Date: March 3, 2000
Place: Queen's Chambers - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Amipal, BrightTear, Ishani, Thalia (II)
Scene: An inquiry leads to a retelling of a particular battle during the Varati-Empyrean war, and the Maharani and her ladies-in-waiting listen raptly as a Kaimakam of the Agni-Haidar explains some of war's daily hardships and horrors.

The early-morning chamber has not yet been touched by the recalcitrant winter sun; its distant corners are shadowed, the murk relieved only by the oil lamps that flicker like stars in the silent darkness. One such lamp casts the narrow features of Amipal Chandrima into hellish light, a glow at odds with his markedly placid countenance. He sits in a delicate chair to one side of the Maharani's bedchamber door, a step or two down from the Agni-Haidar flanking it; a battered parchment map is open over one knee, and the soldier studies it with the idle interest of a man waiting for his day to begin.

The portal to the Queen's bedchamber swings open, almost silently. Only the whisper of agitated wind from the movement swishes past the Agni-Haidar to betray the entrance of the Maharani. The earliness of the hour does not appear to affect the woman, she is already dressed for the day with bright and peppy eyes. She flows out into the main room trailing eddies of women as her ladies-in-waiting step out behind her.

Not nearly as fresh and perky as the Queen, a few of her ladies are hiding yawns. Indeed, now that the morning ablutions have been completed, several of the ladies are sneaking off for a few more hours of rest.

Amipal rises smoothly as the Maharani enters, laying his parchment aside on the chair behind him. His brief posture of attention is followed by a respectful nod and a soft, "Good morning, Maharani"; on this cue, the guardsmen scattered about the room shake off whatever drowsiness the long night may have summoned, rubbing eyes and surreptitiously scratching sides as they reposition themselves.

As her remaining ladies-in-waiting scatter into the room, Thalia pauses to greet Amipal with the easy smile that is her trademark. "Good morning, Kaimakam. What have you been occupying your time with?" At this early hour, the Queen appears ready to assault the day with vigor.

In the chamber proper, her shudra and naraki begin arranging a table with the dishes and utensils necessary for the Queen to break her fast.

There is an undue pause, passed in stony silence, before the soldier replies; his composure does not falter as he considers the Empyrean woman and her question, but behind those unreadable black eyes the man is clearly thinking, making decisions. "I was pondering an operation in which I engaged, during the war, your majesty," he murmurs, gesturing with one hand towards the map on the chair. "It was one of many."

Over at the table, the clink of china and the sound of falling liquid signals the preparation of a cup of tea. The fragrant scent of black tea wafts over toward the duo as a shudra approaches Thalia and kneels, presenting the cup of tea as if it were an offering.

"Would it be possible for you to explain this operation? I have often wondered at the ease to which the Varati were able to conquer Arelate and Edessa." Thalia takes the cup from the shudra and ventures a tentative sip of the hot liquid. Beverage is not offered to the Kaimakam. Perhaps through long experience with his predecessor, Thalia has learned that it will only be refused when her Agni-Haidar are on duty.

Amipal, standing with Thalia near the bedchamber door, takes a moment to mull over her royal request; the dark eyes narrow just slightly as they study her fair features, and the dusky brow creases in thought. Then the expression is gone, and the Kaimakam turns into the early-morning darkness to retrieve his map from the chair behind him. "It was late in the campaign," he says calmly. "At the time my company was deep in what was, at the time, the province of Arelate."

The door open very quietly, first a ruby-covered head is seen, before the entire diminutive figure of Ishani walks in. She gives a curtsey to the Maharani and then takes her customary position near her favorite tapestry, depicting a scenery showing the prosperity and lushness of the Varati lands.

Thalia lifts the cup of steaming tea up from the saucer in her hand and takes another sip. She waits for the Kaimakam to orient the map so that she might view the important tidbits of information. "I see," she says encouragingly and waits for Amipal to continue.

Behind the Queen, the shudra and naraki have finished setting up the breakfast table. Those ladies who have not scurried off for a few more hours of sleep, slowly migrate to the table and take seats. Thalia does not move to join them, continuing to stand beside Amipal.

Amipal turns his attention briefly Ishani's way as she enters, a gesture born of the watchfulness endemic to his office; a single glance is enough for recognition to dawn, and he looks back at his map, holding it out for the Maharani's benefit. With his free hand he slips a knife from his bandolier, twirling it easily over the back of his hand before using its point to indicate a spot on the parchment before him. "I was at the head of a small patrol, entering this valley here from the north. We were looking for scattered remnants of the Empyrean cohorts we had broken some days previously, but instead we happened upon an enclave of refugees, pausing to rest in their flight southwards." His tone, for the most part, is one of professional interest.

Watching the other waiting women take their seats at the breakfast table, Ishani noiselessly walks in that direction, returning the smiles that are directed her way. The chair makes a little squeaky noise as it is pushed back and Ishani looks around guiltily to make sure no one noticed before sitting herself.

Thalia asks, with the sort of naivete born of ignorance, "Why were you entering the valley from the north? Was it more advantageous or were you part of a forward scout group?" She does not appear to have grasped the direction of the Varati advance on the map. She takes another sip of her tea, pretending to treat the knife turned instructional pointer as if it were normally used for such a purpose.

Over at the table, the women are passing about sweet rolls. The woman next to Ishani nudges her elbow and murmurs, "Pass the butter." Mundane, normal, none of them appear to giving the Queen and Amipal additional attention as the more important matter is the soothing of the gnawing hunger within.

Amipal shoots a dark-eyed glance Thalia's way before explaining, calmly, "Our armies attacked the province of Arelate from the north and the northwest, your majesty. The front was arrayed roughly thus." The point of the knife sweeps over the map in a rough diagonal, bisecting the province as one might a square, from corner to corner; in the process the parchment, held one-handed, folds in over the area being displayed, and with a mildly frustrated thinning of lips the soldier carries it towards the breakfast table. "They were burning their fires low, to avoid detection," he continues, in the same calm undertone. "If we'd been down on the valley floor, we might've passed right by them. But we proceeded up along the western slope, for a better vantage, and to have the benefit of ground in the event that we were attacked."

Thalia nods slowly as she carefully walks along with Amipal. The tea in her cup sloshes back and forth, some of it spilling into the saucer, but none reaching the delicate alabaster hand. "I understand now. Thank you." She has a thoughtful look on her face as if she were attempting to fix the logic of the actions into her mind. "You thought there were Empyrean cohorts in the valley," she says in a leading fashion, so that Amipal can continue with his story.

At the breakfast table, there is an empty space at its head for Thalia, her favorite chair already positioned. The place directly to the right of Thalia's is also unoccupied except for the breakfast china.

The other waiting women might not be paying attention to the discussion, but as for Ishani, Amipal could be talking about dull black rocks and she would be all eyes and ears. In a distracted manner, she passes the butter to the woman next to her.

Amipal sweeps around behind Thalia's chair, clearing a space on the table -- incidentally between the Maharani's place and that occupied by Ishani -- and spreading the parchment flat. "We thought there might be elements of the Empyrean cohorts in the valley," he corrects politely, leaning in next to the latter woman as he does so. "The cohorts themselves had already been dispersed in battle here--" he points again with the knife, to a location north of the valley in question-- "and set to flight. We were attempting to track down those Empyreans who hadn't already been slain when we encountered the refugees."

Blinking rapidly, Amipal's next words were totally lost as he leans towards her. Ishani swallows rapidly and regains her composure again, she must not show anything outwardly; those other ladies-in-waiting would pounce on any chance of gossip. Taking a sweet roll, she focuses solely on the task of eating the bread.

Thalia sits down at her place and a shudra fills her half-empty cup with more steaming tea. A sweet roll is deftly placed on the Queen's plate by another shudra and then the servants quietly fade into the background. "Refugees?" queries Thalia. "What sort of refugees were these?" She begins to pick apart her roll and break her fast as she listens to the Kaimakam expound.

Amipal keeps his midnight gaze on the map before him, but this question seems to spark a certain amount of reminiscence in the man; when he speaks, it is with an echo of bemused distance. "Empyrean citizens," he explains. "Driven from their homes by the Varati advance, seeking shelter under the protection of the Praetorian army even as the lines were collapsing around them. Often such refugees found themselves left in Varati territory without being entirely aware of the fact. This was such a case." Here he pauses; two fingertips lift briefly to the bridge of his nose before he continues, more faintly, "According to our traditions of engagement, such persons are legitimate prizes of war, open to enslavement. Or to death, if they resist."

Thalia determinedly consumes her breakfast, though from the emptying of rosiness from her cheeks, it would seem that her appetite is rapidly leaving her. She takes a sip of her tea. "I see," she says finally, a non-committal statement that allows Amipal to continue his tale.

But weren't they innocent civilians? Mothers and children not involved in the war? The thought does cross Ishani's mind, but it is quickly replaced by a quick search around the table for the elusive butter.

Amipal draws in a long, slow breath, lowers his hand; a chill settles over his voice and mien as he presses onwards, the narration taking on the character of an episode in history rather than a lived event. "We came down on them from the slope above, as I suggested. We demanded their surrender, but of course they fled; it is, I have found, the usual response in these instances. Those who took to the air were shot and killed by my archers on the slope -- we had, as I said, the advantage of ground on their encampment. A few soldiers traveling with them did their best to muster a defense as the refugees made their escape."

Thalia looks down at the map spread across the table. Determination hardens the gentle features that nature made soft. Whether she recognizes in her soul the loss of life, her words focus instead on the military aspects of Amipal's narration. "I thought you said that they were left behind as the Praetorian lines had collapsed. How did they happen to have soldiers among them?" Again, her question is that of a woman who does not understand the structure of a military operation.

A lady farther down the table passes the plate of butter towards Ishani. A hush has fallen at the table, several of women having ceased to chatter as Amipal's words take the light-heartedness from the breakfast.

Right. Now that the butter comes to her, Ishani realized that she didn't want it anymore. Her forehead creases a bit -- did Amipal kill unarmed mothers? Empyrean children with barely-grown wings peeking out their backs? The frown deepens.

Amipal indicates the imaginary front once more with the razor point of his throwing knife. "Lines of battle stretch over many miles, Maharani, often in a fashion far from the regularity that appears at this remove." The respectful, professorial tone carries him without seeming heartache over the little carnage of this tale. "As I explained, we had just broken an Empyrean stand, and were advancing into territory they had held only days before; I suspect that the soldiers in question were once members of that stand, who had encountered the refugees in their retreat and had lingered to help them fall back." He purses his lips, thoughtfully. "It was a brave gesture, in its way. Because these Empyreans gave their lives, quite a few of their countrymen escaped us that day." Another pause. "They also had the assistance of one of the refugees, a man who took up a sword and who crossed my own path in the line of defense. It was quite unexpected, of course."

Thalia wraps her hand around her cup, soaking in the liquid's remaining warmth, but she does not lift the vessel to her lips. "And who was this brave man?" she asks, perhaps hoping that Amipal does not kill and forget those who have been felled in his path.

This would make a great ballad... for some reason that thought crosses Ishani's mind. She wonders if bards like Gaelius wrote songs about this particular encounter. Pursing her lips together, Ishani promises herself, if she ever learns to fight, she would not fight against helpless people.

The ghost of a smile long dead plays at the corners of the Kaimakam's mouth, briefly distorting his mask-like visage before fading once more. The midnight gaze remains fixed on the painted-parchment territory before him, looking down as if from a great height on a real place, living and bleeding in the not too distant past. "We did not have occasion to learn one another's names, your majesty," he intones, a mild, pestilent humor rendering the soft words more than commonly disturbing. "I was more concerned with his gladius at my throat, he with my falcare at his." He pauses for the span of a steadying breath. "Since that time, however, I have come to understand that the man with whom I fought goes principally by the name of Hesperos Tritonides." His dark eyes lift slowly from the map, shift towards the Empyrean woman at the head of the table. "Your honored and pleasant cousin, Maharani."

Coming from the back of the room is BrightTear. Strangely enough, the graisha is not in cougar form this time. She still retains her tail and ears of course, but she seems more bouncy in this form. She trots over, still wearing the collar that bears Thalia's name. She is followed by a Varati slave... she seems always to be followed.

At the head of the breakfast table, Thalia continues to consume her breakfast as if she were not listening to a matter-of-fact tale of the death of her fellow Empyreans. The other ladies-in-waiting have entirely fallen silent, many of them leaving half-eaten sweet rolls on their plates. There is a flush of pride in the Maharani's face at the mention of her cousin daring to best one of Khalid's Agni-Haidar. "Considering that you are both still alive, I wonder how this event played?" She finally asks the question which the other women appear to be dreading. "How many died?"

A shudra comes over toward BrightTear and orders her over to a cart where a silver pot sits in solitude. Steam floats up from the pots spout. "Refill the teacups," the shudra orders BrightTear.

BrightTear pushes the cart of tea over by Amipal, Ishani and the Maharani. She picks up the kettle and looks at each person, asking them if they would like some tea.

Ishani has no idea what Gaelius' other name is, of course. So no spark of recognition is seen, instead she pokes at her sweet roll with her knife. Trying to make it look like she actually touched it.

Amipal notes the florid shift in the queen's expression at the mention of her kinsman, his own features darkening very faintly in echo; the man straightens, tucking away his knife with professional ease. "Your cousin was a younger man, then, but hardly my equal," he observes, by way of conclusion. Indeed, what Empyrean could be? "He did, however, achieve his aim, which was to retard my progress long enough for some of his fellows to make good their retreat." The casualty question leaves him silent for a moment, after which he returns, "Begging your pardon, Maharani, but the numbers escape my recollection; I've been involved in many such actions during my time in the field. Some died, some were imprisoned. Many escaped, in fact; I consider it to have been an unsuccessful operation in that respect. One can only hope that the scattered survivors were found by other patrols. We pride ourselves upon being thorough."

BrightTear tilts her head to the side as she pours the tea. "Why fight? What happen?" She spills a little of the tea and blushes, her whole face turning a bright red color.

With BrightTear's outburst, the naraki who was following the graisha pokes her in the ribs. "Do not speak unless spoken to," hisses the naraki.

Thalia allows her cup to be refilled, not giving BrightTear any additional notice. Her sense of responsibility finally gets the better of the Queen and she asks, "Were any of those killed women and children?" She may desire to understand war and combat, but she married Khalid in order to end it. There is not any sense of recrimination in her question, merely a desire to shoulder the responsibility for ensuring that such incidences will not occur in the future.

Ishani nods for the tea, giving a look to BrightTear that clearly means for her to be quiet. At Thalia's question, Ishani turns her face towards Amipal, wanting to see his expression when he answers.

Amipal busies himself with the folding of his map, leaning in over the table once more; Bright Tear gets an uneasy glance when she pipes up, but the Maharani's question forestalls any response on his part. "Heathen women and children who refused a fair offer of succor upon terms of enslavement," he corrects, softly. His dark hair has fallen forward across his face, hiding his features; his voice retains it customary stillness, sliding perhaps towards the sepulchral on this occasion. The last words, however, come only after a silence, pitched an audible level lower than the former. "It is very likely that some did lose their lives, your majesty. There and elsewhere."

BrightTear winces and frowns a bit, a soft mrring coming from her throat. She finishes the tea and moves to sit at Thalia's side.

Thalia murmurs, her voice loud in the silent aftermath, "I hope that such events will not occur in the future, that succor offered, will be accepted." She does not pay any attention to the graisha seated on the floor beside her. Instead, she takes a final sip of her tea, leaving the remainder of the liquid to chill as the bodies of the fallen chill in their graves. "Some day, those heathen women and children will be Varati." The force of these words almost lends the statement existence. The woman has dedicated her life to a greater cause than merely winning battles in a single war. "And then the weak will be protected."

"I look forward to that day," murmurs the soldier, quite sincerely and almost to himself. The map is tucked away, and the man moves smoothly to his customary position of attendance beside the Maharani's chair, seeking perhaps to remove himself from this particular spotlight.

Quietly pushing her plate away, Ishani decides that staying any longer might cause her to be ill. With an apologetic nod to Thalia, "If you will excuse me Maharani, I have certain errands to do?..."

From the hallway, the door opens and Thalia's officious secretary enters with a piece of paper in his hand. By some internal clock, the secretary knows the exact moment when the Maharani has finished her morning meal and descends upon her with all the venial pompousness of his office.

Thalia nods to Ishani. "I shall see you later then," she says politely before turning her attention toward her secretary who is waving his parchment as if her list of appointments was of the utmost importance in the world.

With a last thoughtful glance at Amipal, Ishani removes herself from her seat, and walks out of the room.

FIN  

[ Home | News | Staff | Players | Links | Gallery | Logs | Library | Updates | Mail ]
[ Connect to the Game ]