After three days in the hospital, I am back home and recovering from a little roto-rootering to my coronary arteries. Thanks to everyone who sent well-wishes.
Don’t forget to leave a comment for the contest. It doesn’t have to be about my hospital stay– in fact I’d rather you didn’t. 😛
“We heard something of other Amatharians brought here,” said Senjar Orsovan, “but I should not hold out too much hope of them living. The Zoasians do not recognize any other beings as deserving life or of having intelligence. We would have been killed long ago if not for the fact that the monsters wished to study us. Even so, they treated us… very badly.”
For a normally stoic Amatharian to make such an admission was indicative that their treatment had been very bad indeed. I could see jaws set and eyes narrow in anger among my soldiers who had gathered to hear the tale of the unfortunate fellow.
I had paused for a moment in my interview with the man, when I looked at the small crowd of aliens that had gathered just beyond. For a moment, I thought I recognized Malagor standing among them, until I realized that there were three beings who looked just alike, and who resembled my friend. I moved through the soldiers and others to stand before them.
“You are Malagor?” I asked, as an introduction.
Two of the beasts looked blankly at me, but the third growled out in the language of the Malagor. It became apparent that while he was able to understand Amatharian, he was unable to speak it. I gave up any hope of gathering any useful information from them, and ordered a squad of my soldiers to escort all of the aliens, as well as the two Amatharian former prisoners back to the ship.
As they were freeing the inmates of the prison, the Amatharian soldiers had been scouting the great hall, and they reported three exits opposite of our entrance. Although I was at loath to split my meager force, now only about eighty, into three parts, I could see no other way of covering all the possibilities. I split the company in thirds, and assigned two to my most capable swordsmen to a third part each.
I led my remaining three squads through the center most exit. It was, like much of the installation, a low and wide corridor, relatively well lit. I could only guess what the destination of this passage might be, since Zoasian installations seemed to be far less organized than the typical Amatharian facility. This hallway went straight back away from the “zoo” without any side passages or rooms. It finally ended in a poorly lit stairway which wound its way down to some undetermined lower level. We started downwards. The steps and the walls around us were uniformly white, and made of some concrete-like material. I imagined that it had been designed by an architect who received a straight C average in college– dull and monotonous to such a degree that it quickly became impossible to tell whether we had gone down five flights of steps or fifty.
Our next encounter with the enemy came when we reached the bottom of the staircase. We surprised a group of six Zoasian who were carrying what looked like large plastic tubs. Though I would just as soon have captured them as killed them, the snake men gave us no choice, and even though they found themselves surprised and outnumbered, they still attempted to fight back, dropping their burdens on the floor and retrieving pistols from their holsters. In scant seconds, each of the Zoasians lay dead with a smoking hole through his chest.
The contents of the tubs the Zoasians had been holding were now dumped across the floor, and what was left lying there would have turned the stomach of the staunchest war veteran. The containers had been filled with a dark blue solution with a sort of foamy, sudsy quality to it, and immersed in this solution was an ungodly assortment of severed arms, legs, and even heads of Amatharian people– people that but for their strange dark blue color, were humans just like me. The Amatharians were as stunned as I was, perhaps even more so, but after a moment, they forced themselves to examine the remains– something I could not bring myself to do. None of the bodies was identified by name, though it was determined that the litter contained parts of sixteen different people.
The room where this grizzly discovery was made appeared to be a sort of waiting area for a number of surrounding laboratories, all of which could be see through open doorways on either side of us. My order that each of these rooms be checked, was quickly carried out, but neither Zoasians, nor the remains of any more Amatharians were found. We continued on our way, and discovered still more laboratories beyond. The entire floor or wing or whatever of the complex seemed devoted to examining the intelligent species of Ecos, and it was apparent that the Zoasians felt no need to receive the permission of any of the individuals involved. In some of the other rooms, we found parts of specimens from many different races. In one room was the entire legless body of a spider-like Pell.
In going from room to room, we seemed to have traversed the entire width of the mountain, when we came to one more laboratory room. The scene within made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and this after all the other horrific visions I had witnessed in a very short time. The room was filled with bizarre and ugly machinery, the purpose of which for the most part remained a mystery. Some things unfortunately were less mysterious than simply hideous. In the center of the room stood a man, whom at first glance, seemed to be contemplating the room around him. He was not contemplating anything though. He was dead, and had been preserved by means similar to what is often euphemistically called the taxidermy arts.
“By Amath!” exclaimed the warrior next to me. “That’s Ashean Seyeck!”
Well, I think the title says it all. It is 4:30 in the morning and I am in a hospital bed trying to type on a plastic vomit-proof keyboard while I wait for some tests tomorrow. I expect to be back teaching and writing by Wednesday, but I’ve gone almost a whole year now without missing a daily blog entry, and I don’t want to start now. You don’t get to be a featured blog that way! This is only the second time in my life that I’ve spent the night in the hospital and it sucks.
Don’t forget about the contest! Leave a comment and you are automatically entered to win an autographed paperback of one of my books.
Senta again saw the beautiful woman in the white, pin-striped dress.
Images Copyright 2009 by Clipart.com
One Year Anniversary Contest
To celebrate one year of the City of Amathar blog, I am holding a contest. Ten winners will be awarded, each receiving an autographed paperback copy of one of the following books:
Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Elven Princess
His Robot Girlfriend
Princess of Amathar
Winners may choose which book they receive.
Contest Rules:
Multiple Entries for the Contest:
And watch for the announcement of the winners August 13th.
Images Copyright 2009 by Clipart.com
Chapter Nine: Wherein I demonstrate the value of a classical education.
“Do you think they are the same goblins that we saw earlier?” asked the orphan, at my shoulder, peering into the window.
I could only shrug, for in truth one goblin looks much the same as another to me. Though I had relatively close contact with three of the creatures earlier that evening, which is to say having kicked two and poked one in the head with my knife, I can’t say that I had become familiar enough with any of the three to distinguish them from any other of their race. That being said, I was relatively sure that the one I had poked in the head with my knife was not among those now in the little cabin. These goblins were singing or drinking or dancing or doing some combination of the afore-mentioned, all of which are extremely difficult if not impossible to do when one is dead.
“What are you going to do?” wondered the orphan.
“Why do you suppose I should do anything?” I wondered.
“Shouldn’t you avenge the poor man lying on the floor? After all, he is a human being killed by foul goblins, and you are a… I mean we are human beings too.”
“Aye, it is true that we are human beings.”
“And he was killed by goblins.”
“I do hate goblins.”
Hysteria knickered. She hated goblins too, probably because they stand so low to the ground and as I have pointed out before, she dislikes anything too near her feet.
“And I am frozen,” the orphan continued. “I would love to spend the night inside of doors and near a warm fire.”
“Now you make a compelling argument,” said I.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Have you ever heard of Brementown?”
“Uh…no. Why?”
“There is a story told there of a group of musician animals.”
The orphan rolled his eyes. I explained my plan, devised on a variation of the Brementown story. Turning Hysteria so that her rear end was pointed toward the wall of the cabin, I left her with the orphan while I went back to the front and took a position by the door. Pulling out my knife, I placed my fingers in my mouth and whistled, which was the prearranged signal for both my noble steed and the orphan.
At the signal, Hysteria began kicking the wall of the cabin with both hind feet and the orphan commenced to making all manner of strange noises. I was so surprised by the cacophony of sounds, which is to say noises that came out of the youngster’s mouth that I almost forgot my own part of the plan. I am aware that boys are well-versed in the creation of creative noises as well as all kinds of mimicry, having been a boy myself once. But this orphan was a true artist. He belted out the yowls of a wildcat, the braying of a donkey, the barking of a dog, the screech of harpy, and the gurgling growl of a frog-bear. Not to be outdone, Hysteria let loose with the squeal of an angry equine, which is to say a horse.
It was scant seconds before the door burst open and the goblins began pouring out into the snow, their shrieks clearly indicating that they were frightened out of their tiny little minds. The first two who came out were quickly dispatched with my knife. After that I decided that it was too strenuous to keep bending down to kill them, as they are so low to the ground and I had been riding all night long, which under the best of conditions can give one a sore back. Thereafter, I reverted to my now well-practiced maneuver of using their heads as makeshift kick balls, which is to say I kicked them on their kick ball-shaped heads.
In the space of twenty seconds, I managed to get rid of all the goblins, which turned out to be seven. I can’t swear that all of the goblins were dead, as five had been sent in long arcs through the air into the darkness of the woods. They were gone though. Scant moments later, the orphan, Hysteria, and I were inside the cabin. I put Hysteria in the corner furthest from the fireplace and directed the boy to stoke the fire, while I pulled the body of the unfortunate former owner out into the snow next to two of his apparent murderers. Thereafter, I went back inside and bolted the door.
“That was a wonderful plan,” said the orphan.
“Indeed it was.”
“I’m surprised you thought of it.”
“Just one of the benefits of a classical education,” said I. “If I did not know the story of the Musicians of Brementown, I would not have known what to do. And as I recall, you looked noticeably unimpressed when I mentioned my knowledge of this particular bit of culture.”
“I do admit I thought it a waist of time, um… at the time,” admitted he. “I offer you my apologies.”
“I suppose I will have to accept them,” said I. “What with you being a poor, ignorant orphan.”
“Your magnanimity is wonderful to behold,” said he. “In any case, I think I would like to hear the story of the Musicians of Brementown.”
“Oh no!” cried I. “You still owe me a shiny penny for the story of Queen Elleena of Aerithraine.”
“But you didn’t finish it.”
“Of course I did.”
“No. You didn’t. When you stopped, she wasn’t even Queen yet. She was stuck in the temple in Fall City.”
“When she turned fourteen, she returned to the capital in Illustria and was crowned Queen by the Pope, after which she took control and banishing him back to Fall City.”
“How did she do that?”
“No one knows.”
“Gah!” he cried. “You are the worst story-teller ever!”
“What would a poor, ignorant orphan know about it?”
“I know you’re not getting my penny!”
“Go to sleep,” I ordered him. “You sleep on the rug by the fire. I will take the bed, after I give Hysteria a good rub-down.”
The horse drawn trolleys passed every three minutes, and they were all full of commuters.
Images copyright 2009 by Clipart.com
The Kartags are rat-like creatures that live in the dark places of the world of Ecos. They are sentient and live in tribal groups. I have to admit to a certain prejudice when I created Ecos. The creatures that resemble rats, spiders, snakes, etc. are inevitably evil, while those that resemble cute birds and cuddly teddy bears are good.
“This is a band of Kartags,” said Norar Remontar, turning on his small flashlight and pointing it at several prone figures. “They burst out of a hidden door while I was in the chamber alone, and knocked me out with a well placed blow to the head. I was lucky to regain consciousness before they were able to do whatever it was that they were planning to do to me.”
I looked at the beings lying dead in the circle of artificial illumination on the floor. They would have been about five feet tall when standing and they reminded me of a large rat, at least as far as their faces were concerned. They had legs designed for upright locomotion, and two sets of arms on their upper torso. Their dirty, wrinkled skin was a dull grey color, and hairless, reminding me quite a bit of the way rodents look just after they are born. Though they wore no type of clothing, they did wear simple leather harnesses upon which they carried crude hand-made stone tools.
“The Kartags are well-known to my people,” said my Amatharian friend. “They live by scavenging from more civilized beings.”
“I kind of got that impression from looking at them,” I replied. “It is lucky that you were able to rescue yourself. If it hadn’t been for the soul in your sword, Malagor and I would never have found you.”
“It may have been lucky for us that they attacked me. This subterranean passage may be a considerable short cut home to Amathar.”
The name Kartags is another made up word.
“Look over there,” said Tular Maximinos, suddenly at my shoulder. It was his company who had come to our aid.
I turned to see one of the black Zoasian battleships explode into a huge fireball and fall into the city below, setting off even more explosions. The battle seemed to be going well, and I could see three other enemy ships burning in the sky, as they spun out of control. All of the ships in our squadron were still in the air, though many had taken quite a bit of damage. I imagined that the squadron making the direct assault against the city was incurring even greater losses, but we had our reserves, and we knew what we were after.
Suddenly all the soldiers on deck were knocked from their feet, myself included. I jumped up to see another Zoasian ship grinding along our bow. The two ships had collided in mid-air, and the enemy was sliding down our side. As the black battleship moved closer to where we stood, it began to move away.
“Come on,” I shouted to my men, and taking a running leap into the air, I crossed the distance to the reptiles’ airship. This wasn’t really part of a plan. It just seemed like a good idea at the time to take the battle to the enemy.
Landing on the deck with a thud, I turned around to see how many of my company had made it across with me. About thirty others, including Tular Maximinos, had made it. One young warrior had not been able to make the jump, and was still falling the several thousand feet to the ground below. The remainder of our small battalion had remained behind, being unable to cross the distance before the two ships had moved too far away from each other.
“Where now?” I called to Tular Maximinos, as there seemed to be no Zoasians on deck.
“To the engine room!” he called back, and the two of us rushed toward the back of the ship, followed by thirty or so men and women.
A wide path ran along the side of the vessel between the superstructure and the edge, giving us a metal avenue down the length of the ship. It was good that it was a broad space too, because there was no rail along the side, as there was on Amatharian ships. We had gone down about half the length of the mile long vessel when I heard weapons fire behind me. I turned to see over a hundred Zoasians at the bow of the vessel, where we had just been. They were firing at us, and had already shot two of our team.
I sheathed my sword, and whipped out my light pistol. The Amatharians with me did the same, and we soon had the hulking reptiles diving for cover.
“Swordsman,” I called to a female Amatharian, “take five warriors and hold this position.”
“Yes, knight.”
I could see in her face that this young woman knew that she had just been ordered to give her life, but I could also see the fierce determination to complete her orders, and a strong desire to sell her life as dearly as she could.
Tular Maximinos and I led the other soldiers onward. At last we reached the rear of the superstructure, but there seemed to be no opening.
“We need to find a way inside.” said the Amatharian knight.
“Well then,” I said, putting away my pistol, and whipping out my long sword. “Let’s go inside.”
The blade of my sword began to glow even before my arm started its movement. I swung down to the deck, slicing with my sword, through the metal, like a butcher knife cutting through a soap bubble. With four clean strokes, I cut a large square hole in the deck. Tular Maximinos kicked the newly made door with the heal of his boot, and sent the square of metal flying downward. I whipped out my pistol and jumped into the new hole, landing some ten feet below and rolling to one side. A moment later, Tular Maximinos and the warriors of Amathar were beside me.
We were in a long hallway which seemingly stretched the length of the ship. It was brightly lit with artificial light. There were no Zoasians in sight. With a wave of his hand, Tular Maximinos signaled us to follow him, and we moved silently down the hallway toward the stern of the vessel. At each intersection of the hallway we glanced down the perpendicular shafts, expecting at any moment to be confronted by a large group of heavily armed lizard men. We ran across only one unfortunate Zoasian, whom Tular Maximinos sliced into three separate pieces.
After running literally more than a quarter mile down the hallway, we found ourselves at its end. The hallway opened up to a balcony overlooking a huge room full of machinery a hundred feet below. On the floor far below us, was the apparatus responsible for keeping the ship aloft. It looked something like a great turbine, though its hum was below the sound level of our own voices.
Almost immediately, we were spied by one of the enemy crew members on the floor, and seconds later we were engaged in a firefight with a dozen Zoasians below. Seconds later, two of my companions fell, wounds in their backs, and I turned to see a whole army of reptiles running toward us from the hallway we had just exited. I knew that the brave soldiers we had left behind had been overcome. I called out a warning to the others and fired several shots down the hall. But we were caught in a crossfire. A narrow catwalk led to the right or left of the balcony, but with weapons fire from below, and an enemy approaching from behind, it was suicide to attempt it.
“Good luck to you, my friend,” said Tular Maximinos, smiling. He then jumped to the top of the balcony railing, and holding his sword straight out, jumped down toward the machinery below.
As Tular Maximinos fell, he carved his blade into the great machine. The mechanism began to sputter and spark and shriek loudly. The Amatharian’s body continued to fall though, and hit the floor with a horrid crunching sound. I looked down to see him lying on the deck below, his legs a twisted mess of blood and bone. Before I could raise my own weapon in his defense, a nearby Zoasian pointed his ray pistol at the knight’s head and shot him.
Like a streak of lightning, a blazing light bust forth from Tular Maximinos’s sword. It danced around the room for a moment, and then blasted through the bodies of every Zoasian in the engine room. Finally it disappeared. Before my eyes had readjusted to the normal light levels, a huge fireball engulfed the room, as the massive machinery that the Amatharian had damaged, exploded.
“Come on!” I called to the brave men and women with me.
Just a reminder that Princess of Amathar is available now as an ebook for only $1.59.
City of Amathar 