by Reiter
K’Jolun entered the room and was about to call to Gru when he saw Patra in the middle of the room, dipping her head around a staff thrust. Five older students stood around her, all armed with staffs. Another one lunged for her back, thrusting his staff. Patra swung a short length of chain to deflect the end, and took hold of the weapon as it passed over her shoulder. When the student went to pull it from her grasp, she went with the sharp tug and flipped over a staff that had been swung for her feet.
“Oh, well done, Cleopatra,” K’Jolun whispered as he bent at the knees, wincing at the young girl’s timing and speed. She cartwheeled over another attack only to land and spin, kicking yet another. When she stopped, she was holding her chain in both hands, quickly wrapping it around the end of a staff. She gave a sharp tug and used the trapped weapon to block another staff.
“Now!” Misharee commanded and Patra spun, swinging her length of chain as it trailed a glint of Raw MannA. All five students were struck by the thin line of power and Patra stepped back, taking a defensive stance.
“Hold! Well done, Patra!” Misharee praised, clapping as she approached. The five older students got up and faced Patra. They bowed to her at the same time she bowed to them.
“Fank you, bwothers,” Patra said in her soft, almost squeaky voice. She smiled as she was picked up off the floor from behind. Misharee smiled brightly as she took up the little girl into her arms.
“That was perfect!” Misharee cried. “Inspired!” Misharee put the girl down to look in her eyes and though the child was still smiling, her interest was turned elsewhere in the room. Misharee’s smile faded somewhat as she turned her head, knowing the person that commanded the little girl’s attention.
Phay stood in the corner of the room. Only two years older than Cleopatra, he still acted like the older sibling. Patra’s soft mocha complexion, soft brown eyes, and black hair were in contrast to Pharaoh’s dark brown skin, misty gray eyes, and orange-blonde hair, but there were blood siblings who were not as close. To Cleopatra, the universe revolved around Pharaoh’s will; a position of incredible power and influence, and K’Jolun had been impressed with the care Pharaoh had exhibited in making sure not to abuse his station.
Patra was very happy, but she would keep from expressing it any further without Phay’s approval. Standing in the corner, looking only partially interested in the events that had transpired, Phay turned to look at his little sister. “Are you done, Patra?” he asked in a tone which suggested that she had forgotten something. Patra gasped in realization before bowing her head deeply and punching her fists together.
“In honor of Adweon and the sky-skinned teacher,” she said softly. “Fank you for your wight.”
“And why do we do that?” Pharaoh pressed.
“Because even the wight hasta start somewhere,” Patra quickly replied, slowly lifting her head up high enough to look at her brother.
Pharaoh stepped away from the corner and returned the bow to Cleopatra. “Their light shines in you, Patra.” He stood, put his hands on his hips and nodded. “Mistress Misharee is right… that was beautiful to watch!” Patra’s face exploded in light as she smiled. She jumped up and down twice before turning to Misharee and throwing her body at the woman. Misharee laughed in surprise as she caught Cleopatra. She held the young girl tight as she looked at Pharaoh. Keeping her smile, she nodded at the boy who bowed to her before moving back to the corner.
“He’s supposed to be twelve,” K’Jolun thought, watching the boy take his position. Some might have thought Pharaoh was taking airs, but the times of shared meditation had convinced K’Jolun otherwise. Besides, the corner he had chosen was perfect cover from the outside while still allowing him to see out into the courtyard. The large mirrors on the wall allowed the boy to see across the way to the other building and its roof. He played with the brace-com that was still a bit too big on his arm, but removing it was not a subject one could reasonably discuss with him. K’Jolun dismissed himself from his interest in the children and looked around the room. “But neither of them is why I’m here.
“Gru, what are you doing over there?”
Vhusetti Gru was in the midst of a gathering of young students. They were older than Cleopatra and Pharaoh, of course, but none of them were yet one score in years. K’Jolun himself had only just turned nineteen. The determined youth simply had the advantage of being raised in a different environment. Inside the family dojo, his mind, body, and spirit had been forged into an instrument of will and Chi, so the normal standards did not apply to him. An old soul was often the phrase used to describe him, and it allowed people like Misharee to substantiate her interest in a younger man. It was difficult to consider someone a junior when they could best you at all the facets of a Temple Warrior.
“So, how hard did they press you?” one of the students asked.
“It was three on one,” Gru replied, stretching his shoulders. “And don’t buy into that so-called code of the Chevalier. They were not going to wait for me to put them down one at a time.”
“Failure of others to follow a code is hardly a reason for us not to follow it,” K’Jolun added as he approached.
“So says the Samurai of the Stars,” Gru remarked, and the students gave K’Jolun a clear avenue of access as they suppressed their laughter. “So, how did it go?”
“You’d be surprised how big the library is in that place,” K’Jolun returned as he folded his arms. “I wouldn’t call it a one-man job.”
“Oh no you don’t!” Gru protested, holding up both of his hands. “I told you when you came up with the whole scheme that you were on your own.”
“Especially with it being on the other side of the city,” K’Jolun added as his eyes squinted. He looked up, feeling a certain set of eyes on him. As Gru chuckled and hopped down from his seat on the low shelves of the weapons rack, K’Jolun found Misharee looking at him. Her eyes posed silent questions of him and K’Jolun frowned, conveying a very bad feeling. He looked around the room and then to the mirrored wall. His head gesture was very slight, but it was enough for the young woman.
“Okay, everyone,” she called out as she clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s get to the barre and do some stretching.”
“Stretching?” one of the students asked.
“Yeah, aren’t we done for the day?” another whined.
“Normally we would be, but after that last demonstration, you all could use some extra focus on being limber,” Misharee stated. “You too, Phay.” Pharaoh’s eyes snapped to Misharee with a frown of his own. “Yes, even you! Come on. Move quickly now!”
“Yes, Mistress,” Pharaoh said, but not before putting his eyes on K’Jolun. The young man had already turned to face Gru.
“Especially, given the distance!” Gru asserted. “That is a long ride just to walk around a bunch of dusty old books!”
“Not just books,” K’Jolun advised. “They did have computers back then, you know. And video records are faster than reading books, but time-consuming nonetheless. I managed to get full-day access to the records room though. Why don’t we grab Stanlus? The three of us can take a stab at finding the key that will unlock the rest of the files.”
“First, I doubt there is a key!” Gru whispered. “These past few days have been a nice departure from the tedium of being a Temple Warrior, but we’re no closer to prying information out of those two. This little school you managed to put together… all we’re doing is planting the seed of delusion. Yeah, sure, these kids are learning some serious discipline, and if they had En-Blades, I’d stack them up against a couple of trash receptors… but it’d be a close fight.”
“You have to introduce me to those receptors someday,” K’Jolun commented.
“You know what I’m saying, Cage!”
“I do. And the second?”
“Oh, right!” Gru answered, recalling what he had said. “I sent Stan to the market to get some of the necessities,” Gru advised.
“Necessities?” K�
��Jolun asked. “We have plenty of what we need right here. Or did you simply not want to say cigaros because you know I pass that particular store on the way back from the tram station, and it’s unlikely that I would have missed seeing him,” K’Jolun said, sharpening his eyes to cover every move that Gru was making. “Since I didn’t miss the number of escorts I had all the way to the library and back.”
“Cage, what are you trying to say?”
“Gru,” K’Jolun said, lowering his head, “we have not known each other that long, but I would like to think that you know better than to use that line.”
“Pwalzettior!” Gru yelled in a deep, booming, and echoing voice as his face twisted into one of deep concentration. A flash of bronze light flared around K’Jolun’s body, and he was immediately lifted from the floor and hurled to the wall. His body went through it and into the corridor, accompanied by the screams of two of the female students. “How was that line, you presumptuous little bastard?” Gru huffed, fixing his sleeves as he looked toward the class.
“Class, please be calm. As you already know, my name is Vhusetti Gru. You think I am a Northern Temple Warrior. I think it’s time you were told I’m actually an Eastern Temple Chevalier. What you witnessed was a spell I cast on our dear little Cage the day we met. All it required was a word from me to activate and direct the incantation. Now you’re probably wondering if I’ve cast the same spell on the rest of you. Well, if we have ever shaken hands, there’s a good chance that answer is yes!
“And that just leaves the two of you,” Vhusetti said, glaring at Cleopatra and Pharaoh. “You don’t care to shake hands, do you, Phay? At least, you didn’t with me… and anything you don’t want to do, our dear little Patra just won’t have. And yet, you two are the reason for the season.
“You may enter, gentlemen!” Vhusetti called out loudly, his voice echoing. Behind Vhusetti and along the wall eight flashes of white light cued the entry of two powered-armoured troops per burst of light. They already had their weapons drawn, quickly taking stances that implied they were ready to attack. “Well done, my young protégés,” Vhusetti commented.
“And now the rest of you can see the power the Eastern Temple possesses. How hard do you think it is to slip into the ranks of a bunch of mentalists?! Talk about paranoia! Always looking for open minds and wayward thoughts. Yet here I am, investigating the betrayal of one of their rank and what he managed to unearth regarding the skills of a Templeman. That matter is concluded, and the lot of you are hereby recruited by the Eastern Temple. Don’t delude yourselves into thinking this anything but a command! As of this moment, I own each and every one of you!”
“So, what say you?” Vhusetti asked as a portal formed beside him. “Do you walk through this aperture into a brighter future, or will you need to be carried through it?!”
When you go to the mountains, you see them and you admire them. In a sense, they give you a challenge, and you try to express that challenge by climbing them.
Sir Edmund Hillary
(Rims Time: XII-4203.27)
“You may either remove your hand from my daughter, or find it lying at your feet,” Lady Sylgarr warned as her most recent opponent fell to his knees, clutching at his right shoulder wound. Her servants scurried for safety as the Mistress of the Sylgarr Estate glared at the man who had taken hold of her youngest child. The mercenaries considered themselves to be of sturdy stock, but they seldom had to contend with someone of exceptional skill. Many had considered ten-on-three to be suitable numbers, especially since none of the three were armed. The Team Lead’s blade was not of impeccable make, but it cut well enough for Oedelorana’s purposes.
The soldier released his hold of Gulfrileene’s incredibly long and thick red hair. He looked at the sword that had been put to his chest and smirked before he smacked it away. The tip of the blade scratched against his chest plate and Oedelorana’s boot stamped against the side of his knee. Wincing in pain as he fell to that knee, the man was in no position to keep the flat of her blade from clanging into the back of his helmet.
“To the transport, children,” the woman commanded.
“A true swordsman doesn’t cut and run,” a voice barked at the woman; a voice Lady Sylgarr recognized. Under normal circumstances, it would have filled her heart with warmth. Now the tones of her brother stabbed at her heart.
“You speak as if you have some measure of authority regarding the issue,” she fenced. It was a game they had always played, but never had the stakes been so high. “Have things changed so greatly in my absence? Hello Prallson.”
“Little sister,” Young Master Raynko said as he walked around one of the bleeding mercenaries.
“His strides are much smoother than I remember,” she thought as she observed her brother’s approach. “He has had time to sharpen his skills while I have been tending my House and attending Court.
“Father sent you,” she stated.
“I volunteered,” Prallson replied happily as he came to a stop, moving his long blonde hair over his shoulder. He looked at the weapon in his sister’s hand and smiled. “And look at the dire straits I find my own blood swimming in! Gulfrim could barely provide for the air in his lungs, let alone a woman of High Blood!”
“That is my husband to whom you are referring!” Oedelorana barked.
“Late husband,” Prallson added.
“One more cross word laid at his memory will have you in search of his soul in the Next Stride!” she warned. “Or have you forgotten what we were taught?”
“I forget nothing,” Prallson said with an evil smile. He reached to his side and Loranos started toward his uncle, opening his hands in a fashion used to begin spell-casting.
“No!” Gulfrileene yelled, tackling her brother to the ground. Three darts flew overhead, sparking against the side of the transport they were intending to board. The youngest child of Oedelorana and Gulfrim Sylgarr moved her hand to her belt and activated her personal force field. To her good fortune, a fourth dart missed just in front of her before the field formed to stop the fifth, sixth, and seventh attempts.
Prallson smiled, producing a seal of the Garnet Barony. His actions were sanctioned and, technically, her son had just moved to attack a baronial citizen.
“Your fight is with me, coward!” Oedelorana shouted. “These men work for you. Why did they not present that seal? That is the order of things. My son had every right to defend his father’s name.”
“You were always better with Etiquette and Law, Rana.”
“Step forward and see how I am still better with the blade,” she replied.
“No need. You see, the girl shielded herself and her brother… and I’m wearing plugs.” The sonic pulse covered the entire section of the docking slip. Even the people in the shuttle were stunned, but they at least had the hull of the transport to diminish the power of the weapon. Oedelorana had no such protection as she dropped to her knees just before she dropped her sword. She glared at her brother and fell to the ground without moving again.
“Mother!” Loranos yelled, pushing against the wall of the force field. Two of the snipers came from their perches to collect the woman. “Let me out, Gulfrileene! Let me out!” Gulfrileene said nothing as she clutched to her brother and cried. The young woman knew what awaited them if she were to do as her brother wanted. They would kill Loranos and not think twice about it. She held on tight and closed her eyes to keep from seeing them take her mother.
Prallson walked over to his sister and lifted her chin so he could get a good look at her face. “I would have loved trying your sword-arm again, sister. But Father’s instructions were, as you know, very specific.”
“And which one told you to fail?” Oedelorana said, tapping her thumb to the ring on her index finger. The bio-electric pulse fired in all directions, but only for two meters. Still, it was enough of a range to catch Prallson and two of the four snipers.
“Now, Loranos!” Gulfrileene yelled, using the controls on her wrist to change th
e dome shield to a directional one. A curved wall of force was between the two siblings and the last two men in Prallson’s command as her brother got up to his knees where he started casting. The two men stepped away from each other and readied their rifles.
“Remember, she’s got to lower that shield so that he can cast,” one man said.
“Provided that casting’s what he’s doing,” Pulri said softly. Both men looked up to see the man and he waved at them. Suddenly their suits locked and initiated internal security measures. The two snipers cried out before they fell unconscious and the image of Pulri faded.
“So glad we didn’t have to go too much further into the plan,” Pulri said as the image of a servant’s uniform faded from around his body.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Tusyll snapped as her disguise faded just as her brother’s did the same. “It took me way longer than I said to get their internal channel coding.”
“Way longer!” Gazhaad ribbed.
“Hey, not taking that from you,” Tusyll said, pointing at him as he chuckled. “I was still the one who spotted his approach and the direct doorway he got from the barony. These Raynko’s have to be major players to swing that one. I also have the docking slip for your brother’s ship, Your Ladyship.”
“Do we want to press things by stealing it?” Loranos asked.
“You forget I am a member of the Raynko House,” Oedelorana stated. “How can I be accused of stealing my family’s property? We’ll take it to Black Gate where we’ll get a better price from the sale of it. After that… I’m not too sure. I’m just putting this all together.”
“That sounds familiar,” Pulri commented.
“If only some of the pirate had rubbed off on me,” Lady Sylgarr replied.
“Oh I don’t know,” Tusyll said as she started collecting weapons and credits. “That last face you flashed your brother reminded me of a conversation I had with the woman just before she put us down.”
