by Unknown
“Today was awesome,” Kyle said, swinging his legs back and forth over the edge of his sleeping bag. Kalibar chuckled.
“Indeed it was,” he agreed. “I haven't played like that since I was a boy,” he added. He shook his head then, staring into the fire. “My father always said that having children reminded him of what true joy was.”
Kyle nodded absently, then stared across the fire at Kalibar.
“Do you have any children?” he asked.
Kalibar paused for a long moment, then shook his head.
“No.”
“Oh,” Kyle replied. Kalibar stared into the fire for a bit, then cleared his throat.
“I had a son,” Kalibar confessed. “But that was a long time ago.”
“What happened?” Kyle pressed. Kalibar sighed, picking up a small stick and throwing it into the fire. The flames engulfed it, the bark slowly blackening in the intense heat.
“He died,” Kalibar answered at last. He paused, then threw another stick in, watching it burn alongside the first. Kyle swallowed, turning away from Kalibar and staring into the fire.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“So am I,” Kalibar murmured. He stood up from his sleeping bag then, throwing one last stick into the campfire. “We'd better get to sleep,” he added. The wards around the camp activated, a huge domed gravity shield appearing around them. He walked up to Kyle, putting a hand on Kyle's shoulder. “You did well today.”
“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled. Kalibar turned to walk back to his sleeping bag, and Kyle followed him with his gaze. “Kalibar?” he asked. Kalibar paused, turning to look over his shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Thanks,” Kyle stated. “For everything.”
Kalibar smiled, turning about and ruffling Kyle's hair with one hand.
“The pleasure,” he replied, “...is mine.”
With that, Kalibar went back to his sleeping bag, as did Darius, and the two men turned in to sleep. Kyle went to his own sleeping bag, snuggling inside its warm confines. Utterly exhausted, he closed his eyes, and was lulled to sleep by the gentle crackling of the dying fire.
Chapter 12
Ampir bursts upward and to the left just as the Behemoth's eye flashes far in the distance. A beam of unholy green light burns across the night sky, missing Ampir by less than a yard. The wide beam strikes the Weavers behind him, annihilating their gravity shields. Their bodies explode, hunks of burning flesh falling to the Great River below.
The beam fades, its purple afterimage seared into Ampir's vision. The Behemoth's head turns slowly, still tracking him as he accelerates over the River. For the first time in over a decade, he feels vulnerable despite wearing his armor. He designed it to withstand any assault...but after seeing what the Behemoth's beam did to those Weavers, eating through their gravity shields as if they didn't exist...
Focus.
He pushes forward, keeping an eye on the Behemoth, even as the gargantuan weapon tracks him. That lone, green eye shines brightly against the black metal of its domed head. The image evokes a long forgotten memory...a memory that makes Ampir's breath catch in his throat.
I know who made you, he realizes, staring at the Behemoth. I know who's behind this.
A chill runs through him.
Then the Behemoth's eye flashes.
* * *
The morning sky was a dull gray when Kyle awoke, dark clouds rolling in from the east high above the camp. The air was cool and thick with moisture, leaving the ground slightly damp. The campfire had long since burned itself out, blackened logs and sticks all that remained of last night's merry blaze.
Kyle yawned, swinging his legs over the side of his sleeping bag. He stretched his arms out to his sides, feeling even more stiff and sore today than he had yesterday. He glanced about the camp, spotting Kalibar – already awake, as usual – sitting cross-legged on the ground, hunched over a glittering brown crystal as big as Kyle's fist.
“Morning,” Kyle mumbled, rubbing the crust from his eyes. Kalibar looked up from the crystal, smiling when he saw Kyle.
“Good morning Kyle,” he greeted.
“What are you doing?” Kyle asked, gesturing at the brown crystal.
“Making runic wards,” Kalibar replied, hunching back down over the crystal. As Kyle watched, a tiny dot of blue light appeared on the surface of the gem. The dot moved slowly across its surface, leaving a thin orange line behind it, tracing a complicated pattern. When Kalibar was done, he offered the gem to Kyle, who walked up next to Kalibar and sat down beside him, taking it. He stared at the orange pattern.
“Is this a rune?” he asked. Kalibar nodded.
“Erasmus taught me how to make simple runes a few years ago, after I retired,” Kalibar explained. “I may never become an expert at it, but I enjoy the challenge.” He stretched his neck from side to side, then smiled. “I highly recommend doing things you're bad at from time to time...it keeps you humble...and keeps your mind sharp.”
Kyle heard footsteps approaching, and turned to see Darius walking toward them. The bodyguard held a large pack in his arms, which he prompted dropped onto the ground in front of Kalibar. Then he squatted before it, unzipping the pack to reveal a large collection of thick white roots, like pale carrots but three times as long.
“What's that?” Kyle asked.
“Those are sweetroots,” Kalibar replied, setting his brown crystal aside and standing up to look down at Darius's bounty. “They're highly nutritious,” Kalibar added. He grabbed a root, snapping off a small piece and handing it to Kyle. “Here, try it.”
Kyle complied, biting a tiny piece off and chewing it. It was a bit tough, and surprisingly bland. Kyle frowned.
“It's not sweet at all,” he complained. Kalibar chuckled, throwing the remainder of the root back in the pack.
“It's called sweetroot because of its magic, not its taste,” he replied. “The root has a rather pleasant calming effect on anyone who eats it...making them sweet, in a manner of speaking. A few species of insects pollinate the sweetroot flowers, deliberating planting the small seeds in their territories. Then they dig underground to chew the roots, taking small pieces and bringing them to the surface. They place these pieces in a perimeter around their territories; any predator that tries to enter the insects' territories will be enticed by the sweetroot, eating it...and will become completely disinterested in fighting. It's an elegant relationship, really.”
“Wait, what's it going to do to me?” Kyle asked, suddenly regretting having swallowed the stuff.
“That depends,” Kalibar replied. “The effect is powerful on insects, but in humans, it takes quite a bit of sweetroot to have an effect.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “Sweetroot has something of a checkered past,” he admitted. “By grinding down a large amount of it, and concentrating the extract, alchemists can make a powerful potion indeed. One sip can completely nullify a man's desire for violence. Sweetroot potions are used in maximum security prisons to make dangerous prisoners – some of them Weavers – docile.”
“That doesn't sound like a bad idea at all,” Kyle opined.
“Yes, well that's what we thought during the first few years of the second Empire,” Kalibar agreed. “The Secula Magna heavily subsidized sweetroot farming, and used the massive crop yields to make unheard-of quantities of extract. They thought that, by spraying the extract in a fine mist above enemy towns and armies, they could easily subdue, then dispatch them. They were right; it worked extraordinarily well...that is, until the enemy used the same tactic back on them. It became a critical strategy to find and eliminate enemy stores of the extract, and burn their fields of sweetroot.”
“Wow,” Kyle exclaimed, staring warily at the pack full of roots. “Are we really going to eat that?” he asked. Kalibar smiled.
“Of course,” he replied. “At most, you'll feel a pleasant peaceful feeling – if you eat a half dozen of them.” He grabbed a root from the pack, biting off a good-sized piece and chewing it.
“Nowadays, sweetroot cultivation is heavily regulated by the government. Mass-farming is illegal, and heavy personal use is frowned upon – except in certain circumstances.”
“What do you mean?” Kyle asked.
“Well, doctors use the concentrated extract as medicine for people with violent tempers,” Kalibar replied. “Particularly in domestic abuse situations. The root has saved many marriages,” he added. “And it's used on maximum-security prisoners. But the use of sweetroot for crowd control is forbidden.” Kalibar took another bite of sweetroot, and chewed on it thoughtfully. “About fifty years ago, the Empire experimented on using sweetroot extract on their own citizens...secretly, through the drinking water. It was for a supposedly noble purpose – to see if it would improve civility among the people, decreasing the murder rate and criminal activity. But when the population at large found out about it...well, it was far from a 'sweet' response.”
“The Empire experimented on its own people?” Kyle exclaimed in disbelief.
“Often with good intentions,” Kalibar answered. “In this case it was a noble cause. But without the consent of the people, good intentions often yield unfortunate results. Very few leaders truly appreciate that.”
Kalibar walked back to his crystal then, sitting down before it once again.
“I'd like to keep working on this, if you don't mind,” he said. “We'll start your training in an hour or so.” He glanced up at the sky. “Those storm clouds are closing in fast,” he observed.
“I'll get more firewood,” Darius offered. Kalibar nodded.
“A fire like last night would be nice,” the Weaver agreed.
“Let's go,” Darius said, turning to Kyle. Kyle stiffened.
“What?”
“Yes, why don't you go with Darius for a while,” Kalibar agreed. “Try to be back in an hour or so.”
Darius nodded, picking up an empty pack from the back of the carriage, then shoving it into Kyle's arms.
“Come on princess,” the bodyguard growled, turning away from Kalibar and walking out of the camp toward the woods. Kyle grit his teeth.
“Princess?” he shot back. Darius didn't reply, continuing to stride toward the forest.
“Jerk,” Kyle muttered under his breath.
Kyle gripped the empty pack tightly, stomping out of the camp behind the armored oaf. Darius was already past the tree-line now, and Kyle had to sprint to catch up with him.
“Have fun,” Kalibar called out after them.
Yeah right, Kyle muttered to himself. He doubted that Darius even knew what fun was, much less how to have it.
He reached the tree-line quickly, catching up to Darius and falling into step behind the bodyguard. Despite Darius's armor – which had to weigh a ton – the man maneuvered through the rough terrain easily and quickly, forcing Kyle to struggle just to keep pace. A thick fog hung above the trees over their heads, blocking their view of the overcast sky. As the terrain led them up a slight incline, they rose to meet the fog. It made the forest seem dull and gray, and anything more than thirty feet away was swallowed whole by it. The air was chilly, but the coolness was a welcome reprieve from the heat of his exertions.
They strode silently, Kyle trailing a few feet behind, weaving through the trees. Fallen leaves and small branches littering the forest floor crunched underfoot in a cadence that became almost hypnotic. The forest took on an otherworldly appearance, disappearing on all sides into the oblivion of the gray mist surrounding them. Darius kept silent as he walked, not slowly his pace one bit. It wasn't long before Kyle was huffing and puffing, sweat pouring down his flanks. His legs began to burn, the already sore muscles complaining bitterly. He found himself falling behind, the distance between him and Darius growing with every step. Before long, he could barely see the man's outline in the fog ahead.
“Wait up!” Kyle gasped, breaking into a run. But if Darius heard him, he didn't acknowledge it. Kyle grit his teeth and pushed forward, ignoring the pain in his legs.
“Slow...down!” Kyle gasped as he fell into step a few feet behind the man. Darius didn't so much as turn his head.
“Speed up,” he countered.
“I can't!” Kyle protested. Darius raised an eyebrow, glancing back to where Kyle had been a moment before, then turning back to Kyle. Kyle felt a flash of anger.
“Would it kill you to be nice for once?” he blurted out. He didn't care what the bodyguard did to him...enough was enough.
“That's not my job.”
“Then what is?” Kyle shot back. As if it had to be in the man's job description to be nice! Darius didn't respond; instead, he quickened his pace slightly. Kyle groaned, pushing himself to the limit just to keep up.
The earth dipped downward, gently angling toward a narrow path flanked by steep, nearly vertical cliffs on either side. Darius led them down the path, the cliffs looming nearly twenty feet tall. Kyle glared at the golden metal plates of the bodyguard's armored back.
Not his job!
Suddenly Darius jerked to the left, nearly stumbling into the side of the cliff wall. He grunted, catching himself. There was something sticking out of the back of his right shoulder.
An arrow.
“Get down!” Darius shouted, running up to Kyle and shoving him to the ground. Something whizzed by Kyle's head, and he heard a thunk as another arrow embedded itself into the cliff wall to his left.
“Darius!” he cried.
The bodyguard grabbed Kyle's arm, pulling him back the way they'd come. Darius broke out into an all-out sprint, pulling Kyle along with him. They ran down the narrow path between the cliffs, their footsteps echoing off of the stony walls.
“Come on!” Darius yelled, letting go of Kyle's hand and sprinting even faster. Kyle ran as fast as he could, his heart pounding in his chest. Another arrow whizzed through the air behind them.
Oh crap oh crap oh...
His right foot landed on a small stone, and his ankle rolled out from under him. He careened toward the ground, landing on his outstretched hands. He scrambled to his feet, hearing a dull thunk to his right.
An arrow was embedded into the ground, inches from where his head had been.
Kyle limped forward, each step sending a stabbing pain through his ankle. His ankle gave out again, and he stumbled into the cliff wall to his right, bracing himself against it.
“Help!” he cried at Darius's retreating back. Darius spun around, spotting Kyle. The bodyguard cursed, sprinting back to him and grabbing him by the arm. He turned around, then froze.
Dark shapes moved within the fog some twenty feet from where they stood.
“Back!” Darius shouted, whirling Kyle around and wrapping an arm around his waist. They ran in the other direction, Kyle hopping on his good ankle. Then Darius skid to a halt.
More shadows in the fog ahead...moving right toward them.
Kyle glanced behind him, and saw the dark shapes closing in, hazy figures in the fog.
They were surrounded!
Kyle clutched at Darius's arm, watching as the shadowy outlines on either side of them grew sharper, more distinct. They were men, Kyle realized...nearly a dozen of them. Out of the mist they came, big, burly men wearing armor made of thick leather over chain mail, most carrying a sword and shield, one holding a crossbow. They surrounded Kyle and Darius, still huddled against the cliff wall. Darius stepped in front of Kyle, shielding him. One of the armored men – bald, with a scar over his left eye – strode forward, pointing the tip of his sword at Darius.
“Hand over the boy,” he ordered.
Darius said nothing, not budging from where he stood. The man with the crossbow raised it, aiming it at Darius. The bald man sighed.
“Come now, give us the boy,” he stated. “We had an agreement.”
Kyle's blood went cold.
“What?” he blurted out.
“Ignore him,” Darius stated, still staring at the bald-headed man, who smirked.
“Looks like our friend,” he said, “...is
having second thoughts about our agreement.” His smirk faded. “The terms have changed. You give us the boy,” he ordered, “...or you die.”
Still Darius stood there, saying nothing. Kyle slipped to the side away from the bodyguard, his back pressed against the cliff. He stared at Darius, hardly believing what he was hearing. The bald man sighed again.
“I don't have time for this,” he muttered, turning to the man with the crossbow. “Kill him already.”
The crossbow clicked.
Darius jerked to the left, his hand going to his thigh. He swung his arm forward just as a crossbow bolt slammed into the cliff wall inches from his head, something flying out of his hand. The man with the crossbow jerked backward, the hilt of a dagger jutting out of the center of his forehead.
He collapsed to the ground with a thump.
“Go!” the bald man shouted.
Two of the armored men stepped forward, shields raised, swords in hand. They inched forward toward Darius, spreading apart to flank him on either side. Kyle hesitated, staring at the men, then at Darius.
Give us the boy...we had an agreement.
The men continued inching forward, their eyes on the bodyguard. Despite every fiber of his being telling him not to, he ducked behind Darius, his heart hammering in his chest. Darius took a step forward, shielding Kyle, his fists clenched at his sides...and his sword still in its scabbard on his back.
One of the men lunged forward, raising his sword, then swinging it down at Darius's head.
“Darius!” Kyle cried out.
Darius raised one armored forearm, and the sword slammed into it, sparks flying from the impact. The cruel blade slid down Darius's arm, and Darius reached out with his other hand, grabbing the man's shoulder and yanking on it. The man stumbled forward, and Darius brought his knee up into the man's chest with a horrible crunching sound.
The man fell to the ground like a rag dog, bloody pink froth bubbling from his lips.
The other swordsman hesitated, glancing down at his fallen comrade. Darius reached for the hilt of his sword, slowly unsheathing the massive blade from its scabbard. The swordsman roared, swinging his sword at Darius. Darius stepped aside, the blade narrowly missing him, and swung his own sword, chopping at the man's neck. The man's head separated from his shoulders in a spray of red, falling to the ground. His headless corpse struck the ground next to it, limbs twitching once, then again. Darius stood over the body, staring coolly at the nine remaining men.