Hyperion's Shield

by Nathan Schivley

  Hadrian stepped forward, making his presence known to the doctor, who quickly turned –instinctively blocking the king’s view of the patient.

  "Your highness," said the doctor. "I am still—"

  "Move," said Hadrian with a raise of his hand.

  The doctor bowed his head and slowly moved away from the table, revealing Septa’s body.

  Hadrian took two slow steps toward the table, then stopped. The swinging lamp illuminated what was left of his daughter. The wavering light combined with the translucent gel made it look like Septa’s skin was boiling. Hadrian reached up to stop the light from swinging. He gripped it so tight that he crushed the hood of the lamp.

  Septa's one eye was still wide open, like she was staring down an invisible enemy on the ceiling. The left side of her body, from her face down to her hip, was a bloody mix of burnt flesh and medicinal gel. Hadrian unclenched his hand from the lamp and laid it on his daughter's arm. It felt cold to the touch.

  "The gel is meant to—"

  Again, Hadrian raised his hand to silence the doctor. He did not need a medical explanation to understand what he was seeing. Relieved, the doctor retreated to the corner of the room and sat down. Hadrian kept his eyes locked on his daughter. His face was like a stone. He scanned her body from feet to head, eventually stopping on her face. A clear breathing tube ran from Septa's nose to an accordion-shaped machine next to her. The steady sound of the bellows rising and falling filled the room.

  Friends of the king, or at least those close enough to risk the question, used to ask Hadrian why he had chosen to adopt Septa. After all, he already had Lex.

  It was uncommon for a Gartune to adopt more than one child, especially when they already had a son. But for Hadrian, there was no questioning whether Septa would be his.

  Two weeks before the great waterfall bore Septa into the bay of Gartol, a famous Gartune had died. Next to Hadrian, he was Gartol's most glorified warrior. He was also a masterful builder, a respected politician and one of the most influential Gartune in the city. But, Septarian was known for one thing above all else – he was the king's only rival.

  Septarian and Hadrian disagreed on almost everything, but where other Gartune were afraid to speak against the king, Septarian openly defied him. Publicly, Hadrian denounced Septarian as a traitor and an enemy of Gartol. However, privately, he embraced the antagonist because he respected Septarian more than any other Tormada.

  Septarian and Hadrian's arguments were the stuff of legend. It could be something as small as the meal choice for a state dinner, or as significant as the king’s philosophy on leadership – Septarian disagreed with everything that Hadrian did. Often, these disagreements culminated in a fantastic duel between Gartol's two finest warriors. These duels always ended in a stalemate – all but the last one.

  Hadrian remembered the insult that had pre-empted this final battle. Septarian had accused the king of being a negligent father to his son. At that time, Lex was still a young boy, barely old enough to hold a eüroc, so he was of little interest to the king. The boy's education and training were handled by the court's assigned masters, as was the custom. The king rarely saw his son, except on his mandated testing days where Lex had to prove that he was advancing in all areas, or else the Gartune in charge of that particular discipline was replaced. Lex never disappointed, but all he ever received from his father was a satisfied nod.

  When Septarian pointed out that Hadrian should pay more attention to his young son, the king erupted with anger. Perhaps it was because he knew Septarian spoke the truth. But nobody told the king how to raise his own child. This time, when they inevitably came to blows, Hadrian had an extra measure of fire in his belly.

  Septarian immediately knew he was in trouble. It was all he could do to fend off the barrage of strikes that Hadrian threw his way. After almost an hour of fighting, Septarian was bloodied and bruised. Hadrian, still fueled by a seething hot anger, was as fresh as when they had begun. The exhausted Septarian could see in the king's eyes that there would be no stalemate this time. So, rather than prolonging the inevitable, he dropped his defenses right as the king threw a savage blow with his eüroc. The king struck Septarian so hard in his chest that his ribs punctured his heart.

  Immediately, the fury in Hadrian's eyes was gone. Shock and confusion filled its place. Septarian crumbled to the ground, holding his chest in his hands. Blood seeped through his fingers. He looked down at his chest and then up at Hadrian standing above him. "Prove me wrong," were his last words.

  As the defeated Gartune lay on the ground breathing his last breath, Hadrian looked at him as he now looked at his daughter. Full of anger. Full of regret.

  "You have his fight," whispered Hadrian to his daughter. "That was why I picked you."

  Hadrian moved his hand from Septa's forearm to her hand. He continued to look at her. His face still as stone, his eyes dry and clear. Then, something happened. He felt a slight squeeze in his hand. Septa's eye turned slowly to her father. The two looked at each other in silence, and then Hadrian squeezed his daughter's hand and gave her a satisfied nod.

  "Fight!" he whispered. Then he gave her hand a squeeze before he turned and walked over to the doctor.

  "Who brought her back?"

  "He's in the mess room, your highness," answered the doctor.

  "Good. I want to talk to him," said the king.

  The doctor escorted the king through the infirmary and into the cafeteria. There, at one of the tables, sat a small man ravenously finishing off the last of a sandwich. His head was bowed so the king could not see his face. Morlo sat at a table behind him, watching closely as he ate.

  "A torman saved her?" said the king in amazement.

  "He says he dragged her here all by himself," said Morlo. "Although he must have had some help. He probably double-crossed the others right before he arrived so he could keep the reward all to himself."

  "The reward," said Hadrian, his eyes widening as he looked to wear the torman was sitting. The torman lifted his head.

  "''Figured der might be a bit of coin in savin' da princess," said the torman. "If not, I'll be on my way."

  The king's face relaxed and a small smile of recognition crept across his face. "Now there's a voice I haven't heard in many years," said Hadrian. "Hello, Declin."

  "Your 'ighness." replied the waif.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Orders

  "So, it was you that carried my daughter all the way here from Woodhaven?" asked Hadrian.

  "Aye," said Declin.

  "Impossible. You can hardly walk as it is!" said Morlo. "There's no way you carried her here without help."

  Declin shrugged. "I've carried larger 'dan her, further 'den here," he said.

  "And what were you doing in the forest when Septa was attacked?" said Morlo.

  "Just 'appened to be walkin' by when I heard a racket," said Declin.

  "Just happened to be walking by?" said Morlo suspiciously.

  "Aye, dat's what I said."

  "Well, that's awfully lucky," said Morlo.

  "Lucky fer da princess, I suppose," said Declin as he took a bite of his sandwich. Morlo took two angry steps toward the waif but Hadrian stopped him.

  "Enough, Morlo," said Hadrian.

  "With all due respect, your highness," said Morlo. "How do we know he wasn't with the Reytana when Septa was attacked? He could be playing both sides. He's a waif, after all. It's their way."

  "Because Declin learned long ago the consequence of choosing the wrong side," said Hadrian coolly.

  Declin's hand unconsciously went to his lame leg. "Aye," said Declin. "Ain't no profit in defying da king. No one knows dat better dan I."

  "Then tell us what you were doing in the forest!" shouted Morlo.

  "I live in da forest! Where else was I s'posed to be?!"

  "I said enough!" said Hadrian. "Morlo, your presence is no longer required. Go see to the preparations. The Reytana have shown themselves. They must be close to returning home.
Mobilize the army."

  "Yes, your highness," said Morlo.

  "Oh, and Morlo," said Hadrian. "Your project had better be completed by the time they get there."

  "It will be," said Morlo.

  "Good, then go," said Hadrian. Morlo exited the infirmary cafeteria leaving the king alone with the waif. Once the Gartune captain had gone, Hadrian turned slowly to Declin, his gaze fierce.

  "What are they planning?" said Hadrian.

  "What are who plannin'?" asked Declin.

  "I will ask you one more time," said Hadrian as he bent over the much smaller torman. "What are they planning?" This time Declin did not answer. He began to rub his gimp leg nervously. The king grunted. "You play a dangerous game, waif. I wonder, how do you keep it all straight – switching your loyalties whenever its most profitable for you? I'll give you this, you must be very clever, or you would have been dead long ago."

  "Your 'ighness, you've got me wrong," said Declin. "I know better dan to go against Gartol."

  Hadrian slowly circled the seated waif. "Do you know the only thing I like about a waif? It's that they're predictable. Greed is predictable. I don't doubt that you brought Septa back here because you were hoping to earn a reward. I also don’t doubt that you were helping the Reytana who attacked her.

  “What did they give you? Coin? The promise of a position in Reysa when they reclaimed their city? Or was it just that they made you feel important?"

  "Your 'ighness, ya don't—" Hadrian stopped him.

  "I'm going to give you one last chance. Normally, I would just kill you, but since we're such old friends, I'm going to give you a chance to earn the most valuable reward I can offer – your life.

  “Go back to the Reytana. Find out how and when they plan to return to Reysa. I want details; do you understand? Very. Specific. Details." He emphasized his last three words with a poke to the waif's ribs.

  "Do that," continued Hadrian, "and you will have earned your life back. Until then, it is mine. Do you understand?"

  "Aye, your 'ighness," whispered Declin.

  "Good. You have one week to return with my information."

  "I will be back in one week, yous can count on 'dat," said Declin.

  "No, you won't be coming back here. In seven days, you can find me in Reysa. I trust you know the way."

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Training

  For the next few days Loras, Regan and Tinko were left to entertain themselves as the Reytana prepared for their return to Reysa. There was a mix of excitement and quiet anticipation in the air. After eighteen suffocating years in The Hole, the Reytana were going home.

  Tinko chose to pass the time with an unlikely companion. Several times a day, the Reysene teenager visited Belkore at his cell. Emboldened by the fact that Belkore was captive – and fully restrained – and knowing that he would probably never have this opportunity again, Tinko spent hours torturing the Gartune captive. His torment consisted of a barrage of jests, witty observations about prison life, and jokes that generally were not funny.

  Though they would never admit it, the two Reytana guards posted to guard Belkore had begun looking forward to Tinko's visits. At the moment, they each struggled to maintain a stoic appearance.

  "You know what I find funny about this whole situation?" mused Tinko as he sauntered outside of Belkore's cell.

  "What?" sighed Belkore as he leaned against the back of his cell and rubbed his temples.

  "The fact that you Gartune love being underground, and the Reytana hate it. Yet here you are, imprisoned in a room that very well could be a comfortable residence in Gartol. This is like home away from home for you isn't it? These guards out here may actually be suffering more than you – although that could just be because you haven't showered in days.

  “Do they have showers in Gartol? I'm being serious. You see, this is my first time out of Reysa so I'm trying to soak up as much knowledge as I can before I go back. "

  "Before you go back?" replied Belkore. "What exactly do you think is going to happen when you go back?"

  "Are you asking what the attack plan is going to be? Well, I've only been invited to a few of the strategy meetings, but from what I gather it is going to involve two Mendkins, some deceptive dancing, a large boomerang and... Wait! I shouldn't be telling you this! I guess that's why they stopped inviting me to the meetings. Damn my big mouth." One of the Reytana guards let out a quick snort but then quickly collected himself.

  "Keep talking, tubby," said Belkore. "Enjoy it while you can."

  "Oh, I am," said Tinko. "I really am."

  "Good," said Belkore, "because the longer you talk, the longer I will draw out your death."

  "There it is!" yelled Tinko happily. He looked at the guards. "How long has it been? Twenty minutes? Who had twenty minutes before he threatened me? Was it you?" He pointed to the guard on his left who had tears welling in his eyes. "It was you wasn't it. Well, fair is fair. Here you go." Tinko took a coin out of his pocket and made a show out of slapping it into the hand of the guard. "Don't go spending that before I have a chance to win it back from you tomorrow," said Tinko. The guard gave him a sideways wink.

  "Well, I have to be off," said Tinko. "Lots of important things to do. I think I’ll ask Gracien to teach me how to drive a tank. Ta ta for now, my violet-eyed friend."

  Belkore grunted.

  As it turned out, Gracien was already busy with another job, teaching Loras how to fight.

  "Keep your balance," said Gracien as he easily side-stepped a clumsy lunge from his pupil. "Every time you swing you lose your balance. Stop reaching."

  "If I don't reach, how am I supposed to hit you?" asked Loras between heavy breaths.

  "Let your enemy come to you. If you are prepared for the attack, you will have the advantage once they open themselves up. But to do so, you have to maintain your balance at all times. If you’re balanced, you can react to any maneuver.

  "Here, look at your stance and then look at mine." The two Tormada squared off against each other, their knees bent slightly. Each had a glowing shield covering their left arm and a flickering sword of light rising from their right. "There is your problem," said Gracien. "Your feet are too close together and you're leaning forward. You look like a cat about to pounce. Don't tip your hand – your enemy should never know if you are about to advance or retreat.”

  “And how do I do that?” asked Loras. “Half the time I feel like you can read my mind.”

  “Stay even,” replied Gracien. “Get your weight off of your toes and bend your knees more. That's it." Gracien adjusted Loras' stance slightly and then reset himself against him.

  "Now, be patient. Let your enemy come to you." Gracien took one quick step toward Loras and then stopped. Loras flinched. "Patience," Gracien repeated. This time he took two steps toward Loras before stopping. Loras held his stance. "Good," said Gracien.

  "But if I wait too long to react, you'll be on me before I can defend myself," said Loras.

  "That's why you also need to work on your quickness," said Gracien. "Speed is a great advantage in combat. You must learn speed just as you must learn patience. Once you can master them both, there won't be an adversary you cannot defeat. Here, I will show you. Attack me but keep your balance."

  Loras took a quick step forward and then jumped to the side. Gracien did not move, but his eyes were locked on the young Reytana. Loras took two more quick zigzag steps toward his teacher, then backed away quickly, recoiled and jumped into the air while raising his ray blade above his head. Gracien did not move until Loras was almost on top of him. Then in an imperceptibly fast movement, Gracien swung his shield across his body and stung Loras on his chin right before he would have landed on top of him. Loras flew back and landed in a heap. He slowly got up onto his elbows and glared warily at his instructor. The Reytana captain gave a small smile.

  "That was an interesting maneuver, Loras."

  "Apparently not interesting enough." Loras spat onto the ground and was not surprise
d to see it tinted red. "Was that really necessary?"

  "To strike you like that? If I had more time to train you, I would say no. But since our time is limited, I need you to learn as quickly as possible." Gracien lent Loras a hand up. "And you, Loras, are not always the quickest learner."

  "You must have been talking to my sister," said Loras. "She says the same thing. So does Tinko. Actually, so does everyone. I guess you're wasting your time.”

  "Relax, young warrior," said Gracien as he patted Loras on the shoulder. "There are other qualities that are just as important. Like courage and loyalty – both of which I can tell you have in abundance. It may take you a while to learn the ins-and-outs of hand-to-hand combat, but when the moment of truth arises, you rise to the occasion, just like you did back in the forest. That, more than anything I can teach you, is what makes you a warrior."

  Loras blushed and looked at his feet. Gracien rubbed his chin as he studied the young Tormada. "I think I might have something that can help you with your training. Stay here, I'll be right back."

  Gracien walked back to the barracks and left Loras to practice his maneuvers. The young Reytana slowly and deliberately rehearsed his defensive and offensive positions, concentrating on footwork and balance. The stances Gracien had taught him were not easy. Loras' movements became increasingly staggered as his frustration grew. Just as the Reytana captain returned, Loras’ feet tangled, and he almost fell to the floor.

  "I'm never going to be able to fight like you," said Loras dejectedly.

  Gracien unraveled a golden ribbon. "Try this," he said. He stood behind Loras and tied the ribbon around the boy’s forehead, then turned Loras around to inspect the headband.