The Last Praetorian (12 page)

“Lights!” she called out, but the light did not appear,
instead she could only hear her voice echoing into the distance.  She wrapped
her arms around herself to ward off a sudden chill.  Looking around desperately
she tried to recognise something, anything, but the darkness seemed to consume
everything.

“Commander,” she called out frantically.  “Jon,” she called
more softly, fear starting to encroach upon her.  Where was she?  Why could she
not see anything?  Wrapping her arms more tightly around herself, she started
to stamp on the floor to generate some heat to ward off the increasing cold. 
The she heard the sound. At first she thought she had imagined it, half way
between a sigh and a breath of wind.  Then she heard it again, closer this
time.  A sound.  A flap of wings, or a low growl, she was not sure which.  Suddenly
something brushed against her ankle and she jerked her foot away in fright,
then another, brushing against her cheek. 

Sofia let-out a cry of fright and quickly started to back
away.  But the sounds were getting closer now.  More of them!  Still Sofia
could not make anything out, maybe a quick flash of a dark shadow darting
across her vision, or a flash of light from the corner of her eye.

Trembling in fear, Sofia continued to back away, but where
were they?  For all she knew she was walking closer towards them!  The sudden
thought froze her like a statue on the spot.  Still the shapes started to brush
against her – her arm, cheek, and stomach.

“Jon, Jon, where are you?  I need you…” Sofia cried out in
terror.  So weak at first, that she thought she was imagining it; a light
appeared, dimly in the distance.  Sofia tried to move towards the light, but
she was frozen.  She willed her muscles to respond, but they were frozen in
terror. Slowly the light seemed to drift in her direction, getting stronger,
brighter, but still pitifully weak.

“Please,” Sofia begged in terror.  “Help me.”  Suddenly as
if a match had been struck and dropped into a pool of gasoline a bright blue
spark flared.  Small at first it quickly spread in length, forming the edge of
a blade.  From the light of the flame Sofia could now make out the sight of the
sword, glowing brightly.  Sofia almost cried in relief recognising the
Praetorian sword.

The blade suddenly swung to the right, then to the left, in
great arcs, dripping blue fire.  The sounds around her began to change, becoming
squeals and then shrill screams of pain and fear.  Still the blade grew
brighter and brighter, pushing back the darkness until all that filled her
vision was the bright blue light from the sword.

With a sudden gasp of breath Sofia opened her eyes.

She noticed that she was back in the small apartment, where
she had fallen asleep on the seat lying against Jon.  She noticed that she was
now lying on the bed; obviously Jon had moved her while she slept.  The next
thing she noticed was the pair of eyes glinting at her, barely inches from her
face, blocking the rest of her sight.  Still shaken from the nightmare that
awoke her and the sleep that dulled her mind she could not focus on what was
wrong with the scene.  Suddenly her mind cleared and she stared into the dark
brown eyes of a face that she did not recognise.  Not the misty grey eyes of
the person that filled her thoughts and dreams.  She opened her mouth to utter
a scream.  

A rough, coarse hand clamped over her mouth, suffocating
her.

*****

Jon was tired. The bone weary tiredness seeped into his bones,
with barely enough energy to put one-step in front of the other.  Jon finally
arrived at his destination.  Trying to suppress a yawn, Jon hit the announcer
on the door.  The last thing he wanted to do was to walk in on Sofia at an
inopportune time.

Then again…
Jon thought to himself with a grin.  The
door slid open, and just as Jon was about to open his mouth with a greeting he
noticed that it was not the Princess who stood inside the door.  His brain too
sluggish from the lack of sleep to respond, the last thing he saw was a fist
descending in his direction.  Pain exploded from his jaw and all he could see
was stars, before darkness engulfed him. 

*****

The first thing that assailed Jon upon waking was the
never-ending pain streaming from his face.  Whoever had hit him had sure done a
number on him!  Trying to reach up and rub his jaw Jon quickly discovered that
he could not move has hands.  Trying to focus, the first thing that he noticed
was that his hands were tied together by some sort of rigid metallic bar. 
Flexing his hands he found that he still had movement with his fingers but his
two hands were tightly bound. Realising that he was lying on the floor, Jon
next tried to get to his feet, but soon found that both his feet were bound in
a similar fashion.  Finally managing to balance on his knees, with his hands in
front of his chest Jon reviewed his surroundings.  His eyes were first drawn to
the bed, which was empty.  Obviously they had moved Sofia, either before his
arrival or while he was unconscious.  However, on a closer inspection the
sheets were pristine and glancing around the room other items were subtly out
of place. So a different room, Jon determined.  Same style as their apartment
so obviously it was close by, but not the same room.

Noticing a pair of legs in front of him, Jon craned his neck
back to look into the eyes of the person facing him.  Short, stocky, with
powerful muscles bulging underneath the tan tunic that he was wearing Jon
observed the shoulder length, greasy brown hair with dull brown eyes.  However,
it was none of these things that drew his attention, instead his attention was
drawn to the blade that was resting in his hands, a sword that glistened with a
blue fire along the edges – his Valerian sword! 

Turning the blade in one direction, then another, the stocky
man observed the light playing along the blade.  Noticing that his captive was
now conscious at his feet he whistled.  “This is a real nice piece of work. 
Bet I could get more than a few credits for this down below.”  Jon remained
silent, but inside seethed at anybody touching his blade.  Nobody, absolutely nobody
else held that weapon but himself.

“I have heard stories about these,” the man continued on. “They
are meant to be able to cut through anything; convenient that I have you so I
can give it a try…” with this he gave Jon a meaningful look before continuing
on. “Then I can see how much coin I can get for this beauty.” 

Deciding that now would be a good time to intervene before
the final act, Jon demanded. “Where is the Princess?”

“She is being entertained,” with this he gave a disgusting
leer.   “Or should I say that she is entertaining the rest of the crew. You
both have a large amount of money on your heads… dead.  But shame to waste such
an, opportunity.  The men and I have never had a real Princess before; we plan
on rectifying that, repeatedly, before handing you both back.  They only want
your head though, so looks like I get to try out this sword to see just how
well it cuts,” the mercenary said running his hands along the length of the
blade.

Jon had never known absolute heart stopping fear in his life
before.  Sure, he had faced certain death before, many times, but he had never
feared death.  Everybody died, sooner or later, and the life expectancy of a
fleet Commander was poor, a Praetorian – far shorter.  Therefore Jon had long ago
resigned himself to a short life and a violent demise. However now he could
feel terror racing along his nerve endings, before clamping down around his
heart.  He forced himself to breathe deeply so to be able to continue to focus,
he had to keep calm to get to Sofia and for the first time in his life he
prayed, prayed to any God that would listen that he could get to her in time. 
Thinking desperately of something to anger his captor he finally threw his own
words back at him.

“So that’s why you are here? Instead of entertaining the Princess
with the rest?”  Jon spat back in anger.  “The rest of the men worried you were
not enough of a man to entertain her?  Might embarrass the rest of them?  So
they sent just you to do the dirty work while they took their turns.”  Jon
could see that his words were getting to the mercenary as his hand had stilled
on the blade and his gaze had turned angry.  Deciding that he needed to push
harder Jon continued.  “What are they worried? That your dick was too small and
would not satisfy a real Princess?”

With a roar of rage the mercenary swung the blade that he
had been holding back in the air in preparation to strike, he spat out. “I’ll
show you that I can satisfy any woman, she’ll be screaming my name, begging me
to stop before I have finished with her.  As for you, I was going to make this
quick and painless but I’ve changed my mind.”  With that explanation the
mercenary slashed the blade in a downward arc towards the Commander’s
unprotected head!

As if time had slowed down, Jon watched the blade descend
towards him…but he felt no fear, not of this weapon.  The Emperor, Marcus
Aurelius had presented the sword to him personally a few years before on his
promotion to Commander of the Praetorian Guards.  The minute that he felt the
blade touch him for the first time, it felt as if a bolt of energy had been
transferred from the blade into him.  Something seemed to have clicked inside
of him, as if part of his soul had been missing his entire life was re-joined. 
From that day onwards the deadly weapon had never left his side, as if they
were now one, a right hand to his left.  For a moment Jon considered doing
nothing, wondering if the blade would simply bounce off him or even just pass
through him.  Instead Jon did the only action that he could.  He lifted his
hands that had been resting on the floor in front of him, still bound, high
into the air blocking the incoming blow.

The action was automatic, instinctive, to try and ward off
the blow.  To be honest Jon had no idea what the result would be.  It was
therefore hard to tell who was more stunned, when in a shower of sparks the
blade cut cleanly through the thick metallic bar that immobilised his hands. 
Fortunately the blow also mostly cancelled the momentum behind the swing and
the blade harmlessly struck the floor in front of Jon’s knees.  The mercenary
just stared in disbelief, flabbergasted that the blade had cleanly cut through
almost three inches of solid metallic restraint. 

Jon meanwhile had no time to contemplate the truly
miraculous event and instead he struck out at the nearest vulnerable spot on
the mercenary.  Slamming his clenched fist into the groin of the man, he
collapsed to the floor with barely a whimper, stunned senseless at the pain.  Quickly,
before he lost the initiative, and still bound at the feet, Jon wrapped himself
around the fallen mercenary like a python ensnaring its prey.  Gripping the
mercenary around the throat, Jon squeezed tighter and tighter.  The mercenary,
suddenly realising the danger, reached up to try and pull the arm from his
throat, but Jon’s grip was like a vice.  After a minute of frantic struggling
the mercenary stopped and fell still, but Jon continued applying pressure to
his throat for a few minutes longer until he was completely certain that he was
dead.

Praying that he would strike lucky, Jon quickly started to
search the body for the keys to the restraints.  For once it seemed that luck
was on his side as he found the keys in one of the mercenary’s pockets. 
Quickly releasing himself from the restraints, Jon reached down and picked up
the sword from the floor where it had fallen from the mercenaries grip. 
Examining the blade carefully Jon could see not a sign of the slightest bit of
damage, nothing to indicate that only a few minutes before the blade had
effortlessly sliced through inches of metal.  Taking a few moments to prepare
himself for what he was likely to find, Jon took a deep breath, ensuring that
he had a firm grip on his weapon he steeled himself for what was about to come
next.

*****

With a loud crack, the back of one of the mercenary’s hands
cracked again Sofia’s cheek.  The blow stunning her and propelling her back
onto the bed.  With her head spinning from the blow, and only able to see stars
she felt the filthy, slimy hand starting to claw painfully at one of her
breasts.  Part of her mind that could still process rational thought felt
detached, as if it was separate from her body, watching events from a
distance.  Sofia had heard of this happening to others; under extreme stress
the mind detached itself from its surroundings to help protect her consciousness. 
However Sofia had never thought that it would happen to her. 

From what seemed like a great distance away she could hear
the chime of the door and heard one of the men growl. “It must be Marcel
finished with Radec; somebody get the door.  I’m busy!” Something inside Sofia
died.  All that she had been hoping, praying, for during the last half hour was
for Jon to appear and save her.  She remembered her nightmare. When everything
had seemed lost, his sword had appeared in the darkness and had driven away all
that could harm her, pushing back the dark to let in the light.  However, that
was only a dream, reality was far harsher and this time Sofia knew that no
sword was going to appear and save her.  Wishing for escape from reality into
blissful unconsciousness, Sofia managed to open one good eye, the other-one
swollen shut, and she tried to focus on the door and possible escape.

However, her exit was blocked by the bulk of one of her
captors and she was too far away to hear what words were spoken.  A small part
of her wondered if there was a life after death, and if she would get the
chance to see Jon one last time… 

As if a ghost, recently resurrected from the dead, summoned
by her final thought; she saw Jon slip past the man blocking the door into the
room.  A small part of her wondered why the person at the door did not react? 
Perhaps Jon was a ghost, or a figment of her imagination?  A wraith brought
back from the dead to avenge her, even in death sworn to protect her…  It was
so hard to focus, her thoughts continually slipping away…