Rise of Renegades, page 35
Reklin’s perfect retreat kept him alive, but he was not fast enough to block every strike. Olgor’s sunderblade came so fast it seemed to attack from multiple angles, shredding the rain and blasting through the mist. Multiple times the blade cut into Reklin’s flesh, digging into his shoulder, leg, hip, and nicking his skull.
Olgor had apparently intended on forcing Reklin to trip, a lethal mistake that Reklin would not have been able to prevent without his augment. Again Olgor snarled, this time in frustration. Reklin took advantage of his opponent’s anger and blocked the next swing, sending the blade upward. Using the space, he dropped into a lower pathway. Landing inside, he swung his shield with all his strength, clipping Olgor’s ankle. The heated edge of the shield cut the bone before Olgor leapt into a rolling flip and landed on the opposite side of the lower path. He stabbed downward, forcing Reklin to retreat.
“You know your arena well,” Olgor said, “but it won’t save you.”
He repeatedly stabbed downward and Reklin swerved and retreated, the blade killing his shadow. The rain had picked up and the dark clouds deepened the gloom. Dakorians trained in the darkness and had excellent night vision, but in the slanting rain, Reklin’s now perfect memory of the twists and turns gave another slight advantage.
Reklin raised his shield and swerved into a narrow cavity, twisting his body sideways to thread the gap and duck beneath a bridge. Jumping upward, he caught the lip with his shield hand and used his momentum to flip upward. He jerked his body into a twist and landed with both feet on opposite sides of the crevasse. He uncoiled his body into a crushing blow with his blade.
Olgor managed to block with his shield, but the impact made him stagger. Reklin pressed the advantage, attacking with both blade and the edge of his shield. Sparks burst between them, illuminating their features as Reklin drove Olgor several paces before he regained his footing and retaliated.
Every trick, every attack, Reklin recognized Olgor’s intent. He’d fought them all, against friend and foe, in both training and combat. The memories came when needed: a flicker of an image, a surge of his father’s words, or the voice of his trainers in the military. Olgor came into the duel with all the superiority of his natural gifts and his legacy of training. But Reklin now had thousands of trainers in his ear, whispering what to do, how to react, where to go. And for the briefest of moments, they were equal.
“Just kill him!” Hockle bellowed. “You’re almost twice his size!”
The rain poured on the two combatants, a constant stream that made the ground slick. Rivulets of water cascaded into cracks and filled the bottom of lower paths, pouring into the lake. They fought across the front half, and Olgor, obviously sensing Reklin’s advantage in the rain and darkness, forced him towards the cave side of the island. Reklin fought with every speck of memory and skill he possessed, but Olgor was just too skilled, and too strong.
Reklin retreated around the waterfall and into the cave, the rain cutting off. Illuminated by the light of their blades and their shields, they fought a deadly dance until Olgor feinted low and then twirled his blade from above, bringing the weapon down with such force that it cut into Reklin’s shield. Olgor yanked the blade free and stuck again, and again, chipping the shield one fragment at a time. The outer ring of heat sputtered and went dark, and Reklin tossed it aside. Gripping his sunderblade with both hands, he spun the weapon to block the next strike, and the next.
The blade came for his left side and he blocked—then Olgor raised the shield from his right, leveling it to hit him in the shoulder. The spikes of his shoulder caught the shield, slowing its momentum so it didn’t cut right through his skull. But the searing edge of the shield hit him in the side of his head, burning and cutting deep.
Reklin stumbled backward, reeling from the blow. Desperate to escape the approaching footfalls, he sought to retreat. Blood poured from the long cut going from ear to chin, and seeped from his missing shoulder spikes.
“You were always dead on your feet,” Olgor sneered.
Reklin stumbled backward, swinging his sunderblade to fend off the larger dakorian’s blade. Instead of veering around the waterfall, he fell through it. The impact of the water drove him to his knees. Unwilling to let him escape, Olgor leapt through the water—directly into Reklin’s trap. Reklin had stepped to the side and attacked Olgor’s flank. He caught Olgor’s left horn and used his weight to drag him down.
The attack surprised Olgor, and he growled as his head was abruptly yanked into Reklin’s rising knee. The blow caught him in the face, cracking bones and digging into his left eye. Olgor’s bellow was like thunder. He whipped his blade and sliced Reklin across his side, a wound that cut into his ribcage.
Blinded in one eye, Olgor smashed his shield into Reklin’s face and attacked in a frenzy. He bellowed profanity, cursing Reklin and his family as he sought to exterminate Reklin for his impudence.
But as Reklin endured the punishment and sought to evade, he nursed a new plan. When Reklin had touched Olgor’s horn, the contact had opened a new set of memories. Ones that did not belong to him. In the burst of consciousness, Reklin had seen fragments of Olgor’s life.
He saw Olgor besting every whelp, even as a child, then his father—Elder Hockle—telling him he would be the greatest Bloodwall that ever lived. Duel after duel Olgor demolished his peers, and then older dakorians. None could match his talent. None would ever be his equal. Arrogance seeped into every thought, every act, and when he was sixteen he’d challenged a senior Bloodwall to a duel. Olgor had won, but he’d been severely injured. The Bloodwall had broken a bone in his leg, the fracture so deep that it would leave a lasting wound.
A weakness.
Reklin parried and blocked the blade and shield, but could not stop the assault. Olgor’s rage drove Reklin across the arena, his weapons carving deep furrows into Reklin’s body. He forced Reklin back until he stood on the edge overlooking the lake, his sunderblade spinning from his grip and splashing into the lake. Olgor’s chest heaved in triumph as he raised his sunderblade for the killing blow. In that moment, Reklin dropped and hit Olgor’s knee.
The strike was meaningless. In any normal dakorian the outer thigh bone would not be harmed even by a dakorian fist. But Reklin had aimed at the exact break from years ago, where the crack had left a hidden scar.
Olgor’s leg buckled, his bellow of pain causing even the watching dakorians to flinch. Wounded in a dozen places, weak from the loss of blood, Reklin rose to his feet and struck Olgor in the throat. Unable to balance on one leg, Olgor’s huge body dropped and slammed into the wet stone. Reklin kicked the shield from his grip and dropped onto his arm, yanking Olgor’s sunderblade from his grip. His features contorted in pain, Olgor’s single eye looked up at Reklin in disbelief.
Across the lake, the other dakorians stared, their eyes wide. The clan elders were so stunned their eyes bulged, with Hockle unable to move or speak. Reklin fought to stay conscious as he held the stolen blade at Olgor’s throat and spoke in a voice of stone.
“Yield or die.”
Olgor, the arrogant titan destined to be the greatest Bloodwall in the history of the clan, defeated and blinded by a hornless, bowed his head. Reklin’s family raised their weapons in unison and bellowed their victory. Reklin tossed the dakorian’s blade aside and stumbled to the bridge. It took every shred of his willpower to stay on his feet, the haze of pain and weakness threatening to swallow him whole.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, mingling with his blood as he trudged across the bridge and came to a stop in front of Hockle, who glared at him with unbridled fury. The elder spoke through a jaw so rigid it almost snapped his teeth.
“The family of Duveq has proven their value. The scattering will not occur.”
The family cheered, their deep voices rumbling in relief and joy. Lavana stepped to Reklin’s side and subtly put herself where he could lean against her. He did, and his elder mother stood firm.
“Elder Hockle,” she said, “you should leave now, while you still can.”
“This is not the end of this,” Hockle snapped. “You bought yourself ten years, but your family won’t have a Bloodwall by then. You’ve just delayed the inevitable. It is impossible for you to stay together!”
“I think we’ve proven we can do the impossible,” Reklin said. “Now take your son and go.”
There was an audible intake of breath, with all eyes turning to Olgor. The giant dakorian had regained his feet, but struggled to walk on his broken leg. Between his missing eye and his injuries, he looked broken. A shadow of his former might.
“You brought your son?” Worrek demanded. “It is required to bring an impartial champion.”
“I choose my champion,” Hockle snarled. He jerked a hand to Olgor. “Get him and take him to the ship.”
The other dakorians leapt across the bridge and helped Olgor. The agony on his features was evident, but his disbelief had been replaced with a seething hatred. When their eyes met, Reklin read the truth in the giant dakorian’s expression: Reklin had just made a very powerful enemy.
Hockle spun and retreated, taking the rest of his elders with him. They boarded their ship and it pulsed its engines, rising through the storm and disappearing into the clouds like a wounded beast. When it was gone, dakorians rushed to Reklin. Some uncoiled bandages, which they wrapped around his wounds. He slumped to his knee and Kevent caught him, gently lowering him to the stone. Reklin’s vision swam as they fought to staunch his wounds.
“Quickly,” Lavana said. “We must get him back to the village.”
“I’ve never seen anyone move like that,” Kevent breathed, his face solidifying above Reklin.
“It was as if you knew his moves before he did,” Inary said.
Inary shoved a plank of wood beneath Reklin’s back. If he’d had the energy, he would have smiled. They’d brought the plank to carry his dead body back to the village. Instead they were carrying his dying body. Maybe it was the delirium, but he found it humorous. They lifted him together.
Kevent grunted from the effort. “He’s very heavy.”
Lavana hit him on the back of the head. “He’s our champion. Show him some respect.”
The rain splattered across Reklin’s body, wetting bandages already soaked in his blood. He could feel his life draining away, but the pain was distant. They jostled and carried him, moving quickly down the trail. Lavana’s voice was forceful as she barked orders, but he heard her fear.
“Let me in,” a voice called.
“Get the human out of here,” Lavana shouted.
“He’s dying,” Siena said with equal authority, “and if you don’t let me help, he’ll be dead before you reach the village.”
“What can a human do?” she retorted.
“More than you.”
Reklin wanted to speak, but the words slipped away before his throat could hold them. His eyes began to close, and he knew Olgor had finished his task. At least he’d managed to save his family.
“Let her in,” Lavana said.
Reklin stopped moving, and a small hand settled on his arm. He managed to open his eyes and see Siena. The girl was sopping wet, but her eyes shone with as much force as he’d ever seen. He couldn’t speak, so he called to her through his mind.
You saved my life. Why?
Siena responded through her mind augment. Because I’m your friend, you stupid soldier.
Her sharp words contrasted with the worry and fear in her gaze. Beneath Siena’s hand, a spark of energy flowed into him. Warm and numbing, it spread throughout his body, calling on Reklin’s own strength to rise up. Gasps came from watching dakorians as Siena used her augment to force Reklin’s body to heal faster than normal. The deepest wounds began to knit, the arteries and veins closing, the flesh sealing. Weakness assailed them both, and Reklin almost lost consciousness. But when the warmth blossomed throughout his limbs like a warm blanket, he knew. Siena had saved his life again.
The hand fell away and he vaguely heard a thump. Already weakened from whatever she’d done before, Siena had used everything she possessed to speed Reklin’s recovery. It was enough to keep him alive until he reached the village.
“What did she do?” someone demanded.
“I don’t care,” Inary said. “She helped.”
“Pick her up,” Lavana said, “and get moving. I don’t know what’s going on, but we’re not letting either of them die in this storm.”
The group continued down the mountain, a rush of dakorian footfalls that lulled Reklin into the waiting darkness. His final thoughts, as unconsciousness robbed his senses, were of gratitude for Siena—and triumph.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“She what?”
Ero grinned at his brother’s stunned expression. Surprising Skorn was a pleasure, and more rare than a star going supernova. Skorn’s jaw was slack, his eyes fixed on Ero but not seeing him. Ero repeated the statement.
“Wylyn wants to marry you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Marriage.”
“Yes.”
Skorn shook his head. “And that was the reason she was withholding the glint?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ero shrugged. “I was as surprised as you are. I guess Wylyn sees the augments as her route to finally beating House Jek’Orus in the rankings.”
They were standing next to one of the new towers Erlanex had built. The city was coming together quickly, with the engineer already having completed the underground experimental labs beneath the hill, and moving on to homes and streets close to the central towers. Now that they had the glint from Wylyn, they could finish the last few purchases, and prepare for a stock of slaves.
“Is that the only reason?” Skorn asked.
Ero stared at his brother. “Don’t tell me you’re attracted to the woman.”
“What if I am?”
Ero laughed, the sound both mocking and amused. “You do favor her.”
“I find her to be rather captivating,” Skorn admitted.
Ero wasn’t sure if he should be proud of his brother for opening his heart, or disturbed at his choice. Wylyn was dominating and intelligent, but she was also equally as manipulative as Skorn. Which was probably the reason he found her attractive. But Skorn had always admired those in power.
“You can’t be married to a Head of a House and be the Head of Bright’Lor,” Ero said.
“True,” Skorn said, “but it’s something to think about.”
“You mean something to dream about.”
Skorn actually flushed. “You’re not going to stop mocking me for this, are you?”
“Not for the next hundred years,” Ero said gleefully.
Muttering to himself, Skorn activated his holoview. “Also, I noticed a withdrawal of several million glint within an hour of you talking to Wylyn. What did you buy?”
Ero extended his arm to the side. Molecules of black seracrete flowed out of his bones, through his skin, and into a hilt in his palm. He activated the blade, and the weapon shimmered into shape.
“You bought a weapon?” Skorn asked. “Why?”
“Because I’ve always wanted one,” he said, marveling at the beautiful blue blade. “And if I was to continue my training, I needed a better weapon.”
Skorn ground his teeth together and rubbed his forehead. “We need every shard of glint, and you’re already wasting it.”
“I’m not wasting anything,” Ero said, glad he hadn’t shared that he’d bought two. Skorn would have known it was for Siena, and his fury would have tripled.
“Ero,” Skorn groaned, “when we have glint to spare, you can buy a dozen useless weapons. For now, we have to be careful. Our allies will be watching their investments carefully, and we cannot afford to lose them.”
“Last one, I promise.” He extinguished the blade, and the hilt disintegrated back to molecules that sank into his skin, like dunking his hand underwater.
“Don’t make me rescind your purchasing privileges.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Ero said.
Skorn smiled, a disturbing expression. Then he turned, exited the shadow of the tower, and made his way up the half-formed street towards the buildings at the top of the hill. Ero hurried to catch up, disliking that Skorn would consider such a drastic option. It was just a couple of expensive blades.
The City of Dawn covered most of the slope coming down from the hill. A ring of towers at the heart of the city dominated the aesthetic, but each had a gaping hole in the side where the gravity drives would be inserted. Hollow from base to sky, the towers would act as a natural graviton collector, keeping the gravity drives at full capacity. Ero had quickly grown to like Erlanex. He was clever and inventive, if taciturn and sullen.
With all the seracrete, Erlanex had started to build homes along the streets extending out from the towers, the Lorenwhite material making for pristine walkways and bright structures. When dignitaries came to inspect the world—and Skorn was certain they eventually would—they would find a city of rare beauty.
On the end of the island, the top of the primary experimental labs poked above the surface. Its smooth walls and artistic curves hid the formidable structure beneath. Telik had insisted they build reinforced walls and interiors, as well as dedicated shielding, a precaution in case any of the augments decided to fight. Telik appeared in the main entrance to the labs. Spotting them, he hurried down the road, his features tight with anger.
“He looks furious,” Skorn said.
“When is he not annoyed?” Ero said. “He wails more than a human infant.”
Skorn stifled a laugh. “Telik,” he said as the scientist approached, “is something wrong?”
“Of course it is.” Telik came to a stop in the middle of the street, his red eyes flashing. “I have been waiting for weeks to provide you with a detailed overview of the augments, and you have yet to come to the lab.”
“We are currently building a city,” Ero said. “Or haven’t you noticed?”
