The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1)

by Matthew Romeo

  Vyck snickers. “In all seriousness, it was a good distraction. Nice work.”

  I’m not sure if he’s being serious or denigrating, but I yield and accept his gratitude. I snort a laugh upon thinking of the ridiculous sight it must’ve been.

  “It was my first time throwing a spear. Like a fifty-fifty shot of hitting.”

  Devin picks up his sword and my spear, walking over and handing the latter to me with slight gratitude.

  “Ey, I’m not complaining,” he says as I take my weapon. Genuine gratitude shines in his blue eyes.

  I sniff in an amused way. I look around at our handiwork. Twelve bodies are scattered around the gorge and within our camp. Their frizzy hair wisps in the wind, and flies already begin buzzing around the corpses. The last rays of the sun cast a blazing haze over the puddles of blood. It smells like death.

  “Who are they?” Aida asks as she pulls her daggers from the fallen Outlander. “I didn’t think Outlanders ventured this close to a nation.”

  Vivían plugs a cable up to her bow and links it to her battery pack. Something still reflects in her eyes, and I think I know why. They were familiar to her.

  “They’re members of the Crimson Cross.” she says, revealing a symbol on the jacket of a fallen warrior. A blood red cross engulfed in golden flames within a silver triangle.

  “A prominent tribe in the eastern Outlands,” she continues. “Fervent worshipers of the Cross Way, the clan symbol and title reflect their devotion to immolation and crucifixion. ‘Yielding to the flame’, as they call it. The battle chant they called out holds some similar meaning.”

  “You got that just by their outfits and behavior, Viv?” Vyck inquires, scratching his head. He gazes at her intently.

  “You could say something like that,” she replies, her voice actually tinged with abhorrence. “I was raised a Crimson. I hunted as a Crimson. But I refused to murder as a Crimson. That’s the long and short of it, Vyck. I’ll say nothing more.”

  Vyck is taken aback somewhat, but he nods genuinely—eliciting a smile from her. Now it makes sense. The red in her hair didn’t seem natural, but now I understand it’s dyed. Vivían had forsaken her natural blonde hair when she left the Crimsons. An act of defiance.

  I see Aida and Remus approaching the corpses, removing the goggles, and closing eyelids. A respectful gesture. One of which I feel compelled to do, at least to the man whose life I took.

  I approach the body of the man I killed, and squat next to the stinking corpse. I remove the black goggles and see cold, brown eyes staring up at me. Chills run along my spine as I stare death in the face. Respectfully, I close his eyes. But then, something grabs my attention.

  A leather pouch is affixed to his belt. Seemingly common at first, my interest peaks when I see a symbol etched within the leather. Upside down V outlining a pyramid all within a circle. The same as Septem’s! Whatever is in this pouch, it has to be involved with the Order Septem mentioned. Heading to this mysterious Centum character, perhaps.

  I have to look. My determined curiosity gets the better of me. I slowly open the pouch. A holoprojector and a handwritten letter are inside. My eyes dart back to the others, and they haven’t noticed me. I’m tempted to share my discovery with them, but I stop and think back. If Abrax wants to prevent me from digging into things, what if the others start to as well?

  With the involvement of this Centum person, I need to piece together their reasoning for shipping me off. Perhaps these documents can help prove it, perhaps not. But I’m going to need to know a lot more about these people and their connections. Abrax and Aida sure as Hells won’t go into extreme detail, so I’ll do it on my own.

  Surreptitiously pocketing the letter and device in my belt pouch, I stand and look to my companions. I see some of the others moving the corpses into a singular spot away from the camp. A fire starts to immolate the bodies. Following suite, I pull the body as best I can to the burning corpses. Vivían makes a few silent gestures to honor the fallen.

  “Any sign of Tálir or Abrax?” I ask when the work is done. “We could’ve used some of those magic powers.”

  Devin shakes his head. “Haven’t seen the wizards since they left,” he grunts irritably. “They’re probably too far to have gotten here in time anyways. Shame. I would’ve enjoyed seeing what all that training amounts to.”

  I nod my head in agreement. Seeing the raw power of their magic would’ve been enough to scare them off without a fight. If only.

  “So what did you say to them earlier, Vivían? Before they attacked.” I ask.

  Her olive face adopts a disappointed look. “I told them that we weren’t a threat,” she replies. “I incorrectly assumed that my knowledge of Outspeak would seem friendly. Guess I don’t know them as well as I thought.”

  I run my fingers through my hair. “Any reason why Crimsons would be venturing into Z’hart?” I ask Vivían.

  Her red hair is unkempt from the fight, and she looks a bit wired. “They were definitely a scouting party. Perhaps even messengers. But I honestly can’t say. The tribe normally sticks to the east, although the camp constantly moves. Did you find anything that says otherwise, Sarina?”

  All of their eyes are suddenly upon me, and each carries a crushing weight. It’s like all of them are bearing down upon my very soul. All of the Hells and the Sage God bear witness to this judgment, and I feel so empty. Terrible, even.

  “No.”

  Another piece of me feels like it’s chipped away. This time, for lying to those who are becoming more than companions. They’re becoming friends.

  Chapter 19: Tálir

  The Maven Way

  NIGHT HAS FALLEN.

  Abrax has taken me to the top of the highest plateau to train without drawing attention from the ravines below us. The plateau is large enough to obscure our session from any prying eyes. The uneven, maroon stone beneath my feet reflects the silvery glow from the moon in the early night sky, and a cool breeze howls past us. From our altitude, the night sky is cloudless. The stars above glitter like windblown embers across the atmosphere as the planet rotates through the darkness.

  Almost an hour ago, I thought I heard bowrifle fire coming from further in the Flames. But the noise didn’t last long enough for Abrax and I to determine if it was anything substantial. I hope it wasn’t.

  A small fire crackles nearby and the old man is perched atop one of the protruding boulders. Normally, he participates in the exercises. But tonight, he watches.

  “Focus and flow,” I repeat Abrax’s words from moments ago. “Focus! And flow!”

  In the days that have followed since Abrax first demonstrated the suit’s power, I’ve progressed slowly. The movements are simple and I’ve mastered the basic footwork and poses that string together each Form. But, the focus of drawing the right amount of energy is… difficult. It’s like trying to focus on a singular memory for several minutes at a time. The world around me is full of distractions that easily pull away that specific focus.

  Stream is the most basic Form and I’ve managed to gain a partial grip on it. Each Form has its own individual set of rules as well. Abrax informed me that as the initial Form, Stream’s versatility is quite limited. A basic attack, Stream will stun and push living beings but nothing beyond that. At full 25%, it can spark fires or serve as a small energy source. If I’m fast enough, Stream can deflect Discus, but it has no effect on any other Form.

  Planting my feet shoulder-width apart, I extend my right arm and keep my left tucked close my ribcage. Summoning the energy within the gauntlet, I focus on bringing it to my fingertips. Warm vibrations run down my forearm and my fingers begin to feel static. This is the easy part. Now, I have to concentrate on what I want it to do.

  Imagining the five individual torrents in great detail, I attempt to release the energy in my fingertips. My HUD reads Output Charge: 15% as the Stream activates and flows from me. Five emerald energy beams emit with a low hiss and soar into the open air. Holding the p
osition and output, I try to enhance my concentration to make the torrents more intense.

  But the difficulty increases. Abrax told me I have to eliminate distractions to intensify the magic. Sweat trickles into my eyes. I’m distracted by the bowrifle fire I thought I heard and my attention immediately snaps out of focus. The Stream fizzles out, and I’m left panting in frustration. I’m barely able to hold the Stream, so how will I possibly be able to harness the other three Forms?

  The old man heaves a sigh of exasperation and points his index finger at me—releasing a tangle of emerald energy that speeds towards my torso. Instinctively, I spin to the side and the Stream flickers past. Testing my reflexes has become commonplace in our training. Abrax wants to test my footing and awareness under duress.

  Alright then, I think as I accept the challenge. More Stream blasts spring from his fingers and I begin to dodge. An added benefit to Maven armor is that it can enhance one’s reflexes and movements if properly attuned. It’s also more durable against non-magic attacks. Now that it’s fitted to me, the armor assists my body in becoming physically responsive.

  I move left, leaping into a dodge-roll and using the momentum to close the gap. Abrax blasts at my feet, hoping to catch me in mid stride. Twisting once more, I practically cyclone in the air even with the weight of the armor. My movements are used to it now.

  I’m meters from him as I get my footing. Calling on the energy in my right gauntlet, I prepare to counterattack to finish the trial. But I’m too slow. A Stream hits me right in the chest and I’m thrown backwards.

  While on a low level, the energy still courses through my veins with an electric fury and neutralizes my motor functions seconds before my brain even registers the itching numbness. It lasts for a few seconds, but it’s enough to send me tumbling for almost a meter—my teeth grinding away as the pain wells up.

  Dammit! I think to myself sardonically. He’s still too damn fast.

  “You get too easily sidetracked, lad,” Abrax says, grunting in amusement. “Kryo magic won’t obey you if your mind is always running amuck.”

  I bite back my frustration. How can I be expected to harness the energy when life itself is distracting?

  “Why is this so damned complicated?” I curse, still on my knees. My long hair is like curtains around my face. I’m too shameful to even look at Abrax. “Why can’t I fragging focus?”

  I glance up and see him shuffling through a pile of loose stones. “Because you’re allowing distractions to block your focus,” he says, picking up one of the rocks. “If stones fall into a river, the flow becomes altered and perhaps even blocked. If unblocked, the river flows naturally without impediment. Your focus must flow without distractions.”

  He starts casually tossing the stone up and catching it within his palm. “Try a new target. Focus the energy and hit the rock,” the old man says rather haughtily.

  Taking a deep breath, I relax somewhat and fixate on the rock. It goes up and down as he casually tosses it. I try my best to think only about the stone. Thoughts are blocked out. Energy starts to build within my arm again. Watching the stone rise and fall, I feel my mind ease and the charge starts to increase further. Reaching 15%, I smirk with confidence and try to unleash the energy. The distractions don’t fade, however.

  I consider the bowrifles sounds from earlier. Fear grips me as I imagine a hole burned in Sarina’s stomach. No!

  A flimsy beam leaves my index finger and vaporizes inches from the stone. Swearing at my incompetency, I stomp in agitation. Abrax sighs with disappointment. In a blur of motion, he throws the stone high into the air before blasting it in mid-air with his left hand.

  “The miracles of focusing, wouldn’t you say?” he says rather smugly.

  “Because that’s just so fragging simple, Abrax!” I snarl irreverently, retracting the helmet to show my frustration. “Maybe next time I should just stare at it until it explodes. Would that be enough fragging focus for you?”

  He regards me stonily. “One: Don’t use that tone with me. Two: You’re too distracted by events outside this session. And three: You’re your own worst enemy, you know that?” Abrax says with a note of disappointment. “The fact that you have such little faith in yourself is going to hinder your ability to properly focus. It’s like I’m teaching Romulus all over again.”

  “I have plenty of faith in myself, thank you.” I retort in an attempt to show confidence when in reality I’m utterly unsure of myself. “And don’t speak poorly about my father.”

  Abrax lets loose an irritated sigh. “Look Tálir, if you had faith in yourself you’d know the right median of concentration necessary for the magic. There’s no shame in it. Every Maven Knight started out where you are right now. You need to get past your own doubts and fears if you’re ever going to learn. Listen to what I’m saying!”

  I scowl at him. He’s perched upon that boulder like some sort of judgmental deity. His bronze armor even looks cleaner than usual. “You’re not my father; and you’ll never come close to him. What makes you think you can lecture me about my doubts and my failures?”

  “Because, you are the one who requested that I teach you. Remember?” Abrax mutters simply, crossing his arms as a disappointed look etches across his dark brow. “So I hold the authority of instructor while you hold no authority as pupil. That’s the way this works, se’bau.”

  I look away from him and towards the rocky mesas that surround us, an ethereal reflection of the moonlight shines from the rocks. I want nothing more than to master the abilities and to learn about the history behind it. I’m willing to carry the responsibilities of the Maven legacy, but how arduous will that process be? I might have bitten off more than I can chew.

  My resolve holds though. I won’t give up just after a couple days of failure. I want to become a master with these abilities, and I won’t let any deterrent stop me. Perhaps, that’s part of the lesson he’s trying to teach me. Perseverance.

  “I’ll take your lesson to heart, Suzerain.” I say respectfully, addressing him by the Maven title of master. Speaking the title induces an interesting reaction within his eyes. For a brief moment, his eyes light up in delight.

  Abrax grunts and arises from his perch. Predictably, he lights his greenweed pipe and takes some drags before saying, “Just focus your attention on something other than fear or doubt. Fear, anger, and doubt are chaotic emotions. They are like forest fires and can blaze uninhibited for long times, causing irreparable damage. Do not let chaotic emotions rule you, for the Maven way is order.”

  There’s a pause before he continues, “From the lessons I’ve given you, can you tell me why the armor is used mainly for defensive countermeasures?”

  I consider his question and think back to both early training lessons and common histories. Abrax had told me in our second session that a few hundred years before the Ending, the Maven Knights were formed. With technology at its peak and the new discovery of the kryo gems, a caste of marshals was formed to unite the nations of the Old World. It was the single greatest act of unity in that bygone world. Nations pooled their resources and their recruits to form the Maven Knights, the marshals of law and order.

  A hundred years later, the enemies of order began fracturing both the Domain and the Mavens. Doctrine and discipline prevented the Knights from mobilizing into a full army. Application of the armor was meant to keep the peace, not to escalate the conflict. But this was also their failure. They failed to stop chaos because of misguidance to their principles. So Abrax’s question isn’t just about the armor itself, it’s about the history of it.

  “Maven culture dictates that combat application of the armor is only used in dire situations,” I paraphrase, touching my chin. “The armor must be shown to all to establish order, but only used to quell the danger of chaos. They failed to do this in the years before the Ending.”

  Abrax grins thinly. He paces around the mesa, and I see the various terrains beyond. By morning, we’ll reach the grassy plains beyond
the Flames. Sparse clusters of trees and plant life are within those plains as far as I can see

  “Good. You are taking something away from this after all, Tálir,” the old man mutters sardonically as he looks to the night sky. “The Maven Knights of old became too prideful in their disciplines when the true threat of chaos was presented. The Ones of Aster, a corrupted sub-sect of Knights, knew of this weakness and so they used it against their counterparts. Their downfall was of their own making. What you must take away from this is that any weakness can be used against you. The Mavens forgot what it meant to ensure order, and so chaos met no resistance.”

  Sitting down upon the rocky edifice, I prepare for the history lecture Abrax is famous for. Our sessions normally start with practicing Form I before moving into some of the cultural lessons. It’s all been fascinating to hear, but I’m uncertain of how Abrax knows so much about them. The culture has been supposedly dead for ten Cycles.

  “How could they let that happen?” I inquire as the old man pauses. “They were the marshals against chaos, so why would they just sit back and let it happen?”

  Abrax scratches at his long, silver hair. “A good question, lad.” He puffs smoke, his face reflecting some manner of disenchanted pain. “Order and chaos exist in symbiosis: one cannot exist without the other. I believe some of the Knights considered this, and wanted there to be a reason for establishing order.”

  I look at him intensely as the moonlight illuminates him. “So they conspired to let it happen.” I conclude as a dark horror builds up in me. “If there’s no chaos, how can there be order? But if a crisis unfolds and is unchecked, they’d be the bringers of order once again.”

  The wind wisps by and blows my hair into a wavy mess. It extinguishes Abrax’s pipe, and he shows a bit of annoyance.

  “Very good,” he says with indistinct acclaim. “The Ones of Aster had corrupted many within the Maven Knights, leading them to believe their sense of order was nothing but stagnation. Chaos was the natural order of the world, they believed. But it wasn’t a full out war between the Ones of Aster that brought the Mavens to extinction. As our histories might have you believe.”