The Silent Guardian — Chapter 9, Part 2: Desert Camp
This installment is part of The Silent Guardian, a time-travel science-fiction novel. Browse the serialized novel archive. Previous: Chapter 9, Part 1: The Talisman.
The sand cushions my footfalls, absorbing any noise. The first sentry comes into view. I close the distance quickly and take him down before he can raise an alarm. I ease him to the ground, listening for any sign that the others have noticed. Nothing.
I creep toward the second sentry, who stands several paces away, oblivious to the fate of his comrade. The darkness veils me while his outline looms against the firelight. He shifts, glancing in my direction. I freeze, noticing how young he is—too young to be out here. He squints, shrugs, then turns his back to me. I almost feel bad. Unfortunately, this detachment has chosen to hunt me. I close in and silence him quickly.
With the sentries down, I slip deeper into the camp. The fire crackles softly, casting light across the sleeping forms of the remaining soldiers. I am a phantom, circling the fire’s edge to where two men lay on their bedrolls. Their chests rise and fall with the rhythm of sleep.
My dagger hovers over the first one. I see a worn piece of parchment sticking out from his cloak. A letter, most likely. The ink-stained edges and careful folds tell me he cares about the note. Perhaps someone waits for him back home—someone who will never see him again.
I strike before either sleeping soldier can react. Both are down within moments. The camp is still quiet.
I retreat toward the edge of the camp when suddenly, a force yanks me back. A hand clamps around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. My vision narrows. I twist sharply and drive an elbow into my attacker until his grip loosens. I drop low and counter, forcing him back.
He falls. I stumble back, gulping for air, my throat burning from the struggle.
It’s done. The camp is quiet once more, except for the crackling fire.
I stand among the fallen, my grip loosening around the hilt of my sword. Then, I see a lone figure stationed across the glow. He is different from the others. His jet-black armor is far more ornate, with intricate gold accents that catch the firelight. The Imperial emblem gleams on his breastplate. His helmet, crafted to resemble a crown, marks him as someone of great power. A golden mask cover his face, which is tilted at an awkward angle. An unsettling aura of authority surrounds him. A chill runs down my spine because I believe this may be the new Emperor.
It’s strange to see a man of such importance wearing sleeveless armor, his muscled arms exposed. My sight drops to his shoulder. There it is—the Mark of the Phylax seared into his flesh. Or is it? I cannot tell with certainty, but his brand appears mutilated. The firelight dances in his eyes as he watches me, his lips curling into a smug, arrogant smile.
“Ah-ha, traveler,” he begins, his breath stinking of contempt. “Even though you failed your mission, the legendary silence of the Phylax remains.” He takes a deliberate step forward. The fire casts twisted images behind him. “You think you’re worthy of it?”
I say nothing, my oath binding my tongue. This man isn’t following the creed. The sole Phylax permitted to speak is the Archon. This man does not hold that title.
His laugh is chilling. “Not even a twitch, of course.” His focus bores into me, searching for any reaction. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? What you’ve failed to do? The Chinese were supposed to believe Qin died by the sword of his Imperial Guards. Now the world knows an outsider killed him. The Phylax do not take kindly to that level of failure.”
I keep my muscles taut, attention never leaving his. Is he a Phylax? How else would he know of my mission? Of my failure?
“Look at you,” he sneers. “Stumbling through the desert like a lost child, all because you couldn’t complete a simple task.” He gestures around the camp with a flourish, mocking the carnage I’ve wrought. His laughter is cold. “You don’t even know, do you?” he continues, taking another step closer. “The Phylax chose me to clean up your mess. Your failure makes you part of that mess, of course.” His hand moves to the hilt of his sword, the firelight gleaming off the blackened metal.
He lunges without warning. I duck, bringing my sword up in a swift arc. He matches my speed. His blade slices through the air, forcing me to twist away. The clash of metal reverberates across the dunes, thunderously ringing out.
He moves with precision. Each strike is relentless. His sword arcs toward my legs. I leap backward, the sand shifting beneath my feet. The firelight casts our chaotic dance across the dunes. I aim a strike at his exposed side. He parries effortlessly. His counterstrike knocks my knife away, the force exploding through my wrist.
Pain blossoms up my arm as I stagger away. He presses the advantage, his attacks growing more vicious. A sharp blow to my ribs sends me sprawling onto the ground. I am thankful he hit the side opposite my wound. Regardless, the world blurs as the soldier hovers over me. My muscles scream in protest as I fight to keep consciousness.
The soldier pauses, savoring his triumph. His sword gleams in the firelight as he raises it, poised for the killing blow. A twisted smile spreads over his lips. “The silence of the Phylax,” he sneers. “What a fitting end for you.”
I wait, the moment stretching endlessly as the sword begins its descent. My hand shoots along the ground in a desperate thrust, snatching a fistful of sand. I fling it upward with as much speed as I can muster. The grains erupt in his face, catching him mid-swing. He reels back, clawing at his eyes with a howl of rage. As he twists, the armor on his arm shifts, revealing the heavily scarred mess in the spot where the Mark of the Phylax would typically be.
I roll hard, the world tilting as adrenaline takes over. I need to rise. Before I can, the air around me wavers. A low hum vibrates through the ground. The fire’s glow dims to an ember. The soldier stumbles toward me, his outline blurring.
The air collapses inward, pulling at my senses. A searing, twisting force wraps around me, dragging me into the rippling void. The soldier’s outstretched arm wavers out of focus, his enraged shout swallowed by the distortion. The dunes melt; the stars above twist into a vortex.
I’m falling—or maybe I’m rising. The sensations blur together; the desert, the soldier, and the fight all peel away. A dream dissolving into wakefulness. Then, nothing.
Continue with Chapter 10, Part 1: Sachu. New installments publish daily at 5:00 AM.
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