Tales from the Drift: Old Lessons, Hard Futures

Chapter 7 - Slumguzzled

PLANET GAAMA-HELIKE // CITY OF TRISKALIA // MISSION TIME +27:01:09

"Zadru. Our quarry has taken the bait. Restrain yourself. My father wants him alive." The aristocratic liquid lilt in the man's voice was antithetical to the hard edges of his battle-worn armor.

"Uh, boss?" whispered Cort.

Okoda shook his head and shrugged. This, whatever it was, was beyond them. None of them had been trained to deal with kinetics, and that's what this man appeared to be.

He pushed back his cloak, allowing it to swell behind him. From his belt he removed two overlong and bladeless modular-looking hilts.

"Those look like...," started Miraj.

"Yeah. Yeah, they do," finished Okoda.

As the man turned himself around, Okoda huddled beside the rest of his squad, making sure that his assault cannon was nearby, but refusing to let go of Nono.

Whump.

The fog shifted. Another idaltu. His boots touched the pavement without so much as a sound. The shockwave of his landing was flattened and dispersed across the street, disturbing only ankles. His pale colored armor was dented and scorched, and the periwinkle robes he wore over it were stained and tattered. His look was shaggy and unkempt, his beard rough and unruly, but his bright, too-blue gaze stared at the waiting Norr kinetic with ferocious discipline.

"This ends here, Arrelas," his voice was proud and stern.

"House Corinth has fallen, Braste. Do us both a favor and accept that you've lost."

"I am House Corinth. It stands for as long as I do."

"You renounced your title and your claim. You have no house. You are an exile."

"Then why pursue me? Why follow me here? I am here to offer aid and assistance to those fleeing the skath. Why do you insist on interfering? Why prolong this conflict?"

"I have done little to prolong this... conflict. You refuse to surrender. Consider that."

"I will surrender myself to the Icosan Council, not to you. Not to House Norr."

"The hard way then. So be it." He dropped into an offensive stance, his wrists twitching forward ever so slightly. Bright white light ignited from the two hilts and instantly snapped into the shape of long, single-edged sword blades.

Arrelas Norr, son and heir to Lord Arr'el Norr, was, like his father, a kinetic. The Icosans called them Ether Adepts, an inexact and archaic title harkening back to the Imperium.

Okoda hadn't known and wasn't sure if it had even been a secret. Miraj was right, he needed to start keeping track of the Icosan Houses and their politicking.

Knowing had never been a priority. The Icosans, never mind House Norr, had little influence over his home system and his people. What few interactions he'd experienced were because of his service in the Gardai, and those were primarily limited to formal functions and honor guard details. Not combat support.

Braste sighed, a strange sadness sweeping across his features before solidifying into a mask of resolve. He answered Arrelas' offensive posture with a more relaxed stance. Two equally long blades of bright cyan light coalesced at either end of the much longer hilt that he gripped forming a double-bladed staff of sorts.

Arrelas didn't wait for the blades to finish forming, as soon as Braste sank into his stance, the young man moved. He catapulted himself into the air, arcing toward his opponent and launching into a series of vicious strikes and cuts.