Princess of Amathar

by Wesley Allison

  "Finally, an animal I know," he said. "This is a stummada. It is not good to eat."

  "I don't think he had the same opinion of you,” I replied.

  "No it did not. But it is not a he. It is a female. The mate of this one may come along at any moment. Let us return to our side of the hill."

  We started on our way home. I would like to if I might, interject a small commentary at this point. As I tell this story it must seem that I was well versed in the language of the Amatharians. I must confess that at the time I was not, although I count myself now, to be quite fluent in that beautiful language. For example, in the previous conversation between myself and Malagor, we had a great deal of trouble at first with the Amatharian terminology for the animal's mate, but after examining the context of the word, and a little impromptu tutelage by Malagor, I was able to piece together the meaning. So it was with a great deal of the language that I learned during my time with my alien friend. If I do not fully detail every element of my conversational education, please believe me when I say that it is not an intentional effort to make myself seem more intelligent. Rather it is just that in looking back I remember the content of our conversations rather than the exact wording.

  Malagor and I made our way back around the mountain to our cliff camp. There we slept and then went out once again to fill our water skins from a small mountain brook, and to hunt for our dinner. This time Malagor let me stalk and hunt the game. He guided me, carefully giving me helpful instruction. I eventually managed to bring down a small rodent-like grazer which proved to be quite tasty. During what seemed to me to be a few weeks, Malagor and I went hunting frequently and he seemed to take great pleasure in teaching me how to track and kill animals of all types. After a while I became relatively adept. I began to notice that when we hunted, we did not follow a random pattern. Each time, Malagor would choose a direction just to the left of the direction which we had taken upon the last hunt. While we hunted, he was surveying the land around us in a very systematic way, dividing it up like a giant pie, with us in the very center of the search pattern. On one occasion I asked him what we were searching for, but he seemed to clam up, and become positively morose for the rest of the trip, so I didn't ask him again. He had been very good to me, and indeed we had become close friends, so if there was something that bothered him too much to talk about, I wasn't going to pester him about it. After all, I had nothing else to do in the world of Ecos. So if Malagor wanted to conduct a search while we hunted for our game, what difference did it make to me?

  One time when we out were hunting, we began tracking a particularly large bird-like animal about the size of a cow. Neither Malagor nor I had any idea whether it was edible, but we were beginning to tire of our usual catches, so we decided to experiment upon the unfortunate creature. We were still outside bow range of the beast, crouched in the tall grass, when the hair on the nape of my neck began to stand on end. I glanced at my arm and found that the small hairs there were acting in a similar fashion. Then I looked at my friend and almost laughed. He looked like he had just been blow-dried, every hair sticking straight out.

  Malagor was looking at neither me nor our prey however. Then I noticed a distant hum and followed Malagor's gaze to discover its origin. Sailing along above the countryside at an altitude of about a thousand feet was the most remarkable vehicle that I have ever seen. It was many times the size of the largest modern aircraft carrier or battleship of earth, fully a mile long and nearly half that wide. It was only a few hundred feet tall over most of its span, but there was a tower rising a hundred or more stories from the top middle of the thing. The entire vehicle was painted black, and was bristling with weapons or instruments of some kind, and the closer it got, the more obvious it was that this was the source of the strange magnetism in the air. This was some kind of great cruiser riding through the air on a field of electrical energy.

  "What is that thing?" I asked.

  "It is a Zoasian Battleship,” replied Malagor.

  "You never mentioned the Zoasians," I pointed out.

  His voice became low.

  "The Zoasians destroyed my people,” he said.

  Chapter Four: The Battle

  Malagor and I crouched in the high grass watching the mile long Zoasian battleship hum along in the sky. The great dreadnought cruised to a point about four miles away from us, and came slowly to a halt. I asked my friend if the Zoasians might have spotted us, as there seemed to be no other reason for the ship to have stopped, but he did not seem to think it likely. I asked him if the ship was equipped with radar or sonar, but he had no knowledge of those devices. I tried to explain them to him, but since I am neither a scientist nor engineer, I didn't do a very good job. Malagor seemed to get the gist of it, though he said that such technology was unknown in Ecos, or at least the part of it known to him. He assured me that the only detection apparatus aboard the great vessel were powerful telescopes manned by Zoasian observers.

  We continued to watch the ship from our location for a very long time. It might have been an hour, or it might have been a week--there was just no way for me to judge. As we waited, I strained my eyes to make out every detail possible on the fantastic vessel. The weapons were massive and futuristic in design, though possessing none of the simple beauty of the light rifles we carried. There were numerous structures and housings along the top and sides of the ship, but it was impossible to determine what the purpose of any individual compartment might be. In the foreword of the vessel was what I assumed to be an airstrip, lined with bizarre looking aircraft. This was somewhat of an assumption on my part, since they did not look at all like earthly planes, but I was later to be proven to be correct. I could see tiny figures moving around on deck but the distance was too great for me to make out any detail. I was drawn away from my careful observation when Malagor tapped me on the shoulder. He directed my attention by pointing off into the distance. At first I could see little except the green band where the Ecosian landscape reached up to become the Ecosian sky. After a moment though, I saw a dot in the distance which steadily grew in size. It didn't take long for me to determine what the object was. It was a ship similar in size and method of locomotion to the great Zoasian battleship, and it was zooming toward the black ship at over one hundred miles per hour. Of course the eternal sun of Ecos makes the measure of miles per hour almost meaningless in terms of long distances covered, but it seems the best way for me to describe the velocities involved.

  I glanced at the first ship and saw that it was turning its weaponry toward the interloper. The airstrip on the upper deck began spitting aircraft into the sky. It turned slowly like some great black beast crouching for a spring. It presented all its teeth to the enemy.

  The second ship was close enough to observe clearly now. It was roughly the same shape as the Zoasian vessel, and seemed to have a similar array of armament. Instead of being the hollow black of the battleship though, it was painted navy blue with bright silver trim and highlights. From all over the craft were hung colorful banners and bright waving flags. Along the bow was a great golden insignia--two crossed swords above a flaming sun. This ship too began disgorging squadrons of aircraft.

  "Amatharians," said Malagor. "The banners on the ship are the colors of her knights. The insignia means that there is someone important on board."

  "Why would they fly into battle if they were carrying someone important?" I asked.

  "If an Amatharian sees a Zoasian, he will attack. If a Zoasian sees an Amatharian, he will attack. These two things are as sure as the sun in the sky."

  The two ships began to fire their weaponry almost simultaneously, as the squadrons of fighter aircraft began to engage in a huge and deadly dogfight. The Zoasian armament consisted of a broad range of weapon types, from missiles to powerful cannon to a particularly ugly black ray. The Amatharian weaponry appeared to be all of one type, based on the same principles as the light rifles, with their churning bubbling liquid sunlight, although the shipboard guns fired l
ight streams anywhere from one inch to one foot in diameter.

  The battle went on and on. It seemed incredible that ships of even that size could withstand the punishment that those two did. Each took hit after hit from the enemy ship and its aircraft. Fighters were shot out of the sky right and left, and they dropped to the ground bursting into fireballs. Several of them crashed into the enemy ship, or into their own. Explosions rocked the battle-cruisers, and we could see tiny figures on the deck fighting fires and in many cases, losing those fights. After a while it seemed that most of the fighters were gone, victims of the ongoing conflict, but the two great dreadnoughts refused to give up. They kept pouring volley after volley into each other. As they did so, the battle began to slowly drift our way.

  "I think that we had better find another vantage point." I said, as I started to gather our things together.

  "Wait, look," said Malagor, pointing at the conflict.

  It seemed that both ships had been damaged to the point where they were no longer under complete control. The Zoasian ship began to slowly twist away out of control. It was the Amatharian vessel though, it was now obvious, which had taken the greater damage. First it listed slowly to one side, then tilted over more and more, until it appeared as though it was a toy hung from a string attached to its bow. Then, slowly at first, but with rapidly increasing speed, the ship dropped from the sky. As it plowed into the ground below, it erupted into flame as great explosions rocked the countryside. It reminded me of the old film clips of the Hindenburg disaster, though on a much greater scale, and I could feel the heat of the explosion upon my face.

  As the victims of the great disaster ran from the explosive fire and destruction, their enemy took after them. Apparently the Zoasian commander was unable to lower his ship, or even turn it so that its weapons could engage his surviving enemies. Instead, dozens of long ropes dropped from the bottom of the great battleship, and hundreds of Zoasian soldiers slid down to attack their remaining foes. The Amatharians though greatly outnumbered did not flee. They turned to face the conquerors. My heart went out to them. Then as if to hurl insult upon injury, the few remaining Zoasian fighter aircraft swept down from the sky and began to strafe them with the deadly black rays. This seemed to me a most cowardly act, and it was something that I could not stand. Pulling out my sword like some quixotic fool, I ran down the gentle slope of the countryside toward the raging battle, with little regard to my own hide. I do not say that I am brave, and I don't like to think that I am a fool, but I must admit now that this particular action at the time was somewhat foolish, and perhaps somewhat brave, but it set into effect such a remarkable chain of events with consequences so important to my life, that I have never regretted it. In retrospect, I know that I heard Malagor calling after me to stop and to come back, but at the time my brain didn't consciously register him. I ran straight into the fray, and as I did so, I was able for the first time, to take in a great deal of information about the appearances of the Amatharians and the Zoasians, and though I did not ponder that information at the time, I will relay it to you now in the hope that it will enhance your appreciation for my subsequent actions.

  The Zoasians were the further away of the two forces, but they were close enough for some important distinctions. For one thing they were large--very large. They were about the same height as me. I am just over six feet, though they were more massive. They seemed to be about five feet wide at the shoulder, though I later learned that their clothing enhanced their width by about a foot. Even that day, at that moment, I had a sense that they were very, very heavy, a sense which was later to be confirmed. They weigh almost one thousand earthly pounds, too much for even my gravity-enhanced earthly muscles to lift. They were big and they were black. They were so black in fact, that at first they seemed to be nothing so much as great looming shadows, but then their features began to fill themselves in. They were reptiles, or something like a reptile. They were scaly, and slightly slower moving than humans. Although they had an upright form with two arms with two humanoid hands, and two massive legs with somewhat humanoid feet, they trailed behind them a thick powerful tale. At first I felt something vaguely familiar about their facial features, but I knew that they did not quite resemble the heads of a lizards. Then it struck me. Their faces were the faces of snakes, with the perpetual smile of the cold blooded killer. The Amatharians were, as Malagor had said, much like me, or for that matter much like any humans. They were human, and but for a few racial characteristics, they could have seemed at home anywhere on earth. Those racial characteristics however, were a bit unearthly. They were tall, ranging in the six foot to seven foot range. Their hair was universally straight and black. The men wore it cut straight across the forehead and straight at the back of the neck. The women wore theirs in a variety of lengths, though in each case it was straight and evenly cut, whether at the shoulders or across the middle of the back. Facial hair was not in evidence, and I was later to learn is completely unknown among them. Their skin was blue in color, with a wide variation of shades. Some were as dark as the inside of a Teflon frying pan, while others were almost a baby blue. The clothing they wore was an interesting contradiction of utilitarianism and style. They wore a black body suit from their necks to their ankles, which was tighter, and of thinner material than the spandex biking pants that had been popular shortly before I left my home planet. Through the material, every muscle was visible as it strained to heft the swords which almost every Amatharian used in his defense. Over their body suit the knights of Amathar wore a tabard-nothing more than a long strip of cloth eighteen inches wide, with a hole so that it fit over the head. It reached down to below the knees in front and in back, but was completely open on the sides. On both the front and back panels was emblazoned a great symbol, that was the coat of arms for that knight, and which was different from one to the other.

  I waded into the closest skirmish where four Amatharians, two men and two women, were holding off a score of the Zoasians. One humanoid had drawn his sword and was cutting up the nearest foe. The others used their light rifles. The snake-men were using rifle and pistol versions of their ugly death ray. They didn't carry swords, apparently being too slow to use them effectively. With a great leap of my earthly power, I closed the gap to the nearest Zoasian. I swung my sword but it was deflected by the being’s body-armor, a feature I heretofore hadn't noticed. It covered his body from neck to tail, and appeared to be made of some type of synthetic plasticized leather material. It was studded with horns and crests of bright metal, but was otherwise as black as the snake-man himself. The Zoasian was evidently not hurt by my blow, the armor having absorbed the shock, but he was surprised. He opened his mouth wide and hissed at me with a great forked tongue. Then he brought forth his powerful hand with the ray-weapon in its grasp. I was too quick for him though, and with a mighty sweep of my sword arm, I removed his hand between the wrist and the elbow. He didn't cry out, but reeled backwards in pain. I should have finished him off quickly, but I didn't. Something instead caught my eye.

  Just over the shoulder of my opponent, I spied one of the Amatharians fighting against great odds. It was one of the females. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair was long and black and straight. Her skin was flawless and of a deep metallic blue color, like the steel beams of a building under construction. She was about six foot two and powerfully built, though not by any means unfeminine. Her black body-suit covered her from the top of her neck to the top of her shining black boots. Her white tabard was surrounded by gold braid and was emblazoned with the most beautiful crest--two crossed swords over a flaming sun--and the back of it trailed behind her in the wind like the cape of some fantastic comic book heroine. She had abandoned her light weapon and was using her sword, carving up several Zoasians at once like a butcher with a row of fresh steaks. With each stroke the sword blade seemed to glow with the pride and the glory of battle. I had decided to rush to the aid of this beautiful vision, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a looming f
orm. It was the Zoasian with whom I had been previously engaged. Before I could turn toward him he slammed his remaining fist into the side of my head. I was tossed twenty feet by the force of the blow. I fell to the ground and everything went black. I opened my eyes to look into the face of my friend Malagor. He opened his mouth and snarled at me.

  "You are not smart," he growled. "I teach you all that I know, and still you know nothing." I pulled myself to my feet and looked around. Nearby was the Zoasian who had hit me, easily recognizable by his missing hand. Malagor had shot him with his light rifle before the reptile had the chance to finish me off. That I had been out for a while was evidenced by the fact that there no longer remained any living warriors of either race within a good hundred yards or so. Bodies, both human and reptilian though, were strewn everywhere. In the distance I could see the Zoasian armies being hauled by cable up onto the deck of their disabled battle-cruiser. Suddenly remembering the woman that I had seen just before being knocked senseless, I began examining all of the Amatharian bodies nearby. I could find none that matched the vision that I had previously beheld. I turned to ask Malagor if he had seen what had become of her, but something beyond him caught my eye. Malagor turned to see what I was looking at, and we both became witnesses to a fantastic scene.

  Standing in the blood of friend and enemy alike, was a single Amatharian knight. He was exceptionally tall and muscular--the perfect specimen of the timeless warrior. He held high above his head that weapon that so epitomizes the Amatharian--his sword. It was almost as highly crafted and ornate as the ancient swords that I had found, but it had something that mine did not. The blade of the weapon glowed. It more than glowed. It was actually lit up like a fluorescent light bulb. This was all the more fascinating for the fact that the metal of the blade seemed to be the same type as the unknown, but mundane metal, of which I found my own new blades to be composed.