The Rising Sun: Episode 5 (11 page)

A man in an orange cloak dragged a sack like
object over the desert sands. The scraping noise continued as he
pulled the sack along with him over the desert sands.

Krostus’s cloak fluttered in the thick, hot
wind lapping at him from in front. The sack, which might have
contained a few kilos of rice or grain, came tailing behind him as
he dragged it forth with one hand.

Pausing for the first time, Krostus heaved a
slow, deep breath, and wiped his brow. The intensity of the heat of
the desert in this planet was unbearable.

Krostus released the one hand he was holding
the sack with, and walked over in front of it. Heaving another slow
breath, he sat over the sack, allowing himself a moment of rest. A
blissful, momentary relief spread over his limbs. The cushiony
state of the sack’s contents felt warm and cozy as he rested over
it. While the stickiness of the desert’s air wrapped like a cloak
around him. Beads of sweat came trickling down his face. He arched
his back, placing both hands by either side of the sack beneath,
and gave himself over to the momentary comfort.

Then, forcibly keeping himself from wavering,
Krostus re gathered his focus. He knew that he needed to cross this
desert and reach his destination without faltering.

Drawing himself back up, he heaved the sack,
placing it over his shoulder, and continued down the rough sandy
ground.

The gentle rumble of the ship’s engine was
all that was heard. It was a soothing sound, or at least Zardin
thought so. One of the very few noises in this world that Zardin
enjoyed listening to. Without sight, his hearing was sharpened. And
as a result, every minute noise that crossed was loudened manifold
to him. And he found that rather irritating: most of the noises
that flooded him all over tended to be annoying, unmodulated and
stupid. Such as the bickering, irritating voices he heard all
around him. The hum of a ship’s engine was one of the rare,
composed noises that Zardin’s ears enjoyed picking up.

The ship’s engine revved on, while he sat on
the ground in the middle of the small hull in the ship. A large
glass window lay by the wall opposite to him, through which space
could be seen.

Zardin allowed his thoughts to mull over the
multitude of tasks now at hand, and a slight rustle of disturbance
found him.
The plague crystal … Has slipped past our grasp yet
again.

He did not expect the horde of Zelgron to
fail. But then again, most things that had happened were not within
his expectations, or anyone’s. What mattered was twisting things to
suit his expectations. And twisting things was what Zardin enjoyed
and did best. He frowned, running through the current situation.
But he knew that it was of little use: the plague crystal was now
completely off their reach. The Nyon would have seen to it that it
was. Finding it was not going to be easy.

It certainly is a problem, but not one to be
wasted worries upon…

Casting the prick aside, Zardin sat
straighter and took in a deep, cooling breath. And then, as he had
done thousands of times till this day, he allowed silence to settle
within him, so that the many bickering voices within him muted. And
as the minutes passed, and his mind floated away into meditation,
the same entrancing quiet stole through him again. And it was in
this quiet that he found all his tools. All his powers. All that
was ever needed…

He let the peaceful calm absorb him whole, so
that time completely fell off his grasp. And minutes trickled forth
softly…

Half an hour had passed when a beeping noise
split the silence, rising over the rhythmic hum of the engine.
Zardin felt the same spark of irritation as he felt in a large
fraction of his waking moments as he opened his eyes, returning to
the world where he was needed. He reached into his robe and pulled
out his z-com, which had an incoming voice call. As he tapped the
button to answer the call, the beeping ceased, and a voice came,
“Permission to enter, my lord.”

It was one of Zardin’s men, waiting outside
the door to this room, of course. This was his foremost, and best
lieutenant. His favourite among them all. But even he had enough
sense to ask for permission before entering into an audience with
Zardin. As he rightly needed to.

“Enter.” said Zardin, smiling.

The door hissed open behind him, and Krostus
walked in carrying what appeared to be a large rice sack. Without
hesitating, he tossed the sack to the floor right before Zardin and
it rolled over, unwrapping to reveal Galinor’s face inside of it.
He was unconscious. A thread of blood ran down his mouth. His eyes
were half closed. But he was alive, and that was what was
important.

“Good.” Zardin said, permitting Krostus the
view of his smile as he turned and rose. “Very good.”

Krostus smoothed his cloak and bowed
mildly.

Zardin turned over to stare at the
unconscious Nyon sealed in a rice sack, on the floor beneath his
feet. “Nyon master Galinor has done us the favour of reaching us …
with a lot of valuable information.” He bent down, his face
hovering a feet from that of the unconscious master on the floor.
“Galinor will illuminate a lot of things for us, now, won’t he?
He’ll tell us where and in what position the plague crystal is.
He’ll tell us what the Nyon have done with it, and what they plan
to do with it. He’ll tell us all there is to know about our
enemies.” His wicked smile grew brighter. “And he’ll enjoy it. Or
we hope he does. Because it’ll be the one of the last things left
for him to enjoy.”

Straightening back up, he turned to
Krostus.

“Good job, Krostus.” He patted him on the
shoulder, and sank back to a seated position on the floor. “Now,
put him to the side, away for now.”

Krostus walked over, bent down and heaved the
body of the unconscious Nyon. Zardin added, “And be sure to show
our guest our
wondrous
hospitality.”

Krostus paused, nodded, and then hurled the
body violently to the side of the room. The body went smashing into
the metallic wall so that a depression as wide as the body formed
on it, before dropping and rolling once. Zardin thought he might
have heard a bone or two crack.

“Wondrous.”

Krostus stood before him, his posture stiff
in unwavering attention.

“Have a seat, dear boy,” Zardin gestured to
the floor ahead of him. Krostus slowly trotted over and sat
opposite to Zardin, both of them now staring into each other, a
metre’s distance between their meditative positions.

“We are closer than ever.” said Zardin. “And
soon, we will be there.”

He paused, stroking his chin silently. A
silence Krostus gladly shared. This was what he loved most about
his favourite lieutenant, despite the fact that he was the best
cold blooded killer there was. Except for him, of course.

The two of them sat there, still and silent,
one meditating, the other staring blankly into space. Then, as
Zardin ended another short stint of calmed meditation, his eyes
drifted to the body lying by the side, and Krostus turned along
with him.

Galinor hadn’t come around yet.

It was loads better for him that way.
thought Zardin.
But unfortunately for both of us, time’s running
short … and we need Galinor to get up and co operate with us, and
give us all that he knows. Especially about the plague crystal’s
present whereabouts. And
then
, he can go back to sleep. A
much warmer sleep, that is.

He turned to Krostus, the casual smile
returning to stretch his lips. “Wake him.”

As lights seeped back in slowly, Galinor’s
eyelids flickered open. And then he felt his heart stop for a long,
unpleasant moment.

Standing over him were two men, one of whom
he recognised … He had seen this one, with the deadly pale skin and
the blank, eyeless sockets, in the temple. He knew at once what was
going on.
I’ve been captured by the Xeni … But how?

He felt his memory soar back to him, and the
answer came creeping up to him as he recounted the vision of his
encounter with the man standing by the right, in the orange cloak -
he had been attacked by this brutal creature in the middle of the
desert he was passing through in the planet he had been sheltering
in. He had stood no chance against the orange cloaked felon, and he
had been subdued almost helplessly. He then remembered faint wisps
of memory fly through in between … of him being sealed in a rice
sack, and being dragged across the desert…

“Good morning.” said the pale man, smiling.
“Welcome to another beautiful day. Not to mention your last.”

He slowly bent down over Galinor, who felt
his resolve go granite - he knew what this was all about. And he
would not submit. He would not yield. He would die first.

“You’re making a big mistake, by thinking
you’re getting information out of me.” he whispered.

“You’re the one making a mistake, by thinking
we aren’t” said Zardin. “And every mistake comes with a painful
price.”

Galinor slowly bowed to the circumstance, to
fate … and the acceptance filled him: the acceptance that this was
the end. And as he met the worst and embraced it, he felt powered.
It sent a surge of boldness and courage through his veins. He
arched his head higher, his teeth now gritted.

“You don’t have anything to scare me with. I
don’t care about the difference between life and death now.”

“And you never will.” said Zardin. “Because
there
is
no difference between life and death. The
difference comes only between death and a more painful death.”

“Go on, then!” snarled Galinor. “Kill me.
Like you killed all our other masters … but you can never kill what
we stood for.”

Zardin felt a soft laugh ripple within his
throat. “We already have.” He bent closer to the Nyon master and
whispered, “There is nothing left for you to protect, master
Galinor. We have already won.” He placed a hand over Galinor’s
face, stroking it tenderly. “Go on, tell me. Where is the plague
crystal? What have the Nyon done with it? I may spare your life if
I find the information satisfactory. I’m not making promises,
though.”

The silence crawled on, and the fiery light
in Galinor’s eyes refused to fade. A valiant smile touched his
lips. “You’re not getting anything from me while I’m alive.”

Zardin continued to stay bent over him for a
quiet second. A faint grin hovered across his lips. Licking his
razor sharp teeth, he rose slowly.

“So be it.” He turned to Krostus, smiling.
“End his misery.”

Galinor didn’t even flinch as the orange
cloaked Xeni stepped forward … and then unleashed a brutal,
brainjolting kick right to his head.

Galinor felt the world spin…

Merciless, the Xeni’s foot came colliding
over his head in a second, deadlier blow.

Galinor thought he saw lights shoot before
his vision.

As the Xeni’s foot came soaring in for the
third, final time, Galinor experienced a split second of pounding,
agonizing pain…

And as it passed, the world flickered and
died. And blackness swallowed all.

Qyro’s ignited sword came swooshing in from
Ion’s right. Breathless and slightly panicky, Ion jumped back and
swung his own just in time to block the attack. A fierce
cling
rang within the hull as their gleaming orange blades
met, leaving a cloud of sparks to burst in the air around them.

For an intense second, the two of them stood
there with their swords locked, their eyes drilling into each
other. Qyro’s red fur rippled, the light from his blade enlivening
the snarl on his face. And his exposed, pointed teeth. Ion felt his
own fury and grit reflect on his opponent’s face. They stood there,
in the centre of the hull, with their blades clasped in a lock for
a passing series of seconds. Both of them trying to heave the
other’s strength off. But Qyro was just as strong as Ion, who
couldn’t overthrow his might.

Fierce as a flash of light, Ion withdrew from
the clasped position and swung his sword across to the left. The
orange light from the blade spewed lumination across the hull, the
steamish vapour swishing behind it in a tail. The blade sailed over
to the Redling’s exposed side, but Qyro twisted a split second’s
gap later, bringing his own blade before to block it again. A growl
built within Ion, with his attack parried again. But Qyro took
advantage of the meanest pause in his focus, pushed him back, and
lunged forth. His feet left the ground as he came soaring over Ion,
his sword raised and ready to land for the kill…

His breath stopping for the flicker of the
second, Ion did the only thing possible: he threw all his weight
behind, sinking to the floor to duck his opponent’s aggressive
assault. Qyro’s eyes widened slightly as he missed his target and
went gliding over further across the hull. Ion picked all his
weight up, rose and turned to see the other land heavily to the
ground a few feet off. But before he could catch Qyro off guard,
the Redling turned and swished his blade across the air to parry a
deadly blow Ion sent at him. Ion’s mind was steeled in its deepest
focus: wasting not a breath, he turned, sidestepping the shot Qyro
sent to his abdomen, carried his blade over the air in a wild
swirl, and -