by Andrew Ly
“Next year?” Matt groaned loudly. “We drove all this way for nothing!”
Nick wasn’t about to allow a pesky receptionist stop him from completing his first mission. “Tell him it’s official Garrison business from Glenhaven and he needs to speak to us immediately. If he refuses, then we will continue to stand here until he does.”
Abigail gave a look of discontent. “Very well,” she said, trying to maintain the perky attitude, “I’ll try to get through to him.”
She pressed a series of numbers on the phone pad on her desk and waited for it to ring a couple of times before someone on the other line picked up. She placed the call on speaker for them all to hear.
“Yes, what is it now, Abigail?”
“Mr. Graves,” Abigail said cheerfully. “We have a couple knights here who want to meet with you right now. They say it’s very urgent.”
Garreth sighed over the line. “Abigail, you know I’m busy right now. Please just schedule them for an appointment, and I’ll meet with them the—”
Nick leaned into the speaker. “My name is Nick Emberson and I’ve come here on behalf of the Glenhaven Garrison to talk to you.”
“We also have a package for you as well,” Matt added. He jangled the bag he was carrying for good measure.
“The Glenhaven Garrison?” Garreth asked incredulously, his tone was suddenly pleasant, almost jovial. “Send them up at once. Hold all my other calls.”
“At once sir,” Abigail said with surprise as the phone clicked off. “That is so strange… Mr. Graves never takes personal visits without appointments. You may take the elevator to the fiftieth floor.” She pointed them to the far left.
“Thanks.” Without a second thought Matt skipped to the elevator on the right and pushed the button. Before he could enter Nick heard chair legs screech across the marble floor behind them.
Abigail was on her feet. “Excuse me, but that elevator leads to the basement level. It is reserved only for Mr. Graves and individuals with special clearance. Please use the left elevator.” Nick rolled his eyes. Of course there were two elevators built in, just having one was not impressive enough.
This time they took the left elevator to the fiftieth floor, which was also the very highest level. In no time at all the door opened and they were inside a big office. They walked in and were immersed with Pailean inspired artwork and furniture around the room. In the center, was a big glass table where someone was sitting their feet resting up. Nick couldn’t see the person’s face because he was holding a newspaper, but it had to be Garreth.
He was shaking in his seat, apparently laughing to himself, crinkling the sides of the newspaper in his hands as they approached him.
“Garreth Graves,” Matt said with a grin.
He dropped the newspaper on the table and sat up. Garreth looked a lot different than what Nick had envisioned. For one, he looked nothing like a knight in the traditional sense. Just by reputation and the way others had described him in the past, Garreth had to have gone through years of training, but the man in front of them looked like he hadn’t picked up training weights in his life, much less any sword. He was as skinny as a twig, short in stature, with big, square framed glasses that took most of the room on his face. Not that there was much room left as his medium length black hair took the rest of it. He wore clothing befitting a multimillionaire: a crisp, white suit jacket with a dark blue dress shirt underneath, black dress slacks, and an argyle tie that matched the pants and shirt.
“Matthew Cunningham you old dog!” Garreth walked to him with his hand out, which Matt shook with his free hand. “It’s been far too long!” Another difference Nick noticed was that he seemed to have a more sociable personality, despite his reputation for holding long term grudges.
“You must be the man called Nick Emberson.” Garreth flashed a warm smile and extended a hand to him. “It is certainly nice to meet you.”
Nick nodded and shook his hand.
“Please, have a seat.” Garreth gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Would you guys like a drink?” He picked up the half empty glass on his desk and took a sip. From the look of the brownish color, it wasn’t something a person should be drinking at this time of day, especially one whose responsibility was to run a successful company.
“No thank you, we should just get right down to business,” Nick said.
“Very well.” He leaned back in his large leather chair. “I’m sure the reason has to do with what’s inside that bag, right?”
“Yes, we’ve recently found the sword that belonged to Sir Marcus and we need your help in restoring it to its former glory,” Matt said.
“So you’ve found his legendary blade huh?” Garreth leaned forward to refill his drink. Nick could smell the contents from the bottle. It didn’t help that his enhanced senses seemed to work against him at this point because he could practically taste the alcohol. It made him feel queasy. “I can understand why you decided to bring it to me, but artifacts like that don’t interest anybody here in Hyperion. We’re a diplomatic city you see, one that does not look too kindly upon those associated with the Garrisons.”
Matt nodded. “There’s another reason we brought it back. Fyria has been attacked by demons and Peter believes it to be a sign of an impending war.”
“You didn’t mention a specific name, so I’ll assume this is a renegade demon group. I’m sure as Fyria’s allies you can handle it,” Garreth said.
“Not if the Crowned Princes step in. And believe me, they will,” Matt said.
Garreth laughed as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. “That’s impossible. The Crowned Prince’s return can only be marked by the Inferno Bearer’s reappearance. Every soldier and knight knows that.”
“Well, it’s true, and he’s sitting right in front of you,” Matt said.
Garreth almost fell out of his chair as the realization struck him. “Him? But how can this be?”
“If I didn’t see myself shooting fire from my hands with my own eyes then I wouldn’t believe it either,” Nick said.
Garreth’s facial expression did not change. He nodded slowly, as if translating the message once more. “So what? Half the world is populated by demons. What’s so scary about a few more?”
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation,” Nick said. “Millions of lives are at stake if they regain power. You’ve heard the legends. You know the stories. We need Sir Marcus’s sword back in our arsenal if we are to prevent a disaster from happening.”
“You mean did I understand the fact that the Crowned Princes returning are a surefire sign of an apocalypse?” Garreth asked. “Or how ridiculous it is that you think restoring a dead knight’s antique can help you win a war?”
“According to Peter it can,” Nick said.
“You’re the best whitesmith we’ve got, man,” Matt said. “Your hands are pure magic when it comes to crafting equipment and we need you to help us. You know you can do it, you’re the only one who can.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I don’t work under any Garrison anymore. I’m running a successful business and I answer only to the president now. Not to Peter and certainly to neither of you. I don’t need to be involved in this anymore. It simply doesn’t interest me.”
“You’re not seriously saying sitting here and pushing papers all day long is as fulfilling as saving lives?” Nick asked. “At least take a look at the sword.”
Matt placed the gold bag on the table and slid it towards former knight. Garreth glanced at them both briefly, curiosity in his eyes. He adjusted his glasses and shook the contents out. Sure enough, a fragment of metal and a hilt decorated by jewels laid in front of them. This was the first time Nick had a chance to look at the sword in proper lighting. Truth be told, ever since it burned him he was a bit hesitant to handle it again. It was simply magnificent and at the same time, rather peculiar. It had a unique design he’d never seen before. The bladed portion was undulating instead
of straight, like a tongue of flame.
“Truly beautiful craftsmanship,” Garreth said as he inspected them in his hands. “It’s a shame it’s been reduced to this.”
Garreth scoured through the small bag as if looking for something more, only to end up disappointed. He dropped the sword pieces back on the table, and leaned into his chair, clasping the bottom of his chin with his fingers in deep thought.
“What do you think?” Nick asked.
“From what I see it can be done, but it would require some research on my part. However, will I partake in its restoration is another question. Like I said before, I’m not interested in running around with swords and playing hero anymore,” Garreth said.
“Then I guess Paul was right about you,” Nick said.
“Paul Evans?” Garreth scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “He’s already stolen what was rightfully meant to be mine. I was supposed to be the next archangel. I bet Blondie still brags about being Gabriel’s apprentice, doesn’t he? I bet he keeps rubbing it in people’s faces even now. The smug prick.” He took a sip from his beverage and slammed the cup on the table.
“Was that the reason you left?” Matt said.
“It was the final straw in a long line of constant betrayals.” Garreth grew rigid in his seat, as if the question managed to unnerve him. “If you ask me, both of you should cut your losses and leave as soon as you can because once Peter’s done using you, you’ll be discarded like yesterday’s trash.”
But Nick wasn’t in the mood; he could feel his temperature rise as his anger grew. The room became quiet, as they sat and looked around to each other, with no one saying a word until Garreth spoke again.
“If looks could kill Nick, I’d say you’d like to see me dead Why? Does my disdain for Garrisons make you upset?”
“No, but I’d definitely like to punch you in the face right now,” Nick said. His hands gripped tightly onto the arms of the chair to prevent the demon within from lunging at him.
“Calm down, Nick. Garreth, there has to be something more to this than you not wanting anything to do with us. Forget Paul, Peter, and whatever problems you had in the past, and try to see the bigger picture,” Matt said.
“I’ve seen the picture and I don’t care,” Garreth said.
“Just like that, huh? So what was the point of seeing us when you were just going to blow off the idea anyway? You knew who we were and what we wanted, but you really had no intention of ever helping us, did you?” Nick said.
“No I did not. I just wanted to see you Garrison lapdogs come groveling on hands and knees. I wanted to see you all fall off your damn high horses just once, and realize that the world isn’t here to serve the order of your angels anymore. I’m not some kind of magical genie that can be summoned with a snap of Peter’s fingers. Things have changed. I’ve changed. And there’s nothing you can do that will make me reconsider,” Garreth said.
Garreth had a prominent history with the knights, so he had to have been briefed about the importance of the sword. With all the knowledge he had, he must know how much leverage could be gained on their side if he helped. Why did he have such a grudge against the knights? What happened between him and the others at the Garrison that drove him to put the world at stake?
Garreth adjusted his glasses. “Anything else? As you know I’m a very busy man, so if you please.” He stood up, prepared to show them out.
Nick, sitting complacently in his seat, had just about given up on their mission. It was futile to convince the multimillionaire to help when he obviously detested anything related to the holy knights or the Garrison. Suddenly Nick’s eyes became fixated upon an object in the back: a black katana on the mantle directly behind Garreth, and in between two Pailean-styled paintings. The sword looked much different than anything else in the room, but the real reason it stood out was because the scabbard was worn and old, something that wouldn’t normally catch the interest of someone with Garreth’s stature.
“That’s an impressive sword.” Nick pointed to the rack. “I’ve never seen something like that before. Where did you get it?”
“Pailo, like everything else in this room.” Garreth rose out from his seat to better look at the sword. “It’s called Rosewind. It was the original katana I used during my days as a knight. Better than the old regulation rapiers, don’t you think?” He gave a resigned sigh. “I’ve always enjoyed Pailean culture and among the choices of weapons, their swords are by far my favorite design. Such elegance, such grace is the katana.”
“I’ve only seen them in pictures,” Matt said. “But if you ask me, they seem a little flimsy for my taste.”
“I’m sure that was the reason Peter never incorporated them.” Garreth drew the sword off the stand, cradling it as if it were the most delicate object in the world. He sighed softly. “Such a long time ago, wasn’t it?”
Matt nodded. “Yeah, you were a great swordsman. One of the best we had.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” Garreth placed his hand on the dingy katana sheath. His mouth curled into a frown as he dropped his hand from the scabbard and turned back around. The sweet sentiment from his face had been replaced with bitterness.
“Unfortunately, like everything else in this world it changed, for the worse. No matter what you do the Crowned Princes cannot be defeated, not even with the power of the Inferno Bearer. It would take years before you could even begin to master his skill in combat. By then it would be too late.”
Nick slammed his fists into the chair’s arm support breaking both sides into wood chips. “You got to let go of the past,” he said, his voice hard as steel. “I don’t know what happened to you, and I don’t want to sit here and listen to a sob story. This isn’t a therapy session. This is about war. It’s about lives on the line. We came here for the purpose of resurrecting the broken sword that could help, but you’re turning us away for your own selfish reasons. Fyria won’t be the first casualty. The world will sink into despair and it won’t be long before Hyperion does too. So you can either sit there sulking about the past or you can let go of your hatred for the knights and help us make a stand in defending our future.”
Garreth walked to the window and gazed outside. He seemed to be struggling with inner turmoil, muttering silently to himself. After a back and forth exchange with himself, he spoke, but only to serve disappointment.
“I expected more from him.” Garreth stared out the window, his arms crossed behind his back. “I expected him to acknowledge my potential and see me in his footsteps, but I was wrong.” He turned around now, his teeth seething with rage. “I fought and bled, but I was never good enough, no matter how hard I worked or how strong I became! I would have given my life for Peter’s Garrison—for some shard of his approval! But in the end my service meant nothing. And now, after years of silence they decide they need me again. Well you can forget it! You’ll receive no help from me.”
“Garreth…” Matt said.
“You’ve already insulted me enough. Now leave now before I call security,” Garreth warned.
“Come on man there’s no need to—” Matt began.
“LEAVE NOW!”
Matt was stunned, but Nick knew that at this point they were just wasting their time. Garreth Graves had left everything in Glenhaven for a different life in Hyperion, for an escape from the knights and be free to make his own choices. The thought of that alone made Nick envy Garreth. It wasn’t enough that he was richer than Matt, or probably more successful than the president, but he also had the choice to do whatever he wanted. He wasn’t forced to live out a destiny, to have his whole life planned beforehand. It was something Nick would never be able to do, and it made him angry to think about it. He had the option to deny them. And as great as the Garrison was, it was still a system Nick was attached to. It was prison despite its noblest intentions to be anything otherwise.
“Forget it.” Nick stormed off to the elevator. “He’s not going to help us.” He stabbed at the button with his finger to go dow
n.
“Just wait a second, I think he’ll come around.” Matt followed him with the bag of sword pieces jangling in his hand. The door chimed and opened before them. They shuffled into the elevator just as they heard footsteps. Matt held the door for a split second, awaiting Garreth to appear. But he never did.
There was only the sound of another bottle opening. The smell of alcohol filled the air as its contents were poured into a fresh cool glass.
Outside they met with Quinn, who was leaning on the side of the car. She tilted her sunglasses upwards, “Something tells me things didn’t go out as well as planned.”
“You think?” Nick said, as they climbed into the car.
“So what now?” Quinn said.
“We have to report my first mission was a complete failure,” Nick said.
The whole way back to Glenhaven he kept thinking about their conversation with Garreth, replaying it over and over in his head. The whitesmith who had served loyally for several years now regarded his past with such contempt. Nick couldn’t blame him; on the contrary, he felt sorry for him. He’d gone to Hyperion looking for help from the knight, but the man he found wasn’t a knight at all, just a shell of a man consumed by his own hatred.
7. Doctor Numerous
A few weeks later Nick was eating alone one afternoon in the community cafeteria when Matt joined him. Today he looked more energetic than usual, with his bright smile and the strange, sparkle in his eyes he usually had when there was interesting news to be told.
“The word on the street is that despite our unsuccessful mission, Peter hasn’t revoked your spot at the frontlines. What do you think about that?” Matt said.
“That seems really unlikely,” Nick tossed the last piece of sandwich into his mouth. Since their last mission was a failure, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to be discussing the next one.