by Chad R. Odom
“I agree, but I think he’s escalating because we are too. We found one of his Agryphim.” Sicari held out a lens, which remained in midair when he drew his hand away. From the bottom of his vambrace, he pulled his scroll and dropped it into the lens, which hummed to life.
“There was a shift in global power a few days ago,” Sicari began as news broadcasts began to play out showing the palace in Obsidian, the overthrow of Navarro and the treaty between Navarus and Vollmar.
“That’s doesn’t seem like something a man bent on world domination would orchestrate,” Oryan pointed out.
“Unless you’re the one doing the orchestrating,” Sicari said as an image of Balsa on the palace balcony magnified. His face was analyzed and scanned until it smoothed away layers of make-up revealing the tattoo beneath.
“It says, ‘Agryphim of Damrich, Scourge of the Archides.’ It’s a brand. One we’ve seen before.” Sicari moved to stand by Oryan’s bed.
“Counselor Balsa is a…How is that…” Oryan was at a loss for words.
“Possible?” Sicari finished his sentence. “Damrich did something similar with his first ascension, if you remember. It’s easy to subject people if they think they’re doing it voluntarily. Especially when you throw out words like peace and tolerance. Blur the lines enough, and the masses will follow like sheep.”
“Damrich must know you know about Balsa. That’s why he turned a spy into an assassin. But why me?”
“You’re the greatest warrior in the last century. Maybe the last several centuries. He must have thought you were the threat that needed to be neutralized.”
“Balsa isn’t going to sit still for long. We have reason to believe he’s going to move against his next target within a few days.”
“Who’s that?” Oryan asked.
“An old acquaintance of yours,” Sicari said as the image changed to one of Tamrus.
“If you know when, you can capture an Agryphim and save a good man at the same time,” Oryan strategized.
“We’re going to make a move, yes. We were hoping you would be willing to help us.”
“If you’re pinning your hopes on me, you’re going to be disappointed.”
Sicari waved his hand. “Just this one time. We need someone who knows the tactics of the Navarite army to get in, capture Balsa and save Tamrus, if possible.”
“If possible?” Oryan restated with an aggravated tone.
“Balsa is the mission, Oryan. But, that’s why we want you to go in. To make sure secondary doesn’t mean, not at all.”
Oryan scowled. Tamrus gave him a chance when he didn’t have to and Oryan felt he owed him for that. But, he had only just been reunited with Celeste and been introduced to his son. There was another concern. “Who will look after my family if I’m not here?”
“This may not carry the weight it did yesterday, but I swear to you, I’ll keep them safe.”
Oryan dropped his head and sighed. “I can’t do this by myself.”
“Well,” Sicari said and Oryan looked up at him, “there are others.”
***
“We’re pleased you finally made up your mind,” Corvus said as he and Oryan walked back to the entrance to the camp. It appeared to be a rock face, but, by this time, Oryan knew better. “What changed your mind?”
Oryan watched Corvus punch a few buttons on the vambrace before he made eye contact with him. “People are trying to kill my family. In the end, what difference does it make why I’m doing this?”
Corvus dropped his hands to his sides. “It makes all the difference. The fact that you do something is sometimes less important than why you do it. I’m glad that you chose to help us, but I hope you did it for the right reasons.”
He lifted his arm again and punched the last few buttons in the sequence. A door slid silently, revealing only darkness inside. Corvus smiled and waved his hands for Oryan to proceed. “After you.”
Oryan took a deep breath and walked into the dark. Corvus followed. The door slid shut behind them, engulfing the pair in complete darkness. Corvus spoke a few words in a different language, and the lights came to life. They were in an octagonal room that, unlike many Oryan had been in recently, seemed familiar to him. The floor was firm but soft, perfect for cushioning a fall. The walls behind the pillars had various instruments of war. Some, Oryan recognized and others he did not, but he could swiftly deduce their purpose. Against the wall adjacent to the entrance, there were three large lockers, which looked more like vaults for hiding something very valuable.
“Welcome to the Arkon training room,” Corvus said as he raised his hands and looked around. “I’m not here to teach you how to fight, but I am here to introduce you to the tools of the trade. Hopefully, a few others will join us shortly. They’ve been looking forward to sparring with the legendary son of Armay!”
Corvus smirked and approached the lockers. He enjoyed this part. Though he was a structural architect by trade, he had developed a knack for developing all things weaponized. That was what Damrich had unlocked in him. When the Archides found him, they put his talents to a more practical use, but he never lost his passion for creating new and innovative weapons.
He had taken the armor and weapons of his time and began altering them to meet the challenges of threats the Arkons faced now as well as others he could conceive arising in the future.
Oryan stood next to him. There was a smile on his face too, amused at Corvus’s expression. Like two boys in a toy store, they each awaited the opening of the vaults.
“There are so many differences between warfare now and when I was fighting,” Corvus mused. “I had to make accommodations for both styles.”
He pressed a few spots on the black reflective box situated between the two lockers, then slid his fingers down a similar strip located on the edge of both. The lockers were giant cylinders, and when Corvus unlocked them, they seemed to roll open around their own shape.
“This is the new look for the Arkon.” Corvus stepped back, folded his arms, and nodded his head confidently.
Inside the lockers were various plates of various sizes. Each one was designed to protect different parts of the body. Below the plates was a carefully folded mesh suit, which Oryan could tell was made to hold each plate of armor in place. On one of the plates, Oryan noticed a familiar symbol, one he saw Armay etch onto things in the Quarter regularly. He moved in closer to confirm. Acknowledging Oryan’s discovery, Corvus added, “This was also your father’s.”
“Okay, I’m impressed,” Oryan admitted. “Let’s see how it works.”
They quickly suited up and stood across the mats from each other dressed like soldiers from a science-fiction story. Once again, Oryan was eager to learn the ins and outs.
The door slid open and three more Arkons entered the room. They were tall and lean, two males and one female. Oryan smiled as his brain started doing something it hadn’t done in a long time—mentally analyze opponents based on visual clues.
“On that note, let’s see what you’re made of. I’ve heard so many rumors.” Corvus grinned widely and took a defensive stance.
Oryan moved across the mat toward Corvus, who did the same. When they clashed in the middle, it was like magnets of the same polarity. Each man swung but the other countered. The combat was fast and vicious. Very few blows landed, and those that did, were not enough to do any serious damage.
Corvus used techniques Oryan had never seen before. He had to adapt on his feet, but his skill at learning combat allowed him not only to defend, but also attack within the style Corvus was using. The only thing that really surprised him was his ability to keep up. He knew Corvus was undoubtedly as fast and as strong as Sicari, but Oryan wasn’t being toyed with like in the Quarter with Sicari.
Oryan heard a familiar sound. He panicked as the sound of rolling thunder filled the room. An invisible force slammed against his chest and catapulted him ten feet back. The armor prevented any bone damage, but the impact had thrown the air from his l
ungs and made his frame shake.
His ears rang from the sound, which was amplified in the small space of the room. He got to his knees, still regaining his breath and reeling from the blow. Corvus casually walked across the floor to where he kneeled.
“Okay,” Oryan managed between shallow breaths, “what is that?”
“Let me ask you something. Have your usual training routines been enough since you came here?”
Oryan didn’t respond. Since he’d arrived, he could feel the difference in his strength and speed. He noticed his scars were fading, that his features seemed younger, and his sleep was sounder.
“I thought so. You see, ‘performance enhancing’ is a science your world has only begun to experiment with.
“We singled out the elements that the body utilizes for muscle development and sensory control and discovered ways to exponentially increase them without harmful side effects.
“We developed it in everything from the water we drink to the food we eat and eventually in the very air we breathe.
“Did you ever wonder why you’re naturally so much faster than those around you? Did you even wonder why even the fastest movements of others seemed slow to you? Or why you seem to be able to easily overpower an opponent who is much larger in size?
“The answer is entirely in your genetics. Your father was an Arkon, and he supplied his wife with many of the foods you so regularly enjoy. Those traits, in a less pure form, were passed on to you.”
That all made sense. During military screenings in Navarus, the doctors would comment on his bone density or the efficiency of his circulatory system.
“You mentioned sensory as well.” Oryan stood up finally recovering from the fight.
“Yes, I did, and you already know what I mean. Your eyes can see farther, with more detail than most. Your ears too can register higher and lower frequencies, as well as pick up sounds from longer distances. Your touch is more sensitive, your smell more acute, and then there’s the extra sensory abilities.”
“Like what?”
“We all have a gift to perceive things before they happen. It’s by no means a perfect science, but we recognized it as science. It’s the one thing we could never specifically narrow down or enhance, but as our other attributes became more acute, that seemed to come along with it.
“You may have noticed it in your ability to predict someone’s movements or their responses. You can feel the shift of the wind or the simple vibrations in the ground that most would overlook, but your brain can transform that minute detail into a chain of events that inevitably come to pass.”
“All fine and great, but you still never answered my question. What is that?” He pointed to Corvus’s hand.
Corvus rotated his hand so Oryan could see his palm. In the center was a small black circle. It was barely large enough to affect the movement or grip of his hand. Oryan eyed it suspiciously, not believing that such a small object could inflict so much damage.
“This is called an ISOM. It works not unlike a regular speaker. The disc in the center is designed simply to slam against the air at an incredible rate of speed, just like the lower frequencies you call bass. However, this is not designed for auditory enjoyment. As you are aware, it does its job so well, it can send a man tumbling through the air.
“Beneath the disc there’s a high-impact absorbent gel. When the weapon is activated, the gel cushions the blow, preventing the weapon from doing just as much damage to the user as to the target. It’s only good for one or two uses. More than that, you had better be ready to break a few of your own bones.”
“You said it’s only good for one or two uses?”
“I would say one. You have a fifty-fifty shot on the second and most times, it’s not worth the risk.”
Oryan lowered his head so Corvus could not see the smile stretching across his face. “That’s a good thing.” He twisted his body into action and used his feet to take Corvus’ legs out. Corvus rebounded quickly and before Oryan could capitalize on his compromised state, Corvus retaliated.
They sparred again, this time stepping up their efforts. They used everything at their disposal—from the walls and the pillars to the weapons. The contest continued on past ten minutes, and the three Arkons in the room watched intently, cheering and jeering as the fight went on.
A trickle of blood from Oryan’s nose traced down his lips and off his chin. Corvus was feeling his left eye swell. They clashed and repelled time and time again in a brutal but friendly war. Oryan pivoted hard and brought his right foot across Corvus’s face in a brilliant display of skill that sent Corvus twisting backward and falling to his knees.
The two breathed hard, but it was Corvus who nursed his wound. The blow had opened wide his already swollen flesh. Blood flowed from it freely into his hands and onto the floor.
“You’ve gone soft, Oryan. I heard the great Warlord of Navarus never took prisoners or showed mercy.” Corvus expected a rebuttal or a counter attack but Oryan held his peace.
When Corvus finally composed himself, he painfully stood up and waived to the three awaiting Arkons. “Have fun!” he told them.
Oryan’s shoulders sunk and he dropped his head. The first Arkon, eager and anxious, stepped in. Oryan was ready and prepared for another test but to his surprise, he sent his new opponent sprawling in only a few moves. Both he and the Arkon on the floor were somewhat taken aback.
“Bartlett!” Corvus shouted from the bench, wiping sweat from his forehead and popping open a container of the gel to put on his still throbbing eye. “You do know you just got schooled by someone with a hundred fewer years of training than you!”
Bartlett stepped in again and came at Oryan with renewed zeal. It took a few additional moves than the first time, but Bartlett quickly found himself on his back, his arm twisted painfully.
“What are you waiting for?” Corvus asked of the other two. “Taeger, Lathena? Help him out!”
The other two Arkons gathered in the center and began to spread out cautiously, trying to put Oryan between them. Oryan rushed Lathena, thinking her to be the weaker of the two. She darted away from him and delivered a strong kick into his already broken nose. A fresh gush of blood splattered onto his chest. He cursed and realized he had made a mistake.
Lathena was attacking ferociously, and Taeger wasn’t far behind. For a moment, he took a pounding from the pair but when he saw Bartlett coming to join the fray, he knew he had to act.
A focused madness filled his heart and the animal instinct returned. He dodged a blow from Taeger and brought a foot into Lathena’s knee. Despite her armor, he felt the bone snap and with a scream, she fell to the floor.
The oncoming Bartlett saw the look in Oryan’s eye but was too committed in his momentum to stop. Oryan came up quickly from his partially crouched position and drove the top of his head hard into Bartlett’s chin. The distinct sound of teeth hitting the floor bounced off the walls.
Oryan turned to where he thought Taeger would be, only to see him on one knee, both hands in the air, with eyes terrified to make contact. It snapped Oryan back to reality. He glimpsed at Lathena in horror, rushed to her side, and scooped her in his arms. Corvus was calmly walking toward them.
Oryan’s mouth gaped. He had forgotten what he was capable of and what that might mean for those around him.
Corvus ignored Oryan’s expression, gestured for Oryan to release Lathena, then kneeled next to her. He unsnapped her plated armor, then her belt, and gently rolled her pant leg up past the damaged and swollen knee.
“Hold still,” he told her.
He set her knee back in place. To Oryan’s surprise, she grunted and breathed heavily but otherwise made little sound. Corvus applied the salve and the injury quickly righted itself. Soon, all that was left to remind her of the contest was the sweat lingering on her flesh.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the salve to Bartlett. “Get your teeth and go see Eldar. He’ll patch you up. Taeger, go with him.”
The two men left just as Lathena was getting to her feet. She looked at Corvus who only stared hard back at her. “This is what it takes to win. Learn from it,” he said softly, almost lovingly but still full of reprove. She nodded her head to Oryan.
When she was gone, Oryan tried to apologize.
“Don’t.” Corvus held up a hand and shook his head. “They needed this. They need to see what it means to make a man your enemy. They’ve never actually been faced with that choice, and they’ve never held a life in their hands.
“If Damrich finds them, he won’t hold back. He’ll torture and kill them without mercy and without regret. They need to know what it means to survive.”
The mood was suddenly somber and Oryan stared hard at Corvus. Past the mostly dried blood and onto the scar he still bore. “Why do you still have a scar with this kind of medicine?”
Corvus took a deep breath and began to speak. “I know what Damrich will do to them from personal experience,” he ran his finger along the scar on his face. “When I betrayed him, he made sure I paid for it. He was…perfect when it came to torture. When the Archides found me after two days, most of my face had been removed. They managed to repair most of it, but I could not completely escape my reward for service to him.
“Eventually, I could be free of the scar, but sometimes, I need the reminder.
“I think I know why Sicari chose you. I think to fight Damrich, you can’t just think like him, you have to become him. You must descend into that darkness where he is and turn it on him. You’ve been there and came back from it. That doesn’t happen often. But, I think it might just make you the Arkon who can finally bring him down.
“Come on, there’s one more thing I need to show you,” Corvus finished and led Oryan from the training room, through the camp, and to the fountains where he was first reunited with Celeste.
Since they left the training room, Corvus said nothing until they were in front of the fountains in the center of camp. “I believe Damrich is coming. This camp is well defended but, except for me, the defenders here aren’t battle tested. When he comes, the camp will fall. When it does, you come here, right here. This is the key to your survival and the key to his death. You get as many people as you can, but you get to this spot. Do you understand?”
