The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1)

by Matthew Romeo

  “Very well, frítolös,” Daniul grunts, placing both hands on the table. “How may I assist yeh?”

  We all close in on the table to prevent the wrong ears from listening. “Banquet— Riots—” Remus repeats, scratching at his beard.

  “The antiques merchant said you might know about who sent invitations for the banquet,” Aida says. She puts her hands on her hips. “Do you know who might’ve sent them?”

  Daniul sniffs. “Well he’s wrong. I don’t have no idea about the bloody invitations. But, I do have a custom order that was placed by someone within the Citadel.”

  “What?” I blurt out, trying to keep my voice down. “What was it?”

  “I received it about two weeks ago,” he says, twirling his tangled beard. “A… representative from the Citadel placed an order for custom darts. Stealth military grade.”

  “That’s a unique order,” I comment with unease. I fold my arms with cold inquisitiveness. “What makes yours so special?”

  Daniul walks into his shop, retrieves a small box, and returns to place it atop the table. Opening it, he reveals six needle-like darts about two inches long. Their pointed tips are so sharp that they almost seem the width of a hair, and violet feathers poke from the butt-ends.

  “Oho hello, little pricks! I’m surprised these aren’t illegal,” Vivían says in a slightly giddy voice. “How did you manage to file the tips to this level?”

  “Trade secret,” Daniul says with a bit of pride. He crosses his meaty arms and adopts a bewildered look. “The odd thing was, the order called for seven, but only one of the bloody things was picked up.”

  “Only one?” Aida asks in alarm. She leans unto the table, hands flat on its surface. “You’re telling me the buyer was so confident that they only needed one shot?”

  Daniul shrugs his broad shoulders. “I thought it was mad too.”

  That’s when it clicks. Centum acquired only one untraceable dart to deliver whatever toxin had been used on me. These darts are a way for me to prove what happened.

  “Can I examine one?” I ask slyly, placing an oreing on the table. “I’m considering purchasing the rest.”

  “Certainly,” Daniul replies pleasantly, handing me one of the darts. He pockets the coin. “I’d also appreciate some referrals as well.”

  My eyes examine the dart as I start pacing back and forth, my expression arctic yet nonchalant. I gently tap my index finger to its tip and feel nothing. No wonder why I hadn’t detected it. The more I look at it, the more I’m filled determination to begin my final search for truth. I only need a few more pieces of this puzzle. I’m so close!

  My eyes dart up to look at everyone. My heart starts pounding with anxiety as I think about what I need to do.

  “Who in all the Hells could pull off that kind of luck?” Vivían inquires curiously with a tinge dread. “One dart for a job is taking a damn solid gamble.”

  “Viginti—” Remus grunts quietly.

  Everyone turns their attention to Remus as he picks up another dart for examination. All their eyes are focused on him. But mine are watchful of the others, even as they grow distant.

  After a moment, I’m far away from them and under the cover of a hooded robe. The crowd obscures me even as I back away. My bowpistol and comlink had been set upon the cart as I snuck away. Only the spear accompanies me for protection.

  Growing farther apart from them, I also feel my heart slowly becoming more distant. Like it’s a small boat far out from shore, visible but untouchable. This will hurt them, my abandoning of their trust and protection. But it hurts me even more having to do it. I value them, but I realize that only my methods will solve this puzzle.

  Just as Remus hands a small envelope to the blacksmith, Vivían realizes I’m gone and calls for me. Distress is on her face. Now I fully sneak away, blending in with the crowd and following the winding paths of the streets.

  I’m alone now, in this sea of people. Alone and on a mission, even as they still call my name.

  “Sarina!”

  Chapter 23: Sarina

  The Puzzle

  “YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE,” the older woman says to me as I adjust the cowl covering my head.

  She’s right, of course.

  I know traveling anywhere in the city unrecognized is a fool’s gambit, and there’s a chance an enemy might’ve already spotted me. I berate myself for diverting from the group, and I know there will be consequences.

  But I need more answers, and the only way I’ll figure out the truth is to ask my associates from the city. Living in the lower reaches of Z’hart City helped me get acquainted with a number of informants and spies. So I trust them a lot more than Remus and his spies for the Insurgents.

  Shame wells up inside my chest, making it seem like I’m crumbling apart. They are my friends and I should’ve trusted them to help me. But, this is my battle to fight alone. I need to solve who purchased the illegally modified darts. That can help me prove if this Centum was really behind it all along.

  I stand inside the threshold of a small vending kiosk that the old woman owns, where she supplies exotic works of art and pottery. She makes meager earnings, but her products fetch the attention of foreigners and more aristocratic residents of Z’hart City. The kiosk is about twelve meters in diameter and tall enough for the both of us to seek shelter under. Leather strips drape over the metal frame of the entrance. They provide less security than I hoped, but it’s conspicuous enough for me.

  The cobblestone floor is caked in mud, and the only furniture she possesses are a rusted metal table, antique chairs, and a storage crate. Daylight seeps through the fractured steel roof, and a rectangular service window flanks my right side.

  “Well I’m already here so there’s no turning back, Rita,” I reply before looking out the window at a group of peasant boys running in the street. “But I’ll make this quick: what do you know of the embassy riots last week?”

  The old woman’s wrinkled face contorts in distaste, and her blue eyes reflect a suppressed anger. Despite her age, Rita is one of my best informants in the lower side of the city and she’s well known for being able to blend in. Her ragged clothes, her unkempt greying black hair, and her grumpy demeanor usually fails to attract attention.

  “This city is now swarming with usurpers and murderers,” the old woman growls with a hooded gaze. “These new militia guards patrol our streets, spies are keeping track of everything, and new minerals are being harvested in the depths of the mountain. Some whisper of a foreign organization infiltrating this city.”

  My face turns grim. “I’ve already deduced that, Rita. Can you give me a name? A person? Anything.”

  The elder woman stands from her chair and approaches the kiosk table where antiques are placed in view for purchase.

  “Sarina, my dear,” she says before shuffling through some of her jumbled belongings. “Whatever this organization is, it doesn’t leave much behind—let alone leave names or people. But there was a transmission I intercepted the night of the riots.”

  Rita pulls out a hololetter chip and hands it to me as another meandering group of boys runs by the window. I take the device and activate it within my palm. Instead of a map, the hololetter displays a short paragraph that’s peculiar in both substance and articulation.

  Seriously adapt regiment introduction near autumn. Have all soldiers begun entry education? Never forget our unwavering need, Dentum. Interestingly, Wilem insists living lavishly. Everyone needs simple upper regiment education here.

  Ensure rituals, eliminate xenophobic insurgents, live eternal.

  — Octus

  “Baffling is it not?” Rita says after I take a moment to read the transmission. “The vernacular in this message is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, but there’s no doubt that whomever wrote this did not want it falling into the wrong hands.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because it’s encoded with a secret message,” Rita says, pointing to various lette
rs in the display. “It took some time, but I figured out the coded message in the first letter of each word.”

  Looking closely, I see Rita’s finger point out the hidden message within the message. My eyes widen in apprehension as I read:

  Sarina has been found. I will ensure her exile.

  “What does this mean?” I ask, my body turning cold with fear. “Ensure my exile? This has to be the person who took me out at the banquet, but it didn’t leave an order to kill me. Just to ensure my exile.”

  Rita gives a worried grunt as she sits in the wooden chair across from me. “It seems like whoever this is or who they work for only intended to capture you. You would be more valuable alive than dead. But exile is a strange word for that. It almost seems like they wanted to get you away from public eye, but also make it seem like you accepted that choice.”

  I consider it for an instance. “Perhaps they wanted me to feel alone so I’d tag along with anyone who’d show an interest in me.”

  My fear leads to suspicion. I think about Remus and Aida, both of whom had been eager to gain my companionship before the crash. Maybe they are the ones behind my abduction and I’d merely played into their game by travelling with them. But then a thought enters my head.

  They held no qualms about me returning to Z’hart, I calculate. Granted, I’m not inside the city, but I’m still back in public eye. If they wanted me to be in exile, they wouldn’t have let me come this close to civilization. It can’t be them.

  “Maybe,” Rita affirms, setting her elbows on the table. “Maybe someone wanted to meet you out there… or maybe you were intended for another destination. Or perhaps exile is just a fancy term for saying that they needed to ensure your capture. Organizations have their own vernacular.”

  A puzzle piece suddenly clicks into my brain. “The armor worn by the new militia,” I say darkly. “Do they have any weird symbols or markings on them?”

  “They do,” she replies warily, arching an eyebrow at me. She steeples her withering fingers in front of her face.

  “An upside down V overtaking a pyramid?”

  “That’s exactly—” Rita says in astonishment before cutting herself off. “Where else have you seen it?”

  I think I’m starting to see every puzzle piece clicking into place. Someone in Z’hart City’s Citadel had tasked Centum’s Order to weed out members of the Insurgents. With newly armed militia and stealth weapons, they performed a hit on the embassy gala. Then they started sending prisoners to the salvage pits in the Pyrack with Septem as an escort. However, that doesn’t explain two crucial facts.

  First, why did Septem have the convoy shot down? If he was ordered to escort us or ensure my exile, why did he disobey that command and leave us? I remember the holoprojection I acquired from the Crimson. Perhaps that may have some more answers.

  Second, I’m not a member of the Insurgents. Why did Centum target me? Unless… No, it’s not possible. They couldn’t have found out. There’s got to be more to this mystery than I thought.

  I look out the window as my thoughts reel. I see the degraded shacks and garages that line the upper streets of the outskirts. The walls guarding the city can be seen over the roofs of the shacks and the early evening sun is shrouded by rain clouds.

  “A man named Septem wore the exact same armor, and was seemingly escorting us into the Pyrack,” I recount, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Though he left us to die, I can imagine he might’ve been there to escort me to my intended destination.”

  Rita pauses with a disturbed look on her face. “How did you deduce that?”

  “His name wasn’t really a name,” I say, remembering his smug, gaunt face. “It was his designation. Just like the names on the letter: Octus and Dentum. They seem similar to that form of title.”

  The older woman touches her chin, and I hear more children running and playing in the street. “This is a dangerous game, Sarina,” she says after a moment. “But you need to be more careful than ever if you are to solve it. These people have gone to great lengths to find you and capture you, and it’s doubtful they’re just going to give up. You know why you’re important to them!”

  “What?” I ask in astonishment, my body turning numb with fear.

  Rita’s eyes stare into mine. She’s reading every expression and emotion that runs through me. She’s always been a great informant, but I never thought she’d dig into my life.

  “Sarina, my dear,” Rita says in a hushed voice. Her nervousness is growing along with mine. “I’ve known for a while what you really are. So don’t come asking me why these people have an interest in you. Because you know exactly why!”

  I stare at her in disbelief, my mouth hangs open slightly. “How did you know?”

  The old woman shakes her head, letting the grimy mess hanging over her face. “That’s not important, Sarina. And we will solve this new mystery soon enough. But you cannot linger here! Return to your companions and leave Z’hart City as fast as you can.”

  “But—”

  Rita raises a hand to cut me off, and she storms to the window in a fury. Nearly flinging herself out the window, she places both hands on the windowsill and sticks her head out.

  “Get out of here you little snakes!” she bellows, flailing her arms at something I can’t see. “Go on!”

  From over her hunched back, I see the same group of young peasant boys scatter into the street in flight from her wrath.

  Not peasants, I realize. Spies.

  I freeze in utter panic as the boys run off, and Rita whirls from the window with fiery determinism in her eyes. Slamming her hand down, Rita deactivates the hololetter chip and jams it into my hand.

  “Flee!” she hisses. “NOW!”

  “But what about you?” I protest. My heart is racing in my chest for fear of what might happen to Rita. “Those boys saw you with me. They’ll be after you as well!”

  “I have my ways, Sarina,” she replies with a raised eyebrow. “You know my resources. One last thing: This Order isn’t aware of your knowledge, and it has given you an edge. Don’t lose it!”

  Nearly shoving me out of the kiosk, Rita gives me one last look of reassurance before turning away to fetch something underneath the table. I know better than to disobey her. But I give her a nod of gratitude before I flee into the unknown future ahead.

  Chapter 24: Sarina

  Flight Not Fight

  I PRACTICALLY TUMBLE OUT from under the leather door strips and into the dusty street. The long cloak wraps around my frame and drags behind my legs slightly. I’m still unused to the weight of the heavy fabric. So I stumble momentarily and hit a garbage barrel, knocking its contents over. Bystanders gasp and pause as they note the ruckus, and I halt only for a moment to get clear bearings on where I stand.

  There is a pause, but only for a moment. A primal fear takes hold of me, and I panic from not knowing where to go. It’s like some ethereal force has rooted me on the spot. The world around me is spinning at a pace I can’t keep up with.

  Inhaling through my nostrils, I breathe. Slowly. Trying to focus my attention through the anxiety. I slip the hololetter chip into my boot. Taking off at a brisk pace, I break through the crowd and raise the hood of my robe. My direction shifts towards the lower market areas. Back towards the others, to safety.

  I wander around the crowded area for some time. A feeling jangles up my spine, and I can sense that I’m being followed. I try not to seem elusive. Praying to the Sage God, I attempt to sneak into another tattered shack.

  “There she is!” someone yells from behind me.

  I take a quick glance over my shoulder and see two militia guards brandishing bowrifles and running through the crowd. Even though they are yards away, I can see the blue haze of their barrels as they’re set to stun. Oh shit! In mid stride they stop and aim their weapons at me. I stumble forward as I break into a sprint. Trampling through the dirt, I feel a light gust fly by my left side—and I see two energy bolts strike the wall of a shack.
>
  Sparks fountain as the stunbolts hit the steel. My heart skips a beat as I hear the pang of the blasts. They’re firing at me! Shit, shit, shit! They must have orders to bring me alive to whoever commands them.

  I keep my pace and refuse to look back as bystanders shout and scream because of the weapon discharges. My cloak flaps in the air as I flee down the streets, dodging and weaving as I attempt to lose my pursuers. My boots kick up clouds of dirt.

  I try to lose them. A kiosk centered between two shacks is coming up, and I can see through the booth to the other side of the street. An obstacle for the guards. Leaping over the kiosk’s table, I push past the vendor and sprint through his tattered shack. I hear the guards fumble and slam into the table, shouting and cursing. I’m already on the other side of the shack and into an opposing street. More guards see that I’m in flight, and thus pursue with their weapons primed.