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

breeze all their own. His armor and the thick cloth beneath were covered in intricate designs, drawn up with golden thread that caught the dimmest source of light and threw it gently back into the air. The hilts of two swords jutted out from behind his shoulders, roaring lions' heads serving as their pommels. The cross-guards looked like curved claws and their pointed scabbards hung down below the thick belt around his waist. He looked as though he might speak, but caught himself. Instead he turned and started to make his way up the road.
    “ Follow me, little one.”
    Ardin obeyed sullenly. The first real glimpses of guilt were breaking through the battle of fear and satisfaction his power had brought. He felt nauseous.
    The ethereal warrior left the road as they fell under the dim shadow of the first peaks. These mountains were unfamiliar, which made Ardin suspect he was farther east than he had ever been. Tristram led him through some dense, low foliage. There weren't a lot of trees around, but there was a fair share of bushes and brambles. Every few steps, something would jab into one of Ardin's feet, causing him to curse under his breath. Each time he would look up self-consciously at his guide, but the being never seemed to take notice.
    Soon they came to a creek bed, the shallow snow melted for a few feet to either side.
    “ Bathe yourself.”
    “ You're kidding.”
    But Tristram was gone with a gentle thrumming in his ears. Ardin looked around, wondering if the creature truly wasn't some figment of his imagination. Maybe it was like his vision of Alisia, come to help guide him to freedom. He thought not, but after his experiences in the asylum anything was possible.
    He looked down at the water. It bubbled and rolled on where most streams would have begun to freeze over. He knelt down, feeling the warmth emanate from it as he extended his hand over its surface.
    Dipping a finger in, he found it to be almost hotter than he could bear. He figured this was as much the result of how cold he was as it was due to the temperature of the water. He couldn't resist the invitation. He was so cold and his feet were so sore. He stepped in slowly, tenderly testing the water. He forced his feet to overcome the initial burning shock of their entrance. His whole body started to tingle as the heat worked its way up his legs and into his chest.
    Ardin dropped the rancid hospital gown. He let it float off downstream as he lowered himself into the creek naked. He shuddered at the collision of warm water on cold skin. The wound in his shoulder burned afresh. He grunted at the sharp pain, but forced the gash slowly under. Soon he felt the pain leaving his arm, like poison being drawn from a wound. A sigh of relief escaped at the sensation. His arms and legs floated freely as his back rested on the smooth stones beneath. He could feel the buildup of filth wash slowly away. It was beyond refreshing.
    The moon shone lazily on his face in its passage across the sky, no longer obscured by the mountain that loomed over him. He watched the stars twinkle and sucked in the crisp winter air. He enjoyed it. For the first time in months a smile graced his lips.
    After a while he felt warmed, refreshed, and in sitting up he felt stronger. He looked down. His arms and legs seemed to be bigger, restored. He pushed and pinched at the muscles for a moment. They felt sore still but alive again. His feet were whole as well; the cuts and tears from the frozen road were healed and nearly back to normal. He reached up to his right shoulder to inspect where he had been burned. A long raised scar remained, even paler than the rest of him. He prodded at it and was rewarded with a sharp pain that made him wince.
    But the rest of him seemed whole again. If it didn't feel so incredibly real he would have doubted the truth of it. But then again, feeling real is what had made his dreams so potent in the asylum. He looked around and saw fresh clothes folded on a rock