Page 22 of Alien Knight Steals the Bride

This time the other guard, younger and almost frail looking, snickered, “Clean the floors? You must be joking. Filthy maggot, you’re so disgusting, you’d make them worse.”

The older guard glared at his partner, “Shut your mouth, Rufis. Don’t go borrowing trouble.” He turned back to Torrin with much less force and said almost kindly, “Go on with you, now. Clean up crew’s already been hired for the day, so you need to turn around and go back where you came from.”

Torrin bobbed his head vigorously. “I clean floors. Crew.”

The older man eyed Torrin, then shook his head sadly and sighed before turning to open the door. “Every parade day some young fool tries to come through the back, thinking to do the impossible. I tried to get you to go. I tried. You want in?” He motioned for Torrin to proceed, “we’ve got orders to let all visitors in on parade days. They think it’s entertaining. Head down the stairs. You’ll find what you’re looking for down there.”

Torrin didn’t hesitate. He kept up the fake persona, stumbling through the entrance in case this was some sort of test. Only when the door slammed shut behind him did he straighten and drop the act. Shedding the stinking fur-like overcoat, he tossed it into the corner. The hall was eerily empty. Not a single person stood in his way.

The guard outside said to go downstairs, but then he had assumed that Torrin was there for whatever was awaiting the people after the parade. He didn’t care about any of that. He was there only to retrieve a missing Lumerian artifact. An orb, stolen from Lumeria and traded on the black market. That was his only mission. Then he could return to Juliette and set things right between them.

Rather than go downstairs, as instructed, he crept through the halls on silent feet, ready to fight his way to the orb if necessary, every sense on high alert. As he passed one empty hall after another, he realized no one was going to stop him. It seemed everyone was occupied with the parade.

Quickly, up the grand staircase he went, his only weapon speed and hand to hand combat skills. Those would have to be enough. Only citizens of Cappra were allowed to have weapons, so no one was allowed to leave the space port without passing through a security check.

Room after room he searched, silently opening doors and rummaging through each one, looking for hidden doors, closets, drawers. Anywhere that could potentially hide the orb, careful to leave the rooms looking undisturbed. Lavishly decorated, as befitted an Intergalactic Ambassador, Torrin cared nothing for the elaborate crystal chandeliers or cozy fireplaces, barely taking note of the finely crafted furnishings.

About halfway through searching the rooms on that floor, he was about to enter another when he paused, every cell in his body, every sixth sense he had, screaming that this room was different. Dangerous. Occupied.

Backing away from the door, he silently stepped to the side, crouching low. Whatever or whoever was inside was very dangerous. Lethal. Torrin scratched at the bottom of the door, hoping to fool whoever was inside into thinking a rodent was chewing at the door. In a palatial structure of this size, animal infestations would be a constant concern.

When there was no response, he scratched again, this time a little louder. From the other side of the door, he heard heavy footsteps. The door opened and he wasted no time entering the room, taking the large Vilitos guard by surprise. He didn’t stop to wonder why an Ambassador of Cappra would hire the lizard-faced mercenary. He didn’t have time to care. With a shove to the guard’s shoulder and a sweeping kick behind the knee, Torrin pushed the giant creature off balance, followed by a swift, powerful fist to the throat.

The Vilitos went down hard, dropping his Ziphrion blaster to clutch his damaged windpipe, struggling for breath. “Lumerian filth,” he choked out, “they’ll come for you.”

Torrin grabbed the blaster before the Vilitos had time to recover, shooting him in the leg. “More like you?” he snarled, all the pain and anger at his previous imprisonment reflected in his voice. “I think I’d like that. And I’m not Lumerian.”

Howling in pain, the guard swung his tail at Torrin, curling inward. “Fool. You don’t even know what you are.”

“Where’s the orb?” Torrin fired back impatiently, dodging the tail.

The guard hissed. “Let’s make a deal.”

“Never. I know all about Vilitos deals. You make promises on both sides of the table, then later betray whomever you think is on the losing side. You have no honor.”

“Honor is for fools. We survive. That’s all that matters,” the Vilitos hissed again, lunging toward Torrin with death in his eyes.

With one final blast to the head, Torrin dispatched his enemy with deadly accuracy.

Searching the room as quickly as he was able, he grew more and more frustrated. He’d scoured over and under all the furnishings, looking for clues. Nothing. “There’s something here,” he murmured under his breath, “I know it. The only place I haven’t looked is under the floor.”

He carefully looked around again, this time paying attention to creaking floorboards. There! He stepped back, then forward again over the same spot. He’d missed the tiny noise the first time. Kneeling down, he put his ear near the creaky floorboard and began gently pushing different spots. At last, he heard a small click.Clever. Too much pressure and it stays locked, so walking over it won’t release the mechanism. Only a tiny amount of pressure releases the lock.

Torrin lifted his finger off the floorboard, and sure enough, the whole piece popped up. Beneath the floorboard was a switch. He flipped the switch and a hidden staircase leading down below the floor began to appear.

Holding the Ziphrion blaster he’d snatched from the guard, he silently made his way down the stairs. Anything could be down there. Anyone.

The room was empty except for dozens of shipping containers. The Lumerian Orb he’d been searching for was in the third container. No larger than a child’s marble, he knew the power it held, and was careful while handling it. The orb wouldn’t activate without instructions, but he didn’t want to risk breaking the small artifact through carelessness. Tucking the orb into his pocket, he turned to leave when a flash, or perhaps a reflection of light, caught his eye.

There, laying on the floor, covered in dust, was an old sword. The blade was semi-liquid, with ancient runes engraved down the center. “A Lumerian sword,” he breathed reverently. Falden had encouraged him to choose a sword from the many they’d recovered over the centuries, as was tradition when becoming a Knight, but Torrin had never been interested in any of them. They were just as beautiful, perhaps even more so than the one he stared at now, but this one pulled at him. He longed to hold it. Knew in his heart this was the sword meant for him. This was his choice.

Wrapping his hand around the pommel, he lifted the blade. Aloud, he said the traditional words of choosing. “From this day forward, be you willing, I would use the gifts you bestow to right only wrongs, carry you upon my back, raise your blade in times of war, and name you mine until my final breath.”

If the sword chose him as well, there would be a sign of some sort. A zap. A ping. A flash of light. Something. He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. Nothing. Lowering the blade in disappointment, he was unprepared for the massive shock wave that hit him square in the chest, lifting him off his feet and throwing him across the room. He slammed against the wall, his head smashing into the hard concrete.

Torrin fought to stay awake, his vision swimming in and out of focus. He was pretty sure his head was bleeding, but he didn’t have the energy to check.

Black boots entered his line of sight. Black, just like Falden’s. Lumerian armor, flickering in and out of sight, swam into view; came closer. Knelt in front of him. Funny, he didn’t remember Falden’s armor looking quite so ancient. And his eyes were the wrong color. Still a big fucker though, he mused.

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