Black Warrior

by Jolie Jaquinta

  Chapter 14 – Loyalty to Old Ideals

  “Lady Gwendolyn, Mage of Mount Gerakovouni, is here”, announced Phyllis.

  The western reception room was Jesca's favorite. The appointments were relatively modest, with comfortable furniture and an absence of massive gilded busts of previous potentates. The best feature was a window and balcony along the western wall that looked down from the high city over a thin stretch of town and then the fields stretching to the sea. There was often a breeze carrying a faint salt smell and at sunset, the view was glorious.

  Jesca rose from the chair she had been sitting in and approached to greet Gwendolyn. She wore a short tunic and breeches, in a dull red. They were well tailored and sturdy, no excessive trim or pleats. Her jewelry was similarly modest, consisting of only a ceremonial sword at her side and a red-gold band holding back her hair.

  “Greetings, Lady Gwendolyn”, she said, making a slight bow. Technically the monarch of Romitu bowed to no one. But this was in private, and Gwendolyn was rather a special case. Jesca did not bow out of subservience, but out of respect. “Both Romitu and I enjoy your friendship and advice. I am honored that you have taken the time to visit. I know you do so, so rarely.”

  “Thank you, Jesca, Queen of Romitu, student of Scioni”, replied Gwendolyn. Her returning nod was even slighter. But that was gesture enough, as she never bowed to anyone. “It does me good to get out.”

  “Let us enjoy the balcony”, said Jesca. “The view is not as splendid as Coral says it is from Mount Gerakovouni, but the wind is fresh.”

  Gwendolyn followed her and stood for a time, looking out over the world and feeling the wind in her face.

  Jesca did not hurry the moment. It just didn't seem appropriate with someone three thousand years old. Although Queen of Romitu, mightiest nation in the world, Jesca had nothing but humility before this woman, who had turned her back on godhood. Who had loaned them the power that revitalized the Ævatar and Bianca used it to defeat the whole Romitu pantheon in minutes. Jesca would have felt fine if it had stopped there. But the gods didn't take such umbrage well, and every single other pantheon rallied against the Ævatar. Even faster than the Romitu god's demise, they defeated and drained the Ævatar of all the power Gwendolyn had given it. Her old comrades, unified after millennia, defeated her.

  Then something happened. Bianca had sacrificed her soul and the Ævatar woke up. Their mages were still uncertain where it got the power from, but it threw the gods around like mewling kittens. And when they fled after it became apparent they couldn't defeat it, the energized construct pursued them. To the ends of the earth and beyond, based on the reports that came in. And then, whatever had woken it up, ceased. The Ævatar just stopped. It hadn't moved since.

  Jesca looked up at Gwendolyn's face. Those eyes had seen so much. She had known the gods when they were mortal. She had seen them rise to godhood, rule their fiefdoms, and take their oath of forgetfulness so that all their wars would be petty. And now she had seen them die.

  “I am sorry for your loss”, said Jesca spontaneously. Gwendolyn turned from the view and looked at her. “The hundred and forty three were once your companions in arms, and friends. The only other creatures in the world that were at all like you. And now they are no more. Under my orders. I am sorry.”

  Gwendolyn turned back to the view. “I thank you for your compassion. But do not be sorry. I may have remembered them, but they did not remember me. The companionship was one way, and false. I see that now. And many other things. This has cleared my mind and given me perspective to reassess my priorities. Upon reflection, there are things I think now are more important.” She turned back to Jesca. “So do not be sorry for me. I am grateful for what you have done.”

  “I'm glad someone is”, said Jesca. She looked away and over the view. “I wonder what they will say in a hundred years of my choices. Of all I have dragged into this with me.”

  “Those who follow you do so of their own volition” said Gwendolyn. “The burden is not yours alone.”

  “No”, said Jesca. “Everyone was involved. Even, if my spymaster has his facts in order, some of the surviving gods colluded through inaction to precipitate this result. Just no one expected it to be so... drastic.”

  “Were you not prepared for the eventuality of killing all the gods?” asked Gwendolyn.

  “Yes”, said Jesca. “Eventually. If necessary. I rather hoped we could work something out.”

  “You have”, said Gwendolyn. “With the gods that are left.” She gestured over the restored city. “Things seemed to have worked out pretty well.”

  Jesca breathed a deep sigh. “Yes. That is how it seems. But I think that just frees us up for what is next. Promises were made, and promises must be kept.” She turned and faced Gwendolyn full on. “That is why you are here, is it not?”

  Gwendolyn nodded her head in assent. “Yes, I am here to discuss our deal.”

  “For your aid in fighting the gods, you wished our aid in fighting the ancient beings that the idealists of Londra sought to destroy”, said Jesca, her face grave. “That seems to have led to the first cataclysm. I have this feeling it may yet lead to the second one.”

  “It may yet”, said Gwendolyn. “But we must do what drives us.” She paused, reached up, and stroked her chin. “I know you would hold yourself to your promise. But what I have actually come for is to discuss changing the terms of our agreement.”

  “Changing them?” said Jesca warily. “But you have already delivered on your promise. You are right, I hold myself to my promise. What is there to change?”

  Gwendolyn's eyes became distant, looking past Jesca. “With my new found clarity of thought, I am considering my objectives a little more closely. The ancient beings wrought great woe upon those I held dear and my loyalty to them, even though they are millennia gone, burns strong within me. It is not a task I will give up. But I am considering postponing it.”

  Jesca raised her eyebrows. “I have not known you to change your mind on such serious matters.”

  “No”, said Gwendolyn, looking back to Jesca. “It is quite unlike me.” A faint smile hovered on her lips. “Your good Champion has brought it to my attention that I am not necessarily possessed of all the facts I could be, to be best prepared for such a fight.”

  Jesca glanced back at the doorway to the room. “Did he now? I'll have to have a word with him about second guessing those whom he serves.”

  “Not at all”, said Gwendolyn. “That was not his intent. He sought to help, and in so doing, made me aware that I needed help.”

  Jesca looked back to Gwendolyn, again surprised. “Changing your mind, and needing help? The foundations of my world are shattered!”

  “There is more yet”, said Gwendolyn.

  Jesca leaned back against the parapet and crossed her arms. “I don't know if I can take any more revelations.”

  “Ah”, said Gwendolyn. “It is more self-discovery than change. I am driven by my old loyalties. And yet the greatest of them has been before me, and I have not seen it. The destruction of these ancient malices is worthy but only serves the memory of my youth. It has only sunk in now that there is a task before me that serves my greatest oath. That to my Queen.”

  “Your Queen?” said Jesca, her voice breaking. But Gwendolyn was not looking at her, but out to sea again. She swallowed heavily as she realized who she was talking about. “The Queen of Londra?”

  Gwendolyn closed her eyes and quoted “I was patron to the Kings and Queens of Londra. Before the first cataclysm. Yet they aren't quite gone. Poor Princess Kimberly waits in her tower.”

  “That's what the grey elf said. Rose”, said Jesca, hushed. “When she appeared to Bianca.”

  Gwendolyn opened her eyes, and they were moist. “Princess Kimberly waits”, she repeated. “How could I have missed the import of that? How?” She turned to Jesca and the passion was brimming to her very eyes. “She waits. She is alive. The last scion of Londra is alive and waiting to be re
scued.” She flung her hands up. “She's been waiting for millennia and here I am, the last Knight of Londra, with my mind caught up in a pyrrhic battle against forces well beyond me! Some loyal subject I am.”

  “Alive?” said Jesca. “But where, do you know where.”

  Gwendolyn drew a breath deeply, and regained her composure. “I do not. But I have some ideas.”

  “Is this what you want my help with instead?” asked Jesca.

  Gwendolyn nodded. “It is. But I do not need your armies, your magic or your treasury.”

  “I stand by my oath”, swore Jesca. “You have but to ask. How may I aid?”

  “I need someone to go on a quest”, said Gwendolyn. “A champion.”