The Paladin Archives Book Two The Withering Falseblade

by Jason Psilopoulos

  “Never?” Ian asked sarcastically. Rebekah threw him a scathing glare.

  “Never except with you,” she muttered. Ian frowned quietly.

  “I’ll try to figure it out. You’ve got the Tumbler to worry about,” Marcus said, ending the argument. Rebekah nodded. She needed to report to the Holodrome in an hour for seeding. “Don’t think about this, okay. Focus on what you’re doing.” She nodded again. Jennifer Burton would have to wait.

  The Holodrome was abuzz with excitement as people filed in to find their seats. The usually quiet training facility was now a stadium overlooking what could only be described as the largest rat maze ever constructed.

  The Power Tumbler was one of the three events that drew the largest crowds during the Peace Games. First was always the Swordsmanship Competition, which was a mark of excellence for all sword bearing paladins and swordsmen from around the world. The Tumbler came in a very close second, because of its exciting and strenuous nature. Athletes would come from all different countries and disciplines to test themselves against the Tumbler, with the accolades being nearly as prestigious as the Swordsmanship title.

  The last event was the Thousand-Man Clash, which was a frenzied battle with a swarm of holographic enemies that seemed to fill the Holodrome. Everything else had a much smaller following, being much more specialized. But these three events were an exhibition of the best that the world had to offer in warriors and athletes.

  But where the Swordsmanship Competition and the Thousand-Man Clash were combat oriented, the Tumbler was something entirely different. Most of those who hadn’t seen it before were unsure of what to expect. And those who followed it were at a loss to describe it to them. The Tumbler was equal parts foot race and maze. But the other elements that made up the Tumbler were unique.

  Elements of strength, agility and cunning were all incorporated into the design of the puzzle-like obstacle course. Between gymnast-like portions and strange tests of both physical and mental acuity, the Tumbler was in a class all by itself.

  “I’m glad we get to see some of this in person,” Jack said as he walked toward his seat. The rest of the class was trailing behind him, all a little more than entranced by their surroundings. “I didn’t think we’d ever get tickets.” Mary chuckled behind him, balancing an oversized box of drinks and snacks in her undersized hands.

  “Nosebleed seats. We won’t be seeing much of anything,” she said with a bit of snark in her tone. The seats were at the very top of the Holodrome’s accommodations, practically pressed up against the ceiling above them. The four all had to slouch forward a little, so as not to bang their heads on the curved beam supports.

  Ellis slumped down in his seat and looked a little somber. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be here just now. He had a lot of things to think about. But Jack had pressed him into coming, telling him it would do him some good. And the prospect of being near Mary for a while was inviting.

  Ellis was still trying to get up the nerve to talk to her again. They hadn’t spoken about the incident in the Quad since it had happened. He didn’t figure it was anyone’s business really, but he still owed Jack an apology, and he figured he needed to give Mary an explanation. Until then, he was going to maintain his usual monosyllabic stoicism.

  “You can’t see anything without the monitors anyway,” he said sourly. Mary shifted uncomfortably in her seat next to Ellis. He wasn’t doing anything specifically to be closer to her, but Mary could sense his intentions. Ellis was staying close to her.

  “We are not here to debate the quality of our seating,” Uther said serenely from the side. “We are here to cheer Miss Norik to her victory.” Jack nodded.

  “Sure we are.” He gave a bit of a glance forward, and felt a sudden rush of vertigo. The seats were a long way up from the event. “Of course, she’ll never hear us from this high.” Mary started handing out the refreshments as she craned her neck to see.

  “I’d hate to fall from this high up,” she muttered. Ellis heard her and smirked a little.

  “Well, you’ll make the papers,” he said softly. Mary looked over at him. “You’ll be the only person at the event injured who wasn’t actually competing.” Mary hid a smirk behind her drink.

  “That would make a very interesting news article,” Uther said, taking his small cup from Ellis as it was passed to him.

  “I can see the banner headline,” Jack began, spreading his hands wide. “’Paladin Girl Busts Head While Arguing Questionable Call!’” Mary turned a little darker for a moment.

  “They aren’t questionable,” she responded. “When I see something wrong, I let them know it. The officials are blind.” Jack nodded in surrender. He’d had this argument before. “Well they are.”

  “That is not always the case Mary.” Uther said as he strained to see the maze below.

  “Sports Officials are blind. It’s a proven fact.” Mary looked a little agitated by the lack of support she was getting. Ellis folded his arms and glanced down at the field.

  “Three athletic guys and one librarian of a girl, and the bookworm is the sports geek.” Mary slouched down in her chair, her face starting to pout.

  “I happen to be passionate about Paladin Events,” she defended. Jack guffawed.

  “Right. And that’s why you wanted me to get tickets to the Clash. Not because Ian might be entering it.” Mary shot Jack a stare meant to shrink him. Jack backed off immediately. He was going too far. “Just saying.”

  “There is something I do not understand,” Uther said quietly. The three of them all looked at him. “We are cheering Miss Norik. She is long on odds to win this event. But if she does win, then we will buy presents for ourselves?” Jack smiled wide. Ellis shook his head, clapping a hand on Uther’s shoulder.

  “We’ll explain souvenirs later. Watch the match.” Uther’s fur ruffled a little, but he turned toward the maze, setting aside his confusion for now.

  Rebekah stretched herself as far as her physique would allow on the training room floor. It wasn’t that she generally needed the stretching. It was simply something she’d grown accustomed to doing the last little while. Marcus didn’t know it, but Rebekah had been training for the Tumbler for at least eight months. And it was the best way she could find to keep herself busy. Between not leaving campus and leading a frustratingly, purposely idling romance with Marcus, Rebekah needed something to blow off steam.

  Now it was time to compete. She’d looked over the bios of her competition. There were thirteen competitors that seemed to have enough of the required skills to allow them to finish the maze in a reasonable amount of time. The other twenty would be lucky to get past the first cycle. Counting herself, that made thirty-four in all.

  Still, Rebekah wasn’t too worried about them. If she wanted to win, she’d have to beat Darius. And he was no slouch when it came to this kind of competition. Rebekah knew what he knew. She’d learned everything he’d learned. They were as evenly matched as they could get.

  Except that Darius was leaps and bounds ahead of her in experience. This wasn’t something she’d ever really done before, despite what she'd told Marcus. But Darius was the Dragoon’s own Endurance Marathon Champion 12 years running, before he left Norik. She had no doubt that he would be prepared.

  “Nervous?” a bellowing voice said as if on cue. Rebekah turned her body in a way that would’ve broken most people and watched Darius striding through the doorway, his blood red helmet under his arm. He was decked out in his old dragoon armor, a red-gray variation on Rebekah’s traditional style. The color of the armor denoted his former rank. Darius had been an Influential. Though he’d broken with the Dragoons, he was never stripped of his place among them. Darius would still always be a High Captain among the Dragoons.

  “Not really. Just following my habit,” she lied. She was nervous. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. Darius didn’t look too happy to be there all of the sudden. Rebekah could read it on his face.

  “Well, I think you need to r
ead this,” he said, handing her a digital pad. Rebekah pulled herself up onto a bench and began reading. “I’m sorry.” Darius walked out immediately. Rebekah glanced up as he exited, wondering why he wasn’t sticking around. She started reading the message on the pad, and she felt her heart suddenly drop out of her chest. It couldn’t be true.

  “No,” she whispered, setting the pad down on the seat next to her. It took a long time for her mind to come back around. She stared at the floor and tried to process it all. That’s when the tears started to flow. She put her hands to her face and let go a series of body racking sobs.

  “Please no,” she whispered to the air. But the message was clear.

  Highmaster Troius was dead.

  Chapter 17

  Letting It Go

  “So where are they sitting?” Ian asked, trying to spot Marcus’s class. Marcus handed him his binoculars and pointed to a spot across the Holodrome seats, nearly four floors above them.

  “Back row, middle,” he stated simply. Ian looked through the spectacles and found the four huddled up against the ceiling of the Holodrome, looking happy but uncomfortable. He smirked.

  “Glad I’m not them,” he said, handing Marcus back his binoculars. Marcus shrugged.

  “I offered to get them better seats, but Jack said something about not abusing his paladinhood.” Marcus took it for what it was. Jack was learning. “Where’s Aiko anyway?” Ian shook his head.

  “I haven't seen her. But the samurai don't have anyone entered in the Tumbler. I think the Erikans might be having a group viewing at their little encampment. She’s probably there.” Marcus figured that was reasonable. He certainly didn’t think the Samurai were the type to be mutually exclusive from the rest of the people in the Holodrome. But then, he didn’t know much about the Hakai and his policies.

  “Is she gonna be all right?” Ian asked finally as the lights started to dim. "Rebekah, I mean." Marcus bit his lip in silence. He really wasn’t sure. That’s when he saw her.

  “Excuse me Ian. I see someone I need to talk to.” Ian watched Marcus stand and march toward the fifth row. He didn’t recognize the girl Marcus stepped up to.

  “Pardon me,” Marcus said politely. The young girl before him turned. Her skin was tanned to an almost ebony shade. Her brown hair was naturally curly, setting neatly about her face. She looked up and smiled with shining brown eyes.

  “Yes?” Marcus lowered his head.

  “I was told by your mother that you would be attending,” he started. “I am Marcus Kasidyne. I knew your father, however briefly.” The girl didn’t seem to recall. “We met when your family came here last year.” The look on her face changed a moment later as she recognized the name.

  “Sir Kasidyne. Of course. My father made an entry in his journey log about you. Of course, we’ve met before.” She bowed her head slightly. “I am Ahulani. My friends call me Lani.” Marcus returned her bow and tried to smile.

  “Yes, I remember your meltdown in the paladin office complex.” Lani looked down at her feet. “Your father was a good man.”

  “He insisted in his log that I endeavor to marry you.” Marcus chuckled a little.

  “That sounds like your Dad all right. He was pitching that idea almost as soon as I met him.” Lani looked at Marcus for a moment.

  “You didn’t come over to propose, did you?” Marcus laughed out loud.

  “No. No. I came to give my condolences, properly this time.” Lani bowed her head again.

  “I appreciate that. Thank you.” Lani stood still for a moment. Marcus wasn’t sure what to say next. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  “Who’s this?” a rumbling voice asked. Marcus had to look up to see the man as he stepped into view.

  “A friend of the family. He knew my father.” Lani motioned to the mountain of a man. He was dressed in traditional Riamoan armor, covered in a colorful wrapping. “Marcus, this is my husband. Rongo Solomona.” Marcus watched his hand disappear into the gigantic mitt that greeted him. Rongo smiled as he shook his hand.

  “A pleasure,” he toned. Marcus nodded.

  “You competing?” he asked simply. Rongo shook his head.

  “I was. But since this is a stop on our honeymoon cruise, it didn’t seem appropriate to become injured.” Lani smiled up at him, leaning back on his massive chest. Rongo put a hand on her diminutive shoulder. Marcus could see that she was very much in love.

  “My father told me many times that I was too flippant. He mentioned you in his log and I decided I needed to change. He wanted you to rub off on me. In a way, you have.” Marcus smiled. It was good to know that Semani’s family was doing well after their loss.

  “Well, it’s good to see you’ve found a good man.” Rongo smiled sincerely. “By the way, what event were you entering before you decided to bow out?” Rongo nodded. It was fair of Marcus to ask.

  “I was going to try my hand at the Clash. Being a Riamoan Guardsmen, I figured I should know if I was man enough to take down a thousand men.” Marcus smiled a little.

  “If you’re the kind of man Semani Sekona would have chosen for his daughter, then I’m sure a thousand men is very little trouble.” Rongo and Lani both smiled at that.

  “I was barely a match for this little firecracker.”

  The Tumbler began with the lowest seeds first. It didn’t take very long for someone to get injured beyond the ability to continue. Boyd Mallory, a barrier guard from northern country met with the end of his competition in the first cycle, his foot pinned beneath a slamming door.

  The next seven competitors failed to complete the eight-cycle course. But as the event progressed, the athletes started getting farther and farther into the maze. The eighteenth participant, a young girl named Axia Melkor from a little island along the Center Sea, managed to complete the eighth cycle, but only after spending nearly forty minutes inside the maze. That time would never hold. Jack kept saying he knew her, but he wouldn’t say how.

  After a while, it became clear that only a very few of the participants were going to be able to handle the Tumbler. Thirty competitors in, and only the young Axia had managed to complete the course. Marcus began to wonder about Rebekah’s chances.

  It wouldn’t take much to beat Axia’s time in the Tumbler. She hadn’t put a great deal of effort into getting a respectable time. Marcus commended her strategy. She was betting that no one else would finish the event. If that were the case, time would not be a factor at all. Axia would win by default.

  But Axia was out of it almost the moment that Darius March stepped to the starting line. With trained precision, Darius finished three cycles before his first minute was spent. Marcus watched the large man’s agility with a slight awe. He was amazed that a man of his stature could move so quickly.

  “That guy’s good,” Ian said from the side. Marcus nodded imperceptibly. Rebekah was certainly capable of that kind of movement, but she’d been sitting and doing nothing for over a year. Marcus just wasn’t sure she was ready.

  Darius completed the eight-cycle course in less than seven minutes. He stumbled across the finish line, winded and exhausted. The crowd went crazy, cheering and screaming as he stood unsteadily. Marcus and Ian both gave polite claps as they waited. Darius had his moment in the sun. But Rebekah was up next.

  Marcus started praying immediately.

  It had taken a while, but Rebekah had managed to stop crying. She had focused her mind, just like Highmaster Troius had taught her. She had detached herself and had set her mind about the task at hand. It had been no small feat. Between Jennifer and the Highmaster, Rebekah could have easily declared herself out of the running. But she would not ever do that. She already had her helmet on with the visor in place as she came out of the locker room, determined not to show her face to the cameras. Now they wouldn’t be able to tell that she’d been crying.

  “Miss Norik,” the field judge said, his voice amplified so the crowd could hear. “The Tumbler is eight cycles. Each cubical is set with a
start line and a finish line. The clock will only run while you are between those lines. You get a one-minute rest period between cycles. Any more than that and you will be assessed a thirty-second time penalty, plus the extra time spent in the rest area.

  “You may quit at any time. If you are injured beyond the capacity to recover, your run will be ended by default. Should you need assistance with a cycle, there are hints in each of the rest areas. You may listen to these clues once. Listening additional times will accrue a five second time penalty. Be aware that the nature of the cycles sometimes alters the rest rules.

  “At any time, if the majority of the officiating crew feels that you have somehow given yourself an unfair advantage, or that you are cheating the system, we will terminate your run and declare a disqualification. All combat inside the Tumbler is hand-to-hand. No weapons of any design are permitted inside. Do you understand these rules as I have explained them to you?” Rebekah nodded solemnly. She knew the rules. She didn’t need a refresher.

  “Yes.” Rebekah’s voice was cold and distant. The field judge nodded.

  “Very well. Good Luck and God Speed.” Rebekah flexed her neck, jumped in place a few times, shook out her arms and gave herself one final stretch to be sure she was ready. After a moment, Rebekah toed the start line, digging in her back foot. The first cycle was in front of her. It looked like a straightforward sprint across the Holodrome’s western wall. But Rebekah knew better. This wasn’t a sprint. What she couldn’t see was what concerned her.

  Rebekah tensed for only a second, then burst forward, her boots clacking against the metal floor. The crowd roared its support behind her, but she paid them no mind. She ran straight ahead, her eyes watching every corner of her vision. She was barely ten feet into the corridor when the room started to shift and move. Parts of the floor started to fall away. Rebekah jumped and dove, rolling beneath a ceiling that collapsed suddenly where she had been standing. The left wall lurched inward, trying to close off the tunnel for the next eight feet.