He followed the guard through dark corridors. It was not that he did not know the way – Lakar spent most of his time in the Archaeologists repository, analyzing old documents, foreign artifacts, unearthed ancient mechanisms... But today, he had the opportunity to access the rooms with unusual, classified artifacts. More precisely, the artifacts that were deemed too dangerous for inexperienced historians.
Lakar was an odd fellow. He dedicated his entire life to studying and understanding history, but shortly after the beginning of his studies, he realized that focusing his studies on only one subject was not enough. How could he understand old tools and simple mechanisms without studying mechanics and engineering under the supervision of Grand mechanic Kimeron Tarzai? How could he grasp the beauty of old wall paintings or mosaics, decorative vases, bowls or boxes without the knowledge behind the fossilization, the art of chemical preservation, or even the mysteries of dye making processes?
It was hard, but possible. The level of education offered by Citadel university was highest in the known world, and the lands of the Citadel were famous for their incredibly advanced technologies and industry, moreso that the concept of industry was still unknown in some parts of the world. Hell, steam powered engines were but a dream outside of Citadel walls!
Lakar laughed at his own thoughts. The guard in front of him turned his head slightly. „Something funny, historian?“
„I just thought of an old joke, sol... eh, excuse me, I have no idea what is the proper title to call you.“
„You can call me Harian.“ Soldier muttered.
„Is that a formal title? What is your name, then?“
„My name is Harian.“
„My apologies, soldier Harian. Do you want to hear the joke?“
Harian sighed loudly. He was not sure whether to account the politeness of this historian to his arrogance, or if it was just the way he was. „Sure. Go ahead.“ he muttered with a hint of irritation in his voice.
„Well then... Why do Glaerians bring a sword into a gunfight?“
„Are gunfights a joke to you? Have you ever been in a fight?“ There was a sharp edge in the soldier's voice, and Lakar was not so eager to finish his joke anymore.
„No no no... It is.. uh, j-just... a joke...“ he started to stutter when the soldier stopped walking and turned to face him.
„Finish it. Oh, I am so interested in what you have to say about gunfights. Tell me, historian, why do Glaerians bring a sword into a gunfight?“ There was not even a hint of smile on the soldier's face, not even a glimmer of mirth. Lakar swallowed loudly.
„Bec... because... Because that is the best they have.“
Silence filled the corridor from floor to ceiling. After a few tense seconds, Harian burst out laughing.
„Fuck me, historian. It was not a bad joke. Yes, I agree, those religious fanatics really do not have anything better than swords.“ He laughed for a solid minute, and Lakar realized that he was either really lucky, or the soldier was just easily amused. The joke was really bad and not that funny – the primitivity of religious Glaeria was rather sad and terrifying than amusing.
„I fought them, you know. Glaerians...“ Harian spoke when they moved again.
„Is it really true that they make their armor out of gold? It seems to me rather silly and... well, dumb.“
„They make parts of it out of polished brass. You know what brass is?“
„Yes, an alloy of copper and zinc... rather heavy and soft to be used for armor.“
Harian nodded and chuckled. „It is a symbol of their standing hierarchy. Well... Gold, or anything resembling gold. Celeanae is a golden city, with its golden throne and golden army to protect it, but really, not much of it is really gold. Glaeria is sitting atop large copper deposits, but not gold mines. The only person in their backwards empire with real gold in his possession is that fat pig sitting on the throne, glad in shiny robes with heavy chains around his neck and obscenely large rings on his finger... Even his piss is surely gold, and he probably shits gold too.“ He spat on the ground after he finished his monologue. Lakar was becoming more and more interested in the soldier.
„You seem to... resent them. Hate them even.“
„I do. While they are primitive, and while they use primitive weapons when compared to us, they have the numbers. And while their masses chant holy songs for the glorification of their benevolent, ever-good god, their armies like to burn, maim, kill, pillage, torture, rape and fucking crucify everybody that is not of their own.“
„You mean like... from other kingdoms, empires...“ Lakar started to paint a mental picture of Glaeria, and he did not like it one bit. A land of war-mongering, xenophobic, racist and religious zealots... Still, his painting was not entirely accurate.
„No. One of their own as one belonging to their idiotic sects. I fought them as a guest in their lands, in their own village, in their own inn... Just because the innkeeper was not adhering to every single rule from their holy book...“ Lakar was surprised that Harian was so calm, talking about this, but he was too fascinated to be bothered by it. He just wanted to know more. He always wanted to know more.
„We stayed for a night in a small town, rather close to our own borders. No more than two – three days ride on a carriage. There was a contingent of the town guards in the inn with us, and one of them asked the innkeeper how he was faring. The innkeeper said that everything was well, but he complained about the taxes... You know, as every citizen of the Lands of the Citadel does, every day. Even I fucking hate taxes.“ Harian let out a loud sigh again. „The guardsman took it as a complaint against their almighty, ever-good, saint ruler, pigfucker the third himself, may his fat rot today. And, complaining about those chosen by their god... goes against the principles and against the holy book. Guardsman bashed the teeth out of the innkeeper's mouth, and made his family watch while he did it.“
„Why didn’t you stop them?“
„We came to the common room the moment the innkeeper's unconscious head hit the ground. After the deed was done.“
They stood in front of the huge door for a good while, yet none of them paid attention to it. A soldier, telling one of his tales to somebody who actually wanted to listen to him, and a historian, who studied his entire life, yet every day he found out that he knew practically nothing...
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
„Did you kill them?“ Lakar asked. Harian shook his head. „No, but I am sure that they got killed by their own comrades. We disarmed them, beat them unconscious, beat their teeth out – what they did was done to them – and then we carved a series of... unpleasant words and phrases into their skins.“
„Like what for example?“ Lakar was sincerely curious. Funny little fellow... thought Harian.
„I carved a word godfucker onto the forehead of the guardsman that bashed the innkeeper's teeth out. Imagine what his own did to him when they found him... And that was not even the worst thing that we have carved that day.“
„What else did you carve?“
„We are here, historian. I was supposed to take you here, and let you in. Do your work, I will guard the door so that no one disturbs you. We can talk... some other time.“
Lakar nodded regretfully, but he went through the door that Harian held open for him. Before the soldier closed it again, Lakar asked him one more question. „Is that why you are posted to a simple guard duty? For such... violent acts?“
Harian nodded slightly. „In a way. My commanding officer applauded what I did, but at the same time, he whipped me for not thinking it over. The inn was burned down the next day, the innkeepers family either dead, or enslaved. I was stripped of my rank, my honor, and my... this is my punishment.“
The seriousness of it all hit Lakar like a hammer. He did not even think of the consequences such an act could have... With his head full of thoughts, he smiled at the soldier and walked deeper into the room.
***
Lakar did not even know where to begin. He was supposed to examine and catalog items in the room, and he looked forward to it, but he did not expect there to be so many of them. Metallic objects shaped like the ribs of a long extinct landcrawler animal he had ever seen on old paintings, carved wooden statues, vases and chests that he had no idea how survived buried under ground without a single scratch on them, tubes, hoses and pipes made from glass or glass-looking material that were without a single scratch... He lived for this. Lakar looked around for a piece of paper, or a note of some kind that usually accompanied new, uncatalogued artifacts, and he found one on the table nearby. The room was dark and he had only one hand-held lantern, and so he had to concentrate to decipher the hand written words.
He started to read loudly. Hearing his own voice sometimes helped him think. „Obtained from... Huh, digsite One-dot-one-dot-zero. Another tunnel beneath the city sewers must have been cleared of rubble. Looks like they found it in a sealed room. Why did they move it to the surface... Oh, a light started to flash in the room after they moved the item 1-A. Wait, it is already cataloged?“ Lakar looked around but could not find any labels or any signs near the artifacts. It got him thinking. „1-A. If they used the old system, 1-A represents the first square of the room layout... that is, left wall, across the room...“ he moved across the room to the farthest corner. Even with his lantern, he could not properly see what exactly was lait atop the table.
„Harian?“ he shouted loudly. He needed another source of light, and free hands – Harian could help with both. but he did not respond to his first shout, nor his second.
He wanted to touch it, to feel the material under his fingers. His arm was half stretched towards it when...
***
The door opened and historian’s hed peeked through. „Can you please come and help me? I shouted, but you probably did not hear me.“
Harian nodded. The door was thick, he did not hear even the slightest sound from the other side. „What do you need, historian?“
„Lakar, please. No need for titles.“
Harian followed him through the room to the corner farthest from the door. „I need more light.“
„I understand, this room is pitch black. Why?“
Lakar chuckled. „Some artifacts are sensitive to strong light, and it makes them degrade quickly. Come now. This looks metallic, it should not be damaged by the light of two lanterns. Look at it. What does it look like to you?“
Harian held two lanterns in his stretched out arms. He had no idea what he was looking at, but it resembled... „An arm.“
„I thought so too, but... Look, on the one end, there are five endings on a circular base. Perhaps the fingers coming out of the palm. Then a sort of... joint that allows it to move around?“ Lakar touched the artifact with gloved hands. He was right – the metallic hand was turning around the joint. „Interesting. If it really was an arm, this would be an elbow joint... and... another elbow joint? Wait... one, two... four elbow joints.“
„A long, metallic arm, with four elbows. Okay.“ That thing, that metallic arm, made Harian nervous and uncertain. He felt...
„And this would be the shoulder, with a multitude of... small wires, also made of metal, sticking out of it... slightly bluish color. Okay. So we have here an almost two meters long metallic arm with multiple joints and a sort of... Right. Got it.“ Lakar wrote down everything he said, with many additional notes that stemmed from his thoughts. „Now, to estimate its purpose...“
„To kill.“ said Harian with a raspy, dry voice. He sounded like an old man on the verge of death. Lakar turned to him, surprised. „Why do you think so?“
„We should leave. Right now.“ Soldier spoke quickly, never taking his eyes off the foreign object. „I feel like it is watching me.“
Lakar tried to sound calm. „I know what you mean. Don’t worry, friend. I often have the same feeling..“
Harian tried to stay calm, but his soldier’s instincts were screaming at him. Something was definitely wrong with that thing.
„There is a weird hole... right in the middle of where those wires come out of the arm... let me see. Harian, more light please.“ The hole was hexagonal, deep almost two inches. „Something is missing from there. maybe we'll find it somewhere in the room. Give me a lantern, and help me search for it.“
„I really don’t want to do this, historian.“
Lakar paid no attention to his complaints, and went looking for a hexagonal item to insert into the arm. With muttered curses, Harian did the same.
Harian did not want to touch anything in the room. Everything creeped him out, and – honestly, he was not paid for digging through potentially lethal old artifacts. Something however grabbed his attention.
„Historian... Lakar, come here.“
Lakar came running. „Did you find something?“
„Look. There.“
Small hexagonal prism was lying half-buried beneath various metallic rubble, emitting a soft blue light. Lakar smiled, delighted. „Yes. Quick, get me pliers. They should be on the table near the entrance door.“
„Why don’t you just grab it?“ Harian grumbled while looking for pliers. „I’m not a damn servant to fetch your shit.“
„I know, soldier. I just want to examine it before I touch it. Also, I never touch strange, shining objects with bare hands, and I really need pliers.“ Lakar apparently heard him, but he did not sound offended.
They took the item into the pliers, and Lakar started to move towards the metallic arm. „Now, I am going to insert it inside. There could be a sort of... reaction. Something might happen. Usually, when something happens, it is not much, but it might reveal its purpose to us. It does not matter if you agree or not, Harian. This is my work. You can watch me, if you want.“
Moving slowly, Lakar began to push the shining, hexagonal object into the hole. He looked as if he was straining, as if the metallic arm was resisting him somehow, but the prism fit perfectly. Both men moved two steps backwards, and... Nothing happened.
„Well, that was a letdown.“ Lakar murmured. He poked the metallic arm with pliers. „What are you? Wait..“ The wires sticking out of the arm started to glow faintly, as through a layer of dirt. Against his own rule about not touching shining objects, Lakar used his gloved fingers to wipe the wires clean. The light coming from the wires was blinking rapidly, mesmerizing his gaze...
Harian tried to pull him away from the arm, but for such a thin man, Lakar resisted his attempts with ferocious strength. „What are you doing, Harian? Let me do my work!“
Lakar broke out from Harian’s grip and sudden loss of resistance made him stagger. He fell back first on the table with the metallic arm...
The room filled with a painful scream. Lakar struggled, thrashed around, screamed and begged, and then fell silent. Harian did not wait, he grabbed the historian and dragged him out into the corridor.