Princess of Amathar (5 page)

He held his sword as if waiting for an enemy, and indeed he was. Bearing down upon him from the sky, at a speed equaling any terrestrial fighter jet, was one of the Zoasian fighter aircraft. It swooped down lower and lower, until it became apparent that the pilot was planning to fly right into the man on the ground, and splatter him on the front of the plane like a bug on the front of a Buick. It covered a mile in less than a second as it headed toward its intended target, yet the warrior on the ground did not turn or run away. It was the most heroically stupid and futile thing that I had ever witnessed, and it my heart filled with admiration for brave man. Then when the jet was no more than fifty feet from him, the knight dropped to one knee, still holding the sword high above him. The fighter continued on into the sword, but the sword was not ripped away from the man's hand, and it was not destroyed by the force of impact. Instead the sword sliced through the aircraft, through metal, plastic, fuel tanks, and pilot. The craft blew apart and a huge fireball replaced it on the battlefield. Both Malagor and I dropped to the ground to avoid flying debris. Moments later I was back on my feet, looking for the remains of the brave Amatharian. To my surprise I saw him rise to his feet, burned but not gravely injured. He looked at the remains of his dead foe, and raising his face to the eternal Ecosian sun, he cried out in victory and challenge.

Chapter Five: Knight of Amathar

Slowly the victorious warrior scanned the battlefield around him, and as he did so, his eyes alighted upon Malagor and myself. He started slowly toward us. I did nothing but stand and stare at the alien knight. He moved slowly at first, but as he got nearer, he seemed more and more menacing, and when he was only several yards away, he began to raise his wondrous sword.

"Stop!" called Malagor, backing up his command by brandishing his light rifle. The blue-skinned man stopped and stared at us and particularly at me for a moment.

"You carry a dead sword," he said to me.

"I carry this sword that I found. It is not as marvelous as your own...."

"Just where did you find this sword?"

"It was in a cave, along with these light rifles," I replied.

"You took these weapons from the dead!"

"There was no body," I said, "only the weapons and some food items."

"You lie!" He took another step forward.

"He tells the truth,” said Malagor. "Do not take another step, or I shall have to kill you." The Amatharian looked carefully at my friend as if for the first time. "You are a Malagor?"

"Yes."

"My clan, long ago, dealt with the Malagor. They were a people of honor." Malagor nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment of the compliment, but didn't lower his weapon.

"You affirm that this pale one did not desecrate the bodies of my people?"

"I swear it."

The Amatharian looked back at me, the fury of battle now fading from his eyes. He straightened his back, and then carefully sheathed his sword, which now appeared to be nothing more than a metal blade of the non-glowing variety. This fellow was a magnificent specimen. He was almost a head taller than I, at least six foot seven. He was muscular and handsome, and wore the typical Amatharian fighting clothing, the black body suit and white tabard. His own tabard was surrounded by gold braid and bore his insignia, a flaming sun with outstretched wings.

"May I see your weapon?" he asked.

I handed him the sword, hilt first. He carefully examined the blade and its edge. Then with something akin to reverence, he carefully removed the jeweled hilt and opened a here-to-fore hidden compartment in the base. He sighed. Then he carefully replaced the hilt, and handed the weapon back to me.

"I offer you my apology,” he said. "A sword this fine was designed for a remiant, and yet this sword has never lived."

"I accept your apology," I replied.

I could feel Malagor breathe a sigh of relief. It was obvious that he didn't want to have to kill a brave man, especially over a misunderstanding. I certainly didn't want to force him to. The knight bowed his head.

"I am Homianne Kurar Ka Remiant Norar Remontar of the Sun Clan,” he said. I later learned that he had given me his name as Norar Remontar, his rank as Remiant or knight, and his social status or nobility as Homianne Kurar Ka which literally means child of the overlord, and implies that one is a prince or princess. In Amatharian society the head of each clan is called Kurar Ka or Overlord and his direct heirs are his Homianne. Just below them in rank are the Kurar or lords, and below them the Kur or lesser nobles.

Malagor replied with his own name, which as I have previously explained, defies all attempts at transcription. It is a kind of a growl and a cough and he seemed to throw in something else, perhaps a title, though I didn't press as to what it might have been. I must confess that at that moment I felt somewhat inadequate in the name department, as I had neither a particularly long or eloquent name nor an impressive title.

"Alexander Ashton” I said.

The Zoasian ship was no longer even a dot in the sky. Malagor invited Norar Remontar to our camp to rest and recover, but he demurred saying that his first duty was to his fallen comrades. I didn't see what he could possibly do for them, as it was only too obvious that he was the only survivor, the Zoasians were quite thorough in their murderous methods, shooting even those enemies that were already down, and it would have been insane for an individual to contemplate burying all of the dead soldiers. The Amatharian explained to me that he was required by custom, to pay his respects to the dead and that he had an additional obligation to confirm the status of those members of his own family among the warriors. It seems that the military units as well as commercial concerns were organized around the concept of the family clan.

I began my own search through the bodies of the slain. I saw that Norar Remontar watched me side-long as I looked through the remains of his countrymen. Perhaps he thought that I had in mind robbing the corpses of their possessions. I of course had another, more pressing concern. I was continuing to look for the remains of the warrior goddess that I had seen during the pitched battle. She consumed me to the point that I almost thought, that if I found her dead I might take my own life, so that my body might lay beside hers. I knew in my heart that I had fallen hopelessly in love at the first sight of the beautiful Amatharian woman, and I was devastated by the thought that she was most likely dead. After what must have been a long time, the Amatharian knight concluded his business with the dead. He looked very sad, but he also looked somewhat puzzled. I too had concluded my search, but had turned up no sign of the woman of my dreams. It did seem almost as if she were made up of the stuff of dreams, so suddenly did she appear in my life, and then vanish into nowhere. I was about to explain my private loss to Malagor when Norar Remontar returned to our side.

"I cannot find the remains of my sister," he said, and I suddenly felt a knot forming in my stomach.

"What does she look like?" I asked.

He described her; her height, her flawless skin, her great strength, her flowing black hair, her beauty. I knew that he was describing the woman that I had seen, even before he mentioned the family crest emblazoned upon her tabard--two crossed swords above a blazing sun.

"I saw her,” I said.

I carefully recounted my brief experiences in the battle, and my inability to locate her body. I did not disclose my emotions toward a woman whom I did not even know, but I know that Malagor guessed my thoughts and I suspect that Norar Remontar did as well, for when I had finished my short tale, he looked at me oddly for a long moment.

"The Zoasians have captured her,” Malagor said. "I saw her being taken, but was busy with other concerns."

I felt my insides fall away as I realized that I was that other concern.

"If that is so,” said Norar Remontar, "it is my sworn duty to rescue her, or in the event that this is not possible, to avenge her. I would of course do this even if it were not demanded by honor. She is my sister."

"We will help you!" I declared.

"Yes, we will help you,” agreed Malagor.

"Let's get our gear and go after them,” I said.

"The closest Zoasian city is over twelve hundred hokents (about one million miles) away,” explained the knight. "We must return first to Amathar. It is but fifty or sixty thousand kentads (forty or fifty thousand miles) from here. There I will gather together a fleet and we will attack the Zoasians and rescue my sister.

"We must start right away," I said.

"Let us return to camp, gather our gear, and rest," suggested Malagor. "Then we can start on our way toward Amathar.”

We turned and started toward the camp which my dog-faced friend and I had made our home for perhaps the last few weeks. I pushed the pace and we made it in what seemed to me at least to be no time at all. We ate cold what last bit of provisions that we had on hand, sharing them with our new companion, and then we lay down to sleep. I could not sleep of course, my mind being filled with the face of that magnificent woman. I tossed a bit and rolled over, only to find Norar Remontar watching me.

"My sister's name is Homianne Kurar Ka Remiant Noriandara Remontar of the Sun Clan,” he said. "I thought that you would like to know."

"Thank you," I replied, and I promptly fell asleep, exhausted. The three of us rose about the same time and began gathering our belongings together, and packing them. This did not take long, as none of us was possessed of noticeable material wealth. Malagor and I had managed to collect a substantial supply of animal skins and furs during our stay, and this allowed us to pick the very best from among them, and to offer Norar Remontar some as well. We gathered these items together and started on our long trek. Malagor seemed almost bouncy.

"I have always wanted to see Amathar," he said.

Chapter Six: Prisoners of the Pell

Norar Remontar, Malagor, and I made our way across the vast interior surface of the planet Ecos. We had been walking for quite a long time. I cannot stress enough, the meaninglessness of time when one does not have the convenience of a day and night cycle with which to gauge it. Norar Remontar had occasion to discuss the concept of time at great length with me. Realizing that the Amatharian was from a highly technological society, I asked him if his people carried time pieces. I could see no watch carried openly upon his person. He didn't seem to know what a clock was and I of course tried to explain.

“Yes, we have a device which we use in Amathar to note the time, but we do not measure it,” he replied.

“I find this idea of yours that time is a constant that can be accurately and evenly measured to be most improbable. My people are taught that time varies. As I talk with you, time moves quickly, and when I, at the end of our conversation, look back, I will see that we have traveled a great distance. When I am not talking to you, but am instead quietly thinking of home, time moves very slowly indeed, and when I look back after what seems to be an eternity, I find that I have not traveled that far at all." I thought a great deal about Norar Remontar's statement, and I decided that in a world of eternal noon, it seemed to make perfect sense. There was certainly nothing that I could think of to discredit the idea. Time was of course not the only thing that we spoke of on that trek. So long was the journey in fact, that even if we had spoken but a small fraction of the time, our conversations could fill several volumes. Norar Remontar took great pride and delight in telling me all about the people and the culture of Amathar. Here is a brief synopsis of that history as he first recounted it to me.

"Long, long ago, my ancestors were savages. They lived in small tribal kingdoms, and they warred against themselves, as well as with other nearby races. The people knew nothing of technology, nothing of art, and most importantly, they knew nothing of honor.

"Into the land, came the man known as Amath. He was not one of the people. He was from a place far away. I don't know where. He united the people of the tribal kingdoms against their common enemies, yet he taught them to recognize their friends as well. He found the Garden of Souls and he organized the City of Amathar around it. He taught the people art, literature, love, and honor. He was the first leader of Amathar, and so the city is named for him. He chose the best of the warriors to be his successors, for he had no offspring of his own, and he founded the Holy Order to guard against the evils in the hearts of men.

"All of this was long ago. Amath has been gone two or three hundred generations, but all that we Amatharians are, all that we hold as truths, are due to his teaching and his guidance. Each of us carries his tome of teachings."

The knight produced a small book from an unseen pocket, and handed it to me. It was bound like an ordinary book one would find on earth, but the pages were some type of plastic. The characters on the page were tiny little animals and other recognizable shapes— the sun, a tree, a human hand. I handed Norar Remontar back his book and determined that some day I would learn to read the strange writing, and find out just what the teachings of Amath were.

Many times on our journey I pressed the knight to tell me about his city. On these occasions he would simply smile, and say that I would have to see it for myself. Of course my personal interests were constantly being drawn to the subject of his sister. I didn't want to arouse Norar Remontar's ire by accidentally disgracing her somehow, and truth be told, I was somewhat embarrassed by my single-minded desire to see this woman again. Of course being no fool, he saw through my efforts to artificially generalize the subject, but played along with me anyway. It seemed that in Amatharian society, both the men and the women were able to become knights and pursue careers in any field. The culture was a matrilineal one. The Amatharians passed on their family name from mother to daughter, but even more important than the family name, were the family crests, and these were passed from elder family members, to those children, grandchildren, and even nephews and nieces, who managed to achieve knighthood. Norar Remontar and a cousin had received their crests from an uncle who was a war hero. His sister inherited her crest from her grandfather.