Sonic: Resurrection
By Joshua Knode, February 2000.
Part One
It had been twenty years since the last Acorn sat on the throne. Emperor Scor St. John now inhabited the space once held by the Acorn kings only a generation before. He was a thin, sadistic looking man, wearing a cape of glowing gold thread. He wore not a crown but instead wore a wreath around his
forehead, a wreath of rose thorns. A crown of thorns, only for the purpose of blaphemy.
Scor’s face reflected that of his father Geoffrey--trim, youthful, handsome, but his eyes held qualities only known in purest evil. Dark slitted cat eyes inherited from his mother.
At his right side stood his side stood Godiva, his twin sister. She held the same icy, emotionless glare he did, her alluring eyes twinking with grim intent. She was definitely a beatiful woamn, libidinous curves held under a red silk and cashmere vest, long white hair flowing to her thighs.
The Throne room had been re-modeled since the Acorn dynasty; it was now decorated in silver, platinum and dark crystal taken from the raided cities of Downunda, Walrus Island and Shottingham, all of with paid tribute to Scor, fearing utter extermination if the flow of gold, silver and jewels ever stopped.
Before Scor stood a represenative of the only place that would not fall to his reign, the Floating Island. Crowe was the brother of Lara-Su, the son of Knuckles. He was the Guardian-In-Training. The black echidna looked incredibly out of place among the riches, his white vest setting off his dark fur dramatically, his wide violet eyes taking in the dreadful beauty of the room.
“It is one thing to be a link in a chain,” Scor hissed. “Another to begin it.”
Crowe didn’t take his eyes of the incredible amount of treasure in the room, “Yes.”
“What we offer is more then sanctity as we offered the other races, but we offer you a part of our dyansty.” He grinned. “The only hope of controlling your island is you. The Guardians will never surrender tribute, they're too stupid and proud to fear us. So an alliance is the only thing I can use to control them.”
“The Brotherhood will never ally with you,” Crowe said. “I know, my father and sister are of them.”
Scor grined, his fangs glistening in the bright light of the room. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure they wouldn’t. I only admit this to you and my sister, in assurance that no one beyond this room will hear it.”
Crowe recognized a threat, “Oh, of course.”
Scor descended the platform, lifted Crowe’s face with a finger below his chin, turned his head as if he was inspecting livestock. “You can be useful to us Crowe, and we think you know that.”
“It’s why I’m here.”
“Good.” Scor said, turing back towards his throne, his long flowing tail waving behind him. “Then let us state our bargain. What we want from you Crowe is your seed. An heir from you will force an alliance from the Brotherhood, then when we’ve gained their trust, we can eliminate them. The rest of the Floating
Island’s population should fall quickly.”
“What do I get in return?” Crowe said.
“You will be our overlord on the Floating island,” Scor said. “You will be our sub-ruler.”
“Not good enough.” Crowe said. “I’m already a Guardian, which means I’m royalty.”
“You're almost as demanding as us.” Scor said. “What is your price?”
“I choose my wife from your kingdom.” Crowe said, glancing in Godiva’s direction. Godiva grinned seductively.
“We understand,” Scor said, raising an eyebrow. “Does our sister agree?”
“I will add him to my harem,” Godiva said.
“No!” Crowe said. “I want no other men before me, I want you as my wife.”
Scor glanced at Godiva. She smirked, staring at Crowe. “I like him, brother.”
“Yes,” Scor said. “We like him as well.”
“So?” Crowe demanded. “Are we in agreement?”
“Very well,” Scor said. “It is agreed. You have played your hand against us, but do not press your luck. You won’t demand from us twice.”
Crowe gulped a bit, realizing the gravity of the threat. “Agreed. When will the ceremony be?”
“Leave that for us to arrange,” Scor said. “Now leave us.”
Crowe turned and exited.
“Congratulations.” Scor said with a grin.
“Who gave you permission to disband my harem?” Godiva said with a touch of spite.
“The same hand that gave us the right to wear a crown of thorns,” Scor said. “The same hand that gave us Mobius!”
“It’s not that I mind so much,” Godiva said. “I just doubt that one man will be enough to quell my hunger.”
“If half of what we hear about Guardians is correct, he’ll be more then adequate.” Scor said. “Soon the Floating Island will be ours. It’s a shame King Elias was too blind to the posibilities of Robotnik's plans. The
good doctor saw the target but underestimated the distance. He knew what he needed by not how far to go, he was so hung up on that. . .that. . .”
“Hedgehog,” Godiva inserted.
“Hedgehog,” The word oozed from Scor, thick with hate. “Yes, that mutation was all that stopped him. No other, not even my father was able to stand in Robotnik’s way. We’ve simply stood on his shoulders. Now the goal is close. Soon Mobius will be re-shapen in our immage, and we, Scor St. John, will be a god.”
The first two years of St.John’s reign he spent doing quite unusual things, going over every historical document and record, editing and sometimes destroying them. He also changed the royal record, trying to refashion history. He illegalized any sport or activity that required running, jumping, or what he called “spinning”. Everything had to be slow, vehicles were only slightly father then one could run (but running unnecessarilly was punishable by death) and the power ring forges that King Elias spent thiry years on the
throne building were all refined.
Not only that, but the Emperor ordered the entire Great Forest torched and tilled so nothing would grow, as he said: “Not even memories can remain here.” One of his final decrees was to change the name of the race “Hedgehog” to “Bushrat” and certain words, which I obviously can’t
mention, were consideed forbidden and not to be spoken. To this day no one knows why the Emperor did what he did, but there was something he feared in those words, in those places and those things. It was really the only thing on Mobius that Scor feared. Something about hedgehogs, the Great Forest, and speed.
Of course, he was only called insane once, and that person’s hide is now tanned and hanging in the banquet hall of the palace.
-Lara-Su
“The Kingdoms of My Day”
Text Later forbidden in the Empire of St.John
A Hedgehog. . .Bushrat, and a young Fox stode across a ghostly desert.
The desert was not a popular place to meet, it was a dry, dull place. It was covered in damp white sand with an occasional piece of black ash poking though the surface. This place was known as the plain of Scor, a farce of a desert where the Great Forest once stood. It was a thoroughly bizzare place, white sand as far as the eye could see, flat endless land where once was a lush green beautiful place. This was a hated place, a symbol of the ruthlessness and bitterness of the Emperor, reserved now only for the ritual combat,
the ancient duels that were common in the Kingdom of Acorn untill the reign of Theodore, who abolished it as barbaric. Of course Scor restored it, he spited almost everything the Acorns' Kings ever decreed.
The two stopped walking, not so much that they reached a destination but decided they were far enough in this horrid void. The two looked as if they were meant to be a pair. The taller one was a hedgehog, dressed in red
sneakers and a wrinkled brown leather vest. He was a maroon in colour, with large green eyes sparkling in the overcast sky. He was Sonnu the Bushrat, an engineer and fighter.
His young apprentice was Rull, an orange fox who served as “dueling squire”, or Sonnu’s assistant, in ritual combat. He held his weapon, a flintsword, and his vest was covered in medical suplies meant to treat Sonnu should he be wounded in battle.
Rull glanced at the empty horizons.
“Where’s your opponent?” Rull said, resting the handle of the heavy flintsword on the sand.
“He’s on his way.” Sonnu said. “He should be here soon.”
“Tell me why you gotta fight Akkir again,” Rull said. “I don’t think I get it.”
Sonnu glanced at Rull with a patience he earned in years of working with the young fox. “Akki’s heard of my reputation, Rull, and he wants to best me to prove he's tougher. No other reason really.”
“I’ve seen you fight for better reasons Sonnu.” Rull said. “But fight just to prove how tough you are?”
“It’s stupid I know,” Sonnu said, swinging his arms, warming up his muscles for the duel. “But if I refuse I’m a coward. I’ll just kick the guy around a bit and teach him a lesson.”
“You think you can take Akkir?” Rull said.
“I don’t underestimate him if that’s what your asking,” Sonnu said. “I just respect my own ability. That’s important in a fight, remember that.”
“Right, Sonnu,” Rull said cheerfully.
Sonnu watched as the young fox cleaned and loaded the unique weapon, the Flintsword. It almost appeared to be a normal sword--unless one looked at its handle. There they would find a small trigger revealing the true nature of the weapon, it was a black powder dueling pistol, combined with a long blade. An antique weapon no doubt in this age of lasers, plashields and transteel windows, but it was the traditonal weapon for ritual combat.
“Give me a plus quarter load of powder and wadding,” Sonnu said. “I want a loud bang but not enough power to kill him, just teach him a lesson.”
“What if he hits you first?” Rull said.
“You know I’m to fas-“ Sonnu caught himself with a gasp, almost uttering a forbidden word. “I mean, I will be able to move soon enough out of his way. He’s only got one shot.”
Rull quickly loaded and packed the weapon, pulling back the hammer and testing the trigger. He whipped out a tiny screwdriver-like tool and tightened the firing pin for maximum firing action. “You tear up this mechanism every time you overload this barrel.”
Sonnu patted the young fox on the back. “Your fault for listening,” he said with a laugh.
“Here you are Sonnu,” Rull said finished tightening the weapon. He twirled it, handing it handle-first to Sonnu.
Sonnu took it, whirled the heavy weapon in his right hand, then his left, warming up his muscles. He pulled pack the hammer, aiming at an empty horizon, then let it go lighting back to it’s place. He whirled the other way quickly, pulling aback the hammer again to practice control--then spotted a strange woman on the horizon.
Another bushrat. A tall, pink-furred hedgehog wearing long, gauzy robes. They flew like a banner around her waving in the light wind. She did nothing but stare at Sonnu with large, expressive green eyes. The woman appeared older, maybe in her fifties or early sixties, but she stood in place like a member of royalty.
Sonnu released his hammer, and stepped forward, wondering what an old woman was doing so far out in the--
“Sonnu the Bushrat!” Said a taunting voice behind Sonnu.
Sonnu turned, glaring at the chameleon. He wore a dark leather trench coat, the uniform of an Imperial Fighter. His assitant, a younger chameleon (Quite possibly his younger brother) drew a circle in the sand around him.
“I so like this setting,” The Chameleon said. “Such a beautiful desert, a testament to the artistic intellect of our Emperor.”
Sonnu clipped the flintsword to his belt. “Let’s get this over with.”
Akkir grinned. His squire passed him his flintblade. “Eager to die?”
“I never killed a man,” Sonnu said. “Any man can kill, it takes a real fighter to know how to be a sportsman.”
Akkir cliped the flintblade to his belt. “A lethal attack is the only true attack.”
Rull and the younger chameleon stood together out of the way of gunfire. They both clapped small blocks of wood together, signifying the beginning of combat.
Sonnu stared in his opponent’s eyes, and with a near-telepathy sense he had developed in countless fights, he saw that this one wasn’t kidding when he commented about lethal attacks. Akkir was a killer, pure and true, and
Sonnu didn’t doubt this chameleon could kill him with a single swipe. The two were ready to draw their flintswords. Very rarely did anyone die in this round of combat considering fllintswords were extremely innacurate, best one could hope for was a good wound to slow down the opponent in the impending swordfight.
Go time.
Sonnu drew his flintsword like lightning, a hair faster then Akkir. The sword’s guns went off. Sonnu’s gave off a massive amount of sparks and smoke just as he knew it would with almost a double load of black powder.
Akkir, as any snooty Imperial Fighter used smokeless gunpower, and missed as he dodged Sonnu’s bullet--which actualy didn’t exist.
Sonnu, being nocturnal, had far better eyesight then the Chameleon. He
scanned the cloud for him, seeing only the flintsword stuck in the sand. It suddenly rose. Sonnu had barely enough time to dodge, the flintsword biting into his left arm, a ribbon of blood splattering black on the white sand.
Sonnu instinctively held the wound. It was a deep gash, but not in a vital area, and it would take more then that to bleed to death. He saw Akkir reappear. Why didn’t I remember chameleons did that?!
The chameleon made an overhand swing, knowing with Sonnu’s wound it would be the hardest to block. Sonnu barred Akkir’s knife arm, and shoved him backwards onto his heels as he tumbled to the sand.
He’s too damn good.
Akkir rose and swung almost as fast, tearing a thin line of blood across Sonnu’s stomach--a minor cut, but more blood. Sonnu retalitated madly, swinging, trying to trap Akkir’s sword arm, trying anything that might end the fight without a death.
Akkir blocked every blow, with a smile, and Sonnu knew what he had to do. He twirled around Akkir’s sword as he stabbed. Sonnu swung his flintsword, burying it in Akkir’s throat.
An arc of blood flowed from the wound. Akkir gurgled, and fell.
Sonnu had taken his first life.
Blue streak, Speeds by,
Sonic the Hedgehog,
Too fast for the naked eye,
Sonic the Hedgehog
Sonic--He can really move
Sonic--He’s got an attitude
Sonic-He’s the fastest thing alive
-Minstrel’s song popular in the reign of King Elias.
All written copies destroyed in the Dynasty of St. John.
The guitar’s strings twanged and hummed in the massive gymnasium. The musician played a light, soft tune, the only kind of music legal.
“Just the way we like it,” Scor said, commenting on the music. “Simple and slow.”
Scor was wearing a brown vest, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was swinging his royal flintsword, the beatiful blue-steel blade decorated with intricate inscriptions and designs. On one side his name, Scor St. John; on the other, his favorite saying: “Slow and steady wins the race.” The blade had
two barrels, unlike most blades, and it’s lower edge was serraded. The Emperor’s blade was the equivalent of a bazooka for duelling--strong enough to cut though an opponent’s skull like paper.
Godiva was watching her brother practice, leaning back on a satin couch, a manslave massaging her shoulders. “I shall like music like this at the wedding,” Godiva said. “Many flowers, banners.”
“Of course sister,” Scor said twirling the blade. “As all our parties, it will be one to remember. Just do not forget--we must keep this marriage quiet, so no word reaches the Brotherhood before we want them to know.“
“Of course brother,” Godiva said. “I know this marriage is politically important, but you cannot deny me the pleasures of beauty, music, incense.”
“And a small guest list,” Scor said. “We will participate in our typical ritual combat with some gladiators to impress the public and show the Brotherhood. . .later. . that this wedding was a big deal. As long as they think it authentic, they’ll allow it, but if they knew about it now, they would try to stop it. Very traditonal, echidnas--one of them marrying you would be strictly taboo.”
“But they can’t stop it when the damage is done,” Godiva said with a toothy smile. “Delightfuly devious, brother.”
“Thank you,” Scor said with a bow. “Now, where is Akkir? We must train for the fight.”
Scor snapped his fingers and a collection of three slaves entered, walking to Godiva.
“We called you, slaves,” Scor said, waving them over to him. “We wish to know where our royal sparring partner and bodyguard is.”
The slaves just looked at each other, confused. “Hasn’t his majesty heard?” One said. “Akkir was killed earlier today in ritual combat.”
Scor grinned, then laughed. “You make a joke, certainly,” Scor said. “Akkir is the best fighter in the kingdom--he’s bested over two hundred men.”
“I’m afraid not, Sire,” The slave said. “Akkir was killed earlier today by a Bushrat named Sonnu.”
Scor’s face twitched. “Bushrat,” he said. “Hedgehog,” he whispered. He glanced at his blue steel blade. The serraded edge almost looking like the cursed silhoutte of the damned mutation. He threw it down. It clanged and
clattered on the stone floor. He grabed the manslave by his collar. “We want to see this Bushrat, Sonnu,” Scor said. “We don’t care how you get him here. We just want him here, in our throne room, as soon as possible.”
“Yes Sire,” The slave said as he was tossed back.
Godiva giggled as the three slaves left, “You burned down that entire forest for nothing eh?” she snickered. “Seems he’s still the fastest thing alive.”
When winds collide
In a place where I am,
I hear the whispered voice
Of times long ago,
Things lost to me,
On the back of the past,
Those things we’ve forgotten,
Things we need to know,
Oh things we have forgotten,
Where do they go?
-Locke the Echidna
“The complete Poems of Locke the Echidna”
It had been almost an entire day since Akkir had died, and Sonnu was reliving the memory of his death over and over in his mind. The man that once was walking, talkig, smiling, dancing--was now cold, dead, lifeless, six feet under the sand where Sonnu buried him. He glared at the wooden grave marker he set up, knowing now what the words meant he heard in his training.
When you kill someone, you pay for it.
He didn’t know Akkir, and quite frankly didn’t like him, but he had no reason to kill him. No reason to entangle him in this battle, then dig a sword into his jugular. Sonnu washed the blood off his wounds and his hands madly, but he still felt the warm slickness of the blood. He’d been bled on before, but never lifeblood, never the life of a man.
Sonnu’s eyes welled with tears. He bent his head, closing his eyes tight to hold them back, to shake off the sobs with a wave of his chin--to
no avail. Sonnu wished Rull wouldn’t have seen what he did. Rull was young, and Sonnu wondered if the boy saw nightmares as he slept a few feet from him in the tent. The sound of a solid step splashing on the sand overrode the wind.
“Why does a warrior cry?” A soft female voice said from above him.
Sonnu looked up with tear-wet eyes, the blurry immage of the woman he saw the night before filled his vision. Closer, he could see her beauty. Moonlit green eyes, soft like wind, face blooming like a flower. She was definitely an older woman, but she still was in excellent shape, a trim figure held under a gauzy white skirt, and a long sheer silk cape. She also wore a golden tiara, holding back her head spines. Sonnu felt compelled to answer her.
“I just killed a man,” Sonnu said.
“One should only grieve senseless deaths.” The woman said. “Did you kill this man for a reason?”
“He challenged me,” Sonnu explained.
“Then he appreciated the risk he took.” she said. “I’m sure he forgave you.”
“Who are you?” Sonnu asked.
The woman look at him, sea-green eyes glimmered in moonglow. “I am Saint Amy of the Thorns.” she said. “But once, a time long ago, I was known as Amy Rose.”
“You live here?” Sonnu asked.
“Mobius is my home,” she said.
“My name is Sonnu.”
“No it isn’t,” Amy said with a smile.
Sonnu glanced about, confused. “I’m pretty sure it is,” Sonnu said, not sure how to respond.
“How far back can you remember?” Amy said. “Where is the first place you can recall?”
“The sisterhood’s orphanage,” Sonnu said. “In his majesty’s charity quarter.”
Amy paused, watching the moon as it lowered on the horizon. “Sonnu is a title, not your name.” She said finnaly. “It means ‘child of nobility’. You don’t recognize it because it’s not a term used in Imperial dynasties.“
“How do you know that?”
Amy didn’t respond to the question. “Your father’s name was Maurice Takeshi Hedgehog, but he was called ‘Sonic’.“
Sonnu leapt up, whiping his head about. “That’s a forbidden word!” Sonnu whispered. “You want the pods to come?”
Amy smiled sweetly and laughed a bit. “I am here to be beyond the Emperor’s eye.” She said. “Neither his order pods, nor his robotic Saudakar can reach us here.”
“Why do you know so much about me?” Sonnu asked.
“I only know what the Emperor has hidden from you.” Amy said. “He would die before he let you know of who you really are.”
“Why should his majesty be concerned with me?” Sonnu asked. “I’m just an engineer and tournament fighter.”
“You are more,” Amy said. “You are the son of the only hope for this backwards world. You are the only hope for those of us around who can remember the days of the Acorn kings, you are the son of Sonic the Hedgehog, the fastest thing alive.”
“You're insane,” Sonnu said, not actually believing it but not knowing what else to say. “If the pods could hear you you’d be dead ten times for saying that.”
“Is that all you're concerned about?” Amy said. “Your life? Sonic, your father had a far bigger field of view.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you're talking about,” Sonnu said. “But I was abandoned at the nursery when I was a baby. Nobody knows who my parents are.”
“I know many things, child.” Amy said. “And I know who your father was.”
“All right,” Sonnu said. “Prove it, prove to me that the Emperor gives a rat’s rear end about anything I do.”
Amy turned to a dune north of them. “In a few moments, two of the Emperor’s men will crest that dune, and ask you you to appear before the Emperor Scor St. John himself.”
Sonnu looked toward the dune. “Right,” he said sarcastically. “Me, a nobody, nothing but a half decent fighter with a lame job as an engineer, is gonna get an audience with. . . .” Sonnu was silent, the woman was gone.
No sounds, no movements.
He scanned the distant horizons.
The woman had vanished.
“What does this mean?” Sonnu asked himself.
Just then, two animals in imperial black coats crested the dune.
Almost all of us knew,
Scor was a liar,
An Overlander in fur.
But we were afraid to rebel.
Afraid of the Saudakar,
Afraid of Scor’s taste for exotic executions.
But were not as afraid as we were tired,
Tired of fighting,
tired of always being the ones to stand up and do something.
We were tired of being freedom fighters
We settled for living on our knees, rather then dying on our feet.
I wasn’t born to live like this.
He will never be my Emperor.
-From the Journal of Bunnie Rabbot, recovered from the rubble of her home after the burning of the Great Forest.
Some say her staying there was a suicide.
Scor tapped his claws on the ivory armrest of his ornate throne. The sound echoed off the high ceiling. The only other sound was Godiva chewing caramels one of her manslaves was feeding her. Scor looked at
his sister, she was indeed lovely, a product of constant grooming, haircuts, styling, manicures, milkbaths, a perfectly engineered vitamin and herb diet--the perks of royalty were many. Scor envied her sometimes--she had all the luxuries of his position without any of the stress of responsibility. All she had to do was sit by his side, appear at events, and ocasionally seduce local nobles. Godiva noticed her brother’s gaze, turned as a manslave placed on the of the carmels in her mouth.
“Are you stressed, brother?” She mumbled around the chewy candy.
“Indeed.” Scor said. “But we know how to handle this. We’ve had a plan for quite a while, just in case this came up.”
“Delightful,” Godiva purred. “I want this wedding to take place.”
“You want the honymoon to take place.”
Godiva chuckled, noticed her mouth was empty. “Slave, are you here to feed me or watch me converse? I can’t be expected to tell you every time I’ve swallowed.”
“Apoligies, noble born,” The slave said, “I will be more observant in the future.”
“Good,” Godiva said. “There are less pleasant duties then this you know.”
Two massive robotic guards entered. They looked almost like SWATbots, but their armor was made of glimmering black steel, their arms ending in massive weapons, jagged blades emerged from every joint so they could master hand-to-hand combat.
“Ahh,” Scor said. “Our Saudaukar.”
“Your majesty, I am honored to present to you the fighter Sonnu and his dueling squire, Rull.”
The Bushrat and Fox strode down the red carpet, flanked by the seven-foot tall Saudaukar.
“Welcome Sonnu. . .Rull.” The Emperor said.
Sonnu bent on one knee, Rull followed.
Yes, bow before me mutation.
Scor put on his dimplomacy face, a mask of a likeable conversationalist that dominated the banquet halls the way his armies dominated the battlefield. Scor’s charm was one of his greatest weapons.
“Well, serra, you’re the one who bested my Akkir.” Scor said.
“Sire, I apologize, I didn’t. . .”
“No need serra,” Scor grinned. “Akkir knew what he was doing. He knew he would find someone better them him eventually. He embraced his death, we gaurantee you this. You intrigue us Sonnu. Akkir was a master, almost as good as ourself. . .have you heard of the news of our dear Godiva’s engagement?”
“No. . .Sire. . .I’ve been traveling much, not listening to the newscast.” Sonnu said, glancing at Godiva.
“But congratualations, you couldn’t have picked a better bride.”
Scor laughed out loud, Godiva barely holding laughter in. “No no no, this is NOT that kind of dynasty,” Scor could hardly speak, but he contained himself. “Godiva is marrying Crowe, the son of Knuckles the
Echidna, Brother to the Guardian Lara-Su.”
Sonnu wanted to crawl under a rock. His first time ever even SEEING the Emperor and he accuses him of incest! “I apologize sire, I thought--”
“No need,” Scor siad. “Many dynasties are run like that, but we believe in keeping the bloodline diverse. But back to our original subject, we plan to have a ornamental combat at the reception, to entertain the masses. We planned on fighting just another prisoner or a strong slave, but seeing as you bested my trainer, we think you would make a most worthy combatant."
“I wouldn’t want to hurt his majesty...”
“Oh no,” Scor said. “This will be an ornamental combat, strictly for show. We will have sub-flesh shields, that prevent cuts and slashes from reaching a lethal depth. We’ll be cut, but not deep enough to be lethal.”
“What about the quick draw?” Sonnu asked. “A Plashield can’t stop a lead ball.”
“We’ll fire blanks, a big noise, but no bullet.”
Sonnu didn’t know how to answer, “I’ll need to train...”
“We’ll provide you with everything,” Scor said. “A gym to practice, several trainers, the shield, even a new battle squire.”
“Well sir, I’ve worked with Rull for a long time,” Sonnu said. “I might be better off with him.”
“He can be at ringside,” Scor said. “But we insist you use a professionally trained, more experienced Imperial Squire.” Scor turned to Rull. “Not to take anything away from your work, my boy.”
“No offense taken sir.”
“Call me ‘Sire’, ‘my lord’, or ‘Your Majesty’, please,” Scor said, patiently correcting the boy. “’Sir’ is reserved for military personnel or equals; I am royalty.”
“Sorry, Sire,” Rull said.
“Well?” Scor asked. “What is your decision serra?”
Sonnu thought. “I would be an honor...I guess.”
Scor smiled. “Good. I’ll give you a room in my guest quarters. You and your squire may stay there and be trained in my gymnasium. And thank you.” Scor snapped his fingers and two female servents entered.
“Take our guests to their room, and see to their needs.”
“Yes Sire,” they said, leading Sonnu and Rull off.
Godiva waited untill they were gone. “Why not kill them now brother? Your Saudakaur could’ve skewered them and it would be over.”
“Not so simple sister,” Scor siad. “We mustn’t kill them openly, lose face among the rest of the fighters in the empire. And we want Sonnu’s blood for ourself.”
Godava smiled toothily, her fangs twinkling as she figured out the plan. “So you won’t be shooting blanks at the wedding,” she said.
Scor nodded. “Such a horrible disaster, and at my sister’s wedding no less.”
Godiva giggled, as she was fed another candy. “So sad.”
My father was no one’s fool. Not even that of my grandfathers. When he ascended to his position in the Brotherhood he fought them tooth and nail for me and Crowe. Eventualy they saw things his way. They are obstinate, but they are not fools. They knew the days of abandoning children were over, and I would represent a new breed of echidna Guardians. I am proud of my father, but he is disturbed, since during the war that ended the reign of the Acorn kings, he and the Brotherhood chose not to help King Elias.
Many died, including his close friend, Princess Sally. He considers Scor’s empire his fault, and he wears red gloves now. He tells me the blood red gloves remind him never to make the same mistake again. I think he never wants to forget what he did. Sometimes, it’s hard to forgive him.
-Lara-Su
“The Kingdoms of My Day”
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