The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1)

by Matthew Romeo

  Dangling from the outcropping, the walkway is supported by one picket and an aged piece of rope. With the age of the picket holding the weight of the remaining walkway, I reckon it will last for maybe a few minutes.

  Hurriedly, Vivían and I rush forward and look over the edifice to see Tálir still holding on—his face reflects dumbfounded shock. I lie on the ground and extend my arm as far as it’ll go towards him.

  “Take my hand!” I call as Vivían prepares to help me hoist him up.

  “I would’ve gone for ‘hang on’,” Vivían says in a joking manner.

  Tálir climbs a bit before grabbing my outstretched arm. The muscles start screaming in pain under his weight. Despite this, I use all of my strength to help him ascend. Vivían grabs his other arm. Even Remus and Aida join to help. It is an odd moment of solidarity, the four of us banding together to help another. It’s unusually thrilling, and we heave him unto the outcropping with finality.

  As he flops unto the rock, a resounding crack signals the breaking of the picket—and the walkway falls into the Well. Tálir lays on his back, breathing rapidly as his heart races.

  “That was exciting,” Vivían comments energetically, getting to her feet. “A solid thrill.”

  “Not for me,” Tálir comments warily, standing up and glancing at all of us. “Thanks for having my back, everyone.”

  “No thanks to the other two,” Aida scoffs. Vyck and Devin are nowhere to be found. “I suppose we shouldn’t have expected much from a couple of mercenaries.”

  “Now we’re mercenaries?” a voice calls from higher along the spiral path, moving towards us. “I’ll take that as a compliment over being called an Outlander.”

  Unsurprisingly, Devin and Vyck walk around the bend of the pathway, the latter of which carries an antique chest roughly the width of his torso. While it seems heavy, Vyck’s eagerness outshines any strain the chest puts on his arms.

  “Was the bridge always like that?” Vyck snorts.

  “To the Hells with you guys!” I spit, placing my hands on my hips. I let my disappointment show. “You ditched us!”

  “Eyyeah, but we came back,” Devin retorts innocently, looking at Vyck. “Show them.”

  Vyck sits the chest down and lifts the top. He reveals five, polished emerald jewels the size of large onions. A bright glow emits from the crystals, and their polished state seems to enhance their stores of bioluminescent energy. Devin smiles with glee.

  “Think of what we could buy with these gorgeous things,” Devin thinks aloud wishfully. “I could probably buy an apartment complex in Z’hart City with one.”

  “I think I might capitalize on some ancestral technology,” Vyck says, eyeing Tálir. “Tálir is kind of getting me hooked on Domain tech. Plus, I like that shade of bronze over the violet.”

  “You’re taking all five of them?” Vivían inquires, trying to hide her envy.

  “Do we look like sticklers to you, Viv?” Vyck responds, somewhat appalled. He gives Vivían a guiltless look. “Devin and I get three and the other two you can divide amongst yourselves. Fair enough?”

  “If you’re offering,” Vivían says lightly. There’s a glint in her eye as she looks at Vyck.

  “Consider it our way of saying sorry—for not looking out for Tálir,” Devin says snidely, but there seems to be a sliver of shame in his voice.

  I snort in derision. “Just like that we’re supposed to be cool?”

  “It’s not worth fighting over,” Tálir admits exhaustively. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  Their sudden disappearance in a crisis vexes me to a degree. But, I honestly should’ve expected nothing less. They were out for riches, not friendship. I’m surprised, though, that they’re willing to share their plunder. Perhaps I’ve been a bit too harsh on judging them. Only time will tell though.

  So in unison, we begin ascending the spiraling walkway as the rays of evening can be seen from the opening. The gyrating pathway is littered with mine carts filled with piles of crystals. Our way is pleasantly illuminated. The snaking walls have smooth curvatures. Our feet step upon smooth rock. To our left is a drop-off leading into the Well’s abyss.

  Everything progresses smoothly until we reach a cave nearly halfway up. Carved out of the wall next to the pathway, the cave is about ten meters in diameter. Support beams and other pieces of construction help keep it from collapsing. Rigid pieces of rock stick out from its opening, and light barely passes into its darkness. It’s a gaping maw. A jangling feeling of foreboding crawls within me as I pause to look. There is something ominous about the cave that catches my attention. Like it isn’t meant to be there. More to the point, it seems new—the lumber and metal used for support beams looks fresh. Carvings within the cave hint that it has been excavated within the last decade.

  “Sarina,” Vivían addresses me with a worried look. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

  It takes me a moment to answer as the others glance at me. “Why would there be a cavern this high up in a mining Well?” I query to the group as they pause to glance at it.

  There is a silence of obstinate confusion before Vyck answers, “Maybe because we’re in a mine? C’mon, Sarina. Aren’t there supposed to be lots of caves?”

  “But if the excavation for the Well started from up here, why does this cave look recently excavated?” I ask seriously. “Look at the support beams, too. The metal seems—less ancient.”

  The air is still for a moment as the group comes to the realization as well. I berate myself for not making the conclusion sooner. Something is wrong, and we might have fallen into a precarious situation.

  “Bone me. Is this where I say ‘it looks like a trap’?” Vyck asks mordantly, looking alarmed. “Clearly these crystals are slowing our minds to obvious stuff. We should go back.”

  “You’re a moron,” I exhale.

  He doesn’t respond, and there is an arctic pause as a hissing noise emanates from within the cave. It’s a soft noise, almost like the wind blowing through a crevasse and whistling by. But its sudden audibility, the way it grows louder, and the intensity of the noise suggests it isn’t natural. After a moment the noise stops. I then feel a light breeze derive from within the cavern. A dark sheet blinds us to what resides inside even as the hissing spews from the mouth of the cave like an exhalation.

  Due to the unnaturalness of the draught, everyone stiffens and brandishes their weapons. I draw my bowpistol and ready myself for the imminent danger. The draft grows stronger and louder, and I tense my grip around the pistol as the hissing reaches a frenzied pitch. There is a pause. Then a cloud of pale vapor blows out from the mouth of the cave and envelopes us in a cold wisp.

  Before any of us can react or hold our breaths, the gas overtakes us and I inhale the odorless mixture. For a moment, it seems to be nothing more than a cloud of water vapor expelled from the cave. Then, something happens.

  My body starts to feel lethargic, and my limbs begin to feel icy as numbness starts to creep through them. Dizziness strikes me. Sensation in my fingers is lost, and I drop my bowpistol. A stammering cough escapes me as I try to cover my mouth and nose, even though the damage is already done. The entire group begins coughing vigorously, and I hear metallic weapons striking the rocky ground. I squint my eyes in an attempt to peer through the cloud. Tears well up as I squint. But I can see only silhouettes.

  Amid the chaos, I hear someone wheeze, “Whatever— you— do. Don’t pass— out—” It’s Tálir’s voice, but his last words slur from his mouth. Then there’s a soft thud.

  More thuds occur as the coughing begins to quiet and dissipate. Nearly everyone has fallen to the ground as I try to figure out if they’re dead or unconscious. Heart racing, but the cold begins to slow its terrorized beat. Darkness clouds into my vision. My body then falls with a thud.

  Chapter 12: Sarina

  Abrax

  THERE IS A WARMTH as I drift out of unconsciousness. In contrast to the cool air, the warmth feels oddly comforting.
My body is relaxed. Underneath my eyelids, an orange light seeps through and the smell of smoke and salt wafts in the air. The cackling noise in my ears indicates a fire has been started, but by whom?

  Outlanders, perhaps? Or maybe something else that resided in the cave? No matter the case, someone has apparently retrieved me.

  I’m sitting upright against a rocky wall, and my head is hanging between my shoulders. As feeling returns to my arms and legs, I notice that they aren’t bound by anything. Shifting a little, I bump against another individual, who remains motionless even after I make contact.

  Vigilantly, I open my eyes and allow the fog of bleariness wear off. As my vision focuses, I can see a sizable fire crackling in front of me. Cooking above it is a pot of stew and a roasting carcass of what appears to be a cavebat. Its body is the size of a small cat. Instantly my stomach rumbles at the sight of fresh meat, and the smell of mesquite smoke fills the air. Even if it is a roasting rodent.

  The fire rests at the center of a domed structure about the size of a large living room, the ground is smooth and burnished. The curving walls are also smooth, like they’re carved from marble. A small tunnel is also carved out on the other side of the area, lit by a single torch. I can’t see where it leads. Lumber pillars line the walls while beams web across the ceiling. The arched ceiling rises about six meters and a small opening has been carved out of the center. A metal slab hangs from it, indicating it can be closed. Rays of moonlight seep through.

  So we’ve been here for a few hours evidently, I think to myself.

  Strangely though, the structure isn’t untenanted. Tattered rugs, clay pots, bits of salvaged junk, and a massive chest are in the room. With the addition of the fire pit, I conclude that someone has resided here for some time.

  Leaned up along the wall on both sides of me, the group also struggles to regain consciousness as several groans fill the air. Directly flanking me is Vivían and Remus, the latter of who is baulking in discomfort.

  Everyone is still in their gear and armor while our weapons are laid out in front of them. I notice my bowpistol and pouches have been placed by my feet. Whomever had found us didn’t seemed interested in our belongings, which bewilders me.

  While wary of our surroundings, I still shuffle forward and say aloud, “So much for not passing out.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hear Vyck groan cynically. “Something hit me.” He puts a thin hand to his forehead. Then cracks his back.

  “Was it a brain?” I ask mockingly, stretching my arms. I pull my bowpistol closer to my side.

  “Let’s not start shit now,” Aida calls out. Quickly she stands and rushes over to Remus. She checks his vitals, and then shows relief. “I’d like to figure out where in all the Hells we are.”

  “Whoever took us in,” Tálir grunts, “they mustn’t mind letting us keep our things. I’d bet my ass it’s not slavers.” He shakes his head as if to clear it, sending his long hair into a frenzy.

  “An odd thing to bet,” Vivían comments in a flirting manner. Her eyes track him for a second. “I might take that.”

  I shake off the burning in my cheeks. Devin and Tálir stand and stretch their legs. Vivían picks up her energy bow and activates the blue strings. Vyck unsheathes a dagger, but his eyes are on the cooking food. Rising to one knee, I take hold of my bowpistol and glance around the cavern. Or whatever this place is.

  “Why do you think they let us keep our stuff?” I ask aloud, my eyebrows furrowing.

  “Because it’s your stuff, not mine,” a basso voice answers me. Heads snap around to look for the source of the voice, our faces stricken. Like deer, we’ve caught the scent of a predator.

  From within the small tunnel across from us, a man comes out from the shadows. It’s like he materialized from the darkness. His footsteps are heavy, and there’s something weighing him down. As he moves closer, the flames illuminate his appearance with a fiery tint.

  He’s an older man roughly in his late seventies, dark-skinned, tall and sinewy with long white hair pulled into a ponytail. His face is thin and angular, his nose is set between dark eyes, and his lips are obscured by a scraggly silver beard. Exhaustion rings his eyes, and I can see the toll of time on his features.

  But his attire sends chills down my spine. Identical to Tálir, the man wears the same ceremonial bronze armor across his chest, hands, forearms, and over his legs. The suit is far more aged than Tálir’s, and various dents and scrapes hint that the metal has seen some action. The winged edges of the gauntlets and pauldrons are dull and chipped. Underneath the armor and exosuit, the man sports a sage trench coat with simple a tunic and trousers. Bronze metal covers his boots.

  Clenched in his hands are glass vials containing salts, spices, and herbs. I surmise that he has a storage pantry further in the cave, but there’s only one way he gets these supplies out here. By raiding convoys.

  I jump to my feet with the bowpistol in hand, and I raise it towards him. I don’t care that he left us untied and fully armed. This man gassed us. And with his current living situation, who knows what drives him. It could be madness, or it could be not. I won’t be unprepared again.

  Tálir and Devin take more aggressive stances as the man approaches. Devin draws his short sword. Vyck already has his dagger ready to throw. Vivían goes on one knee and strings a plasma arrow.

  The old man doesn’t flinch; much less acknowledge the weapons aiming for him. He kneels in front of the fire and begins dropping sprinkling the spices into the pot of stew. His eyes barely look at us. His aloofness is jarring.

  “Excuse me sir,” Tálir says with caution. Hints of a sloppy martial pose can be seen in his features. “If you don’t mind me asking: who in all the Hells are you? Why did you gas us? And…are you cooking food for all of us?” A growl from his stomach punctuates this.

  The man holds up a hand but fails to look at Tálir. “Three things, lad.” His voice is grating and raspy. I can tell he’s a smoker of greenweed. “One: don’t use that tone with me. Two: the gas was merely a defense mechanism. And three: I suppose I can share.”

  Devin and Vyck glance at one another in disbelief. “You gassed us? That feat doesn’t exactly inspire me to feel safe here,” Devin comments, raising his blade slightly. “Give me a reason why we shouldn’t kill you?”

  The old man pauses for a moment before glancing up at us; his eyes shine with cool confidence and blatant irritation. “I made you supper,” he says flatly.

  Vivían sniffs in amusement. I blink with confusion. The others seem just as perplexed. My guard is up, but there’s something about him that doesn’t seem entirely threatening. Sure, he looks dangerous. But he has no weapons, and no indication of wanting to harm us. He’s just cooking a late dinner.

  Devin is unconvinced, however, and brandishes his sword. “Not a good enough answer, old timer,” he replies before advancing around the fire pit.

  The old man’s eyes track Devin as he moves around the fire with his sword held to the side. Meters away from him, Devin raises the sword in an attempt to split the old man’s head in half. And yet, the old man remains motionless as if he’s watching a child throw a tantrum.

  Concerned for both of their safety, I yell out, “Devin, wait!”

  But it’s too late.

  As Devin swings the sword down, the old man raises his left hand and points his fingers at his assailant’s chest. There’s a cackle of noise as five, emerald beams of energy spring from his fingertips.

  I’m dumbstruck.

  The event is torn straight out of a fairy tale of wizards and magic. The beams speed through the air and strike Devin in the center of his breastplate. The impact of the beams drives the breath from him. His body is flung several meters, and he crashes into the wall. His thin armor sends sparks as it brushes against the rock. The sword falls from his hands. Crumpling to the ground, Devin is motionless but moaning in pain.

  There’s an arctic pause, and then Vyck snarls like a beas
t and throws his dagger towards the old man’s face. Vivían fires an energy arrow that whisks through the air. In a blur of motion, the old man raises his right arm and locks it at ninety degrees. After a millisecond, a circular, emerald energy shield forms and blocks each projectile—deflecting them.

  Stunned into silence, I watch the shield dissipate and the old man points his fingers at both Vivían and Vyck. The same emerald beams erupt from his fingertips and strike the pair. Similarly interred like Devin, the two crumple backwards and remain motionless even as they grunt in discomfort.

  I’m rooted on the spot. Wondrous caution freezes my body. What exactly just happened? I have no idea. I aim my bowpistol in a defensive manner. While he acted only in defense, his dexterity and supernatural retribution invokes high levels of caution in me. How is he able to harness pure energy with a flick of his fingers? And since when have such feats ever been possible?

  A moment of silence elapses as Tálir and I stare intensely at the old man. There’s a stillness in the air. His eyes dart to Tálir, whom immediately holds up his hands in an innocent gesture. The old man sizes Tálir up with a look.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” he sputters, taking a step back. “Let’s talk about this. We don’t have to—”

  A single torrent of energy hits Tálir in the torso, causing him to choke on his words and tumble backwards. I regard Tálir for a moment as he rolls on the ground. He lets loose an audible moan. The old man quirks an amused grin as he lowers his hands.

  “Stop moaning, laddies. You’ll be fine,” he huffs with a condescending look. “It’ll wear off in a few minutes. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so keen to attack someone who offers food.”

  The altercation lasted for barely a minute and yet, the old man had subdued more than half of the group and hadn’t even gotten to his feet. Badass, I say to myself. Caution still snakes through me upon seeing his handiwork. Half the group is down, and the old man didn’t even get to his feet. I keep my bowpistol aimed at him, but I don’t fire. My curiosity is what stays my hand.