by Reiter
“Forgive my tardiness, my Duke,” the statuesque man continued, turning and bowing deeply to Vaiyorl who was already out of his seat and making his way quickly down to the field where the man stood. The Duke softly touched the man’s shoulder and ushered him to stand straight.
“There is nothing to forgive, my Praeceptor.”
“Ahh,” Seranos Pruntrill said, holding up his finger. “That was when you were my Phytos and not even a True Lord yet. Now you are my-”
“Phytos, at my insistence,” Vaiyorl interrupted, dealing with the wave of emotion he had been caught in. “I did not dare to hope...”
“I have been given a respite from my training of the Emperor’s Dreadnaughts and Shatter Casters,” Seranos announced, removing his wide-brimmed feathered hat. Long, shiny locks of auburn and aqua-green fell to his broad shoulders. The man had to have been lingering around the vicinity of one hundred and seventy years, but he did not appear to be the first day beyond his seventieth. He stepped forward, taking hold of Vaiyorl’s hand, lifting it to his bowing forehead. “And I am at your service once more, Your Grace.”
Vaiyorl steadied himself, remembering the lessons learned at the instruction of the man, and contended with the sentiment behind this man leaving his position, if only for a time, to serve the House of Jhormynn once more. But the Duke was still a man of position and representative of the faith of the Empress, and was thus obliged to act accordingly.
“As moved as I am by your gesture, Praeceptor, the field of Finishing Masters has been set. If it is your wish, you can add yourself to their rank... but the winner of this contest will still have first choice from that field.”
“Worry not, Phytos,” Seranos said softly, clapping his hat against Vaiyorl’s shoulder. “I have every belief that we are simply delaying the inevitable.
“With your permission,” Seranos grinned, bowing as he withdrew from the Duke. Vaiyorl nodded, watching the man responsible for him becoming a SorceroR instead of another InvokeR of the elements as his family had been for over seven generations. Vaiyorl broke that chain, and not long after the course change, the name Jhormynn had no longer been listed as In Servitude to the Kwaldestigo Family. Vaiyorl won his status as a citizen and then an Invoker of Station with the Imperial Council of the Mage.
“And what is that?” Vaiyorl thought, turning to see Kelsbi suddenly look away from him. “Damn. Now he knows to fear me. I so much wanted to be the one to give him that lesson myself.” Vaiyorl returned to his seat but not before signaling for the race to resume.
The horns sounded again and the Taskmaster gave the racers a moment to get back to their running before he resumed his count. A special mark was put into the records notating that the time-keeper had been interrupted.
The bridge was wide and took the racers out over the lake. Valian smiled at the consideration of giving the racers the cool refreshing waters to fall into.
“I don’t think the tower will have a wide base,” he thought as he ran, quickly moving to the front of the pack. To his credit, Yorlson was not slow when it came to running. With the outside lane protected by Valian, the son of the Duke was given a free avenue to sprint without having to worry about interference from his competitors. He ran past Valian as the group reached the end of the bridge.
“Deactivate field projection,” the Games Master commanded and the false image faded from sight. The Games Master managed a very contained yet still prideful grin, hearing the reaction of the spectators as they viewed the work of the Games College for the first time.
The Duchess had been very clear: create something unique, elegant, and yet challenging. From the “ooohs” and “ahhhs” coming from all sides of their section in the seating, the technicians knew they had performed their duties well.
Six platforms floated freely in perfect circular paths. While those paths were stacked one atop the other, they did not share the same center. A seventh platform floated above them all, going up and down through three stationary rings that were not complete circles, but nearly.
The first platform was on the very same level as the bridge and it seemed to be dedicated to a theme of all matters of vegetation. Vines hung from all sides of it, and the wary smiled at the genius of it. It was the first platform, and it passed in front of the end of the bridge in its circuit, but it was by no means a short distance, especially if one was preoccupied with a fear of heights. That limitation would mean a lack of focus and such a person, in the eyes of the common citizenry, was better served with a lesser Praeceptor. The platform had already passed by the bridge. Yorlson began to slow his approach.
“Jump!” Valian cried out, some five strides behind Yorlson.
Duchess Guysorla was up from her chair, taken by fright for her first born child. “No, son,” she thought. “Wait for it to return.”
“Jump, Yorlson!”
“Don’t do it, child!”
“Brother... JUMP!”
Too many believe in order to increase awareness you must first lose your innocence and naiveté. The fallacy is to believe this a matter of choice; it occurs with every step you take in your life’s journey!
Freund
(Rims Time: XI-4305.30)
The Duchess Guysorla gasped. Her hands shook as she struggled to keep herself from engaging her threshold, channeling EnerJa and emitting a Force Beam to catch her son.
Yorlson had slowed. He had hesitated. He had not put his best effort to his jump, and the distance required more than a half-hearted attempt. His hands reached out, touching the lip of the platform, but his feet had no place to support his weight and he started to slide off the edge.
Another scream drowned out the murmuring voices of the spectators as Valian ran. A full five strides back from Yorlson, the platform was even further away as Valian made his approach to the lip. He did not slow. His mind could not conceive of hesitation. His scream appeared to have acted as some means of propulsion as he left the end of the bridge.
“Damn, that boy can fly!” Seranos thought, watching the arch of the boy’s transit from bridge to the moving platform.
Valian landed on the platform, rolled to a stop and reached out for a handful of vines. “Yorlson!” he cried, pulling away several vines that he thought would be insufficient. All the while he scampered up to his feet and ran for the edge of the platform. “Hold on!”
“By the light of the great gods!” one woman exclaimed, getting up from her seat.
Valian’s body carried off the side and the vines went taut. He swung around the lip of the platform, the edge cutting three more of the vines as they were dragged across the semi-sharp surface.
Yorlson fell... thirty-three centimeters. Valian wrapped his left arm and both of his legs around Yorlson. His bottom lip was split after his face bashed up against the back of Yorlson’s head.
“Good form, son!” Vaiyorl cheered in a hushed breath, swinging his fist in front of his chest.
“Now surely that is a-” Kelsbi started again, leaning forward in his chair and about to rise.
“I will afford you the discretion of a projected thought, True Lord,” Seranos’ mind projected as he turned his head to look directly at Kelsbi Herthane. “I will simply say this: I have had enough of you!
“Are we to believe that those children flanking your son are all children of established houses?” he inquired telepathically. “They look a bit too sturdy for that. I wonder how many of them come from families that farm your lands. Yes, with those shoulders, that would be the most logical vocation.
“You do know that despite how they finish and therefore choose their instructor, the salary of the Praeceptor cannot be lower than ten percent of their most recent Phytos engagement... provided said instructor did not accept a lesser wage in order to teach that student. I count six at your son’s flanks. Do you expect anyone to believe you will provide scholarship for all six? No. They are there for one reason and one reason only: to assist your son.
“The rules regarding what one comp
etitor can do on the behalf of another have always been a bit obscure. Cryptic even. But I will endure no more chattering from a hypocrite. Speak again at your own peril, sir. You have my word on that matter!”
Kelsbi kept his seat and tried to keep from looking at Seranos. There was little sense in making a gesture that could be mistaken as an acceptance of the implied challenge.
“Grab the vines,” Valian directed, closing his eyes as his body strained to hold his weight and Yorlson’s with one hand. “Climb!”
Yorlson frantically waved his hands about, but he managed to grab the vines. As he started to pull himself up, Valian made a foot-brake and used his free hand to serve as a step for Yorlson. The Duke’s son demonstrated a slow start, but once he put his mind to it, he pulled himself up rather quickly.
With his eyes still closed, Valian started up after Yorlson. “Hurry, the next platform will soon be passing overhead!”
Yorlson reached the lip of the platform that was now halfway through its circuit. He looked to see the next platform, a large wrought iron Dodecagon covered with handles and bars. It was moving faster than the first platform, but it was moving toward Yorlson, so he did not have to run after it. He set his feet and eyed his target gripping point.
Watching his son wait for his moment, the Duke stopped cheering. He fell silent and slowly backed up to his chair. The light in his eyes was dwindling. His excitement waned, and he slowly lowered himself back into his chair. For a moment he turned his head and looked at his wife. Her hands were clutched together under her chin as she jumped up and down, cheering for her child. Vaiyorl nodded.
“There are times when I think I taught you too well, Phytos,” Seranos thought to himself, making sure to secure his mind. There were not many eyes on him at the moment... but there were more than two, and the Praeceptor engaged the defenses necessary to keep his thoughts private. “What a painful dagger for a parent: the sting and stab of disappointment in their child. When the fantasy every parent hopes for crashes against the reality that is. He’s a good boy, Vaiyorl. That wild-eyed ward of yours scares him, though. Just remember to love him. For that is your only remaining task.”
The eyes of the Grandmaster Praeceptor then drifted to his left, but only a few degrees. They also lowered slightly. There was another set of eyes not taken in by the race. A set Seranos had not trained but, in taking after her father, she knew to be looking elsewhere. Shonsatah looked at her father and then at the race. She did not understand at first, but Seranos could read her lips as she spoke to no one.
“Why didn’t Yorlson help Valian up?” she asked.
“Good question, milady,” Seranos thought.
When the second platform moved into the ideal position, Yorlson broke into a running jump. His feet departed from the first platform the same time Valian’s hand claimed the lip of it. Collected and composed, Yorlson’s form was much better, and both of his hands grasped the hanging pole.
“Received!” a synthetic voice stated before the platform rotated.
“Ha!” Yorlson yelled, hanging from the same pole that was now parallel with the horizon. “I knew it!” Looking around for a moment, Yorlson set himself, pulled himself up slightly, and then released the bar only to grab it again.
“Received!” the voice repeated and the platform rotated again.
This time the pole turned like a screw and Yorlson used the movement to assist his swing up to the top where he straddled the pole. He took a moment to breathe and rest, hearing a splash in the water below. Yorlson leaned to look, but could not see who it was that had fallen. He closed his eyes and shook his hands, trying to get his arm muscles to loosen.
Valian pulled himself up, a look of determination on his face. He could see the second platform passing over his head. Already he was running out of time to make use of his legs. Valian looked around and took to running in the opposite direction. Taking hold of several vines, Valian turned and jumped off the side of the platform.
“He’s mad!” one man called out.
“He’s angry,” Seranos thought. “Fly again, boy!”
Dropping down the side, Valian swung low, keeping his feet in front of him. He could feel the vines dragging across the edge and two of them snapped. He hoped the others would hold. “Don’t release at the highest point,” he remembered the teachings of his favorite uncle, “release at the strongest!”
Valian swung up and out, releasing the three vines that had held, but maintaining the two that did not. Upward he ascended, flipping and reeling in the two vines. After his third flip, his ascension slowed to a stop.
“He’s not going to make it!” Shonsatah gasped, closing her eyes. Her father put his hand on her shoulder, but did so blindly. He could not take his eyes off of Valian.
“Throw it, son!” he whispered, squinting his eyes. “Throw it now!”
Valian’s left arm came out in desperation and he eyed his target and his choice of object to throw.
“Received!” the computer voice said when the vines wrapped around one of the poles. The people cheered and the Dodecagon rotated. The pole Valian had caught was taken ninety degrees in a direction that wound up lifting Valian up to the side of the platform.
Yorlson was also lifted up near the top of the platform, and he slid down his pole to the surface. The Duke’s son looked at the Duke’s ward and the latter smiled, gesturing for Yorlson to take the lead. They ran together to the place where they could reach the third platform with minimum effort.
“Perhaps I should go first,” Valian suggested as they set themselves.
“You can either assist or stay out of my way!” Yorlson snapped.
“Then I’ll give you a hand up,” Valian returned, lowering to his left knee.
Taking hold of the boot that Yorlson had given, the two started their count. On three Yorlson jumped as Valian lifted. Yorlson easily made the grab and lifted himself up to the platform.
“Proceed at your own risk”, the computer declared, and those HealeRs who were not at the ready quickly positioned themselves.
“Oh no,” Valian whispered as he searched for a place where he could jump and grab the platform. There was one problem: this platform spun as it made its orbit. “Yorlson... wait for me to find a way to you!”
“Energy dispensers can cause potentially fatal damage,” the machine warned as the platform was suddenly aglow with EnerJa.
Guysorla turned to look at the Games Master, but it was clear he would be looking at no one before the end of the contest. She had told him to make it challenging, not dangerous. But this was not the time or place to address the issue.
“So what?!” Seranos cried out, standing up from his chair. “That’s what the protectors of the Throne eat for breakfast!” He laughed, looking out over the crowd. He knew no one would question or have the courage to suggest that he be more reserved. The only man he would take that from did not care what his Praeceptor was saying. He had two children to worry over. “Welcome to the feast, children!”
Yorlson could see the only way to reach the next platform was to reach a slender, black spiral stairway at the center of the platform he was currently on. Between him and his destination were circular pads that were about three-quarters of a meter in diameter. At first, they were metal gray in color. When the capacitors charged, some of the pads started changing colors; all the colors of the rainbow as well as white and black. None of them were gray anymore save the one he was standing on. When the pads lit up, ten sphere-shaped drones were launched and started flying about five meters above the surface of the platform. It appeared that each drone was responsible for a specific sector of the platform.
The son of the Duke looked at the drones and then at the pads, trying to understand exactly what trap was at play here. He could hear Valian calling after him, but he did not want to wait. This he was going to do on his own. He looked up at the drone and noticed that it was beginning to glow with a red light. The color of the pad he was standing closest to was only going
between black and red.
“That’s it,” Yorlson thought, looking at the hovering drone. “Red is the firing color. The other colors must be safe!”
Yorlson hopped over the red pad, landing on an orange pad. The drone that had been glowing red shifted its energy matrix and it glowed orange before firing an orange beam. Yorlson was struck in the back and though he wanted to scream in fear, he was physically unable to do so.
“That was a stunner,” Valian thought, finally getting to the surface of the platform. He had heard the device before, and could even remember what it felt like to get hit by one.
Valian was very appreciative of the home the Duke had provided for him, and he had made it a point to make it known to his Master and Mistress that he would always be in their debt. But living in the Inner Rim was more than a day-to-day existence at the Duke’s estate. In the Primuson Empire, most of those in power were of a dark skin color; everything from a soft mocha to a very dark brown.
One of the names for Valian was Pallid because his skin was so light, comparatively speaking. If he had been only a child of Primuson, Valian might have developed a complex. But he had memories of travels with his parents outside the Inner Rim, and the multitude of races to be found there. Kolinkar and Arva Styrke had both been Marines in the Ardrian Militia – earning exemplary service discharges – and even at a very young age, they had pushed for Valian to be able to move and protect himself, though he doubted he would ever move like his mother or fight like his father. It was his self-defense capability that had afforded him his experiences with a stunner.
“Urnjuh,” Yorlson muttered.
Valian knew that Yorlson would not have command of his body for at least three seconds – though he had seen his father absorb three simultaneous blasts and still level the three men who had shot him – and it appeared that the pressure pads could change to whatever color they wanted to.
