The Maven Knight
Matthew Romeo
The Maven Knight is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Matthew Romeo
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
eBook ISBN 978-0-692-19844-5
To the muses.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
TÁLIR a scavenger
SARINA a brewer
DEVIN a mercenary
VIVÍAN a huntress
VYCK a mercenary
AIDA a scholar and healer
REMUS a former warrior
ABRAX a cave dweller and former warrior
SEPTEM a magic warrior and member of the Remnant
CENTUM a magic warrior and leader of the Remnant
SAHARI a noble and the nation of Z’hart’s regent
LEIR’TAH a Outlander and clan leader
ROMULUS a former magic warrior and Tálir’s father
VIGINTI a member of the Remnant Order
ÁLVIN a salvager and Tálir’s best friend
LÁNNA a friend of Tálir and wife to Holdin
HOLDIN a friend of Tálir and husband to Lánna
Prologue: Centum
Order and Chaos
THE MAVEN GAUNTLET OPENS, and a tongue of blue fire forms in my palm.
Magic energy rushes through my hand with a warm thrum. Azure flames lick the air and send sparks drizzling from my open palm. Merely a small demonstration of my power, out of sake of boredom. It barely takes any concentration these days.
This bronze armor covering my hand is the legacy of the past. One of the last symbols of the old order of this world. After the Ending a thousand years ago, the Old World had been thrown into turmoil; the united nations of the Domain were torn apart. In the millennium that has passed, corruption and stagnation have festered in our great continent of Pan’gea. It is up to me and my Order to reestablish the natural state of the world. A rot must be burned away.
Clenching my fist, I silence the fire and continue waiting.
I stand upon the rooftop of an apartment building in the capital city of Z’hart. The land of ore mining and technology, Z’hart holds a certain appeal for those seeking to build a better world. While my Order has been present in all of the three nations for some time, our current efforts have only just entered the perceptions of Z’hart. We have been summoned from the shadows of existence to answer the call of the newest Lady. Our mission is to quell the Insurgent uprisings that have erupted in the capital. But more importantly, our goal is to find the lost heir of the noble House of Z’hart.
Ten stories above ground level, the complex looks out over an austere looking embassy building. Structured like a cathedral, the metal and concrete used in its frame arches to its pointed roof. The massive front doors have been opened and guests spill out into the steps and front courtyard. Colossal windows line the walls, allowing me to see the festivities that occur within.
“I have eyes on the target,” says the woman next to me. Finally.
Her long range rifle is mounted on the concrete parapets lining the roof. The meter-and-a-half long bowrifle reflects blue light off the burnished metal that coats it. Almost like waves rippling through it, metal pieces on its side shuffle around as the bowrifle primes for fire.
“Is it a clean shot, Viginti?” I address her by her Numeron title. “I want all evidence to point at our target. The riots will allow us efficient access to what we need.”
Viginti nods and adjusts the scope on her bowrifle. She parts her crimson hair and says, “You really think this will work, Suzerain Centum? Rooting out the Insurgents is one thing. But this…”
I fold my arms across my chest; the bronze gauntlets reflect the blue light of a holoprojection above us. I do not like my decisions to be questioned. I am the First Master of our Order, the ultimate wielder of our mythic power. Still, Viginti is one of my most prized pupils, so I’m a bit more willing to indulge her.
“The Lady of the Silver Palm tasked us with rooting out the Insurgent leader,” I remind Viginti of the importance of our mission. “We play this right; we kill two birds with one shot. While Sahari isn’t to be officially elected until tomorrow, staying in her good graces will greatly benefit us. The Order can ask many favors from her, so we must deliver on our promises.”
Viginti looks away from the scope and turns her gaze to me. “She agreed to our oversight on military occupation?”
“In a heartbeat,” I reply without merriment. “If the rest of this plan falls into place, we’ll have the resources to ensure my plans for this nation and finally find Providence. No one in this last millennium has been closer to finding it than we are. Its power will be ours, and we shall fulfill the prophecy of Ymandi’as.”
Viginti gives a dark smile as she returns her focus to the scope in her rifle. I activate my helmet, which slithers over my head and face from within my pauldrons. The heads-up-display has been modified and I can magnify my optics to see more detail. I scan the area for a few moments, hoping to see another intended target. And after a moment, I see him.
With his lovely scholar as a companion, he waltzes into the gala though clearly hesitant. Bronze armor covers parts of his body along with a dark jacket that drapes to his knees. Se’bau Remus: a heretic and a traitor to my Order.
I smile in delight. I might be able to kill several birds with one stone this evening. And Remus deserves a far more painful punishment for deserting our Order for his own glory. Death is too quick. I will make him and his little paramour pay for the discord they’ve caused.
I keep my disdain in check, for I do respect his tenacity. But no one is allowed to search for Providence without my consent. No one.
“Take the shot,” I command.
Viginti hesitates for a second before loading the toxic dart into the secondary firing mechanism. Bowrifles generally fire energy bolts that can stun or kill targets. But modified rifles possess live-round chambers for stealth darts, tracking devices, or even tranquilizers. Since the energy bolts are bright and loud, we’ve chosen to use a much stealthier method of taking out our target.
Metal snaps resound in the air as the rifle primes. Viginti follows the target with the elongated barrel of the weapon for a few seconds. I see her exhale and cease to breathe. For a moment, she almost seems like a frozen mannequin. The air is still.
The shot fires from the silenced barrel of her rifle. Faster than I can follow, the projectile whizzes across the gap and through one of the towering windows of the cathedral. I cannot see if it hits the target, but Viginti reflects an aura of confidence.
“The target has been tagged.” Viginti says, standing up and slinging the rifle across her shoulder. “Soon chaos will be ignited.”
“And soon…” I say as we prepare to venture over to the embassy cathedral. “It will be our job to establish order.”
Part One:
Strangers in the Desert
Chapter 1: Sarina
Blind Rage
RED IS ALL I SEE as I’m dragged away from the sound of carnage. Like blood spattered all over a blank canvas, it blocks out my sight. I’m in a feral state of panic. I don’t know what’s happened. I just hear sounds of violence, the smell of smoke, and feel gloved hands dragging me away.
What is this? My mind wanders in a state of
primal fear. Thoughts are scattered like embers blown from a fire and into the wind. Stomach is churning. Blood is pumping. Heart is fluttering.
Anger is rising.
The crimson paint fades slightly from the canvas.
There’s still a red haze over my field of vision, a mist of hate. I see swarms of people fighting with fists, swords, and rifles. The hall is a ruin and fires shine in my eyes like light piercing through water.
I’m in the grand hall of a cathedral-like embassy building. The refined metal supports and beams crisscross high in the rafters before the ceiling arches above. Dark, glossy pieces of ore form like shingles within the vaunted roof. Chandeliers imbued with holographic lights dangled from chains. Within its fifty-meter diameter, along the burnished cream tiles, are elongated tables laden with spilled food and drink.
I think I made those drinks...
Everything is clouded in a crimson mist. Like everything is bloody or on fire, and it stirs the uncontrollable anger within me. I’ve never been one to act out of hatred, but I feel like an enraged beast. As the moments pass more of my anger builds in frustration. Uncontrollable and hungry for blood, I try to free myself from the clutches of those dragging me. But I can no longer move. By body is numb, and I panic again in confused trepidation.
What in all the Hells is going on?
My mind struggles to think back.
I remember that my name is Sarina. I remember my job as a brewer for the Blue Den bar. I can remember that I had been invited to an embassy gala to serve ale for the ambassadors. And I remember one reason why there’s chaos present in this embassy.
There’s been an ongoing struggle between the commoners and the royals in the capital of Z’hart City. My homeland has been plagued with a trade war, leaving thousands to starve. O’ran, the nation of the north, raised their taxes on crops while Z’hart raised its value of ore. So I understand some the reasons behind the violence. But I cannot remember how this chaos erupted.
My mind starts spinning. I blank on details, and I can’t even remember why I’m being dragged away. Why is my vision misted with red? It feels unnatural.
Through the haze, I can vaguely see silver armored Imperial guards firing blasts of energy to stun many. Commoners have rushed into the cathedral and are clawing, beating, and stabbing at many of the nobles. I cannot focus on anyone’s face, for they’re all silhouetted in red. They are like fiery demons from the pits of Hells.
A table has overturned and commoners scramble to scavenge spilled food. Like barbarians, they cram food into their mouth ravenously. Some even attack those attempting to obtain food like a wolf fending off scavenging foxes.
It’s barbaric. A frenzy of which my own rage feeds upon.
But as I’m dragged from the cathedral and outside into a courtyard, my rage subsides. My body feels cooler, like a fever is wearing off. Soon the red begins to turn darker, like shadows obscuring the light. The night air is refreshing, but my eyes start to roll back. I can hear the faint whine of a repulsor engine.
As I’m dragged through a courtyard, I see more chaos through a hazy field of vision. Four figures stand out in the darkness. A stocky man with black hair, a dark-skinned woman, and two individuals wearing full armor. The man is on all fours before the armored people, and he’s in pain. I feel a surge of pity for him.
My attention fades. Muffled voices say, “We have her. Get the ship ready and round up some of the others for transport. More orders await at the Pit.”
My mind barely comprehends this. Manacles are locked over my hands as the guards carry me. Darkness clouds my vision the way a storm blocks out the sun. The blinding red of rage has passed. But the cold fingers of fear clutch at my heart. Unconsciousness takes me.
Chapter 2: Tálir
Honest Living
“I HOPE YOU PLAN on staking a claim on those fuel cylinders, Tálir!” Álvin calls my name from across the service shaft. “They’ll pay for a week’s worth of rations.”
I hold up the small, metal cylinder and unscrew the lid to get a look at its contents. The muddy sight and pungent smell tell me it is definitely old fuel. Whether or not it is worth anything, that I have to find out the hard way. Taking three cylinders and storing them in my satchel, I gingerly walk along the service shaft within the hull of the ship.
A canopy of frayed wires and pipes obscures most of the way, and the air smells like stale lubricants. Sunlight peeks through openings in the hull, and I can hear the innate breeze outside. A few meters ahead of me is Álvin, my friend for many years. His frizzy blonde hair is pulled back into a bun and he sports a raggedy shirt and pants.
It is around midday as I fiddle with a degraded transport sticking out of the desert sand. The old civilizations are certainly generous when it comes to leaving their old toys behind. The one I am currently salvaging seems to be a trading vehicle. It is one of many in this part of the Pyrack desert, but they are also sparse enough to be rare salvage jobs. The big job for the week is to find working parts, fuel, or sheets of bronze, and I intend to find something valuable to pay for some food. Old fuel cells are relatively valuable, but I don’t have high hopes for making a fortune.
It is a tough life, salvaging scrap in the Pyrack— but it is an honest life. Work hard and you get to eat; that was the long and short of it.
“What have you gotten a hold of?” I call, my voice echoing in the empty service shaft. “Hopefully something better than that polished sensor last week.”
“Hey, to be fair, it wasn’t broken until Jáhn got his hands on it,” Álvin admits shrewdly. “And I think he’ll go for some repulsor energy chambers this time.”
“Aren’t those radioactive?” I ask with alarm.
“Only if opened,” he chuckles nervously.
Typical Álvin, always riding the line between being risky and being stupid. I can’t help but smile at his confidence, though. He knows when to gamble, when to take risks, and when to strive for more than his comfort zone.
I’m never really one to take huge risks in my life; and the life I live is a testament to this. But oddly enough, I am content with the grubby work and shabby living conditions. Certainly not happy, but content.
“So how about we split the profits on the servo actuator?” I ask after a moment. “You’ll need some help disassembling it.”
“What’s to stop me from taking all the credit?” Álvin snorts, looking back at me.
I shrug. “The bond of friendship?”
“That’s not really doing it for me, Tálir,” he snorts a laugh. “How about you buy me a drink at Slugg’s?”
I give him a slight nod. “Let’s go to work.”
◆◆◆
The orange sun is setting over the dunes when we finish disassembling the servo actuator. The temperature is dropping and the wind is kicking up flurries of sand. Clambering down from the transport, Álvin and I start our trek back to the village.
It takes almost an hour, but we make it back just in time to catch Jáhn closing the shop for the night. A glorified garage of sorts, Jáhn’s parlor is the main hub for work and trade in this part of the Pyrack. Large enough to hold a transport, the stone floor is covered in sand, oil puddles, and spare parts. Chains and cargo racks drape from the dimly lit ceiling, and tables and shelves line the perimeter. The garage owner is locking up his valuable parts into a container when we enter the garage.
“Five minutes till I close for salvage claims,” Jáhn grumbles with his back to us. “Make it quick boys.”
I go up to him first as he stands and turns towards me. His dark hair has smears of grime while his tan face seems sunburnt. He stands to his full height, which barely surpasses me as he arches a bushy eyebrow.
“Here are some old fuel cylinders from the transport at Site Four,” I say, placing the three cylinders on a nearby table.
“The sludge in these things is barely worth an hour’s pay, Tálir,” Jáhn says, examining the contents. “All its really good for is fire fuel. So for three
, I’ll give you five oreings.”
“Just five?” I ask with a tinge of disappointment. “I thought they’d be worth at least ten.”
Jáhn gives me a shrug. “Normally they’d only be worth three. But since you’re a good kid, Tálir, I’m giving you a bit extra.”
Taken aback for a moment, I nod in appreciation as he hands me five of the silver coins. I hear Álvin scoff from my flank.
“Do I get some extra, Jáhny?” he asks with a hint of innocence.
Jáhn regards him with scrutiny, likely because he hates nicknames from his underlings. Scratching at his thin, black beard, Jáhn narrows his eyes and snorts.
“Perhaps I would, if you knew how to keep your mouth shut, Álvin,” he grunts, taking the energy chambers for examination. “But since you don’t know how to do that, no! You will not get extra.”
The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1) Page 1