While he was imprisoned, and over breakfast, Christel began his story from the very beginning. “Grey Skull,” he mentioned, “they’re actually new to all this. If you want to know about the anomalies and Merida and the others, we’ll have to go way back. I guess it all started for me when I first met Hazel; oh how I remember that day! The diamond necklace, how we fought with such finesse, and how the guards chased us out of Maryanne Lynn’s home!”
Christel once feared he had forgotten the incredible events of his life since that fateful day when Hazel Kisaani changed his life forever – but the baroness’ drug had helped him to remember, if only barely. He remembered meeting his friends, Arlandra Knight the assassin, and Samuel Ford the soldier. He remembered the man named Garn Pallerii who had released the dark army known as the Shemn into the world. They were creatures composed entirely of red energy, the force that Arlandra accidentally released when he defeated Garn and forced the Shemn to return to their slumber. This energy manipulated certain vessels among men, changing them in drastic ways. Arlandra was one of these vessels. “To us mere mortals,” he explained, “it appears as though people like Arlandra possess some kind of mystical power – which in part is actually true. No two vessels ever possess the same abilities. These are what we know as anomalies.” Christel then continued to tell of the aftermath of the war.
“What happened next?” the baroness urged, apparently drawn in by Christel’s tale. “Tell me everything, in perfect order.”
The young thief frowned. “You’re lucky I’m a good story teller.” He thought for a moment – over two years had passed since the next chapter of his story truly began, and he struggled to recall all of it, even with the help of the baroness’ drug. “The story turns to Samuel Ford, an old friend of mine. You see, as an elite commander in the Taellian military, Sam was certainly shocked when he learned that Taelliwey, during the war of the Shemn, had turned their backs on the rest of Noveria. Naturally, the governments of Suria and Eden were furious, and a civil war was almost inevitable. Once again, chaos was enveloping the land…”
Two years prior to the day that Christel shared his story with the baroness, Captain Samuel Ford of The Three Shields, former commander within the Taellian military, once again faced death upon the arid dunes of the Morroak Desert.
Dust flicked into the air as a bullet smashed into the small sun-scorched wall against which Sam and his men took cover. The dry air of the desert burned his lungs and his eyes, and the sandy wall was hot against his back, and it crumbled away under volleys of enemy fire.
His enemy was a band of deserters from the Surian Army (he assumed) who had taken into the desert during the last war of the Shemn. They had feared that the stability of Noveria’s three governments was once again starting to collapse, and so they decided to put their lives in their own hands. Although, these were no prestigious or remarkably capable warriors. Most of them lacked skill, and courage, and they certainly possessed no decent amount of loyalty. They travelled on horseback and hid their faces beneath rags so that their eyes were buried in pits of darkness.
Sam and his team had spent the past six hours pinned down in a small abandoned town that once belonged to the Djann – a non-human tribe of desert folk who had recently abandoned Noveria to find a new home in the heart of the Morroak.
So far none of his men had died, however some were injured and they were all exhausted. Sam had placed snipers up in the buildings that still remained to prevent the bandits from marching on them, but having been totally surrounded, there seemed to be no escape.
Sam reloaded his rifle and leaned over the crumbling wall. He had only a few seconds to make his shot, and the bullet exploded from the muzzle in a crimson purple blast (courtesy of the refined crystals that had been mixed into their gunpowder). More dust flew up around him and Sam fell back behind the wall, his heart pounding with fright.
And then an old friend pressed herself against the wall beside him. After the war, Juliet Haines endeavoured to find a more productive use of her time, so she agreed to join Sam’s little band of freedom fighters (although she had very little military experience). Still, Sam found that her intuitive mind and natural leadership made her a valuable member of the team.
But now Sam noticed the heavy rise and fall of her chest, and how her sweat distilled the sharp features of her face; her narrow cheekbones and thin lips, and (in this particular moment) her eyes, bright yet round with desperation. The dust of battle had infused with the subtle brown of her hair, and the streak of silver above her left ear, transforming it to a dull ash. She had to yell, her voice drowned over the constant clamour of rifle-fire. “They’re not letting up, Sam! I don’t know how much longer we can last!”
Sam shuddered as another small piece of the wall exploded. “Don’t worry, they’re as poorly equipped for this fight as we are, and I’m sure help is on the way.”
“Sir!” shouted one of his snipers from above. “Enemy reinforcements! Cavalry, at least a dozen riders! They’re flanking us from the east!”
Sam cursed and Juliet seemed not to hear. “You were saying?” she continued.
“Right, we needn’t worry, we have reinforcements of our own.”
“I thought we lost the birds?”
Sam looked down at his gun. “We did, they were shot down, but I have a friend who’s expecting me in…” he had to pause and check himself – the city he was about to mention had recently been destroyed in the war. “In what used to be Torren.” They both glanced over at the rising cloud of dust that marked the enemy cavalry presence. “We need only survive this assault.”
Staying low, Sam scurried to the centre of the town and gathered what men he could spare – the rest provided covering fire. “They have us outnumbered and probably outgunned,” he began to tell them. “Those riders will circle us like sharks and pick us off one by one if we remain in this cursed square. Any ideas? Jules?” He turned to her, more curious than anything to see what she might come up with.
She stood firm and glanced at the few remaining buildings. “We abandon the square and take cover here,” she pointed at the sniper’s nests. “The riders will have no choice but to go beyond the wall where the majority of their riflemen can’t hit us. We can trap them inside, and force them to dismount and face us on equal terms.”
The plan was set and the team moved into position. Sam climbed to a spot where half of the building had caved in on itself, and he hid in the rubble on what remained of the top floor. Those few moments of silence were a blessing to him, and he was glad to be out of the burning sun. But the heavy batter of hooves on the desert floor grew louder and louder, and soon enough they all heard the whinnies and neighs of horses entering the village square.
They trotted around in small confused circles for a while, until one of the riders glanced up. “Above!” It was the only word he got out before a bullet sliced through his skull, causing his horse to rear and scream. Chaos quickly erupted as volleys of rifle-fire flew up and down between the buildings and the square.
Sam noticed one rider speed towards him with the intention of sneaking upstairs and taking him by surprise. He was too close to shoot, so Sam leapt from his nest and tackled the rider from the horse. They tumbled in a ball of dust and limbs, until Sam drew a dagger and sunk it into his enemy’s ribs, feeling hot blood wet his hand.
Pushing the corpse aside, Sam scrambled to his feet and realised that he was in a danger zone. Many of the riders had fallen victim to their trap, however one horse still charged at Sam, and the rider seemed angered by the death of his comrade. Knowing that he was at a severe disadvantage on the ground, Sam had no choice but to draw his sword and brace himself. As the rider flew by, Sam parried a slash that would have severed his head, or opened his torso completely.
Sam’s counter stroke was just fast enough to cut the horse’s hind leg. The beast screamed, a terrible sound, and crashed into the hard dry ground, sending her rider flying. The soldier rushed forward through dust and surprisingly found that his enemy had gathered himself, sword at the ready. He let out an angry cry as he charged forward. Sam raised his sword high to parry the first wild blow, and then dashed backwards on light feet in time to avoid having his stomach sliced open.
Despite this mad flurry of attacks, Sam saw that his opponent was trembling, and not for a moment did he let up the charge. He would use the man’s brute force and momentum against him.
When the attacker went in for a thrust Sam was able to tangle the blade in his own, with the sound of metal scraping against metal, and with a flick of his sword arm the blade was cast away. Sam countered with a light slash, leaving a red streak across the rider’s abdomen. Stunned and defenceless, the man fell victim as Sam drove his sword through his torso, piercing the heart. He fell to the dirt and died quickly.
When Sam glanced up over the square – which was so thick with upturned dust – he saw that all the riders were dead and the horses were scattered. Juliet ran over to one of the bodies and took his weapon – her own rifle had been lost. “Well, it worked,” she declared, “but I don’t think it will work twice. Look there.” She pointed to another dust cloud – much larger than the one from before – and Sam’s team felt the low tremble of hooves approaching. “Your turn, captain, any bright ideas?”
Sam feared that the battle had been lost…
“And was it?” asked the baroness, with a teasing smile. “I can’t imagine your friend was killed. Not so soon in this invigorating tale.”
Christel leaned back in his chair. “Quite right. You see, the second wave of cavalry weren’t bandits at all. They belonged to Sam’s associate back in Torren; a man named Thomas something or rather. He was a sergeant who remained loyal to Taelliwey, a good man in most respects. After the battle, word of Sam’s exquisite capabilities resurfaced in Taelliwey. He was somewhat of a dead celebrity in their eyes, but suddenly they wanted him back, by the command of the king himself.”
“The king who is now dead?” the baroness reaffirmed.
“Yes,” a strange sense of guilt overwhelmed Christel, “but that’s way down the track.”
“And what were you doing when all this happened?” The question affected Christel strangely, and he had to focus, as if he were putting back together pieces of shadows in his mind. The baroness saw the distress on his face and she was remarkably kind. “It’s okay, I know you’re having trouble remembering her.” She drank some more tea while she waited, but she encouraged him still. “Think Christel. Tell me what happened.”
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