“I agree.” Ryker said, “But we didn’t call you here to ask you what you saw in the attack. We want you to tell us what you know about the attacker.”

  “Well,” Vahn began, somewhat confused by the question. “I assumed he was a Mystic, but it was odd that he had to use some kind of device to channel his power. I’ve never seen any of the Mystic soldiers do that.”

  “An astute observation, Guardsman Ashbell.” Ryker said. “Were you able to identify his race?”

  Vahn thought back to what he had seen of the attacker. He looked like an ordinary human, except for the paleness of his skin, and those disturbing, blood red, eyes. Those features definitely stood out. If Vahn had seen them before he would have remembered.

  “I was unfamiliar with his race.” Vahn replied, trying to sound official.

  Ryker ran his fingers through his slowly graying, but still mostly black hair before looking toward Vahn, the stress of last night’s attack showed in his face. Vahn couldn’t help but be impressed by the level of professionalism the king showed in the wake of such a devastating loss.

  “That’s because our attacker wasn’t a Mystic.” Ryker paused for a moment before continuing. “You do understand that everything I’m about to share with you is privileged information and is not to be repeated to anybody that hasn’t received my clearance?”

  What was happening? Why would the king be sharing this information with him? If the attacker wasn’t a Mystic, then what did any of this have to do with Vahn? Had he really performed so admirably in his duties that being called into this council meeting was just because he actually belonged here? Vahn always did his best in the line of duty, but he couldn’t recall doing anything worthy of an invitation to meet with the king in person. There must be something he was missing, but the only way he would find out would be to simply continue the conversation.

  “Yes, You’re Majesty.” Vahn replied.

  “Good.” Ryker said. “Then we’ll proceed with your debriefing. I’ll review old information for Guardsman Ashbell’s sake.”

  The king cleared his throat before continuing.

  Sixteen years ago, our government initiated a top secret program known as Project Diritas. The project aimed to create an army that could defeat the Fortunatus in battle. That’s why we’ve called you here, Guardsman Ashbell; according to your file, your father is Fortunatus. Is this information correct?”

  Vahn began to feel nervous. The information was correct. His lineage had been a source of discrimination against him in the past. The Fortunatus were once the most dangerous enemies of the Human Empire. They used the same power as the rest of the Mystics, but they had another supernatural ability the other Mystic races didn’t possess. Somehow, they could subconsciously change their surroundings, altering events to always be in their best interests. Or in other words, they were extremely lucky. That power gave them an incredible advantage in battle.

  In the end, the Human Empire launched a large enough assault on them that not even their luck could save them. The race was nearly extinct, but those who were old enough to remember them hated them.

  “Yes, you’re Majesty.” Vahn replied. “That is correct, but with all due respect, I’m not following how I’ll be able to help you with our current problem.” That wasn’t entirely true. Vahn was beginning to understand what the king was referring to, but all that he had heard on the subject were rumors. He would look like a fool if he spoke up about it just to be proven wrong and labelled as a conspiracy theorist.

  “Perhaps you will see after I’ve finished giving you all the information.” Ryker said in a calming tone. “The army we raised to fight the Fortunatus did not consist of regular soldiers. To counteract their ability to manipulate circumstance in their favor; our army was genetically engineered with the ability to manipulate circumstance to be unfavorable for their opponents.”

  Vahn paused for a moment, his suspicions were confirmed. The king was definitely referring to Anti-Lucks. So they were real. And apparently one had come back to attack its own creators.

  “They make people unlucky?” Vahn said, furrowing his eyebrows slightly in feigned confusion. Since he had pretended not to know, he needed to stick with it if he wanted to avoid having suspicion thrown on him.

  “That would be the simplest way to say it, I suppose.” Ryker replied.

  “But how is it that an Anti-Luck is able to manipulate circumstances without using the power of the Mystics?” Vahn continued. “I’ve never heard of those powers being replicated. I’ve never heard of anybody even coming close to copying their powers.”

  This time he wasn’t faking his curiosity. He really had no idea how the Human Empire had managed to manufacture an army, and much less how they had successfully given them a power that should only have been available to the Mystics.

  “Unfortunately,” Ryker replied. “Little is known about the project now. My father oversaw the whole thing before I took the throne, and the scientists involved destroyed their research and took their own lives after their army failed to come home alive. If we could still access their research then our problem would be simple. We would simply make another Anti-Luck to defeat the one who attacked us last night.”

  “So you think I know a way defeat him?” Vahn asked incredulously, still in disbelief about how much information the king was sharing with him.

  “We already know what we have to do to defeat him, Guardsman Ashbell.” Ryker replied. “We’ve already discussed other options and we have determined the only thing that can counteract the abilities of this Anti-Luck is the power of the Fortunatus.”

  So that was it. They thought that Vahn would be able to counteract the Anti-luck’s powers. But they were wrong. Vahn was only half Fortunatus. All of the genes that made the Fortunatus different from Humans were recessive. Not a single Fortunatus trait was manifest in Vahn. As far as biology went Vahn was exactly the same as any other Human. The king was going to be disappointed.

  “Maybe you could try hiring a team of Draco Hominis,” Vahn said, “I’m sure they would take the job for the right price, and they can negate the power of any of the Mystics.”

  “I do not make a habit of repeating myself, Ashbell.” Ryker said, “So I hope you will focus and recall that I already stated the Anti-Luck is not a Mystic. The Draco Hominis will fall to him the same way that our soldiers fell last night. What we want, Guardsman Ashbell, is a Fortunatus.”

  Here it was, the king was going to officially ask him, so Vahn couldn’t play dumb anymore. He had to admit that he couldn’t use the Mystic’s power, and that his luck was the same as anybody else’s.

  “With all due respect, sir,” Vahn said, “I don’t think that I can help you with that. I don’t have any of the powers of the Fortunatus.”

  The king paused for moment, and then began to laugh softly. “Guardsman Ashbell, if we thought for even a second that you actually possessed the powers of the Mystics we would never have made you a Palace Guard. We were already quite sure of your humanity when you first enlisted in the military. And whatever lingering doubts we may have held about your lack of powers before; your rather short performance in last night’s battle removed those doubts from our minds.”

  Vahn stared in surprise. It was like the king had shifted into a new personality. How long had he been fighting back the urge to laugh?

  “I’m sorry your majesty.” Vahn said.

  “Don’t apologize.” The king said. “Look, I hate all of this formality; it’s really just a show that we put on for visitors, so I’m just going to get straight to the point of all of this. There are only two full blooded Fortunatus known to be alive today. One of them is the King of the Mystics. Since we’re at war with him, I would imagine he would be less than helpful. But the second choice is slightly more promising since he’s your younger brother.”

  Suddenly Vahn’s presence in this meeting made a lot more sense. Why had he ever thought this was about him? Despite his military skill, he hadn’t gotten here because of his own merits.

  “Drake is my half brother.” Vahn replied, “And he’s also a wanted criminal. I’m not sure he would be easily convinced to help you.”

  “Leave the convincing to us.” Ryker said, some of the seriousness returning to his voice. “For the good of the Human Empire, and for the sake of my only daughter, I’m asking you to help us. Now Guardsman Ashbell, you are free to refuse this task if you feel that you aren’t capable of performing it. But if you are the caliber of man I expect a member of my Palace Guard to be, then the decision to stop a man who killed hundreds of your comrades, and then took a member of the family that you swore an oath to protect with your life, is not something you will not take lightly.”

  Vahn sat in silence for a moment, looking down at the table. The king was right. Hundreds of people lay dead, and the heir to the Empire had been taken. Vahn could play a key role in avenging the fallen men and saving the stolen princess. Of course, credit would go to Drake and not to Vahn.

  “Always remember my son. Honor is greater than glory.” The last words his father had spoken to him sprang unbidden to his mind.

  Vahn felt guilty for even considering turning down the king’s request. He lifted his head and met the king’s gaze.

  “I haven’t seen him in years.” Vahn replied. “But I think I could find him.”

  “Then I’m promoting you to the rank of Captain.” Ryker said. “I will also assign a special task force under your command. You’ll need to report to all council meetings until this Anti-Luck is stopped, and my daughter is brought safely home. Your input is welcome on any subject that we discuss, but your priority is finding Drake Ashbell.”

  Chapter 3: Drake

  Shattered glass flew through the air behind Drake as he fell to the ground from the castle window he'd just leapt through.

  I did not think this through, he thought as he plummeted toward the ground. He hit with a slight thud on the grass that was just soft enough to keep him from breaking any bones upon impact.

  "Wow," he said to himself, "I can't believe that actually worked."

  He looked up as the shards of brightly colored glass rained down around him.

  The colors are kind of pretty falling through air, he thought. Much prettier than that horrid stained glass portrait of King Dathan that was there before I smashed through it.

  The shards of glass were followed by several arrows fired from the soldiers up above him.

  Those are a little less pretty! Drake thought as he narrowly dodged them.

  "Hey! What's with all the hostility!? I thought we were getting along!" He yelled up to them as he lifted himself off of the ground.

  "You’re a thief!" a soldier yelled back from the broken window frame, "And that window you just destroyed was priceless art!" The soldier punctuated his sentence by firing another arrow only narrowly missing Drake.

  "Well, if you would've just let me use the door like I wanted to, then I wouldn't have had to jump through it!" Drake yelled back at him as he pulled out his revolver and fired at the soldiers. Drake grinned at the soldier standing in the window frame and watched as the little ball of light that came from the barrel of his gun transformed itself into a massive fireball and hit the soldier in the chest.

  "Bull’s-eye!" Drake said as he turned to run away from the soldiers that had come pouring out of the main gate. He turned and immediately shot another fireball into the crowd of soldiers. They all scrambled to get out of the way. Drake laughed at the soldiers that fell over trying to avoid the blast.

  "He's using Vhy’ Rai," one of them yelled, "Fire back!"

  Drake let out a slight yelp as the soldiers lifted their hands and sent a conglomeration of fireballs, icicles, and even small bolts of lightning flying through the air toward him. Drake felt the cool dirt hit against his face as it was flung up from the soldiers’ attacks hitting the ground around him. Miraculously, none of the attacks hit him.

  “I guess they didn’t teach you how to aim in your military training!” Drake yelled as he shot another fireball from his revolver and turned to run as fast as he could, going down the first of the switchbacks that lead down to the bottom of the mountain.

  Knune’s fire! Why did I have to rob a place so high up!? He thought as he rounded the corner to descend to the next switchback road, narrowly dodging a flying shard of ice, and a few crossbow bolts as he went.

  It’ll take way too long to get down this.

  He stopped at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the winding road leading down the mountain and into the nearby town.

  It's too high. He thought, even with something soft to break my fall at the bottom, I'd definitely break something.

  He turned to check what progress the soldiers had made in chasing him. They all wore bulky suits of armor, making them much slower than Drake, so he expected to have a moment to think before they caught up with him, but he turned to find a squad close on his heels. Drake’s eyes widened as he saw that the squad of soldiers had caught up with him and were already sending balls of fire flying through the air straight at him.

  They sure are more motivated than usual, he thought as he moved to dodge the attack. They must have really loved that window.

  His foot caught on a rock as he moved to sidestep an oncoming fireball.

  This is not going to feel good, he thought as he toppled over the edge falling fast toward a passing carriage.

  I hope it's carrying something soft.

  *******************************

  Angela was on the verge of tears as she sat, chained, in the Mystic’s slave transport; contemplating the fate that awaited her. Just a week earlier she’d been happy in her home with her family where her biggest concern had been making sure she looked cute enough to impress the boy that always smiled at her when she and her step-father had taken the produce from their farm to the market. She had always disliked her step-father. She’d spent many days fighting against the rules that he set and making it clear to him that he wasn’t her real father. Her domestic worries all seemed trivial now that her home had been conquered by the Mystics and she and her younger sister had been shipped off to this planet. She would give anything to find out if her mother and step-father were even alive. But she couldn’t do that because she had nothing left to give; the Mystics had taken it all. Now she was destined to spend the rest of her days as a slave; and not just any slave, she was too pretty to be sold as a normal worker; she would serve “other purposes.”

  She shuddered to think of what those might be.

  The slave carriage shook as it hit a bump in the road. Angela looked over to her sister, Nora, who sat next to her, and then over at the other girls in the carriage. They all had their wrists and ankles chained to the benches. Some of them had tears in their eyes. Others seemed so exhausted and overwhelmed with the situation that they couldn’t even muster up the energy to cry. Angela had heard horror stories of what happened to the humans who were captured by the Mystics. They would use their strange power to give them a mark. Once they had that, they could never disobey an order from their master without experiencing excruciating pain. There would be no escape for them once they made it to the slave market unless their master set them free.

  Suddenly, Angela heard someone screaming outside the carriage. Although she couldn’t see the source, it sounded almost like it was coming from above them. There was a loud rip and a thud as something came crashing through the roof and onto the bed of the slave transport. She would have jumped right out of her seat if she wasn’t chained to it. She looked down at the object that had fallen through the roof and to her surprise; it wasn’t an object at all, it was a young man who looked to be in his early twenties.

  “Not my best landing.” the boy groaned as he slowly began to pick himself up off of the ground.

  Where in the world did he come from? Angela thought. Then, she noticed the sword on his waist, and the revolver in his hand. It was the strangest looking gun she had ever seen. The metal had an almost supernatural reddish tint to it, the whole thing had bands of runes from a foreign language burned into it. But despite its strange appearance, it was unmistakably a gun and a Mystic would never use one of those. But if the boy wasn’t with the Mystics, what was he doing here? It didn’t make sense for the Human Empire to send anybody to save a bunch of farm girls from one of the border planets, but what else could this boy be here to do?

  “Are you here to save us!?” Angela blurted out. The boy turned toward her with a slight look of confusion in his eyes. The confusion disappeared as his eyes met hers.

  “Wow, you are gorgeous.” He said. “Have you been marked yet?”

  The boy got straight to the point.

  “What?” she said. The boy moved forward and grabbed her right hand. “What are you doing!?” She yelled out, pulling her hand back as best as the chains would allow.

  “I’m checking for a slave mark,” he said, “I can’t save you if you have one.”

  “Oh, right. No, we, um… We haven’t been marked yet.” she said, fumbling over her words as she spoke.

  I feel like an idiot, she thought as he let go of her hand.

  “Are you always this eloquent?” he asked, “Or are my good looks leaving you speechless?”

  “Your looks?” Angela asked, regaining control over her words, “It’s the smell that’s leaving me speechless. When is the last time you bathed?”

  She had to admit, with his light brown hair, blue eyes, and muscular build, this boy would probably be good looking if it wasn’t for the fact that he was covered in ash and dirt. Not to mention that he did have a bit of a sweaty odor emanating from him; not that any of the slaves in the cart smelled any better.

  “I bathed this mor….” The boy began; but paused mid-sentence after inhaling through his nose. “I’ve been running a lot…. and they were shooting stuff at me... you would be sweaty too…” the boy trailed off.

  “Are you always this eloquent?” Angela asked, the sarcasm obvious in her voice. “Or are my good looks leaving you speechless?”