Amorlia

by Chris Wichtendahl

  Amorlia

  Chris Wichtendahl

  For Carry, my Warrior Queen, who gives me a reason to do this every day. For Sage, my little Hero Princess, who gave me the name Amorlia. For everyone, in the real world and online, who inspired so many of the characters in this book. And for creators everywhere, who showed me the magic of stories.

  The Gunfighter

  Qi Drego entered the town, the dust of the road kicking up a cloud around her feet and turning the hem of her leather coata dull grey. A wide-brimmed hat hid her from the harshwinter sun, and her eyes glinted steel from a mask of shadow. Her breath came as a trail of steam, and a thin frost shimmered on the badge pinned to her lapel. Though it was mid-day and the dead of winter, which on the Plateau meant bitter cold and blinding bright, the streets of town were packed with people. Refugees, mostly. Those forced up the Plateau when the Nazeans took the Downlands. Qi sighed. The refugees resented the townsfolk because they were forced to live on the plain in tents like nomads. The townsfolk just resented the crowds and the sparse supplies. Regional tensions were beginning to build as the cosmopolitan Downlanders were seen to be corrupting the more parochial values of the Plateau. Qi hoped none of that tension boiled over during her visit and kept her from finishing her real mission. Her brother Zen, the exiled Monarch, had sent her to the various Plateau towns in search of a traitor. Her search had led her to the trade center known as Halfsburg - so named because it was halfway between two prosperous territories, making it the ideal location for various markets, traveling and otherwise. It was also ideal for a lone stranger hoping to lose himself among all the other drifters. She climbed the wooden stairs to the inn seeking lodging for the night, and possibly some information. She would be visiting with town officials in the morning, but years as a wandering Gunfighter had taught her innkeepers generally had a better feel for the pulse of a particular town, and might recognize the name of the man she sought. She approached the bar, and the burly man behind it took one look at her badge and grinned wide. “First one’s on the house, Gunfighter,” he said graciously, shooing a whore and her potential client away from one of the stools. “Thank you sir,” Qi replied. “I’ll take a pint of whiskey ale, if you don’t mind. “ “Coming right up.” With practiced ease, the innkeeper tossed a shot of whiskey into a pint glass. As he filled the remaining pint with ale from a keg of his finest, he asked his visitor over his shoulder, “What news of the war? If yeh know of such things… and are at liberty to tell.” He passed the pint glass over to her and she smiled, toasting him as she took it. “I’ve been pretty well in the thick of it, over at the Pass holding the Nazeans in the Downlands.” She took a long pull from her glass and sighed. “Fine brew,” she remarked in passing. The innkeeper nodded. “I was called off the Pass by the Monarch, sent out here to find someone,” she said, “and also to bring some news. The Monarch has arrived safely at his northern fortress. The government of Drego still functions and will be sending money and supplies not two days behind me. I’m to tell the mayor while I’m here.” The innkeeper nodded, relief evident on his face. “Oh aye, that’ll be fine news. We’re in sore need of both around here of late.” “I can imagine. Well, you can feel free to let that news slip into conversation.” Qi sipped at her drink. “Good news has a way of settling folks down.” She set her half-empty glass down on the bar. “I’m here for information as well.” “Are yeh?” “Yes. A trader in alloys and metals, one Tran M’Garrity.” The innkeeper scowled, “Him. If yer after that pile of walking filth, take him with my thanks.” “He’s not been the model guest, I take it?” Qi raised an eyebrow. “I’d say not,” the innkeeper was indignant. “He’s holed himself up in his room these past two days, after staying here a week and running up a tab fit to break the bank.” He glared up the stairs toward the overnight rooms, furiously cleaning a mug. “Last I tried to roust him out, he shoved a pistol in my face.” She nodded, “I see. Yes, that’s the man I’m seeking to be sure,” she rolled her eyes in the innkeeper’s direction, “I’m thinking the law of Halfsburg have had their hands full with the ire of socialites from the courtly cities forced into close quarters with their perceived inferiors,” “Aye,” he admitted. “Well,” she stood and fixed her hat upon her head, “I suppose there’s just one thing for it.” The innkeeper said nothing, continuing to idly wash his mug. “You say he’s armed?” Qi raised an eyebrow. “Aye. One six-shooter and a rifle. Pretty sure he’s got a knife hidden somewhere about him.” “Does he know how to use them?” “Not sure. He’s kinda stupid, but he’s a mean son of a bitch too, he is,” the innkeeper said. “Roughed up my girls somethin’ awful a few nights ago.” Qi nodded. She reached into one of her many inner pockets, and tossed a few large gold coins on the bar. “Does this cover his tab, and any damage he may have caused?” The innkeeper’s eyes widened, “Three times that, Gunfighter.” He picked up the coins, dropping them into a hidden pocket of his own. He wasn’t going to leave three large in the cashbox. On his person was best until he could get back to the safe. “For your trouble, then,” she said, “and a night’s lodging?” “You’ll have our best for as long as yeh choose to stay with us, Gunfighter,” he nodded. “M’Garrity’s room is actually best in the house,” he scowled up the stairs again, “the bastard.” Qi smiled. “Put him out of your mind,” she said, “I’ll send down for someone to clean the room for me after I’ve gotten rid of the vermin.” “Very good, ma’am,” the innkeeper said, “I’ll have the cook keep the kitchen open for yeh, and have one of the servant girls come up t’ draw yer bath later if yeh like.” “I can think of nothing better.” She tipped her hat. “Thank you, sir.” He nodded back. “And you, ma’am.” ****** Tran M’Garrity was angrily pacing his small room between the door and the window. Stupid bloody innkeeper. Stupid innkeeper and his stupid bloody whores! If that one hadn’t opened her fat mouth, that barkeep wouldn’t have been in his- The door slammed open, mashing Tran’s nose and sending him sprawling across the floor. He looked up, and a tall woman in black loomed over him. He couldn’t see her face under her hat, but her eyes glowed with menace. “You M’Garrity?” she growled. He climbed to his feet, reaching for his pistol with a shaking hand. “What’s it t’you?” She opened her coat, revealing twin revolvers slung low across her hips. “Well,” she said slowly, “if you are, then that means this is my room.” Her hand rested comfortably on one of the revolvers. “And you’re dead.” Suddenly, M’Garrity recognized the coat and badge of a Gunfighter of Drego. His eyes went wide. “I wasn’t-” “You betrayed our people and our Land when you helped Julien Castille take the capitol city,” she said, matter-of-factly. Her fingers brushed the handle of one of her revolvers, “When Vega hears of this and sends their Champion, we’ll catch the rest of your co- conspirators, but for now, I’ll settle for you.” “Vega is doomed, you stupid cow,” M’Garrity sneered, “as is their Champion. We were just the first. He’ll take all the Lands of Amorlia, you watch. Just you watch!” M’Garrity twitched his gun out of its holster. BLAM! M’Garrity fell backward, the last bit of his brain hitting the floor just seconds before the shattered remnant of his skull. Qi holstered her gun with a flourish and she rang the servant’s bell before hanging her hat on the bedpost. She tossed M’Garrity’s meager possessions in a pile near his corpse, then hung up her coat. There was a knock at the door. “Come in.” A servant entered. Qi turned to him and smiled. “Hi,” she said. “What’s your name?” The servant blinked, slightly confused. Most guests didn’t ask. “Phanos, ma’am.” “A pleasure, Phanos.” Qi said. “I was hoping I could get someone to clean up this bit of a mess I made.” She gestured at the dead trader and his belongings, and the lumpy stain on the wall. Phanos looked down, recognizing the corpse for who and what it was. “I’ll see to it personally, ma’am,”
He said with a smile. “Thank you.” She handed him a silver piece. “I think I’ll take my dinner in the common room after all. Oh, and if you could change the bedding, I would be most obliged.” She gave the rumpled and stained bedclothes a disgusted look, “Best burn those. You’ll never kill what’s crawling in them otherwise.” Phanos nodded. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll have it taken care of once all this has been tossed out.” She nodded, heading out of the room. She worried over M’Garrity’s comments about Vega, ultimately dismissing them. Drego was in dire straits enough as it was, in no position to offer aid. And with Castille’s Brain Masters taking up residence in the capitol, none of their telepaths could get a thought to their counterparts in the Land Vega. Any messenger they’d sent had been intercepted. She shrugged, putting thoughts of what she’d no control over out of her mind. Both Lands would have to trust to their gods to see them safely through. Behind her, Phanos whistled as he set about his work. All he knew was that M’Garrity was dead. Solar had heard Phanos’ prayers at last.

  Artemis, Princess of Vega

  The sun rose over the Land Vega, shining down upon the farmlands and the clustered villages in the foothills of the great coastal mountain range. The sun was bright on the capitol city, gleaming on the walls of the buildings that climbed the steep central peak to the palace of the Monarch at its zenith. The skins of mighty airships, docked at every level of the city, glittered in the late morning sunshine. Kael T’Ken flew over the plaza at midday, patrolling the skies of his beloved city. His great crimson wings lifted him higher as he basked in the warmth of the young sun of early spring, smiling as its rays struck the yellow sun tattoo on his chest and made his deep blue skin shine. A shout from below brought him out of his reverie. He looked down and saw the golem. Towering automatons of earth, wood and stone, golems were rarely seen outside of the Wild Lands, and never in the cities. He wondered what could bring one of these mindless creatures so far from the inscrutable land that spawned it. But he soon had his hands full subduing the golem, and no time for further speculation. The plaza was full for the midday social meal, and Kael did not want innocents getting hurt. He landed a series of blows, to knock the lumbering giant off-guard then hauled the monster up into the air and away toward the Eastern Plains. Meanwhile, high up on the mountain, far from all the excitement, three men swathed in black crept stealthily into the palace vault where all of the Monarchy’s most prized treasures and dangerous artifacts are kept. Through a series of gestures, they directed one another through the robbery. They were after an ancient weapon of great destructive power from the days of millennia past, when the likes of the Mad Wizard and the Grey Strangers wreaked havoc across the Lands. The invaders were nearly to the unguarded tunnel they’d used for access when a voice from behind stopped them in their tracks. “Don’t move.” The men froze, unable to continue. “Turn around.” They turned, against their will, to face the stern gaze of Vega’s Princess and heir, Artemis. The triple-moon of the goddess Luna was as a mask of blue across her slate-grey eyes. She scowled and her eyes narrowed at the would-be theives as she drew her wooden sword. She stepped into a fighting stance, the long flowing pants of her battle gown swirling about her thick leather boots. One of the men reached behind his back for the small revolver tucked in his belt. His legs were no longer his to control, but he found he could still move his arms. With a flick of her wrist, Artemis spun her sword end-over-end at the offending man in black. It clipped him on the temple and angled off a wall before spinning back to the Princess’ waiting hand. Her ostensible assailant fell to the floor, unconscious. The remaining two men shouted a word in the First Language, and Artemis could no longer feel their minds. “Ha!” the thief holding the stolen weapon said, “A charm to ward off your telepathy, princess,” he spat. “Now there’s nothing you can-- ungh!” His head snapped back from the force of Artemis’ kick. He wouldn’t die, but it would take days in the healer’s quarters to make him move again. She dispatched the last of the burglars in a similar fashion, hefting the stolen weapon as Anders Vega and the Solarian High Priest came rushing down the stairs. In the corridor, they saw her standing amid the limp bodies of her foes. “Artemis!” Vega’s Monarch yelled to his daughter. “Are you--” “No, daddy,” she replied dryly. “These awful men were about to do me terrible harm. Thank Luna you arrived in time.” Her father smirked as he approached her. “Very funny.” Artemis smiled back at him, tossing him the weapon. “They were after this,” she said, “and they had charms to negate my telepathy.” She folded her arms across her chest and scowled at her father. “And, what a coincidence...” “Don’t start... “ her father warned, pointing at her. “... Julien Castille is arriving for dinner this very evening.” There was a strained silence in the room, broken by Father Jorrin clearing his throat. “Now, Princess Artemis,” he lay a comforting hand on her forearm, smiling beatifically up at her, “I understand your distrust for the Nazean Archbishop, and I would be wise to share it to a degree, but your father realizes this is the best way toward true peace in the Lands.” “Best way to walk into a trap,” Artemis muttered, turning away. “You were born after the war,” her father growled behind her. The pain in his voice, pain she rarely saw, caused Artemis to turn back around. “You didn’t see it,” he continued, his voice tight, “I swore to myself you never would.” He crossed over to her, his eyes going from stern to earnest as they bore into hers. “To keep you from war,” he said, “I’ll invite even Julien Castille to my table.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “And did you ever stop to consider that by inviting the bloodthirsty maniac who slaughtered the last of an entire Sacred Line into our home,” she stepped back from him, “you’d be bringing war to my doorstep?” Without another word, she turned on her heel and left.

  An Audience with the Archbishop

  Julien Castille, flanked by two of his heavily-armed bodyguards, strode through the halls of Anders Vega’s palace toward the main audience chamber. Entering, he was greeted by a row of elegantly carved statues, each one representing a Monarch of the Land, going all the way back to Vega herself, believed to be the daughter of the moon goddess Luna. Castille sneered. He had little use for myths not of his own creation. At the far end of the chamber,the current Monarch sat upon his throne, his daughter beside him. “Your Majesties,” Julien Castille bent forward in a deep bow before the raised dais. “I am humbled by your generous invitation.” He stood, snapping his fingers. One of his cowed servants scurried forward bearing an ornate box. “If it pleases you, I ask that you accept this token of my gratitude and friendship.” He snatched up the box from the terrified servant, and dismissed the wretched man with a wave of his hand. Kneeling before Anders and Artemis, he held out the box. Anders stood, bowed and gestured for one of his own servants to take the box. A young man dressed in Vegan livery stepped forward and graciously accepted it. He approached the throne and held it up for inspection, receiving a nod and a word of thanks from his Monarch. Anders seemed about to open the box, when Artemis lay her hand on his arm. “Perhaps, Father,” she suggested pleasantly, “you might consider having your guards examine it first. One can never be too careful in certain company.” She turned her sweetest smile on their guest. “Meaning no disrespect, of course.” Castille returned her smile, though his was a bit strained. “Artemis Vega,” Anders said sternly, “Archbishop Castille is our guest.” Castille stood, waving aside Anders’ concerns, his smile broader and warmer, though the warmth never made it to his eyes. “Nonsense, my Lord Monarch,” he said. “The Princess no doubt has only her father’s safety in mind. It is little wonder her emotions got the better of her decorum. She is, after all, a woman.” He bowed again, his smile slipping to smirk as he looked over at Artemis. “Meaning no disrespect, Your Highness.” “None taken, of course, Archbishop,” she replied in clipped tones. “Tell us, how fare the Nazean Lands?” “Quite well, Majesties,” Castille said proudly, standing once more. “Quite well, indeed. I would be pleased to make a full accounting of our progress at dinner th
is evening.” “And we would be delighted to hear it, Your Grace,” Anders said, rising from his throne. “Until then, please make yourself comfortable. Quarters have been prepared for you. I hope they are to your liking.” “I have no doubt,” Castille replied. He bowed one last time. “Until dinner then, my Lord.” He spared a quick glance for Artemis. “Lady.” Artemis nodded curtly, remaining seated. Once Castille had left the hall, Anders rounded on his daughter, anger blazing in his eyes. “If you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head, daughter, perhaps you would do well to find another way to spend the evening.” “I can think of several ways, each of them far preferable to sharing a meal with that vicious bastard,” she shot back, jumping to her feet. “Luna’s light, Father,” she said, exasperated. “You were about to open that box right in front of him. For all we know, it could--” “Do you truly think me that stupid, Artemis?” Anders asked, shaking his head. “I had no intention of opening the box, but would have found a more diplomatic way of avoiding it than accusing an official state visitor of a plot against my life.” Artemis sighed, looking down. “I’m sorry, Father.” Anders smiled, cupping her chin in his hand and raising her head so her eyes met his. “You are a loving daughter,” he said, “and a finer heir than ever I could have hoped for.” He chuckled, and she smiled. “But you have much yet to learn about the subtleties of statecraft.” “I suppose I do, at that,” she agreed. Anders held out his arm to his daughter, and she looped her own through it. “Come,” he said. “We are to meet with the rest of my advisors before tonight’s dinner. There is much to discuss before we dine with his Grace.” Arm-in-arm, the Princess and the Monarch walked out of the grand chamber and spoke easily of other things. Unfortunately, Artemis could not shake the dread feeling that grew inside her. Something horrible was to happen, she was certain. And she feared her Land and its Monarch would not survive what was coming.