Abbalar Tales ~ 16

 Abbalar Tales ~ 16 Orden’s Gambit

By Len Morgan

Dawn broke and the scoreboard showed 21-23, there were four points available for a win in the final event, ‘The Duel’, and Aldor needed a win to clinch the contest.   On the other hand, Angxy only needed a draw to reach 25 points and victory.   The contestant with the highest number of points got to choose weapons for the final event and Angxy chose the ScY.    Aldor had been drilled in its use over and over; its intricacies had been rammed down his throat until he could recite them in his sleep.   But, it was not a weapon that existed on Abbalar so it offered a definite advantage to Angxy.   Aldor tested its weight manipulating it with intricacy in his hands and in the air.  It was a duelling weapon and a throwing weapon in one.   They faced off with the two-handed crescent blades, measuring each other's stance.   His opponent moved, and he felt the weight of his first blow.   He sidestepped and countered, in a single movement, landing a blow of equal strength.   They separated and he looked into his opponent's eyes.   The body was bog-standard and would tell him nothing, the clothes at least were unique, but the eyes were an indicator of the mind behind the body.   Orden had warned him never to be surprised or awed by anything he saw, but the twinkling delight in those eyes almost brought him to a standstill.   He nearly failed to move at all as a heavy overhead blow threatened to split him vertically in two.   At the last instant, he dropped and rolled towards his opponent, who hopped neatly over his moving form.

“Nice try sprout,” he said.

For the second time in the contest, he froze for an instant and the blade sliced through the flesh of his calf.

“First blood” the judge’s voice resounded and the scoreboard showed 21-24. 

 He squeezed the wound together, hobbled to his feet, still stanching the blood, and backing away.

Angxy closed in for the kill, his blade raised for the strike high above his head.   Aldor’s blade caught him just above the waist, scything him in two, 25-24 said the scoreboard.   He had won!    In truth, he knew the advantage in this event had always been with him.   Angxy was a being from a heavy world.   He was used to working with, powerful rhythmic movements, what Aldor called ponderous.   He had used similar moves to defeat Orden when they sparred.   Orden had never learned to change his style in thousands of years so he had not expected Angxy to do so in a matter of days.  The Arena faded like a dream and he slept briefly...

   He awoke with a start, grabbing at his damaged calf, he was back in his room but had only a phantom ache to remind him of the wound; and it quickly passed.

.-…-.

  During his waking hours he worked closely with Orden, completing his final tasks swiftly, and with an ease that comes naturally to the young.

It was with pride, therefore, after trouncing Orden at 'Kingdoms' for the hundredth time, that he accepted a gift from his mentor.   It was a thin five-inch spiked blade with a transparent crystalline hilt, containing an opaque iridescent metallic gold fluid, in a slim white wood case.  

"Place this beside your bed as you sleep tonight," Orden instructed, "we will have need of it in the morning."

As he slept, his dreams were particularly vivid.   It seemed as if the whole universe was at the ceremony to witness him Join the "Hive Matrix" and take the oath of brotherhood...

.-…-. 

In the morning he awoke to the familiar aroma of Orden's cooking.   He shared a repast with his mentor, relating to him the details of his dream.

Orden had been there as a witness, but would not dampen his exuberance. 

"You have done well sprout!   Be so good as to fetch the artefact you left by your bedside at my behest."

Aldor did so, handing over the syringe without a second thought.

"Do not think badly of me.   You still have to be finished, and there is no easy way for me to accomplish what I now have to do," he said, plunging the needle deep into Aldors chest. The fluid entered his body and started working instantly.  

The young mans face turned towards Orden in disbelief.   Hurt and betrayal both, played fleetingly on his face, as fire erupted in his veins and ice formed at his extremities.   He felt consciousness ebbing away.   He struggled to focus his mind.   His body began to stiffen as the rigours began, and his muscles turned to stone.

"I am dying, what have you done to me?" he croaked, his eyes added a silent 'WHY?'    His lids stayed open, unmoving, his eyes accusing, full of emotion, pain, and hurt but his condition had already progressed beyond that.

 

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan