Amazonia - The Storm Lord

My eyes narrow as I stare up at the collar around Inanna’s throat. “Inanna," I say in the language of the dead, "has the priestess Akbar taken over control of you?”

Inanna’s dead eyes meet mine. “”Apologies,” she says in a different voice than Inanna’s, using Greco-roma, “but I am Akbal. I stole the Necromantic texts from Ishtar so they would not be destroyed, and while I was waiting for the war to begin, I read through them. The texts spoke of a way for a necromancer’s spirit to inhabit a body, and use it like a suit of armor, and I thought it a useful skill to learn.”

“Have you ever done this to Inanna's body before?” I ask, switching to Greco-roma.

Inanna’s head nods. “Many times during the march, when I would lay out in one of the wagons as if asleep. Inanna’s body remembers how to fight, but her mind cannot coordinate the movements like she used to-”

“And she fights like one of the manikins the mages of Bukhara use. Are you telling me you can do better?”

Inanna’s head nods once more. “I have been working with Inanna’s body for weeks, and while I cannot fight with the same fury she was supposed to have had in life, her movements are much more fluid and not mechanical.”

“That would be a good thing.” Glancing over towards the other side of the river, a line of soldiers, let by a warrior towering over the rest, is cresting the ridgeline and marching down the slope. I look back at Akbar as I decide on the lie I must tell. “Ishtar will eventually realize the texts have been stolen, which means Tanit could find out as well.”

“That would lead to disaster,” Akbal’s voice replies from Inanna’s mouth. “From what I know of her, Tanit would likely turn Khan Timur into a Shadowman under her influence by convincing him to do so.”

“Meaning I would have no choice but to serve her as well, since my weaker self is bound under oath to serve Timur.” I regard her a moment. “What if Tanit can’t convince Timur to join her?”

Inanna’s massive body shrugs. “She could slip him the potion and change him anyway, but she would not influence him. However, as a Shadowman, he would share many of her values, so they could likely work together.”

Interesting. On the other side, several hundred soldiers in chainmail armor, carrying battle-axes or maces, and round shields, are marching in a close formation towards us. Their conical helms have a spike on top with a lightning bolt attached. The large warrior leading them has the same helm, but he’s wearing Artifact plate armor and wields a two-handed sword as big as Inanna’s.

Without taking my eyes off the approaching infantry, I say, “Akbal, my weaker self heard from Ishtar what Shadowmen are supposed to be like, and while I believe Timur would be stronger if he were changed into that form, my weaker self will not, and shall actively work to keep that from happening. For the sake of my mission, I cannot allow Tanit to gain access to the texts.”

“When the battle is over, I give you my sworn word that the Necromantic texts shall go to Lys, both for for safekeeping, and so she can decide if any of the lore within could be of use. Will this suffice?”

“It will.” The Sasnayam forces have almost reached the ford, the sound of their sandalled feet thumping the ground in unison growing louder by the moment. I can see the large warrior’s armor clearly now, the shiny black surface pitted and cracked in places from previous blows taken, meaning it’s much weaker than mine. “It wouls seem that the Storm Lord didn’t have time to have a new set of armor made.”

“From what I heard about him, he probably did not regard new armor as necessary. If you goad him, you can likely get him to break through the line without his men.”

I smile. “If I can do so, fight like a manikin until you get a clear shot, then strike hard.” Inanna’s head nods as I turn around. “Warriors, reinforce the line, replacing any in front of you who fall, but leave me a large space to fight in. Inanna and I will battle the large warrior if he breaks through.”

In response, the Shamblers flow around us as they move towards the front, leaving me inside an open space behind the front line. I raise my voice. “Warriors, if I fall in combat, all of you are to march forward until you reach the fighting, and kill all living men trying to cross the river. Do not let your feet touch the water and hold the line until you can fight no more.”

The dead clash their weapons once against their shields. I turn back around as the large warrior raises a fist and the officers in gold-washed armor bark out commands. The infantry stops at the water’s edge.

Sword in hand, the large warrior strides out into the ford until he’s halfway across. He bellows in Greco-Roma, “I am the Avatar of the Lord of Storms. Is anyone in charge of this mob?”

I raise the grey Rune sword over my head. “That would be me. If you want to cross the river, you’ll have to fight your way through us.”

“This does not make any sense,” he yells back over the sounds of rushing water. His face reminds me of a statue, all chiseled and sharp angles, but his eyes droop and his features sag as if he’s tired. Possibly even exhausted. “There is no possible way you can hold the ford against us. My Immortals will cleave a path right through your troops, Shadow Knight, despite their being walking corpses. There is no possible way for you to win.”

The Storm Lord shudders as I give him the rictus of a smile. “I don’t have to win; I only have to grind your forces down, and give Khan Timur more time to dig in. You, on the other hand, need to cross this ford as soon as possible, and try to dig Timur’s forces out. According to Kax, your empire’s like a house made of rotten wood, and if you don’t stop us from chopping away at the support beams, it’s going to fall down around your ears.”

“Where’s Kax?” There’s a desperate note in his voice now, which makes me smile. “I demand to speak with her.”

“She’s in the command tent with Timur, drinking Etruscan wine and laughing at your incompetence. No, you’re going to cower behind your men and send them to die, because the dead will never stop fighting until there are none left. And all I have to do then, is get the khan’s necromancers to make us more.”

He stabs his sword towards my face. “Not if I kill you first. I have fought your kind before, Shadow Knight, and I know the arrogance of your kind. You think you will be able to escape the battlefield before we kill you.”

I laugh, wild and feral. “And who’s going to stop me? You? Kax tells me that, since your mana dried up, you’ve gotten slow as Inanna’s corpse here.” I give him my rictus of a smile. “Your corpse will be a fitting companion to Inanna’s when we march on the capitol.”

“I’ll send you to the Shadowlands first” he snarls, glancing over his shoulder as he barks out a command in the Sasnayam language. At once, the first hundred or so of his Immortals form two ranks and march into the water, continuing forward until they reach him. He leads them onward until they’re almost to the river’s edge.

Then the Storm Lord barks out an order and they charge. Screaming out war cries, his warriors hit our front line with their shields and a few Shamblers stumble back, the rest holding fast as the warrior’s battle-axes and maces attempt to get past the Shambler’s defenses.

The dead hold fast. The warriors know to aim for the head, and several Shamblers drop with their skulls shattered. But the ones behind move forward, their own weapons mechanically rising and falling against the Immortal’s shields as around me, more Shamblers move forward to fill in the gaps. On the opposite side, another group of one hundred begins marching across the ford, perhaps to give the warriors, who are going to exhaust themselves soon, a chance to fall back and catch their breath while their comrades take up the fight.

The Storm Lord’s fighting like an enraged Ogri. Shamblers fall with their helms caved in and he smashes another the ground, rushing through the gap into the space I’ve left him and leaving his men behind, just as Akbal predicted. Shamblers move to fill in the hole. Several of his men give desperate cries as I raise my sword and stalk forward. “It’s just the three of us, Celestial,” I say as I take the Rune sword in both hands. “Just don’t get too close to the dead or they may take a swipe at you.”

Fury sweeps across his face as he stalks forward. “I do not need to kill the dead. Only you.” He leaps forward and swings downward at my head.

I slide to the right as I make a sideways cut, the Rune sword striking an Artifact plate and bouncing off as the armor piece crackles like a fist hitting a mirror. His blade slices the air beside me as Inanna’s corpse raises her sword, moves forward like a manikin, and swings down.

The Storm Lord heaves his own sword upward and deflects the blow at an angle, grunting as the blades shriek against each other. I plant my feet and swing at his shoulder, smashing an Artifact plate into pieces as he grunts and swings sideways at my head.

I duck under the blow and lunge for his face. He jumps backwards, fear on his face for the first time as he goes into a defensive crouch, his concentration on me as I begin moving sideways as if trying to circle around him. He mirrors my move, glancing over his shoulder at Inanna, who’s slowly raising her sword as if trying to remember what she’s supposed to do with it. Behind me the battle’s raging as he disregards Inanna and plunges forward.

Inanna’s corpse moves forward as her sword slashes downward towards his leg. Her blade shears through the back of his knee and he falls, screaming as my Rune sword punches through the armor in his lower chest almost up to the hilt. I’m off balance, and the sword hilt’s pulled from my hands as he lands on his back with the grey blade trapped in the earth. Walking up beside him, the Storm Lord gasping for air as bloody froth comes from his mouth. I give him a grim smile. “What were you telling me about arrogance?” I ask as I grasp the hilt with one hand.

Inanna’s sword crashes down on my head. “That he was absolutely correct,” Akbal says as I collapse with my head ringing. Inanna’s boot plants itself on my chest as the tip of her sword presses down against my throat. “You realized, or should have realized, that I have been pretending to be Akbal all along.”

“Tanit,” I gasp, “we can make this work.”

Inanna’s body shakes its head. “You are oath-bound to Timur, who will never agree to join our superior race unless forced into it. I also know you will tell me anything I wish to hear while plotting against me.”

“Timur has outriders watching the battle-”

“Who have see Inanna strike you down. But you are the only one who knows I am controlling her corpse. By the time they return to give their report, Timur will have already drunk the potion I am going to give him, and will no longer care. Or at least, care as much. Lys will raise the Storm Lord’s corpse and send it against the army, demoralizing it greatly. A shame you will not be here to march with us into Tesiphon.”

My vision’s clearing, time to get out of here. “Wait, I can help you. I can-”

“No.” The blade slams down through my throat and the bones in my neck. Blood fills my mouth… I can feel my body dissolving, being pulled somewhere… no, it can’t end like this, it can’t-”

I roll over onto grass, myself again and not the Shadow Knight as I gasp for breath with my hand going to my throat. It’s smooth, with no wound at all. What in Hel’s name is going on? The grass beneath me is green… no, not just green. It’s grass the color of emeralds, filling the air with a fragrant scent. I roll to my knees and look around.

Grey ghosts surround me, moving with the slow stillness of the Shadowlands… except, this can’t be the Shadowlands. Yet it is the same battle, because I can see the details of Inanna’s body, still standing beside the Storm Lord’s prone form, and beyond the Shamblers fighting the Sasnayam Immortals, who likely don’t know their lord’s dead. On impulse, I reach out and touch Inanna’s boot.

Cold burns me and I snatch my hand back, closing my hand into a fist. The pain doesn’t linger, and opening my hand, my fingers are all fine… no, better than fine. I examine my right hand, then my left, front and back. All my scars are gone. Where in Hel’s name am I? Is this the afterlife?

“Amazonia!” I look up as a flying creature as large as a Warghorse skims over the battle and lands on the grass in front of me. It resembles a bird, but its blue-black feathers gleam like polished gems, and its head is long and narrow. “You made it.”

I stare up at the creature in amazement. “Who are you… and where am I?”

Being careful not to touch the ghosts around us, the creature folds one wing across its chest and bows. “My name is Wind Dancer, and I am here to welcome you to the Shadowlands.”

I’m gaping at the creature but I can’t help it. “The Shadowlands? How can this be possible?”

The creature straightens as its other wing seems to encompass the lands around us. “You now see the Shadowlands as we see them. There are wonders here you cannot even imagine, and I want to show them to you. But first, let me help you to your feet.” It…no, she, extends a wing. There’s a claw-like appendage on the inside, and I grasp it as she gently pulls me up.

Then both her wings wrap themselves around me as she pulls me against her in a warm hug. I tense, but then relax, putting my own armored arms around her. All at once I’m hugging her tight as tears stream down my face. “Apologies, I don’t understand what’s come over me.”

“It’s normal,” Wind Dancer replies, holding onto me as shudders wrack my body. “All of us were corrupted creatures once, and the ones who invade our lands still see us the way we used to be. But you’re home now. You are safe.” Safe? I don’t really know what that means. Yet the shudders wracking me stop, and I wipe my eyes as she lets me go. “The Wise Women, the ones the invaders call Night Hags, will help you find your place here. For now, climb on my back so we can fly and get you away from here.”

My eyes widen. “Fly? People don’t fly. What if I let go and fall?”

She laughs. “Silly goose, you’ll bounce. Nothing here can hurt you, except for the invaders.” She shakes a moment as if brushing water off her feathers. “They are nasty, ugly monsters we try to keep from spoiling Paradise. But none of them are close, so hop on and we’ll get out of here.” Wind Dancer turns around, and I tentatively climb onto her back. “Hold on tight,” she calls out as she begins flapping her wings, her body easily rising above the grey ghosts despite my weight. My fingers clutching the bony ridges of her back, I look around.

Emerald green grass waves beside a sapphire blue river, the mountains in the distance standing like sentinels, and as she pumps her wings to gain altitude, I feel my earthly worries falling away as if shedding scales.

I laugh, wild and free, as we begin to soar.