Fires of Aggar

by Chris Anne Wolfe

  “What have you Seen, Love?” Gwyn pressed, holding her close. “What have you found?”

  “She… Taysa…,” Llinolae squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart shredded at the near success of that long laid plan — at the deaths of so many. “I knew she lured Uncle into her schemes in order to poison Mother. But I’d not Seen her before! Not for who she really is… isn’t!”

  “Who she isn’t? Do you mean your Mother or Taysa, Soroi?”

  “Taysa isn’t Mother’s sister! Not really… Mother would have known her to be an impostor.

  “I Saw Taysa in the visions tonight, saw how she’d already killed my aunt — killed the entire family! Mha’del accepted Taysa as blood kin because of the ring she gave Uncle.”

  “Because he recognized it as your Mother’s family mark.”

  “Aye — a wood seal of their Clan kin. Mother described it as a ‘tree of life.’ Father wore it always, and when Uncle returned to Khirlan wearing a matching piece, Mha’del pressed until Uncle confessed to a handfasting with a woman of mixed blood.”

  “After which, Mha’del was quick to welcome his wife’s half-sib.” Gwyn sighed and hugged Llinolae tighter. “I am sorry, soroi, so very, very sorry.”

  Llinolae nodded, tears rising and she clutched at Gwyn’s jerkin. “Just hold me…”

  “I’m here. Right here.”

  And then, she could only cry.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Chapter Fifteen

  The armory was a great deal further from the barracks that housed the guards and baskers than most might expect. But her Mistress n’Athena had diligently explained — again and again! — how potentially dangerous this cache was. If there were more than two dozen of the smallest fire weapons housed here, an accident could create an earthquake leaving a crater the size of Khirla’s palace. The truth of her statement was attested to by the barren perimeter of twice that size surrounding the little hut and its half-sunken cellar.

  When Gwyn had first seen the open width of that distance, she cursed the Fates for their Jest. But Llinolae had been far from displeased. As soon as dawn pushed over the eastern peaks and passed the scattered shadows of the ancient rubble, the Clan scout had left his perimeter patrolling, staked a fresh pair of basker jackals on watch, and retired to the barracks for sleep. It was not such an odd defensive tack to take; after all, with good light and cleared land, their fire weapons could strike at an intruder at nearly any distance once they were seen.

  So with the humans safely tucked away for a time, that left only the baskers to deal with — and those were promptly subdued by a trick of the Sight and the sandwolves. Llinolae imposed an illusion that hid the sandwolves approach, and then with no warning at all they appeared nose to nose, teeth bared and growling before the slender bullies. The baskers yelped and fell over themselves in utter terror, straining away to the limits of their tethers. Ril and Ty stared the beasts down into a cowering silence and menacingly settled themselves down as well. The intimidation worked. The sandwolves assumed master status and neither basker challenged with disobedience.

  “Don’t hurt them,” Gwyn reminded her packmates quietly. “They could not choose who raised and trained them.”

  Ril spared her a disgusted glance. Sometimes Gwyn’s assessment of their judgment was insultingly shallow.

  “Sorry,” Gwyn gulped, suitably chastised. “Keep an eye on the house though.” She hurried down the cellar steps after Llinolae.

  They paused below as Llinolae examined the metal-reinforced padlock. She frowned at its bulk, then Gwyn was shouldering forward with, “Let me.”

  One of the stiletto knives popped from its vambrace, and deftly she pried it into the fist-sized lock. Tumblers clicked and there was a sharp ‘snap’ — she pulled the padlock open.

  “I am impressed,” Llinolae lifted a brow and cracked a smile.

  “Works just like the old oak ones up north, that’s all.” But Gwyn was grinning proudly as she pushed the door open and waved Llinolae in ahead of her.

  Inside they both froze. The light was dim from the open door behind them, but there was enough to see the unbelievable. Racks and crates, workbenches of half-repaired pieces, and careless piles of spare parts littered the room. A fortune in metals and a horrific potential for destruction lay before them.

  “Mae ’n Pour—” Gwyn breathed and could do nothing but stare.

  “The battling will never be done until the Clan itself is dead, if this is here.”

  “How could we have left so much behind?” Gwyn gasped in dismay. How could dey Sorormin have allowed this sort of danger to survive through all these ages? “How could we have been so… irresponsible?”

  “Because…,” Llinolae met Gwyn’s confusion with a quiet command of truth and strength that stilled the Amazon’s very thoughts, “your foremothers came from the stars, Niachero. And this was not a powerful danger — not to their eyes, not in their time — not in an age when whole planets were destroyed in single battles. To them, this could never be seen as anything nearly as awful as the trials that had brought them to Aggar in the first place.”

  Gwyn grasped the sense in that, yet denied the excuse of it. “They still knew what this could do — especially because this is Aggar. Especially because there is no defense against this type of raw technology on all of Aggar.”

  Llinolae considered that, then conceded it with a faint nod. “Yet my own forebearers are not blameless.”

  “So…” Gwyn stood taller, drawing her sword from its sheath and holding it out before her, hilt up, “our duty is long overdue, it seems. It is time to restore the balance of continents and power — to remove the inequality those such as Taysa must always pervert.”

  Llinolae laid a hand to Gwyn’s atop the weapon. “I cannot let you sacrifice your lifestone nor your sword for this, Soroi. Both have done honorable service for all across too many seasons.”

  Gwyn tipped her head, puzzled. “I know of no way to destroy this much metal weaponry, save for breaking the stone free of my blade. Even then, the lifestone will still not disintegrate the lot for a day or two?”

  “I have a way,” Llinolae declared softly. “Now that I have been here, have seen this place in such detail…,” Her Blue gaze swept the room with a haunting eerieness of resignation. “I can return here as harmon and I can bring….” She sighed shortly and spun on her heels. “But I must do it soon. Bring the baskers back to the ruins with us. They will not be safe where they are staked now.”

  “They will be missed?”

  “No,” Llinolae assured her briskly, “it will not take that long.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  She stood at the edge of the stone-paved groundwork that ringed the ruins of the starcraft port. She stood with her leather-soled boots firmly planted upon the dry crust of Aggar’s soil. To Llinolae’s left the sun glittered silver along the steel and alloy skeletons of scattered, shapeless ruins. To her right, the very, very distant line of the great Forest guarded the last few leagues to the Plateau’s end. Behind her, contented and fed, lulled the basker pair in the shade of the half-crumbled building; Ty and Ril sat near, diligently supervising their new charges.

  “Ril and Ty will take them back to Brit and Sparrow when they go tonight. Camdora can reclaim them for the Clans then.”

  Llinolae nodded absently, Gwyn came to stand beside her, sword unsheathed. She hesitated, following Llinolae’s gaze towards that distant blur of near-nothingness which marked the barracks and armory.

  “Are we sure the Clan scouts there will be safe from this?”

  “I will send the force of it east — back into the ruins,” Llinolae murmured.

  Gwyn swallowed hard. She took her sword in a two-handed grip and widened her stance. With a grunt she drove the blade straight down, cleaving rock and soil as it went in with a blue flash. She stepped away a bit and dried her palms nervously along her breeches.

  “Are you ready?” Llinolae’s gaze never turned from the south.

  “I
think so.”

  “Wait until it is done, before you fetch me,” Llinolae reminded her softly, her quiet tone receding like a hollow ghost’s whisper.

  “I will wait.”

  Llinolae felt the cold walls of amarin fold about her. She blinked and Saw the armory’s interior again. The blue haze fell between her and the room about her, and she gathered her breath in deep.

  The sweet feel and taste of the Life Cycles slipped into her at her bidding, filling her harmon with Aggar’s strength. She looked again at the stockpiles of weaponry around her. This time the dusty blue webs of amarin sparked. Tendrils spun out in curious questing, until soon the outline of each shadow and shape glowed in a sheath of amarin sapphire.

  Then all went still. For a breath, heart and thoughts stood suspended. Time, for Llinolae and Aggar, stood poised. The solution was questioned for one last moment — and then, fire came.

  With a whoosh the blue of harmon and amarin went ablaze.

  Llinolae felt the heat rising. The torrent of fiery swirls roared loud in her ears. It ate the air and there was a fluttering instant of near suffocation, but she concentrated — passion and purpose intensifying — and the inferno doubled as the amarin fed it through her very fierceness.

  Curtains of flame merged! A pool of liquid flame filled the room from ceiling to floor.

  The metal casings began to pop. The core cells among the weaponry began to whine then screech as metal and chemicals boiled together.

  “Mother save me!” She prayed in a breath.

  The universe around her exploded. She went sailing for that distant, distant sun of the east —

  Gwyn gasped at the spiral twisting of fire that broke and shook the ground she stood upon. Winds whipped past her ears, not from the torrent but sweeping towards it. And in an angry aching stretch, the fire on that horizon grew into a wave and flew east.

  She grabbed the hilt of her sword and clenched tight — eyes tight — and called with every bit of her being to Llinolae’s harmon.

  The lifestone flared hot beneath her hands within the hilt. Scorchingly hot it burnt, and the Niachero held only tighter — soul screaming for her Love.

  The lifestone pulsed and reached.

  Within her mind’s eye the swelling tides of flame and fury swept her into them. She saw the frozen figure of another. She reached forward.

  They collapsed to the rock-strewn ground, Gwyn rolling to absorb the impact, putting herself between Llinolae and the ‘smack’ of the landing. Then she hung on and prayed she had brought harmon and heart together quickly enough. Llinolae’s arms went around her, faltered limply, then fastened hard.

  “Mae n’Pour!” Gwyn rasped and buried her face against the sweating, shivering, dark caramel skin of Llinolae’s neck. “Sweet, sweet love, I have you… I have you.”

  Llinolae’s body trembled, near convulsing in muscular fatigue. Ty appeared, dragging a blanket with her, and Gwyn took it gratefully. She had barely rolled Llinolae within it when Ril arrived with another one. Even the baskers seemed to hover nearer with concern.

  “Not — not so binding,” Llinolae croaked.

  Gwyn almost laughed outright at that feeble protest, yet she hurried to comply. Then with Llinolae drawn across her lap, she simply held her and rocked her. Tears and laughter choked her, and Gwyn gave way to both in relief.

  “Soroi, do not break me in two!”

  “No — no,” Gwyn eased her grip with an effort. Then for a long while there was nothing but their closeness — and the joy of having each other.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Calculating grey eyes narrowed in a cold sweep of the eastern city wall and the Great Forest beyond. The height of the Tower room gave the woman a clear view of anyone approaching over that long road through the brushberries and livestock pens. A light breeze wafted by, heavy with the berry scents of hot summer fruit. First harvests would be early this season.

  Brushberries! The woman scoffed, tossing back the heavy braid of her dark, graying hair. Even after so many tenmoon seasons, the Khirla’s wines still seemed overly dry and downright tart to her palette. Samcin would tease her that she was hopelessly plebeian in her tastes, but then that suited him fine. He too preferred District’s mead to wine. Still, the rich, heavy scent of those ripening berries was a sweet one, and she drew a slow, deep breath, enjoying the satisfying memory of her first raid as a commander.

  The hoe farmers had been busy with their brushberry crop — they’d grown careless. Despite the old matriarch’s preparations for defense, the family had been caught armed only with farming tools and they’d been too far afield for a retreat into their walled enclosures — her timing had been impeccable.

  Her scouts had scarcely even needed to resort to their fire weapons. She’d prepared for everything, had deployed her scouts brilliantly! And then there’d been Samcin. He’d stood behind her from the first, bellowing and bullying faithfully in swift execution of any order. Silencing her adversaries, guarding her back, spellbound by her success. She’d almost forgotten their celebration that day, when she’d taken him down to the brushberry field of the hoe farm itself.

  It had been a thorny first time for him — in more ways than one, she chuckled. Poor Samcin, he’d been so hopelessly in love with her — nearly as hopeless at pleasing a woman as well. But then she had capitalized upon that advantage too. Ahh — but she had since groomed him well in many things, both inside the bed chambers and out.

  Aye, the brushberry farmers had marked her beginning. The victory had been so clear, it’s formula infallible. Patience, stalking — then finally the strike! Sometimes — even now — it still seemed so absurdly simple, as it had been on that first raid.

  The hoe farm had been affluent and the cache a rich one. The Clan leaders had begun to watch her then, admiring her gifts of strategy — succumbing to her passionate, yet always so rational style of persuasion. And she’d always been a step ahead of them — just like she’d been with the hoe farmers’ matriarch — befriend the enemy, engender trusts and defenses will fall!

  Taysa stretched, nearly purring at the mere thought of that sweet, sweet intoxication. Her lips thinned in a feral curl of pleasure. Power — it was the ultimate nectar. It held the beauty to control; it gave pleasure to weave and reweave people, lives and resources until precisely everything fell into place!

  Even if the Clan folk had not needed land to expand, she knew she would still be standing here at this window. They still would have followed her in usurping this rich, lush District! It was the tradition — the essence — of being Clan! It was their heritage, and she was only leading them to reclaim their fierce greatness.

  Her body snapped rigid at a movement below. A rider broke free of the Forest’s edge, horse in full gallop and blue cape flying.

  “Finally!” Taysa leaned forward eagerly, clutching the crisp gilded edges of her royal mantel. She watched the messenger, growing calmer as he neared the stable’s Watch Gate. Waiting sometimes took more of a toll on Taysa than she liked to admit. But now the reports would tell if the Clan scouts had snatched Llinolae back or if that infernal Marshal had found her first!

  “We certainly can’t have that, can we?” Taysa mused. “Given the devastation she ravaged through our little weapons’ horde, any prolonged visit with you, Llinolae, would just about ensure my undoing.” Which reminded her — the rider would also have news of the replacements Taysa had summoned from the Clan’s central armory.

  There’d been far too many accidents lately. She should sit down with Samcin and review some of their duty rosters. They should arrange an inspection of Clantown’s resources as well.

  Accidents came from oversights. She wasn’t about to let either the Clan Scouts or the Steward’s Swords grow careless! Especially not now, with a Marshal hiding near!

  She scratched a palm nervously.

  Initially Llinolae’s unexpected resourcefulness in starting the Clantown fire and subsequently escaping had been puzzling. Yet after Taysa had s
at herself down and gone over the details of the last few monarcs, she realized she might have grown just a touch careless around the girl lately. Somehow she’d grown tempted to become more complacent about their relationship; a dangerous oversight to make with a girl so bright.

  Dangerous — but enticing. There was always that delicious little shiver of pleasure in matching wits with her ‘niece.’ In an odd way, Taysa reveled in the most mundane of exchanges they shared — she genuinely missed Llinolae when the girl was absent for patrols. The simple fact that Llinolae existed kept life exciting, intriguing.

  “It will be a pity should I lose you quite so soon, sweet darling,” Taysa murmured. “But it would be preferable to the Marshal replacing me.”

  The rider had reached the city’s walls. She spun, the mantel’s blue flaring wide behind the ruddy satin of her breeches and boots.

  It was time to assess the next gambit.

  Taysa composed herself. Samcin would be here shortly, but there were always the odd interruptions and unforeseen little duties cropping up. She had learned never to be surprised.

  Llinolae still managed her private trick of an unannounced arrival. But there hadn’t been another to catch Taysa unprepared since the day of her husband’s unfortunate death… which Taysa hadn’t really found as distressing as reputed.

  She shrugged the tension from her shoulders, her long braid sliding aside as she leaned back against the heavy desk. It was a burnished, shimmering tone of golden honeywood and ornately carved.

  Her gaze fell to the great, gaping blackness of the fire hearth. This late in summer, even this interior room of the Palace held no fire, and yet…? Elusive slivers of ceramic gems began to tease her eye in those gaping, black depths. A faint smile curled her lips. She knew the illusion was from the scattered torch light of the room glittering among the odd bits of less-sooty hearth tile. But the subtle dance of emerald and ruby, of sapphire and gold always intrigued her.

  The clatter of a distant door echoed in the outer corridors. Taysa watched the door at the end of the Steward’s Receiving Room. She knew the majestic banner of the twin sabers hung behind her desk — behind her own tall frame. She knew the daunting, handsome picture she made — but if the one approaching was not Samcin, her wrath would flare soon!