The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1)

by Matthew Romeo

  Spryer than I would’ve anticipated, Abrax spins with his leg arcing like a martial kick. He performs a backward swing with his right arm, and an energy disk the size of his hand spins through the air. It hits the opposing canyon wall in a shower of sparks and he continues, “This is Form Three: Discus. Your body must be agile and flexible to throw and dodge these. They can come in many shapes. From disks to orbs of fire.”

  Like a dance, he shifts his legs into a wide stance. Extending his right arm, his palm opens and fires a solid beam of sage energy. It thunders through the air and into the night sky. I’m seeing a pattern to these motions. “This is Form Four: Blaze. As the final Form, it must be used in last resort, for its destruction will blaze through anything. This is a lethal Form, so it must be used carefully.”

  I’m entranced by what I’ve seen. Each Form is built atop the other, each movement complimented the other. It is graceful and deadly. The area seems to calm after Abrax relaxes his posture, and he ejects the kryo from his gauntlet. I’m amazed, for the amount of energy he used had completely drained the gem.

  “It will be some time before you master all of these Forms,” Abrax says, taking a few steps away from me. He crosses his arms. “Now, load a kryo and attempt Form One.”

  I take a deep breath. No pressure, right? I open the chamber on my right gauntlet and place the kryo within. Warmth radiates from it. I can feel the suit begin to vibrate as the energy courses within. It’s an exhilarating sensation. A little heartbeat is within the armor as if it’s alive. I press the button on my left wrist, and the helmet covers my face. It’s less like armor now, and more like a living thing.

  With the new upgrades, I can practically feel the energy as if it’s within my own skin. Like liquid fire in my veins, I feel so powerful. It’s invigorating. But despite the buildup of energy, nothing happens. I extend my fingers, but nothing is channeled.

  “One question,” I say after a moment of attempting. “How exactly do I channel the energy?”

  Abrax heaves a sigh of annoyance. “Don’t overthink it, lad. Just think about what you want to do.”

  “What in all the Hells does that even mean?” I snap, looking at my armored arms in confusion. Moonlight reflects off of the bronze metal.

  The old man sits cross-legged on the plateau while my back faces the gorge below. He watches me curiously. “Focus your mind and body,” Abrax says. “If you keep your intentions simple and precise, the armor will channel exactly what you want it to. You are linked to the armor. To the energy. Just focus and it will obey your command if you are disciplined enough.”

  I pause and reflect. “Well I guess that makes some sense. Being a sorcerer would take a lot of mental clarity.”

  The old man snorts in derision, his silver hair seems to absorb the moon’s color. “Don’t think too much about it, lad. Just focus on releasing the energy.”

  I huff a few breaths in nervousness. Closing my eyes, I try to focus on letting the energy flow into my right hand. I think of nothing else. Slowly, I feel the heat of the energy flow from my forearm and into my palm. I breathe slowly, and I can feel that it’s about to happen. The energy is at a crescendo.

  An image flashes through my eyelids. I see my father wearing the armor and looking at me through his helmet. He looks disappointed. Then, I see Sarina with her back turned to me…

  I gasp and open my eyes. A blinding flash of emerald erupts from my hand, and I feel myself being hurled backwards into the sand. I slide to the edge of the plateau, and my heart stops for a moment. I’m inches away from falling off. An emerald haze forms over my field of vision for a moment. My arm feels numb.

  That’s probably not supposed to happen, I say to myself in shame. I need to seriously mind where my thoughts go if I’m to succeed at this.

  Abrax snorts in merriment as I groan and sit up—sand falls from my armor and my head is spinning. He stands and hovers over me. “Not bad for a first attempt. But it looks like you’ve got some focusing problems to get over.”

  He extends a hand and helps me get to my feet. The look on his face isn’t disappointment, it’s understanding. It quickly vanishes as he starts to say, “This will be our system every morning and every night. For one hour, we will practice until you focus properly and learn the Forms. We’ll need them when we reach Z’hart.”

  I’m prepared to ask why, but he stands back and folds his arms across his chest. “We still have thirty more minutes, lad. Try again.”

  It’s going to be a long night, I sigh to myself.

  It certainly turns out to be. The last half hour drags on as I try to channel the energy. I don’t improve spectacularly. My energy streams are flimsy and weak. The same distraction plagues my mind. Father. Sarina. Why do I keep thinking about them?

  When we finish the session, we make our way back into the gorge and to the campsite. On our way, Abrax gives a vague grunt of approval as he smokes some greenweed.

  “There’s one more basic thing you must know about this power,” he croaks. “There is a slight drawback. Kryo magic has a way of affecting a person’s mind.”

  Alarm snakes through me like an eel swimming through water.

  “What do you mean they affect a person’s mind?”

  Puffs of smoke leave his nostrils. “It’s nothing terribly dangerous. They’re mild hallucinations, strange dreams, and such. Perhaps you’ve seen some already.”

  Nodding in hesitation, I say, “I saw my father in the armor. And then I saw Sarina.”

  He pats my shoulder and regards me seriously. “Keep note of what you see. Flashes they may be, but there’s something to them. Messages of a sort. It could be a glimpse into the past, a premonition, or a manifestation of your fears.”

  Regarding the anxious look on my face, he grumbles, “This is the cost of this power, lad. Either take it or leave it. But the visions will come randomly with continued exposure to the magic. Don’t fret, they haven’t killed me yet.”

  There’s little comfort to his words, but this is a drawback I must unwittingly accept. I want this power, so I must accept the cost. Even if it terrifies me.

  We reach the camp quickly as the wind picks up. The others are fast asleep. I undress the armor without hindrance, just like he said.

  But as I prepare for bed, Abrax hisses at me, “Always eject the kryos before you sleep. It might inadvertently charge a blast while we rest. Even magic residue in the conduits could go off if triggered. Safety first, lad.”

  So many rules! I roll my eyes at the absurdity, but I do as he commands. Ejecting the kryo, I notice that the gem has barely been drained of any energy. So I store it back in the cartridge before flopping unto my cot. But even as I close my eyes, I see the same image of my father garbed in the armor. The look on his face makes me feel hollow, and I hold back tears upon seeing his displeasure. But why? Is his spirit angry that I’ve decided to follow in his footsteps? Or is it something else?

  Trying to shake it off, I see the second image. Sarina’s back is to me, and I feel an ocean of separation. A premonition? Or are these images just manifested feelings buried within my subconscious? The openness between Sarina expands infinitely until she’s a tiny spot in my vision, and then there’s darkness.

  Chapter 16: Tálir

  The Great Journey

  THE PYRACK IS A BRUTAL, uncompromising adversary. If it isn’t sand storms or sheer heat, the perpetual thirst always gnaws at me. Sand sticks to my face, hair, clothes, and armor. A sunburn stings under my eyes and on my cheeks. Sweat glistens on my face and soaks my shirt. We all smell rancid.

  Hiking over sand is an arduous task, since my feet have no solid base to step. My calves are sore from the travel, my armor and cargo bearing down on me. I’m forced to wrap a light cloak around my body everyday so the armor stays cool.

  We trek for what seems like an eternity through the desert, rationing our water carefully. I’m still baffled by our willing cooperation to travel en company. Everyone was willing to follow my lead in
the caves, and again on our new quest. Some are reluctant, I know that much. Devin and Vyck definitely have feelings of resentment about this. Sarina has warmed up to me and Vivían, but I sense that she’s still guarding a part of herself. I can’t blame her, but it’s still a bit frustrating.

  The strange visions I had the previous day still linger in my mind. And I start to wonder if it’s symbolic of Sarina’s current personality. Closed off to the rest of us, but almost within reach.

  I want to know everything about her. Not just the quiet, cautious person she is pretending to be, but the real Sarina. The struggle to keep my feelings in check is constant. I try to fight it, seeing as I’ve only known her for a few days. After she saved my life in the mines and on the convoy, I can’t help but feel extremely grateful to her. But I resolve to not entirely focus on her.

  The others are growing on me as well. Remus normally keeps to himself and stays quiet, except in matters of importance. While it’s a bit odd, by no means does he hamper our journey. In fact, he’s always the first packed and ready before the morning hike. Aida is also pleasant when it comes to making sure our health stays strong. Vivían is quite the character. Bare bones and snarky, her enthusiasm and charisma has enthralled me. She’s a huge flirt with me, Devin, and Vyck. Despite this, she and Vyck can be seen chatting by themselves during our hikes. She laughs at him a lot, but he simply keeps talking and smiles with her.

  After just a few days, here we are. A band of strangers bonding together. It’s almost a bit surreal at times. But our shared experience in the convoy, mines, and desert sprouts strong friendships.

  Sessions continue with Abrax twice a day. One in the morning and one at night. It’s an arduous process, but I have to trust in Abrax’s gruff wisdom. I still struggle with Form I. My body is always too tense or my mind is always wandering out of focus. The old man’s patience wears thin, but he remains steadfast in the lesson. I must flow like a river if the energy is to properly stream through me.

  Days pass by as our system repeats. Wake up, train, eat, travel, make camp, eat, train, and then rest. The three days begin to blur together. The Pyrack’s dunes vary from crescent shapes to rippled waves like an ocean. So far, no Roils have been detected. Lucky for us. More importantly, the training makes some improvement. I begin to recognize a way to channel the magic, keeping my focus on the feat itself rather than on the energy. It’s still a weak Output Charge at 3%, but it’s better than nothing.

  My body eases up and the Form feels like a dance as I adopt the poses to channel the Stream. The energy fountains from my fingertips during practice, but their energy level would barely stun a cat. So I train. Hard. Abrax says that I’ll need some mastery of the Forms before we arrive at the capital of Z’hart. His reasons are still unclear, but I can sense that danger likely awaits us there.

  Rounding out the third day, the dunes make way for more varying geographical features. Outcrops of grey bedrock, dry soils that smear brown and maroon, and more flora such as weathered trees and wildflowers. We rest within a series of boulder formations that look as if they’re piled up towards the higher ground. The smooth rocks are pale and creased with wavelike erosions.

  From our camp on the third night, I can see the outline of the jagged mountains and ravines that bordered Z’hart. Peaks rise moderately high in the night sky, and I can almost see the varying terrain ahead of us. The Flames are just a few kilometers away, and we’ll be through by the following evening. But as I gaze out and see the small mountains, firelight can be seen near one of the peaks.

  We won’t be alone when we reach the Flames.

  Chapter 17: Sarina

  The Flames

  THE HEEL OF MY BOOT crunches against the thin, tan colored grasses. The golden sands have been replaced with orange and violet wildflowers, russet dirt, and patches of bronzed grass. Sloping on both sides of us are rock walls hewn from pale stone, nooks and crevasses snake within their bases. Small mountains fill our view ahead, their bases grassy and colorful. The gorges that run between them seem to be carved out for the single purpose of navigational ease.

  While a bit narrow, the gorge twists in odd ways as the rocky foundations skewer out from the landscape. Bedrock juts out in different shapes that seem similar to the tendrils of a fire, and the heat from the sun adds to the illusion. Most rise to be about a fifty meters while withered trees grow from their sides.

  Water is scarce, but a slim creek stretches along the crevasse of the largest ravine, where plenty of edible plants and animals await. We all tire from the ration foods. It doesn’t take long for Vivían to subdue a sizable kodragon with her bow, and Abrax is quick to store the dog-sized reptile for our next meal. I’m rather astonished at their skills in the realm of survival—Vivían with hunting and Abrax with his finesse at cooking fresh kills. I hope to learn more about it one day.

  In fact, I’m starting to find myself even more interested with the others than I thought I would. Vivían’s background in hunting, archery, and survival in the Outlands is fascinating to me. Growing up within a city with constant shelter makes her life seem even more adventurous. The same thing could be said about Tálir and his upbringing as a salvager in the Pyrack. Only twenty, he had been forced to work for his survival since he was a boy. Scavenging old parts without a family in the desert was no way for a child to grow up, yet he did so. But it’s not just that.

  Abrax has been taking Tálir off to train every morning and evening since we’d left the mines. I can see them occasionally, sending out bursts of magical energy. It’s captivating in a sense, seeing the power of magic. Tálir’s enthusiasm has enhanced his charismatic personality, and I can see him accepting leadership more and more. Yet, there’s still that deep rooted sadness within him about being taken from his home. And I pity him.

  Remus and Aida are also on decent terms with me, but they won’t go into any more details about the riots. Like me, they probably want to wait until Z’hart City before we make any more discoveries. Devin and Vyck, on the other hand, are always a handful. Constantly jeering, sardonic, and acting like misogynistic bigots. Vyck isn’t as bad, since he’s definitely taking a liking to Vivían. But Devin is just so frustrating sometimes that it makes my blood boil.

  Our journey takes us deep within the Flames, and the ground and surrounding bedrock begin to take more fiery colors. Blazing orange, bright red, and even spots of light gold. We clamber over mounds of rigid stones between each of the gorges. But I slowly begin to notice something.

  Faint smoke columns can be seen near the higher mountains, and the strange feeling returns. The feeling like we’re being watched and followed. More than once, I see shadowy movement upon the walls of the gorges. But my eyes never land on anything. Still, there’s no doubt that someone is following our journey.

  ◆◆◆

  We pass by a plethora of wildflowers, cacti, and tumbleweeds as our journey continues into the Flames. Clouds start to spot the blue sky and occasionally blot out the sun for a few minutes. The distinct smell of the wildflowers causes me to sneeze a few times. Paranoia still grips me even as we venture, but it doesn’t seem like danger is predominant yet.

  Clambering up to higher ground on some of the bedrock outcroppings, we take a break for lunch at the top of the gorge. Another valley is below us, though much dryer and barren of plant life. The kodragon makes an interesting meal for the midday—its flesh is tough and almost devoid of taste. But, it is the only animal sizeable enough to feed the entire group.

  During the break, everyone begins checking their equipment and weapons. I sit a distance away on an elevated outcropping, not feeling entirely social at the moment. It’s comical in some sense, watching them. Like they’re afraid their stuff is going to disappear or fall apart from neglect. Every day Devin sharpens his blade, even when he don’t use it. Is it just a nervous habit?

  Conforming slightly, I pull my bowpistol from its holster and start examining its features. Nope, it’s still intact, I tell myself. The bol
t magazine is still in there, the trigger isn’t jammed, and the barrel seems fine. Nothing too special about it.

  Abrax sits next to me suddenly, and I flinch in surprise. Already puffing out columns of smoke like a chimney, the old man grunts in amusement. He’s aware of my feelings, and I think he likes to prod at them.

  “The good old weapon examination time,” he says gruffly. A cough escapes him. “Trying to conform are we? You don’t look like you care too much about your weapon of choice.”

  I place the weapon flat on my palm, balancing it. “It’s not that I don’t like it,” I explain. “It’s just that, everyone else seems to have some sort of connection with their weapons or tools. Vivían and her bow. Devin and his sword. Aida with her medicines. You and Tálir with your armor.”

  I holster the bowpistol, my face reflecting some measure of displeasure. I cross my arms and continue, “I need something that fits me. Sure, the pistol is adequate. But it’s not my preferable choice.”

  Abrax says nothing as I look into his leathery face, his eyes seem extremely tired. He stands and goes to retrieve something from the cart. Something he stored in one of his metal cases. He returns and sits next to me again and hands me something.

  A thin, brass bar the length of a flute is in his hands. Made from a copper-colored metal, the rod is about half a meter and has a serrated spear tip fashioned to its head. It’s like a half spear.