Chapter Three : The Amazon

Morgan had been summoned early (she was still making her traditional rounds of the tower – no, beacon – when the messenger came) and, much to her surprise, Flash’s company had been requested as well. She’d hurried to collect him from his dormitory, having a hunch that an excited Herman had been awake all night untangling mysteries from the glowing contraption. They reported to Morgan’s makeshift throne room to greet the King and soon were joined by Herman; he was swaying slightly on his feet from apparent exhaustion, but his eyes were bright and he was clutching a notebook to his chest eagerly.

King Frede Stevu nodded as Morgan and Flash settled in; breaking fast with the King of Maridia was an honour, and Morgan noted with surprise that Flash knew all the Maridian traditions: pass left, take no more than your liege, bow to the head and foot of the table before beginning the meal. He was a spy in our country, she thought, he must have had to assimilate in our culture – although why he knows kingly dining custom is beyond me.

“So,” Frede Stevu said by way of introduction, “what have you found out about the beacon?”

Herman began excitedly, “The light does not appear to be dangerous to anyone inside its protection. In fact, it creates a defensive barrier around the tower itself that we’ve been testing all night. So far, nothing can get through it. It’s truly a godsend.”

“Nothing can get through it?” Morgan repeated. “Will it block the fire ships?”

“Not having one to test with, I cannot be sure,” Herman replied both tartly and fondly. “However, estimating from our previous tests, although some residual thermals may pass through – a heat wave – much of the destructive power of the fire ships will be blocked by the barrier.”

“Excellent,” said King Stevu. “Anything else?”

“I haven’t found any offensive aspects,” Herman said, “or, in fact, any alternate aspects at all save one. The tower seems to be transmitting a strong beam of power, but I’m not sure what it’s for. It doesn’t seem to have any real effect on the shielding.”

“What is it?” Morgan asked.

Herman shrugged. “It seems to be a very large generator of elemental power – the largest I’ve ever seen – and my guess is that it is simply traveling along an ancient residual power line from the Naturi age. Nothing to worry about.” He turned to the king. “My liege, when I was at the Maridian Scholarly, I knew an expert on elemental magicks. With your permission, I would like to try and locate her, and see what she makes of this beacon.”

“Please do,” said the king, nodding.

Flash grinned. “I just hope she’s not working for the Eastern Continent!”

“So,” Morgan said, wanting to get back to the issue of the light, “so it’s safe?”

“Perfectly,” Herman said proudly. “There’s no reason for us to abandon the tower. Those Eastern folks will be real disappointed. I bet they didn’t plan on us figuring it out!”

Morgan nodded. “That, or they themselves underestimated the defensive capabilities of our beacon.”

“Either way,” said the king, “we must send word to the Northeastern Outpost. They have a tower much like ours, and I fear the Eastern army may move in there once they discover we have not abandoned the Southern Outpost. They may attempt the same trick.”

“My liege, perhaps their beacon could be activated as well?” Herman shifted in his seat, the exhaustion showing on his face but his eyes still bright. “We know how susceptible Rothandra’s forests are to the fire ships. If the beacon works the same way, it could boost our defenses in that region.”

King Frede Stevu nodded, firmly. “An excellent suggestion. General Morgan, you will travel to the Northeastern Outpost, relay our message, and attempt to activate their beacon as well. You will take this Southern soldier with you.”

“Hey,” Flash said, obviously torn between protest and curiosity, “aren’t I free?”

The king lowered his noble gaze on the spy. “We need more information about the Eastern plans, and you seem just the man to gather it for us. That is,” he continued with a delicately veiled hint, “if your services are available.”

Flash’s eyes lit up. “Wait, so I’m hired? Money?”

Repressing the urge to roll her eyes at him, Morgan interrupted. “With all due respect, my liege, I believe my presence is needed more here at the Southern Outpost. I recommend my Captain Terence; it was he who activated the first beacon. He is capable.”

“General, you are needed here, this is true,” said King Stevu, and Morgan could already tell that his orders were coming from a difficult place. “But you have a unique relationship with the Rothandran natives, and you know earning the help of the Amazons will greatly speed this mission’s success.”

Morgan, chastened, nodded. The relationship she had with the Amazon tribes – or one particular Amazon, to be correct – was tenuous and strained at best, but Frede Stevu was right: without the help of the natives, the forest was a maze, and the path around the woods was long and hard. The king’s confidence in her was absolute.

“Very well, sir,” she said, standing. “I take my leave.”

“Uh,” Flash said, for once not seeming to know the correct manners after being hired by one’s enemy, “As do I, my liege.” He stood and followed Morgan, who told him to gather his things from his dormitory, where they had been placed this morning, and wait for her there.

Pensive, Morgan returned to the small stone room she used while at the Southern Outpost to gather her armor. She slipped the breastplate over her courtly garb and fastened on both shoulderguards, thinking idly. Rothandra. Four years it’s been since I’ve seen the Northeastern Outpost, and I left it burning.

She clapped her broadsword into its sheath on her back: nearly her own height, and at least a hand’s-breadth of pure irithri metal, the broadsword made an excellent weapon for defense first and attack second. Leaning against the wall was her prize possession – the massive shield of her own make, clasping firmly about her wrist and just below her elbow, a tough slab of irithri imbued with defensive strength.

Morgan fastened the armshield as she walked down the stairs and to Flash’s small room, where he lay idly on the bed, tossing coins into the air and catching them. Morgan watched the swift movements, noting again the man’s uncanny speed and almost looking forward to seeing him in battle. Although her sword and shield would protect them from any of the gaemlin that haunted the trail to Rothandra, her sense of justice would have no man wander those lands unprotected, even an enemy.

She led Flash to the armory, where he selected light mail for under his shirt and – Morgan noted with interest – dual daggers, which were easily and swiftly slapped into scabbards at his thighs, after a flashy spin move that brought on the cheeky smile. Arming the enemy, Morgan thought angrily, watching him. DeLumens, where is your loyalty? Your pride?

She shook her head and turned to leave. It is not me who is disloyal, but him. Maridia will be served – no, saved, whatever the price. If I must work with the enemy to get there, I will.

They took two mounts from the stables and set off, making good time across the easy Maridian landscape until they reached the mountain pass that led out of Maridia and into the wild lands of Rothandra. There they stopped at the military outpost to camp and then started through the mountain pass the next day on foot, for their mounts would be useless in the mountains and the forests beyond them.

And as Morgan had prediced, the gaemlin came for them. The gaemlin were not ordinary beasts of the wilderness – these were fiends, monsters, angry creatures which preyed on travelers in the wilderness. They were almost spirits, fed by the wilder magicks of the earth; most were easy to defeat, and once dead, their bodies dissolved, leaving no trace.

Morgan was, in fact, used to gaemlin battles; some made their way even into the heart of civilized Maridia, and it was every soldier’s duty to help defend the townspeople if such a thing happened. As they worked their way further through the mountain pass, she saw Flash was experienced with the monster attacks as well. Her tactical mind noted that she and Flash were actually a good team for battling gaemlin; her strength and defense matched with his raw speed meant most battles were over before they even began. Flash was no heavy hitter, but he could often get in multiple hits before Morgan finished off the creatures with one great blow. His speed was uncanny.

Another thing she noted, although it took her more time to realize what, exactly, he was doing – Flash was thieving from the gaemlin themselves! The monsters were known to carry around the possessions of hapless humans they’d preyed upon like prizes; most gaemlin moved in packs, and pack leaders were always notable by the trinkets hanging from claws and around thick necks. The gaemlins stored these things sometimes – it was an excellent dare for young Maridian children to wander the fields, looking for treasure stashes, and lucky travelers sometimes found them along little-used trails – but most of the fiends wore their gold proudly. If a gaemlin was killed in battle, as its body dissolved it took most of these trinkets with it (often to the dismay of whatever weary soldier had dealt the final blow and would have liked some reward for his gruesome work).

But Flash, with a quick spin and a slash of his knife, could nick from the gaemlin their stolen jewelry and gold and every now and then a bottle of some precious potion. It became an unspoken dance: Flash moved in faster than the eye could see, plucking goods from the gaemlin and distracting them until Morgan methodically came in, cleaving the gruesome bodies in two with her massive broadsword.

Eventually the two made it through the mountain pass and came upon the forests. Rothandra had been a rich land, full of green and growing things and mountains and hills; the whole land was a wild riot of growth, the blessing of the earth-centric religion of the Amazons. However, the war had razed parts of the forest, poisoned others; and there was a large region which had burnt to a crisp after the fire ships had ambushed the post, four years ago.

Morgan remembered this all as she looked out upon the green of the inland forests; from the elevated mountain pass she could still see the charred, barren wasteland to the northeast, covered in fog which obscured the Northeastern Outpost’s tower from view.

Flash stood at the end of the path, glancing around him. “Which village, Raven?” he asked. He had been silent up until now, surprising Morgan yet again; for all of his brash observations and cheeky ways, the spy seemed to have noticed her desire for solitude.

“We pass here,” she said, taking the first confident strides she knew would take her past the Amazon capital; but then she stopped, and turned to Flash. “I shall have to brief you on Amazon culture,” she said, realizing that the Southern man would know nothing of their custom, “for it is very easy to insult an Amazon, and this is the one thing we do not want to do.”

But Flash waved an idle hand through the air. “It’s ok, I’ve got it,” he said. “Address all members of the village with respect and reverence. They’re very aware of propriety and hierarchy, but you can guess an Amazon’s rank by the number of ornaments on her headdress. No foul language, and absolutely no defouling of nature in any way.” He tossed her a smirk. “Also, never make fun of an Amazon’s mother.”

Morgan ignored the last comment, staring at him in surprise. “How does one from the South know so much about the Rothandran culture?” she asked, astounded.

“My dear Raven,” Flash said authoritatively, closing his eyes and puffing out his chest, “I wouldn’t be much good as a spy if I didn’t know how to fit in, now would I?”

“No one would ever mistake you for Amazon,” Morgan countered. The Rothandran natives were all blond-haired (some to the point of almost-silver), slender, and short; Flash was of an average build, and even hair as tawny-brown as his was still dark against an Amazon. Plus, she added mentally, the Amazon culture was matriarchal; and as suave as Flash seemed to be, she still couldn’t picture him acting subservient to that many women at once.

Flash shrugged and began to walk again. “Didn’t have to,” he said. “But if you want to make somebody comfortable enough to talk, you’ve gotta know their customs. Wonderful people,” he added cheekily. “They put their beautiful women front and center.”

Morgan shook her head. “The women rule the tribe,” she replied, her voice curt.

Flash seemed to shrug it off – or perhaps not notice – for he turned to her and said, conversationally, “I’m curious as to how a Northern general like you had enough time to learn proper Amazon custom.”

“It is not common,” Morgan conceded. “But an Amazon was my second-in-command for two years, when I was stationed here at the Northeastern Outpost.” She added unnecessarily, “It is her we go to see.”

Flash whistled. “An Amazon in the Maridian Army?”

Morgan nodded. “The Rothandrans have always been reclusive, but until four years ago, there have always been Amazons in the King’s army. Maridians have little magic; we were honored to have their assistance.”

“Four years ago?” Flash asked, but she could hear in his voice that he already had an idea.

“Fire ships,” Morgan said curtly, not wanting to discuss the situation further.

They traveled on in silence, passing through the calm forest; the gaemlin of the mountains feared the Amazon magics, and most of the forest fiends had left them alone. The path broadened into a partial clearing: the Amazon village. Built partially into a hill in the forest were a series of huts, many built into trees so that the entire village seemed to have sprouted out of the forest itself. Morgan walked to the center clearing and stopped as she heard a clear voice call, “Halt!”

“We come in peace,” she said, bowing her head and spreading her hands. She knew that behind her would be a series of Amazonian archers, bows bent and magical arrows aimed at the back of her neck.

At the guard’s call, a series of women exited one of the nearby huts; Morgan recognized many as the village Elders, older mothers graced with many beads and feathers springing from the ornamental hairpins the Amazon women wore. She could see by their faces, as they came out to greet the newcomers, that many recognized her as well.

“We are honored by your visit, General Raven,” one spoke, and Morgan looked into her lined face and saw resignation in the old woman’s eyes. “But we hope you have not brought your war into our lands.” The unspoken again echoed between the two women, and Morgan bristled uncomfortably.

“I make a peaceful visit,” she replied. “We only wish to pass through to the Northeastern Outpost.”

Two of the Elders exchanged glances, and one said to her, “What business do you have with the ancient beacon?”

She felt Flash grin beside her at the word beacon; strangely enough, the word prompted her to reveal the truth. “We may have found a way to better protect your village, and all of Rothandra,” she said.

“We appreciate your concern,” replied the Elder respectfully, and Morgan bowed her head in response. “Please, accept our hospitality for the night.” The general mentally sighed; she was walking a thin line here, and hadn’t really been confident of a warm Amazonian welcome.

“Please do not get us involved in your war,” the first Elder said, still looking at Morgan. “We still remember -”

“I know,” Morgan said hastily, knowing that although interrupting the venerable old woman was rude, allowing her to finish the sentence would only cause an emotional disaster. “I understand. But until this war is over, I only wish your protection. It is why we are here.”

Then, like a saving grace, she heard a more familiar voice speak up from behind the line of Elders: “Greetings, General.”

The Elders parted gracefully to allow a young girl to walk through. She wore only one pin in her hair with a single red bead, tucked into pale bangs which hung around a grave face. The Elders exchanged glances, and one or two hastily whispered among each other.

“Raissa,” Morgan greeted the young girl. “I am glad to see you are well. May I speak with Armenise?”

Around them both, the muttering of the Elders increased; Raissa’s young face saddened further. “She is looking after the family, Raven,” the girl replied. “Will you come with me?”

Morgan turned to Flash; they exchanged a brief glance, and Flash stepped forward to converse with the Elders while Morgan and Raissa walked off, following a rather sparse path which led out of the centre of the village.

“They are still unhappy?” Morgan asked the younger girl.

Raissa nodded sadly. “They have forgiven her to the point where they will allow the family – and even her, at times – into the town centre. But the war is growing larger, and closer, and no one can forget her role in your army.”

Morgan shook her head. “I think it was her absence here that hurt them more.”

“Neither has earned her much respect,” Raissa replied, tucking her bangs around her face. Morgan knew that Raissa was the oldest of a series of younger sisters which Armenise had spoken much of during her stint in the Maridian Army. The girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen, yet she carried herself with such gravity, dignity, and even shame that it made Morgan strangely sad.

“She was the most powerful sorceress in our ranks,” Morgan said strongly, her loyalty to Armenise still unwavering. “I would be afraid not to respect that.”

“She is still our greatest talent,” Raissa replied, “but she has put away her magic and accepted her penance.” The girl reached up absently to touch the red bead in her hair – the mark of an apprentice sorceress.

“I still need her help,” Morgan said. They had reached a small, shabby-looking hut that lay on the very outskirts of the village itself.

Raissa turned to her and, to Morgan’s surprise, reached out and grabbed the general’s gloved hand in her small, childish one. “Armenise is inside. Please, Morgan, try to help my sister?”

Morgan started at the familiar use of her name – most Rothandrans preferred her title, or the more nature-centric Raven she had gained while serving at the Northeastern Outpost – and she looked down at Raissa in surprise.

“She is being consumed by her guilt, and shame,” Raissa said, her own face coloring in slight embarrassment. “She is losing herself in caring for the family. I worry for her.”

Morgan did not know how to reply, so she merely said: “I will speak to her.” The look on Raissa’s face was so grave and hopeless – especially in one so young - that Morgan was struck with an idea: “My companion’s name is Flash. Will you attend to him while I speak to Armenise? He is very worldly, but I do not think he has even been in an Amazon village before.”

Raissa’s face lit up with childish delight and pride at the important task, and she nodded, determinedly. “Of course, Raven.” Morgan watched the girl head back along the path before sighing and turning to the small hut before her and entering.

The woman inside was bending over a basin full with wellwater, scrubbing thick iron dishes. Morgan watched her old friend for a couple moments; Armenise’s pale blond hair still fell in a long bouncing trail from a high ponytail, and she wore familiar Amazon dress, but her head was bare. Morgan was not sure which part of the sight hurt more: her friend crouched over a basin scrubbing like a kitchen-girl, or her friend’s long bangs falling around her face without the familiar headdress.

“Greetings, Wolf.”

The words echoed around the tiny hut and Morgan watched as the young woman’s eyes closed, her face filling with some unnameable emotion until finally, a small smile broke out on her lips; her eyes opened, staring blankly at the wall for a moment.

Armenise turned around. “Hello, Raven.”

There was a pause as the two looked at each other. Morgan saw years in Armenise’s face that she should not have seen; the Rothandran was younger than she, and while Armen’s life had not been perfect, it had been no harder than her own. Armenise looked at Morgan and saw the same thing she’d seen four years ago: pride, determination, and an unwavering loyalty. The smile on the Amazon’s face deepened slightly; after so long, she’d feared judgement and rejection from the one Maridian she could call friend.

“I am glad to see you are well,” Morgan offered softly.

Armenise nodded. “How are you?” she asked. “How goes the campaign in your Waterlands?” This was the Amazonian term for Maridia.

Morgan shook her head. “Maridia is fine. The war is more complex than either of us had expected, Armen,” she began, ready to launch into what she knew would be a difficult explanation.

To her surprise, Armenise laughed, albeit sadly. “Is the Great Raven becoming world-weary?”

Morgan shook her head in response. “Perish the thought,” she replied. “It is just … I have learnt many disturbing things in the past few days.”

“As always,” Armenise said gravely, “your wellbeing is tied to the war.”

“Armenise,” Morgan said, taking another two steps into the room, “there is something I need to tell you.”

The Amazon stood up smoothly, walking to a nearby wicker chest and pulling out two old but comfortable-looking floor cushions. She set them on the floor around a table while Morgan disengaged herself from sword and shield. Once the two women were seated, eyes locked over the table, Morgan began to talk.

“Armen,” she said softly, “this whole war is a farce.” The other woman’s eyes went wide and her face pale, so Morgan continued hastily: “I do not know why, or even how. But this is a truth: the fire ships which have plagued us for so long are manned by the Eastern Militia, not the South. The Southern Continent has also suffered attacks from fire ships, though we have none.” She paused a moment, closing her eyes in anger at the massive wrong done to Maridia. “We have been played for fools against each other.”

Armenise’s face was pale and grim. “Do not lie to me, Morgan,” she said, and her voice was dark.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed in return. “You know my loyalty; judge me on that. I would not deliberately be false. If there is a lie in my words, it is not of my making.”

“How do you know this?” The Amazon’s voice was a whisper.

“A spy from the South traded this information for his freedom,” Morgan said. “He and I have both come as a gesture of goodwill, to bring this news to the Amazons and to the Northeastern Outpost.” She paused, and then continued: “Armen, not all my news is bad. Something strange happened to Maridia’s tower, and if the same thing happens here, it will protect you and your people.”