Sisters of the Storm_Triad

by Guy Estes

  Most of the Charidian bowed their heads in shame. Tribes who’d been their friends were now their subjects, or their victims. Others were too afraid of them to trade with them. The Amazons to the north kept a wary eye on them. For all his skill in battle, the tribe seriously questioned Anlon’s ability to stand against the Amazons. Most of their culture was centered around battle. Charidian had rebelled against Anlon. Their heads decorated his tent and their hides made his belts and boots.

  The younger warriors, both of the Charidian and other tribes, flocked to Anlon’s banner. He gave them the opportunity for glory and fame, loot and conquest, so while older Charidean despised him and his expansionist policies, many of the younger ones supported him. In the two years since his godsdamned sister had used and humiliated him, Anlon had amassed a large army. With the aid of Mathias, the Charidian sorcerer, he’d had a great fortress built in the Southern Badlands to use as his headquarters, a central location from which he could govern. Surely Mother would be proud of him at last!

  “Well, Mother, what do you think now?”

  “Cahir never had to quell rebellion,” she said with a sniff.

  His face fell.

  “Lenore was not hated,” Brona continued, shaking her head at his lack of understanding. “No one spat at her shadow the way they spit at mine. No one gave her the looks of hatred they give me. They openly praised her son while all maintain sullen silence about mine. How can I hold my head up and be proud of my son?”

  How could she say that? All surrounding tribes had been subjugated. He had an army of thousands and a great stronghold as a base of operations. He’d brought the Charidian to heights Cahir had never dreamed of! What in the seven hells was she thinking?

  She walked away, ignoring the pain on her son’s face. She either didn’t notice it, or she didn’t care. Anlon could only stare at her in baffled agony. After a few moments, though, his pain slowly changed into something else. It became a curious sensation of readiness, as if the final arrow had been placed in the quiver, the bow strung, the sword sharpened. He cast his gaze to the west and a bit north, towards the Artisan League and Sharleah.

  Now, my traitorous sister, balance shall be restored.

  * * *

  Aleena awoke in the middle of the night. She had just been treated to another viewing of a recurring dream she'd had since escaping the arena. She would be in Sharleah, but it was in a grey wasteland. Anlon, with a great army at his back, was marching towards her. He had the same merciless expression he’d had when they faced each other in the arena. Then she began to feel a vague stirring of hope. She looked behind her, and out of the dark void strode a woman. She was a tall, strikingly beautiful woman clad entirely in black, and her black hair hung all the way down her back. Her dark eyes were large. Each time Aleena had the dream, the woman came closer to her, but so did Anlon and his army.

  Aleena simultaneously felt pity and revulsion for Anlon, and she knew that, someday, she would have to kill him. The second chance she'd given him in the arena had, she knew, only delayed the inevitable. She did not want to kill him, but she knew she had too, just as one may not want to kill a family pet infected with rabies, but that is the only thing one can do. Still, Aleena was sure it would ease her burden a bit if she met the woman in black.

  * * *

  In this fashion, Aleena spent the next two years. Although she had twenty summers behind her when she finished school (she should have had eighteen), she finished at the head of her class. Her areas of concentration had been history and the bardic arts. Her final project for history had been an argument on what motivated the first rulers who created the Artisan League as well as the conditions that would most likely cause the dissolution of the League. She had to argue this before a committee in both written and verbal arguments. For the bardic arts, her final project had to include elements of storytelling, poetry, and singing. This Aleena did in a lament for Cormac, a haunting verse which tore out the hearts of every member of the committee before whom she had to perform it.

  At the celebration marking the students' completion of education, Aleena had been required to make a speech. Then she graced them with her minor gift and sang for them, her hypnotic soprano moving many to tears. It was the first time they’d heard her sing. The beauty of her voice knifed through their hearts like the beauty of her form did.

  Upon returning home from the celebration, Aleena's family presented her with her birthday gifts, for she had reached her twentieth year on that very day.

  "These are also for finishing your education with top marks," Ilian told her, "As well as for being a strong enough person to not only survive the ordeals that you did but also to learn from them."

  The first three gifts were from Ivarr and Madigan. They had collaborated to create three tools of such magnificence that they were to have a profound impact on Aleena's life. The first was a longsword with a three foot blade constructed of mirrored steel with twin fullers running down each side. Madigan had placed four enchantments upon it. The first was its edge. The blade's sharpness was whatever Aleena desired. At its lowest level, it was dull enough to be used as a practice blade. At its highest level it could slice through steel or stone. The second enchantment was the blade's ability to ignite in dancing flame, again by Aleena's will. The third enchantment was its theft deterrence system. If the thief was merely mischievous, he would find the weapon to be completely immobile. If he was truly evil, the sword would slay him. The fourth enchantment rendered the sword impervious to destruction, unless Aleena willed it to be destroyed, and then it would obliterate everything within thirty feet. The lobed cross guard was made of brass, and it curved towards the blade to resemble a pair of raised wings. The ebony grip was crowned with a brass spherical pommel with flutes spiraling down to the grip, and within the flutes lay braided bronze wire. Overall, it was an even four feet long. Its center of balance was four inches down the blade from the cross guard and it weighed three-and-a-half pounds. Ivarr’s trade symbol, and I imposed over a K, was stamped on the blade near the hilt. Aleena named the sword Firethorne.

  The second gift from Ivarr and Madigan was a double-bladed battle axe. The blades were constructed of necronian steel, which was naturally glossy black, though the edges were polished to a silvery sheen. It, too, had the same sharpness levels and theft deterrence systems as Firethorne, along with an identical self-destruct mechanism. The blades were mounted on a thirty-two inch haft of black hardwood, with black leather covering the lower part of the haft. The blade edges were each a foot long, and it was fourteen inches from edge to edge. Like Firethorne, Ivarr’s trade Symbol was stamped on the blade. Aleena named this weapon Shearbat.

  The third and final gift from Ivarr and Madigan was a suit of armor, the first layer of which consisted of a one-piece suit of mail that covered Aleena from the base of her neck to her ankles. It was enchanted to conform to her body like a leotard. Unlike conventional mail, this enchanted mail also absorbed impact, so Aleena had no need to wear padded garments under it. Over this went the various pieces of plate armor, all of which were fashioned with such cunning skill as to fit her like clothing. A helmet with embossed knot work scrolling over it protected Aleena's skull, with two pieces coming down to protect her cheeks and jaw, leaving her face and ears open. A green light stone sat in the helmet’s forehead. Pauldrons, made of three jointed segments, protected her upper arms, and one-piece vambraces guarded her forearms. Her torso was protected by a breast and back plate, and tassets protected her hips. Her thighs were protected by cuisses which ended right above the knee. The last pieces of her armor were the greaves, which guarded her shins from the tops of her feet to her knees. The cuisses and greaves looked like they were composed of articulated segments, but each was made of one piece of steel.

  The armor was virtually immune to conventional weapons, unless they were of superior quality and propelled with superhuman force, and it also gave excellent protection against magical weapons. If it was dam
aged, it would repair itself. It would never rust or corrode, nor did it conduct heat or cold. Its finish was like silvery-grey satin, giving it an air of understated elegance while looking properly formidable.

  Ilian's gifts were, with one exception, compliments to the others. The belt that went around Aleena's waist was black leather trimmed with gold filigree and had a green light stone set into its buckle to match the one in her helmet. Ilian also made the sheaths for Aleena’s weapons. Shearbat’s sheath was mounted on a harness that strapped to Aleena's back and placed the weapon's haft pointing upward. When a sword had a blade as long as Firethorne’s, Aleena preferred carrying the sheathed weapon in her hand, but Firethorne’s sheath had a shoulder sling for when she needed both hands free, such as for climbing. Ilian also made a fine pair of tan boots and form fitting gauntlets made of supple deerskin.

  The final gift from Ilian was the one that had nothing to do with her status as a warrior. It was a luxurious white silky tunic that seemed to be composed of equal parts of mist and moonlight, with a bit of stardust thrown in. The loose garment had billowy sleeves that stopped at mid-forearm, and the hem stopped just above her knees. Despite its light construction, it would last Aleena all of her days, and it shed stains like a duck sheds water.

  Aleena modeled these wonderful gifts a few days later for Sharleah's annual festival to thank Tamura and Donya for a fertile crop. The entire village was awash in a bewildering array of magicians, jugglers, actors, bards and various other performers. That night Aleena sang a song, this time with the assistance of a stringed instrument like a dulcimer, and she wore her new tunic. The revelry continued after Aleena’s song. She was navigating a crowd when a man embraced her tightly.

  “Aleena, my love! How wonderful to see you!”

  Aleena pushed him away. His bleary face made it clear he’d been giving Donya particular thanks for the grape harvest. Aleena recognized him as a fellow resident of Sharleah.

  “Thank you,” she said as she tried to get away from him, but he clung to her.

  “Let us leave the crowds and find a quiet, private spot. I’ve loved you from the day you returned, Aleena.”

  “Your wife may have something to say about that.”

  “She cannot say anything if she does not know anything,” he said with a drunken leer that he thought was a debonair smile. Then he kissed her.

  Her fist hooked around and slammed into him. At the last fraction of an instant, Aleena pulled her blow enough to keep it from shattering his jaw. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. Aleena continued on her way to Jac’s. As far as she could tell, no one noticed anything. They seemed to think the man had simply succumbed to the wine.

  The patrons cheered when she walked in and demanded a song. Aleena talked them out of it, having had the spotlight enough for one night. She promised them a song next time. She was in the midst of a goblet of sweet wine when Valkira and three of her cronies came in. Aleena could sense their presence even though she had her back to them. She could feel the animosity rolling off of them like mist from a bog. So could everyone in the tavern, all of whom had fallen silent. She turned to regard them, surprised to see a fourth woman with them, her small face pinched with worry.

  “There she is, Manda,” Valkira exclaimed, pointing at Aleena. “I saw her kiss your husband earlier! She’s the one!”

  “Is it true?” Manda, the fourth woman, asked. “Did you kiss my husband? I know he’s been carrying on with someone. Is it you, Aleena?”

  Of all the people who could’ve seen me with that drunken lout! Aleena thought.

  “No, Manda, I haven’t been seeing him. And he kissed me. He was drunk.”

  “How can I believe you?” Her hurt was plain.

  “I gave him that bruise on the left side of his face.” And he’s not even vaguely appealing.

  “Why did you not tell me?” Manda said, her voice quiet with pain and humiliation.

  “I thought it best you should sort it out in the privacy of your household rather than be held up for public humiliation.”

  Manda was silent for a long time before she sighed and said, “I wish I could believe you, Aleena, but we’ve all seen how every man looks at you. Some have said you were quite the flirt in school, that you bedded many boys. What you say might be true… but it might not.”

  “I suppose I have you to thank for those rumors,” Aleena said to Valkira. “Manda, I place great pride and value on this.” She gestured to herself. “I do not grant access to just anyone. I would not waste it on schoolboys.” Or drunks. Or adulterers.

  “As for you,” she said, turning to Valkira, “are you now so desperate to hurt me that you’ll humiliate others?”

  "You’re due for your comeuppance. You lie about all day and just flutter an eyelash to get what you want, while the rest of us have to work for it. And for what? You are nothing more than a bloodthirsty, lustful murderess. Other women work and are ignored. You seduce their husbands and slaughter your fellow man and are praised. Parents. Teachers. Neighbors. All of them trust you as if you are divinity even after you have murdered and debauched. I have harmed no one, and they treat me as if I were diseased. There can be only one explanation."

  "You're jealous."

  "You're evil. The Chosen are not Tamura's blessed few but agents of darkness sent here to wreak havoc and confusion. You are not a goddess, but a demon."

  Aleena looked at her for several long moments. "Valkira," she finally sighed, "what have I ever done to you? You have hated me with the blackest of passions for as long as I can remember, and never have I understood it. I have done nothing to you."

  "You’ve threatened me time and again, and tonight you stole Manda’s husband! You kissed him,” Valkira shouted, her face feverish with triumph. “Right after you finished your song!”

  "He kissed me, and I corrected him for it."

  "Valkira," a man said. "Why do you not just go home and leave us in peace?"

  "Why do you not speak for yourself, Aleena? Come out from behind your protectors and fight me. Or have you seduced all of them, too?"

  "I will not fight you, Valkira."

  "Why not? You think it is because I am not worthy. But I think there is a deeper reason. I think you are scared. You," she shouted, jabbing an accusing finger, "are a coward. You are afraid of me!"

  Aleena let the silence prevail for a moment or two before bothering to answer.

  "I do not fear you, Valkira. I pity you. I cannot begin to fathom what it must be like to live a life so consumed with envy. And the ironic thing is that our roles are reversed. You envy me when it is I who should envy you. Do you think being Chosen is easy? Do you know what it is like to walk into a place and know that every man there wants to ravage you and every cut-throat, assassin, mercenary and would-be hero wants the honor of taking your head, to say nothing of the scores of jealous simpletons who hate you simply for existing? You will never be burdened with the responsibilities I am. You will never have to make the choices that I must make. You will never have to face enemies as powerful and relentless as mine. I deal with this every single day, Valkira. And you envy me?"

  "Valkira," Jac said, "you and your harpies can go stake out other territory. Aleena Kurrin is always welcomed here."

  "As she is welcomed in your bed?"

  "Get out," Rachel shouted.

  "Rachel, dear, does the truth sting? That is what this is all about, you know. We are merely trying to open your eyes to the truth."

  "You have done a splendid job," Jac congratulated. "Once again, Valkira, you have perfectly illustrated what a jealous simpleton you are, and Aleena had demonstrated her superiority by refusing to sink to your level. You are not worthy of the sweat of her brow."

  "I'll soon dispense with that rumor! Aleena, I challenge you to a fight! A fight to the death!"

  Aleena smirked lazily and tossed off the rest of her wine and said, "Valkira, the closest thing to a weapon you have ever held is
a bread knife. You wouldn't stand a chance."

  Aleena went to the cask to refill her goblet when Valkira said, "Were I you, I would use that to my advantage."

  Aleena stopped and said over her shoulder, "That is the difference between you and I."

  She then continued topping off her drink. Valkira was trembling with rage. Her hand flashed inside her blouse. Jac spotted the movement.

  "Aleena!"

  The slim dagger flashed through the air as Aleena remained focused on refilling her goblet, seemingly oblivious to Jac's warning. Then her left hand flashed up and caught the knife by its blade. She spun and returned it to its owner, the entire operation executed in one fluid motion. Valkira knew nothing until her own dagger thunked into the wall an inch to the left of her head, pinning a few hairs. The realization that she was unhurt was followed by a rush of cold as she also realized just how close to death she'd come. One second she was in complete control, and the next she was tottering on the threshold of the Otherworld.

  "Think it over," Aleena advised her. She hadn’t spilled a drop of her wine throughout the entire thing. Valkira, her face pale and her widened eyes brimming, tore out of the tavern. Her friends followed at a more sedate pace. Manda remained, silently weeping.

  “Manda,” a regular patron of Jac’s spoke up, “speaking as a man, I think I can say with absolute certainty that any man who went for a tumble with Aleena would never be able to keep it a secret. He’d talk.”

  “Talk,” another patron snorted. “He’d be boasting to all he could reach!”