Shattered Exile

NINE Confrontation-1

NINE

Confrontation

It was late afternoon when she finally tracked down The Vengeful Tears. The tight-knit group of disillusioned Blade Novices were gathered in a clearing, east of the old bridge, despite their assigned duties. It had taken her some time to locate the absent band of fanatical warriors, whom she had finally tracked down by piecing together information gleaned from local civilian Freylarkai, in particular the workers spread across the southern riverbank.

‘You’re a difficult bunch to locate – I expected to find you all in the arena.’ she said, clearly catching them unawares.

‘Guardian.’ said a male from the group, who was notably taller than his peers. ‘Your presence honours us.’

She quickly recognised the Freylarkin as Dumar, a prominent voice within the group.

‘I gather you are all hunting Krashnar.’ she said, cutting to the heart of The Vengeful Tears’ current whereabouts.

‘That is correct.’

‘Yet you were ordered to continue your training in the arena.’

‘With respect, Guardian, we should be hunting down the exile, not practicing the same tired moves beneath the unflinching gaze of wary eyes.’

She paused for a moment to consider Dumar’s point of view. Since the m******e at Scrier’s Post, The Vengeful Tears had earned their name as a result of their changed dispositions, wrought by the horrors they had faced. She too had suffered alongside the former Blade Aspirants, but the darkness she already harboured had allowed her to weather the harrowing encounter with the Narlakai, thus she had endured the mental ordeal relatively unscathed. Regrettably, for the remainder of the surviving Aspirants, the traumatic event had caused lasting repercussions. Despite her notable exception, each member of The Vengeful Tears had returned to the vale changed by their experience – for the worse.

‘I do not disagree; however, your actions only serve to incite the ire of your fellow Blades.’

‘We serve the founding principle of the Order – to protect the Freylarkai – and cannot do so from within the arena.’

‘I understand. You serve the Order, not its members.’ she replied, much to Dumar’s obvious surprise.

‘Yes – you do understand.’

‘I understand plenty, and I know that this is not the right place for The Vengeful Tears.’ she said, commanding his attention.

Dumar was clearly taken aback by her unexpected proclamation. The vocal Blade shifted uncomfortably, before narrowing his eyes as he held her stare.

‘Consider this – all of you.’ she said, deliberately raising her voice, so that every Freylarkin present could clearly hear her words. ‘Anika has chosen to remain with the Knights Thranis, at the Ardent Gate. She is now a Knight of the Order and has sworn fealty to the Knights Thranis. Her actions have helped to create an opportunity – one that is open to you all: the Knights Thranis have further extended their hospitality, and are prepared to welcome each of you into their Order, so that you may test your mettle by training to become Knights yourselves. If you choose to accept their invitation, and prove yourselves worthy – as Anika did – you will be expected to swear fealty to the Knights Thranis.’

Intense discussions quickly broke out amongst The Vengeful Tears upon hearing her words, as they hotly debated the surprise opportunity presented to them. Based on the group’s body language, and the snippets of enthusiastic conversation that she managed to glean, she sensed rising excitement amongst those gathered before her, at the prospect of a fresh start.

‘Guardian, with deepest respect,’ cried a voice suddenly, from the rear of the group, ‘We have already sworn our allegiance to The Blade Lord.’

‘Should you decide to take the knights up on their offer, I have been authorised to inform you all, that each of you will have The Blade Lord’s blessing.’

‘Ha, then we are no longer wanted!’ replied Dumar sardonically.

‘Correct, and I would not insult you by suggesting otherwise.’ she replied, hoping that her candid gambit would pay off.

Dumar looked shocked by her words, along with the remainder of the gathered Blades. She paused for a moment, affording Dumar and the others time to compose themselves.

‘What would you do?’ asked Dumar sombrely, after a moment of quiet introspection.

‘Since the m******e at Scrier’s Post, all of you have changed. The horrors you witnessed came too soon in your military careers, the memories of which will not fade anytime soon, should you continue to serve The Blades. The release of your brothers and sisters will haunt you tirelessly, unless you make peace with it, or...accept the knights’ invitation.’

‘What are they like, the Knights Thranis?’ asked a voice from the gathered crowd.

‘They’re like family. They do not function in a highly disciplined fashion, as per our Order, nor do they have any real concept of rank or hierarchy. However, they will demand your complete devotion to their cause; as Knights, you would bunk in the same quarters, prepare each other’s meals, repair the Order’s armour, and it is expected that you will fight with all your heart – against impossible odds. The Knights Thranis are not compartmentalised like The Blades. Each Knight is respected equally, and each is expected to put the wellbeing of their comrades above that of their own. You will only have each other out there, on Freylar’s southern fringe. If you decide to go, there will be no returning to The Blades. However, if you crave adventure, a fresh start, and above all else, real purpose, then I strongly advise that you accept their invitation.’

There was another lull in their group discussion, whilst The Vengeful Tears considered the opportunity she had presented to them. She had been bold in her delivery, though by doing so, she had hoped to convince the troubled Blades of the sincerity of the knights’ offer. The changed disposition of The Vengeful Tears no longer aligned itself to Marcus’ disciplined regime. Going forwards, they required a more simple and honest environment within which they could thrive. The Vengeful Tears’ zealous nature would be a good fit for the headstrong Knights of Heldran’s southern defenders.

‘As you know, next cycle I will face Lothnar in the arena. Therefore, I will be taking my leave imminently, so that I may begin my final preparations for the encounter. Whilst I do not deliberately seek to rush your decision – for I understand its importance – nonetheless, there is currently a representative from the Knights Thranis in the vale, whom I shall report to shortly. His name is Vorian, and – should you wish it – I will arrange for you to meet with him. You have until I leave this clearing to decide your destiny.’

‘Thank you!’ Dumar replied quickly in response.

‘What for?’

‘For being honest with us – it is appreciated.’

‘Dumar, if you decide to join the Knights Thranis, know that they will guard their secrets from you – at least until you prove your worth – however, they will not deceive you.’

Dumar took a deep breath, then nodded respectfully, before turning his back on her to discuss the matter further with his kin. She tilted her head back gently, and gazed languidly towards the cold sky above, hopelessly seeking to glimpse the sphere of light responsible for bringing her to Freylar. She wondered what the enigmatic entity thought of the world, which it seemingly contained, and indeed, whether it even cared. Its brief conversation with her had been blunt and sterile, devoid of any emotion; perhaps it held the Freylarkai in the same lacklustre regard, she mused.

‘Guardian,’ said Dumar suddenly, disrupting her reverie, ‘We have decided. Please kindly introduce us to this Vorian.’

‘Come in.’

She entered Mirielle’s personal chamber and quietly made her way towards the queen, who sat alone, beside a wooden table. Mirielle was staring vacantly at several ornate stone fragments, presumably the remains of what must have been a complex structure, now shattered and strewn across the bench. As with any Freylarkin gifted with an ability, she assumed that Mirielle was not exempt from failure. She wondered, therefore, if the broken structure before her was proof of such, or instead the result of venting one’s frustrations. Wary of the latter, she approached cautiously, trying to assess the queen’s mood, prior to announcing her presence formally.

‘My queen.’

‘Ah, Kirika – please sit down.’ replied Mirielle, in a distracted tone.

‘I gather that you wish to speak with me?’

‘That is correct.’

There was a curious delay before the queen began their impromptu meeting; Mirielle appeared to remain distracted by the fragments littering her desk. That, or her silence formed part of some clever tactical ploy, which would soon reveal itself. Regardless, Mirielle eventually reengaged with the world around her, and subsequently wasted no time in addressing business.

‘Your updates regarding arrangements for the Trials have been infrequent. I thought it best, therefore, that we catch up on the matter, in person.’

‘Please forgive my lack of information – I sought only to shield you from the administrative minutiae which habitually plagues the organising of such events.’

‘Your concern for my welfare is appreciated, however, I would prefer to be well informed going forwards.’

‘As you wish.’ she said, followed with a well-practiced cordial smile. ‘Hopefully you will be pleased to hear that everything is in hand for the Trials, and that The Guardian will indeed be facing Lothnar in the opening duel.’

‘Good. I want everything to proceed smoothly, and to ensure that the delegates enjoy the festivities. I do not want them distracted by this business with the rogue exile.’

‘I understand.’ she replied, careful not to commit herself to Mirielle’s vision.

Once again, the queen seemingly disengaged from the world, deciding – temporarily at least – to bury herself in private contemplation. She could not discern whether there was something genuinely bothering the queen, or instead, if Mirielle was simply playing her, hoping that she would fill the silence by volunteering information freely. If indeed Mirielle sought the latter, she had no intention of contributing – a lesson she had learnt well, having been burnt by past experiences.

‘I noticed that you have been absent from the Tri-Spires recently – anything there I should be made aware of?’

There it was – the inevitable heart of their discussion, she mused. Although not unexpected, she was somewhat disappointed by Mirielle’s obvious delivery. Historically, the queen had conducted her affairs employing a more subtle, if not cunning, approach. Since Aleska’s official retirement, however, Mirielle’s politicking had adopted an increasingly blunt trend, suggesting that she was underutilising The Blade Lord’s strategic acumen.

‘I met with Rayna, following her return from the Ardent Gate – I am still assisting The Guardian with her transition.’

‘Yet you did not think to inform Marcus of her return?’

‘It was not my place to do so. I decided it best, therefore, not to interfere with Blade operations. My only concern was Rayna, given that her welfare is one of my direct responsibilities.’

‘I see.’ replied Mirielle, narrowing her pupil-less eyes.

It was impossible for her to understand what Mirielle saw, courtesy of her altered vision. Although she was aware of Mirielle’s ability to see the sphere of light in the sky – responsible for The Guardian’s arrival in Freylar – she cursed herself for having failed to ask Rayna what their queen saw when studying the Freylarkai; other than Mirielle, Rayna was the only Freylarkin she knew who had directly experienced the unusual means of sight.

‘As a courtesy, perhaps next time you could inform Marcus – assuming a similar situation arises in future.’

‘As you wish.’ she said, smiling politely once more. ‘Is there anything else that you wish to discuss?’ she asked, seeking a swift end to her informal interrogation.

‘Not for the time being. I will leave you to finish your final preparations.’

She nodded politely to Mirielle, before calmly taking her leave; she took care not to appear eager to depart the queen’s company. After leaving Mirielle’s chamber, the tension in her body quickly eased. Although happy to put the brief uncomfortable meeting behind her, she was mindful that – come the Trials – the awkward encounter would be the least of her concerns.

Following his socially inept companion’s advice, he spent the remainder of the day familiarising himself with the data objects Trix had made available to him. The task was taking much longer than he had anticipated; his mind repeatedly distracted him, relentlessly replaying the grim events of Mr L. Cameron’s recent bodily disposal. He had been loath to manhandle the cadaver for a second time, especially given the effort required to scrub his hands clean after cutting out the elderly gentleman’s bio-key, at Trix’s grizzly behest. Yet, irrespective of his personal disgust regarding the matter, the abhorrent and unenviable task needed to be undertaken, and between Trix and himself, he was the only viable candidate for the job. He tried to focus on a sophisticated search algorithm Trix had developed, but his mind kept replaying the ghastly moments prior to the last time he had seen the elderly gentleman’s face. His reaction to the corpse’s skin had sickened him the most, unprepared as he was for its harrowing death chill – further validation of the heinous crime he had committed. Indeed, the act of simply touching the body had been more disturbing than stuffing it inside of the Peacekeeper’s commandeered black sack. He would never forget the moment when he sealed the last of Mr L. Cameron’s body inside of its unorthodox black tomb. The holographic access panel before him flickered vigorously once more, seeking his attention, yet he remained unable to focus on the present. Visual memories were not the sole cause of his distraction; touch sensations and sounds also assaulted his mind, like the noise of the victim’s body bag scraping along the polished floor, as he dragged it towards its final resting place. There were very few suitable hiding places within the minimalistic hab, in which to adequately conceal the body. Though far from ideal, he had settled upon a low storage cupboard at the other end of the hab, in what appeared to be a guest bedroom. The cupboard was a good fit and would help to contain any cadaverine managing to escape the Peacekeeper’s tightly sealed sack. Despite the storage area’s positive credentials, its location meant – rather unfortunately – that he had to drag the body bag some distance, therefore prolonging the awful sound of the sack scraping along the floor. Ultimately, he managed to drag the corpse to the guest room without incident, however, the operation’s horrid soundtrack stuck with him, including the sounds of heavy muffled thumping which had ensued whilst manhandling the sealed cadaver into its faux coffin. After completing the wicked assignment, he had lain upon the guest bed for a time, contemplating his actions. He recalled closing his eyes, trying to make peace with himself, hoping, somehow, to absolve his sins. Yet there was no absolution – his life going forwards was destined to be one of penance. As he stared vacantly at the holographic access panel, he could feel his mind collapsing in on itself, due to the overwhelming mental burden, desperately trying to bury the memories of the appalling crime he had committed.