Chapter Text
The Spargan vehicle pit was all but deserted in the dead of night, with only a handful of warriors on guard-duty keeping watch over the outer gates. It was eerily quiet without the bustle of mechanics and frequent comings and goings of warriors running missions out in the wasteland; only the soft sighing of the desert wind and the occasional footsteps of the guards broke the silence.
Damas arrived atop the walls sometime around midnight, choosing a spot directly over the outer gate and standing statue-still as he looked out over the starlit dunes. This in itself was not uncommon (rumour had it that the current Ruler of Spargus never slept, largely thanks to frequent nocturnal appearances such as this one) but he was more tense than usual, like a hunter seeking a scent, and he exchanged only the briefest greetings with the guards before falling quiet again. It was the sort of deadened silence that precedes a storm, the air around him charged; the night-guards picked up on the mood and none of them pressed their ruler for details, simply watched and waited for the storm to break.
After long hours of silence, Damas was joined by the captain of the communications hub, a tall dark-skinned wastelander called Pol. Their brief exchange was too quiet for the night-guards to hear what was said, but they all took note when Damas began making urgent calls on his communicator.
Within twenty minutes, a small group of warriors had assembled near one of the torches flanking the city gate, and Damas descended from the walls to meet them. Three hours before dawn was uncommonly early, even for a desert city that rose before the sun to beat the heat of the day; the warriors stood tired and bleary-eyed, trying to stifle their yawns, though none of them would dare complain. Every Spargan understood that it was their duty to respond when called, even if their king didn't have the decency to look as tired as they felt.
Damas acknowledged each of them by name, his tone still soft, but none of them missed the electric tension in the air, the sharp sense of urgency that coiled tightly around the desert king. Every one of them knew that Damas would not have called them here without reason.
'We have a situation,' he began, as Pol and the current guard-captain joined them-- no one seemed to breathe as Damas summarised the problem. A call received in the dead of night was bound to be bad, but this incident might turn out even worse than any of them had anticipated.
Tradition had it that the Ruler of Spargus didn't ride out on missions often, only under the most dire of circumstances. But none of the assembled warriors were surprised when Damas swung into the first car beside its driver, when he personally gave the signal that sent the small convoy tearing from the gates.
---
The sky was just beginning to lighten from black to deep indigo in the east as they neared the steep ridges formed by ancient basalt flows; Damas raised a hand and the vehicles slowed slightly in response. Their target lay within the system of caves and tunnels that twisted and wound beneath the long-extinct volcanic peaks in this part of the desert-- they wouldn't be able to see what awaited them until they were almost right on top of it.
Bel, driver of the lead vehicle, tapped her thumbs against her steering wheel. 'D'you think it's a trap?'
'Almost definitely,' he replied. 'But we expected as much back in Spargus. Keep going.'
As they approached the entrance to the caves, a small flicker of orange dropped down from one of the boulders just inside. Damas stood up on his seat, peering intently at the rocks, then quickly signaled for the three cars to stop. With the engines silenced, the Spargans could hear the small creature yelling thinly, its voice distinctly human even at a distance.
Damas grabbed his peacemaker and jumped down from the car; there was no mistaking the creature's identity. 'Daxter, what--'
'...spikey-headed sonuva yakkow's tit; it's about godsdamned time you showed up!' Daxter yelled, gesturing wildly at Damas. 'I hope you know this is all your fault; we come out here on your crap mission and of course everything goes to shit cause the universe just can't give us a break, and you should know--'
'Daxter--'
'--prob'ly jump off a damn cliff if you told him to, and not even start to wonder why til he was halfway down, and-- hey! What the hell're ya doin', I ain't finished yet, put me d--'
'Daxter,' Damas repeated as he lifted the ottsel to eye level; his voice was very quiet this time, and something in those unusual violet eyes made Daxter want to curl up and hide, or maybe run as far away as possible. He clamped his mouth shut as Damas continued in that same oddly soft tone-- 'Where are the others?'
He managed to find his voice again. 'G-gone, they're just... Jak's gone, and I couldn't even... didn't even see...' The anger was draining away, exhaustion finally engulfing him like the incoming tide; he couldn't even bring himself to care about the indignity of dangling from Damas's hands like a disobedient kitten at this point.
'How do you mean?' Damas asked, startling him back to the present. 'When you say they are 'gone'...'
Daxter glared up at the king, finding another spark of anger. 'Gone! Taken! Poof, vanished! I just woke up and not a trace of 'em left, and that's all I know, okay?' He sniffed loudly and rubbed the back of his forearm over his eyes, then jabbed a finger at Damas. 'And what're you gonna do about it, anyway? You're no better than all the other ungrateful jumped-up leader types our sorry hides've had the rotten luck of dealing with-- gettin' Jak all mixed up in your shit and lettin' him pay the price when everythin' goes tits-up. Every time-- he's always the one who gets hurt, and now he's been dragged off gods-know-where by marauders or metalheads or-- or worse...'
Damas said nothing, his expression neutral as Daxter paused, breathing heavily-- the little ottsel glared up at Damas through his furious tears, teeth bared and fur standing on end. The Ruler of Spargus was an intimidating presence; Daxter was usually careful to draw the line at casual jabs, but now he was past caring, past any fear of what Damas might do to him. '...But I wouldn't expect you to understand what it's like,' he added venomously. 'Everyone always wanting things from him, everyone taking all they can get and never giving anything back...'
'You'd be surprised,' said Damas quietly, his gaze still level, but something in his eyes and his tone made Daxter think of cut glass, sharp and dangerous beneath the calm surface... and somehow, those three soft-spoken words were worse than if Damas had shouted. Daxter flinched and clamped his mouth shut, unsure whether he'd overstepped some invisible line, whether Damas might attempt to drop-kick him as far from Spargus as possible, leave him for the desert to finish off... but Damas just shook his head and added, 'It is unwise to make assumptions, and speak of things you do not understand.' Damas set Daxter back on the sand, crouching down to his level. 'More importantly-- I need you to tell me exactly what happened to the others, if I am to help them.'
Daxter blinked up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. 'D'you... really mean that?'
Damas raised an eyebrow. 'I did not come out here to sightsee, rodent.' He picked up his peacemaker, planting the butt of the weapon firmly against the ground. 'Your party left Spargus yesterday afternoon to investigate a beacon belonging to one of our artifact-runners, activated earlier that day at this location.' Damas indicated the caves. 'The last contact we had with the rescue party came an hour later, as you neared the caves; at that point nothing out of the ordinary had been detected. What happened after that?'
Daxter was quiet for a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. 'Well... yeah, everything was going just like usual, up until we got inside the tunnels. I started gettin' real sleepy, and Jak pulled me down off his shoulder so I wouldn't fall. Was pretty out of it by the time we stopped, but I think one of the others said somethin' about the body bein' moved. And I sorta remember Jak picked me up and I think he was running, an' there was people shouting and gunfire, but that might've just been a normal dream...' Daxter rubbed his eyes again. 'Next thing I knew, I was wakin' up behind some rocks just inside the entrance. No sign of him, or the other three... just the dead guy farther back inside. Didn't look marauder, so I guess it was probably the missing artifact guy we were supposed to find.'
Damas gazed thoughtfully at the cave entrance while he waited for Daxter to finish, then looked back at the ottsel. 'What time would you say you woke up?'
'Don't know exactly... was fully dark out, and the new moon. I'd guess maybe an hour or two before midnight?'
'So you woke up, and then went back inside, I assume to look for Jak. You said there was no sign of the rescue party, but did you notice anything else out of the ordinary?'
'Mostly just... lots of tracks, both from the cars and human footprints-- or boots, anyway, so I figured human, but-- yeah. Signs of gunfire, but I dunno if they were from yesterday, guess it could've been older... oh yeah, and behind some rocks about halfway to where the body is, I found some big canisters.'
'Hm.' Damas frowned. 'What colour? And were they marked?'
'Just a dark grey... and yeah, they had the old KG logo on them-- uh, from Haven City, you know? Big bad military types. And...' Daxter traced a rough shape in the sand with his finger. 'There was another mark, sorta like that.'
Daxter was pretty sure he caught a flicker of recognition in Damas's eyes, and not the good kind. 'Did you notice--'
'Oi, Damas!' Bel interrupted. 'A flare!'
Damas stood quickly, scanning the horizon for the source of the smoke trail. 'There,' he called, pointing at a distant ridge and signaling to one of the other drivers. Find them-- take them alive if possible.
'Hey! What's going on, Sandy?' Daxter asked as the car took off across the dunes. He didn't understand the series of hand-signals Damas had used, while his low vantage point made it difficult for him to see much beyond Damas's parked car-- and he didn't quite have the guts to try riding the king's shoulder.
'That's a marauder signal,' Damas replied, pointing at the trail of thick yellowish smoke hanging in the early morning sky. 'Almost definitely the same ones responsible for this cowardly trap.'
'So, uh... why would marauders go to all this trouble, anyway? Complicated traps and taking prisoners really doesn't seem like their style...'
'It's not,' said Damas, pulling out his communicator and opening a channel. 'Kleiver, I need an investigation team out here-- gas masks, protective gear, scanners, the whole lot. Make sure those filters are fresh; we think the missing Spargans were gassed.'
'G-gassed?' Daxter sputtered. 'Is Jak gonna be--' He broke off abruptly when Damas locked eyes with him, shaking his head as though to say not now; you didn't have to be a reading-people expert to figure that one out.
'We have reports of one dead; the other four appear to have been taken alive. If nothing else comes up, we will be waiting at--' Damas's communicator beeped; he glanced at the readout, then said 'hold' before switching channels. 'Yes?'
'Just picked up a new signal-- Lorne's beacon has been activated. I'm sending you the coordinates now.'
'Good work, Pol. Out.' He switched back to Kleiver's channel. 'Change of plans-- we've got another lead. Your group should proceed with the search alone; contact me when you've finished here.'
'Righto, lordship.'
Damas ended the call and tossed the comm to Bel, who set about plugging it back into the car's nav system. Damas pulled himself up into the car with an easy, fluid grace, then looked back at Daxter, cutting off the ottsel's most recent attempt to ask what was going on. 'Get in, rat-- unless you'd prefer to wait here for Kleiver to arrive with the reinforcements.'
Daxter shuddered and quickly obeyed. The last thing he wanted at a time like this was to be alone with Kleiver... especially considering that he was pretty sure the big man had never completely given up hope of turning him into a snack.
He'd barely landed in the car when Bel floored the accelerator and the vehicle abruptly rocketed forward, slamming him against the seat-back. This lady could give Jak a run for his money in the crazy-driving department, Daxter reflected miserably as he scrambled to get a decent grip on the seat-- he snuck a glance up at Damas, half-hoping that he might be at least slightly ruffled or off-balance, but of course the king had managed to maintain his steady posture with what seemed like no effort at all. Apparently driving like a maniac was the norm in Spargus, or at least common enough that Damas was accustomed to standing in a moving vehicle... or maybe Damas was just like that. Now that Daxter thought about it, you probably didn't get to be ruler of a place like Spargus unless you were some sort of crazy-badass tough guy.
It was almost enough to make Daxter glad Jak wasn't here, or he might decide to try something similar-- and after the Glider Incident the last thing Daxter needed was for Jak to get any new ideas about crazy stunts involving speeding vehicles. And if Jak saw Damas (of all people) riding around in a car like some heroic charioteer right out of the old tales... well, there would be no stopping him. Jak already respected Damas more than any other authority figure the duo had been subjected to, and that was without ever seeing Damas in action-- somehow, the man brought out a side of Jak that no other leader had been able to elicit. Daxter couldn't understand it, but he supposed it was good for Jak to have an older mentorly type he could actually talk to. Gods knew they'd never had anyone like that before; Samos only cared about hearing himself talk, and Sig was a solid friend but not much for deep conversations about difficult topics.
Okay, so there was no denying that Spargus was good for Jak-- certainly more than Haven had ever been. For all its dangers, Jak slept far better in the bare stone room that passed for quarters in Spargus than he had in any of the places they'd stayed in Haven, and he smiled more easily now, actually seemed to breathe. Daxter wasn't particularly fond of the heat and the sand, or the nasty Kleiver-types, or the rather primitive amenities, or car rides that made his bones rattle... but he'd put up with far worse to help his best friend. And if the Sandking was part of that... Daxter supposed he could tolerate Damas, too.
Daxter fought his way into a sitting position a moment later, bracing himself against the seat and yelling to make himself heard over the roar of the engine-- 'So, that stuff you said earlier, about them bein' gassed...'
'Those canisters you found likely contained a type of sleeping gas,' Damas replied-- unlike Daxter, he managed to make himself heard without shouting, likely though some trick in how he pitched his voice. 'You fell unconscious before the others due to your smaller body mass. I'd guess that the missing warriors realised they were under attack and Jak hid you to keep you safe.'
Daxter's ears drooped. 'Yeah... sounds like our hero boy, all right.'
He fell silent again, knowing it was useless to think about what-ifs, but... the thought kept sneaking across his mind, that maybe Jak would have managed to escape if he hadn't had Daxter to worry about; maybe he would've fought them off, and...
A moment later, Damas glanced back at him, as though he'd read some meaning in the silence-- or maybe it was just a coincidence. 'You should try to get some rest. It will be a couple hours before we reach the beacon.'
Daxter looked up at him, incredulous. 'Ya really expect me to sleep at a time like this?'
Damas raised an eyebrow. 'Worrying yourself to exhaustion will do no one any good,' he pointed out. 'And I believe Jak would want you to take care of yourself.'
Daxter slouched back down. Hard to argue with that logic. 'Okay... fine, I'll try...'
The Sandking nodded once with what seemed to be approval, then turned forward again.
Daxter didn't think he would be able to rest at all, between the noise and motion of the car and knowing Jak could be injured or worse, but he must have underestimated the power of sheer exhaustion; once he was curled up on the seat it hit him like a sack of bricks. Sleep came quickly after that, deep and mercifully dreamless.
---
The first thing Daxter noticed when he woke was the shift in terrain; this part of the desert was much rockier, with less of the deep sand that formed the shifting dunes near Spargus. The packed dirt beneath their wheels and the tall rocky outcroppings were a dull rusty colour, and in a few places scrubby undergrowth had managed to take root. Daxter climbed up on the car's frame, squinting against the glare of the morning sun. Massive columns and arches of stone shaped by millennia of exposure to the elements towered over them as they passed, casting long shadows across the sand.
Looking back, Daxter saw that the third car had caught up at some point. He pulled himself up on the roll cage. 'So, hey, Mister Sandking,' he began loudly, nodding back at the other cars once he'd caught Damas's attention. 'Any news on the marauder front?'
'The marauders who shot the flare near the caves crashed their vehicle just as Chiro's car caught up to them,' Damas replied, gesturing back towards the driver who had given chase. 'Unfortunately, none of those marauders survived the crash, so we were unable to gain any new information from them.'
'Ah... too bad for them, I guess,' Daxter said, though without any real feeling. 'What about Kleiver?'
'Kleiver's group should be arriving at the caves shortly,' Damas continued. 'He will contact me once they have finished examining the site.'
Daxter gave an exaggerated sigh in response, just as the cars reached a gap in the ridges to their left-- the mouth of a canyon carved out over the millenia by water flowing down from somewhere deep in the mountains. Damas signalled to the other drivers, and all three of the Spargan vehicles turned into the canyon. Daxter's ears flicked up as the cliff-faces on either side bounced the engine-noise back at them-- he thought back to the caves, and shivered a little. 'Are we gettin' close yet?'
'Yes.' Damas glanced down at the readout on his communicator. 'I'd say we're about twenty minutes out.'
Daxter started to reply, but then the car's wheels hit a rock and he nearly lost his grip on the roll cage. He decided it was prudent to retreat back to the seat, and not just to avoid falling off the car; he also observed that Damas and the gunners in the other cars were keeping a careful eye on the clifftops, clearly on the lookout for enemies. The last thing Daxter wanted was to put himself in the line of fire; his orange fur would likely make a handy target for any snipers the marauders might have hidden among the cliffs.
The canyon walls rose on either side as they drove onward, showing layers of striped sandstone laid down in a distant past, long before even the time of the Precursors. The riverbed beneath their wheels was cracked and dry, with only a few damp patches in shadowed corners where the sun couldn't burn it away, though these increased the further they drove; eventually the cliffs were so close and high that the midmorning sun was blocked entirely, throwing their path into deep shadow.
Finally, the cars slowed; there was still no sign of the missing Spargans, but they had reached a bend too narrow and cluttered with boulders for their vehicles to make it through. Damas made a series of the hand-signals that Daxter couldn't understand; the other two drivers pulled up close to Bel's car and cut their engines as well. One of the other gunners jumped down from her gun-perch as Damas unplugged his communicator from the car's nav system.
'Hey-- what about me?' Daxter called as Damas started to walk towards the narrow cleft in the rocks. 'You're not just gonna leave me here, are you?'
Damas paused and glanced back, one eyebrow quirked up. 'That is up to you, isn't it?' He kept going without another word, climbing the rocks and disappearing around the bend.
Daxter fidgeted for a moment, then leapt down from the car and sprinted to catch up with Damas and the other warrior. He eyed the tall backs with trepidation, but at this point he had little to lose by trying, and in any case he was sick of running to keep up.
Damas didn't so much as twitch when Daxter's thin body thumped against his shoulder, tiny ottsel hands scrambling for a grip on the pauldron. '...Eesh, how's a guy supposed to get comfortable on a shoulder all covered in spikes?' Daxter complained. 'You've got such nice spacious shoulders too; they'd be premo sitting space if only your armour was a bit more ottsel-friendly...'
'I don't believe anyone asked for your opinion, rat,' said Damas dryly. 'If you don't like it, you're welcome to walk instead.'
Daxter snorted and shifted his weight slightly, settling himself down into the narrow gap between the row of spikes and Damas's right ear. The canyon was now narrow enough that Damas could have reached out and touched both walls as he walked. After a couple minutes of silent walking, Daxter sat a little taller. 'So... where are we headed now?'
Damas gestured ahead with his gunstaff. 'Not much farther.'
'Do you think--'
'Quiet,' Damas interrupted. 'Voices carry here.'
Daxter started to say something else, then reconsidered and shut his mouth. It was probably not wise to push his luck, especially if he wanted to help Jak. Honestly, he was surprised Damas had tolerated him this long, and he had no idea how much farther the Sandking's patience might stretch.
They reached a bend in the trail, and Damas paused to peer around the corner. The canyon opened up ahead of them, revealing a relatively flat clearing surrounded by high cliffs. Some large boulders littered the far end of the canyon, where the water would cascade down from above during the rainy season; now there was only a shallow muddy pool at the base of the dried-up waterfall.
There was no sign of Jak, but two of the other missing Spargans were tied up against the heaped rocks-- a man whose many wounds bled sluggishly, and a female warrior who had to be at least a couple decades older than Damas. The wounded Spargan sagged heavily against his ropes, blood dripping into the murky puddles at his feet, while the woman stood tall and proud as though she didn't feel her own cuts and bruises. Earlier, during the initial run out to the caves, Daxter had remarked upon the fact that Spargus would send an 'old lady' out into the desert... and the woman had simply laughed at him, grinning wickedly as she suggested that 'kids' like himself and Jak still had a lot to learn.
The clearing appeared deserted aside from the two prisoners, but this setup was clearly another trap; more marauders were bound to be lurking nearby, hidden out of sight among the jumbled rocks and jagged cliffs. 'What now, Mister Sandking?' Daxter asked, though for once he kept his voice quiet, barely above a whisper. 'I don't suppose they'll let us go up and free our buddies over there?'
Damas snorted softly. 'Those cowards are most likely hiding somewhere behind the prisoners, waiting to shoot as soon as we approach.'
'Brilliant,' said Daxter, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 'My favourite pasttime; playing target practise for a bunch of marauder assholes.' He shifted slightly on his perch. 'Unless you got any better ideas?'
Damas paused as though giving the problem serious consideration, then replied, 'Just one.' He unclipped a knife from his belt, passing the sheathed blade to Daxter. 'You should be able to reach them unseen while Jayde and I create a diversion-- I need you to cut Valka free.' He indicated the fierce silver-haired woman. 'Lorne too, but only if he can stay upright on his own; I'll leave it to Valka's judgement. They are to remain still until my signal.'
Daxter accepted the knife automatically, staring at Damas with a stunned look on his face-- for once in his life, words completely failed him.
No one except Jak had ever believed he could do much of anything, even before he'd been transformed into an ottsel; Samos and the other villagers back in Sandover had given him chores but they had certainly never entrusted him with anything important... and then in Haven, he'd just been lumped in with Jak. The 'sidekick', the less important half of the duo, the tag-along pet; Daxter was a curiosity and an annoyance, but never worth paying attention to.
And now, Damas was giving him a look that said it was the most natural thing in the world-- not only to treat Jak's 'talking shoulder-warmer' as more than dead weight, but to entrust Daxter with such a critical role in an important rescue mission...
Damas bounced his shoulder slightly, jostling Daxter's perch. 'Do you understand, Daxter?'
'Y-yes, of course!' Daxter jumped to the ground and stood to his full height, slinging the knife across his back. 'You know you can always count on Orange Lightning to save the day! Those marauders'll never know what hit 'em!'
Damas gave him a grim sort of half-smile that somehow reminded him of the look on Jak's face whenever Jak was about to do something crazy and reckless, the sort of stunt only a guy like Jak could pull off. 'Good-- we're counting on you.' He hefted his gunstaff, scanning the rocks a final time, then held up three fingers to give a silent countdown.
Daxter crouched down, heart racing as he watched Damas's hand; the last finger curled back into his fist and Daxter took off like a shot, sprinting along the canyon wall. Gunfire sounded to his left-- presumably Damas and Jayde had made their presence known-- but Daxter didn't stop to look back. He wasn't going to waste the chance to demonstrate all that he was capable of, knew that in a situation like this even a split second's hesitation might mean the difference between victory and defeat, life and death.
Several frantic seconds later, Daxter skidded to a stop in the damp sand near Valka's bound ankles. He pressed himself as close against the rocks as possible while he cut the bindings; Damas's knife made quick work of the crudely woven rope. 'All yer old bones holdin' up okay, gramma gunslinger?' he commented, just loud enough for her to hear.
Valka snorted softly. 'I ain't ready to keel over just yet, firecracker-- wasn't expectin' to see you again. Figured the marauders woulda turned you to mincemeat.'
Daxter finished cutting through the ankle bindings and scrambled up to her shoulder; there wasn't a lot of space considering how her bound wrists were pulled above her head and secured to the rocks, but he managed to squeeze himself between her ear and a surprisingly firm bicep. 'Guess you better think again, then, cause a couple marauders're no match for the likes of the Daxternator.' He reached up to sever the cords around her wrists; they weren't any thicker or better-made than the ones around her ankles had been. 'Oh, uh-- the Sandking says to stay still and wait for his signal.' Daxter paused, gesturing towards the other hostage. 'You think Snoozles over there can keep upright if I cut him loose, too?'
'Lorne? Not likely; he took quite a beating for tryin' to escape.'
Daxter sheathed his knife and settled back down onto her shoulder. 'Guessing you didn't try for it?'
'Nah... time wasn't right.' Valka rolled her shoulders out, though she kept her arms raised in case any of her captors glanced her way. 'Word of the wise, firecracker-- you wanna survive out here, you gotta keep a cool head at times like this.'
'Heh... you know, his Royal Sandyness told Jak somethin' similar, a while back.'
Valka let out a short laugh. 'Bit hypocritical, coming from him.' She tilted her head towards the right side of the canyon, eyebrows raised; Daxter wrapped a hand around her arm and leaned out from his perch to get a better look.
Damas and the other Spargan were taking it in turns to dart between points of cover, drawing enemy fire and luring the marauders out from their hiding places long enough to take a few careful shots of their own-- Damas had been right about the marauders hiding behind the prisoners, but whoever planned this setup hadn't accounted for the Spargans' excellent aim. As Daxter watched, Damas rolled to his feet, firing a shot almost directly over Valka's head before lunging into another long roll; somewhere above them a marauder let out a strangled yell and fell down the front of the rocks, blood pooling from behind his shattered mask.
'...Whoa,' Daxter whispered under his breath, impressed despite himself-- and that in itself was a rare thing, considering that Daxter spent most of his time riding around on the shoulders of a crazy-badass guy like Jak, and using Jak as his basis for comparison meant that other people pretty much always came up short.
But he had to admit, even Jak probably couldn't have managed a perfect headshot at that distance while on the move-- at least, not without resorting to the eco powers that drastically altered his perception of time, and Damas clearly didn't need to rely on anything so flashy to consistently achieve pinpoint accuracy-- seeing the next couple shots connect as well was enough to convince Daxter that the first hadn't been a fluke or blind luck. Watching Damas was like seeing Jak's brazen confidence and crazy athleticism combined with decades of experience and carefully honed skill, and an almost frightening degree of level-headedness overlaying it all...
Of course, it had always been a given that Damas could fight-- Spargus was clearly not the sort of place that would tolerate a weakling for a ruler, and Damas must have gone through the arena trials at some point-- but before today, Daxter had always assumed that Damas was more of a commander type like Torn; the Underground leader was capable of fighting when necessary, but had always been more focused on organising the fighters under his command, unlikely to take part himself unless pushed to it and preferring to take more of a supporting role when he did. Daxter only needed a few seconds to realise just how wrong that assumption had been-- the Ruler of Spargus was clearly capable of fighting alongside the best of his warriors.
Daxter didn't notice anything that looked like a signal, but he supposed Damas must have given it because Valka suddenly ducked and darted behind the boulder she'd been tied to moments before, the unexpected motion nearly knocking Daxter off her wiry shoulder. The marauders, preoccupied with Damas's onslaught, never saw her coming either-- the first fell when she slammed a fist-sized rock into the back of his skull, then she grabbed up the man's spiked club and used it to drop two more marauders with quick brutal blows.
This was all she could manage before the remaining enemies raised the alarm, forcing her to take shelter among the rocks to avoid the ensuing volley of gunfire, but by then the diversion she'd provided had already served its purpose-- Damas and Jayde had only needed a few seconds to reach the rockfall from the other side, and the boulders that had previously served as the marauders' cover now worked against them, giving them no space to dodge the Spargan onslaught. Less than a minute later, the ravine fell silent.
Damas raised a hand to signal the all-clear as Valka straightened and tossed the borrowed club aside. 'About time you showed up,' she said conversationally.
The corner of Damas's mouth twitched as he nodded to Jayde, who jumped back down the rocks to free Lorne. 'Did you see what happened to the others?' he asked Valka, pausing to check each of the marauders as he passed in case any of them were still breathing.
Daxter turned anxiously to Valka, eager for any word of Jak, but she shook her head. 'They'd already split us up by the time we came to.' She crossed her arms, frowning. 'Not sure what their game is either, but it's pretty damn clear this wasn't the finishing move.'
'Mm.' Damas straightened, apparently having determined all of the marauders to be sufficiently dead. 'You didn't hear anything of note?'
Valka snorted. 'Only if you think taunts and insults are worth repeating-- but no, nothing useful.'
'I can imagine,' said Damas. He stepped closer, motioning towards Valka's injuries, but she waved him off.
'Nah, don't bother.' She started picking her way back around the rocks. 'I'll keep until Lorne's been seen to.'
'Fair enough,' Damas replied, following her back to the canyon floor.
Lorne's injuries weren't bad enough to be life-threatening, as even marauders knew better than to risk killing a hostage, though the man was barely conscious and unable to walk on his own. Jayde and Valka supported him and started back to the vehicles; after a moment of deliberation, Daxter left Valka's shoulder, returning to Damas's side.
'So... that's all? In case you haven't noticed, Jak wasn't here, tough guy.'
'No, but that means little at this stage.' Damas started walking another circle around the clearing, carefully scanning the aftermath of the fight. Daxter returned to his shoulder, landing the jump a little more easily this time; he'd never quite appreciated just how short Jak was until now. 'Valka was right,' Damas added a moment later. 'This is not the final stage of their plan. I doubt they will kill their remaining hostages now, not after going to so much trouble to secure them alive.'
'This wasn't a catching-alive sort of trap, though,' Daxter observed, waving a hand vaguely at the cliffs. 'Those guys didn't look like good enough shots to only make nonlethal hits.'
Damas nodded. 'They took four live prisoners, and are using them as bait, along with our beacons.' He glanced sideways at Daxter. 'What would you guess this means?'
Daxter blinked. 'Me? Uhh, well...' He gazed back at the rocks where Valka and Lorne had been tied up. 'I guess they've gotta know a lot about the way Spargus works, to use the beacons like that. And maybe they just wanna kill as many of us as possible, or... or maybe they're looking for a specific target?' He glanced back at Damas uncertainly, accidentally met the king's violet gaze, then just as quickly looked at one of the dead marauders instead. 'Or maybe they're just mean old leaper shits,' he added hastily.
'I agree,' Damas replied blandly; when Daxter glanced at him again he was half-smiling. 'With every part of that, but most importantly the first bit.'
'Oh?' Daxter shifted his weight, unsure what to do with this sort of almost-praise. '...Waaait, are you testing me?'
'Perhaps.' Damas stopped halfway up the rocks, picking up the beacon. 'It's my job to know what my people are capable of.'
If Daxter had thought praise was difficult to deal with, he was even less sure how to respond to the implication that he was one of 'Damas's people', especially when it came in the form of such a mild offhand comment. He was not used to finding himself at a loss for words, and decided it was probably better to shut his yap before he got himself into even deeper water.
The Ruler of Spargus, Daxter decided, was either a lot wiser than he first appeared, or completely off-the-rocker mad. Perhaps both.
If Damas noticed Daxter's unusual silence, he didn't remark upon it, continuing with his sweep of the clearing; one of the other warriors showed up after a couple minutes to help. They had finished searching most of the bodies when Damas's communicator buzzed.
He unclipped the device from his belt and pressed a button to accept the call. 'Yes?'
'We got somethin', Lordship,' said the Spargan on the other end. 'The marauders dumped Zellos just outta turret range about twenty minutes back-- apparently, they wanted him to deliver a message.'
Damas frowned. 'What sort of message?'
'Dunno, but he passed it on to Sig before the monks took him off to treatment-- want me to transfer you?'
'Mm-- what's Zellos's status?'
'Roughed up pretty bad, but he made it back to the gates on his own, and with all the important bits still attached-- should pull through just fine.'
'That's good,' Damas replied with a brisk nod. 'Put Sig through.'
There was a faint click and a bit of static, and a moment later Sig's voice came over the comm. 'They got 'im, Damas,' he growled-- Sig was normally a laid back sort of guy, and Daxter was startled at how furious he sounded. He opened his mouth to comment on that, but was silenced by the big wastelander's next words--
'Those damn bastards are sayin' they've got your son.'