It was the swishing of the door that alerted Markus to the intruder in the room. He’d been laying on the bed for the last hour attempting sleep, but his thoughts were keeping him awake. He supposed that was a good thing as he laid there listening to the almost silent footfalls coming toward him.
A moment later, Markus felt a presence at his back towering over him. There was a hesitation that came with wanting to check to make sure the person you were attempting to sneak up on was still unaware of what you were doing. Between that moment and the attacker’s next movement, Markus acted.
He had been prepared for such a thing. It was the whole reason for getting caught, making sure the interview didn’t go well, and being tossed in this highly uncomfortable cell for however long it was he’d been here. As far as he could tell it had been almost two days, which meant Zorren’s people had certainly taken long enough to respond to Markus’s capture.
Markus knew he’d be at a disadvantage, because the person would be more equipped than he, but a well placed hit in the solar plexus was always a good way to put anyone off balance whether they were armed or not. But with his back turned, he didn’t see exactly where the intruder was, so once again he found himself relying on his other senses, which had given him a fairly good idea of where to strike.
So when Markus twisted around on his cot to throw a punch across his body and into the intruder, it hit the mark, at least enough to get the person to stumble backward and cause an object to clatter noisily to the floor. Good enough. It gave Markus time to spring out of his bed and press an advance on the intruder.
The other man in the room didn’t stay off balance long, and he met Markus with a jab with his right index and middle finger. It was a signature quat-lo move, and Markus met it with his own move of that discipline with a hook and cross of his right arm, while once again aiming for the solar plexus, but this time with the side of his left palm.
The intruder managed to block Markus with a body cross and a strike toward the side of his neck. Markus swerved with the twist of his hips and brought around a powerful blunt punch to the face that actually connected, and sent the intruder backwards once more.
Markus smirked, “You weren’t expecting a full punch in the face, were you?”
It was obvious that this man was trained at the College, which also meant that said man would be fighting with a combined mix of combat arts of quat-lo and other more dignified kinds of fighting that could even be found in the Vanguard albeit with a different blend of fighting arts. But it was Markus’s time in the fighters’ circle with the usually superior sized Fazha that taught him that unpredictability, raw brutality, and even the tried and true power of the mighty fist were far more effective than all his training in the Vanguard and Protectorate.
While his opponent recovered, it gave Markus his first real opportunity to get a good look at the intruder. He was dressed in a black body suit and mask, and Markus noticed right away the intruder’s tall and slender stature much like the attacker from the chalet. It was a high probably that this was the same person. He certainly fought like the man Markus had clashed with earlier in the week.
The intruder gained his feet quickly, and now brandished a pair of curved blades called carvots that were made especially for hooking into the skin and spilling out as much of the muscles, tissues, and organs as possible. Markus turned his body to the side to make less of a target. The other man dashed forward and Markus was ready for him.
Naturally, it was never a good thing to be in a fight with only barehands, while your opponent was well armed. This put the advantage squarely on your opponent's side. But Markus had learned over the years that such a one-sided fight could be overcome.
In the Vanguard, he had been taught to use quick, unexpected movements and to come up with a rapid strategy to disarm your opponent as quickly as possible to level out the odds. In the Protectorate, he had been taught quat-lo, which automatically assumes that the person you are fighting against already has an advantage over you in some form or other. So the specific movements and strikes taught are for the sole purpose of giving those in the Protectorate the advantage of knowing a discipline that most the people in the Empire simply do not have the privilege to train in.
But at some point during his time in the Program, Markus realized that his specialized training wouldn’t help much against others who had gone through the same training as well. It was one of the reasons he’d been eager to seek out other types of fighting beyond what the College offered, and why he’d gone to Cresta after he left Sora X. And in that time, he’d also run across a group of outlaws who specialized in knife fighting. Markus had readily pitted himself against them many times just so he could learn how to win this sort of fight without completely relying on what he was taught in the Vanguard or Protectorate.
So as his opponent stood there with his double blades, and most likely thinking he had the upper hand, Markus grinned. The other thing he did was to tap into the reservoir of anger that he could always readily pull from. It was like he was a thirsty man who hadn’t had a nice cold drink in weeks.
As the customary feeling of cold calculating fury swept over him, a series of movements flickered through his mind showing Markus exactly how to disarm and incapacitate his foe, and then he acted.
In the space between one breath and the next, Markus jabbed at the intruder like he was going for a throat punch, but before the hit could land, and while the knives were coming up to defend, Markus twisted around so he was now coming at the right side, and landed the side of his palm in a cutting motion at his opponent’s lower right ribcage, exactly where the liver was located. It didn’t matter how tough you were, a hit like that immediately caused a person to seize up in a temporary paralysis.
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It was short work to relieve the man of his weapons with precision blows on each wrist, and then to deliver that throat punch Markus had promised earlier, which now felled the man directly to the ground. He kicked one of the blades under the bed so neither of them could get it, swiped up the other one, and held it to the intruder’s throat with the hook ready to spill his lifeblood all over the dirty cell floor.
“Glad you could finally join me. I was thinking you lot were too scared to take me on,” Markus sneered at his captive.
He then grabbed the top of the mask of the intruder, and yanked it off. Markus was not surprised by the identity of the man under his knife. He had been expecting him, or one other.
“So you decided to go from Master Teacher to assassin? I’m disappointed in you Master Meh-len, though I doubt you will hold that title for much longer. I admit, I was expecting Gunther more than you. I thought you, at least, had common sense enough to not to strike out at a Protectorate client, especially one such as the Heir.”
“You’re assuming, of course, I was the one to do that. I could be working for the College, and was sent here to beat a confession out of you for the Heir’s location,” Meh-len growled.
Markus laughed dryly. “With two carvots? And do I see an injector there that dropped on the floor, which I bet is full of a lethal dose of some sort of toxin? Yeah, I don’t think so. Maybe if you came in with a stun baton, I might have believed that. So did Zorren order my death himself, or was he a coward about it, and delivered the order through someone else? Wait, don’t answer that, I bet I already know.”
He jerked backed Meh-len’s head and pressed the knife down enough to draw blood to make sure he had the man’s full attention. “What I really want to know is the names of everyone in your little team, because I know you aren’t working alone. You can start with the person or persons you are working with in Command.”
“Kill me, if you dare, Nador, but I’m not saying a word to you or anyone else.”
It was then that the door to Markus’s cell opened, causing him to look up in more than a little shock to see his father standing there with glowering eyes. The biggest shock of all was that the older man’s anger wasn’t directed at Markus for once, but the man he held under the knife.
“Oh, I think you will talk, sooner rather than later, Master Meh-len. Just so you know, I saw your assault of my son on the terminal that’s been monitoring this cell. You do realize that the attempted murder of a noble is a life sentence on the prison world of Korlax. Though, I think for you there will be a far heavier price to pay for trying to make a move against the Heir. I am certain the Emperor will take pleasure in seeing your execution through himself. So you will answer my son’s questions, and maybe, if you are fortunate, an arrangement can be worked out in your favor.”
There was deathly silence in the tiny cell for a long moment as no one spoke, and Markus wondered if Meh-len was actually considering to talk.
“Slit my throat, send me to Korlax, or deliver me directly to the White Palace yourself. I will not say a word,” Meh-len replied in a cold, hard voice.
Markus knew conviction when he heard it. In his time as interrogator, there were those who would talk easily, those who needed a little encouragement, and then those who stood strong no matter what you threw at them. Master Meh-len was certainly of the third kind, so Markus reached down to pinch the side of the Master’s neck, until the man slumped into unconsciousness.
His father looked at Markus incredulously. “Why did you do that?”
Markus shrugged as he pulled the knife away and allowed the Master’s body to hit the floor. “He wasn’t going to talk.”
Now that Meh-len was down and out, the full brunt of the King’s glowered landed squarely on Markus. “You don’t know that!”
“Yes, I do. I’ve done this a few times, pavi. I know when a man isn’t going to talk. Too bad, I’ve been waiting for days for someone to come at me. I was really hoping this would work.”
Markus leaned down and scooped up the injector. He checked the syringe. It was full of a crimson liquid. He carefully retracted the needle so he wouldn’t accidentally puncture himself and slipped the injector in a pocket. He then slipped the carvot into the waist of his pants with the black handle almost hidden against his black shirt and pants.
“To do what?” His father eyed Markus carefully from the door as Markus walked toward him.
“To draw Zorren out, but I still might be able to make this work. If you will help me?” Markus couldn’t believe he had said that last part, and from the look on his father’s face, he was sure pavi was thinking the same thing.
A long moment passed as the man stood there. A normal person accidentally shows the emotions of the thoughts he thinks, but not King Rainus Nador. He stood there like a statue barring Markus’s exit through the door as he most likely pondered Markus’s offer, or possibly was deciding how much to punish Markus for all he’d done since setting foot in the College, and especially abducting the Heir of the Empire.
“I came here for Adar’s location. Give me that, and I will help you do whatever it is you think you need to do,” his father said quietly. The glower was gone now, but Markus could feel the years of animosity between them hovering just out of sight like a bomb that might explode at any moment.
Markus lowered his voice so that hopefully the recording devices he knew were still picking up everything happening inside his cell would not hear what he said next. “It’s all connected, pavi, and I know you know it. Help me here, right now, and I promise I will take you directly to Adar myself.”
Most of the time, Markus shied away from being anything like his father, but Markus had always found the man’s ability to stay calm, cool, and almost entirely emotionless in any situation an admirable trait, at least when it wasn’t aimed at him. So it was one thing he had been determined to learn from his sire before they had parted ways. But now, Markus let all that training go as he stood in front of a man that he had taken great pains to shun for decades, so his father could see how serious he was about his intentions.
He let his determination show. But even more than that Markus let his anger, frustration, hope, and deep concern come out. It was all a whirling mass tied up in a knot, and all the things he’d felt since Adar had shown back up in his life. He could barely make sense of it all, and the worst of it was the terrible feeling like he was walking stark naked in a crowd. In front of his father, no less. And Markus found himself shutting it all back down almost as soon as he let it out. But it was enough.
King Rainus Nador was rocked backward like someone had slammed a punch in his gut, and for the first time in a long time, Markus saw an expression of compassion cross the old man’s face. It was there, and then it was gone. Like a whisper or a flittering dream. And then that always stoic look was back as if it had never left at all.
The King nodded to the man still sprawled out in Markus’s floor. “Bring him,” was all he said, and then his father whirled around and marched up the corridor beyond the cell.
For once in his life, Markus did exactly as his father asked of him without the normal surge of frustration or irritation following it, quietly slinging his burden over a shoulder and quickly followed in his elder’s footsteps.