The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1)

by Matthew Romeo

  With a quick jab, the spear punctures the gut of the first assailant and drives him back. I flourish the weapon and block a hit from another. I jab again and skewer the Crimson through his left breast. I’m not fast enough, however.

  In the midst of a pivot, three charge simultaneously and strike at me in three separate locations. I can’t block them all, and the stunpikes unleash torrents of electricity into my body. I spasm and drop my spear before falling to the ground. The Crimsons immediately start cheering and whooping with victory. Some begin tending to the wounded. Others start binding us with shackles. The rest start gathering our equipment for travel.

  They’re taking us prisoners! I think to myself. Through the haze of numb pain, I feel apprehension. Crimsons start gathering us all into one location as some others begin riding our repulsorbikes. They’ve claimed prisoners and salvage. Now, they plan to present their spoils.

  Chapter 38: Tálir

  Retribution

  MY FACE HITS THE DIRT, filling my nostrils and mouth with dust and filaments. Incomprehensible shouts make it difficult to focus even as I try to stand up. I can taste the tang of blood. Gloved hands grab my arms and yank me to my feet and start pressing me forward.

  The Crimsons herd us like livestock through the empty canyons, brandishing their weapons and calling out in their tongue. They spare no punches with anyone in the group; all of us are being shoved or kicked in varying degrees. Even Abrax is being roughed up as we trek into the canyon.

  We should've known better than to assume there were no Crimsons around last night. Hells, they know these canyons better than we do, and we walked right into it. How could we be so foolish?

  We’ve been herded as prisoners all through the night and into the following day. The sun is orange in the sky above the maroon canyon walls. The repulsorbikes are being ridden by Crimsons, the engines kick up torrents of dirt next to us. Exhaustion tugs at my features. But my heart pounds with adrenaline spurred by being beaten.

  Stripped of our kryo ammunition and shackled together by chains, they keep me and Abrax secluded from the others as we march. Initially they tried to strip us of our armor as well, but the suits remained tightly snug on us. Only Abrax and I can undress our own armor. The Crimsons seem to be aware of our capabilities, and have placed us in the care of more broad captors. I can feel a trickle of blood seeping down the side of my face. Abrax is in a much worse state: blood runs from his nose and he cradles his right side after the Crimsons beat him. His eyes reflect horrible pain, and his breathing becomes rapid. They’ve likely reopened the wounds in his chest,

  “Can you assholes take it easy on him?” I shout at the Crimsons. “He’s already hurt.”

  Immediately, the end of a stunpike strikes the side of my face and I taste more blood. I stumble to the side and spots appear in my vision for a few seconds. Spitting out some blood, I’m again shoved forwards in an effort to keep moving.

  They herd us through the rocky ravines that twist through the gorges, spanning several kilometers. Generally barren, specs of tan grass and puddles of muddy water dot the landscape for variety. Piles of rocks and boulders also span the ravines. Clouds above are gathering, and I feel that a rainstorm is coming.

  “Abrax,” I whisper as I march alongside him. “What do we do?”

  He looks at me through bruised eyes. “Nothing,” he replies weakly. “We bide our time and see what they want. They took us as prisoners for a reason.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I say hesitantly.

  It takes almost until the afternoon for us to reach the destination the Crimsons intend, and they make a conscious effort to rough us up. After being led into a short cave at the end of the ravine, we enter a large open canyon nearly a kilometer in diameter. Rain falls heavily from the cloudy sky, muddying the ground. Dotting the maroon colored expanse are tents, huts, and large pavilions that look freshly set up. Vivían was right when she said the Outlanders practice nomadic behaviors. Dozens of campfires have been lit under makeshift gazebos, and racks of fresh meats are situated near each one.

  As we enter the area, I see the bustling crowd of several dozen people, dressed similarly to the Crimsons but less militaristic. The universal goggles and shaggy hair can be seen on each adult whether male or female. The children are the only exceptions, but they still sport similar russet leather-hide outfits as the adults. All stop to stare at us as we enter the village, their faces seem emotionless with the goggles over their eyes. Rainwater glistens off the leather.

  “Kysh me’a!” some of the children start chanting. “Kysh me’a!”

  “Vivían,” I say, looking over to her. “What are they saying?”

  She looks at me unsettlingly. “Fresh meat,” she replies warily. “I should’ve mentioned that Crimsons occasionally practice cannibalism.”

  “Ey ya think?” Devin calls sarcastically. “The Hells do you mean by occasionally?”

  “If they’re out of livestock, then we’re next on the menu,” Vivían replies almost aloofly, but her expression darkens. “I know a way to get us out of this. So don’t say anything stupid. I’ll handle this.”

  “Silon!” barks one of the captors, hitting Vivían with the butt-end of a bowrifle. “Silon, avah’ky.”

  The other captors start to snicker before repeating the word avah’ky. While I hold no knowledge of their language, it’s evident that the word is meant as an insult. Particularly towards Vivían, who’s expression reflects a repressed hatred.

  I remain silent to avoid any more unnecessary abuse, and walk slowly into their village. I hear Abrax’s breathing becoming ragged as he limps next to me. We lock glances for a moment, and he gives me a nod of reassurance.

  Weaving through the tents and huts, the Crimsons lead us towards one of the larger pavilions near the center of the village. Nearly sixty meters in diameter, the pavilion is draped with newer flaps of tan leather. Rings of ornaments gyrate around the crest of the roof, and esoteric beads drape over the opening.

  A pair of Crimsons walk ahead and part the draping beads as they force us all into the hut. Inside, the dirt ground is sporadically covered by animal pelts and fine rugs. A fine cot is situated on the far right of the chamber while a horde of salvage and treasures line the left wall. Among the cache are exotic swords, bowrifles, chests, eccentric clothes, and various exoskeleton armor sets.

  A distinctive pair of armor sets catch my notice. To my astonishment, two complete suits of Maven armor are placed atop wooden mannequins for display. The bronze metal seems new, polished, and almost museum worthy. One seems larger than the other, and I deduce that perhaps the smaller is meant for a female.

  My awe is interrupted by the shoving of a Crimson, who forces us further into the hut. Near the far end is an elongated table flanked by a few torches. The table is laden with a few mugs of ale, half-eaten food, and a map that drapes over the edge. A few cheap holoprojectors show static displays of fortresses and villages. Other Outland clans, perhaps. Standing behind the table with arms firmly planted is a woman of middle age.

  Unlike the other Crimsons, she’s dressed in finer, fitted leather hides that drape over her like a dress. She also sports metal pauldrons, leather greaves, and dark boots. Her brunette hair is wild but pulled back into a ponytail. Blackheads coat her long nose while dry skin stretches around her gaunt face. A serpentine scar slithers over her left eye.

  She barely acknowledges us, and seems intent on the map and holoprojections before her. Without glancing up, she cycles through more images in the holoprojectors. One shows a figure garbed in Maven armor. But the static obscures the person’s face.

  “Detas, Leir’tah,” one of the escorts grunts, shoving me to my knees. “Y avah’ky.”

  The woman finally looks up at us, her grey eyes glint with cool contempt as she studies us. She stares coldly at us for a long moment before saying, “Bim tus.”

  The guards bow and leave the tent, but I can hear them stop directly outside. There is a silence in t
he air, as well as the stench of spoiling food and stale beer. Discomfort grips me as I meet the eyes of the Crimson woman.

  “What are they saying, Vivían?” Sarina asks quietly.

  “The guards presented Leir’tah, the Shepherd of Cross, with prisoners.” Vivían responds in a hush. “She’s ordered them to leave, though.”

  The woman’s eyes snap to Vivían. I immediately grow apprehensive about the present danger. Vivían had deserted the Crimsons and dyed her hair in defiance of her clan’s traditions. There’s no way she’d be welcomed back with open arms, and I grow more fearful.

  “Welcome to home, Vi’ Avah,” the woman says in coarse Trade. So Vivían isn’t her true Outlander name after all. “You travel with new group?”

  “A hunter always travels in a pack,” Vivían replies distantly.

  I turn to see Vyck’s expression of distress as he eyes Vivían. “What did she just refer to you as?” he asks.

  “Vi’ was my name,” she replies glancing at him. “Avah is my clan title for huntress. They raised me as their finest huntress. And every huntress serves the pack leader. Leir’tah was the one I served.”

  While Vivían had revealed her past association with the Crimsons, it’s still shocking to see it come to the forefront. She’s so different from them that it’s impossible to see how she could’ve ever been associated with them. Perhaps, at its core, that’s the sole reason why she’d departed in the first place.

  “Not only you desert clan, you invading our home. You bring demons to home, Vi’ Avah,” Leir’tah says, her tone icy enough to chill the room.

  “They are not demons, Leir’tah,” Vivían retorts with a plea. “They are Maven Knights, those whom the clan has vowed to protect. Isn’t that the Cross Way?”

  Leir’tah’s grey eyes reflect a burning disgust. “Mavens extinct,” Leir’tah sneers, regarding me and Abrax with scrutiny. “Only left be pretenders and liars. False wizardry is all they be. You is disgraceful for being with Remnant.”

  “They’re not false, Leir’tah!” Vivían retorts angrily, leaning forward. “And we do not serve the Remnant! They are our enemies just as much as yours.”

  She paces around the table and starts to approach us. All of us are kneeling before her like subjects genuflecting for a queen. Leir’tah fidgets with some of the rings on her fingers.

  “I disagree,” she says mirthlessly. “You travel with wizardry false Mavens, attack mine scouts, and invade home land. Remnant want nothing but clan blood and weapons. They come with men in false armor, like these two.”

  She gestures to me and Abrax, and my face flushes in anger. We are not false Mavens! How dare she.

  A noise rouses me. One of the guards enters the pavilion with one of our packs and presents it to Leir’tah. It’s Sarina’s satchel. I gulp in nervousness. After a few seconds of rummaging, she extracts the holoprojector and the parchment. I turn to see Sarina’s face lose color, and her eyes widen with fear. Like she’s staring her own judgment in the face.

  The holoprojector activates and plays a message for Leir’tah. A shadowy figure expresses his waning patience with the Crimson’s lack of cooperation. But more, I consider the circumstances. We’ve just been captured with this message in our possession and wearing Maven armor. With the addition of trespassing in Crimson territory, it very well is starting to seem like we’re messengers.

  “Rest assured, if you continue to resist us, we will destroy your clan,” the holoprojection says with finality. “This is your last chance to join us.”

  The transmission ends and Leir’tah gives us all a cold look of abhorrence. “If you no serve Remnant, why you has message for me?” Leir’tah asks, a sneer grows on her face.

  “We don’t serve the Remnant,” Sarina says desperately. “I took that message off the body of one of your warriors who attacked us.”

  I lower my head. Why did she say that? “You take trophy from mine warriors?” Leir’tah snarls, her eyes narrowing.

  “No!” Sarina pleads. “The Remnant is our enemy, and I thought those messages could help us learn more about them—”

  “SILENT!” Leir’tah barks, slapping Sarina across the face. “First, you bring false wizardry into mine home. Then, you admit to stealing message from mine warriors. You may not serve Remnant, but you have crimes committed.”

  A pit starts to form in my stomach as I watch Leir’tah pace before all of us. She stares at each of us with her cold grey eyes. It doesn’t matter what we say now, we’ve dug ourselves too deep into a hole. And she’s too bloodthirsty to care even if we are innocent.

  “If we have committed crimes against the Crimsons, then a Crimson should take the blame,” Vivían chimes in, looking at Leir’tah. “I know the law of the Cross Way. I offer the rite of sacrifice to spare them from your punishment, Leir’tah.”

  There’s something in Vivían’s eyes. Something that’s both frightened and determined. Leir’tah regards Vivían stonily as she paces—her hands behind her back. The various jewels and necklaces clank together in an almost tribal sense. A meter from Vivían’s face, she stops and stares blankly at her. It’s just as ominous as if her face was expressing anger, but her cold detachment seems more dangerous.

  “Then you be punished as avah’kal,” Leir’tah says in a resounding voice. “You take punishment for friends, they live. We see about false wizardry.”

  Leir’tah traces a finger over Vivían’s face. It’s both tender and unsettling at the same time. Vivían doesn’t flinch, but I see her nostrils flare with anxiety. Her lip starts to tremble.

  “Li sey o’rah yen!” she barks as the guards rush in.

  Roughly handling us, they drag each of us out of the pavilion. All of us are panicking as to what’s going to happen. All except for Vivían, who has a calm expression on her face. And yet, her eyes are watery and filled with stress. A faint sense of dread wells within me. What has she done? What did Vivían bargain for to save us from Leir’tah’s wrath?

  Chapter 39: Sarina

  Sacrifice

  CLUMPS OF MUD SMACK against my face. A knee rams into my side. A voice shouts in my ear.

  I’ve been a prisoner more times in the last month than I’d ever anticipated. But this is different. The shoving, the beating, the harassing; it’s much more frightening than before. The Crimsons are unfeeling and uncompromising in their efforts to subdue and herd us into the pens.

  With the shackles painfully digging into my wrists, the Crimsons pull me and a few of the others through the village as rain falls from the sky. Commoners shout and jeer in their language while throwing fistfuls of mud at us. Bruises start to form along my body as mud cakes the rest. My pride is struggling to remain intact. While the others are being similarly beaten, Vivían is by far receiving the worst of it.

  Crimsons rush to tear at her clothes while mud is smacked against her face. Coughing up muck and blood, she tries to remain collected as a guard knees her in the stomach. The savage Outlanders laugh as she whimpers in pain.

  We are led towards the center of the village where a large, ritual pit has been dug into the dirt. It’s a fresh dig, since the Crimsons have recently settled this area. Nearly twenty meters in diameter and with a large wooden post at the center, the pit seems eerily sacrificial. Making our way around the circular ritual pit, we are ushered into some laserpens. Taking off our manacles, the Crimsons shove Remus, Aida, Devin, Vyck, and me into the larger pen. Abrax and Tálir are isolated from us in a laserpen a few meters away.

  The Crimsons activate the energy grid, and violet beams web between the four metal conduit posts. Rain water evaporates with a hiss as it impacts the individual beams. Vivían isn’t taken to a cage, but instead she’s tied to the wooden post at the center of the pit. Her hands are bound above her head. Vivían’s body seems to sag on the post as she gives into her fear.

  “What do you plan on doing with her?” I cough; my breaths are shallow from being kicked in the gut.

  “You see soon,” one o
f the guards grunts in Trade. “Punishment be avah’kal.”

  The commotion finally dies down as the Crimson guards shuffle back into the village. Commoners still stare and leer, but they don’t approach the pit. They almost seem apprehensive to go near it. I get the feeling that something ominous is about to happen.

  I try to steady my breathing and relax my muscles. Devin and Vyck both flop to the ground with a grunt while Aida helps Remus sit down. He’s in the early phase of one of his spasms, and Aida doesn’t have the sedatives on her. All we can do is hope for Remus to fight it on his own. I can only imagine what it’s like having microscopic Nanites turning one’s mind to mush. My brain aches as I think about it, and my stomach feels nauseous.

  “Hush it’s going to be alright, Remus,” Aida says soothingly, rubbing his back and pressing her head to his.

  Despite the horrid situation, I find some comfort in seeing one person so dedicated to another. Remus certainly reciprocates her devotion, but I’m touched by how deeply she cares for him despite his affliction. She knows his days are numbered, and yet, she sticks by and supports him. If that isn’t love, I’m not sure what is.