GLORY OF THE AMAZONS
By
Erik C. Martin
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Glory of the Amazons
Copyright 2012 by Erik C. Martin
Cover photography copyright by Dmitriy Cherevko/ Dreamstime.com
Cover design by Erik C. Martin
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Contact the author at [email protected]. Website https://www.erikcmartin.com. Blog https://www.martin-inabind.blogspot.com.
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I smelled Bagwar’s Run long before I saw it. Having spent the first eighteen years of my life in frozen Angren, my nose was quite sharp. The stench of the infamous city almost made me rethink my plans to seek my fortune there. But I was woman of the north and not one to be put off by an odor, so I persevered. I guess that I became acclimated: by the time that I could make out the details of the sprawling, walled city, the smell had become bearable.
The traffic on the road had been increasing for some time. I had been passed by any number of carts and had overtaken many who were on foot. The variety of the people amazed me. There were all shapes and colors, though none like me; a woman with hair that was almost white and skin just as fair, standing over six feet tall and well-muscled, dressed mostly in skins and fur. But my appearance hardly drew any attention. Many of the travelers I saw were not even human: goblins, dwarves, elves, and even a troll I saw. Having fought more than a few trolls and probably hundred of goblins in my time, I made sure that the hilt of my sword was close at hand, but they appeared intent on their business and paid me no mind at all.
As for business, a great deal was apparently done in Bagwar’s Run. Most of those I saw were carrying immense packs or pulling or driving carts. I had very little. Only my sword, forged by my maternal grandfather, my bow, my favorite knife, a small bundle of food, a few copper coins—the crudely formed ones that we used in Angren, and the clothes I wore. When I had set out, I had a boat.
Bagwar’s Run was bounded to the north by Lake Spooghie, an immense body of water, connected to three other immense lakes and a river that ran to the ocean. The whole waterway was over one thousand miles long and stretched more than three hundred miles to the north—the perfect route for me to get to the city. Unfortunately, the lakes are often beset by fierce storms and one of those storms got my small craft and I had walked and ran the for the last two hundred miles.
There was a line to enter the city’s west gate. I got into it behind a cart that was so overloaded that it looked as if it might tip back and pick the ass that was pulling it right up into the air. When it was my turn, I handed a copper to the bored guard.
“Can you tell me of a good place to find work?” I asked him.
He looked me over quickly.
“Try the Cunning Nematode, straight ahead three blocks, then a left on Market Street,” he said, smiling.
I passed through the gate into the Westside Market. It was a noisy, congested place; and it was filthy, full of mud and smells of urine, sweat, and rotting trash. I pushed past a beggar, careful to keep my hand on my purse, into a garbage filled square full of stalls, peddlers, stray dogs, and more people than I had ever before seen. The middle of the square was dominated by a huge statue of General Bagwar, the city’s founder. The statue was covered in bird droppings and surrounded by a fountain, in which a naked vagrant stood washing himself. It was fall and somewhat cool, something for which I was grateful—I shuddered imagine what the city was like in the heat of high summer.
For the first time, I doubted that I had made the right decision in coming here. But I pushed on, until I had found the Cunning Nematode.
The tavern was bright red and stood out from the other buildings on the street. The inside was not what I expected—it was all frills and lace. A group of dirty-looking, hairy men wearing black, leather jackets with the word, WIZARDS, emblazoned on the back were sitting near the bar. A small, olive skinned girl about seventeen years old was talking to one of the ill-mannered men. She was wearing mostly satin and silk, like a harlot. I noted that most of the other women in the ‘Tode were similarly dressed.
I sat on a stool at the other end of the bar. The olive skinned girl whispered something to the man. He nodded and they went past me and up some stairs. I sighed. The guard at the gate had directed me to a brothel.
“Can I get you something?” asked the bartender.
“No, thanks. I was just leaving.”
I turned to go but my way was blocked by a thin, mature woman who smelled of smoke, and a looming mountain that I realized was her lackey.
“Dorin, get her one on the house,” said the woman. “I’m Madame Leta, this is my place. I like the warrior girl get up, but we should get you in something a little more revealing, maybe some tight leather.”
The bartender, Dorin, placed a shot of amber liquor on the bar behind me. I ignored it and him—my attention was on the mountain. He was almost as big as my brother, Graff, and I noted that he kept his balance low and his weight on the balls of his feet. He had a stout cudgel tied to his belt. I couldn’t see any other weapons, but assumed that he had them. Behind me, the bartender struck a match and lit a fat cigar.
“I’m not looking for work here,” I said to Madame Leta. “I was just leaving.”
“Don’t be so hasty,” she said. “With your looks, you could do very well here. Why don’t we have a drink and talk about it?”
“I’m going now,” I said. I tried to walk past her, but the mountain blocked my way.
“I’m not used to being turned down in my own establishment. We’re going to have a little drink in the back. You can walk or my friend here can help you—your choice.”
Madame Leta moved to the side to let the mountain loom closer—looming and glowering seemed to be what he did best. The bartender was still behind me; I turned slightly so I could see him. I noted out of the corner of my eye that the hairy men in the corner were looking at us, laughing and enjoying the entertainment.
The mountain reached for my arm. I kicked for the crotch. He seemed to expect it and turned his body. I had only meant it as a distraction for my follow-up right hook to his nose. His nose crunched under my fist but it hardly slowed him down. He reached for his cudgel and the bartender made a move like he might try to grab me so I hopped over the bar, kicking him into a rack of glasses as I did.
Suddenly, the temperature dropped about twenty degrees and ice coated the floor and the bar. One of the hairy men down the bar had his wand pointed at us and had apparently created the ice. Having lived in Angren all of my life, the ice presented me with no trouble. The ice caused the mountain some problems though. He tried to reach across the bar for me and slipped, barely catching himself on the edge of the bar, his feet scrambling for traction. I hit him one more time, in the eye, for good measure and moved down the bar toward the door, not running, but moving quickly.
The Wizard pointed his wand again, preparing to get more creative. Just then, the olive skinned girl came bounding down the stairs, throwing a fist-sized decorative marble figurine of a woman at the Wizard. It hit him in the forehead as his wand discharged high, coating the ceiling with a black, tarry goo. His companions roared. The girl grabbed my hand. She seemed pretty sure footed on the ice as well.
“Follow me,” she said.
We ran through a kitchen where a gape-mouthed drudge stood stirring a large pot. I could hear commotion back in the tavern and Madame Leta yelling, but I did not see any pursuit yet. We came out into an alley.
“Come on,” the girl said. “We can’t stop yet, those Wizards are going to be after us. I have a room in Red Spires; it’ll be safe to spend the night there.”
Shrugging, I followed h
er.
Twenty minutes later, I was in a small, second story room in a rickety tenement. There was a bedroll in one corner, the stub of a candle, and a tattered book on a table with one broken leg and not much else.
The girl checked the windows for pursuit. When she was satisfied that there was none she sat down on the floor and took an apple and some bread out of the bag she carried. She pulled off a piece of bread and offered it to me. I accepted it. It was hard but better than nothing.
“My name’s Sparrow,” the girl said.
“Glory. Are you a harlot running away from the brothel?” I asked, curious.
“Me? No, I’m a thief. I’m going to be the best one in Bagwar’s Run. Look at what I got today.”
She opened her bag again and pulled out a wand, a Wizard’s wand. That was why she had been so sure that they would pursue us. Though it seemed as though they might not have discovered the theft immediately. She seemed to read my thoughts.
“I left Curro shackled to the bed. I was hoping that it might give me a few minutes to get away. It won’t take them long to come looking though. And they will. Stealing a Wizard’s wand is a great insult to the gang. Wizard’s wands are all tied together; they’ll try to track it. They shouldn’t be able to as long as we’re here though. When I got to town, I bought a charm from Dark Emily.”
“Dark Emily?”
Sparrow nodded. “She’s a sorceress, probably the best in the city. She’s underground though, all of the witches and sorceresses are. The Wizards control all of the magic in Bagwar’s Run and they don’t let any women into their gang. They think women are good for only one thing. So all of the female practitioners of the arts have to operate in hiding.”
“Are you a sorceress,” I asked. “What good is that wand to you? Is it valuable?”
“This is going to be my key into the Amazons,” Sparrow said proudly.
“Who are the Amazons?”
Sparrow looked surprised.
“Don’t you know anything about the Run? The gangs have all of the power here. The Wizards are the toughest and they sit on top of the council of gangs. And there’s the Briney Boys, the Slagtown Stealers, Trollz, the Axemen, the Rippers, and a bunch more. The Amazons are the only gang that’s all women anywhere in the city. After this,” she said holding up the wand, “they have to let me in. The Amazons hate the Wizards. You should come too; you looked pretty handy in that fight back there.”
I agreed. I didn’t have any other prospects here yet. Besides, it seemed likely that the Wizards would figure that I was tied into the theft somehow and would probably be looking for me too.
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