by Scott Baron
Maktan began unfastening the large konuses from his wrists as the wall slid open.
“Are those claithes?” Charlie asked in a minor state of shock as he took in the contents of the hidden cache.
“You know your weapons, I see.”
“I’ve been told of them, but I’ve never seen one in person.”
“Yes, I’d think not. They’re a very hard weapon to come by. On top of that, while fantastic for combat, they’re so single-purpose in design that they are not nearly as useful as a slaap or konus for all but the most purely combative situations.” He slid them over each hand, the brass knuckle portion resting firmly over his fingers, while the ornate gauntlet section covering the backs of his hand and wrists began to shimmer with a disquieting glow.
Charlie could actually feel the ripples of deadly power leaking from them. Ser Baruud had told him about claithes during his gladiator training on more than one occasion.
“You will not encounter one in the arena,” he had assured his nervous student.
“But how can you be so sure?”
Ser Baruud smiled. “Because, Charlie, a claithe may be a weapon of deadly energy, but all but the most skilled and powerful vislas and emmiks would die using them. The amount of focus required to control one makes it utterly useless in gladiatorial combat. Unless you’re a visla, of course. And there has never been a visla gladiator in recorded history.”
Seeing this weapon of incredible destructive power so close made Charlie’s adrenals surge, forcing him to consciously ignore the flight impulse the claithe elicited.
Visla Maktan, however, was calm. To so casually wield not one but two of them, Charlie realized he must be a magic user of extraordinary power.
The ship landed outside the high walls, its protective spells deflecting those hurled at it as the door opened and the ramp descended.
“Are you coming, Charlie?” Maktan asked.
“Uh, shouldn’t I be armed or something?”
The wizard laughed. “Oh, there’s no need. Come along. I think you’ll find this interesting.”
Charlie followed the visla out of the ship as he stepped onto the battlefield as casually as he might stroll around his estate grounds. With a quick amplification spell––another Charlie had never heard before––he spoke directly to the attacking horde.
“Rebels and mercenaries, I am Visla Yoral Maktan of the Council of Twenty. I am politely requesting you cease your attacks at once.”
A titter of laughter came from the bunkered mercenaries before another slew of spells were launched his way, along with a sizable quantity of enchanted arrows and spears.
Visla Maktan easily batted them aside, his protective spell absorbing the rest without faltering.
“I am offering clemency for local inhabitants of Mester Norkal’s domain. No further lives must be lost, but you must cease your aggressions. If the hired mercenary forces leave now, you will be spared and allowed to return to your families with no repercussions.”
A discussion appeared to break out where fighting had been fiercest. Some of the local rebels were considering the attack. The mercenaries, however, had other ideas. Those in favor of ending things were quickly voted down, and a new wave of spells and projectiles filled the air, denser and more violent than before.
Visla Maktan sighed.
“So be it.”
He raised his hands, and the claithes flashed bright orange, then shifted to unbearable white. Even Maktan himself seemed a little uncomfortable from the blinding light. Then, in an instant, a brutal wave of magic the likes of which Charlie had never before seen burst forth, shattering offensive and defensive spells alike, turning their casters into sprays of liquified blood and bone.
Maktan pivoted, covering the entire battlefield with glowing death. The paltry spells of the attackers were nothing in the face of the claithes, and even the mercenaries found their spells neutralized.
A few of Mester Norkal’s guards began rushing the enemy, overjoyed at the turning of the tide.
“No! Stay back!” Maktan shouted, but it was too late. The spell reacted of its own accord, sensing hostile motion and widening to take down the new entrants into the arena.
Charlie quickly realized why the weapons were so rarely used. To do so might ensure victory, but also courted disaster.
Visla Maktan abruptly shut his fists, pulling the energy back into the claithes with some effort. A fine sheen of sweat was on his brow. He turned, unsteady a moment, then, remembering his guest, played it off, walking nonchalantly, as if it had been no effort at all.
Charlie, however, had seen what it had done. And in the hands of a lesser man, the claithes might very well have killed him.
“Well, that was unfortunate,” Maktan said, accepting a flask of liquid from Dinuk.
Where did he come from? I didn’t even see him leave the ship.
“Thank you,” he said, handing the container back to his chief of security. “Now, let’s go have a word with Mester Norkal, shall we?”
Chapter Seven
Mester Norkal was a surprisingly tall woman. Given the muscles of her shoulders, exposed by her form-fitting battle robes, Charlie took her for one who did not shy away from a fight. That was why he was so surprised when she immediately dropped to one knee at the sight of Visla Maktan.
“Visla Maktan,” she said, eyes lowered. “I thank you for rendering assistance. I assure you, I would not have called if circumstances had not warranted.”
“Rise, Norkal. I saw the nature of your attackers. Mercenaries? I would expect that from some of the rebel groups in the outer systems, but here? How did this happen?”
The lithe woman stood tall and met the visla’s gaze, her eyes flicking down to the claithes on his hands for an instant.
“It began as an uprising. A handful of rebels attempting to incite action from my subjects.”
“Again? These rebels are becoming quite tiresome.”
“I agree. And normally I’d have had little problem quelling their disruptions.”
“But this time? What was different, Norkal?”
She hesitated. For a woman of her power to require the aid of another must have put her in an uncomfortable position. And now she had to further weaken her stance by admitting her error, whatever that might be.
“It was––an unexpected tactic,” she finally said. “And one that should not have succeeded if not for the bribing of one of my guards. One who shall spend the rest of his incredibly short life in exquisite agony, let me assur––”
“What was unexpected?” Maktan interrupted.
She took a deep breath.
“They gained access to the tower.”
Visla Maktan seemed a bit interested, but unconcerned. “Quite a security lapse, wouldn’t you agree? But perhaps liquidating your guar––”
“And they got their hands on several of my Ootaki,” she continued.
“Now that is problematic,” Maktan said, obviously irritated by the news. “But your lackluster defense of the compound was––”
“And they not only freed them, they also convinced one of the Ootaki to join their little rebellion.” A look of deep concern flashed across her face. “Maktan, he gave the rebels his hair freely.”
Maktan’s jaw twitched, but he otherwise seemed calm. Charlie, accustomed to gauging his opponents for tells, noticed his shoulders were carrying far more tension than just moments before.
“Ah, then that would explain it, wouldn’t it? Freely given Ootaki hair. How long had that specimen been growing it?”
“Five years.”
Another twitch in his jaw.
“Well, even normally that would be a fair amount of power, but not enough to support an insurrection. But freely given Ootaki hair? The power stored there would have been enough to pay mercenaries and still have some left over for the rebels themselves, and that’s not counting the others they took,” Maktan noted. “Quite a boon for the rebels, Norkal. The Council will be displeased.�
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“Excuse me. I’m confused. I’m sorry. I know Ootaki hair holds a lot of power, but why is this one’s so much different?” Charlie asked.
“How dare you? Slaves do not speak!” Mester Norkal shouted, raising her hand to launch a spell at him.
“Calm yourself, Norkal,” Visla Maktan said in a calm voice. “This is Charlie. He is a gladiator. My newest acquisition. Perhaps you heard about his performance in the bout at the Buru arena on Gilea last week.”
The mester went pale, her eyes widening with realization.
“The Zomoki rider?”
“Yes. Now don’t soil yourself with excitement, he’s just a man.”
“Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, Charlie. I did not realize who you were. That was an inspired bout. It is being talked about across all of the settled systems.”
Charlie blushed slightly from the unexpected attention. “Uh, thank you,” he said, unsure if he should say any more.
Mester Norkal looked at Maktan with an appreciative smile. “So, the Zomoki rider is now with Visla Maktan. This bodes well for the Council. Extremely well.”
“Yes, I rather think so. A most fortuitous acquisition. I am just glad I happened to be in attendance at the tournament that day. You know how I normally detest those events. But I was already on Gilea on Council business.”
“On Gilea?”
“Yes. I was discussing smelt issues with our friend,” he replied. Mester Norkal seemed to know whomever it was he was talking about. “And he is a lover of bloodsport, so when he offered a seat at the event, well, it would have been bad form to turn him down.”
“Of course. And now you have the rider.”
“Yes. But enough of that. I’m sure Charlie is tired of talking about his fight, no matter how entertaining it was.” He turned back to his human prize. “And to answer your question, Charlie, Ootaki, as you seem to know, cannot utilize power, though their hair naturally stores it, and with great efficiency, I might add. But that power drains like sap from a cut branch when the hair is taken from them. It is a cost of the trade we all accept. But if an Ootaki gives its hair freely, none of that power is lost. It is the difference between a sapling and a towering tree.”
“I’d never heard that before,” Charlie said. “The power loss ratio, I mean. I’d heard about freely given hair, but that’s about it.”
“You likely had no reason to be familiar with these things. Those raised here know it from a young age, of course, but you aren’t from our realm, now are you?”
Again, an aspect of Charlie’s unusual life fascinated the powerful woman more than he’d have thought normal.
“He isn’t? You mean he did what he did and comes from a system outside the conglomerate?” Norkal asked. “Remarkable.”
“Yes, remarkable. And no, he comes to us from much, much farther, in fact. Charlie says he comes from another galaxy.”
The shock on Mester Norkal’s face was clear. Visla Maktan seized upon her silence to answer Charlie’s question, at last.
“In any case, Charlie, slaves don’t often come in contact with Ootaki. And since you are not from our realms, it is only natural you have a lot to learn. Why, in fact, did you know that it is the first cut of Ootaki hair that contains the most power? Every cut thereafter is still potent, but diminishing. The very first is the rarest and most sought after of all.”
“I had no idea,” Charlie said, recalling the young woman with the shorn head he had met years prior when he tried to escape his Tslavar captors. “But what is the ‘conglomerate?’”
Maktan smiled warmly. “The hundreds of systems under Council control. We provide structure and order to these worlds. Maintain stability and even flow of power between the systems. If the worlds within fall out of sync, the ripples to the power lattice connecting them would affect us all.”
Mester Norkal kept smiling at Charlie, and her excessive attention was beginning to creep him out a bit.
“But that won’t happen,” she said, smiling at them both. “The Council keeps everything running smoothly, as Visla Maktan has just demonstrated so aptly. Now, please, let me offer you refreshments. You have come far, and after such a display, I know you must be hungry.”
Visla Maktan pondered a moment, then nodded an affirmation.
“Come along, Charlie. Let us restore our energy before the voyage home.”
Chapter Eight
Visla Maktan was the very image of polite company as they shared a small repast with the woman whose life, whose kingdom he had just saved. The conversation turned to more pleasant topics than rebellions and battle tactics, and the visla even managed to keep Charlie’s new fan from bombarding him with questions about his last bout.
Apparently, word of his fight had spread farther than he previously believed. He was a celebrity, of sorts, and it was something of a coup for Visla Maktan to have acquired him. All told, if he was to be living in bondage, it was far better to be a slave under a man like Maktan than the far more brutal owners he had known in prior years.
The visla was something of a renaissance man, though given that he was a powerful wizard, perhaps a different term would fit better, if he could think of one. Patron of arts and magic, perhaps? Whatever he was, Yoral Maktan was a man of power, talent, and taste.
I could really get used to this, Charlie thought as he sipped the last of his magically cooled cup of nectar. The beverage was perfectly sweetened––not syrupy, not cloyingly saccharine. It flowed across his tongue and down his throat with the most refreshing sensation. After a long day, it certainly beat plain old water.
Evening soon fell, and Visla Maktan stepped aside to have a few words in private with Mester Norkal before they departed.
“You know you are a slave,” Dinuk said. “The visla is a wise and powerful man. Far more powerful than you realize. It would do you well to remember your place after today.”
Charlie assessed the bodyguard––though with the claithes he was still wearing, he doubted anyone could get close enough to be a danger to the visla. Dinuk was a true believer, that much was obvious. Devoted to his master. And he wore no collar. He was a free man with that faithful spark in his eye. That type of loyalty was something money couldn’t buy.
“Thanks, Dinuk. I appreciate the words of advice. To be honest, the visla has been quite a surprise to me after the people I’ve been sold off to in the past. He’s quite a man.”
“Yes, that he is. A great man, doing great things for the systems.”
“And he treats me like an equal.”
“You are not an equal.”
“No, obviously. But you know what I mean. He doesn’t need to act like a tyrant to make his point.”
“Hmm,” Dinuk muttered, his eyes shifting as the visla returned from his private chat.
“Dinuk, send your men to gather the tribute Mester Norkal has so graciously offered for my assistance.”
“Charlie, go with the others and––”
“No. Charlie is my guest, Dinuk. Just your men.” He turned to the human. “Shall we step inside and get comfortable?”
Dinuk quickly set his men to work, doing an impressive job of hiding his annoyance, though one flash of irritation did manage to find its way to the surface before being quickly suppressed. Charlie ignored it and followed the wizard aboard his ship.
Maktan once again keyed open his secure wall safe, sliding the claithes from his hands and placing them back in their spots, then sliding his konuses back on his wrists.
“Much better,” he sighed. “I used most of their charge out there, and it’ll take quite a bit of effort to bring them back to full levels, but even depleted, a claithe is a dangerous tool. It requires a constant degree of concentration to keep it under control, you know.”
“I’d imagine that would be exhausting after a while, even for a man as powerful as you are.”
The visla smiled.
“Yes, it is. You are quite observant, Charlie.”
“Gladiator training. A
ssessing weapons is kind of second nature at this point. It’s a survival thing.”
“I’d think so,” Maktan said with an amused little grin.
Charlie watched as he proceeded to take a long braid of golden hair from a pocket hidden in his clothing. The braid was thin, but Charlie could feel a ripple of power trickling from it. Ootaki hair.
Visla Maktan tucked it in the wall safe with his weapons and sealed the door.
“Yes, Charlie, it is Ootaki hair. I can see the recognition in your eyes.”
“I’m sorry, was I staring?”
“Not at all. I tend to notice men’s interests and intentions. It’s second nature at this point.”
Charlie chuckled. “Yes, a survival thing, right?”
“Indeed,” the visla said with an amused grin.
“So, she didn’t lose all of her Ootaki hair, then?”
“Not all of it, no. However, she owed me for my expenditure of power on her behalf. This is just a part of the compensation. It’s too bad for her that she was unable to handle the issue herself. She had been nurturing those Ootaki for years to contribute them to the Council and improve her standing. I feel she will suffer for the loss. But that is the nature of battle, is it not? For every victor there must also be the other side of the coin.”
Ah, there it is.
“Is that what you need me for, then? To fight for the Council?” Charlie asked. “I’m a gladiator, but as for actual comba––”
“No, no. Nothing like that, Charlie. Though perhaps one day that may be an option. But for now, I am simply pleased to have you in my household. As I’m sure you’ve noted by now, you are something of a celebrity, given your performance on Gilea. It is a great pleasure having you with me. Your curious circumstances are the talk of the systems.”
