Chapter 3
Talear
Town of Mombassa
Nestled near the base of an imposing desert fortress, with ridged mountains towering in the background, Mombasa stood as a beacon of life and commerce amidst the endless dunes.
The town buzzed with activity, a vibrant hub where traders, travelers, and townsfolk converged.
Narrow dusty streets were lined with stalls and shops, their colorful awnings flapping in the desert breeze.
The air hummed with the clamor of merchants hawking their wares, spices, textiles, fresh vegetables and handcrafted goods.
Townsfolk eyed Reyne with a mix of skepticism and curiosity as he navigated the throng of activity with practiced ease. Although they didn’t know who—or what—he was, he somehow stood out despite his best attempts to blend in.
“Hey lover, how about a quick tumble?” suggested a lovely dark-haired woman with brightly colored skirts and a loosened waist cincher.
A lewd smile touched her painted lips as she lowered her bodice until an ample breast spilled out.
She gave her dark nipple a playful pinch. “I’ll make it worth it. I promise.”
Reyne peered down at the gaudy courtesan. He adored women, loved sex and intimacy, but he had never paid for the pleasure in his twenty-eight years, and he had no plans to start now. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the time today to treat you the way you deserve. Another time, perhaps.”
With a saucy pout, she tugged up her threadbare bodice and began glancing around the busy street for another potential customer.
After tethering his mount in his stall, he stoked the beast’s muzzle and offered his favorite treat, a piece of juicy fruit.
He paid the stable master and began the final stretch to Mordrick’s lair—his home—on foot.
It wasn’t a long stretch, but the blazing sun could make the short trek dangerous if one wasn’t careful.
Especially on cloudless days, like today.
Reyne re-wrapped the scarf he had loosened when he entered the partially shaded town, leaving only his eyes exposed to the elements. With a tug, he pulled the drab hood over his head for extra protection from the blistering rays.
The orange orb began to dip toward the horizon as he approached a rickety bridge in obvious need of repair.
Reyne groaned.
Sitting on a wooden stool beneath the bridge was Kildar, the self-appointed bridge custodian.
Noticing Reyne’s approach, the wizened elder abandoned the shade offered by the bridge, covered his head with the hood of his drab robe and climbed the sandy embankment with the help of his crooked cane.
“You there,” said Kildar in a voice weakened by age.
“If you want to cross this bridge you’ll need to pay a toll.
And in return, I will tell you a story.”
Reyne didn’t have time for the daft man’s tragic tale of woe. He had heard it so many times over the last eight years, he could recite it with little effort. Not to mention, the entire history lesson was common knowledge.
He contemplated darting past him. It wasn’t like the old geezer could catch him. Nor would he remember this encounter come morning. The teetering old man was senile as hell.
Instead, Reyne considered the elders unrelenting pride and desperate need for money. He sighed, and pulled out a silver tokenek, pressing it into the man’s wrinkled palm. “Please, tell me your tale.”
Appreciation shone in Kildar’s hazy blue eyes. He slid the precious coin into his pocket and cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t know it by looking, but a thriving river once flowed here.”
Reyne peered at the dried riverbed below the bridge. Nothing but scattered weathered rocks, deep splintering cracks and drifting sand stretched as far as the eye could see.
It was a depressing sight to behold.
“You see that black monstrosity over there.” Kildar pointed a decrepit finger towards a jutting black fortress rising from the dunes.
“Once, long ago, before the beloved royal bloodline died out, water gushed from a spring and spilled down the southern side, providing towns and villages along the river and tributaries with precious water.”
“What happened?” Reyne humored him. The blathering man was an annoyance, but harmless, lonely and desperate for conversation.
“Those evil overlords happened, that’s what.
The ones who steal our throne with bloodshed and violence,” he explained to Reyne with a sad expression and a shake of his head, eyes downcast. “It was Methan, you see. He was a brutal ruler. A tyrant. He weaponized the Ramachii, using them to terrorize the people into compliance.”
“Ramachii? What about them?” Reyne asked, glad his hooded robe hid his identity.
“The Order of the Ramachii, once known as the Bringers of Justice. For thousands of years, they served our rulers and ensured peace. You see, the Ramachii were once Talear’s most heroic protectors, but now.
” He paused to let out a strained cough.
“Now, the once revered order is referred to as the Bringers of Death.”
“Is that so,” Reyne muttered under his breath. Although he despised that moniker, he would admit it was fitting. Afterall, most of his brethren were chosen because they had no qualms about skirting an archaic code designed to keep their power in check.
“What happened to the river?”
“With constant threat of attacks from both Valerians and the first rebellion, Methan commissioned the construction of a shield matrix to protect his fortress. However, to ensure its effectiveness, it was recommended by the designers that the spring should be sealed off at its source.”
Which Methan did without hesitation or consideration for his people, Reyne knew. He was aware of his moon’s history. It was soon afterwards that Talear would become dependent on the overlords for water. Enslaved to those who controlled the water supply.
“Thank you, Kildar.” Reyne prepared to stride past him, more than ready to resume his hasty trek home, when he halted. “Tell me old man, why do you sit here, day after day, sharing your tales with every weary traveler who passes by?”
The old man lifted his cane and pointed the worn tip towards the looming fortress and smiled, causing the wrinkles around his eyes to deepen. “Because one day, water is going to flow again, and I want to be right here when it does.”
Reyne rolled his eyes. It would be a cold day in hell before that would ever happen. But he respected the man for his optimism, even if it verged on delusional.
He bade Kildar a swift farewell and crossed the weather-worn bridge with a quickened stride.
A gust of wind hissed, whipping up a fury of twisting sand.
Reyne tugged the cowl lower and ducked his head as he trudged through the swirling vortex.
He released a sigh of immense relief when he reached his private entrance at the base of the impenetrable shield.
It had been designed so the Ramachii could use stealth to come and go, completing their nefarious deeds without notice or question.
With a quick sprint, he sped across the threshold and into a dimly-lit chamber, no larger than a modest storage space.
Its oppressive gloom was punctuated by the dull, metallic sheen of the two imposing steel doors, one at each end.
The walls were adorned with small, blinking indicator lights that cast a faint, eerie glow on the otherwise featureless surfaces.
Once free of the afternoon heat and unrelenting sun, Reyne removed his hood and unraveled the scarf, taking a long, deep satisfying breath. “Checking in.” He announced to whomever was listening in the control room.
“Hold for authorization,” a commanding voice rattled from the comm. center. The door closed behind him with a grinding clank, locking him inside.
“Is this truly necessary?” Reyne asked in a tone laced with impatience. Under normal circumstances, the time it would take for a scan wouldn’t bother him, but today he was in a rush. “You know it’s me. I promise, I’m not a rebel attempting to infiltrate the fortress.”
“Reyne, you know the door won’t open without proper identification. I have no control.”
He knew that, of course. If he didn’t pass the scan, lethal gas would fill the chamber, rendering him dead within minutes. Many rebels had died that way, but he had no worries.
Reyne would pass, he always did.
A horizontal sliver of green light appeared at the top of his head.
The scanner, a thin horizontal slit, emitted a faint, unsettling hum as it moved downward with methodical precision to his waist, then back to his head to verify the implant embedded in his bicep.
“All clear.”
The opposite metal door cranked open with a gradual clink and grind.
He strode into a darkened underground corridor.
A familiar dank musky odor greeted his nostrils.
Despite the technological advances over the years, the lower half of the fortress remained archaic, lit only by flickering torches that lined the dampened walls.
Running his fingers through his thick ebony hair, he felt gritty sand beneath his fingertips and cringed.
A bath couldn’t come soon enough. His pace quickened as he jaunted up the steep carved stairs that led to the upper levels.
When he reached his floor, he headed towards his personal chambers, making it halfway before the echo of hurried footsteps drew close.
Spinning around, he caught sight of a balding man clutching his drab robes so they didn’t drag the floor. Despite being out-of-breath, he clambered towards Reyne in an obvious rush.
“Not now, Magnius.”
“Mordrick is waiting for you.” Magnius approached him, a sneer on his moon-rounded face. “He is more impatient than usual. You would do well to seek him out immediately.”
“Oh really?” Reyne despised this man. His skulking presence annoyed him. He jammed the button and the door to his chambers hissed open. Without a backwards glance, he crossed the threshold. “He can wait a little while longer.”
“But you don’t understand...”