As I wait there, I perceive a soft patter of footsteps striking the sand outside the convoy and approaching the opening. Whoever it is, they rode the whargs to get here evidently. A wharg snarls angrily. I can hear the snapping of maws.
Could it be a band of mercenaries or Outlanders? I think to myself as a mixture of resentment and alarm goes through me. If indeed it is, we are woefully unprepared to defend ourselves, let alone sneak away or barter with them. The native bands of Outlanders normally keep to themselves, but they are also ruthless when it comes to raiding villages or convoys. My heart pounds in my chest. My body turns cold and my breathing becomes faster.
Someone casually walks through the opening with deliberate footsteps. Yet, his steps are deliberate, concise, and resolute. And it sounds very familiar. A figure appears in my line of vision as the rest of the party tenses in caution upon seeing the intruder.
It’s Septem.
◆◆◆
Still attired in his long jacket and pants, the only perceptible alterations to Septem are a custom-made, hand and half sword strapped to his back in addition to sporting a few pieces of armor. While I can’t view the sword, the armor is of a unique design that I’ve never seen before.
Almost as if it is a liquid metal, the bronze colored armor hugs his chest firmly and gauntleted hands protrude from the black sleeves. The black leather drapes over the armor like a parted curtain, and the colors accentuated each other in a surprising way.
With his jacket in view, I finally am able to see vividly what the symbol is: an upside-down V overtaking a pyramid all enclosed in an ornate circle. While ominously captivating, I’m struggling to associate which royal house or tribe possesses such a symbol. I’m rather enthralled by it, even more so when I see the same esoteric symbol engraved at the center of his breastplate.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” he comments rather slyly, but with a hint of genuine surprise. His face remains cold. “That was quite a mess of a crash; I was beginning to wonder if anyone made it out alive.”
“So you mean the guards didn’t make it?” Vivían queries, attempting to divert his attention.
“Some did, but they’re dead now. They challenged me and paid the price,” Septem replies casually. “No need to thank me. But they were only going to cause more problems.”
He pauses, then adds in a more resounding voice, “And to Devin, Vyck, and Sarina: those are some terrible hiding spots. A bit cliché, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t even bother turning his head to address us. He’d figured out where we were before entering the ship. Dammit! Devin closes his eyes and heaves a sigh of exasperated defeat as he saunters into Septem’s view. Vyck and I follow suite, though we brandish our weapons in a flimsy display of threat.
Septem’s cool collectiveness practically shatters our defensive rally. He shows no fear of us, and rightly so. But my mind reels as to why. Why was he here on the transport? Why was it shot down? Only Outlanders are known for attacking convoys. But the evidence points to Septem’s involvement with the crash. Septem is definitely not an Outlander, but he also isn’t in league with the Imperials. His uniform and arcane crests hint towards his association with something outside public knowledge.
So what is his game plan?
Even as my thoughts reel, Devin takes a threatening step towards Septem; but all the latter does is wave his hands in a dismissive gesture.
“Those weapons won’t do you any good against bowrifles, Devin,” he comments, almost apathetically. “My men have got me covered in the event my reflexes prove lax, which is very unlikely in any case.”
As if on cue again, a bowrifle stunbolt strikes the ground inches away from Devin’s foot; causing him to jump back in alarm. Scanning the illuminated entry, I note two figures silhouetted several meters away from the opening but I can’t distinguish their appearance. The scorching sunlight obscures all but their shadows, and the breeze wafting by makes it seem as if their bodies are almost ethereal.
“What in all the Hells is this, man?” Devin grumbles as he composes himself. “Are you a gang leader? An Outlander? Is that why you escaped, because your thugs shot us down?”
Septem regards him coldly. “My Order is far beyond the pettiness of those vagrants,” he says, tilting his chin up with arrogance. “Thugs did shoot us down, but only because it serves my mission. Plans are in motion.”
Remus gives Septem a strained look of bewilderment, even though something in his eyes hints at familiarity. Septem’s eyes quickly flash at Remus. Clearly the two know each other, that much is obvious. But how do Remus and Septem know one another?
Had they worked together before something untoward had befallen Remus? Or did they simply possess a rivalry like so many did in various professions?
“Alright, you’ve got my attention. Who are you two?” Vivían asks, noticing the subtle exchange.
Remus lowers his head in a bow as Aida looks at him with a concerned, yet unyielding gaze. It seems as though she is adamant for him to reveal his association with whatever he had been a part of. Evidently Aida has just as many issues with this past connection as Remus did, which makes me consider how close the two are.
Septem remains emotionless and answers, “All you really need to know is that we used to be… brothers. Not by blood. But my dear Remus here decided that his own personal glory was more important than our Order’s mandate.”
“If you call it ‘mandate’,” Aida mutters with a note of derision, her eyes shoot towards Septem.
He ignores her remark and concludes, “These days I no longer have such reservations for brothers, sisters, or friends. They are petty distractions.”
“How very wise of you,” I retort sarcastically. “But what is this Order you speak of?
“I’ve already said too much, Sarina,” Septem says silkily with impatience. “If I were to go into details, we’d be here all day. And I certainly don’t want to hang around this arid dustbin till sunset. But my Order has been around longer than any other—and is far grander than any of you can imagine, well except for Remus, I suppose.”
“And me,” Aida comments, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Yes, that too,” Septem dismissively replies, barely paying her any attention.
There is a pause in the air that lasts for a few moments. But if it is stirred by tension or fear, I cannot tell. Is he here to kill us and make the crash look like an accident? His nonthreatening demeanor convinces me otherwise, but there is a motive he hasn’t disclosed yet.
“So where do we go from here?” Vyck interjects after the moment elapses.
“I left something behind,” Septem says drawing his sword in a threatening manner. My heart starts to race. Dread bubbling up. “Move or die.”
He walks towards us and we immediately falter in his wake, as do the others. Even if we did attack him from behind, his men outside would shoot us. I don’t know what to do.
He retrieves something from the front of the compartment—something hidden in a wall panel. I can’t see what it is, but he pockets it and makes his way back towards us. He brandishes his sword and we stay in place.
“Are you going to kill us?” Vyck asks, unease in his throat.
“Why would I kill you?” Septem asks, facing us. His arrogance oozes out like filth. “You’re already stranded in the Pyrack, far from any hospitable civilization. And I have no use for you, so why waste the effort?”
“You son of a bitch. I’m not going out like that!” Vyck snarls taking a step forward, but stops as Septem holds the sword to Vyck’s throat.
“I’m afraid you are,” he sneers, his arctic demeanor cuts the air like a blade. “There were plans in store for some of you according to my Order. But I think I’ll spare them of your uselessness.”
“Why?” I shout, restraining an urge to lunge at him. “Why do this to us? Do you not have the balls to kill us yourself?”
Septem looks directly at me with a look of annoyance. “I like the idea of the des
ert taking you for its own, it’s a lot more poetic than dying by the sword.”
“Yup, he’s got no balls,” Devin retorts.
“You’ll be the victim of your own hubris one day, Septem,” I spit. “I won’t forget this!”
His eyes reflect cold apathy as he remains silent. It seems beneath him to even respond to our taunts. And it makes him all the more detestable. My fear is replaced with a dark wrath, like a shadow growing over a light.
He doesn’t bother with any kind of retort, and merely turns quickly on his heels. As he walks towards the exit, he pauses briefly to look at the salvager whom remains unconscious. A deep, seething look of disgust radiates from Septem’s eyes as he stares at him. What in all the Hells is that about? Does he know him?
I barely get a chance to ponder before his gaze turns to glance at Remus. Septem’s eyes fail to yield any kind of emotion as he gazes at Remus for the span of a few seconds.
Remus emotes so much more. Pity, frustration, apprehension, confusion, and even curiosity can be seen within his eyes. It’s a whirlpool of expressions, all swirling together like the winds within a storm. What kind of exchange is this? One between old friends or bitter enemies?
“Wrong— Path—” Remus says suddenly even as Septem looks away.
We are all speechless due to the exchange, but more to the fact that it is the first time Remus has said anything on his own. Wrong path? I repeat to myself. Is he trying to warn Septem about something? Or is it merely a veiled taunt?
Septem doesn’t respond, in a very predictable fashion. But I can see under his jacket and armor that he’s tensing up. So he is relatively human.
Stepping suddenly, Septem walks out the exit without so much as a second glance towards us. His walk is quick and deliberate; it seems like he is repressing something. Anger? Fear? I can’t tell. No doubt it’s caused by Remus’ comment, but there’s something off about the whole exchange. Septem doesn’t seem the type to reveal too much about what’s going on inside his heart and mind.
After a moment he’s gone, and I hear the muffled sound of snarling whargs running off into the distance. The sound continues for a moment, and softens into the distance leaving us within the wastes.
Chapter 7: Sarina
Tensions Charge
THERE IS AN AURA of trepidation as we remain motionless and silent for several minutes; clearly all are affected by Septem’s actions. I start to wonder if anyone would even come and look for us, despite Septem’s claims. Not many people mourn for convicts, except for maybe the slavers we are being delivered to.
“Well I for one don’t plan on dying out in this shit way!” Devin declares after a moment. “I’m too young to die!”
He rushes out the exit, but doesn’t leave the vicinity of the crash site. From what I can tell, he seems to be searching around the ship for something. Vyck shortly follows suite, though not in as mad of a rush as his partner had been.
“Yeah, I’ve got so much to live for!” Vyck says as he leaves.
“You’re both like twenty-five,” I call out to them. “That’s not that young.”
“We know!” they both shout back in conjunction.
I sniff, both in amusement and irritation. I turn my attention back to the others only to see Remus and Aida collecting what appears to be packs of dry food and medical supplies. Aida looks at Remus after filling a metal box with a dozen packages, concern glinting in her eyes. “You did well, Remus,” she says quietly to him. “You don’t owe him anything.”
Remus returns her gaze with her a look of appreciation but says nothing, continuing to fill another crate with packages. The signs are there. The way the gaze at each other. The soothing whisper of voice Aida gives him. But it’s not just intimacy in her eyes, it’s also worry.
What is going on with these two? I ask myself. What could Septem have done to Remus to cause such disdain?
I’m half tempted to ask as much, but I believe it better to ask at a different time when we aren’t trapped in the Pyrack. Plus, I don’t want to give too many signs of comfortability. Guard must remain up.
Looking over at Vivían, I’m surprised to see that she’s helping the shaggy-haired salvager to his feet. He seems disoriented and groggy. No surprise, since he was flirting with death minutes ago. Once on his feet, he grunts in pain as he caresses his forehead. Blood smears his hand.
“Nice of you to join us,” I say with a slight smirk, placing my hands on my hips. “How’s the head?”
“A bit fuzzy, and there’s this terrible thumping coming from the gash, but otherwise I’ll live,” he replies in a strained voice, blinking rapidly. “Thanks though.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say, brushing off the remark. “Wouldn’t be right to leave you hanging in this mess.”
Vivían snorts a laugh. “Heh, hanging,” she mutters.
A few moments are spent patching up wounds thanks to Aida. Naturally talented with first aid, she cleans and bandages my cheek, Vivían’s wrists, and the salvager’s forehead. Shaking his head in discomfort, he grunts, “So what did I miss? You know, aside from the crash.”
In a short summary, Vivían and I explain the events following the crash and our encounter with Septem. When we finish our short recap, he looks bewildered for a moment and eyes Remus. Aida currently examines her companion for ailment.
“You think they could both be Outlanders?” he asks after a moment, turning his eyes back to us.
“Hard to say,” I shrug. “Septem’s tactics and talk of his Order suggests he could be an Outlander. But I think their group is more diverse than a mere clan. More sophisticated based on his armor and weapons.”
“Agreed,” Vivían nods, crossing her arms. “They don’t smell like Outlanders either. It can be very distinct.”
“I suppose we might be able to ask Remus once we’re in a more comfortable environment,” the salvager voices with a stern look before talking more to himself. “Where would Septem know me from, though?”
As I see him begin to turn away, I ask, “What do we call you?” My voice is more forceful than I intended, more interest in the subtext.
Looking back at me, he arches an eyebrow and adopting a look of vague curiosity. “You can call me Tálir,” he replies.
I blink in a confused manner. “Tálir?” I repeat, brushing my hair aside. “You’re not from the western regions, are you?”
“I didn’t realize Pyrack natives were so distinct,” he snorts in surprise. “Nope, I’m from the eastern settlements. But I’m not an Outlander, if that’s what you’re thinking. I know Z’hart sometimes refers to us as such because we’re not ‘officially’ part of a nation. I’m just a salvager.”
I smile faintly, for it’s a bit refreshing to meet someone who’s just as lost as I am in our predicament. While I should be wary around a settlement foreigner, I still feel some comfort with him. Plus, he seems decent for a desert salvager. Turning my attention to Remus and Aida, I help them pack another case full of supplies before all of us exit the compartment.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, I step out into the golden sunlight as a wave of heat washes over me.
◆◆◆
Amongst the irradiate blaze of the sun, the sandy mounds reflect the golden light with such intensity that my eyes grow weak and my skin begins to feel scorched. The occasional draft that whisks by is hot, irritating, and kicks up light filaments of sand. The cloudless sky is almost crystalline blue as the sun reflects through the atmosphere. As far as my eyes can see, only sand and rock are discernible in each direction.
Walking around the tail end of the overturned ship, I’m able to fully detail the remains of the convoy. The impact skid mark is nearly half a kilometer long, the massive whale-shaped convoy lost both its maneuvering fins and the repulsor engines are crumpled like paper. Small fires emanate from the engines, and columns of black smoke billow into the sky as if it’s a bonfire. The tarnished, bronze steel of the vessel reflects the beating sun ever more intensely as if it we
re a gemstone in the sand.
In the distance beyond the wreckage, I can see large rock formations nearly three kilometers away, but nothing beyond that. Just more dunes and sandy plains.
I look back to the debris. Devin and Vyck are ascending out of a blasted hole in the hull. They are close to the cockpit of the ship, but they’ve seemingly clambered out of some sort of storage room. I surmise it’s a storage chamber because they each bear new equipment and weapons along with some supply satchels.
Almost instantaneously, Vivían comments in a jubilant voice, “That could be where they stored my equipment. My bow could still be in there! Joys to the Sage God! Hunting shall resume!”
With renewed potency and a bit of exhilaration, I perk up and follow Vivían. Clambering up the wreckage, we stop short of the hole Vyck and Devin are climbing through and take note of the items sprawled across the hull. The two have been piling up weapons, ammunition, equipment packs, and armor accessories atop the rusted hull of the ship. It’s almost like a makeshift black market arms deal.
They also start placing various wineskins and dried food packages atop the hull, to which Aida immediately darts for. She uncorks a wineskin and sniffs its contents—her expression turning to joyous relief.
“Remus, I found it,” she says, passing it to him as he eagerly takes a quick gulp. “Hopefully it’ll help stave off the effects for now.”
I can only assume she’s found some form of medication for Remus’ illness, whatever it is. I’m still too nervous to ask, however. Still frightful, despite tensions calming a bit.
After scanning through the items, I pick up the only weapon I’m acquainted with: a bowpistol. The bowpistol is almost as long as my forearm, result of an elongated hilt for quick-draws. Dark grey metal coats the weapon, and the mechanisms fire two types of energy bolts: stun and kill. The rest of the equipment is standard survival gear, ammunition, and some light leather greaves and pauldrons.
Pleasantly relieved to acquire suitable forms of protection, I start to equip myself when I catch my reflection in the hull of the ship.
The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1) Page 5