by Reiter
He chuckled for a moment, backing away from the vehicle a few strides before stopping and centering his mind and body. Lifting the sword above his head, Valian moved into a kata he had spent the last four years mastering. At last he could demonstrate one of the most significant of his Praeceptor’s secret lessons. He closed his eyes and continued the kata, taking in the feel of the blade as it seemed to be taking in the feel of him. Sword and swordsman moved as one, Kurshigg continuing his explanation of what the blade, blaster, and scabbard ensemble could do. Valian absorbed each and every word, taking them to heart as he continued his dance... relishing the moment... and a certain lightening of his load.
Meticulous planning will enable everything a man does to appear spontaneous.
Mark Caine
(V)
(Rims Time: XI-4903.21)
Evard sat in the middle of the large bath, enjoying the warmth of the water, the fragrance of the oils, and the touch of Lusorra’s hands and lips on his back and neck.
“Fine, I can admit when I am wrong,” the large man sighed. “This was definitely a better idea.”
“I am pleased you can admit when you’re wrong,” Lusorra purred as she moved around to his front, kissing him passionately on the mouth. “... but this only the beginning of what I have in mind.”
“Oh really,” he growled, slowly moving to wrap his arms around her body and pull her even closer. “I certainly hope your plans are as flexible.” Evard pressed his lips to her neck and shoulder. Lusorra closed her eyes and moaned as her head tilted back, giving Evard access to her chest.
“You make it sound... as if... I am losing something.”
“I suppose that depends upon your perspective,” Vura remarked as she crossed her legs.
Evard and Lusorra jumped at the sound of a third voice, but fright was only apparent in the first instant. Evard came up out of the bath, landing on the floor as his armour formed around his body, his sword in hand.
The water in the bath lifted Lusorra up out of the tub and carried her to the floor opposite her lover. The water became a bodysuit of crystalline armour, and MannA glowed in her right hand.
With eyebrows raised, Vura released the melon she had taken from the serving tray, but it did not fall to the floor. She applauded, impressed with what she had seen. She then reclaimed the melon and took a bite out of it.
“That’s a lot better than I expected,” Vura admitted as she chewed. “And mother’s heart, these are good melons. My compliments, Countess.”
“Speak your reason for being or feel the sting of my blade!” Evard barked.
Vura’s hazel eyes flared in disbelief. “Seriously?! I swear, you Inner Rim folk... taking every breath as if you’re center stage. Calm down, Brunt Grunt, before the curtain draws its last on this particular production.
“Either of you care to take a moment and ask how I was able to penetrate the defenses here?” Vura asked. She chewed as her eyes went back and forth between Evard and Lusorra. She swallowed and nodded. “The things I do for my Mistress,” she sighed just ahead of the door tone sounding. Vura smiled and gestured toward the door. “You might want to get that... it’s pressing news.”
“Enter!” Lusorra commanded.
A Lieutenant of the Estate Guard quickly entered the room. Her eyes locked on the woman seated on the far side of the room. She did not recognize the well-dressed woman who was eating the Countess’ fruit, and she immediately put her hand to her gun.
“What is it, Lieutenant?!” Lusorra inquired sharply.
“Mistress... the matter is sensitive,” the young woman said without taking her eyes off of Vura or moving her hand away from her weapon.
Vura smiled, tickled at how someone in the Countess’ guard had chosen a woman to interrupt her bathing practices. Taking another bite of the melon, she waved hello at the guardsman. “She wants to tell you about the condition of some of your casters, Countess. A number of them have been... retired... permanently! The cascading backlash is what led to the lowering of your guards against unwanted enchantments and incantations. I find it interesting that you aren’t somehow linked to that defensive measure. It’s like walking around oblivious to the fact that your skirt is up!”
Evard huffed. “I’ve had enough of yo–”
“Pain,” Vura hissed, cutting a sharp glare at the KnighT. His blade beat his knees to the floor, but not by much. Falling to his side, Evard cried out in anguish in such a volume that the Lieutenant and Lusorra were surprised. “Hmmm, might have overshot with that one,” Vura commented.
“Out!” Vura huffed as the guardsman’s weapon cleared its holster. An invisible wave of force slammed into the woman’s chest, hurling her out of the room. Her back collided with the wall of the corridor, but it did not fall. The woman was held above the floor, nearly unconscious and without her weapon. Taking another bite of the melon, Vura put her eyes on Lusorra. “This works better if you’re conscious to hear what I have to offer.”
“Who are you?!” the Countess shouted above Evard’s cries of agony.
“Someone who also doesn’t want me to be here,” Vura replied. “But more importantly, I represent someone who wants to help you with your current crisis.”
“Tell me what happened to my casters!” Lusorra demanded.
Vura stopped chewing and swallowed hard. “Sorry, I think I might have miscommunicated something back there. It’s not just most of your casters you’ve lost.”
“A moment ago you said it was some!” the Countess snapped.
“I was trying to lighten the blow,” Vura explained before waving her hand across Evard. His body relaxed as the pain finally subsided. He laid on the floor, panting for air and too weak to move anything else. “The man’s got lungs, I’ll give him that.”
With Vura’s eyes on Evard, Lusorra took the MannA she held in her hand and casted a Binding spell. Purple light glowed around five thin, black chains that sprung from her palm. Vura’s free hand backhanded the chains with such force that they shattered, falling toward the floor but fading out of sight before reaching it.
“I suppose I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t tried,” Vura shared. “Hopefully now you’ve allowed yourself to come to the conclusion that what you use for a messenger and what the people I represent use for a messenger are two very different things... and perhaps we can proceed.
“Let’s see, where were we?” Vura asked, taking another bite. “Damn if this isn’t one of the sweetest melons ever!” Sucking in the juices and swallowing, Vura held up her finger. “Ahh, yes, I remember now. Your ‘Oh So Clever Strike Team Status Report’!
“You’re under the impression it was an ingenious plan,” Vura mused. “... gathering up your assassins, having them skirted away to some island away from anything resembling your holdings. It was practical, and very CYA of you... but it wasn’t bright. It fell short due to the fact you have subservient people in your stable, not capable people.
“A capable person,” Vura explained, “would have checked to see if the particular means of teleportation they had in mind would even work on the boy. I know – how likely is it that one so young would possess such defenses? But your opponent is crafty... smart enough to have capable people in his stable. Subservient people follow orders, capable people question the ones given, especially if they have a better approach. The type of anchor Valian wears was inspired by demons. It tends to take applied MannA and warp it. As your lead was casting his teleport, Valian’s anchor tried to fold space around the caster. Needless to say, there just wasn’t enough power to achieve that goal, so the teleport spell backlashed and the folding space attempt backlashed. That man’s death was painless. The subsequent explosions, however, were troublesome.”
“Troublesome?” Lusorra asked.
“Let’s just say that Time and Space aren’t big on being folded improperly. A very potent failsafe was worked into the Time-Space Bridge. Long story short: only the caster who teleported away from that island is alive, but
not all of him got away. He lost both arms – down to a couple of inches above the elbow – and the three smaller toes on his left foot.”
Lusorra was beyond disgust. She turned away from her uninvited guest not knowing what to do with the rage building inside of her. She shook her head, denying the notion that in the midst of her anger, fear had been seeded.
“If you are here to make an offer, be about it,” the Countess stated. “I have matters to tend to. Pressing matters!”
Vura uncrossed her legs and got up from the bench. “At last. We can get down to business. Is there some place private where we can talk? This is not the sort of thing you need to have others listening in on.”
“Follow me,” Lusorra said as she turned to leave the bathing chamber. Vura smiled down on Evard, tossing the melon over to land near his face.
“Have a bite of that, handsome,” Vura suggested. “A good piece of fruit keeps the years off. And you look like you could use a little pick-me-up.”
** b *** t *** o *** r **
“My Emperor is very quiet this evening,” Pelania said after wiping her mouth. “Have I erred in some fashion that is so grievous that my husband cannot speak to his wife?”
“That is exactly the question to answer,” the Emperor said, placing his glass of wine down hard on the table before it could complete its trek to his mouth. “The level of your error!”
“Might I be so bold as to suggest that we should first decide if an error has been made?” Pelania posed, looking into the orange eyes of the Emperor of the Inner Rim. It was not hard for her to understand why so many bent knee to the man. Even putting aside his capabilities and capacities with MajiK, he possessed a power that demanded respect. It was only her love for the man that allowed her to maintain her stare. “You must know I do not seek to cause you shame or disgrace.”
“You have allowed your emotions to cloud your judgment!” he snapped.
TrenGal Primuson was at the very least a complicated man. But being the Voice of the Inner Rim was hardly a simple matter. His kingdom was indeed the center of The Rims, but that also meant he was surrounded on all sides at all times. And of course that only accounted for the easily-spotted detractor. The hidden enemy could not be addressed with physical boundaries, and they were nearly always more potent in nature.
“You knighted a pallid!” he sighed.
“TrenGal!” she snapped, slapping down her eating utensils. “Might I remind you that you married the daughter of a pallid?!”
“Pelania–”
“You know I hate that word!” she exclaimed, her nostrils flaring with every breath. “And when did the color of one’s skin become a marker of their worth?”
“Now I need to give you a history lesson?!” TrenGal asked.
“I know our history!” Pelania shouted. “My family’s blood is in that history just as much as yours!
“Yes, TrenGal... three thousand years ago there was a disagreement.”
“You call what happened a disagreement?”
“My love, you can’t remember how many fish filets you had on your plate three minutes ago,” she replied. “And you could of course argue that such things are of little consequence and I accept that. But still, it was only three minutes ago, and the memory is unclear. Who is to say what happened three thousand years ago?!
“And don’t you dare start citing scripture to me,” Pelania quickly added. “Especially when we both know that many of the texts have been edited at least once since they were originally recorded. And that is only part of the argument.”
“What is the other part then?”
“Not all of the houses ousted were pale-skinned!” she stated in a softer tone. “Not all that stayed were dark-skinned. I grant you, ‘most’ is a word you can use, but not ‘all’, and you know it.
“As for my emotions, you know Lusorra Necaltiere is a festering, rabid cow not worthy of mention.”
“Festering and rabid is she?” TrenGal quipped.
Robbed of her ire, if only for the moment, Pelania smiled, shaking her head at her husband’s charm. “By the way, it isn’t what you think.”
Surprised and incredibly intrigued, TrenGal once again stopped from taking a sip of wine. “Oh?”
“No, not at all,” she smiled before sitting back in her chair and lifting her head to speak to the monitoring gem in the chandelier. “I require a view-port into the annals.”
“Subject matter,” the enchantment inside the crystal, called The Custodian, requested.
“Genetics... I require data collected on the research and experimentation performed by the Truebreed Terrans.”
The Emperor looked at his wife, his curiosity increased, and he put down his glass again. Giving a very devilish smile to her husband, Pelania waited on The Custodian.
“Subject accessed, Your Majesty. Do you have a more specific subject?”
“Yes, Custodian, the Ardrian project codenamed Ajax.”
A soft white light burst from the large lavender gem as shafts of light created projections of documents and viewing ports of recorded experiments. As the many screens hovered over the Emperor and Empress, TrenGal read a few before he started nodding.
“I recall this,” he stated. “Looking down their noses at their own people who were not harmoniously embraced by the Rims, the Ardrians started making Darkbred of their own design. How hypocritical. First they tried their hand at cloning... and after that was declared a disaster, they started altering the genetic code.”
“Failing at nearly every attempt,” Pelania added. “Nearly every.”
“Out with it, woman.”
“Kolinkar Styrke,” Pelania said, waving her hand to dismiss all but one of the ports. The picture of Valian’s father came up, along with a file. One of only three successful altered-code experiments.”
“My word,” TrenGal remarked looking at the man’s physical stature. His eyes then drifted to one of the scrolling tables. “Are these figures accurate?”
“Far better for me to show you than to tell you, my love,” Pelania replied, calling up the video footage from the platform where the Styrkes received the Jhormynn Family sans the then-True Lord Vaiyorl.
“Faces are blurred,” TrenGal said, looking at some of the people in the frame.
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “Those people are about to die. And not too long after their skulls are crushed... or their backs broken... or their innards ripped out of them... they will be teleported away. Lusorra and her ilk are thorough if nothing else.”
“Can you prove your suspicions, my Empress?”
“Let us keep our eyes on the specimen of tempered savagery,” she suggested. “After all, he is the blood-father of the young man I knighted.”
“Blood-father?” TrenGal looked away from the recording. “But the Ajax subjects could not reproduce. Either their children would not form correctly or the fetuses would kill the mother.”
“Very good memory, husband,” Pelania smiled. “Not even HealeR MajiKs could maintain the developing child. Yet somehow... Valian Styrke was born. Would he not be an excellent find for our research scientists?”
TrenGal’s shoulders drifted to the back of his chair and for a moment, he sat in awe of his wife. “But if he loses his challenge–”
“Then an example will be made of him,” Pelania relayed. “He stepped out of line, out of his place, and was sorely readjusted. He will live out his days as an example of incompetence and insolence.
“But first, my love... he will have to lose.”
“And let us then argue the other side of this matter. What happens if he should win out?”
“We are relieved of the Countess...”
“There is that,” TrenGal grumbled.
“... and I have already won his trust. Need I mention that the House he serves is already dedicated to me at New Eden Technologies? The Duke and I have grown close. What request could I make that either man would refuse?”
Leaning forward on his e
lbow, his hand touching lightly against his lips... the eyes of the Emperor squinted as he stared at the woman who had promised her love and devotion to him – making sure to say his name and not the Primuson Throne. “You win either way,” he noted.
“I win more if he wins, so that is the way I would prefer things to go. Should Valian lose, I will of course have to make amends with the Countess, and promote her into Vaiyorl’s position. The Duke would be made a Count and the Countess a Duchess.”
“And even more of a pain,” TrenGal added.
“An enemy held close at hand, my love,” Pelania said softly. “Opportunities of all sorts abound at Court. Didn’t you know? There have been many attempts made on the Duke’s station. Why would that change simply because of the person holding the seat?”
“I find myself very much looking forward to a tournament,” TrenGal shared. “I think this one in particular will be one worth attending.”
“If you have any doubt, watch the Test Tower race Valian participated in before he was trained by Ulreejun Jorkethian,” Pelania suggested.
“Jorkethian!” the Emperor whispered. “He is still alive?!”
“Alive and well... and looking to make amends for the grand failure that was his last student.”
Straining to recall, the Emperor closed his eyes. “Did he not have to kill his last Phytos?”
“With the boy’s own sword, no less,” Pelania replied. “It was a most interesting contest. Quite enduring. Not that the two combatants were so equally matched. The Praeceptor hesitated, on several occasions, and the engagement nearly got out of hand.
“And that reminds me; when we have children, let us promise one another that the attempt will be made to see them as they are, not how we wish them to be.”
“That is a very good notion, wife,” TrenGal answered, taking hold of his glass. He lifted it while nodding at the Empress. “On that accord you have my will and my word.”
“Then I look forward to the day when we will embrace our own children... whoever and whatever they may be.”
