Amorlia

by Chris Wichtendahl

  The Flight of Carola Delas

  “The airships! Someone is destroying the fleet!” Carola Delas was on her feet and headed for the door, heedless of the carnage behind her. Anders and the Princess would have to handle Castille and his men, she was going to see what she could salvage of her fleet. By the time she arrived at the palace dock, the entire structure was in flames. Palace staff ran about trying to fight the fires, but they were picked off one at a time by Nazean sharpshooters. All around her, airships were burning. As they burned, they fell to the lower levels, spreading fire and death throughout the city. Fire crews tried their best to quell the destruction, but found themselves besieged on all levels by Castille’s men. Carola looked in vain for any survivors from the ships, but could see no one. She clenched her fists, frustrated by her helplessness. “Admiral Delas!” The shout came from behind her. She turned, and saw the first officer of the Ellain Vega, a new ship named for the current Monarch’s mother and predecessor, running toward her. “Rober,” she said, relieved. “What has happened here? How were we taken so unaware? I ordered the fleet on high alert.” Commander Rober Hartson stopped before her, shaking his head. “Admiral, there was no warning. The sky was clear of enemy ships, all seemed well, when suddenly lightning streaked down from the sky, igniting the gas that holds the airships aloft.” Carola raised an eyebrow. That made no sense. The docks were constructed in such a way as to protect the airships from lightning strikes. “There has not been a cloud in the sky all evening.” “I know, Admiral. Yet, the lightning struck us just the same.” Carola looked around. “How many survivors?” Commander Hartson hung his head. “Few, Admiral. Only those who were not on duty when the strikes came and a few cadets.” “Fleet Captain Harley?” He was her second-in-command. “Dead, ma’am.” “Captain Fergus?” “Went down with the Solar.” Carola Delas closed her eyes. Fergus was a good friend, and a fine airman. He would be sorely missed. She sighed, forcing herself back to the business at hand. Explosions began to sound from within the banquet hall and the panic on the upper levels increased. “We are under attack, Commander. The Nazeans are seizing control of the palace.” Commander Hartson was horrified. “Admiral, what will we--” “Relax, Commander. I have a plan. First, who is the highest ranking surviving officer?” “That would be me, ma’am.” Carola nodded. “Right then. As of now, you hold the rank of Fleet Captain. Gather our survivors, including the cadets, and meet me at Hangar 42 within the hour.” A thought occurred to her. “The hangars survived, yes?” The newly promoted Fleet Captain nodded. “The destruction is focused on the docks. But Admiral, what is in Hangar 42?” “Our last hope,” Carola said grimly. “Quickly now. If this is to work, we need to act while all is in disarray.” With a quick salute, Rober Hartson hurried off. Carola turned on her heel and rushed in the opposite direction, back toward the banquet hall. If she wasn’t too late, she could get Artemis and Anders to- She nearly collided with a group of terrified nobles who were fleeing the hall. “Admiral Delas!” An older man Carola recognized as Lord Davin was leading them and calling to her. “Admiral Delas, you must stay away from the hall!” “What is going on, Lord Davin?” she asked as he approached. “The Monarch has been murdered,” the nobleman explained, his voice heavy. “The Princess does battle this very moment with a madman who can call lightning and wind from empty air! The palace is no longer safe. We must flee!” “Lightning, you say?” Carola tried to look toward the banquet hall, but the smoke from the fires was getting thicker, making it hard to see very far. She realized the smoke could work in their favor too, if they were quick about it. “Everyone!” she cried out to the assembled, “Everyone follow me! I will lead you all to safety, but we must be swift! There are enemies everywhere!” It was to their credit that the nobles did as she bid with no questions or panic. She could sense their fear, but they were managing for the moment to keep it controlled. She began to lead them away from the hall, toward the great hangars used for storing and repairing the airships. Along the way they encountered a group of Solarian monks carrying someone. On closer inspection, she realized they bore the Champion with them. “Father Jorrin!” she called out. The monks made their way to her, seemingly unencumbered by their burden. Father Jorrin grabbed her hands, a look of worry on his soot- streaked face. “Admiral, what is--” “Such answers will have to wait, Father,” she said. “We make for Hangar 42. I suggest you accompany us, as I do not believe you will find many avenues of escape.” Father Jorrin agreed, and he and his band joined the nobles. The sight of the Champion’s pale skin and inert form broke the resolve of some of the nobles, and they began to cry. “Truly these are the Final Days,” one man wailed. “The Dark Times are upon us, and all the world will perish in fire!” “Quiet!” Carola ordered. “Keep your rantings to yourself, my lord, or I will toss you over the edge of the docks myself.” There were few outbursts after that. They were nearly to the hangars, when a lone Nazean soldier stepped out of the billowing smoke, pointing at them. “You there!” he shouted. “You will follow me! All nobles and military leaders are to-” Carola drew her pistol and fired, putting a bullet through his face. They reached Hangar 42 soon after, and she found Fleet Captain Hartson and the surviving crew. She greeted them with a curt nod, and set about opening the massive steel doors. “Admiral,” Hartson asked, “what-” She cut him off, “Consider it validation of my extreme paranoia, Fleet Captain.” She gestured, and he looked up to see the flagship of Vega’s Navy, the Luna’s Blade, ready for launch. As she ushered everyone aboard, she explained to her second-in-command. “I plan for every scenario, Fleet Captain. No matter how unlikely. And as they say, it is best not to show all your cards at once, yes?” He smiled, the first one he’d managed since this bloody business began, and boarded the ship. They were fortunate in that there was a full compliment of Engineers among the survivors. The airships, like most technology, ran on the same energy that fueled superhuman powers like those possessed by Princess Artemis and the Champion. Certain superhumans were born without any discernible powers and were instead suited to channeling that energy into various machines. Naval Engineers were trained to power the multitude of functions on an airship. They took their stations, and almost at once the ship and her instruments came to life. Carola Delas saw to it that the nobles and the monks were secured, then took the central command chair. “Helm, take us out,” she ordered. “Keep us in the smoke, and away from prying eyes. Navigator,” she said, “I’m afraid you’ll be flying blind.” The Navigator, a young cadet, swallowed hard and put on a brave face. “I’ll manage, Admiral.” She was mildly clairvoyant, as most Navigators were, and didn’t need to use her eyes much to guide the ship anyway. “Heading, Admiral?” she asked. Carola stopped to ponder this. The palace was lost, likely the city would fall to the Nazeans all to soon. There were few places in the Land they could hide for long, and they may need to hide for a very long time. “Excuse me, Admiral?” Father Jorrin approached. “Father?” “If I may, I believe it would be in our best interest to make for the Solarian monastery. It is far from here, though easily reached by airship, and difficult to find for those who are not welcome. We could shelter there indefinitely, if need be.” Carola nodded. “Thank you, Father. An excellent idea.” She raised her voice to be heard. “Helm, best speed to the Solarian monastery. Navigator, Father Jorrin will tell you the way.” The mighty flagship lifted into the sky and away from the fires and the gunshots and the screams of those left behind. She regarded her crew and passengers, forcing herself to admit that they could be the only survivors of this massacre. She wondered if they would be enough to take back their captured Land. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked straight ahead, into the thick black smoke. They would have to be. For, though she fled her home this night, she had no intention of staying away. She would return to this place soon enough. And vengeance would ride with her.

  The Speedster

  The Nazean monastery was quiet the morning of Artemis’ departure. After receiving the sword and some supplies from the m
onks, Artemis allowed the brothers to talk her into staying for breakfast. Brother Sime asked after her travel plans. “I’ve decided to travel north,” she said around a mouthful of cereal, trying to finish it before it cooled too much. She spooned in more sweetener and stirred the lumpy grains as she spoke. “The Westwall territory isn’t well-settled. I doubt the Nazeans will have made it down here, they’ll likely still have their hands full with the city.”She tapped a dot on the map. “There’s a rail station in Porthenge. I can take the train through the farmlands to Terminus and find some sort of transport to the Forest Communities from there.” Brother Sime frowned at that notion. “What manner of transport? Elk? Terminus is barely a rail platform.” Artemis shrugged, “I’ll think of something.” She checked the timepiece on the far wall of the dining hall. “I really should leave now,” she said, hastily finishing her cereal and a hot mug of sweetened joltbean tea, “I want to be as close to Porthenge as possible by nightfall.” “Have you traveled extensively in the Westwall territory?” Artemis was forced to admit she had not. “As you said, it is sparsely settled. Much of the land is jungle. The paths are many and secret, and not easily followed by outsiders.” Brother Sime gestured to one of the other monks near the door. The monk left the dining hall. “I’m a competent tracker,” Artemis said confidently. “I was two summers in my teens with the Hunt, I’ve camped in the Wild Lands,” she gestured at the territory on the map, “I’ve been through the western jungles before. I’ll find my way.” “That takes time,” Brother Sime argued, “A guide would get you closer to Porthenge by nightfall than you would on your own.” “A guide?” A blast of wind preceded the arrival of a boy. He looked to be nearing the end of his teens, though he could pass for younger if he tried. He attempted to smooth a thick shock of unruly hair and he vibrated slightly. “HiI’mPymKenaryoumustbe…” his words blurred together into a low hum. Artemis gasped. “A speedster?” Speedsters moved faster than any other thing in all of Amorlia. When they ran, thunder followed in their wake. Some were so swift, they ignited the very air itself. Once they’d criss-crossed the myriad Lands of Amorlia, as couriers and scouts, racing from city to city, small farm to village. But as time passed fewer speedsters were born, until there were none. The last known in any Land had died over five hundred years ago. Pym grinned, clearly proud. “Fastest man living,” he boasted. His voice had slowed to normal speed and he was barely vibrating. “Did you see, Brother Sime? I scouted the whole territory in the time it took to summon me. That’s twice as fast as yesterday!” Brother Sime nodded patiently, “Yes, Pym. But it’s taking you longer to reduce your speed every time. I’m worried you’ll go so fast you won’t be able to slow down.” “So?” Pym asked, “What’s wrong with that?” Brother Sime patted young Pym Kenar’s shoulder paternally. “You’ll come to learn that sometimes life doesn’t always need to move faster than the speed of sound.” He turned to Artemis, “Pym came to us a year ago, with little memory of his life before. We’ve done our best with him, but none of us possess such powers as Pym and yourself, and we have discovered living with a speedster can be... trying.” He grinned sheepishly at her. Artemis raised an eyebrow. “So, taking him along is payment for the medical treatment?” she asked with a grin. Brother Sime looked fondly at Pym. “Oh, he’s a good boy, if excitable.” He returned his attention to her, “To be honest, I’m hoping you can teach him some control. Perhaps your telepathy can be of help with his memory.” He shrugged. “There are limits, after all, to prayer.” “I’m certain,” Artemis said, regarding Pym, who was trying to balance his pack on the tips of his fingers and swinging it wildly around the room. Monks ducked to get out of his way. “But I can use the company. And a guide will be helpful.” She smiled at her new friend, “I’ll try to keep him out of trouble.” “Good luck,” Brother Sime muttered under his breath. Soon, Artemis and Pym were ready to go. They said their goodbyes and took a well-used path into the jungle. “Okay,” she said to him as they walked, “if we’re traveling together, you have a rule or two to follow.” “Like what?” Pym asked. He’d begun to vibrate again, then flicker, and Artemis realized he was moving about the area so quickly, she was seeing afterimages. “You don’t speed unless I say so for one,” she told him. That actually stopped him, and he laughed long and hard. “Sure,” he said, wiping his eyes, “whatever you say. Back in a second.” He moved to speed off and fell flat on his face. He pushed himself up off the ground, very slowly, looking shocked. “My speed,” he whispered, “what...” “I turned it off,” Artemis said, helping him up. “How?” Artemis tapped the side of her head, “Telepath.” “Wow,” Pym looked up at her in awe. They walked a while in companionable silence. They passed a few idle remarks about the weather, which led to a bit of a discussion of the local climate, and that of jungles in general, before lapsing back into silence. “Artemis?” “Yes?” “Can I have my speed back?” Artemis grinned, “Go ahead.” Pym vanished in a blur. Artemis walked alone a while. Within moments, Pym returned, smiling. He saluted. “No Nazeans in the immediate vicinity, ma’am.” “Good to know.” They walked a bit more, Pym’s vibrations creating a pleasant hum. “You’re not going to turn it off again, are you?” Artemis glanced over at him. “Depends. Are you going to drive me mad?” “Not on purpose.” “Fair enough.” They continued on through the jungle, their journey barely begun.