The Aeolian Master Book One Revival

by John Northern

  The large windows of the safety chamber looked out upon another scene of greenery with tall trees, small bushes (but not as abundant as in zone three), flowers, and small rolling hills covered with grass.

  It wasn't dense with jungle all around, and there wasn't any perceptible life milling about or hiding, waiting to attack its human prey. There was nothing flying, crawling, or slithering. It was a peaceful scene with serenity and beauty abounding. Damn if it didn’t remind Ben of a picture he had seen in an ancient Earth history book, which portrayed a family in the country with food, drink, lawn furniture, and games, enjoying a picnic. Looking out the window of the safety chamber at the landscape, in spite of its look of serenity, he knew this would be no picnic.

  "By God,” said Sam, “only two zones left." He was rubbing his left shoulder. "They say each zone is more difficult than the last." He paused for a moment. "But I say ‘nothing could be worse than that last zone with those big, frigging fish."

  "I felt I was entombed," added Dahms. "In both of the last two zones we were confined to small spaces. And the last one was the worst because we were confined to a small space filled with water."

  "Yeah," agreed Gaal as he looked out the window. "But look at the scenery of the next zone. This time there’s nothing but meadows, trees, some shrubbery, and open fields."

  "That’s right," said Sam. "And if I die out there, at least I won't feel claustrophobic."

  “When you’re dead, you’re dead,” said Ben.

  "We aren't going to die." Dahms made the statement with a confident voice.

  Ben gave her a look. “You keep saying that, but people keep dying. I hope that whatever it is you’re not telling us is going to happen soon.”

  The door slid open, and they stepped out.

  Ben scrutinized the hills knowing that something was lurking out there, something waiting to take their lives.

  They started slowly up the path watching for whatever it was. They climbed over a small hill and started down a slight incline, and as they rounded a bend they came upon a man sitting on a bench reading a book.

  “Humans’ most dangerous enemy,” said Dahms.

  “Yes,” said Sam.

  The man looked up, then put the book down on the bench and stood up. He was about five foot nine in height and slender of build. He was wearing a brightly colored, red and gold suit with large lapels. A brown belt circled his waist with a sword hanging from it. He was wearing brown boots, and on his head was a gold and red hat with a long, red plume sticking out the left side.

  He took his hat off his head and swept it in front of him as he bowed. Then he straightened up and said, “I’m surprised. I’ve been working in the run for more than a year now, and you’re the first runners I’ve ever seen. The zones before this one must be most difficult.”

  “That they are,” said Dahms. “But as you can see we made it through, which means, for whatever reason, success is on our side. And now I’m looking at you, and it occurs to me that you’re our next obstacle. Am I right?”

  The man was hesitant. “Yes,” he said in a whisper. It was obvious he didn’t want Hurd to hear him. He continued in a soft voice, “but I never thought it would come to this. It has never been my intention to kill anyone.”

  “But we all have swords,” said Dahms, “and there are four of us and only one of you. Do you really think you can kill all of us?”

  “Quite easily,” said the man. “But I don’t want to.”

  Ben decided he had heard enough. He stepped out from behind Dahms. “I know you,” said Ben. “Jimie Benz. You placed twenty-third in the Galactic Games.”

  The man took a step back. The back of his knees caught on the edge of the bench, and he had to quickly readjust his balance to keep from sitting down. “And I know you,” he said as he straightened himself up. “Professor Benjamin Hillar, the greatest swordsman in the galaxy. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I had a run-in with Hurd.”

  “It’s not right,” said Jimie.

  “Why?” asked Dahms. “Because now you know you can’t beat us?”

  “No!” said Jimie. “Ben Hillar is a celebrity. It’s not right that Hurd would put him in this kind of peril.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to fight us?” asked Dahms. “Hurd won’t like that.”

  “I don’t care what he likes.” Jimie was talking in a normal voice. “When I explain that no one can beat Ben Hillar in a sword fight. He’ll understand. And then I’m going to put in my resignation.”

  “Fine,” said Dahms. She started toward him on the path. “Wait,” he said. “Before you go I have to warn you that there is an archer stalking you from behind. So, keep a watch out for him. And the next man you meet will be an expert in the dagger throw—he placed ninth in the Galactic Games. After him there will be two men together—one an expert in daggers and the other an expert in the sword.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” said Dahms. And she started up the path.

  “Damn,” said Jimie as Ben passed him.

  “Yeah,” said Ben.

  Ben, Dahms, and Sam were walking side by side when they reached the top of the hill and looked down. At the bottom and to the left of the path in a gully there was a large tree with big leafy branches. Small brown objects, which appeared to be nuts, hung in clusters from the smaller limbs. And many of them had dropped off and were covering the ground.

  "Something moved behind that tree," said Dahms in a quiet voice.

  "Yeah, I saw it," said Ben.

  Gaal nodded his head as he stepped beside Ben. “Must be the dagger man.”

  “Do you think he’ll know you?” asked Dahms.

  “Oh yeah, he’ll know me.”

  “Maybe he’ll let us go like the last guy did.”

  Ben nodded his head. “Maybe,” he said.

  Just then the man stepped out from behind the tree. He was wearing a blue and silver tunic with a matching body suit. He had a leather helmet on his head with a blue plume sticking out the back. He was taller than most of the men seen in Newusa although an inch shorter than Gaal, at about six foot three, and his arms were long.

  The four of them walked side by side down the path until they were twenty feet from the man.

  Dahms looked at him. "Do you know our friend, Ben Hillar?" she asked as she eyed him up and down.

  "Yes I do.”

  “Then maybe you’ll let us go like the last man.”

  “Jimie Benz? If he let you go, then he’s a fool. Hurd will send him to the crystal pits, or at the very least he’ll have him thrown in the city prison.”

  “Better than killing needlessly,” said Dahms.

  The man smiled and opened the cloak in front of his chest. He was wearing a vest with twelve daggers—six on each side. “Who says it’s needless?”

  “So you have no respect for human life?” asked Ben.

  The man looked at Ben. “I never did like you much,” he said. “It’s actually going to be fun watching you die. And more than that, I’m going to prove that the dagger is a more lethal weapon than the sword.”

  “You sound a little jealous,” said Dahms. “What’s wrong—you never got the recognition that Ben has gotten?”

  The man gave her an angry look. “If you keep jawing, we’ll never get this over with,” he said.

  “Spread out,” said Ben. “At least one of us should be able to get through.”

  “Optimistic,” said the man as he pulled a dagger with each hand from the vest. “Unrealistically optimistic.” He held them in a throwing position.

  “We all attack at the same time,” said Ben.

  “Yeah. Come on,” said the man. He took a step forward raising both hands in the air with the knives in a throwing position. And that’s when the unexpected happened. The man’s foot came down on a little brown, nut. It rolled under his boot causing his leg to kick high in the air. He fell backward loosing his grip on the daggers as he tried to break his fall with his hands.
His cloak flew upward, and as he crashed to the ground it floated gently down and landed on his face.

  “Fatal mistake!” yelled Ben. He and the others rushed forward.

  The dagger man realized he was in trouble. He swept the tunic off his face and tried to regain his feet, but before he could get further than a crouch there were four swords cutting through his chest.

  Ben leaned over to use the dagger man’s cape to wipe the blood off his sword, but as he did he felt the whiff of an arrow like a baby puffing against his face as it sped past his head and stuck in the tree.

  “The archer,” yelled Dahms. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Without looking behind to see where he was, the four of them ran up the hill and down the other side.

  "The archer will be wary about coming over the hill," said Ben. "So let's get going before he catches up."

  Ahead of them was a series of small hills, more like rolling mounds, and then a large tree about fifty yards away. "Another tree," said Sam.

  "Yeah, and you know what's behind it," retorted Gaal.

  "Yes," said Dahms almost in a whisper. “A dagger man and a swordsman.”

  When they were twenty yards from the tree two men stepped out from behind it. The man on the left was wearing a black tunic draped behind a black body suit with a black helmet adorning his head. A black mask covered his face leaving openings for his eyes and nose only. He had a sword hanging from his belt on his left hip.

  The other man was also wearing a mask, but it was every color of the rainbow as was his suit. He was wearing a vest with twelve daggers.

  Sam pulled his sword from its sheath with his right hand and stroked his mustache with the other one. "I bet you’re surprised to see us," he said.

  The two men said nothing. They waited.

  "What, no chatter?" Sam's tone was bitter and sarcastic. "The last one was full of chatter. But alas, now he's full of holes."

  Ben took a step forward. “I’m assuming you both placed in the Galactic Games, which means you know me. So, I’m asking you to let us go.”

  Still, they said nothing. The dagger man pulled two daggers from his chest—one for each hand. The swordsman drew his sword. And they stepped apart.

  "I guess not," said Ben.

  The four of them spread out. “Go for the dagger man first.” Ben was wishing he had a shield. He drew both swords. His only chance was to deflect one of the daggers, but he knew his timing would have to be perfect. One deflection would be enough time.

  The dagger man raised his hand making ready to throw, and that’s when a wooden shaft with feathers sprouted from his shoulder.

  Blood curled down his chest. He dropped his daggers clutching his shoulder in agony. He fell to his knees and cried out in pain.

  Ben looked behind. The archer was no more than a hundred meters away.

  “The archer caught up, and he missed!” yelled Sam. “And damned lucky for us.”

  Ben started for the swordsman, but before he had gone two steps the man threw down his sword and ran away.

  "It almost seems too easy," laughed Gaal.

  They took off running for the safety chamber.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven