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Book II
CHAPTER
1
Dryker’s
eye caught the opponents sword coming down at him.
Trying to dodge the savage blow, his instincts failed him -
Thrunch!
The
sword hit his left shoulder with a dull crunching sound.
Not quite a mortal wound, he knew the arm would be virtually
useless for the remainder of the battle.
Despite the neural inhibitors that would ensure the blow
registered, the force alone would leave him bruised for weeks.
As his opponent’s sword came down for another strike, he parried,
knowing he would have to be more cautious.
Parrying
blow after blow, he was backed to the edge of the arena, the pain
prominent in his shoulder. Beginning
to accept the notion of defeat, his mind only offered one thought, “This
fucking kid is kicking my ass.”
Dryker
Kaldarynn was the eldest of the competitors and was well aware of the
younger ones who were hungry for his tournament crown and with each
passing year, they were nipping ever closer.
One day, he would fail to stay the advance of a fresh opponent and
he would lose his title. He
just wished that day were not so close at hand he thought under the
constant pounding of the determined aggressor.
“What was that old adage? - Old age and treachery beats youth and
wisdom?” He thought.
He was five years his opponent’s senior and when it applied to
one’s experience in the arena; it could severely weigh the match in
one’s favor; “Too bad it’s not working here.”
He thought as the swords clashed again.
*
* *
The
“Tournament of Swords” it was called was a homage to their ancient
days as a savage race, thriving upon war and death.
To the ALDARians it was by far, the largest and most anticipated
sporting and social event of the year.
The event began on the first week of the new calendar and
combatants would gather to fight one another for three weeks. There were months of preparation, fanfare and hype leading up
to the event and was followed by many more of analysis, speculation and
debate. One hundred
contestants would gather each year and battle for the title of Ultimate
Swordsman and ALDARian Tournament champion, not to mention the priceless
honor of wearing the Gem of the King and being crowned “King for a
Day.”
The
contestants competed in regional events and build their point values
throughout the year. Those
skilled enough to be ranked in the top ninety-eight by the deadline, one
month before the tournament began, were invited by the King, to take part
in the honored event. The
finalists from the previous year, barring any injury, retirement, or lack
of desire, were automatically awarded a berth.
The event was sold out month’s prior and only those with the
means to attend - upper class, nobleman and royalty could typically afford
the steep price.
The
tournament, you see, was held in a space station that orbited high above
the planet ALDAR. The fare for such a trip plus admission to the event was
often times too expensive for the average citizen to afford.
There were still many that would save for months, perhaps years to
afford the cost of the ticket to an event that almost all ALDARians never
get to see in their lifetime. To hear the sounds of the weapons colliding, see the sweat
rolling off the combatants and to smell the sweetness of victory and the
unmistakable pungency of defeat. To
witness their favorite warriors win matches and collect the prizes and
glory live is a dream of most and a privilege of just a few.
The
arena was filled to capacity. The
walls of the great structure trembled under the roar from the fans; thirty
thousand ALDARians enjoying the spectacle in the pit below. The large circular base of the arena, the “game board”
they called it, was surrounded by the climbing, seemingly endless, rows of
seats and screaming fans. To the east and west sides of the floor were the
doors to the competitors quarters and staging areas for the battles.
To the north end of the arena sat King Ramyss, bearing the Gem of
the King majestically about his neck, his son Prince Vryce and his liege,
Prime Minister Xandon. In
addition, a group of the King’s closest delegates, advisors, and members
of the royal family surrounded them.
They sat in a partitioned box, protected by the King’s royal
guard. The rest of the
spectators would have to enjoy the game from their very expensive, albeit
quite common and over-crowded seats - seats that were useless at the
moment as everyone in attendance was on their feet watching the finalists
duel below.
*
*
*
Dryker
was at a loss, because for all intent and purpose his opponent was
flawless, methodical and ruthless; unlike how he faired during their
previous encounters. His
opponent was mercilessly attacking and beating him down and he didn't know
how much more he could take, his shoulder was screaming at him.
Retreating and parrying blows he was trying desperately to prevent
the fatal and final strike and then it happened, as it had so many times
before - The “kid” made a crucial mistake.
Dryker could imagine the news headline for the next day’s edition
– “Old age and treachery…”
His
opponent’s name was Loomis Sykes, “Sykes”, as everyone knew him.
He was making his second appearance in the finals in as many years,
a rather remarkable feat for someone who had only been competing in the
tournament for the past three years. He did, however have the advantage of training with his best
friend - the four-time ALDARian Tournament Champion – Dryker himself.
Dryker’s best friend and one time apprentice was now standing toe
to toe with him, giving him everything he had learned - and winning.
Dryker smirked behind the pain, he was proud, despite the
situation…
*
*
*
It
was just after joining the flight academy that Dryker met with a familiar
face, childhood friend - Darm Sykes.
They became close again and both being new cadets, learned the
ropes together. After
completing their initial flight training, Darm was sent to Navigator
school while Dryker remained behind to complete the advanced portion of
his flight training - that same year was Darm’s younger bother,
Loomis’s, freshmen year. Darm asked Dryker to keep an eye on his “kid” brother and
make sure he stayed out of trouble, “Just like old times.” Dryker said to him then, recalling the days on ALDAR when he
would watch Sykes, as Darm went gallivanting around the hills.
So
Dryker took Sykes under his wing and showed him the rituals of academy
life. One hobby that captured
Sykes’ interest from the get go – sword fighting, specifically -
advanced sword fighting. Watching
Dryker spar a couple times, he desired to be the best and knew Dryker
could teach him. By the
middle of the following year Sykes was good enough to compete
professionally and although he wasn’t invited to the tournament, he
established himself as a competitor to keep an eye on; an
“up-in-coming” the analysts said.
Tragically,
later that same year, Darm was dead.
He and thirty-eight other pilots were killed during a routine
patrol mission, ambushed by a squadron of Dorn ships in deep space. Sykes was devastated and it took several months before Dryker
could get him to focus. They
spent more time together and the friendship flourished with Dryker
adopting an almost surrogate brotherhood to Sykes.
They trained harder and Sykes found a new way to channel his anger
and frustration over his brother’s death.
Dryker saw this vigor and pushed him even more, always challenging
him to better his swordsmanship as well as his flight combat skills, to
anticipate the opponent and constantly preaching about what it took to be
a winner. Dryker taught Sykes
everything he knew and was well aware that some day he might have to face
his own student.
*
* *
After
striking Dryker’s shoulder, Sykes knew it would introduce agonizing pain
and render it almost useless. He also knew Dryker’s demeanor and that
although shocked at his sudden disadvantage would be all the more
determined. Sykes had to
finish the fight now, he had to take Dryker down before he recover from
this new, and to any other competitor hopeless, situation.
His plan was a simple yet aggressive one, come down hard, fast, and
repeatedly until Dryker could withstand no more and then hit him with the
fatal blow. It was a good
plan - simple, but still flawed nonetheless.
*
*
*
Dryker
had never felt the blade of Sykes this alive and it brought uncertainty to
him. As his friend pounded on
him, he tried in desperation to position himself where he could at least
send some sort of volley in response.
For the time being however, and the apparent enjoyment of the crowd
- “fair-weather fans” he thought, he would have to rely on his
abilities to defend and wait. Eagerly
wait until Sykes made the inevitable “rookie” mistake; and then he
did…
Sykes,
striking down, connected with Dryker’s left shoulder again –
Crunch!
The
neural inhibitors sent signals deadening the arm and sending the
electrical impulses to simulate the "true" pain of the wounds.
It was after this second blow that Sykes paused, a pause that he
would contemplate for the remainder of the year - “So close, so fucking
close” - That thought would haunt Sykes forever.
Dryker
had never felt the pain he had just endured in his arm and as far as he
was concerned he could have actually lost the limb, it would’ve made no
difference. The hit would
register as a wound that would’ve destroyed a man’s arm and if that
man were to live, would result in total paralysis of the limb.
*
*
*
As
his weapon hit Dryker’s shoulder, Sykes witnessed something he never
heard Dryker do in any competition, which totaled twelve; eight in the
tournament itself. Sykes
heard his friend cry out in pain so agonizing and surprising that the
crowd too was reduced to a cold silence.
Sykes paused at that instant… He knew Dryker was done and in that
moment, he envisioned the victory and the win - wearing the Gem of the
King and gaining the honor he desired since he began this
"hobby" as a child and later during his training with Dryker -
that “pause” would be his undoing.
Believing
that Dryker was in too much pain to continue to fight would be like
assuming an animal injured and cowering in the corner of a cage would not
strike if still provoked. Dryker’s
experience in the arena was a testament to his determination and morals of
the games – survival and victory. Sykes
knew that to Dryker, the arena was life.
For Dryker, being defeated, dying there would be no less
meaningless than in real life. That
was Dryker’s secret to success in the games and why Sykes should never
have relented.
Realizing
the hesitation, Dryker made his move, kicking at Sykes’s right leg and
simultaneously rolling off to the left.
The maneuver would be replayed several hundred times in
post-tournament analysis. Sykes,
surprised by Dryker’s ability to move and attack in his present state,
lunged haphazardly forward for the final blow.
His sword hit nothing however and when he would turn to parry
Dryker’s inevitable attack, it was too late.
His eye caught the glimmer of the blade of Dryker’s sword coming
down across his helmet –
CRACK!
Sykes
vision blurred and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as his body
went limp and he fell to the arena floor…
The
crowd, of course, went wild.
The
neural inhibitors in his suit rendered Sykes body inert as the blow
registered a near mortal strike. Dryker
would have to “kill” his opponent to take the crown for a 5th year as
the Tournament Champion and a simple strike to the motionless opponent
would rank him on top yet again. For
his “pause,” Sykes would endure second place, a skull fracture and a
couple weeks with a headache for his troubles.
Dryker
paused before the ceremonious kill. He relished the crowds roar and lifted
his sword, looking to the King’s section, the emerald Gem of Kings
adorning King Ramyss’s neck, shone bright in the arena lights. He had worn it four times previous and despite all the fame,
the honor of wearing the Gem of the King was higher than any material
wealth. Smiling, he held the
sword upright and placed it to his left breast.
He bowed his head to the King, who returned the favor and then
turned his attention back to his best friend, still motionless on the
arena floor.
Dryker
exhaled a heavy sigh. His
heart was heavy, as his time in the arena was finished. He was getting too
old for the games and would like to retire on top rather than fade away;
this would be his pinnacle, his opus in the games.
He raised his sword over Sykes, who looked up at him, his eyes
admitting defeat. Dryker held
his position a moment and whispered to him,
“Forgive me my friend.”
As
he struck down, a hush fell over the crowd and the lights in the arena
came up to full luminance. Of
all the possible outcomes that could arise in the games, this one was one
of the more likely and Dryker Kaldarynn, our champion, would not be
victorious in the games that day... GO
BACK TO PROLOGUE GO
TO SKY HUNTERS |
