by Reiter
“What is wrong with him?” one of the Lords asked, gazing upon the young creature, barely a Nameert sapling, shaking as he stood in the center of the floor. His coverings were all but gone, appearing to be both thrashed and burned. His green eyes were filled with fear and pain, but he did not speak.
“What is it, sapling?” the Chamberlain asked. “What words did they give you?” He only received a quivering moan in response to his inquiry, as many of the attendants approached the young Nameert. The young wood’s bark, like his clothing, had been subjected to sharp edges and fire. Splinters remained where strong wood had been growing. With all the sap that was falling from his open wounds, it was a wonder the youth was still alive! Moving most cautiously, they drew closer to him. His shaking quickly became worse as tears fell from his eyes.
The sapling looked around the room as he could hear laughter in his mind. It was a sound that he knew none of the others could hear.
“Speak, sapling!” the Chamberlain demanded. “We must have their words!”
With his mouth remaining closed, the young boy screamed as his body shuddered violently. A silver rod burst out from the sapling’s chest, causing those closest to jump in fright. The end of the rod was coming through a dimensional pocket that had been housed inside the youth. The end split into four smaller mechanical arms that opened another pocket which produced an imbued stone, a Power Locke, one that had been attuned to MannA. It was glowing brightly with the Energy and ready to burst.
“MajiK?!” one member said as she was staggered by the presence of MannA. “Impossible!”
“No, his body was used to mask the detectors,” another resolved as he turned away from the sight of the sapling. He closed his eyes and thought of his friend and mate… he knew he would never see her again… how he would miss her!
The proving grounds were seldom such a spectacle. But then again, it was a rare occasion when both the instructor and the student were such well-known figures in the community. While the former was respected – and slightly feared – the latter was royalty, and demanded attention… oft times by direct vocal command. But they were only two of their race. Though they could be considered extremes, not all of their kind could be found inside the range they created.
The Tonnogard were adept with all but one of the known Energies, and considered masters of their application. It was clear that ElemahntiA was by far their favorite. With a very deep-seeded fear of fire, the Tonnogard kept their practice to four of the six elements, as they did not much care for iron either.
An exception to that generality was Marjoram Blackwood. She performed her forward roll perfectly, avoiding the column of water that had been thrown at her. She smirked as her hand made a backhand arc around the side of her body. Five small, flat discs of flame flew from her hand, streaking under the gushing water toward her opponent. By the time his eyes drew focus on the objects, the first disc had exploded into flames with a brightness that matched the mid-day suns. The young Nameert screamed in a panic, making a quick slashing motion at the other discs. The water he had been using to hurl at his instructor changed direction and fell over the four fire discs, smothering them.
“Mind on your work, Ranmus,” Marjoram said, looking at the wall where the abundance of water was headed… where Shievel was standing, observing the younger females in the garden. He screamed as he turned to see the water rushing toward him.
Ranmus stepped forward, extending both hands and trying to assert his will over the whitewater that flowed around a very loyal and cherished friend. The edge of a blade touched against the side of his neck and Ranmus closed his eyes, lowering his hands to his sides.
“Nice save,” she said, tapping the flat of the blade on his shoulder. “Too bad you couldn’t do the same for yourself, eh, Nameert?”
“Dead bark,” Ranmus muttered before the blade was removed from his shoulder and quickly applied to his chin and neck. Knowing the sharpness of the weapon and the skill of its wielder, Ranmus quickly went up on his root ends.
“What was that, my young potentate?” she asked, reminding her less-than-willing student that unlike other walking roots her age, her senses were still very sharp… perhaps even sharper than her skill with the sword. Shievel took one step toward the woman who had her back to him. Ergs of energy formed quickly around his right hand and he focused on her back. She held her sword in her left hand, a sign that Ranmus was not worthy of her right, but it was her right index finger pointed at Shievel that locked the Nameert’s branches in place.
“I misspoke!” Ranmus said in a louder tone.
“And you think yelling that at me will do you service?” she pressed, applying more pressure to Ranmus’ neck.
“Forgive me, my teacher,” Ranmus said in a soft but stressed voice. The sword was quickly removed and in its scabbard before Ranmus’ strong-barked heels could touch the floor. He put his hand to his knees and closed his eyes, steadying himself and contending with his anger.
“You do not have to like me, Prince,” the wotree said as she began to walk around her pupil. He was much older than most she had trained, but the Prince had never reacted well to discipline. He had always chosen instructors who would yield to his position. In her eyes it was poorly watered soil, and it was his weeded soul she had to address and hopefully restore. “That might come as something of a relief, given that my affection for you is likewise nonexistent. So that we share!
“What we do not share is a level of success. You see, I am a Master Wotree, master of many combat forms, incredibly adept at a number of Energies, and an honored commanding officer in the Royal Militia. You were born into power.”
“You take great liberties with your tongue, Wotree Blackwood,” Ranmus said softly, glaring at her. “It is only the word of m–” the sky falling dark suddenly brought a cessation of their mutual hostility. As Ranmus looked up at the darkening skies, Marjoram turned to look toward the center of the city. A proven soldier, Marjoram Blackwood had seen her share of ordnance. This was a bomb unlike any she had ever imagined, and its epicenter… was the Hall of Regents!
“The council hall!” she whispered before she called for earth to burst up from the ground and arc over the three bodies in the courtyard. The arc had just fully covered the trio when the repercussive wave struck. Shaken and rattled to their hands and knees, Ranmus and Shievel looked to each other before looking around their makeshift shelter. The stone bricks of the courtyard floor cracked as the tremors died down. Marjoram dispersed the shielding the moment she thought it was safe. The stench in the air was something she had smelled before, but never to such intensity inside the Iolite Barony.
“MannA,” she whispered. “… and Dragon MannA no less.” Leaning forward, Marjoram bolted into a sprint. She jumped over the wall of the courtyard and had only dropped four meters before she formed a force field around her body that she could propel through the air. She could hear her Prince calling after her, but she would deny it until she was nothing but ash and seed. The King had been invited to the hall by the Chamberlain; he was expecting a response from the Dragons. He had alluded to it being a ground-breaking moment, but not in this way… not in this way!
I think all villains have something in common: they have something that they need or want very badly. The stakes are very high and they are not bound by moral codes or being ethical, so they can do anything and will do anything to get what they want.
Donna Murphy
(Rims Time: XII-4202.29)
The lights came on just before the doors slid apart. Harold Lornington backed into the room, grasping the shoulders of a statue. “Good-ness!” Harold huffed, he and his suit laboring quite a bit as the statue was awkward to carry. “Blue boy’s a weighty one! Suit’s almost at its limit!”
“You’ve got the head, too… trust me, that’s the light end, brother!” Borsuth whined as he carried the base of the statue.
“Come along now, gentlemen,” Qeldrun directed as he sidestepped his way into the large circu
lar room. “Let’s move things along and be mindful not to drop this particular parcel, if you please.” Errol and Vatere walked in behind a female who possessed a graceful stride that could be seen despite her voluminous yellow cloak.
“This is… not what I expected,” a synthesized voice called out to the people in the room.
“No, Mr. Gulroy, I should say it wasn’t,” Qeldrun stated, looking up at the wall where he knew there was some sort of viewing device. The professor waved it off and returned his attentions to the handling of the statue. The moment the foot of the statue was placed down in the center of the floor, the woman waved her hand across her body and the stone melded with the floor tiles. “And that will secure it nicely. Thank you, my dear.
“Yes, it would appear that our benefactor, the party who has made this ship available for our use, is at something of an impasse,” Qeldrun stated as his men looked at each other, confused as to what their employer was talking about. “It will be of some unexpected difficulty for him to carry out his planned double-cross with the package petrified in such a matter.”
“Double-cross?!” Harold said as he powered up his weapon systems and started looking around the room.
Qeldrun looked at Harold with contempt, but opted not to address the man at the moment and returned his attentions to his faceless partner. “You may be familiar with incantations of MajiK that produce these effects, but by now you have made your scans and can easily see that the transformation from flesh to stone is quite different when achieved by the means of Elementurgy! It’s permanent, until it’s undone by someone of equal or greater skill and power than the original practitioner… and I doubt you can count the elementally-inclined among your resources.”
“You are quite resourceful, Professor O’Zhar,” the voice said as the doors closed and locked. The walls flashed with the light of a forming force field. “But the impasse you speak of is one easily negotiated.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Harold said as he turned to face the doors, giving the mental command to have his helm form about his head.
“Do not approach the doors!” Qeldrun commanded. “That is not a typical force field. It carries a very interesting additive in its matrix. An electrical pulse has been entered into the field, designed to course into your suits and lock your servos. I am sure you are familiar with the effect.”
“How the hell does he know that?!” Errol barked.
“You assume it is a he,” Qeldrun said softly. “The most that I can say is that this person is not Vanus Gulroy. Though it is someone who has investigated my former student deeply enough to present themselves convincingly as him.”
“But I didn’t fool you,” the voice responded. “Why is that?”
“Being able to read a data report and being able to read a person are two different things, my friend,” Qeldrun noted. “You are undoubtedly intelligent, yes. Mayhap you think yourself far more intelligent than you truly are. That can prove to be your undoing!” Qeldrun looked around the room and chuckled. “But those are bold and foolish words spoken by a man trapped in an air-tight room, are they not?”
“If nothing else, your thought processes are… entertaining. Please proceed… while you can.”
“The air is already getting thin,” the woman muttered from underneath her hood.
“And it seems your ElementalisT isn’t the variety necessary to remain alive in that chamber,” the voice continued. “You’re a Professor of Archaeology, not a very helpful skill set here and now. Somewhat less reported is your skill as an EnervationisT, though our common objective was not at all thrown by the revelation of that fact.”
“Yes, a point I noticed myself,” Qeldrun muttered. “I was not prepared for our blue-skinned wonder to see through my sound-wave matrix and actually know my location.” Qeldrun looked at his bandaged shoulder. The pain of the gunshot was still with him, but manageable. “A very painful first.”
“Then, at least, you can say that there was a prior event when you were bested,” the synthesized voice asserted. “Once you collapse, I will be able to work with your Jeelah friend in finding a mutually beneficial resolution.”
“Yes, I can see where you feel you possess the advantage,” Qeldrun said, looking back up at the wall. “You are one of those Cyber-Line fellows, aren’t you?”
“As I said before, very entertaining, Professor.”
“I knew it!” Qeldrun said with a smile as he finally found the fixed point of optics in the room. He lifted his left hand to his chin and thought for a moment. He lifted his chin from the slight grasp, but he did not lower his hand. “Sitting there in the middle of your pantheon of switches, keys, flashing lights and blinking cursors, you are indeed a god! How incredibly taxing on your patience this conversation must be; with your mind racing from point to point, handling hundreds of tasks before I can even say my next sentence!” His left thumb and index finger began tapping together in an erratic and unsteady pattern.
“Thousands of tasks actually,” the voice corrected.
“Amazing,” Qeldrun O’Zhar said, shaking his head in a very particular rhythm, separate from the one his fingers had set. “Yet for every equinox, my young friend, there must be a solstice, and vice versa. You agree with me, Vidé. Don’t you?”
“I agree,” the voice answered, sounding more flat than it had previously.
“Of course you do,” Qeldrun said, finally lowering his eyes and taking a cleansing breath. “… and before I have to contend with your resourcefulness, you will be so kind as to deactivate all pre-programmed contingencies that will work against my aims.”
“Done,” the voice responded after a few brief moments.
“What the f–” Harold muttered, but a sharp movement of Qeldrun’s hand silenced him.
“We are in need of air, young man,” Qeldrun stated. He gave a slight sigh of relief as the doors opened and fresh air swept into the room. “Thank you, Mr. Vidé. Now I need for you to be about the business of releasing this ship from your control and locking this ship’s computer out against all input devices save for my voice.”
“What the hell just happened?!” Harold asked as his helm receded into his back plate.
“More evidence that life is not contained entirely between lines of code,” Qeldrun replied. “My accolades as a researcher, teacher, and EnervationistT are readily available to those who navigate the folds of electronic information. But I can think of only three individuals who know that I am also a relatively skilled DreamCasteR. Two of those reside in the Grey Realm.”
“Well, it looks like you need to add four to that list, Professor,” Harold stated with a grin.
“Try to keep your wits about you!” Qeldrun softly snapped. “How do you think I can afford to pay the four of you on a Professor’s salary? Those dreams you’ve been experiencing of high adventure as you rob couriers and inbound freighters carrying secret and valuable cargo? Well, my boy, those weren’t dreams… merely cleverly disguised memories!
“Look at it this way, in the large scope of things, it has been by your hands that you have become the men you are today! Do you think the craftsmen who built your suits cared where the credits came from?! No! And you should be less aggravated that you were used by a higher authority; amazed that you are no longer a simple bar-room brawler, taking gutter-work in order to maintain the flow of sustenance that you somehow call food… and the occasional visitation of less than savory women!”
“Is that what you’re going to do to the big blue wonder?” Harold asked as he flexed his shoulders and stretched his neck. “Put the whammy on him too?!”
“It might have been an option before the advent of our dear Mr. Vidé,” Qeldrun shared. “But I have to expend energy and some measure of concentration to hold him, the four of you and our lovely ElementalisT. Mind you, I can hold more, but I would rather assume that the blue wonder is a being of noteworthy willpower, in that I can feel him fighting the effects of the petrification. If he were left to his own abi
lity, I do believe he could very well break free from his condition.
“Arjhaka, my dear, if you please.”
Stepping forward to the statue, the Jeelah female put both hands on the chest of the petrified creature. A patron of only two of the elements, she could feel through the stone and inside the creature she had imprisoned.
“Unknown creature of this dark fate,” she thought as she prepared herself. “Though you cannot hear me, I ask for your forgiveness.”
“Give the task more effort than it deserves.” The voice came from the petrified man. “And seek out the places where you can comply with his commands and still be yourself, Lady Olyairon!”
Summoning the ElemahntiA to her touch, the Jeelah woman’s body shuddered, emitting a flash of green light. The beige stone of the statue turned to a deep and almost metallic gray. Qeldrun’s eyes flared at the results of her efforts.
“Well done, my dear!” Professor O’Zhar said with zeal. “Could it be that you are finally coming around to my perspective? Please answer truthfully!”
“We do not know the limitations of this one’s ability,” Arjhaka stated plainly. “If he were to free himself, we do not know all of what he could do… even without his weapons.”
“That is very true, my dear. Thank you again!
“And yes, Harold, I am aware of you trying to lock my body signature into your targeting computer,” Qeldrun said as he waved his hands at the four men who all fell unconscious. “Come to think of it, my dear, I cannot see where I have a need for you either.”
Jeelah took a quick step forward, taking hold of Qeldrun’s arm. Her movements were very fast, but they were not violent and her grasp was soft and endearing. “Might I please witness what you are about to do? No, our perspectives are not completely aligned, and I thought you would fail in your aims. I was wrong, Professor, and I am eager to see where this all goes; what it will bring to you!”