Part 1 Chapter 2

The road was easy. The soldiers had removed many trees around this area in order to minimize the chance of an ambush. Stumps and small shrubs dotted the otherwise bare green scenery. His horse trotted along at a brisk pace. The pounding of hooves put the rider into a trance. The waste spread out before him again, the dull gray and muddy land. The knight clad in black was waiting for him. “Welcome back, Calvin.” The trance seemed too real. Calvin could no longer feel the horse underneath him, no longer hear its hoof-beat. “I do not wish to test you with the shades. Come at me at your full strength.” Calvin was more than happy to oblige.

            The two clashed blades yet again. This time Calvin held the advantage; his experience from their last duel and the whole of his strength available allowed him to fight for longer. Calvin noticed that the black knight was not using his full strength. He was still not match for this knight. The battle would end the same way. The knight played with his foe, dodging each blow deftly. The way the knight dodged reminded Calvin of how Tyrell was able to skate around through a crowd. The knight used his sword to toss a clump of mud at Calvin’s face. The mud mixed with his hair, matting it down across his eyes. “You need shorter hair.” The knight said, taking great measures to cleave off a large chunk of Calvin’s hair. The mercenary struggled to keep pace with the knight.

            Though he dodged and fought his foe off, the knight kept on the attack. He punched Calvin in the chest and tugged on his hair. Calvin roared as the knight swung his blade. Calvin broke the grip and twisted out of range. Or so he thought. A black glob of hair fell to the ground. “If you cannot toy with and utterly dominate your foes, you will stand no chance against me. Fight. Kill. Get stronger.” Calvin ran forward enraged. A black claw cloaked the knights left arm. He stabbed his hand forward at Calvin, impaling him.

            Calvin shook himself awake. The horse had made it in sight of Atlantis, but was now at a lazy pace. Calvin ran his hands through his hair and noticed it was actually shorter. His ‘dream’ had been something more. But he did not know what. He decided it was best to put off thinking about that until he returned from Atlantis. And after a proper haircut.

            The city guard of Atlantis was strict, unfriendly, and sometimes rude. Each one normally had only one of these characteristics. Today Calvin got the guard that was all three and more. “Halt! None shall pass without papers.” Something resembling a voice assaulted Calvin’s ears. He assumed it was a side effect of the size of the guard’s nose. Calvin reached into his pack and handed the papers to the guard. He became indignant. He pushed his chest out and pointed his nose upward. “Dismount your horse and show respect for the Atlantian Guard!” Calvin glared back at the man. “I said. Dis-Mount!” The guard reached for his sword. Calvin complied. Landing with a thud, he marched as loudly as he could up to the guard. He stood easily three heads taller than the Atlantian. “Here are my papers.” Calvin said. Everything he did was to intimidate this puny man that had bothered to cross him. The guard turned his nose up even higher when he read the reason for his business.

            “Pft! Leave this place, mercenary! We don’t want or need your kind.” Mercenaries were not liked. But Calvin wanted to make sure that this man had reason to fear this mercenary. “You see, little man, I was called here by none other than your commander.” He pointed to the papers in the soldier’s hand. “If you could read in the slightest, you would know that.” The shorter man attempted to push Calvin. He didn’t budge. “I demand your respect, mercenary! I am your better, you lowlife, mud-born, whore-raised, gutter-fiend!” Calvin respected his vocabulary in a morbid kind of way. But Calvin had some choice words of his own. He bent over to whisper into his ear. “If you don’t want my help, I’ll gladly leave. But come crying to me when your nose doesn’t win the war, and I’ll chop it off.” Calvin couldn’t tell if his words had angered him or embarrassed him. The man whispered back. “Fine. But keep your excrement in the pot, barbarian. I can smell it on your breath.” Calvin figured that was a fair enough trade of insults and entered the gates.

            The first thing to meet his eyes was the market. And it wasn’t even market day. Brightly colored cloth decorated the canopy of most stalls. An assortment of various fruits and vegetables, mostly fresh, were laid out before him. Choosing to head straight for the keep, he pushed past or knocked over shoppers and progressed towards the palace. A young child ran into him. Calvin knew the boy was not a pickpocket, but he still backhanded the boy. The child lay crying on the cobblestone. “Stay out of my way, urchin!” Calvin said. The voice that haunted him returned. “Well done. You struck out at a defenseless child. You may have the heart to be a warrior yet.” There was no hint of sarcasm or distain. Only genuine commendation.

            The march up the path to the palace was uneventful. The cheerful plants and multi-colored flowers seemed to deny the fact that a war lay on the Atlantian’s doorstep. When he eventually did reach the top, Calvin’s mannerisms changed. The Royal Col Guard ruled the land beyond this point. Even at his strongest and most aggressive, Calvin would not pick a fight with the Royal Guard. A City Guard was weak in will and strength. A Royal Guard was not. Their unmoving eyes seemed to see all in their domain. Since their founding during the First Empire, not one has failed in letting a foe escape death or imprisonment. Their daily training put the Aeon hazing of new recruits to shame. Only those who survive initiation and a month of training can become a Royal Guard. The fatalities and drop-out rates were high.

            A special method of forging the royal steel armor made it just about invincible. Apparently, Col had gained access to the Oricalcum demon forge. Oricalcum was an ancient metal thought to come from demon’s bone. Whatever the case, a small bit of Oricalcum strengthen the metal mixture ten-fold. Sunlight glinted off the dark gray armor as Calvin approached. “Papers.” One word was enough to strike fear in Calvin’s soul. He calmed himself and handed over his documents. “You may pass.” The man said. The soldier pivoted to allow Calvin entrance. “Mind yourself, mercenary.” This man spoke with more respect than the previous guard. It meant Calvin was viewed as a threat. He moved briskly, accompanied by a squire. The guards were watching him; at every turn, before every door, and dotting the hallways. The giant felt small.

            “This is the power of a true warrior.” The voice said. “A power that not even you test. It shows that you are on equal level with them. Temperance is key to victory.” Seeming contradictions appeared in almost everything the voice said. Temperance leads to victory, but he was commended for striking a child? Calvin hated being confused. The lad spoke up as they approached a door with two guards before it. “Right’a this way, sir. Gen’ral Norton’ll see you yonder.”

            “For the love of Marquee Rodah – the great Lord or whatever; boy, I hate your voice. Your diction is also abysmal. And do not get me started on that pathetic excuse for grammar I just heard. It is ‘General Norton’, not ‘Gen’ral’. Understood?!” The squire cringed but nodded. “Yessir, General.” The man began to rub his forehead. “Just leave.” The boy left before the General finished. “General Norton, I presume?” The man was taller than Calvin imagined, but still about a head shorter than Calvin. Norton’s brown hair was cut short. The man wore the royal armor, but he had the waist coat and cape dyed brown. It made him stand out from the rest of the guards. Hopefully that was a good thing.

            The General wasted no time in getting to business. “I hate presumptions. What do you want? Are you a jester, poet, performer or the like?”

            “A mercenary.”

            “Same difference. I still hate you.” He turned and motioned for Calvin to follow. The General led the mercenary to a table with a map. “How much of my letter could you read?”

            “I had some help, but I managed to get to the sketches. I thought the flower was beautifully illustrated.” The General glared up at him. “I feared the few lines before them would stump you worthless sell-swords. I’m glad to know it helped.” He pointed to the southern capital, Syl. “This is where they are based. I want to march in three days. Can you assist?”

            “I was sent by my leader to see if you are worthy of the Aeons’ blades.” Calvin said. The general snorted. “Clever.” Then he snapped. “I hate clever. How much do you want?” Calvin shook his head. “You don’t understand, Sir. I cannot make that decision.” He was at the end of his fragile patience. “Pah! Fine.” He pointed to a few other positions and thought about what to do about them. “If you are here to shop for contracts, leave. My offer was stated in the contract.”

            “You drew a line for the amount.”

            “Exactly,” Norton said, “I left it blank. Take what you want; Col has the resources.” The voice returned. “Fighting for fame and money, or the chance to kill rebels?” Calvin, his anger rising, gave in to the voice’s prodding. “We get a flat thousand upon hiring. Three hundred coins, plus whatever upkeep is needed on our supplies, per day. I also get three coins per head, and another seven for each commander I kill.” General Norton nodded. “You will have it. I wish to speak to your commander before the march, however.” Calvin nodded at the General. He opened his mouth to say something when a loud ringing spread across the city. Several green flares shot up into the skyline. Norton sputtered out a stream of curses and ran to the window. 

            After another round of vivid expletives, the General ran out of the room. He kept calling for the troops to rally and to meet him at the South gate. This was all intermixed with his standard cursing and complaining. Calvin followed. The General stood on top of the South wall, watching a small group of soldiers run towards him. “The third unit of Imperial Dragoons. They abandoned us for the rebels.” The General sighed. “I hate Dragoons. I can’t kill what I cannot hit.” He scratched his head and thought for a moment. “Mercenary. I propose a test.” Calvin nodded, but was listening to the voice of the black knight again. “See the leader, the one with the spear? Kill him.” Calvin’s mind wandered to the battle, him feeling his blade strike the flesh of the commander.

            “…will you do it?” Calvin nodded. “No charge.” He pointed to the commander. “But that one is mine.” Norton agreed. “Kill away then.”

            “I’ll show you what an Aeon is capable of.” With that, he left the wall and stood at the gate. “Go. Kill them all. Leave none alive.”

            “As you wish.” Calvin said to the voice. A soldier called from above. “Oi! The gates be openin’ now! All soldiers, Opal Position! General’s orders!” A small detachment of soldiers lined up beside Calvin. Opal Position was the command given when the soldiers need to defend the gate until it can be closed again. Calvin readied himself to jump into the fray. The voice kept repeating its demands: kill, get stronger, more. Calvin was going to obey.

            The gate began to swing open. As soon as he could fit through, Calvin rushed out. The Col guard followed shortly after. The Dragoons could jump the wall if they wanted. Calvin hesitated. What if they didn’t want to fight him? He was nowhere near fast enough to keep up with a Dragoon. The voice drowned out his worries and hesitations. Calvin resumed his sprint, unsheathing his blade mid stride. He let his sword hang just above the ground. The enemy in front of him paused and readied themselves.

            The gate slammed shut, leaving Calvin alone. Multiple Dragoons took to the skies in great leaps to close the large gap between the opposing sides. A grim smile darted across Calvin’s face. The Dragoons were not focused on taking Atlantis, they would land nowhere near the walls. They were intent on killing Calvin. And that was just what he wanted.