by Pam Uphoff
"Damn, tat's t'first time I've been pulled trough a gate." She knew the voice, even with the odd accent, and turned her head.
A huff of breath, a warm hand grasping hers, another cupping her cheek. "Rael. You're alive." Now in the Oner accent she'd always thought was his.
She blinked away even more tears, tried to steady her voice. "What are you doing here?" She blinked again, in the dim light. "What is that you're wearing? And . . and you're under arrest."
He laughed, almost silently, and kissed her knuckles. Surely those were not tears tracking down his face? "This, I'll have you know, is what everyone on this world thinks the God of Spies ought to wear." He looked down at himself and shook his head. "Black tuxedo with sparkles on the lapels, One help me.
"So, Spikey, let's just see about getting you back into shape, so you can arrest me properly."
History of the Empire of the One
The population of this particular Earth was devastated by a global nuclear war in the mid-twentieth century, possibly triggered by the Tunguska impact occurring in the 1960's rather than 1908.
A hundred years later, the three global powers were China, The Islamic Republic, and Greater Argentina. Their relationship was adversarial from the start, with the Islamics taking over India and vying for the possible cornucopia of advanced technical knowledge in the depopulated ruins of Europe, North America and Australia.
In the year 2115, thirty-five strangers walked out of nowhere and into an ambush the Chinese had set up for a major Islamic expedition into Eastern Europe. The genetically engineered explorers had telekinetic abilities that saved most of them. Only two were killed in the first volley. They joined forces with the Islamic expedition and destroyed the Chinese Army. Between their "magic" and considerable political scheming, they suborned the religion to their own purposes, with themselves as the new Prophets.
The Prophets intermarried with the natives, and being very long lived, later married each others' daughters. That large third generation, frequently called "the Warriors of the One" were trained in magic, developed spells of use in battle, and led the conquest of the rest of the world. The Prophets assisted in the reacquisition of a lot of tech, and supported research beyond that.
Especially research into dimensional travel.
By the old calendar, 1396 Year of the Prophets, is 3515 AD.
In the revised Calendar of the Prophets, the year begins on the first New Moon following the Winter Solstice. The months (partly from the Islamic calendar, but with additions and substitutions) begin with every new moon. They are, in order: Muharram (starts the first new moon after the Winter Solstice), Safar, Rabi, Emre (the Leader of the New Prophets), Jumada, Rajab, Yusef (New Prophet), Nicholas (New Prophet), Shaban, Qadah, Hija, Shawwal, Ramadan, and Furkan (named after the shortest of the New Prophets, it fills in the time between the end of Ramadan and the first new moon following the Winter Solstice. Generally ten or eleven days long.)
About the Author
I was born and raised in California, and have lived more than half my life, now, in Texas.
Wonderful place. I caught almost the first bachelor I met here, and we’re coming up on our thirty-fifth anniversary.
My degree's in Geology. After working for an oil company for almost ten years as a geophysicist, I “retired” to raise children. As they grew, I added oil painting, sculpting and throwing clay, breeding horses, volunteering in libraries and for the Boy Scouts, and treasurer for a friend’s political campaign. Sometime in those busy years, I turned a love of science fiction into a part time job reading slush (Mom? Someone is paying you to read??!!)
I've always written, published a few short stories. But now that the kids have flown the nest, I'm calling writing a full time job.
Empire is my twelfth novel. I've also issued three collections of novellas and short stories, and published separately three other short stories.
I'm planning to bring out at least four more books this year. Two of them are manuscripts that I've pulled out the batch making the rounds of publishers, so they should go up quickly. I've got two new books in the Wine of the Gods Universe under way. And then a third "Zoey Ivers" book in the Doors series. So I may manage to squeak in a fifth book before the end of the year.
I need to find the time to get more books out in print, out to Kobo, Sony, B&N . . . I need to find the time to invent a time machine . . .
Other Titles by Pam Uphoff
Wine of the Gods Series:
Outcasts and Gods
Exiles and Gods (Three Novellas)
The Black Goats
Explorers
Spy Wars
Comet Fall
A Taste of Wine (Seven Tales)
Dark Lady
Growing Up Magic (Four Novellas)
Young Warriors
God of Assassins
Empire of the One
The Dark Side of the Moon (Six Stories 2014)
Corridors (2014)
Dancer (2014)
Writing as Zoey Ivers
YA Cyberpunk Adventures:
The Barton Street Gym
Chicago
Atlantis (2014)
Fantasy:
Demi God
Excerpt from an Upcoming Release
The Dark Side of the Moon
Nasty Little Gods, Rude Princesses, and Evil Witches
Some backstory on the bad guys in the Wine of the Gods Universe
Pam Uphoff
Hell Hath No Fury
Princess of the One Rior had been treaty fodder, and a handy way to spike the relations between Auralia and the Empire of the One. Whatever happened to her?
Chapter One
Auralian Desert, Northwest
Late Spring 1395 px
Rior looked around in satisfaction. She'd killed the Solti herself, after killing the two closest guards. The outer guards who had fallen to her spells earlier had killed the ones who hadn't. In defending themselves they hadn't left any unwounded, and only two alive at that.
So, Amma Lillian, my dear husband, thought he could just give me away?
Hasn't got the sense to see a setup by . . . couldn't be the Earthers, has to be Pax. It takes magic to do what that One damned man did. An illusion spell so strong I nearly didn't see that he was a man, not a native maid. And that spell of lust, hidden in the wine, hard to fight when it's inside oneself . . . who was he? I'll kill him slowly when I catch up to him.
But Ambassador Alri, who abandoned me, dies first.
Rior looked around at the cringing servants and women. "Get up! Pack my things. One of you bandage those two men." They stayed shivering where they'd taken shelter. Pathetic. She half-closed her eyes and relaxed enough to call up a basic spell. They were so broken and compliant the barest wisp of compulsion overwhelmed them, and they leapt into sudden motion. They had everything packed inside of an hour, and they backtracked half the night before camping again at a cross roads.
"When I get back to Fascia, I'm going to have a great deal of trouble not killing that pathetic damned excuse of an Ambassador."
"Not the Amma?" Praise the One! One of the Solti's widows actually had a voice!
"He's nothing. A pawn the One will use, and discard at will." Rior frowned and looked north. There was someone up there . . . several, now that she focused. Weak and flickering, but one was moderately bright, angry. She walked up the road, the feeling getting stronger. The waning half moon rose in the east and illuminated a dozen men staked out on the ground.
Rior looked them over. Half were still alive. "You just might be useful."
They weren't of much use for a few weeks, but as they recovered they assumed the uniforms of the dead guards, and their leader dressed up in the Solti's preposterous robes and rode the Solti's handsome black horse.
"Black. Bah, what fool rides a black horse in the desert?" Auchel Ibrah he called himself. A eunuch who had taken exception to his gelding, and had been trying to make the Aurailians regret it for the last five
years.
"The same one who wore those clothes." Rior rode beside him, to the astonishment of the late Solti's harem. Auchel's men had all their parts and had taken up quickly with the wives. But when they were on the move, the women rode in the two closed carriages. "People judge each other by their clothes. Watch, when the riders below that plume of dust meet us. You will cross your arms and stick your nose up in the air, and they will bow and scrape."
Auchel grunted. "I hadn't thought you'd noticed the dust. Generally this is the point where we'd fade into the desert."
"You are Solti. They avoid you, not the other way around." Rior hoped she wouldn't have to use compulsion on him, to make him stand fast. The riders ahead rounded the corner. Mounted troops, in good order.
"The officer will nod deeply. You will nod shallowly." Rior wound the long tail of her dust straining scarf around her lower face and tucked her horse a modest half pace behind the black.
The troops sized them up as they approached. The officer bent his neck and reined his horse off the road. Auchel inclined his head and then raised his nose to look over the century of troops as they passed. The dry desert dust blew slowly to the south as their small caravan drove onward.
"Clothes, eh? Tell me, Princess Rior, wouldn't you enjoy being a bandit? I have a feeling that with your expert guidance I could do ever so much more harm to the Auralians than I'd ever dreamed of."
"And possibly even live to tell about it? Why Solti Auchel, what a delightful thought." Rior's smile bloomed slowly. "I must get to Fascia sometime soon, but there's no reason we can't have some fun as we go."
"Fascia?" He eyed her thoughtfully. "There are some men I owe . . . a return of favors to."
"Well, we can just have a terribly fun murder spree there, can't we?"
Chapter Two
Auralian Desert, North
Summer 1395 px
Rior lowered the telescope thoughtfully. "I think those people are within your men's competency."
"And of course they'll get off the road for a Solti." Auchel grinned wickedly, and started giving orders.
It was appallingly easy. Six wagons, with drivers. Two guards. Auchel's bloody bandits killed them all, inside of a minute. Only one of the guards even managed to pull a weapon.
Rior made her enthralled pair of guards bury them all.
Auchel had looked at her in astonishment. "Why bother?"
"Because the delay in discovering the robbery will let us confuse the trail. Even a day will help us." She smiled at his bafflement. "You'll see."
They backtracked ten miles and camped. Rior strolled around the wagons as the bandits unloaded their loot. So many possibilities.
The other women fixed a sumptuous feast from the new supplies, while the late Solti's guards followed her orders, sanding down the sides of the wagons, polishing the metal fittings, and the brass on the horses' harnesses.
The next morning, she swapped the horses around, matching them up for appearance. Auchel was still laughing about her feminine need to redecorate when they drove into a small mining town down a side track. The owner was visiting on inspection, the local Solti. The arrogant ass needed a touch of mental persuasion to stop his first impulse, which was to confiscate everything. He paid well for the supplies his mine manager and housekeeper wanted. The rest they sold in town, and the wagons and teams as well.
"And no one recognized the wagons, the horses . . . not that we had any evidence that those traders had ever been here." Auchel was thoughtful as they rode away.
"And we have not only more money, we kept one wagon and some essential supplies." Rior smiled. "Let's head a bit further north, no need to be on the same road where those poor traders were ambushed. We can take a few things as we need them, and be in Fascia by spring."
Chapter Three
Auralia, Caribbean Coast
Late Fall 1365
Inevitably the authorities caught on.
Which Rior realized when the train of soldiers respectfully stepping aside to grant them the right of way suddenly drew swords and charged.
Slice was a nasty spell to use on mounted troops. It had a range of about four meters, and enough sideways spread to endanger her own side if she wasn't careful. Her first slice was hasty, and took off the head of the officer's mount, and continued on to cut the man in half. And the same to the guards on either side.
Three horses and men dropped in a bloody heap.
Auchel froze in the act of drawing his sword. The black horse reared and spun away from the horror, jerking him away from the next charging soldier, and getting him out of the way so she could slice again.
"Old Gods! Don't kill the horses! They're valuable!"
Rior started laughing. Damn bandits! Money before survival! She threw her right hand out and a soldier slammed into her push, flying off his horse. Rior was jolted back, scrambled for a grip . . . the riderless horse caromed into hers. She hit the ground, rolled away from hooves, and back to her feet. She pulled the heat from the air and used the power for stun spells. Even closer range, with so little spread that she could only hit one man at a time.
The smell of blood, the clash of metal, voices, screams from men and horses, men yelling "Witch!" and "Kill the witch!"
She hit a horse with a spin spell, then the rider with stun. Raised another shield, low this time and anchored to the ground. The charging horse tripped over it, the rider flew over his head, hit the ground hard and rolled to a stop at her feet.
Rior drew her knife and slit his throat . . .
No more yells about witches. The screams were from the injured. A few loose horses galloped away.
Auchel was calling out orders, dealing with the mess. Rior took a deep breath and walked back to the women's wagons. "Get bandages. Get out there and start helping your men."
She walked back to the bloody scene. All the injured or stunned soldiers were dead when she returned. She pulled power again, and tossed healing spells on all the injured bandits. Faster healing, resistance to infection . . . She had to step in twice to demonstrate proper bandaging to these pathetic women.
Her patients shrunk back, wide-eyed.
Auchel grunted a laugh behind her. "They did not truly believe you were a witch. They have changed their minds."
She turned to find him grinning.
"So have I." His grin widened. "I think we ought to head for Fascia now. They'll be hunting out here, not expecting us on their doorstep."
"One! I'm getting fat!" Even the loose trousers with the draw strings were barely fitting.
Titters from the other women.
Fawnie spoke first. "You will be even bigger before the baby comes."
Rior stared at her. Stared down at her protruding belly. She's right. That isn't fat.
"I'm a princess. I can't get pregnant."
More titters.
She closed her eyes. And there it was. The extra glow, like a doubly exposed film. A baby. Dreaming, sleeping, moving. That wasn't something I ate bothering my gut. I was getting kicked by some damn Native's bastard. How . . . that wine, all those spells? Something strong enough to overcome the Oner's selection for superior sperm? A Native! And which damned Native? The Amma or the Solti, those are the only . . . that disguised "maid" barely penetrated. I think I can eliminate him from contention. I hope.
She swallowed bile and calculated. If it was the spells in that wine . . . that was at the end of Jumada, and it's nearly the end of the year.
"Seven months." She scowled down at her belly.
The women fluttered about. "Oh, you must not fight any more. You must persuade Solti Auchel to stop someplace. A large town with a midwife."
No Medgicians. No Doctors. No pain killers, no antibiotics.
They modified their dress and wagons a bit, became anonymous merchants on the busy main road along the coast of what would be the Caribbean Sea on most worlds. Here, between the tectonic changes probably caused by the impact of a comet or asteroid sixteen thousand years ago and th
e ensuing continuation of the ice age, the sea level was lower, the volcanism much higher. The other women had finally abandoned their segregated wagon, and stayed with their preferred men. Instead of camping in tents, she and Auchel shared a wagon in complete amity. Neither had any interest in sex.
The guards at the gate to Fascia thought the Merchant's frantic worries about his wife's labor hysterically funny. Or maybe it was the way she alternated screaming in pain and cursing all men. She was only having to add a little acting to the real situation. The guards, having had their laugh, waved them through, with directions to where they might find a midwife. Some women on the street directed them. They intercepted the midwife as she left a prosperous looking house . . . the old woman just wanted to rest . . . Auchel changed her mind, and hauled her into the wagon.
Rior didn't ask how, she just gritted her teeth and made the damned stupid woman wash her hands, then sat down on her horrible stool and followed her directions to push, to breathe, to keep pushing . . . hasty actions down below, a weak cry . . . a strong wail of protest.
"It's a boy! Your husband will be so proud!" The midwife beamed.
Rior bent over as a new contraction hit. "Why . . ."
The old woman tsked. "The afterbirth, did your mother teach you nothing? One trusts you know how to suckle a babe?"
Rior stared at her in horror. And cursed and moaned her way through the final bit of the ordeal. She staggered weakly off the chair to clean up, to wear a disgusting huge pad . . . "You said you just delivered the lady's baby, here?"
"Yes, another fine boy."
