William Bennett
held his staff close. The Violators
had been joined by accomplices.
They were five in all. The
odds were not at all in his favor.
In such a situation, and given the heinous nature of their enterprise,
he would have been fully justified in the use of deadly force. He would have been justified in pulling
the blade free from its scabbard.
But he was only an Andrun, an acolyte initiate.
The puzzle on
his short staff was locked. He
could not pull the sword it contained free no matter the circumstance. It was made such that he would require
industrial equipment to break it open, and break is the operative word. He would never be able to open it
without the right, as the challenge was meant to be. No matter how hard he tried he could not use the fullness of
the weapon until he was considered worthy, until through honorable word and
deed he attained the rank of Knight.
He had what was
in his hand, pulled from his inner coat pocket the moment he realized his mistake.
In truth, he
should not even be in this position.
He was still in training. He was supposed to observe, not act. However, his master was taking care of
the other matter. They had divided
their force, one for each target.
His master was going to observe as well, and then shut down his
quarry. The two men William had
originally been tracking were thought to be headed to the location of their
hideout. Gaining this knowledge
would put them on the cusp of settling the matter, and shutting down their
outfit. Unfortunately, the Order
was clearly lacking some information.
This apartment building was no hideout, and the men that were about to
engage him were hardened warriors.
This was clearly a killing squad.
William was honor-bound. He had no choice but to face them.
The man in
front, a hard faced brownish Nordic looking man with short cropped blonde hair
smiled, as he slowly pulled his gun.
“You clearly have a lot to learn. We’ve known you were there from the
moment we left the airport.”
“Then why did
you wait?” Asked William, stalling
for time. “Doesn’t make sense for
you to lead me here.”
“Us,” corrected
the man. “Your partner is going to
… what? Stop payment for services
rendered?”
“Depends on
whose there,” said William. He
moved further into the room. There
was no retreat. The other men had
drawn their guns. There was no way
around it. He was going to catch a
bullet. He would have to rely on
all his skill in order to not only win, but just survive.
“Why don’t you
just stand still,” said the killer. “What’s your name? I have some idea of what
you are. Be interested in knowing
the name of the Tolomanian Knight I’ve killed. You’ll be my first.”
“I’m not a
knight,” said William.
The man laughed. “Could have fooled me. Flowing black coat. Gold buttons. Pretty snazzy that coat you all wear. Shirt, jacket, slacks, all very
expensively made. The gloves, the
metal on your wrists. That’s not a
watch you know?”
“Oh, but it does
tell time,” said William, he took two more steps to the left.
“Stand
still!” The killer yelled. “And while you’re at it drop that damn
staff.”
The others
raised their weapons.
“I’ll tell you
my name,” said William. “But first
tell me why the Darasim are working for Benjamin Crassus? Just my curiosity, you know? After all, I’m going to be dead any
minute, right?”
The killer
laughed, “You people. You think
we’re working for that crotchety old fool? You need better intelligence young man.” He chuckled, shaking his head. He sighed and leaned back just
a bit … and blinked.
That was all the
moment William needed, and for sure would be all the moment he would get. The conversation was rapidly coming to
an end.
These men had
killed and killed and killed again.
They were leaving a bloody trail of unsolvable murders in pursuit of a
prize of inestimable value, a prize that theoretically could save Benjamin
Crassus’s life. He had focused his
considerable wealth, and the vast resources of the Crassus Corporation on this
one enterprise. It was a puzzle
that was not meant to be solved.
It was the Order’s duty to ensure it remained that way.
In his right
hand he held his staff still, slightly in front of him. He moved it a bit to the right, a
distraction, as he was trained.
The killers focused on it.
His left hand he moved slightly, giving the tiny balls in his hand a
slight shove. They silently
floated across the room and landed at the feet of the blonde killer.
One of the men
yelled, “Watch out!” But it was
too late.
William’s heart
was beating fast, despite his effort at control. The seconds slowed down as his mind concentrated on his
training. He forced himself to consider
this to be nothing more than intense exercise, another training session. He tried to not grind his teeth, but
the pressure was great. He was not
prepared to face such opposition.
Of course, if he was to become a knight, facing surprising and inhuman
opposition was to become a way of life.
He didn’t look
at the balls as they hit the ground, but he measured the count in his
mind. He had started to move
forward slightly as they left his hand.
By the time they had landed on the floor he was in a full sprint. Milliseconds passed, milliseconds that
his mind counted. Muscle memory
and mental mastery was in total control of both mind and body as his Andrun training
took hold.
Didactic memory
can be cultivated. It is not a
secret. Rather what the knights do
are things either forgotten or simply no longer pursued. There is a manner in which to perfect
strength within an individual. There is a manner in which to perfect speed and
dexterity. There is a manner in
which to hone the inner self, harnessing the power of one’s soul in order to
magnify both the mental and the physical.
These are old skills, learned at different times and in different places
all over the world.
The Knights of
Avros Tolomain are an order as old as civilization, so say the elders. The skills of the Knights were well
known when almost two thousand years ago Avros Tolomain took up the mantle of
something that was fading , and forged the Order. Today the Tolomain Knights are the line
that holds order against the chaos at the fringes of civilization. They live to protect humanity when and
where they can from those things bent on denying humanity a destiny unhindered
by the darkness, and those who serve it.
William closed
his eyes and concentrated shutting down his ability to discern light, forcing
his brain to not acknowledge the input into his visual cortex through will
power alone. He did the same for his auditory senses. Since he didn’t have earlids like he had eyelids it would be
difficult. There would still be a
great deal of pain, but he would force himself to fight through it.
The little balls
where called crucious, the order’s version of flash-bang grenades. They were an order of magnitude more
powerful and directed. Their force
exploded in the direction thrown, saving the person throwing them from the
worst of the effects, but still they would suffer if they did not wear
protection. William had no
protection.
“Sonofabitch!”
The Nordic guy yelled. “Kill
that—” was all he managed to get out, before William’s staff collided with the
bridge of his nose.
He had memorized
where each man was. The bullets
started flying, but the flasbangs had exploded. They were blind and deaf. Any normal human being would have been brought to their
knees, blind, disoriented, deaf, and in incredible pain.
However, the
Darasims’ training was extensive.
They were supposedly trained in such a manner as to directly oppose the
skills of the Avros Knights. Each
warrior was trying to telegraph William, trying to shoot where he would
be. Luck, or blessings, they were
too late. He was among them now,
eyes shut, of terrifying speed, and they knew it. The firing stopped.
They could not shoot amongst themselves.
All of them were
warriors. They all were silent,
fighting the effects of the Tolomainian flash bangs. The Violators tried to see. They tried to listen, and they were brought low in the brief
seconds of hoped for recovery.
William waded among them like a living typhoon. His staff struck again, and again, and
again, head and body, head and body, missing only one, who had moved. He opened his eyes, adjusted, and
brought his staff swiftly into the man’s temple. The Violator crumpled to the floor in a heap as the blow
sent a shockwave through his head.
In the deafening
silence, William stood alone. The Violators
were scattered at his feet. He
took several deep breaths as he concentrated on steadying himself. The flashbangs were directed away from
him, but they were potent, and it took considerable mental will power to
overcome their affects and fight effectively.
His vision
steadied. It would still be awhile
before his hearing returned fully.
He looked back at the door.
His master stood in the doorway.
Master of the Order, Knight Jefferson Evans had the look of someone
sorely vexed. He examined the men
on the floor, then looked up at his young charge.
“Clearly, you
have been paying attention,” said Jefferson. “Your training serves you well.”
William managed
a smile. “I have an excellent
teacher.”
“Perhaps.”
“Did things go
well with your quarry?”
“The same, a
trap. We’ve clearly been
compromised.”
“But where?”
Jefferson waved
away the question. “In due
time.”
“Yes master.”
Jefferson walked
into the room, continuing to stare at the men on the floor. “Five men, warriors, in the midst of a
crucious.” He arched an eyebrow in admiration. “Impressive.”
“It was the
training master.”
“Of course, now
step away from them.”
The Violators
were starting to stir. “Shouldn’t
we interrogate them?” He pointed
his staff at the blonde man. “This
one here is the leader.”
“Step away from
them now!”
William
recognized when his master was leaving no room for conjecture. This was a direct order, and he was
honor bound to obey without a word.
Jefferson stepped forward, producing a needle from his coat. He threw the needle at the blonde man’s
neck. No sooner had the needle
penetrated the man’s neck Jefferson was over him, stooping down to pick
him. He threw the large man over
his shoulder, and quickly stepped away from the others.
“What do we know
about the Darasim?”
“They are worshipers
of what they believe to be the Demiurge.
They are also an ancient order not unlike our own.”
“They are
nothing like us, Andrun. Clarity!”
William
corrected. “They are said to trace
their roots back to ancient times. Sumerian in origin, seeking the ultimate
order from chaos through the elevation of chaos, a flawed premise on its basis
but one they believe to be infallible.
They have an almost blind worship, pursuing action and intent for the
sole purpose of domination in worship of their god and the divine purpose,
which to us is indistinguishable from evil.
“Evil is a
matter of perspective for some, a fact that no knight must dismiss when dealing
with the Darasim.”
“Yes, master.”
“And not blind
worship, they have been and will always be focused in their worship, and they
see very clearly. They are as long
as we are, perhaps longer given the way they perceive the world and its
purpose.”
“Yes,” agreed
William. “And in that purpose they value life differently, even their own.”
“Yes, and …?”
William
understood. It was not a point he
should have forgotten. “They are
primary assassins and procurers, the Violators, they carry within them the
means to die and kill in failure.”
“Exactly,” said
Jefferson. “Now, let’s get out of
here.”
As they walked
out the door the Violators were waking. “For that which is supreme!” They yelled in unison.
“Move!” Jefferson yelled.
William glanced
back for a brief second, and saw one of the Violators grab his left wrist with
his right hand. How stupid of me, he thought. He was young, an acolyte, but the
excitement of battle should not have dulled his senses to such a degree. He ran behind his master as fast as he
could.
Suddenly, there
was an explosion.
They fled down
the stairs. His master moved with
strength and precision, effortlessly carrying the weight of the man on his
shoulders. Above them there was
smoke. Flames would quickly
follow. They reached the bottom
level and exited out the front door.
“Keep moving,”
said Jefferson. “We’re
leaving.
William followed
his master. He took a moment to
look back at the building. A
window on the third floor was blown out.
Smoke was billowing out, and up, polluting the sky. Willowy wisps of green seemed to
dance and tangle in the bitter black of the explosion. The
poison.
Once, it was
said the warriors of the Darasim spat poison in failure, a gas cloud that would
kill those around them who had precipitated their failure. In modern times they were said to have
added explosives to their lethal mix.
When a Darasim falls, his or her sworn duty is to take their enemy into
the afterlife with them. There is
no other option.
William could
not fathom such a purpose, insanity made to look like rational thought, no
better than a common, petty, run-of-the mill terrorist. The Darasim sought unrivaled power in
the dark byways and shadowy corners of the world just beneath the surface, the
world where unnatural things held sway, and magic was not a marketing theme for
Las Vegas. It was a world of stark and terrifying reality, a world in which he
was sworn to wade in deep.
He thought about
the abandoned building. It would
probably burn to the ground before the fire department and police arrived. They would be long gone from this place
where he had waged mortal combat with Violators, those who would risk all for a
singular goal, a goal antithetical to harmony in life. He had fought them in the shadows and
won. He would fight them again,
for however long it might take, for he was one who stood firm, held the line,
and pushed back against the darkness.
He was honor bound by the old ways to uphold all that is best in
humanity. He was William Bennett,
Andrun Acolyte of the Knights of Avros Tolomain, a sworn Knight of the Old
Code.
