The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1)

by Matthew Romeo

  “You’re holding the spear incorrectly,” someone says from behind me.

  My head snaps around in alarm. Abrax is sitting meters away along the shore of the oasis. He’s stripped of his armor and only wears a loose tunic and tattered pants. Using his good arm, he starts to gingerly soak a rag before scrubbing parts of his skin. While initially surprised, I realize I shouldn’t be shocked that he knew exactly where to find me. I don’t reply for a moment, turning away to continue my routine.

  “I doesn’t take a genius to know how to hold a spear, Abrax,” I reply as I thrust. “I just have a sloppy form, that’s all.”

  “Your sloppiness is a symptom of not holding the spear correctly,” he responds critically. “I’m not talking about hand placement. I’m referring to the way you’re treating the weapon.”

  I thrust the spear angrily in front of myself before turning to face him. “And how exactly am I treating it?” I ask in frustration.

  His dark face regards me enquiringly. “You’re using it like a weapon,” he recites calmly. “When you need to use it as an extension of your own body. Let your body move with it. Treat it as an extension of your arms… and allow your body flow with it. Your weapon needs heart, which is what the wielder must provide.”

  My eyebrows raise in surprise. There’s some sense to his words. I almost feel the cold detachment of the spear even as I grip it. While I don’t want to prove Abrax right about something again, I’m nonetheless curious to see if his tips hold merit.

  Relaxing my grip slightly, I spread my legs farther apart to prepare my stance. Breathing precisely, I imagine the spear being an extension of my arms—a deadly third appendage. With a quick pivot, I thrust the spear forward with a precise force behind it. Almost like the weapon is full of energy. It feels natural, almost easy as I start my exercises again.

  A surge of adrenaline kicks in. And with another pivot, I flourish the spear and throw it like a javelin. With a crunch, the spear strikes the stalk of a palm tree nearly ten meters away—the shaft wobbling as it pierces into the bark.

  A slow clap emanates from Abrax. “Not bad,” he comments. “Not bad at all.”

  “It was a lucky shot, Abrax,” I reply with a bit of shock. “There’s no way I’d be able to pick up that little trick just like that.”

  “Give yourself some credit,” he says with a huff. “You looked less like a belligerent drunkard. But yes, you’re right. It’ll take much more time and effort to be proficiently good at that skill. But I’ve got the feeling you’ll have plenty of time to practice on this little quest of ours.”

  “If there even is a quest,” I mutter, remembering that Devin wants to leave.

  Wiping some sweat from my face, I walk over to the tree and start to wrench my spear from the trunk. The damn thing is imbedded pretty well.

  “What do you want, Abrax?” I strain, tugging the spear. “I can only assume you’re up to something.”

  “One: that’s an absurd assumption,” he says sardonically. “Two: I was actually just coming to wash a little bit. Had no idea you were over here.”

  I pause and wait, but he says nothing more. Odd. “No three?” I ask in surprise. “You’re always quick to point out three things, old man. It’s kind of what you’re known for.”

  “I’m stumped on a number three, Sarina,” he snorts, wiping off dirt flecked over his forearms. “However, I can guess that you’re still upset about earlier.”

  “I’m not upset!” I snap, finally heaving the spear from the trunk. “I’m just pissed off that no one understands my reasons for being secretive. And for acting independent.”

  I take a few steps back and collapse the spear. Turning, I face the old man squarely as he sits next to the glimmering pool of water. Grey light from the clouds shimmers off of its surface. He splashes the cool water on his bearded face.

  “Sarina, think of a wolf that leaves its pack,” Abrax says. His eyes track the sloshing water. “It’s dangerous enough on its own to hunt and kill. Large enough to fend off enemies its own size. It may even be successful at remaining as the lone hunter for a time. But, say that wolf needs to fend off a bear in order to eat. The wolf is alone, outmatched, and desperate. The bear is stronger, larger, and used to hunting alone. Do you think the lone wolf could survive?”

  I snort in derision. Always the cryptic. I kneel along the bank of the oasis and splash some water into my face as I consider his metaphor. No, the lone wolf couldn’t survive against the bear alone. But what Abrax misconstrued is that the wolf is smart enough not to fight the bear.

  “The wolf wouldn’t fight the bear,” I say after a moment. My eyes fixate on the water. “It would bide its time. Have patience. And wait for an opening to get food.”

  The old man snorts as he dips his long, silver hair into the water. A small cube of soap is in his hands as he cleans out the tangled mess.

  “Only if the wolf isn’t desperate.”

  I regard him stonily; my anger is still present. “What’s your point, old man?”

  Abrax pauses before rising from the shore. His silver hair is matted and dripping with water. “My point is,” he says as he faces me squarely. “Wolves hunt in packs for a reason. Individually they can only accomplish so much. But together, if the pack is strong, they can triumph over anything. Even if one believes it’s better suited being alone.”

  I look at him askance. “We’re not wolves, Abrax,” I say, tracing my fingers over the spear. “We came together out of necessity, not by being raised together. How was I supposed to trust them when we’d barely known each other for two weeks?”

  Abrax scratches his beard. His voice is gravelly when he says, “Sometimes you just have to have faith.”

  I snort. “It’s hard to have faith in anyone when you’ve been victimized by a city you trusted,” I reply harshly. “It was my city. My home. And yet, I still wasn’t safe from danger. How can someone have faith when the world is full of so much darkness?”

  The old man remains still and looks off into the water. His expression reflects hollow loss. “I know more about losing faith in this world than you think,” he says finally, his tone somber. “After seeing your own students and peers turn on you, steal everything you created, and destroy all that you love—it’s difficult to have faith in anything. The Sage God isn’t going to be happy with me when I keel over.”

  I run my fingers through my hair and look at the ground. I don’t want to meet his gaze. “So you know why I had problems with trusting them,” I say. “The fear that the moment you open up; you’ll just get hurt all over again. And if someone is dragged down with me next time, I’d never be able to forgive myself. So in answer to your question: Yes, I did sacrifice for myself. But it was a self-sacrifice. I went alone to protect them, because they didn’t deserve to be dragged down with me.”

  Wind whistles by as the old man approaches me. He says nothing, but his eyes are full of something I thought I’d never see. Understanding. He places his good hand upon my shoulder. Despite everything that had happened, everything that had been said, he shows me compassion. It’s unconditional, like a true friend.

  “If you really do care about them, then you know what you need to do,” Abrax says with a look that seems reassuring. “Even if you’re unsure, they deserve your trust. For they have given you theirs.”

  “I’ll try. But, I doubt all of this will get fixed overnight,” I say, looking away from him.

  “Neither does mastering a spear,” the old man says. A silver eyebrow cocks in amusement.

  Chapter 32: Sarina

  Re-Earning Trust

  I FIND DEVIN AND VYCK TOGETHER, as usual. Sometimes I wonder if they’re actually inseparable twins. One seemingly doesn’t exist without the other, and sometimes they seem more than brothers. Like a bickering old married couple. It’s a kind of adorable.

  They’re performing some repairs on a repulsorbike. Oil stains and grease are smeared across their gloves, forearms, and shirts. Dressed down from
their armor, they seem surprisingly relaxed and aloof. Tools spot the ground and an oasis bastion lies a few meters from them. Some supply packs and armor containers are next to the bike. They really are going to leave.

  Clouds are in the sky and I can feel another rain storm is coming. I approach the pair from behind; Devin is practically underneath one of the bikes. A metallic clicking and snapping sound emanates from underneath.

  “Looks like the turbine fan needs to be tightened,” he says to Vyck. “Hand me the twenty-two socket.”

  Vyck does so, but he sees me out of the corner of his eye. His face is neutral, but I can see faint hints of mistrust in his green eyes. Sand and grease are caked in his blonde hair.

  “We’ve got company,” he says quietly. He smacks Devin on the leg.

  Devin practically hits his head when coming up from underneath the bike. His dark hair and goatee are similarly disheveled by the repairs. The bandage covering his right eye has brown oil stains on it. His left eye finds me, and I can see the coldness of his detachment. It’s an icy anger he holds against me. In many ways, it makes me feel guiltier for ignoring his deeds. But it’s better than a fiery one.

  “Hey,” I say. My voice is nervous, but my resolve holds.

  Vyck looks from Devin to me with unease. Clearly he’s not as angry about the situation as his partner, but he’s just as wary.

  “What do you want?” Devin asks, his voice taciturn. I can hear the notes of resentment buried in the context. He sits up, but doesn’t look me in the eye—electing to focus on the bike repairs.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, eyeing their bags and equipment.

  “Like I said, we have no desire to stick around,” Devin says gruffly. “This little group of ours has fractured thanks to you. I don’t want to journey with people who don’t trust one another.”

  Vyck looks at me and adds, “We just need to prep the bike for a long haul.”

  Our squabble had had more of an effect than I thought. I have to show them I mean to give them trust. Surprisingly, I don’t want to lose them.

  “How’s the bike looking?” I ask Devin, trying to remain calmly neutral. I don’t want to cut right to the chase just yet. Hopefully my interest will rouse him.

  “Looks like a bike,” he says shortly. I hear the clicking of a socket wrench.

  My impatience starts to rise. I glower. “Really? How obvious, pretty sure I could’ve deduced that. Not that difficult.”

  The tension is like a wall of ice between us, cold and solid. Picking at it isn’t going to cause it to fade, so it needs to be melted.

  Devin stands and turns to face me. “Ey, congratulations. You can figure out sarcasm. Too bad you can’t figure out how to properly appreciate sacrifices people make for you.” He spits in the sand.

  My hand clenches around my collapsed spear, and I give him a hooded glare. I feel a burning heat rising from my stomach, and I almost shout in anger. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right.

  I didn’t appreciate the fact that he took a bolt for me. Or the fact that Tálir defended me from Devin’s wrath. I hadn’t even appreciated that some of the others didn’t care about my identity. It’s only because I lied about it that they grew upset. They merely wanted for me to trust them. Their loyalty is valuable beyond measure, and I deserve to repay it. And the shame builds within the anger, like a mixing of chemicals.

  “You’re right,” I say as my body shakes with both irritation and indignity. “I haven’t shown adequate appreciation for you not completely acting like a dick. But a week ago you barely wanted anything to do with us. So why do you care now?”

  Devin opens his mouth as if to say something but stops. He looks away, his lower jaw protrudes a little bit as his irritation shows even more. His shoulders are tense, and I can detect a faint sense emotional frustration. Wait…

  Vyck pipes up before I can consider it further. “Sarina, give us a little bit of credit. We’re not complete douches all of the time. We chose to trust everyone when we decided to join this quest, but you didn’t.”

  Devin looks back at me, his eye still reflecting malice. “In comparison to the future ruler of Z’hart, how could we ever be considered in her notice? We’re just mercenaries out for treasure. What does our loyalty matter? I can see how that can be beneath a royal.”

  His words hurt, yet I can see they’re sprung from bitter immaturity. Devin is upset that I haven’t flaunted myself to him for taking the bolt to his face. Normally I’d find it repulsive and juvenile. But the bandage covering his eye does remind me of the sacrifice he made. His willingness to trust me.

  Still, I have to approach this tactfully. So I fight it back. “Devin, one decent deed doesn’t completely make up for the amount of time you’ve been an asshole,” I say as my temper recedes. “However, you are right. I haven’t shown you true appreciation for getting that pretty face of yours all banged up.”

  I snort playfully. Devin is taken aback slightly. Even Vyck adopts a look of surprise.

  “I don’t have much to offer you, seeing as I’m an exiled heiress,” I continue, folding my arms over my chest. I need to assert both compassion and authority. “But, we need you on this quest. If you leave now, you risk running into Outlanders or Imperial forces. I’m asking you to stay.”

  Vyck looks off into the distance, and I know he’s waiting on his partner’s response. Rarely did he act before his friend. Devin’s arctic look relinquishes slightly, but he remains stubborn.

  “Give us one good reason to stay,” Devin says harshly. His emotions are in check, but I can still sense his pain.

  I look at both of them before turning away a bit. “I don’t have any one reason for you to stay,” I say calmly. “But know that, after everything that’s happened… I’m sorry. For lying and not trusting any of you. Know that if you stay, you all will have my undivided trust. It’s not much, but it’s all I can offer you.”

  I say nothing more as I leave them to their repairs. The offer must be left to sink in. It’s now up to them to leave or stay. My first show of trust.

  ◆◆◆

  I find the pair at the far end of our campsite; the swamp overlooks them in the distance. Vivían walks by as I approach, and I place a hand upon her slender shoulder as I pass. Our eyes lock, and she sees the gratitude within my eyes. Vivían smiles and nods before continuing on. Aida has just given Remus a dose of sedatives before she starts inventorying her supplies. I don’t think they’re about to abandon the group, but I know they have deep misgivings. All because of my inability to confide in them.

  Aida glances at me as I approach, and I can still see some scrupulousness in her dark eyes. I’m relieved that she’s not as angry as Devin was about my decisions, but I still want to win her trust back. After all, she had been one of the first people to show me compassion in the convoy.

  “Aida,” I say, not wishing to stall like I did with Devin. She knows why I’m here. “I cannot fully regret what I did back in Z’hart City. My incursion allowed me to glimpse what’s really going on involving all of us. I have to believe there was some benefit in what I did.”

  Aida arches an eyebrow and Remus looks puzzled. Though befuddled, Aida responds, “That’s… not exactly an optimal apology for—”

  I hold up a finger. “However,” I continue. “You were right. I should’ve involved you and the others. I should’ve trusted you all and your willingness to help. I can’t take back what I did, but perhaps there’s something I can do now to show you my trust.”

  From within my pocket, I pull out the tiny holoprojector and letter I acquired days ago in the Flames. In the days that’ve passed, I nearly forgot all about it. I took it because of its link to the Remnant, and the possibility of connecting to the riots. I can’t remember why I hadn’t viewed it earlier, but perhaps because I subconsciously knew I’d need it later. Fate has a funny way of guiding us.

  Stunned for a moment, Aida stands with a cautious look upon her face. Approaching her, I ex
tend my hand and offer her the device and letter. Taking them, she hesitates for a moment.

  “What are these?” she asks, examining the items.

  “I pulled them off the body of one of the Crimsons,” I explain. “The pouch they were inside bore the insignia of the Remnant. So he must’ve been delivering these to someone associated with them.”

  Opening the letter, Aida’s eyes fly over the parchment she unfolds. After a moment, she says, “All this says is: ‘Leir’tah, open discretely.’”

  She flips the paper around and shows me the insignia of the Remnant sealed where a signature might be. So this message was being delivered from the Remnant. But to whom? What is a Leir’tah? Aida activates the holoprojector and a three-dimensional image of a man generates above the chip. The holoprojection is shrouded though, the body and face of the person is concealed by shadowy blue.

  “The Remnant is unaware of this transmission, Leir’tah,” the garbled voice emanates from the image. A filter is used to disguise whoever sent this. “By now you’ve realized my attempts to unite the Outland clans under my name. Many have risen to join my cause, for they see the coming darkness spread by Centum. The Crimsons have not. Your emissaries gave me your answer to my request to join the unification. You are unwise to oppose me, fearless Leri’tah. Rest assured, if you continue to resist us, we will destroy your clan. This is your last chance to join us.”