The Triumphant Return
Julien Castille slouched in the throne of Vega, his feet up on a cushioned stool. He was dozing slightly, with a half-empty bottle of wine on a small table by his side. Reports and communiques were scattered on the floor, including a request from Lord Rasp for his speedy return to the Nazean Lands. There were dispatches from the front lines in Drego, along with a list of problems his men were still encountering as they pacified the Land Vega. Though the capitol and the major cities had fallen readily enough, the outlying villages had raised their militias, and were vigorously resisting occupation. He’d dismissed those reports as naught but whining by lazy commanders. If his men could not handle a few sword-weilding farmers, they’d no right to call themselves Nazeans. He yawned, belched and tried to get comfortable. He supposed he could just go to bed, but it seemed a little early. He stared, bleary- eyed, at the papers demanding his attention and decided to ignore them. “To the Six Hells with what they all want,” he muttered. He stood and shuffled across the room to leaf through some maps. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him lately. Some troublemakers aside, Vega was nearly under his control. Once his army pushed through the lines of those wretched Gunfighters, Drego would be his as well. The whole world was within his grasp, but for some reason, he didn’t care. He just felt... bored. “Maybe I should go back to the Nazean Lands,” he mused, “Perhaps I really have done all I can here. Yes,” he said decisively, “that is what I’ll do. I will return home and send Lord Rasp to oversee Vega in my stead.” He smiled, feeling better than he had in days. He reached for the bell to summon one of his servants, when one burst through the doors of the throne room. “Archbishop!” the tall thin man cried, hurrying into the room, “Archbishop, something has happened!” Castille rolled his eyes. Yes, a change of scenery was definitely a good idea. “What is it?” he demanded. “My Lord,” the servant bowed low, “reports are coming in from the city guards. The people have become restless. There are incidents of violence throughout the city!” “WHAT?!” Castille roared, “What are the Brain Masters doing?! It is their job to-” “Th-th-that’s just it, Archbishop,” the servant stammered, cringing before his lord, “The guards also report numerous discoveries of bodies. All of them with their throats cut!” “Bodies?” Something cold slithered up his spine as a feeling of dread came over him. Suddenly, boredom didn’t seem so bad. “Brain Masters, my Lord,” the servant explained. “The Brain Masters are all dead.” “But that’s imposs-” Castille’s retort was interrupted by the sound of explosions coming from outside. He rushed to his window, and saw a Vegan airship raining fire down upon his own fleet. Five of his finest ships burned at their moorings. He rounded on the servant, “Find my naval commander,” he ordered, “Tell him I want the fleet in the air now! I want that ship brought down!” He turned back to the window and studied the attacking vessel. It was the flagship of Vega’s navy, and the only one not accounted for after his attack. “Hmm,” he stroked his chin, “I’d wondered when I’d be seeing you again. So,” he smirked, “you think you have a chance against me?” He laughed. This was just a rebellion, no doubt led by some remnant of Vega’s military. He’d heard some nobles and an admiral had escaped to the Solarian monastery. He’d searched for the place to no avail. Eventually he just chalked it up to rumor and paid it no mind. Fedrich! He sought his enforcer. A bit of lightning would take care of the airship, and a hurricane would put down this insurrection until more Brain Masters could be sent for. He turned from the window to await Fedrich’s arrival when he heard a call go up from the people in the street. “Look!” someone shouted, “Up in the sky!” He rushed back to the window, first looking down at the people. For the first time since his conquest, the people of the Land Vega looked up. For the first time, there was something other than despair and resignation in their voices. He looked then to the sky to see what had captured their attention, and his heart leapt to his throat. “No,” he whispered, “that’s not possible. She promised me. She promised!” There, beneath the gathering clouds, Kael T’ken stood majestically in mid-air, his great crimson wings spread wide. “The Champion!” someone cried from the street, “The Champion has returned!” A loud cheer went up among the people, and Castille looked closer. The Champion was holding someone, it looked like a woman. He seemed almost ready to drop her, whoever she was. He tried to get a better look at her, but Kael had flown higher. Then Castille heard another cry from below. “The Princess! The Princess has returned as well! The Princess and the Champion have come back to save us all!” Castille’s face drained of color. This was certainly a day for the impossible. The people continued to cheer, and some began to chant. “Long live Princess Artemis! Long live the Champion!” “Down with the Nazeans!” “Death to Castille!” Julien Castille fled from the window, tripped over the stool and fell into the throne, knocking the bottle to the floor with a crash. He called again for Fedrich and leaned heavily against the ornate chair. Suddenly, the window shattered and Artemis Vega entered the room feet-first. She flipped over once and landed standing in the center of the throne room. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled a long shimmering rope in through the broken window and held it coiled in her hand like a whip. Wind blew in through the open window, fluttering the legs of her gown and her long white hair. She turned cold eyes on the Archbishop and her birthmark flared blue, illuminating a small crystal set into her forehead. “I believe,” she said, in a voice like tempered steel, “that you are sitting in my seat.” At that moment, the doors to the throne room flew open and Fedrich Ma’Caer rushed in. “It’s about time, you fool!” Castille shouted, pointing at Artemis, “Kill her! And do it right this time!” Fedrich advanced, raising his hands to call down a storm, when Kael crashed through the east wall and tackled Fedrich out through the opposite side of the room. Castille gaped first at the ragged hole in one wall then over at the other as all his reports and communiques fluttered and spun in the wind that now whistled through the throne room. He looked back at Artemis, who had not moved since her spectacular entrance. “Now then,” she said, a crooked grin spreading across her face, “where were we?”
Conflict
Kael pushed Fedrich Ma’Caer through the air, intending to bring him out to the plains where no one would be hurt. Bad enough the people of the city were in the midst of a pitched battle, there was no need to add to that by having two powerful superhumans fighting over their heads. He had only just reached the outskirts of the city, however, when a gust of wind tore Fedrich from his hands. The would-be deity floated on air currents opposite the Champion, electricity crackling between his hands. “Don’t think this will be easy, Champion,” he spat. “Oh, I’m hoping you make it as hard as possible,” Kael responded, “Since hearing of how you treated Artemis, I have been very eager to make your acquaintance,” he smiled, “and I don’t want this fight ending too quickly.” Fedrich laughed, “It’s already over, you great fool.” He threw a blast of lightning at Kael that would have toppled a building and was momentarily blinded by the flash. When his eyesight returned, he saw Kael in front of him, laughing. Steam rose from his chest where the bolt had hit him, but he did not appear to be injured. “Really, Storm God,” Kael mocked, “I came here to fight, and the best you can do is tickle me?” Before Fedrich could move, Kael was inches from his face, grabbing him roughly by the front of his tunic. “My turn,” Kael growled. ****** The wind howled through Vega’s throne room, filling the air with whirling pieces of paper. Julien Castille pushed himself slowly to his feet, while Artemis Vega stood unmoving across the room. More explosions were heard from outside, along with the sound of gunfire and steel on steel. He tried to telepathically contact his commanders to find out what was happening, but could not touch any of their minds. No no no, Artemis thought, there will be none of that. I will tell you what you are hearing. The explosions are your airships being destroyed one-by-one. I doubt you’ve more than a handful left. Those other sounds you hear would be my army entering the city. “Buh-but that-that’s ridicu
lous,” Castille argued, looking frantically around. “I have an entire legion of the finest Nazean soldiers garrisoned here,” he said, “they should be more than a match for whatever refugee militia you’ve thrown together.” He noticed his sword on the floor near the door. If he could reach it... Yes, they should be, Artemis’ thoughts were a storm in his mind, and they would be too, her laughter echoed through the throne room and Castille’s brain, if they were still armed. There was a blur of color, then Pym Kenar stood beside Artemis, arms folded and smirking. “I took it upon myself to...redistribute their weapons where they would do the most good.” “With that in mind,” Artemis said aloud, “excuse me a moment, Archbishop.” She reached out with her thoughts, touching the minds of all her people, Citizens of Vega! This is the Princess! It was by my decree that you have been armed, but I will not have you descend into anarchy! The commanders of my army will make themselves known to you. Join up with their troops and follow their orders, and this day will be ours! A cheer went up from the street, and Artemis could sense her commanders organizing their new recruits. The battle raged on, though the tide was firmly against the occupying army now. Pym turned to Artemis, grinning, “You okay here?” “Quite,” she replied, “Get back down to the street,” her eyes met his and held them, “I’m counting on you to hold everything together.” Pym smiled and saluted, “Consider it held, Your Majesty.” Then he was gone. While Artemis’ attention was diverted, Castille had managed to retrieve his sword. He advanced on her, brandishing the weapon menacingly. “Come on then!” he shouted, “Let’s settle this now!” Oh, we will settle this, Artemis thought at him, but not with swords. After all, you don’t even know how to use one. Castille laughed, “Don’t be stupid. I-” he attempted to begin an attack form, but ended up dropping his sword. He looked down at the blade, trying to summon his impressive knowledge of swordplay, but found he could barely remember how to hold it properly. He turned to Artemis, seething. “No!” he shouted, “No, you cannot do this to me! I refuse to accept that one such as you could tamper with MY mind!” Even as he said the words, however, he could feel Artemis probing deeper into his innermost thoughts. It was not that she broke through his mental defenses, it was more that she rendered them irrelevant. Still, he defied her, “NO! You will not do this to me! I am Julien Castille! I trained with the Brain Masters themselves!” Trained with them, yes, Artemis spoke deep inside his mind, but impressed them? Hardly. Castille felt her sifting through his memories, his feelings and his most guarded secrets. He was powerless to stop her. Her derision was palpable, Your telepathic skills were rudimentary at best, they had said. In fact, if not for their teachings, you wouldn’t even have what meager skills you possess. She laughed at him again, At best, you can exert some control over non-telepaths, but you are powerless against someone of any real skill. Someone like... your father. “Don’t you talk about him,” Castille was sobbing now, “Don’t you dare talk about him!” Now, HE was a telepath, Artemis continued, ignoring him, He’d risen through the ranks of the Brain Masters, becoming one of the elite, an Inquisitor. He expected the same from you. It was a Castille family tradition, was it not? Julien Castille was on his knees now, tears flowing down his cheeks, “All the men of our line, going back generations, were Inquisitors. It was a point of family honor.” But you brought dishonor upon your family, didn’t you? Artemis forced the thought deep into his mind, dredging up a painful memory and forcing him to relive it. Castille fell backward, then scrambled across the floor, fleeing a threat only he could see. “Father, please!” he cried, “I’m sorry! I tried my best! I’m sorry!” He cowered, flinching as though being struck repeatedly. He collapsed once Artemis released him from the memory, weeping. So, a career among the Brain Masters denied you, you entered politics. Your telepathic skills were more than sufficient to give you the upper hand against your opponents, Artemis stalked Castille, batting his mind about as a cat would toy with its prey. You rose quickly, amassing great power and wealth, finally having enough of both to arrange the assassination of your father. She stood over him, scowling down at his huddled form, But no matter how powerful you become, you know in your heart that you will NEVER be good enough. She left his mind then, and he pushed himself with great effort to his knees. “I am going to kill you, Julien,” Artemis said softly, “but I want you to know that I intend to take my time hurting you before I do.” She smiled wickedly as he turned his red and swollen eyes to her. “You can try to run now,” she told him, “if you like.” Castille scrambled clumsily to his feet and rushed for the door. Artemis flicked her wrist, and the long silver rope snaked out to wrap around his ankles. He hit the floor hard, face first, then felt himself dragged backward. Artemis swung her arm wide, and Castille was flung first against one wall, then the other, hitting each with a dull crack and a shock of pain. His ribs broke against the first wall, and his arm against the other. He felt Artemis give the rope a sharp tug, and his legs broke just above the ankles. He was screaming now. He screamed and cried and begged for his life, and all the while Artemis simply laughed at him. When finally she let him fall, pulling the rope from his broken legs, she walked slowly toward where he lay. “Let me explain something,” she said as she approached. “I hate you,” she told him, her voice flat and matter-of-fact, “Before you came along, I didn’t know I had such a capacity for hatred, but I do.” “I-I-I’m-” he stammered through the blood filling his mouth. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry!” she shouted, kicking him, “You’re only sorry because I’m killing you. Luna’s light, Castille,” she yelled at him, “you murdered my father in cold blood, right in front of me. You plunged my Land and my people into darkness and despair, and I know you had something to do with the theft of Kael’s soul so don’t you DARE tell me you’re SORRY!” She hauled him up by his shirtfront, and he cried out as broken bones ground against one another. Looking directly into his eyes, she spoke in a low growl, “However much you hated your father, know that I loved mine twice as much. You will never understand what you stole from me, Castille, but I will punish you for it all the same.” Then she punched him, again and again in the face, crunching bone and pulping flesh. Kael returned then, dropping the stunned and beaten Fedrich Ma’Caer unceremoniously to the floor. When he saw what Artemis was doing, he rushed to her side and pulled her off the broken Archbishop. “NO!” she cried, struggling in his grip, “Damn it, Kael, let me go! I’m going to kill that bastard for what he’s done!” Kael forced her to look at him, and he held her as he spoke gently to her, “Even if it kills your soul in the process?” he asked. He gestured to the twisted ravaged form of Julien Castille, who moaned as his shattered body twitched and shuddered uncontrollably. “Look at what you’ve done, Artemis,” Kael said, “This is not justice. It is not even revenge.” He shook his head and wiped the tears from her face, “It is savagery, beloved, and it is beneath you.” She looked at him, then at Castille, then back at Kael. Anger flashed in her eyes, replaced quickly be remorse, then deep sorrow. She stared numbly at the blood on her knuckles, then with great weariness at Kael. All at once, the pain and fear and grief and misery she had suffered since the death of her father overwhelmed her, and she buried her face in Kael’s chest, great heaving sobs wracking her body. He held her close, curving his wings inward as if to shield her, and rocked her in his arms. “It’s okay, dearest,” he whispered to her, “It’s okay now. Everything is going to be okay. I love you,” he told her, “I love you so much, Artemis. I love you.” Unnoticed by the Princess or her Champion, Fedrich Ma’Caer stirred. He hurt in places he didn’t even know he had, but seemed to be whole. He looked over at the Archbishop, and whistled softly. “Too bad the same can’t be said for you, Castille,” he whispered. Fedrich looked out through one of the holes in the wall and saw the few surviving Nazean airships fleeing the city. He looked again at the fallen Archbishop, then at the two heroes, and made a decision. He grabbed Julien Castille and leaped out the open window, riding a gust of air to the lead airship. He would generate low
clouds to cover their escape, which would allow them to return to the Nazean Lands unimpeded. Once there, they could plan their next move. Fedrich grinned as a thought occurred to him. If Castille survived, he would owe Fedrich his life. The grin became a broad smile. That would certainly be handy later on. Later, once Artemis’ sobs had subsided, she heaved a great sigh, leaning once more against Kael’s broad chest. Finally, she pushed herself up and looked around. “They’ve gone,” she told Kael. “I know,” he said, “I could try to chase them.” She shook her head, “No. You’re needed here. They’re beaten. We’ll have to deal with them eventually, but not now.” He nodded and seemed about to speak, but Pym zipped into the room. “Wow,” he said, “you should see what’s going on outside. The Nazeans have been routed and the people are going crazy.” He looked at Kael and then Artemis, “Hey,” he said to her, “have you been crying?” She gave him a small smile, “I’m fine,” she assured him, “I’ll tell you about it later.” He looked at her, obviously concerned, but said, “Okay.” Then, to both of them, “Oh, but you two really need to get out there,” he gestured to the balcony overlooking the courtyard, “After the city was taken, people started rushing up here. I think an address from the Princess and her Champion would go a long way toward calming everyone down.” It was true. Artemis could hear a loud babble of voices from out in the courtyard. It was getting louder, and the people did seem frantic. “You’re right, Pym,” she said, “but I want you with us too.” “Me?” he raised an eyebrow, “why me?” “Are you kidding?” she punched him playfully on the arm, “None of this would have worked if not for you.” “Besides,” Kael said with a smile, putting his arms around them both as he led them toward the balcony, “we have plans for you, Pym my lad.” Pym looked at the two and swallowed hard, “Why does that not sound encouraging?” Kael laughed, and soon Artemis joined in. The weary disconnected feeling that comes from a long cry was leaving her, and her spirits began to lift. Thank you, she thought to Kael. For? Bringing me back to myself, she thought, I’ve changed much on this journey, and am fated to change even more. I just don’t want to change so much that I stop being me. Don’t worry, he assured her, Pym and I will keep you in line. She smiled, hugging his arm. I’m really glad you’re back, Kael. So am I, darling. He kissed the top of her head. And so it was with a much lighter heart that Artemis led those dearest to her out onto the balcony to calm her restless people and meet their uncertain future head-on.
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