1 The Dream Rider (18 page)

I focused my attention back on the man who had just killed
Tota. I took a few steps at a jog then began to run. Faster and faster I picked
up speed to an incredible pace, covering the distance between the two of us in
mere seconds. I leapt through the air and simultaneously unsheathed my sword
from the strap on my back. I was at least thirty feet off the ground and flying
towards the killer at a blinding speed. His facial expression turned from menace
to panic. He lifted his weapon to block the attack as I brought my sword down
over my head. The edge of my blade struck the edge of his and sliced through it
like a tomato. The momentum of the blow carried the sharp metal through his
collarbone and deep into his chest cavity. His eyes opened wide in shock and he
looked down momentarily at the mortal wound.

I landed on the ground and pulled the sword back, ready
for a retaliation that would not come. For a few seconds, the giant man
wobbled, unsteadily. His face flinched as he tried to take a step forward.
Instead, his eyes rolled into his head and he fell down on his face, blood from
the huge gash soaking the dirt.

The crowd stood in awe. I still held my katana in hand,
waiting to see how the game master or the emperor would react. I stared at them
both, anxiously. The game master looked over at his boss as if expecting an
order. Mallock lifted a hand and motioned it forward. His lackey nodded and
turned back towards the arena.

“Release Sten,” he announced loudly.

A gate off to my right began to swing open and the man
from the black banner, my intended opponent, emerged. His dark eyes stared at
me like two vacant orbs. He carried a long, curved sword, thinner than a
Saracen but wider than my own. He stalked towards me intensely, showing no fear
or concern.

“Ok,” I said to myself. “Two for one.”
 

I bent down and launched through the air, using the same
attack that had worked only a minute before. I brought the blade down hard but
Sten stepped aside and I missed, thrashing the ground with my sword and sending
dirt splashing through the air. In the same motion, my opponent spun around and
swiped his weapon across my back, cutting through the mesh shirt and into my
skin. I lurched forward from the impact. A few seconds later, the searing pain
sunk in. I took a few steps back and reached one hand behind to feel the wound.
When I looked at my fingers, they were covered in blood. Not a good sign.

I grimaced as the nerves in my back screamed out in agony.
The audience erupted, delighted that they were getting to see something out of
the ordinary. For a second, I wondered if they were happy to see that I was
vulnerable. It may have been both.

Sten stood back, black eyes narrow slits searching for a
clue that would give away my next move. He did not attack, though. He merely
waited, sizing me up like a hawk watching its prey, crouching with bent knees
and his weapon extended.

Angrily, I jumped towards him again. Once more, he side
stepped my move and sliced across my back as my momentum carried me past him.
Fresh stinging pain seared through my body as a new wound opened up. I could
feel the blood trickling down my back as I winced again, retreating several
steps to safe distance. Jonas had been right. This guy was much different than
Darwinius. And worse, I was losing the fight. Doubt began to creep into my
mind.

I
could die here. What if I don’t wake up?
Jonas had said it wasn’t certain I would wake up
back on Earth if I
was
killed here. Nothing was
certain, only the pain pulsing from the two, deep cuts on my back.

My old friend, fear, began to rear its head as I thought
about the wretched prospect of dying in this place, in front of these people.
These people, who would never know that they were being
treated
like caged animals.

I shifted my feet to the left, crossing one over the
other, observing what my opponent would do as I moved. He mirrored my every
movement, shifting in the same direction. Jonas had been right. I would need to
do something different this time.

The stadium filled with the roar of the crowd as I stepped
one foot over the other again, carefully assessing Sten’s movements. Jonas had
said he was an assassin. I tried to remember everything I could about how
assassins on Earth operated. I’d read about secret groups of them in some
history books, but I struggled to remember anything about their training or
methods. Typically, they would kill unsuspecting victims, using the element of
surprise to their advantage.

In the arena, the element of surprise was not an option.
At least I didn’t think it was. I took a step forward and watched carefully to
see my opponent’s reaction. He did nothing, simply waiting for my next move. He
was trying to draw me in closer. He wanted me to attack. That meant he was not
comfortable with leading. He only wanted to counter. My exploits from the
previous fight had probably made him realize that attacking me was not a good
option. However, I’d been wildly aggressive against Darwinius, and had showed
off my strength and speed. If Sten knew he couldn’t match those, his only
chance would be to let me attack and counter whatever I did. So far, his plan
had worked.

I cursed myself for being so careless then stepped forward
again, this time with a different plan. I kept my sword at an angle in front of
me as I neared the pale warrior. A quick flick sent my blade at his side, which
he deflected easily and replied with a thrust of his own, the tip of his sword
narrowly missing my neck. I swatted his weapon away with my blade and brought
the edge back again towards his stomach. He countered again with a twist of the
body and parried my volley upward. I spun around and stepped back as he sliced
through the air, missing me entirely. I knew his game now. His entire plan was
predicated around reacting to whatever I did.

I stepped in again, leading with my left foot. I felt
balanced as my feet shuffled across the dirt, and I stopped thinking, letting
the strange power begin to wash over me again. I flicked my blade left, then right,
faster and faster. Sten parried one, then another attack, but frustration
beginning to show on his face.

I wouldn’t give him what he wanted. I faked one direction
with the tip of my blade; he followed with a blocking move but overcommitted,
as I thought he would. I withdrew my sword and spun around, swinging through
the air so fast I could barely see the glimmering metal. The edge sliced deep
into Sten’s side; I pulled it back quickly, ready for his counter.

He grimaced and reacted instantly, slashing his weapon in
a backhand motion. I was ready for it and rotated around again, knocking his
blade down with mine. I jumped at him now, and brought my boot to the side of
his skull with a roundhouse kick. The crowd groaned upon impact. The blow was
powerful and sent him staggering away for a moment, dragging his sword in the
dirt as he fought to keep consciousness. Now it was my turn to wait. I
crouched, anticipating his next move. He grabbed his head, wincing in agony for
a few seconds. A shallow dent had caved the side of his helmet. Then his face
steeled in anger, and he readied his weapon to attack. He lashed out with a
quick swing and follow-up swings as I blocked the first then the second strike.
Sparks flew off our blades as they clashed with one another again and again.

Sten’s furious movements were still precise, but I was
ready for each one. I deflected and reacted, countering everything he did with
a quick stab or thrust. He was becoming more and more irritated with every
failed attempt. Finally, after a series of cross body swings, he followed
through too far leaving a wide gap he couldn’t possibly defend fast enough.
Stepping to the side, I glanced the blow down and thrust the point of my sword
up and through the base of his neck.

My opponent froze for a moment, blinking rapidly. The
crowd silenced instantly as my blade pierced Sten’s throat. I pushed the metal
deeper until I felt it stop at the hilt,
then
jerked
it back quickly, letting it fall to my side.

Sten’s face was angry and bitter as he began to cough. He
gurgled loudly, spitting blood on the ground. The wound on his neck flowed
freely and his pale skin began to turn even more ashen. Blank eyes stared
forward, trying desperately to hold on to life. But it was too late. He fell
over sideways, his body crashing to the dirt in slow, dramatic fashion.

The entire stadium was absolutely silent as I scanned the
thousands of faces. Three men lay dead on the floor of the arena. One was an
innocent. The barbaric crowd had cheered when he was senselessly slaughtered.
When the others had died, the ones who probably deserved it, their mouths were
shut. Rage began to build within me as I considered the people’s misplaced
emotions.

“People of Sideros!” I yelled louder than I ever thought
possible. Words I didn’t know I had came from somewhere deep inside. “Why are
you here? Why do you cheer when evil men murder the innocent? Have you
forgotten the past? Have you become so blinded with bloodlust that your hearts
have become wicked? You are better than this, Sideros.”

I could see the game master snarling at my words. And, for
the first time, Mallock’s emotions changed. He had been stoic up until that
moment, a veritable statue. However, when he stood up and stomped through a
darkened doorway to the rear of this throne, I could tell his emotions were
controlling him. The game master pointed at me angrily and said something to
one of his guards hovering by his side.

My words hung in the quiet air for a minute until someone
started chanting my name. Then another. After thirty seconds, half of the
stadium was calling my name. “Finn!
 
Finn!
 
Finn!”
 

The sound of it gave me chills and I looked around at the
different faces as they yelled. Maybe I could reach them after all. Maybe they
were worth saving like Jonas said. I felt a sudden surge of pain in my lower
back and turned to see what had caused it. Six guards had snuck up behind me.
The closest one was holding out a shock rod. The room began to blur and spin. I
barely felt my face hit the dirt as I collapsed to the floor. The sounds of the
chanting fans began to swirl in my ears as everything faded to black.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious. My eyes were
still heavy and everything was still a blur for several minutes. I could feel a
soft surface beneath me that was similar to the bed in my suite. A hazy light
was pouring into the room, I assumed through a window. But it was hard to tell
at first. I could feel a breeze brushing gently across my skin and wondered if
the window was open. I blinked my eyes slowly and squinted them several times
to try to get the after effects of the blackout to go away. The sunlight was
too bright, so I turned away to face a darker part of the room. A figure moved
in the shadows catching me a little off guard, but I couldn’t tell who or what
it was.

“Sam?” I spoke cautiously, pushing myself up a little in
the bed. My muscles ached, and I could feel something strange on my back.

“Who is Sam?” I heard a man’s voice I didn’t recognize.

I tried not to act startled by the stranger’s presence but
shifted a little uneasily as my vision finally began to clear through the fog.

“Who are you?” I asked. The man was still standing in the
few shadows the room offered, off in a corner.

After a few seconds, he stepped into the light and didn’t
need to answer my question. It was Mallock. “Now do you know who I am?” he
asked in a kind voice.

All of my muscles tensed up. My first thought was to jump
across the room and kill him. He noticed my fists tighten and extended a hand.

“I come to speak to you in peace, Finn. I mean you no
harm,” he insisted. His black, flowing robe reminded me of a priest’s garments.
His hair, too, was thick and dark. My mind flashed back to the first day I’d
seen him, standing on top of the processing building as I was taken in by the
guards.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “What do you want?” I
didn’t try to hide any irritation or contempt. I was angry, over the way he had
treated the people were treated, how the innocent were kept underground as
slaves or made to fight like dogs.

“Only to talk,” he answered, moving across the floor as if
floating. He sat down on a cream-colored armchair across from the bed and
crossed his legs in a business-like fashion. He seemed to sense my animosity.

“Why should I listen to you?” I blurted. “You kill
innocent people and force millions to live like slaves.”
 

He let out a short laugh. It was the first time I’d ever
seen him smile. “Finn, I’m afraid you have been gravely misinformed.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen the city.
I’ve been in the prison. I know what you have done to this place and it’s
citizens.”
 

“Oh, I’m afraid you’re wrong. No one is truly innocent,
not in this galaxy anyway. Everyone has their sins, no matter how secret and
deeply hidden they may be.”
 
I
listened patiently, despite every urge in my body telling me to leap across the
room and rip his throat out. I wanted to see where he was going with his
banter, and, moreover, why he desired to speak to me. “Your friend, Jonas, has
been filling you with lies, Finn. He’s done that to many of the people of
Sideros.”