Amorlia

by Chris Wichtendahl

  An Important Meeting, and the Return of the Champion

  Anders leaned forward in his seat, facing his four most trusted advisors who were seated in front of the wide stone desk in his private office. Artemis stood behind her father as he finished relating the details of their meeting with Castille, as well as Artemis’ encounter with the intruders in the vault. When he had finished, those assembled looked at one another, shifting slightly in their seats. “Thoughts?” Anders asked. Admiral Carola Delas spoke first. “Obviously, these events are connected. These were no simple thieves.” She gestured to Artemis. “And the fact that they had the means to counter the Princess’ telepathy is... disconcerting, to say the least.” “Yes,” Father Jorrin said, nodding. “That concerns me as well.” He looked over at Artemis. “You are certain they spoke in the First Language?” She nodded. “Quite certain. Though, it was obvious they did not understand what they were saying.” She made a face. “Their pronunciation was horrible.” “Why is this a concern?” Lord Simon scoffed. “So they knew a word in the language of the Faer Folk. I find their choice of plunder far more worrisome.” “Both matters are equally troubling, my Lord,” Artemis explained. “The First Language is not easy to learn. It is not simply the language of Faery. It is the language the gods spoke at the beginning of time. There are words in that language that can reshape reality.” She paused, regarding each of them in turn to be certan she had their attention. “Spoken correctly,” she said, “the First Language can unmake the world.” “Unmake the world?” the Lady Katryn sat up straighter, looking around in alarm. “These men-” “Are nothing,” Artemis dismissed the Lady’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “They are tools of whomever orchestrated the theft. I highly doubt they knew more than that one word of the language. It was clear they learned it phonetically.” She shook her head. “No, it is the one who taught them that word, and told them what to steal. He is our greatest concern.” “Castille,” Lord Simon said grimly. “He certainly seems likely, Lord Simon,” Anders said. “Though, I had hoped...” He sighed, running his hand over his face. Artemis looked down at her father and tried to maintain a neutral expression. He seemed so tired. Her whole life, there had been no one stronger or greater than her father. He was always larger than life, especially when she was a child. In the years following the Nazean invasion, it was Anders Vega who held his people together, bringing his Land back from the edge of collapse and rebuilding all that had been torn away by the ravages of war. But now, to her adult eyes, he was just an old man in a chair, bowed under the weight of his awesome responsibilities. Eyes stinging, Artemis turned away. She didn’t like where her thoughts were leading her. “Your Majesty,” Admiral Delas placed her hand on his and smiled. “Anders,” she said quietly, “We all know how you feel about the idea of another war. None of us who fought in the last one want to see those days return.” Her eyes met his across the desk, and her voice quietly broke. “You remember how I came into my first command.” Anders nodded, gripping her hand. “So,” she continued, stronger, “we all need to believe that the Treaty will hold, that there will be lasting peace between all the Lands of Amorlia.” She clasped his hand tight. “But if that peace is threatened, we owe it to the people of Vega, and all the free Lands, to end that threat by any means necessary.” Anders rose, patting his old friend’s hand. “You are right, of course, Carola,” he said. “If Julien Castille plots against us, then we must show him the folly of such a course.” He nodded, as though answering an unspoken question. “Very well then,” he said quietly. Raising his voice, he spoke again to his old friend. “Your presence will be required at dinner this evening, Admiral, but I want your crews on high alert. See to it immediately.” “Yes, Majesty.” She stood, bid farewell to the others and left the room. “Lord Simon, Lady Katryn,” Anders addressed the two nobles. “Yours are the wealthiest and most influential families in Vega. I will see to it you are both seated near the Archbishop. Make plain your displeasure with my leadership, and convince him that he has your ears.” “Of course, Monarch.” “As you will, Majesty.” The two nobles followed after the Admiral, leaving Anders alone with his daughter and Father Jorrin. “Father,” he said. “I would like you to remain absent from the dinner this evening. In fact, it would be best if none of your brethren were about while the Nazeans are here.” “As you say, Monarch,” Father Jorrin said with a small bow. “But if I may inquire...” “The Nazeans are uncomfortable, to say the least, with our native faiths. With you or the other priests in the room, Castille and his followers would be on edge and restless.” He grinned at his friend and advisor. “And I want them comfortable tonight.” “And what of the Princess?” the Solarian priest asked. “The Princess,” Anders replied, “will remain silent. She will sit demurely in her seat, she will speak when spoken to and she will treat our guest,” the word was spat venomously, “with the utmost of respect.” “What?!” Artemis seemed about to argue, then saw the look on her father’s face and thought better of it. “They had the means to defeat your telepathy,” he said quietly. “What’s more, they knew enough to be so prepared. That means they saw you as a threat.” He smiled at her, “That was wise of them. But it is vital that they stop seeing you that way.” He took her hands in his, looking deep into her eyes, “I can’t protect you from whatever is coming. I know I haven’t any need, nor the right to try.” “Father...” Anders shook his head, “You are a grown woman. You know your own mind and your place in the world. You have been to the spring fires, proved yourself capable against numerous foes and you have even ruled this Land in my stead more than once.” He stood closer to her, hands on her shoulders, “But if war comes to you, you will need every weapon, every means at your disposal with which to fight.” He smiled again, dropping his hands. “And I have found surprise to be a most effective weapon.” She smiled back at her father and was about to speak, when there came a knock at the door. “It’s Kael!” she said, feeling his mind touch hers. The door opened, and Vega’s Champion walked in. He was so tall, his head nearly brushed the ceiling. He shared a smile with Artemis, and she moved closer to him. “Monarch,” Kael said gravely. “I have news to report.” “The golem?” Kael nodded, “I believe it was connected to the attempted burglary that Artemis foiled earlier. While I was fighting it, I noticed a glyph had been carved into its stone shoulder. My knowledge of the First Language does not match that of the Princess, but I believe the glyph was intended to anger the golem, and lead it to our city. Once I defaced the glyph, the golem calmed and returned of its own volition to the Wild Lands.” Anders looked troubled, but gripped his Champion’s arm and mustered a smile. “Good work, Kael. I shall consider this news in light of all we have discovered this day. Will you be attending the dinner?” “I wouldn’t miss it, your Majesty. Someone needs to ensure that Artemis behaves herself.” Anders laughed, clapping the young hero on the arm. “Excellent! Artemis,” he glanced at his daughter, grinning. “Perhaps you would care to escort the Champion to his quarters?” “Oh, I’d be delighted,” Artemis said, scowling at Kael. Once in the hall, Artemis punched Kael in the arm. It was like punching steel, and she winced, rubbing her knuckles. “Oww.” “Well,” he laughed, “why did you punch me?” “Because you deserved it,” she shot back. “Ensure that I behave myself?” “What?” Kael held his hands up in mock-innocence. Artemis rolled her eyes. “You’re worse than my father.” “While we’re on the subject,” Kael said, suddenly earnest. “Did you speak to him?” Artemis grinned, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes. “I may have.” “Artemis...” She giggled. “Oh, stop. You look so pathetic. Yes, Kael. I spoke with my father this morning.” She moved closer, leaning against him. “And he is delighted that we wish to marry.” Kael beamed, “He is?” Artemis laughed at him again. “Of course he is, you foolish man. He adores you. He told me if he thought he’d have gotten away with it, he would have arranged it himself.” Kael chuckled at the thought. “Well, that would have made things easier on me.” Artemis punched him again. “O
ww.” “At least you used your other hand.” When they arrived at Kael’s door, he gathered her in his strong muscular arms, wrapping his wings around her. She sighed. “I missed you today,” she said. “Me too,” he murmured. They stood that way for a while, drawing strength from each other. Then Artemis moved her hand slowly up his arm and around his neck, twining her fingers through his long black hair. “Do you want me to come in?” she whispered into his ear. A shudder ran through him. “More than anything,” he whispered back. “But I’m afraid I would be of little use to you. I ache from head to toe.” “Aww,” Artemis pouted, pulling back from him. “It’s okay. I should really be getting ready for the dinner. Get some rest.” She stood up on tip-toe to kiss him tenderly on the mouth. “You’ll need all your strength to make me behave tonight.” “Castille,” he said. “I can’t believe-” “I know.” She shook her head, kissing him again. “We’ll talk about it later.” He kissed her back. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, opening his door. “I’ll see you then.” His door closed. She stood there a few moments longer, then turned and made her way downstairs to her own quarters. ****** Kael tossed and turned, his sleep plagued by strange dreams. Beings who looked like him - but were clearly not him - ran and flew frantically about, while a magnificent city crumbled around them. The scene shifted. He was inside someone’s home. A man and woman who also looked like him held a sleeping baby in their arms. The home shook violently. “There isn’t much time,” the man said. “But, Jol,” she said plaintively, “our only child...” “Our child will live, La’a,” the one called Jol said, taking the babe from her. “Which is more than our Lord Solar intends for us, or our people. Quickly, now. We must place him in the capsule and begin the chant.” They moved to another room and the scene shifted again. This time Kael’s mind was filled with the sight of a woman, but she was a woman he recognized, from her black hair to her pale skin and the chains that adorned her strange clothing. “Umbra!” he shouted. “Yes,” she said, her voice echoing. “I have come for you, Kael.” “Vile creature!” he cried. “You have no power over me! I reject the Dark Queen and all her ways!” Mocking laughter answered him. “Such a good Solarian boy,” she taunted him. “But it is of little consequence. I have ensnared your soul, and I shall drag it down to my prison among the dead.” Her face filled his vision. He could not escape. And everywhere echoed her hideous shrieking laughter. “You are mine, Kael T’Ken. Now, and forever.” Kael’s soul screamed as the Dark Queen of the Underworld brought him to her. Meanwhile, in his bed, his body grew still and pale, sinking into a deep slumber from which he would never wake.

  The Victorious Bastard

  Artemis stared at the succulent cuts of meat on her plate, unable to eat. She idly pushed a roasted potato around in some gravy, waiting for the servants to clear the table. She had not eaten the previous three courses either and silently prayed for dessert, if only because it meant the end of this insufferable evening. She wondered why Kael had not shown yet, but couldn’t leave to check on him without causing a scene. She looked up and scanned the crowd. Julien Castille and his men were clearly having a wonderful time, though the same could not be said for most of Vega’s nobility. Artemis decided to check in with Lady Katryn to see how her part of the plan was progressing. Lady Katryn? Artemis thought. Any news of the Archbishop’s plan? The young noblewoman’s thoughts flooded Artemis’ mind in a maddening jumble. Plans? There’s plans with things and he wants me I can see it more wine yes and food is good but wine and handsome so charming not so bad so handsome wants me wine more wine spinnyhappy what? The Princess of Vega groaned. Lady Katryn was roaring drunk. Lady Katryn, she forced her thoughts into the other woman’s addled brain, you were supposed to be spying on the Archbishop, not drinking yourself idiotic. This is a state dinner, not a harvest revel. What’s come over you?! Oww. Hurts thinking. What you want? Artemis sighed. This was going to be nearly impossible. For Luna’s sake, Artemis scolded, how much did you drink? A lot. A lot a lot a lot. Yes I’ll have more. NO! Artemis saw Lady Katryn grab her head. Damn it, this is important! Why did you drink so much? I don’t... don’t know... The drunken noblewoman’s thoughts began to drift. Artemis was having trouble holding the connection. Just... wanted more... always more... offering more... wanted it. Don’t know why... couldn’t help... dizzy... room... Castille... more than wine... think... can’t... help me... Lady Katryn fell from her chair, sprawling across the floor. Around her, Castille and his men laughed, while Anders and the other Vegan guests looked on with concern. Artemis turned white. She couldn’t touch Lady Katryn’s mind at all. Even unconscious, she would have registered in Artemis’ thoughts. Only one thing could completely silence a mind. Lord Simon? Artemis thought to the nobleman seated at Castille’s table. Something is wrong. Are you all right? I’m fine, Princess, Lord Simon replied. Though I am afraid the Archbishop has paid scant attention to me, as he has been busy making Lady Katryn drink herself into his bed. It would seem this part of the Monarch’s plan is- “Lord Simon.” The Archbishop’s voice cut into Simon’s thoughts. “I know what you’re thinking.” He turned his gaze toward Artemis. And who he’s thinking to. Artemis gasped, rising from her chair. Only telepaths could initiate contact. But that would mean... Suddenly it all became clear. Castille had used telepathy to subtly influence Lady Katryn’s mind, introducing a desire for wine that became easier to perpetuate the more she drank. And since he was the one pouring... “Oh, Lady Katryn,” Artemis put her hand to her mouth. She was about to alert her father when one of the Solarian monks ran into the room. “The Champion!” he shouted. “Something terrible has happened to the Champion! He slumbers without waking!” Artemis moved toward the door, but was brought up short by Castille’s sinister laughter. “Well now,” he said, drawing his knife. “I believe that is my cue.” He reached out and grabbed hold of Lord Simon by the hair, slitting the younger man’s throat before anyone could react. He dropped Lord Simon on top of Lady Katryn’s body and stepped over them to approach the Monarch’s table. Anders Vega was already on his feet. “Guards! Seize the-” The Monarch’s order was cut short as the palace was rocked by numerous explosions from outside. A minor noble, who was attempting to calm his hysterical companion, looked out the window and cried, “The airships! Someone is destroying the fleet!” Carola Delas, already on her feet, ran from the room as Anders stared about the grand hall in horror. Tables were overturned and elegant dishes broken as nobles and servants alike ran frantically about the room, desperately seeking escape. The Monarch’s eyes met those of Julien Castille as the Archbishop raised his pistol. “And now, Your Majesty, it is time to bid you farewell.” He smiled. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” Artemis heard the gunshot and turned in time to see her father’s head snap back, his crown flying off as the bullet’s impact threw him across the dais. She screamed, and time seemed to slow to a crawl around her. She rushed to her father’s side, catching his body before it hit the floor. “NO!” She cried, clutching him to her, heedless of the blood and brains that splattered the pink sleeves of her gown. “Father, no! No!” She held him tight, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face. “Father, please! Please get up! You have to get up! We’re under attack! We need you! We need you!” Her body shook as she wept. “I need you,” she sobbed. “I need you, Daddy.” Unable to control her tears, her voice was reduced to a ragged whisper. “Please don’t leave. Please, Daddy. Please.” A low chuckle from behind her caused her tears to stop. “Poor little princess,” Castille mocked, stepping closer. As though from a great distance, Artemis became aware of her people screaming and running. More explosions and gunshots rang out as the palace guards did battle with Castille’s soldiers. That was all background noise to Artemis. All she could see, all she could hear, was the monster who killed her father. “Daddy can’t save you,” he said, “Your freakish lover can’t save you.” Castille stooped to pick up Anders’ fallen crown and place it on his head. “No one can save you now.” Artemis lay her father’s body gently on t
he floor and stood slowly, never once taking her eyes off Castille. Her eyes narrowed to slits and she glared at the Archbishop. “I am heir to the Throne of Vega, you bastard,” she growled. She slid her wooden sword from her belt and shifted her feet to a fighting stance. “And you are the one who is going to need saving.” “Indeed,” Castille said, not even bothering to draw his weapon. He toyed idly with the tiny sword pendant that all Nazeans wore. Artemis moved to attack, but was hurled across the room by a blast of wind. She hit the far wall and fell to the floor, her sword knocked from her grip. Before she could rise, a bolt of lightning struck her and pain lanced through every nerve in her body. She looked up to see a young man floating before her, electricity arcing between his hands. He smiled. “How fortunate then,” he said to her, “that I am here.”

  The Path of the Open Hand

  Artemis tried to push herself up off the blasted and broken ground. All she could manage was propping herself up on her elbows, her head simply hung between her shoulders. She coughed, feeling a stab of pain in her chest, and spit up a lungful of blood. “You know, princess,” the voice came from above her, “I’d heard how strong and tough you are, and I have to say you’ve held up longer than most.” He nodded, an admiring look crossing his cruel features, “I can see why they say you’re impossible to kill.” He gave a contemptuous bark of a laugh. “But we’ll see what I can do about that.” She wanted to hit him. She wanted to kick him and hit him and shatter his mind into a thousand pieces. But after three hours of being abused by every form of weather known, she couldn’t even muster up a witty rejoinder. She just lay there gasping for air, her broken ribs grinding against one another. His name was Fedrich Ma’Caer, self-styled Storm God of the Nazean pantheon. He was Julien Castille’s bodyguard and secret weapon. And he’d just spent the better part of the night beating up the last of the Sacred Line of Vega with a hurricane. He was just preparing to throw a blizzard at her when the Archbishop himself entered the ravaged banquet hall. “Fedrich,” he said, a note of pique entering his voice, “are you still killing her? There are other places for you to be, you know.” Fedrich Ma’Caer made a face. “I suppose you’re right, Archbishop,” he admitted finally. “Just give me a moment.” With a wave of his hand a small typhoon hurled Artemis through the wall to the outside. She sailed across to the castle’s tallest tower, crashed into the wall, and fell several stories to the Mirlun River below. The Mirlun rushed forward and plunged down the side of the mountain, where it would continue on toward the ocean. Fedrich and Castille watched her drop, certain she’d never survive. ****** Artemis woke in a strange bed, her body a mass of aches. She briefly considered moving, but thought better of it once she tried to turn her head. Her neck felt as though someone had replaced it with a steel rod, then broken the steel rod and welded it back together while blindfolded. Her back screamed at her from over a dozen spots along her spine and when she tried to move her arms, they responded by flaring in pain. If she concentrated, she thought she could feel the bones knitting themselves back together. It was not the most pleasant experience. That was when she remembered she was in a strange bed, and decided to find out who’s bed it was. “Hhhh-h’lo?” she whispered. “Wh-wh-w-” Well, she might not be dead, or even broken anymore, but she was a far sight from whole. “Oh, no. Don’t try to talk. Don’t try to talk.” A youngish man in monk’s robes came into her field of vision, pushing his spectacles up on his nose. He ran a hand over his bald scalp and grinned. “Hello,” he said. “Don’t be alarmed. You’re safe here. I am Brother Sime, a Nazean monk.” “And... that’s... s-safe... now... is-is it?” Brother Sime helped her sit up, taking care that she not exert herself more than absolutely necessary. She grimaced from the lack of response from her own body. “Oh, don’t let that fool you,” he said, still smiling. She liked his smile. “No, we’re a very different order of Nazean from those you’ve been dealing with.” He pointed to himself proudly, and Artemis noticed a large open hand, palm out, stitched onto his robes. “We follow the Path of the Open Hand. We are disciples of the true teachings of Nazeas.” “The... war god?” she gasped out. “Nazeas was no war god,” Brother Sime corrected her, “In fact, he wasn’t a god at all.” The good-natured monk brought a stool over to sit near Artemis’ bedside. “He was a philosopher king, who ruled over much of the southern continent many hundreds of years ago.” “What?” She was feeling confused and having trouble following the conversation. The pain of her various injuries was making it harder to think, but she forced herself to try. Brother Sime nodded, “As a young man, he was among the bravest and most valiant of the fabled Warrior Priests. He rose quickly through the ranks, writing in his journal a philosophy of warfare that would make an army unbeatable. Tactics and strategies never before dreamed of were all set down in what would come to be called The Journals.” From the far side of the room, the sound of a pot boiling over could be heard and Sime got up to tend to it, continuing to talk as he did so. Artemis could no longer see him, but could hear him while he went about his task. “As Nazeas grew older, he began to devote more of his journals to essays on new philosophies of life, involving many of the same tactical and strategic concepts as his war journals, but focusing more on the virtue of honor and discipline.” Brother Sime returned with a bowl of soup. Admonishing her to eat, he began to spoon-feed her. She was mortified at the treatment from a man she didn’t know, but couldn’t deny she was starving. She endured the indignity as he continued his tale. “Nazeas believed,” Brother Sime said, “that if one lived life by this philosophy, they would never have a need for war.” Artemis swallowed a mouthful of the thick tasty soup and smiled at this strange monk. “So, what... happened?” she asked. He grinned ruefully, feedng her another spoonful. “What you’d expect. His generals felt threatened by Nazeas’ newfound pacifism, and murdered him. They took over the government, and blamed the assassination on a people far to the west. What followed was a century of constant warfare, wherein Nazeas’ true assassins conquered the entirety of the continent.” He sighed, placing the bowl on a side table. “They promulgated a religion based on a heavily edited version of Nazeas’ journals, that focused on his war entries and considered his later works heretical. They cast him as a war god made flesh upon the earth who submitted himself to assassination to bring the glory of eternal warfare to all. The symbol of his worship became the sword, point down, evoking the weapon that ended his life.” Artemis nodded slowly, still struggling to follow the conversation. Brother Sime went on to explain that his group of monks used the symbol of their philosophy, called the Path of the Open Hand, to show their devotion to the ideal of peaceful resolution. Artemis felt her eyes growing heavy, but desperately wanted to continue the conversation. Brother Sime chuckled. “We’ll talk more once you’ve rested. And I have a gift for you, when you’re up and about.” She wanted to ask what it was, but was asleep before she could speak. It was another two weeks before she was ready for Brother Sime’s present. It had been a month since the attack on the palace, and she was eager to get moving again. “I wish you could remain here with us, but your road leads far from this place.” He hugged her then, and she hugged him back. He was a calming influence that she would greatly miss, as she had grown fond of him during her time in his care. She felt tears sting her eyes and she turned away. The farewell brought the memory of another parting to her mind. One far more permanent that had been forced on her. She fought the tears and the memory down. There would be time enough to mourn her father, but that time was not now. Brother Sime cleared his throat and stepped back. “And speaking of the road,” he said, “I advise you to travel away from the city, toward the Great Wood, near the border of the Wild Lands.” “Why?” He reached out and lightly touched the triple-moon symbol on her face. “The Sisters of Luna dwell there. I believe they have much to offer you, and perhaps answers for some of your questions.” He shrugged. “At any rate, you cannot retake the Land Vega on your own. You will need allies, and to seek them first among those who likely gave
you this mark would be a wise course.” Artemis nodded. “There is wisdom to what you say. Very well, I will travel to the Great Wood and see what aid the priestesses can give me.” Brother Sime beamed happily. “Wonderful. And I would not send you on so perilous a quest unarmed.” Artemis realized then that her sword was gone. She’d never had the chance to retrieve it after Fedrich started in on her. The monks had cleaned and mended her gown as best they could - which she considered a sufficient gift as it was her favorite - but now Brother Sime held out a simple long wood box. Artemis opened the box, and inside was a wooden sword. It was elegantly carved, but looked strong enough to pierce stone. She lifted it from the case, getting to know the weight and heft of it. The balance was perfect, and she swung it slowly around in a simple form. “You like it?” Brother Sime smiled warmly. “Very much,” she answered. “Then it is yours.” He closed the box and set it aside. “Incidentally, it once belonged to Nazeas himself, or so the legend goes.” “Really?” She considered the sword more closely. “Well,” Brother Sime said, spreading his hands, “No one can prove definitively that it was his. Very few actual records exist,” he grinned, “but it has been passed down through generations of our order, so it must be important nonetheless. “ “And you’re giving it to me?” “Well,” he said, his grin growing wider, “It beats keeping it in a box for another thousand years, doesn’t it?”