Antares shuddered visibly, feeling his resolve crack under the strain of his guilt.
"You do remember. You can feel it. Don’t be afraid. Throw away your doubts. We turned this world upside down. You and I. And we had a right to do so. Nature allowed us this power, ours to use, ours to choose. We had a duty to shape the world, to force its progress, and we did. That was our fate. There is no shame. The world was an overgrown forest and we were the fire that burned it. Turned it black for a while. But, in the end, it’s better off this way.”
Antares thought of Kira once again, tried to remember her words, her sincerity. He wished he had her strength. “It isn’t about the past now, it’s about the future.”
“Empty words. We made the future! We are the future! Those with power given by nature are those who should have power in our world. That is our right! The days of tradition are holding us back. Power given to people because of who their parents are? That’s arbitrary and random. Inefficient! Power kept in the hands of the same families forever, while those with true power are forced to serve? Whipped into submission... It is unnatural. And if there is such a thing as right and wrong, the old ways are wrong.”
“What’s the difference, Rigil?” asked Antares. “Born to be magical, or born to be noble, what’s the difference truly? It’s all random. It’s all by accident.”
“No it isn’t the same, Antares. One is true power. The other is fiction. One cannot be denied and must be respected, the other is simply arbitrary, invented by culture not by actuality. It is untrue power. Hollow. Whereas magic is true and rich, and there is nothing more beautiful than a display of true, awesome, natural power.”
“I can think of one thing more beautiful,” said Emon, taking a step forward to match Antares. “The soft, warm body of a woman. And you’d know that if you’d ever gotten near one.”
“And hope is more beautiful, still,” whispered Antares.
Rigil laughed. He nodded once towards Emon, “I like that—it’s a shame your sense of humor will have to die with you.”
Emon raised his left hand, looking once towards Antares, clearly wanting to strike. But they’d agreed to do it together. To create a firestorm of wind and fire.
“I wanted you to see it, Antares,” said Rigil. “I always hoped you would. I waited for you. I wanted you to be here with me in the end. Together. As we finish what we started. As everything we once believed in evaporates.”
Antares was puzzled.
“You see these,” Rigil gestured towards the several controllers throughout the room, including three on the catwalks. “Any one of them can end a hundred years of weakness, fraud, and corruption.”
Antares remembered what Baene had said, how the silos appeared to be controlled by remote. “This is where you launch your skytechnology, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. And now I have rockets pointed at every government building, city center, and military complex in the rest of the world. Think about it, Antares. Imagine it. We can give the world back to the people! Break the shackles of our society once and for all. Let a new civilization emerge. One of true order. Founded by true power. A greater world born from the chaos and ashes. I have worked every day for five years to achieve this dream. This is why I was born. Why we were born. This is our destiny. Embrace it!”
“My destiny, if I have one, is stopping this madness,” said Antares. He stepped toward the nearest control panel, activated his sword, and slashed it.
“Meaningless,” said Rigil, after putting on his helmet. “I can launch the full spread from any one of these panels. And I will. That’s a promise.”
“I see I have no choice,” said Antares. “Very well then, Rigil. I hope you find peace in death.”
He looked to Emon and they both raised their hands, ready to unleash hell upon Rigil. “Now!”
Their magic fizzled at their fingertips. Barely more than the cough of a flame and a tiny puff of wind.
“And now you realize it’s over,” said Rigil. He pointed toward the corner of the room where, set into the foundation, was an elderstone. It didn’t recognize Antares or Emon as its master, so their magic was useless.
“We’ve travelled a long way together. And accomplished so much. I couldn’t have done it without you. For that you have my thanks. Now leave this world, Antares of Andar. Go into the deep, black void!”
With no cover to duck behind and nowhere to run, Antares braced himself. Awaited the onslaught of Rigil’s magical gale—more forceful than a high ocean tide. But it never came. Rigil’s hand was raised, as if to do magic, but it didn’t come. It fizzled. It was nothing. He too was not master of this place, despite having occupied it for five years.
“Ha!” said Emon.
“No matter,” said Rigil. He dropped his hand and withdrew his sword. “Do you remember Orion?”
The chilling image of the great swordmaster being decapitated came to Antares’ mind. And once again he thought of how Emon had no idea how much danger he was in. Antares would try to protect him, if he could.
“Looks like we get to do this the fun way after all,” said Emon as his own sword snapped to life, energy surging around the blade. “Antares, you start wiping out those launchers, I’ll hold him off.”
Antares shook his head. “Trust me, we have to take him together. We kill him, none of those controllers will even matter. Go!”
They charged together.
Rigil stood his ground.
Antares aimed a swipe at Rigil’s head, wanting him to retreat a few steps. But Rigil parried it expertly and fended off two fast jabs from Emon. Antares pressed his attack hard. Swiping and slicing, aiming for short, fast strokes meant to keep the pressure on Rigil. To keep him from attacking back.
Emon picked up on this idea and added his own ruthless strokes to the mix. Forcing Rigil to retreat a little. But, as fast as they were, Rigil was faster. His blade always managed to get in the way, blocking the kill.
Rigil continued on the defensive for some time, countering all of their efforts. He even managed to keep them away from the launch controllers. Antares could imagine the amused smirk plastered on Rigil’s face. His every move radiated confidence. Even on the defensive he was in control. It angered Antares, made him attack more viciously.
Rigil artfully ducked and dodged, and managed to wedge Emon between himself and Antares often. It frustrated Antares’ attack pattern and made it difficult for him and Emon to coordinate. As often as not, they were in each other’s way.
They tried to corner Rigil but he slipped between them, parrying their swords with ease, always keeping them on the same side—where he could focus on them both. Each time Antares or Emon tried to go around, to get at Rigil’s undefended side, Rigil would sweep in with a fast attack and juggle them back together.
The fighting continued like a game of cat and mouse for a while. They would push Rigil back several feet, working together, and then Rigil would open up with full force. Sending them scrambling backwards and rolling to the sides to escape his deft blows. In their retreat, they’d somehow manage to regroup and, together, stand their ground again. Gradually able to gain momentum.
Despite Rigil’s impressive strikes, which came almost like clockwork, Antares got the feeling they hadn’t really seen his best. Rigil’s stance and strokes were more expert than Antares remembered—he’d improved, but it was impossible to shake the feeling they were being toyed with.
Antares knew he needed to change the game. Needed to take some kind of advantage. He scoured the room, searching for an opportunity in the mesh of catwalks, cables, and computers. There was nothing obvious to use. His best idea was to force Rigil’s back against one of the six pillars holding up the ceiling.
They passed along the edge of a wall and Emon managed to slice his sword into one of the controllers. That meant two down. There were several more to eliminate but progress was being made. Seeing another of his control panels destroyed, Rigil became more aggressive. In a blur of motion—barel
y slow enough to be seen, Rigil struck twice, swatted Emon’s blade aside, and thrust for the kill. Antares managed to parry the attack, but only narrowly. He stumbled backwards, tripping over some cables and Rigil swung low. Emon got in the way, somehow managing a block, and gave Antares the time he needed to regain his balance. They continued defending each other as much as possible, but were still driven back—practically at a run, as they struggled to stave off Rigil’s deadly blows.
Their retreat ended when Antares’ back crashed against one of the stone pillars. Rigil came down on him but Emon stepped in the way once again. Rigil swatted Emon’s sword aside and, with a kick, sent him to his knees.
Antares knew he had to give Emon time to roll away. He angled himself and sprang forward, arm extended, aiming for Rigil’s weaker side. His brilliant blade cut through the air and crashed hard against Rigil’s. A surge of light burned his eyes as his visor blinked, trying to compensate. The force of the blow shook him and he felt some pain in his joints. But that didn’t slow him. He sent a second blow, and a third. Each attack was blocked but he managed to give Emon enough time to regain his footing. Now they were on opposite sides of Rigil.
Rigil, seeing that he was more exposed, retreated several steps. Accidentally backing into one of the pillars. It was the window Antares had been searching for.
Antares bolted forward and Emon charged in from the other side. Rigil took up a defense stance, ready.
They crashed hard, all three of them. A complete frenzy of swordplay that exploded in total chaos. Rigil swung his sword more desperately, and more forcefully, than ever before. Each stroke had blinding precision.
Antares and Emon kept the pressure on. Landing their strikes with full force and speed. Intending to end Rigil, and offer him no hope of escape. In the pandemonium, all caution faded. They had him. They just couldn’t let up.
Antares’ visor blinked furiously. He could feel the sweat pouring down his face. He almost slipped on the smooth floor as he blocked a powerful blow. But he didn’t let up. Didn’t break his resolve. He gave it full intensity. Rigil would die here and now.
Something struck Antares' helmet hard, throwing his head back. His sense of balance disappeared and he crashed to the ground. He rolled aside immediately and sprang to his feet. Just in time to see Rigil’s blade being withdrawn from Emon’s chest.
Emon crashed to his knees, like an empty set of armor. His last words lost to a garble of static as he collapsed on his face. His lifeless sword rolled a few feet away, chopped at the hilt, half a hand still stuck to it. Even his helmet had been slashed.
Antares couldn’t believe it. He’d failed again. And Emon had paid the ultimate price. His blood boiled and he wished he’d never allowed Emon to come.
“The extra never belonged here in the first place,” said Rigil.
They stood facing each other for a moment.
Rigil rolled Emon over with his foot, smearing blood along the floor.
Antares held his sword evenly. “We started this alone, Rigil. And now we finish it. Alone. Just like you wanted.”
“Why do you keep fighting me, Antares? You know you can’t win. Not with the sword. You’ve never been able to beat me with the sword.”
“I’ve never had a good enough reason to. Until now.”
“Pathetic last words.”
Rigil and Antares charged each other. They clashed in a brief struggle that sent Antares ducking to the side, forced to dart back a few steps.
Their blades crossed again, sweeping and crashing into each other at high speed. Antares felt his arms grow stiff every time their blades collided. His glove slipped on the hilt, threatening to drop the sword. He squeezed harder and fought on. His feet slid as he moved, causing him to nearly stumble in his dodges and retreats.
He searched for opportunities to counterattack, but found few. To keep alive, Antares played for the draw. Kept his distance, held his blade defensively, and focused on predicting Rigil's next move.
Rigil’s sizzling blade blurred through the air near Antares’ face, just centimeters away, again and again. But with luck, and intense focus, Antares managed to parry each blow. This frustrated Rigil who accelerated his attacks and assumed larger risks. His swipes started coming even closer and it took everything Antares had to keep pace with Rigil. An enemy whose finesse and skill seemed boundless.
They crashed together again, sending Antares tumbling backwards. He tucked and rolled to escape Rigil’s next strike, barely evading him. He rebounded to his feet, refusing to give up—even though fatigue was starting to take hold. His breathing was sharper and he knew he was wearing down. All around him the glowing lights of the launch controllers mocked him. He still had so many to destroy. He would not fail! He couldn’t. Too much depended on him.
Rigil pressed forward again, his sword practically invisible as it glided. Antares threw himself into his block, nearly tripping. Rigil swiped at him, he dodged, and the offending sword burned into the pillar. Antares had an opportunity.
He surged forward, throwing everything into his attack. All other thoughts disappeared.
Rigil plucked his sword from the pillar just in time to block Antares’ first strike. Antares threw a second, and then a third. A series of high-pressure blows aimed for the kill. Rigil managed to block each one, but he stumbled backwards. Retreating.
They exchanged furious blows, gliding across the room. Their eyes burned from the bright flashes that their visors couldn’t keep up with. Antares kept Rigil on the run and Rigil used all his skill to hold Antares at bay, parrying attacks that were increasingly deadly. Something inside Antares raged and boiled, and he surrendered to his instincts, feeling faster than he’d ever been.
Antares’ strikes threatened to kill Rigil repeatedly, but his pace was slowing and his adversary’s blocks were getting stronger. Antares knew his control was slipping, so he threw himself into one final, desperate, all-or-nothing swipe.
Rigil dodged it masterfully. And counterattacked. All momentum shifted his way.
Unwilling to leap into a fast retreat, Antares dashed to the side. He eyed two controllers blinking at him. He sprinted for them and cut them to pieces. Then spun around, expecting to see Rigil bearing down on him.
But Rigil was just standing there. About four meters away. And then Antares realized he’d run, voluntarily, into a corner. That Rigil could charge him at any moment, and there was no retreat.
“As always, you are an instrument of your own destruction, Antares.”
Antares refused to remain trapped. His heart thumped inside him like a machine-gun and he charged. Sword ready to come bearing down.
They had a massive collision, an explosion of swordplay and desperation that threw Antares stumbling back. His sword was thrown from his hands—it slid along the ground, burning the floor as it went.
“I told you it was futile. Now kneel!” said Rigil.
Antares refused.
“So be it,” Rigil swung to decapitate Antares. He’d predicted this and managed to duck Rigil’s strike, somersaulting backwards. Landing himself even deeper into the corner. Rigil approached slowly. Knowing Antares had nowhere to run.
Antares glanced at his sword several feet away, then back at Rigil who’d stopped his advance about two meters from him.
“A noble but pointless sacrifice,” said Rigil, gesturing toward the destroyed controllers. “There are, as you can see, several more. And all I need is one. So, before I kill you, I want you to understand something. Your death is completely meaningless.”
Antares braced himself. The fear of death choked him, almost as much as the fear of failure—what that meant for the world—but a tiny part of him embraced his fate. A sliver of his soul believed he deserved this. It was a fitting end for a dark man who never should have been born.
Rigil’s attack did not come. He’d become distracted by a noise. With a loud hiss and clank, a metal door unsealed itself and slid open. Instead of waiting to see who emerged, Antares used
the opportunity to dive to the side and roll away. Escape the corner. He heard the whoosh of Rigil’s sword just behind, a narrow miss.
Antares plucked his sword from the ground and spun to face Rigil and the newcomer.
A female enforcer stepped into the room, sword ablaze. Her silver armor gleamed majestically.
“I thought we had a deal,” said Kira. “I take my eyes off you for two seconds and you’re already in over your head.”
“I’ve never been happier to see you,” said Antares. But, as his eyes found Emon’s corpse again, he feared for Kira. That he couldn’t protect her any better than he had Emon.
“Interesting...” said Rigil, better angling himself to counter them both.
“Emon!” said Kira, now spotting the fallen figure. His armor was ruined, his helmet slashed, his chest pierced… it was a gruesome sight, one that showed how dangerous Rigil could be.
Antares charged Rigil, weaving like a snake. Kira rushed him too.
Together they hit Rigil from opposite sides with full speed and fury.
Rigil caught Kira's blow first, repelling her attack before shifting to block Antares—who’d arrived half a second too late.
Antares and Kira pressed for the advantage, splitting Rigil’s attention. Rigil began fumbling, gliding backwards to give himself space to continue his defense. Antares moved with him, matching his strokes while Kira pressed at his side, angling to slip her blade past his lightning quick defenses. Using this tactic, they drove him back several feet.
It was a difficult position to recover from, but a pin Rigil managed to wiggle out of. He juggled them both to the same side where he could fight them more easily. Before long, he was pressing his own attack. Forcing Kira and Antares to compensate and retreat. Slowly but steadily they were being driven toward the wall.
Antares would not be cornered again! Especially if it meant Kira would be in danger. He threw himself at Rigil, almost recklessly, and the battle intensified. Kira helped defend Antares, whose attacks left him open, and her strokes improved. She was slowly adapting to Rigil's fighting style. Antares pressed to dominate Rigil and Kira exploited the tiny weaknesses in Rigil’s pattern.
Secrets of Silverwind Page 29
