Dragon (A Histories of Purga Novel)

Lord Guilder fought and struggled, but it was useless. The Imperial Guards were highly trained and each one was deadlier and more terrifying than ten soldiers in either the Royal Navy or the Royal Infantry. They held him restrained with ease. It didn’t stop him though. He kept up the struggle as he was brought to the lift. The stainless steel doors showed him his own pathetic reflection. He’d spent a lifetime on top and now he’d been torn down in less than an hour.

Because of that damned, blasted, brat Prince! he thought savagely to himself.

One of the Imperials stepped up to a screen to the right of the doors and laid his palm against it. A bright, electric blue light slid over it. Then there was a beep and the doors slid open. They “helped” the excommunicated Lord inside and then took positions on either side of him.

“Basement Level 3,” one of them said, speaking to the lift as he laid his hand on yet another biometric scanner centered above a panel of buttons. “Detention Sector 1.”

The lift whirred to life and started moving. It was a long, silent ride. Basement Level 3 was nearly five hundred feet beneath the surface. When it finally stopped and the doors opened, they ushered Lord Guilder into a plain, grey corridor. It was a short hallway and they came to its end within a minute or two. A solid, six-inch thick door made of cytium and iron blocked their progress.

One of them touched a finger to Lord Guilder’s mouth and the rectangle of metal burst into a little cloud of nanos. It immediately flew into a vent in the ceiling and disappeared. Soon, they would reach King Rowan and return to his mechpaks. Each tiny robot was programmed to return to their specific user the instant their configuration was terminated.

“Do not talk,” one of the Imperials told the Lord. His voice held no menace or threat, but it was forceful and commanded obedience. He turned to an intercom mounted to the wall next to the door and pressed a button. “Prisoner induction. Command 3579A-11. Authority, King Rowan Varlamagne.”

The Imperial stepped back and they all stood there for a moment, waiting.

A harsh buzz suddenly filled the air causing Lord Guilder to flinch involuntarily. A second later, the huge door sprang open.

A figure stood on the other side, dark cloak and hood hiding his features. In his right hand was an elongated, night-black blade. A cloud of nanos hovered near his left arm. The cloud’s shape changed, merging and condensing until it became a mace. He swung it on its chain, whirling it faster and faster.

Lord Guilder froze, his heart in his throat. He thought the figure was after him.

The Imperials, however, never hesitated. The minute they saw the figure, they leapt into action. One of them selected two blueprints and his nanos created a large shield over his right arm while the lower half of his left arm was swallowed up by a huge blaster with three barrels. He pointed it at the stranger. The other Imperial picked a blueprint that created a ridiculously huge sword made of blazing orange light.

The figure moved so fast, he was little more than a blur. He dodged a bright ray of blue light from the Imperial with the blaster and then quickly reversed direction to dodge the blow from the one with the huge sword. He plunged his blade into one Imperial’s chest and slammed the huge mace into the remaining one’s head. He pulled the blade back out, blood gleaming on its surface. There was a thump as the men fell to the ground.

Lord Guilder watched in pure amazement. The man had just dispatched two of the deadliest soldiers the Crown had to offer in seconds. And he did it with such absurd ease.

“What do you want?” Lord Guilder asked, his voice high with fear.

The figure said nothing. He merely glided forward eerily.

“Leave me alone!”

Lord Guilder tried to back away, but the figure sped forward and grabbed him. His hand was like an iron vice. His fingers dug into the meaty flesh just behind Lord Guilder’s neck.

“You have been wronged by the Varlamagnes, correct?” he asked. His voice was odd. Almost mechanical.

“I-I have,” Lord Guilder returned, thinking back on what the brat Prince had done to him. The humiliation, the outrage, and the nerve of Rone to trick him so badly that he was stripped of his title and his Upper Tier status was something that he knew he was never going to forget. It would fester inside his mind for the rest of his life.

“You want revenge?”

Lord Guilder hardly needed to think about it.

“Yes.”

“Then join my cause.”

The Lord’s fear melted away and something new crept in. Something that was familiar and comforting. It was the cruel, petty, eagerness at the possibility of revenge. He smiled. It was the same heartless smile he’d shown earlier.

The figure started walking away. He turned and looked back.

“I have blocked surveillance for the moment but it will not last forever. Pick up the trash and follow me,” he said.

The Lord did as he was commanded without hesitation. He went to the dead Imperials, picked them up, and draped them over his shoulders.

“I have a job for you,” the mysterious figure said.