Amorlia

by Chris Wichtendahl

  A Council Concludes

  After something to eat and a bit of rest, the five women and one man returned to Artemis’ office for more discussion regarding the future of Amorlia. “I have a question,” the Ki-Mon ventured, “We meet in the Land Vega. The Land Drego has sent two of, presumably,” she grinned slyly at Qi, “their best and I represent my Clan along with my sister. The former Land Zill is, unfortunately, the focus of our council, but was there not a fourth among your Lands?” She looked quizzically between her hosts and the other guests, “What of the Land Pacha?” A strange mood came over the others then. Pym looked down at his boots, Artemis coughed and flipped through some maps, while the Gunfighters traded uncomfortable looks. “Ah...” Artemis began. “Well...” Pym attempted. Qi opened her mouth to speak, saw how well Artemis and Pym had managed, thought better of the idea and closed it again. “There is no Land Pacha,” Michra said finally in a small voice, “at least, so far as we know.” Sa’raa and her sister looked expectantly at the others. “Continue,” the elder said. Artemis cleared her throat, “Well,” she said, “no one is entirely certain exactly what happened. We know that during the Nazean invasion, after the fall of Zill, the Monarch of the Land Pacha went to the vault deep under the castle to retrieve one of the ancient weapons from the days of the Mad Wizard. It was folly to even think of using such weapons, but she was desperate. The Nazeans were unstoppable, and she feared for the safety of her Land above all else.” “She used it?” the Ki-Mon was incredulous. Artemis nodded, “She did. We have no idea what her intent was. All we do know is that there was a terrible explosion, and when all the dust and smoke and madness finally cleared, the Land Pacha was surrounded by an impenetrable wall of thorns that grew several miles into the air. Attempts by airships and fliers to cross over met with disastrous results.” “So, no one has been inside the Land Pacha for almost thirty years?” the Ki-Mon asked. Artemis shook her head. “So far as I know, there is no way inside.” “I have heard tell,” Qi began hesitantly, “of one passage through the thorns.” “Oh?” Artemis turned to her, as did everyone else. “Yes,” Qi continued, “it is whispered that, where the Great Wood meets the thorns, on the Drego/Pacha border, a lone man guards the sole entrance to that Land. He is said to be blind, yet all-seeing. He is known as the Signalman, due to the strange hanging lantern he carries, and is reputed to point the way, not only through the thorn wall, but also along the path of time itself, to days not yet dawned.” She shrugged, “But I have heard of none who have been able to find him, so his tale is regarded as little more than legend.” Artemis considered this. “Hmmm,” she looked down at the maps, focusing on the line dividing Drego from Pacha. “Ohh, no,” Pym said, looking over at her, “I know that look. You’ve a mind to run off on some foolhardy quest to the Land Pacha, don’t you?” Artemis smiled at him and shook her head, “I would, had I not the responsibility of the Monarchy to consider. No,” she said, turning to Qi, “I thought I would ask you to do it,” she looked from Qi to the Ki- Mon, “and that you might accompany her.” “To what end?” the Ki-Mon asked, though she seemed thoughtful. “This Signalman Qi spoke of,” Artemis explained, “if he can in fact see the future, he might tell us the best path to victory over the Nazeans. And,” she said, forestalling any argument, “if it is possible to gain entry to the Land Pacha, I would like to know who, or what, is there.” “Why?” Qi asked. “Because Pacha is currently an unknown,” Artemis told her, “and such things have a tendency to make themselves known at the most inopportune moments.” She pointed to the map, “Look,” she said, “any battles fought against the Nazeans will likely be fought near the Land Pacha. It is possible that something might exist there that could turn the tide of that battle.” She looked at each of the women in turn, “I would prefer it turned in our favor.” Qi and the Ki-Mon thought this over a few moments. Finally, the Ki- Mon said, “I will go. There is merit to your idea, and it would afford me the opportunity to learn more about the outlands.” “You’ll never find your way there without a guide,” Qi said, “so I guess I’m going too.” “What about us?” Sa’raa said, gesturing to herself and Michra. “You,” the Ki-Mon pointed at her sister, “will return home, and inform the Monga of our plans.” “You will go with her,” Qi said to her protege. “It would be wise for us, in turn, to learn all we can of our neighbors to the north,” she smiled at the Ki-Mon, “if for no other reason than to discourage any future misunderstandings between our peoples.” So it was settled. Qi Drego and the Ki-Mon would travel first to the lowlands of Drego, to inform the Monarch of their plans and so Qi could make certain she was not needed by her brethren. They would then journey south, across the plains and through the southern marshlands until they reached the Great Wood. From there, Qi hoped they could convince a member of the Hunt to guide them to the border of Pacha. They would give themselves two weeks. Much of the distance could be covered by rail, so most of their time would be spent traveling through the Wood. Michra would accompany Sa’raa to the Wild Lands, where she would represent all the outlands before the Monga. She was a little nervous at this, as she was usually content to follow Qi’s lead, but she was also intensely curious about the strange land that none from the outside had seen in centuries. Later, once her guests had returned to their rooms, to spend the night before setting out in the morning, Artemis sat in her office with Pym, discussing all that had happened. “There is one thing that just occurred to me,” Pym said, his feet up on the desk. “What’s that?” Artemis was busy drawing on one of the maps. She was trying to figure out the best route for moving troops and materiel to the Nazean Lands should they have need. “All this talk of the Pacha Disaster made me think back on how this whole recent mess started. Didn’t you tell me that you caught some Nazean thugs trying to steal a similar weapon from Vega’s own vault?” “Yes,” Artemis answered, still only half paying attention. “Well,” Pym asked, “if he was so eager to steal it, why did Castille not use it when the vault was his?” Artemis looked up, giving Pym her full attention. “I wondered about that too,” she said, “until I looked into his mind. He did go down to the vault,” she told him, “it was one of the first things he did. He stood there, holding one of the ancient weapons in his hands. But then, a curious thing happened.” “What?” “He became afraid,” Artemis said, “terribly afraid. Not of what might happen to the world, he has never cared much for that, more of what might happen to him. For all his fury and menace, Julien Castille is, at his core, an inveterate coward.” She smiled ruefully, “His greatest fear lies in being hurt. So he put the weapon aside, and never set foot in the vault again.” Pym considered this. “So,” he suggested, “that’s why you-” “Among other reasons,” Artemis answered before he finished. “When I confronted him in the throne room, I was-aagh!” Artemis held her head in one hand, gripping the edge of the desk to keep from falling. Pym was at her side in an instant. “What is it?” he asked with great concern, “Shall I call a healer? Do you need-” “No,” Artemis shook her head, patting his hand, “No, I’m okay now.” “What was that?” Pym asked. “Someone is in terrible pain,” Artemis explained, “here, in this castle.” Pym stood straight, “I can search,” he offered. “Yes,” Artemis nodded, “please do. Then report to me what you have found.” Pym vanished in a blur. Less than an hour later, he returned, having searched the entire palace from the tallest tower to the deepest dungeon. His face was ashen, his eyes wide. He shook as he approached Artemis’ desk. “I think you’d better come see this,” he whispered.

  A Grim Discovery

  Artemis followed Pym down a long winding stairway, deep into the bowels of the palace. They’d gone so far, she was convinced they’d entered the mountain itself. They had left the lowest levels of the dungeons behind them and their surroundings were becoming increasingly dank and gloomy. Brick and plaster gave way to rough-hewn stone, and the walls were slick with condensation. They finally arrived at the foot of the stairs and looked down the dimly-lit dirt hall. As they walked, they noticed doors m
ade from thick iron bars to either side. All the cells they passed were empty, though Artemis could sense a living mind somewhere on this level. She was positive it was the source of the pain she’d felt earlier. Suddenly, a cell opened at the end of the hall, and two soldiers stepped out. They came up short when they saw that Artemis and Pym were in the hall with them and would have run if there had been anywhere to run to. As it was, Artemis seized control of their minds and forced them to approach. “What goes on down here?” she demanded once they stood before her. The two men glanced at each other, then at the floor and said nothing. Artemis glared at them, “I can force the answer out of you,” she growled. “Don’t bother,” a voice spoke from behind her, “I’ll tell you what’s going on.” Carola Delas walked around to stand by her men. She looked at each in turn and dismissed them, but they did not move. They clearly wished to, but were held fast under Artemis’ power. “Release them, Artemis,” Carola said with a small smile. “You have me, and I will tell you all. You don’t need them.” Artemis let the men go, but not before she pulled every last memory from their minds and left behind a small piece of herself in their respective subconscious. These were mere foot soldiers, and thus she could glean little of Carola’s motives or schemes from their minds, but she would be damned if Carola was going to use them in some sort of ridiculous coup. The suggestion she left in their psyches made it impossible for these two men to ever betray her. Once it was just the three of them, Artemis looked at Carola and raised her eyebrow. Carola gestured at Pym, “Get rid of him, and we’ll tal-kaaaAAAHH!” She fell to her knees and grabbed her head. Artemis looked down at her and snarled, “I felt that in my head earlier, Admiral,” she said, “would you care to tell me why?” Carola panted and rubbed her head, pushing herself to her feet. “End... end of the hall,” she gestured toward the door the soldiers had come from. “Lead the way,” Artemis commanded. Carola rose from the floor, dusted herself off and looked the Monarch in the eyes, “You won’t understand what I’m doing here.” “I’m certain I won’t like it,” Artemis replied, “Now lead the way.” Without further conversation, Carola led Artemis and Pym down the dirt hallway to the grimy cell at the end. When they arrived, she unlocked the door and gestured for the others to enter. Artemis pushed her in first and walked in after her. Pym stayed outside the door. What Artemis saw when she looked around the room horrified her. The cell was full of men and women in chains. They were chained to the walls, to the floor and to the few moldering beds in the cell. Some were hung by chains from the ceiling, while others were leashed to the wall by a chain at their neck. All had very obviously been beaten, and they had the look of people who had not eaten or slept properly in days. Artemis rounded on Carola in fury. “Explain this!” she shouted. Carola regarded Artemis calmly, adopting a tone one would take with a simple-minded child, “These are suspected Nazeans, Your Majesty,” she said, “We spoke about the need to find them with all haste. I am simply following your orders to the best of my-” Artemis’ fist cut off the rest of Carola’s words when it connected with her mouth. She spun and fell sprawling on the floor. A few of the prisoners reached for her, but she was beyond the length of their chains. She stood, rubbing her chin. She wiped blood from her lip and approached Artemis. “Do not insult me by claiming to follow my orders,” Artemis growled at her, “I would never condone this, let alone order it. Is there any evidence to show these people are Nazeans?” “No, Majesty,” Carola admitted, “But by the time I’d gathered sufficient evidence, they would have-” “Shut up,” Artemis ordered, “The law demands evidence before prosecution,” she lectured, “and it expressly forbids treatment such as this!” She gestured to encompass the entire cell and its wretched inhabitants, “We do not treat our hardened criminals like this.” “Majesty,” Carola began. “Let them go,” Artemis commanded. “Majesty, you have to underst-” “Let them go.” “Artemis, I-” LET THEM GO! Carola staggered back, but held her ground. “No,” she said. Barely containing her anger, Artemis threw Carola out of the cell. She walked out, leaving the door open, and told Pym to secure the prisoners’ release. “See to it they are fed, bathed and doctored,” she said, “And be certain to extend every courtesy and our sincerest apologies for the way they have been treated.” She looked into this eyes and shared thoughts for his mind alone, Keep them all here until I have dealt with Carola. While I believe many of these people to have been wrongly imprisoned, there may be some truth in the accusations made. I do not want any of them leaving before I have had the chance to read them. Pym nodded, gripped Artemis’ shoulder briefly and then sped off to find others of the palace staff to help him. Artemis pushed Carola ahead of her down the hall.