wanted more of it, to discover its limits. His limits. He wanted to know if he had any.
    He didn't feel sleepy, even if he was tiring. He had done nothing but sleep for months. He would do fine without. He had to concentrate on keeping himself warm, using the magic to keep the frost at bay. There was more and more snow the deeper he walked among the mountains. The road had dwindled to an ill-maintained path. He wished he'd grabbed something else to wear. If not for warmth, at least to protect his blistering feet. He should have stolen one of the old rusty ambulances in front of the building. At least it would have provided a source of heat.
    But it was too late for second guessing. He feared that if he drove, which he barely knew how to do anyway, he would either miss Tristram or wind up in a ditch. Neither sounded like they were worth the risk, so he trusted his feet to find the way. They were getting raw from treading the frozen ground as the road deteriorated beneath him. He wished again that he had thought to grab some clothes.
    Even the idea that he was looking to find this Tristram was plaguing him. He didn't know if the winged warrior truly existed. Had he been hallucinating? The thought made his stomach lurch out of step with his gait. If he had done all of this because of a hallucination... what did that say about him?
    “ Halt!”
    The deep, echoing command jumped through the night with power, resonating through the trees as if they comprised a canyon. The ground ahead was dimly lit by the floating figure, like light cast through moving water. Ardin stopped, slightly relieved and yet unnerved. Not knowing what to say, he remained silent and waited.
    “ What have you done, Ardin of Levanton?”
    “ I escaped, like you asked.”
    “ At the cost of so many lives?”
    Ardin's response caught in his throat at the rebuke. Who was this man... this thing to question his methods? He had been a prisoner, against his will. They had starved him, beaten him; they were going to beat him more. But at his core he knew his justifications to be weak.
    “ They were coming to hurt me,” he said quietly. “Maybe to kill me.”
    “ The patients and inmates, Ardin? Were they conspiring to kill you as well?”
    “ I got free! Isn't that what you wanted?”
    Tristram remained silent, wings floating gently in a